CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Misery Loves Company

 

I tossed and turned in bed for what felt like hours. It wasn't the bed; that was comfortable enough. My thoughts spun and swirled around in my mind like a whirlpool that I couldn't swim out of. More questions but no answers. We’d finished the contract. Clearly, the business had the potential to be a success. So, why was I worried? Was I having second thoughts? Had this been a mistake? Why hadn't I just stayed home? What had been wrong with Jord? And why had he said what he did? Was I just “a mindless asshole who reads self-help books”?

 

Humans said, “Misery loves company”, and “Birds of a feather flock together”. Maybe we had never truly been friends; just two miserable idiots who’d bonded over things as shallow as our favorite beer and hunting.

 

Jord was dead asleep. Nothing would have woken him now; not even Melville's emergency horn. I ripped the sheets off and left for the ship. The night was cool, and low tide was setting in. Waves were no longer crashing against the beach; instead, they remained still, as the moon hung high in the distance. Nocturnal insects and tree-dwelling creatures sang their music of the night. If only that tranquility could have calmed the storm inside my head.

 

I slumped in my chair in the cockpit. It was the only thing that made sense anymore. It was the only familiar place; the only thing I knew the answers to. You pressed forward on the flightstick; the ship dove. You pulled up; it soared high. Simple effects from simple causes. But with the way I felt right then, I'd have been too afraid to fly it. The ship would have just crashed and burned into a smoldering pile of cinders, and I'd have been dead. No longer a blemish on the Cadel name.

 

I needed to divert my mind from such fatalistic thoughts. That wasn't me.

 

The old man would help me out. What did I need to do, Dad? I knew that I’d thrown away every and any piece of advice you’d ever told me. I’d been wrong. Your book had proved that, and it was the only thing still keeping me afloat.

 

I cracked it open to Chapter Eight: Managing Employees and began to read:

 

Employee, subordinate, peon, laborer, underling — the name has changed throughout the millennia, yet the role remains the same. They are the cogs in the machine, the foundation of the building, the fuel in the engine. Without a properly-managed staff of loyal and efficient workers, a business will ultimately collapse. No amount of customers or money will prevent this.

 

For simplicity, imagine the mass transportation business mentioned in previous chapters. Passengers eagerly await to board the Entrepreneur's buses or taxis, but the buses or taxis are late by five minutes, causing many of these passengers to be late to work or an appointment. This inefficiency continues for weeks, and at the end of the fiscal quarter, the Entrepreneur notices diminishing profits. In fact, they may even be over budget or “in the red”. Because of customer complaints, they discover their drivers have been routinely late.

 

The Entrepreneur is then faced with a single question: “What do I do?” Thankfully, an employee only needs reminding of the importance of efficiency in the workplace. The employee will then return to work with a renewed focus or perhaps even a morale boost.

 

Sometimes, however, this does not work. Sometimes, an employee must be terminated, and new talent must be brought in. An unfortunate side effect of a business' success is that it exists solely to earn money. A business is not your friend. A business is not a charity which exists to grant employment to those who seek it.

 

I continued to nod as I read further. I knew what had to be done. Tomorrow, once we left Melville, I'd have a sit-down with Jord and hash out my problems with him. He’d said it himself: I was the CEO. I was the boss. The guy in charge. From now on, things were going to be done my way, and he couldn't just get drunk and throw insults at me anymore. He’d made our company — and especially, me — look stupid in front of the Melvillians. It wasn’t good for our brand if we were still going to do this. If he didn't comply, then I'd terminate him. He could keep the guns; those were replaceable. I'd find new talent.

 

I decided to take a break to reflect. I closed the book and tucked it into my jacket. I watched the last of the Humans leave the recreation area. They laughed and stumbled as they sang old tunes off-key.

 

For a brief moment, I missed the times when I, too, had been carefree, and paying the bills had been my only responsibility; when I'd come back from a long hauling gig and unwind at Tilu's until the next assignment. If only the damn market hadn’t crashed, and I hadn't lost my job.

 

The torches went out, and the beach was now in darkness, with only the distant moon and stars for ambient — but fleeting — light. I stretched my arms and legs, leaned back in the captain's chair, and propped my feet up on the control console. My eyelids grew heavy, and my breaths slowed and deepened. I imagined myself on my couch back home, with air-conditioning that worked.

 

My state of consciousness waxed and waned for a time, until the hands of sleep gripped me by the shoulders and pulled me under. Finally, a moment of peace, uninterrupted.

 

****

 

When I heard faint yelling, my awareness returned. I sat up straight and looked out the viewing port. An old guy was trudging through the darkness, hands stretched outward like he was lost in a fog or a jungle. Wait a second — it was Bed 30.

 

I shot up from my captain's chair, then sprinted through the ship and down the boarding ramp. I called for him. He needed to get back to the infirmary before he hurt himself — or someone else again.

 

“Hey!” I yelled. “Stop where you're going!”

 

He kept shuffling through the sand toward the ocean. I caught up and snatched him by his gown. Miraculously, he stopped. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “Let's get you back to your bed, buddy. Wouldn't you rather sleep in a bed instead of on the sand?”

 

He stood there, just staring out into the ocean. His knees and ankles buckled, cracking as he collapsed to the ground. I anticipated that he'd fall backward or forward, but he simply knelt instead.

 

“Pray for the eye,” he said.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I've heard that one before,” I said. “Do you have any other catchphrases?”

 

“The storm comes,” he whispered, his eyes focused on the still waters. He raised one arm and pointed out at the sea. “It will wash us away. Cleanse us.”

 

Finally, something of substance. I furrowed my brow. “What is that supposed to mean?”

 

He sat there in silence again.

 

I nudged him, urging him to answer me. Nothing. I waved my hand in front of his dead eyes. “Hey, you still there?”

 

“It will cleanse us. The storm.”

 

“Care to explain?”

 

He inhaled, but in the way someone would when they were surprised or shocked. Then, he laughed quietly, each breath accented by his raspy throat.

 

Chills shot up my back. “You didn't answer my question. What does that mean?”

 

He continued to chuckle. “He calls to me.”

 

“Who?”

 

The laughter ceased, his expression went blank, and his head slowly turned, until his eyes met mine. “I must leave.”

 

Bed 30 rose from the sand and stumbled toward the ocean. I stood and grabbed his arm, but he tossed me aside like a nagging pet. My face plunged into the sand. I looked up, spitting out mouthfuls of sand as I watched his bare legs touch the water. I shouted for him to stop, but he marched on.

 

His mind was too far gone and fried to a crisp like a ship that had flown into a star. In those crawling seconds, I asked myself: Should I stop him? Maybe the last shred of his sanity had spoken to me. He didn't want to be helped. He needed to free himself of the insanity, the uncontrollable behavior. Could I have deprived him of that? No.

 

My heart pounded in my chest, my breathing shallowed, and my throat tensed up. Even if I’d changed my mind and called out for help, my voice wouldn't have carried.

 

I lay there and watched his torso and head slowly disappear into the black waters, sending soft ripples outward. For a while longer, I stayed to see if he would come back up, if he would change his mind. Nothing. The water remained still, as if he had never entered at all.