Fiction: Doom Operator

By Allen Seward

 

It was first-thing in the morning, before he could even get his first cup of coffee, when Joe Harmon was called to the office. It was an emergency. He got there and walked across the mossy green carpet he saw every day, passed by the cubicles where he would usually go to conduct his business, and walked straight ahead toward the management side of the floor. On the way he bumped into Ted, Mona and Mike, who were all heading in the same direction. 

            “What happened? He sounded pissed on the phone…” Hushed tones. No one wanted to be overheard, even though they were the first ones to arrive at work. There were ears and eyes everywhere though, surely. 

            It was all very strange. Why would the four of them specifically be called into the office, and by an uproarious boss no less? There was hardly any overlap in their day-to-day responsibilities, and any time stolen from the Company by idleness and chit-chat was usually handled in a much different way. None of them had any clue what they were walking into. 

            “I see you all took your time getting here,” said the boss, Rick, as the four of them stepped into his office. “We’ve got a big problem on our hands, and as far as anyone can tell, you four—or one of you at least—happen to be responsible…” 

            “We’re going to be talking to each of you individually,” said a tall thin man standing in the corner. All four of the inquisitees could tell he was from the Resources Department. “It’s imperative that we get to the bottom of this.” 

            “What happened?” asked Mona. She was holding herself together as best she could—as were the other three—but the tone of the room was absolutely dire, so her nerves were hard to keep in check. “Will you at least tell us what’s going on?”

            “The four of you were the last ones who entered the control room,” said Rick as he leaned forward and placed his chin atop his knuckles. “We know that much. Now we just need to find out which one of you pressed the Big Red Button…” 

            “Yes,” chimed in the Resources Officer. “One of you pressed the Big Red Button, and if you have any decency at all you will just own up to it right now and make all of our lives a lot easier.” 

            Joe, Ted, Mona and Mike all dropped their mouths open when they heard that. Someone had done it? Why would anyone press it? The shock was too much for any of them to even shoot glances at one another, or formulate deductions as to who was likely responsible. 

            You see, the Big Red Button caused the end of the world. Planet Earth—as well as anyone and anything on it—was no more. 

 

“Why don’t we start with why you were in the control room? Walk me through it…” The Resources Officer leaned on the table in the interrogation room. He declined to sit—most likely because his looming form might intimidate or at the very least unsettle Joe. 

            “I needed to pull my end of day report,” said Joe. “I wasn’t even on the same side of the room as the Button. Honest. I just walked in, pulled what I needed, and went back to my desk to finish my day.” 

            “Hmmm…” the R.O. nodded his head. “So you’re in that room every day then? I bet it must have been tempting to press it…you must have thought about it at least once…” 

            “I mean, back when I started maybe. I was a lot younger then. But I stayed clear of that Button ever since its purpose was explained to me. In fact, I recommended multiple times that a cover and lock be put on it.” 

            “A cover? A lock? Why? Because you just couldn’t keep your grubby fingers away from it?”

            “Well no. I just thought that something that important shouldn’t be left out in the open. I mean, something could just fall and hit it, right?” Stupid, Joe thought. Why did I say any of that?

            “Hmmm…” the R.O. nodded his head. 

 

The interviews went very much the same for the other three: Ted, Mona and Mike all said they went into the control room when they did to collect their reports, or data for their reports, and none of them had pressed the Big Red Button. This, of course, was unbelievable to the R.O., and they could all tell. It would be even more far-fetched to Rick when he was briefed on the details of the interview. 

            “That’s bullshit!” he slammed his fist down onto his desk. The Resources Officer just shrugged. “The Button was pressed, and they’re the last four names on the log! They just think they’ll get away with it if they keep quiet!”

            “That’s how these things go,” said the R.O. “Nobody wants to be punished, so they’re definitely not going to put themselves up for punishment. I think if we keep pushing we can get the responsible individual to crack…” 

            Of course you think that, Rick thought. Somebody will own up to it eventually and get us out of Limbo…

 

The control room required a sign-in for the door to open. This is what logged the employee ID into the system. This also happened to be the end of security protocol in regard to the control room. Once the Big Red Button was pressed, the world ended in its own way—on its own time—so there was no way to trace it to what time the incident occurred. Some would blame budget cutbacks for this oversight, and while this was true to a large extent, laziness also played a great role. You see, things had operated so smoothly for such a long time. What were the odds that something catastrophic would happen?

            “Mr. Harmon said he recommended we put a cover and a lock on the Button…” 

            “A lot of good that will do us now!” snapped Rick. 

            “No, I mean before…” 

            Unbeknownst to any of them, this was a prime example of the laziness (and negligence) at play: that very cover and lock and key happened to be sitting in the storage room, it had just never been installed. Should the label on the box be run through the system, it would be discovered that the cover had arrived on site years ago. It had been signed for and everything. 

 

“Do you think we’ll get fired?” asked Mona. She sat next to Joe in a chair outside Rick’s office. Ted and Mike sat a little further down the hall. 

            “What do you mean?” asked Joe. “Will they fire us all if they can’t figure out who did it?”

            Mona nodded. 

