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Stories from the Verse
Multiverser: The Thirteenth Story
Chapter 16: Beam 201
Table of Contents
Previous chapter: Brown 369
As he led his team following Sharon, she went through a blue-handled door into what he would have called a tunnel, although as an afterthought if it were an underground dungeon he’d have called it a hall or corridor. He noticed almost immediately that there was a noticeable gentle breeze running through it. Of course, he thought--Styrofoam would generally be airtight, so atmosphere has to be mechanically circulated. He didn’t notice it so much in the domes, where there was a lot of open space and the air could move slowly, but now that he was in a hallway it was noticeable. He wanted to ask whether it was much further, but Bob’s voice came into his head, she thinks almost there.
Blue must be the maintenance section.
They passed through another blue-handled door, and came to a smaller dome that had the feel of an office, with a counter behind which were several desks, shaped blocks of Styrofoam with tabletop veneer of another harder plastic. It reminded Beam of a television set for a police station. Someone said, “Can I help you?”
“I’m Sharon,” their leader said, “from F-41. One of our doors broke.”
“How did it break?” The man’s voice was stilted and pained.
Beam stifled the urge to tell them that he pushed on it. For the moment, he should see what consequences might come.
“I don’t know; I didn’t break it. What I do know is that these people came through the door, and it was broken.”
“All right, thank you. We’ll dispatch a repair crew as soon as we have someone available.”
“This should be a grade B priority,” Sharon suggested. “We’re a pressurized food production area.”
“Noted. We can’t send anyone until we have someone.” Beam could hear the annoyance in his voice--someone who was always dealing with people who thought their problem was the most important problem in the world and should be treated as such immediately.
“Thank you,” Sharon said, and pivoting sharply on her heel headed back the way she came.
The man behind the counter now looked at Beam but not at his face, and, sighed, and said, “And how can I help you?”
“You seem to be more intelligent than others I’ve dealt with,” Beam began, and a flash of irritation went across the man’s face.
“You think just because I am autistic you can play mind games on me. Well, don’t.” Beam looked at him more closely, and noticed that the man was looking at the wall, and not at any of them specifically--which was odd as the average guy would take more than a glance at Sophia with her brilliant red hair and curvaceous figure. Beam inhaled.
“The others I met seemed a bit dim.”
“Oh, that’s the emotion regulator. Without strong emotions to fuel focus or intensity, the workers are spared the problems of hyperemotionality like violence and despair. We in Maintenance are different.”
“Autistic?”
“Yes! Neuroatypical. The many-colored men can trust us because we stay focused on our jobs, and do not socialize to cause disruptions.” He was looking as if he wanted to shout. “Do you have to have so many of you crowded about my desk?”
Beam decided to stay calm, and despite the fact that the desk was on the other side of the counter he motioned everyone back. The man then took a look at Bob, and his eyes bulged, and his hands went to his face, and he shrieked. Reaching under his desk, he yanked out a sword.
Dawn already had a gun pointed at him, and Bron readied his hammer, and Beam saw Ashleigh rise behind the guy with a weapon in her hands. The thing holding everyone back was that the sword was made of Styrofoam, and covered with wet blue paint.
As to the old stories that have long been here:
