The Used

When I came back from my lunch break on my last day as a New there was a virtu-memo from my boss, Mr. Jackson. The brief message hung over my computer terminal in glowing-green letters: See me. I scanned the message and used my access chip to delete it. Part universal remote, part I.D. card, my access chip guaranteed my rights, freedoms, and opportunities as a member of the Young Generation. The golden ticket. Scowling, I sat down, put on my headset and continued balancing the chemical equations that streamed across my vision. All the techies at Selecor Inc. were assigned double quota on account of Operation Genesis, the Central Order’s insane quest for eternal youth. It was sadistically ironic. We put our lives into our research, missing meals and pushing aside our drowsiness, frantically working towards the hope that we would finish before our time ran out. But I’m on my last day as a New and the process still hasn’t been completed. It’s too late for me.

Several hours later the bell rang signaling the end of the daytime shift. I leaned away from the desk and took off my headset, rubbing the flashing numbers from my eyes. I took a last look at my desk, devoid of any personal belongings. Cold and impersonal, just like the Central Order likes it.

Someone near me cleared their throat.

“Uh, James?”

Looking up, I saw my night replacement, Daniel, standing nervously next to me.

“Oh. Dan. I was just leaving.” I stood up and grabbed my files, but he held onto the arm of my coat.

“Please,” he begged quietly, eyes wide, “If you could just...a message for my family...”

Daniel was always a bit of a weirdo when it came to being a New. He actually wanted to be Used, so he could see his family. Even being a genius at age ten, like most of the Young Generation, wasn’t good enough for him. Beneath his usual reclusive yet professional manner, he was just a young boy who needed some support. Even I could see that. But what if I was caught?

I considered him for a moment, then relented.

“Alright,” I said in a low voice, “but I’m not promising anything.”

Daniel’s eyes lit up as his face worked hard to cover up his glee. “Well, I’ll see you then,” he replied in a normal voice, as he offered me his hand.

“Yeah,” I replied, shaking it, “See you in a couple decades.”

And Daniel sat down to another twenty years of usefulness as I headed upstairs to Mr. Jackson’s office, pocketing the scrap of paper he had slipped me.