            “I guess that’s a possibility…” 

            Joe leaned forward and began to twiddle his thumbs—it’s all he could do as he waited. He hadn’t thought of the possibility of being terminated—not really—because he knew for a fact he did not press the Button. One of the other three did, and whoever it was would rather they all be canned than fess up. 

            “Did you do it?” he asked. 

            “What? Of course not!”

            Of course, Joe thought. then again, what did he expect?

            Ted was having similar thoughts on the matter. Like the other three, he was sure it wasn’t him, but the thought of getting fired along with the guilty party was eating him alive. He had an idea, though—one he was not proud of, but it would definitely save him and the others—all he needed was for Mike to go to the bathroom, or be called back in. He just needed a moment alone with Joe and Mona. 

            And Ted would be in luck. It just so happened that Mike did not care one bit that the four of them had been told to “stay put,” and he wanted a cigarette. 

 

“Listen,” Ted rushed over to Joe and Mona, crouching in front of them and speaking in hushed tone. “I’ve got an idea, but I need both of you to be on board for it to work. I know I didn’t hit that Button, and frankly I don’t care if either of you did. We can all agree that it was Mike and not us, that way only one of us goes down instead of risking all four of us being out of a job…” 

            Joe and Mona sat stunned. Not only had they not expected Ted to rush over and talk to them, but they definitely had not been expecting that. 

            “I don’t know,” said Mona once she composed herself. “That’s awful slimy…” She didn’t like the thought of it, but she wasn’t totally against saving her own skin. 

            “You think I feel good coming up with this?” Ted shot a glance at Rick’s door, knowing it could open at any moment. “My mother just moved in with me. I’ve got to help with her medical bills and take care of her—that’s a lot of work and money—I can’t afford to lose this job. Mike’s only been here for what, a year? He’ll bounce back a lot better than any of us: he’s young, single, a bright guy too…” 

            “I still don’t feel good about this…” 

            Of course no one felt good about it! This was a low and despicable idea, a breaking of all manner of social code and contract. There was no place in civilized society for behavior such as this… Then again, history is a tale of people doing awful things to one another all across time, for all manner of selfish reasons. This is how civilized society was built. 

            If anything, Rick should be on the chopping block. The Button had been pressed under his watch after all. Button aside, there’s no telling how many legitimate issues had been brought to his attention over the years only to be brushed aside. The office functioned best when he was on vacation, or a work trip, or when he wanted to day drink in his office—so long as he stayed out of matters, everything went smoothly. 

            But he would face no reprimand. Instead it would be Joe, Ted, Mona and Mike…or just Mike… 

            Joe stood to his feet without a word. 

            He had been working there longer than anybody, but all his requests for advancement had been denied. He had the knowledge required to do Rick’s job, or even be Rick’s boss, but he lacked the qualifications. Maybe he should have pushed harder in his younger years… No. He pushed hard enough: all that overtime, a workload fit for three-or-four people, hardly any days off… But all of that was behind Joe, and he was never going back. 

            Out of the four of them, Mona was the second-most seniored employee. Why should she have to suffer over someone else’s mistake? A slap on the wrist or even a suspension would be one thing, but facing termination? Absolutely not. 

            All-in-all, Ted made a fair point. The three of them had too much to lose, had given too much already. But, Joe thought, this wasn’t just some selfish decision—it was survival. Was that merely his justification for going through with it? Of course. But justification is all that matters in regard to covering your own ass. 

            Joe walked over to Rick’s door and placed his hand on the handle. He looked back at the other two. “Come on,” he said as he knocked on the door. 

            “What on earth is it?” Rick called from inside, agitated as usual. 

            Joe opened the door and the three of them stepped inside. Mike had not returned yet. 

 

“What do you mean?” Rick rubbed his temples when Joe told him the news. “Mike did it? You’re all sure? Why didn’t any of you bring this up in your interviews?” Rick was a little resistant to the revelation, but Joe knew he would not take much convincing—not when it came to closing a case like this. 

            “Well,” said Joe, “we weren’t too sure what we saw, I guess. At least not until we talked out in the hall…” 

            “Right,” cut in Mona. “I saw Mike dart out of the control room, and thought it was odd to see, I didn’t think anything of it at the time.” 

            “Yea,” Joe went on, “and I remember him looking real nervous. Even outside while we were waiting—he was sweating bullets—I think that’s why he went out for a smoke.” 

            “And what about you?” Rick looked at Ted. “Did you also notice anything about Mike?”

            Ted sighed and nodded his head. 

            “I must have seen him right after Mona. He paced around the office a bit, shaking his head and muttering, and then he went outside for a smoke. Really out of character, if you ask me…” 

            Rick continued to rub his temples. He opened his mouth to say something but the phone rang. 

            “I have to take this,” he said as he shooed the three of them out with his hand. 

 

“What’s going on?” asked Mike as they stepped out of Rick’s office. 

            “Oh, Rick just wanted to go back over things with us,” said Joe as he sat down. “He said he would get with you in a bit. He’s on a call right now.” 

