The Ssykes industry

As he lay in the hallway outside his room, Gerald's sleep was interrupted by the realization that he was being watched. He opened his eyes to see two enormous men standing over him. Their finely tailored business suits clashed with the scars and tattoos that covered their skin.

"Come with us," one of them said, as he wrapped his giant hand around Gerald and snatched him up.

The triple blue suns were not up yet when Gerald was tossed inside a luxury hovercar. Two giant men sat opposite him and two more sat on either side of him as the car flew away into the dark morning sky.

Gerald tapped on his knees nervously. He had seen eyes like theirs before. The feral dogs wandering the streets of old Salt Lake City had eyes like those. Unblinking eyes, that stayed locked onto him for any sign of movement.

"Um, am I about to be killed?" he asked nervously, but they only stared.

"Madame Ssykes wishes to speak with you," one of the men said at length.

This did little to calm his nerves as he looked out into the impressive skyline. He noticed a pillar of smoke rising up in the distance.

"Is that a fire? Where is that?"

The bodyguards remained silent as the enormous Ssykes logo loomed overhead. Beams of light strobed in through the tinted windows.

The car entered one of the smaller docking bays. Though the outside of the factory building was crisp and decorated, the inside was gray and utilitarian. Pipes, conduits, and cables lined the walls. Tall spires like monoliths rose up from the surface as the car wove further inwards. It reminded Gerald of the surface of the Death Star.

The car came to a stop, and the door opened. Gerald stepped out onto an expansive factory floor. Enormous fabrication machines line the walls. Workers moved about purposefully. Skivs and transports moved about in layers in the air, carrying and loading boxes and crates of every size and description. The Ssykes family crest was everywhere; a pair of serpents, their bodies braided together into the shape of a wreath, with a sword and sickle crossed at the center.

Gerald was led up to a stack of crates, twice as tall as he was, filled to the brim with fruits and vegetables.

"What is this?" he asked, looking around.

"It is the donation I promised you, dummy," Cha'Rolette said as she hopped down off of a passing skiv. "The first of many."

Gerald perked up. "Oh... oh good, I thought that you were going to have me... n-never mind."

She flicked her ta'atu back. "A Ssykes never goes back on her word."

Suddenly Gerald felt a little penitent for the way he had behaved. "I guess after the way things ended last night..."

"Come here, I want to show you something." She led him over to a wall which suddenly became transparent at her command. Before them were rows upon rows of spacious offices, with friendly décor. One area housed a lively party room where some of the employees were celebrating a birthday. Another area had an attentive daycare. Gerald watched as one of the employees walked in on his break to spend some time with his daughter.

"You think I'm such a menace, but take a look around. These people have a safe work environment, they receive an honest day's wage for an honest day's work. Loyalty is rewarded, and families are provided for. As they gain experience, their ability to produce is increased, and they rise through the ranks. They get more than just food and shelter; they get a sense of accomplishment. For everyone involved, the quality of life is improved. Is this the evil empire you thought it was?"

Gerald thought for a moment. "That depends. Do you want me to tell the truth or do you want me to say what you want to hear?"

She gave a superior sniff. "I'd know if you were lying."

Gerald wasn't quite sure he believed that, but then again he realized he really had no idea about the extent of her abilities.

"Okay, then. It's sterile and cold, but it's not as bad as I thought it would be."

"Don't get me wrong, I don't do this because they are dear to me or anything. Mistreating employees is simply bad for business, nothing more nothing less. The happier they are, the harder they work, so I make them happy."

"It's all just math to you, isn't it?" said Gerald.

"They don't have my love, no, but I don't ask for their love either. They aren't here because they like me, they are here because they have needs. I am here because I have needs, too. In ancient times, people killed each other to take what they needed, but we have found a better way. The genius of business is creating a system that harnesses greed and turns it into an engine for good. Here, everyone can fulfill their selfish needs without harming each other or taking from another. THIS, my dear Dyson, is the pinnacle of achievement. This is civilization. This is... everything" said Cha'Rolette.

Gerald looked around at the weary eyes around him. The vacant expressions. "If civilization means treating people like cogs, then maybe I don't want to be a part of it."

"Fine, go back to your dark ages. Go back to plagues, murder, rape, death, and tyranny, and see which you like better. Go back to a time when the strong took from the weak on a whim. You wouldn't last a day in a world like that."

"Perhaps not. I'm actually kind of surprised you know so much about earth's history" said Gerald.

