We arrived at Aaron's workplace about fifteen minutes earlier than he needed to be there. Aaron was fulfilling his promise to talk to his boss about getting me a job.
I clutched my documentation tightly, just as I was instructed to. This was one thing that Dad and Aaron agreed about: documents lost meant identity stolen.
Aaron led me from the garage with trucks and cars to a door leading into an office section, where a few people were already at work. He knocked on a door with an air of familiarity, and a gruff voice barked, "What do you want on this Monday morning?"
I felt a lump in my throat, but Aaron pushed the door open without hesitation. "Hey, boss, I got a favor to ask." He pointed at me, adding, "I want to ask you to hire him."
The grumpy man scoffed.
I glanced around the small yet tidy space. Framed certificates hung on the walls alongside pictures of various mechanical parts. A cluttered desk piled high with papers occupied the center of the room, while a bulletin board crammed with notes and schedules took up the wall behind it. It was chaotic, but there was a sense of organization to it all.
Aaron pressed on. "I'm serious. He's a strong worker."
The grumpy man eyed me up and down. "He's a big fellow, I'll give you that... Kid, what can you do?" Aaron nodded encouragingly.
I swallowed hard, then said, "I know how to farm, but I'm willing to work hard on anything you want me to do. I'm willing and ready to learn."
Aaron slapped his forehead with a snap, and the grumpy man's mouth dropped open. After a few seconds, he laughed, a deep rumbling belly laugh. "Oh man, kid. You really are a hoot, but I don't have apples or grains for you to sow." He looked at Aaron, eyes narrowed. "Kid, where did you pick up this kid?"
Aaron smiled. "He's a friend, and he's an Old Worlder. He wants to experience the bigger world."
The grumpy man's expression softened just slightly. "Oh." I felt naked as he scrutinized me head to toe.
"Fine," the grumpy man sighed, relenting. "I'll risk it. I need a gofer in the warehouse anyway." He looked at me, eyes narrowing. "Please tell me you have your ID."
I nodded and pulled it out, handing it to him. He waved his hand dismissively. "I don't need it right now."
With a sigh, he got up and looked me over one more time.
"Get to work, Aaron," he grumbled, pointing at my friend. "I'll give your stray a chance for the week." Turning to me, he added, "Don't make me regret this."
"I won't, sir," I promised, feeling a mix of gratitude and nerves.
The grumpy man cracked a smile. "Well, at least you got manners, unlike these modern kids..."
Aaron gave me an encouraging grin. "I'll pick you up after my shift. Depends on your schedule. I'll show you public transit or something."
"Git!" The grumpy man barked suddenly, making me jump.
"Cheeky bastard," he muttered, shaking his head as Aaron rolled his eyes and walked away slowly. He then turned back to me. "The first thing you're going to need to do is register for a work permit. I'll set you up with an assistant. Please tell me you can read and write at least."
"Yes, sir," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.
"With a keyboard? Like typing?"
I nodded again. "Yes, sir. I'm not very fast, but I can."
"Let's go," he commanded, his heavy footsteps thudding on the floor as we walked through the office.
I followed the grumpy man out of his office to a corner of the office space, where a few computer screens and keyboards awaited me. He tapped through a few screens until a friendly face appeared on the monitor. It looked similar to the one that helped me at the art competition.
"How can I help you?" the digital assistant asked, its voice warm and inviting.
The grumpy man held up a card to the camera, his tone gruff as he spoke, pointing at me. "This whippersnapper needs help registering for a work permit and setting up with Public Works."
"Understood," the assistant replied, its digital eyes focused just past me. "I'd be happy to guide you through the process."
The grumpy man looked at me sternly. "You have about an hour. After that, I'm going to a warehouse to help organize the afternoon trucks. You can show me your willingness to work there. If you don't finish in time, you are up shits creek without a paddle, and I'm not working for the coast guard."
"Yes, sir," I said, nodding my head, blinking hard, trying to process what he meant.
With the grumpy man gone, I sat down in front of the computer. "Are you the same one I talked to earlier? A few days ago at the art competition?" I asked hesitantly.
The assistant's face briefly displayed confusion before returning to normal. "I do not have any record of your identity accessing the local governance support. Please provide me an image of your ID."
I held my ID up to the screen. The assistant said to show it to the camera. I raised it to camera level, only for the assistant to ask me to raise it a little higher. "Sorry," I mumbled, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks.
"It's okay, Eli," the assistant reassured me with an uncanny smile. "Do you want to get a full identification package?"
I hesitated. "I'm not sure."
"Okay," the assistant said, its expression changing to confusion for a moment. "It will only take an extra two pages of forms. I suggest getting the full package since the employer discount is covering this."
"Please indicate your local address," the computer instructed. I froze, realizing I didn't know Aaron's address.
"Um, I'm staying with a friend, but I don't know the address," I admitted sheepishly.
"Please give the name of a friend," the computer prompted.
"Aaron."
"Last name?"
"I don't know," I confessed, feeling increasingly ill-prepared.
"I understand. Please hold." the computer said as it paused for a moment. The screen flickered, and suddenly, a photograph of Aaron appeared next to an image of me and Aaron getting out of his car this morning. "Is this your friend?" the computer inquired.
I nodded, relieved. "Yes." Then I froze, realizing the reach the computer had over my life in the city.
"His address is updated, but I will still deliver your package to the employer's address by the end of the day," the computer informed me.
"Thank you," I said, grateful for its help.