            “Oh…” 

            Was it enough? There was nothing in the handbook about looking nervous or muttering. Then again, it was Rick: of course that would be enough. He wanted nothing more than to have this matter resolved. 

            Joe looked over at Ted and Mona. They both had their heads down and were staring at their laps. They both looked guilty of an awful crime, Joe thought. Had his years on the workforce really numbed and warped him so much? He did not like what the three of them had done—what he had taken part in—but Joe didn’t show it one bit. There was nothing to show. He only technically had something to hide.

            This was a matter of survival, after all. 

            Besides, the whole thing had been Ted’s idea. Why did he look so worse for wear? He had no right…

            “Mike! Come in here—I need to talk to you…” 

 

It was not explained in detail to the mid or lower level employees, but as it turned out, the destruction of the planet known as Earth proved to be very profitable for the Company. Restructuring was set to take place and business strategies were being reevaluated. 

            The most immediate step on the Company’s new roadmap was to promote Mike to the role of President of Corporate Strategy. He had shown himself to be a no-nonsense pioneer of Company interest with his decision to press the Big Red Button—consequences be damned—and by doing so he showed real leadership material. Now Mike wasn’t just Rick’s boss, but he was Rick’s boss’s boss, too; whatever he had to say would be heard, and all plans put into effect immediately. Mike had—accidentally—become the star child of the entire Company. 

            He had no idea why his fortunes had changed so abruptly, but Mike was not one to question these things—especially with the level of pay and respect accorded. One minute he was being interrogated about something he did not do, and just like Joe, Ted and Mona he feared for his own employment, and the next minute he was being heralded as a hero of the Company, a man of action with big ambitions; he was given a big promotion and all the while just smiled and nodded. 

            Funny how things change after one cup of water was spilled in the control room. In all fairness, Ted had not even noticed that he had pressed the Big Red Button just enough to activate it as he wiped up his mess—it did not click or flash or show any indication at all that it had been touched in the slightest. As far as Ted knew, he was innocent. 

            Joe was very bitter about Mike’s promotion, but as always he kept his head down and his mouth shut. He would continue to do his work as he always did, knowing he would never move up the Ladder. “Hope you enjoy it,” he muttered as Mike walked by during one of his visits. 

            Mona did not care at all about Mike’s new position. She did feel relieved that things worked out for him—it alleviated what guilt she felt—but more than anything Mona was just glad it was all over and back to normal, ready to be forgotten about—which is exactly what she did. 

            “How are we doing today, Mr. Swanson?” asked Rick as he extended his hand, a large smile on his face. He, too, was mostly just glad the unpleasantness—and extra work—was behind him. He understood that Corporate maneuvers were—much of the time—indistinguishable from random chance. “Did you have a good trip?”

            “Same as always,” said Mike as he shook Rick’s hand. “No longer or shorter than any other time.” 

            Rick laughed. 

            Mike was on site to oversee his big project. He was to implement his next great idea and really impress the shareholders. What was it going to be? Mike didn’t know at first; he mulled it over but nothing came to him, his lucky break had been completely out of his control after all. He was absolutely terrified and spent many sleepless nights fretting over it, sure that he would embarrass himself and get fired, until, finally, a lightbulb popped on and his big idea came to him—he honestly could not believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner. 

            People love the hits after all. 

            The Big Red Button, after being pressed and completing its function of destroying Earth, was useless. It sat on the control board taking up space, having no prospects at all, a shadow of its former self. Well, Mike thought, if the destruction of Earth had been so lucrative for the Company, why not upgrade the Button so it could do the same thing to another planet?

            So that’s what he did. 

            The project was finished and the Button was pressed again—this time with a big ceremony—and Mars was kaput. The Company’s stock price soared. 

            “Well, what’s next?” Mike thought for a moment. This time the idea was not long in coming—it had been there all along, actually. 

            Another planet. Another. The entire solar system could go. And then? The galaxy, that’s what. 

            It was just a matter of making a few modifications to the Button. 

 

“Wow,” Mike sighed as he laid back in bed. He was due for another promotion, he knew. He was on the fast track. Various other locations had followed suit with the use of their own Red Buttons, but that’s just what they were—followers. There was no aplomb to their efforts to raise the stocks. They were simply treated as if they were doing the bare minimum, and no one applauds those who are simply doing their jobs.

            “That’s got to be some kind of record,” he said to himself. 

            The phone rang and he saw it was the Company calling him. Some kind of crisis only he could handle, probably. Mike looked at the screen for a moment as the phone vibrated in his hand. It was surely some sort of emergency, but Mike knew that a man of his status could put it off until tomorrow. Who was going to tell him otherwise?

            Mike looked at the phone a moment longer and then pressed the little red button on the screen and silenced the racket. Whatever it was, it could wait. 

            He set the phone on the nightstand next to the bed and then laid back and closed his eyes. A few minutes later, he was asleep. 

 

 

 

 

 

Allen Seward is a writer from the Eastern Panhandle of West Virginia. His work has appeared in Scapegoat Review, The Charleston Anvil, and The Broken Teacup, among others. He currently resides in WV with his partner and five cats. 

@AllenSeward1 on Twitter, @allenseward0 on Instagram