"You forget I can link with Central Core from the wireless nodes here. I can instantly access your entire history. More than three thousand cycles of recorded history and your race never even colonized the other planets in your home system. It's pathetic. Even the Occatellans went from the invention of the wheel to rockets in a single generation, and they are morons! You humans basically spent your entire history murdering and enslaving one another" said Cha'Rolette.

She motioned to the people around them. "Say what you will about cogs, the reality is that cogs have value. Cogs have a function, cogs produce. On your world, life was worthless."

"You have a singular skill for saying things that are hard to hear in the cruelest way possible," said Gerald.

"But, it's true, isn't it?" asked Cha'Rolette.

"Yes, it is. But, you present a false choice. You speak of only two options: To live in a world where life has no value, or live in a world where life is reduced to a mere cog. I reject those options, I'm searching for another path" said Gerald.

"What else is there?" asked Cha'Rolette.

He grabbed the prayer beads around his neck meaningfully. "Something higher."

A skiv train floated by carrying stacks of boxed goods.

"But, I'll admit you have opened my eyes. From what I had heard, I guess I always thought that Ssykes Industries was more of a war machine than a Costco" said Gerald.

"Here, come over here, let me teach you about war."

The floor beneath them became intangible and they sank down through it as if it were water. It became solid again above them once they dropped down to a floor filled with moving conveyor belts and lines of workers standing and looking down at the empty belts thoughtfully.

"Now, you see those two workers over there?" She said, motioning to a pickle-faced and gelatinous pair of men who occasionally glared at each other from the corners of their eyes.

"They look like they hate each other."

"Oh, they do. For eight hundred cycles the sotarians and the boshweiks made war on each other once about every twenty minutes. Trillions of people were killed. For generations, religious leaders held prayer meetings, demonstrators waved their stupid little signs around, and beauracrats passed resolution after feckless resolution. Heck, they even had a campaign going for a while where everyone was supposed to wear these dumb little pink arm bands. None of it did squat to stem the bloodshed.

Then the Ssykes family acquired the trade rights to their systems. Nobody else wanted them; they said the market was too violent, so we got them for a song.

So my father makes it his little pet project. He starts building tish hatcheries in the sotarian swamplands, and somah mines out in the the boshweiks' mountain ranges. Why? Because he knew those bosh absolutely adore tish, but they won't grow on their world. Same goes for somah. Those sotas love it, but have no natural deposits.

So, they start trading, and the minute they started trading, the fighting stopped."

"But, they still hate one another" said Gerald.

"Of course they do; they despise each other. But peace isn't a feeling. Peace isn't love. Peace just means you stop pulling the trigger and swinging the axe. You see, now their interests are inter-related. The sotarians know that if they attack the bosh, they won't get any more tish, and the bosh understand the same about their somah.

I told you I'd tell you about war and business. Business makes peace. The more interconnected the worlds are, the more hesitant they are to attack one another. To hurt another is to hurt themselves."

"I'll admit, you make a persuasive argument. But, it isn't the business that's creating the peace, it's the connections between people that make it. There are other ways to do that, you know" said Gerald.

"Ah, yes. If we were all part of the same religion, there would be peace. Tell me, how many holy wars have been started from that line of thinking?"

"By mine or others?" asked Gerald.

"Yours."

"Then none. Conversion to Soeck must be voluntary or not at all. If it is coerced, it loses all meaning" answered Gerald.

"So, we are left with my path which works every day, and your path, which could work in theory but never has. I think it's clear which is superior."

"And Ssykes, with its monopoly of the bosh and sota trade routes, rakes in a ton of money, I presume" said Gerald.

She allowed herself a satisfied grin. "I would think that is a small price to pay to end the slaughter."

A pair of skivs passed too close overhead and bumped into one another. Heavy boxes came loose and fell, threatening to crush the workers on the assembly line.

Cha'Rolette held out her hand and the boxes paused in midair.

"Be careful," she ordered to the drivers as she levitated the crates back onto the skiv. "Any time there is a job injury the government takes a big juicy bite out of this place. You hear me?"

The skiv drivers breathed out apology after apology, and the line workers attempted to thank her, but she waved them back to work.

"Excuse me, Madam Ssykes," a manager approached, carrying an empty tray. "I have the new prototype model for you to approve."

Cha'Rolette's ta'atu rippled as she looked at the tray, her eyes faintly glowing.

"Try tightening the connection, it'll make it sturdier, and increase the alloy ratio."

"Yes, Madam Ssykes," he said as he walked back to his team. His lanyard snapped off and fell to the ground. Another man had the chin strap on his helmet break and it fell off him.

"That's weird," a third one said. "My zipper just broke."