"Alright, let's continue," the computer said as it opened a new page on the screen. "Page 1: Personal Information. Please state your full name."
"Eli Miller," I replied.
"Date of birth and personal and medical information is correct from ID?" it asked.
"Yes, sir," I confirmed.
"Place of birth?"
"Um, one of the villages. Not sure of the exact place."
"Current address?"
"I'm staying with a friend, Aaron, but I don't know the address."
"Marital status?" the computer questioned.
"Single," I responded, feeling my cheeks redden.
"Any dependents, please include biological, adopted, foster, and non-sapient/non-sentient?"
"No. None," I answered, shaking my head.
"Page 2: Medical Information," the computer continued. "Do you have any known allergies?"
"None that I know of," I replied.
"Any ongoing medical treatments or conditions?" it asked.
I shook my head. "No, I'm generally healthy."
"Last medical check-up?"
"We don't really do those regularly where I'm from," I admitted with a nervous, uncomfortable laugh.
"Emergency contact?" the computer inquired.
I blinked, unsure. "I'm not certain. Can you just put Aaron for now?"
"But you don't have his information, correct?" the computer asked, sounding almost concerned.
"Right," I said, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Can I update it later when I find out?"
"Correct and understood. Moving on," the computer said, transitioning to the next page. "Page 3: Taxable Information. What is your previous employment?"
I puffed out my chest with pride. "Worked on my family's farm, but I don't think that's taxable."
"That is correct," the computer confirmed. "Old Worlders are exempt from taxation while residing on their reservation spaces. Any other sources of income?"
"No, just the farm work," I said, my voice trailing off. "And I guess not even that right now. That's why I'm trying to get a job..."
"Do you have a tax identification number?" the computer asked.
"I don't think so," I replied, shaking my head.
"Very well," the computer said. "I'll register you for a new tax identification number then. Please hold."
A moment passed as I waited. The computer beeped before returning its attention to me.
"Alright, your tax identification number has been appended to your packet."
"Page 4: Banking Information. Do you have a bank account?" the computer asked.
"No, I don't," I replied, looking at my hands. The concept of money was still so foreign to me.
"Setting up a government-backed bank account for you now. Will you need help managing it?" the computer inquired.
I sighed, feeling overwhelmed. "Yes, probably. I'm not familiar with banking systems. I'm hoping Aaron will help me."
"Please wait," the computer said as it worked on setting up my account. "Your account is set up. Training materials will be given with your packet. Moving on to Page 5: Group Affiliations. Are you part of any political, social, or cultural groups?"
"Um, just the Old Worlder community, I guess," I answered hesitantly.
"Any memberships in professional or trade organizations?" the computer asked.
I shook my head. "No, nothing like that."
"Alright, that concludes the registration. I'll process the information now," the computer informed me. As it did so, I looked around the room, taking in the details. I was alone in the quiet space, with walls adorned with posters about various things—employment laws, safety regulations, pictures of cats, and motivational quotes.
The other computer stations were dormant, but I couldn't shake the feeling that they were watching me. I tried to push that thought out of my mind and focused on my plans and goals. There must be a way to leverage the stories Aaron mentioned, something I could sell to make a living or at least some extra pocket cash. I'd have to ask him for guidance or maybe find a place where I could study and learn.
Pulling out my notebook, I jotted down a note to remind myself to talk to Aaron about it later. It felt good to have a plan, even if it was just a small one.
"Your registration has been processed," the computer announced, snapping me out of my thoughts. "You may now leave."
"Thank you. When or where will I get the paperwork?" I muttered.
"Everything will be delivered shortly to your email, and a package will be sent via courier drone by the end of the day," the computer said.
I sighed, relieved that the registration was finished. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate your assistance."
"You're welcome, Eli. Good luck in your new job." The computer's simulated smile felt strangely comforting as it disappeared from the screen.
I stood up, stretching my back and arms, feeling the satisfying pops and cracks of my knuckles. It was time to find the grumpy man, but I had no idea where his office was. Everything in this building looked the same, a maze of identical hallways and doors. Thankfully, he found me instead.
"Are you ready?" he asked, looking more annoyed than curious.
"Yes, sir," I replied, eager to get started. He waved for me to follow him without a word.
As we exited the building, I followed him across the street to another structure that looked almost exactly like the one we'd just left. Stepping inside, I was immediately struck by the warehouse's immense size. Towering racks stretched towards the ceiling, filled with neatly organized boxes and various items, each labeled with codes and numbers. Several forklifts maneuvered between the aisles with practiced ease, their operators focused and efficient. In one corner, I spotted a couple of things that resembled power suits from some of the movies I'd seen, their metallic frames glinting under the bright, harsh lights.
The atmosphere inside the warehouse was electric, in contrast to the quiet office I had just left. Workers moved with purpose, some carrying hand-held electric devices while others operated machinery. The air was filled with the sounds of beeping machines, the clatter of items being moved, and distant conversations.
The floor of the loading dock was a kaleidoscope of color, each square marked with a floating banner displaying lists of text. I squinted, trying to make out the words, but they danced just out of reach, too far and too tiny for me to discern.
"Hey, lazy bums, the boss is here!" The grumpy man called out, and a weak chorus of "Hey, boss" echoed through the cavernous space.
"Alright," the grumpy man said, turning to me. "Try to keep up with who I'll assign you to. Then I'll decide to keep you or cut you loose." He gestured toward a worker walking towards us.
I gulped, mentally preparing to prove my worth.