Building the Future

Soleil closed her eyes against the glare of overhead LEDs and tried to relax. A man in white coveralls prodded at her face with the arcane instruments of progress.

Trust him, she urged herself. CacheCov is an innovative company. They’re saving humanity.

“This won’t hurt a bit,” he said. This was the first lie.

Forty minutes later, the technician elevated the exam chair and presented her with a mirror. Soleil held her fingers to her face. Her cheeks were tender and her throat burned like she’d swallowed rocket fuel.

“Subdermal implants,” the technician explained. “Essential for your role in the company.”

“How do I deactivate them?” she asked, her enhanced voice dulcet and strange to her ears.

“You don’t. The face of CacheCov doesn’t get time off. Company policy. Didn’t you read the contract?”

As with anything secretive and exciting, there had been a contract. A thick one. Earlier that day, Soleil sat in the gray, windowless room weeding through legal jargon while imagining the machinery of space exploration just beyond those walls.

She smiled at the technician and stood rose on unsteady feet. She closed her eyes to calibrate her bearings and quickly discovered smiling was the only expression the implants permitted.

The technician led her to another windowless room, black this time, and padded with soundproofing. Another CacheCon employee appeared, toting a microphone, a small camera, and a music stand.

“Read from this.” He clipped a script to the music stand.

Soleil studied the single sheet of paper. The script was only a paragraph; more white space than text. She shrugged. There were more arduous ways to earn a buck.

“CacheCon is building a brighter future off-planet! We’re deploying Earth’s greatest assets to develop communities at the far reaches of habitable space,” Soleil read. Across the room, workers adjusted lighting and sound. “CacheCon seeks highly motivated, fearless individuals to take the first steps in humanity’s next home. This is an unbeatable opportunity to push your boundaries and make the greatest contribution to society. No experience necessary. High compensation positions available.”

“That’ll do it.” The employee collected the equipment.

“That’s it? You don’t want…I don’t know, another take?” Soleil said. When he was halfway out the door, she called after him. “What about compensation? Should I wait for the check?”

“Stop by Human Resources on the way out,” he said with his back to her. She was alone in the padded room, left to her own devices.

Eventually, Soleil found her way to a lone desk in a nondescript atrium. A harried woman smiled at her, the first genuine smile she’d received all day. “You’re the new face of the company! I’ve been told to expect thousands of new hires, thanks to you.”

Soleil was puzzled. How did she know? Then, she found herself smiling too.

“Anyway, your first check will be deposited by end of day. It looks like—” the rattle of keys while the woman checked Soleil’s employee file “—you’ll receive bonuses for every new hire while your ad is being run, lucky thing. I can’t begin to tell you how many onboarding sessions I’ve had to prepare.”

“What will these new hires be doing, exactly?” Soleil asked.

“Building the future off-planet, of course.” The woman smiled again, tighter this time. “You’ve done your part. Now, go home and rest; the recovery for subdermals is murder.”

***

In the weeks that followed, Soleil’s grew to love her newfound corporate celebrity. CacheCon recruited aggressively, and she felt propelled to the nearest screen whenever her face appeared. The final product looked nothing like that padded room, no more than a stall. She was radiant. Giddy at her own beauty, she disregarded the words shaped by her voice.

In public, people flocked to her, quoting the story she was paid to tell. “Building a brighter future off-planet!” they called to her while she waited in the weekly queue for groceries.

While sheltering indoors during an intense heat flare, people shook her hand and requested photos.

“High-compensation positions available,” she’d remind them.

With each new hire, her compensation grew so steadily, she didn’t have to check her bank account before paying her daily rent. Whenever she looked up, she imagined the thousands of people she’d influenced, building a better future for humanity beyond this planet.

Weekly impressions reports became her newest obsession. She tallied up the spending on ad campaigns and the application rate.

Even without the data, she knew she was making an impact. The city felt different. The streets were emptier; her apartment building quieter.

Her face ached at the end of each day, but there were no breaks, not even for girls’ night. The liquid in her glass, bearing no resemblance to wine beyond being red and alcoholic, failed to take the edge off. Every few minutes her new voice emanated from every screen in their local bar.

Essie slid onto the stool next to Soleil’s, flushed and sweaty.

“I should appreciate the heat. It’s my last week living in it.” Essie hugged her friend and slid Soleil’s wineglass out of reach. “Dump the sludge. We’re drinking real shit tonight.”

“What’s the occasion?” she beamed at her friend.

Essie’s expression matched Soleil’s. “I accepted one of the high-compensation positions off-world you’re always talking about.”

Soliel felt her heart sink, but the implants held her grin steady. “You don’t have to do that,” she said.

Essie ordered the finest red: a 2043, the last vintage made from real grapes. “Of course I do. You convinced Alan to take the job. I received a transmission this week. He said things are going well and I decided to join him.”

“What else did he say? Did he mention anything about the journey? What kind of jobs does he have?” Soleil asked.

“Oh, not much. Men aren’t the greatest communicators, especially from 140 million miles away.”

“He sent his love, at least?”

Essie took a long sip. “Not in so many words. But we’ll be together soon.”

Wine roiled in Soleil’s stomach. Her brother sent a similar transmission a few weeks after accepting the job: the wording reminiscent of CacheCov’s recruitment propaganda, and so unlike him. There were no further messages.

“You have to tell me when you take off, at least. I’d love to come to your launch.” It might be the last time Soleil saw her friend.

“You’ve never seen one?” Essie asked, her forehead furrowed. She sighed and stared, dreamy-eyed, out the window. “I can hardly picture it. Me, in space? I’ve never been on an airplane! But if it were super dangerous, they wouldn’t let just anyone apply. It really is an unbeatable opportunity.”

Soleil followed her friend’s gaze, past the deserted street and into the smoky sky. Visibility was impossible; like gazing into a crystal ball. Who knew if they were up there: either the stars or the thousands of novice CacheCon employees between Mars and the asteroid belt. They might be thousands of bodies lying in an unmarked grave alongside the launch pad, if they even made it that far.

Either way, it meant fewer people on planet. Less competition for resources. This time next week, Soleil could have an entire bottle of wine to herself.

She’d had enough. She wanted CacheCov out of her mouth, the implants out of her head, and the blood off her hands.

Instead, she smiled and toasted her friend. Neither of them were long for this world, anyway.