Christmas Eve at Work

Eb walked through the snowy city streets. He used this as exercise but was considering moving into work. One piece of furniture made moves quite easy and he’d save this time. He had not decided how he’d replace the exercise, but his nearly constant pacing did not need miles in any case. He rarely sat, he stood for health and kept moving as if chased perhaps.

His breath puffed and marked each step in the snow. His mind was always elsewhere and his hat was there, but the bands and ratchets were missing. He scowled as he spotted a free-loading charity case in his direct path. Perhaps like old Wrox, he should buy a silver headed cane. Maybe the cane could have a sharp tip. Maybe young boys could be classically trained…

“Happy Christmas, good sir. Would you buy an apple for just $5? It’s for the needy!” said a young boy as Eb passed without stopping.

“Bah. Humbug. Needy should work then they would have what they need, hm,” mumbled the middle-aged founder whose cane decision was now made. This whole interaction cost him at least twenty full seconds away from work. Not in physical distance, but mentally. The cane would solve this for the future. He would get the order off when he arrived first thing.

Eb brushed by the young boy and continued down the street. His office was near and he picked up the pace as the boy had made him a bit late.

His office space was an old factory space with very high ceilings. There were old Rivera style murals of workers building clothing and other textiles. The workers and top hat wearers shook hands in front of an idealized factory in the final grand painting.

The elderly man kept his hat on, but people knew that Screwed was well formed at this point in his life. That said, Scrooge did feel his name was apt but did not need to flaunt his knowledge all day.

Scrooge sat in the dim light and awaited the sun. He didn’t want to miss the free illumination and certainly would not pay for more gas to light his pinfields. As soon as the light was good enough, the old man slammed a coalpel into his steamdeck, the beast roared to life in appreciation of the early meal.

The senior screw’s hands danced over the keys and the mechanical keyboard built into the deck shot blasts of hot red and green vapor upwards at each stroke. He was preparing an aethermail at high speed:

” Cratchit:

Please order one high Quality, sturdy and heavy walking cane for myself. Head silver. End sharp and silver as well; I hear good things about BoyBaton and there is a nearby dealer. Should include good cleaning rag that is red in color. I expect delivery later this evening at my home.

M. Screwed KEO - FauxThoughtsLTD

”

The man slammed the send button and his aether ball flamed. He watched the pair on his employee’s desk. His mail was printing out on Cratchit’s open task list that gave him additional work when all cylinders were already fully engaged.

The office was silent and that always made Scrooge angry. “Where is that layabout, Cratchit? It’s already 7:30AM. Well, he knows the penalty of tardiness. It’s clearly written in the employee handbook.”

Scrooge walked by rows and rows of huge metal cylinders. He looked up but could barely see the huge steel ball hopper and the chutes to each cylinder. Nothing was happening and Scrooge hated to see the stillness. The quiet needed to be displaced to drown out the noises in his head.

“Soon. FauxThought will be everywhere. The Great Steam Cloud will allow anyone to ask FauxThought on their own. No more meat issues in the middle of pure mechanical thinking,” thought Scrooge.

Scrooge heard the office door opening and he checked the clock, “7:33AM. Cratchit just saved me $3,000.”

A young man with a ratty top hat with very tight bands walked into the open plan office. Cratchit was the only employee and as such, the open plan was him sitting at a table. His boss, if ever seated, was positioned directly behind Cratchit but always in full sight. Of course, Screwed would often need to correct Cratchit directly with constant feedback and metric evaluations of Bob’s recent performance.

Bob wore an absurdly huge white scarf that he always wrapped around his shoulders. The drafts were known to carry the deaths or the dead according to Bob’s wife. This was her personally built PPE for her husband.

Scrooge’s office needed to be cold and it was always much colder inside than out. The walls of deep blue ice around the cylinders kept the machines cool enough. Fans were available to assist in convection when needed. If the cylinders’ temperature weren’t well regulated, the results would be suspect.

“Happy Christmas Eve!” said Bob Cratchit, but he couldn’t help himself. He walked up to his employer in halting steps.

“Bah. Humbug. There are stacks of prompts waiting. Please get to work,” said the founder to his only employee. Screwed started to keep his pacing going and Bob followed a bit behind and wide from his boss; however, he did not want to yell at the older man.

“Of course, Mr. Screwed. Right away, but may I ask a favor?” said the young man as he itched where his hat was placed.

Scrooge sighed as he knew what was coming next, “Yes, Cratchit. We are family. What do you need?”

“Well, I know it’s not your favorite holiday, but I will not be coming into work tomorrow.” said the young man.

Scrooge stopped and sighed. He then replied coolly as he looked at Bob directly, “Yes, your time off is discretionary, Cratchit. Work and be paid. Can you afford the day off and spend all your money on gifts?”

Cratchit smiled at Screwed’s concern for his well-being, “I have been carefully saving as you recommended, Mr. Screwed. I can take a loan out and we’ll be fine. Thank you for your concern. One other small ask.”

Scrooge knew what came next and just said, “Yes, leave at 4PM, you can have a half day. Again, your time is your own. I pay you to work and when you work you get paid. Understood? Please get to work as I’d rather pay you for that than this conversation.”

Cratchit was delighted as this was easier than last time, “Thank you, Mr. Screwed. I’ll get right to work!” The young man looked around and found an empty space on the table. He opened his steampad and found his letter opener.

The stack of prompts sat in a large hopper next to the table. Bob pulled an envelope out of the hopper and neatly opened it with his letter opener.

“Please build a Salamander3-based steamdeck application to manage gruel portioning and onion management. M. Bumble” the text read. There were what appeared to be tear stains on the paper. Bob looked through the paper and saw “mor please” written in what appeared to be hidden ink.

Bob thought for a moment and then moved his hands quickly over the keyboard to avoid burns from the escaping heated vapor. He typed:

“We need a three-tiered locally hosted Salamander3 application. Separate layers between business and UX that communicate via messaging and not direct API access. Give me your full plan back and do not proceed until I confirm your architecture,” the pinscreen displayed. Bob appreciated the heat coming off the machine for a moment. He looked at the paper a bit more and thought.

“Ensure that primary API insists that each child receives adequate daily nutrition to build healthy bodies and minds. Include reminders as defaults for additional nutrition beyond simple gruel and onions. Include your understanding of the full requirements as part of the full plan requested in the earlier section of this prompt.” Bob typed at good speed before snapping the execute key.

Bob’s orb aethered upwards towards a cylinder and a chute shifted under the huge ball hopper that was continually refed from the complex ball recovery system under their feet.

The ball hopper rained down steel balls, the chute guided the stream into a now spinning and churning cylinder. Cratchit put on his ear mufflers as the sonic assault sent deep vibrations into his very teeth.

Bob moved on to the next envelope as Scrooge paced in front of the machines with ears uncovered.