1. Following submission of this signed agreement, I will not rescind my intent to join the Bureau without good cause.
2. I agree to abide by all rules, requirements, and policies as stipulated by the Bureau in the Conditions of Employment.
3. I will submit all documents required by the Bureau in a timely manner.
4. I will never make false statements to the Bureau for any reason.
I hadn’t even begun to work yet, but I could already feel a headache coming on. What was even the point of a document like this? Did they really think they could compel honesty with a signature on a little agreement? I’d always thought the entire point of having a fully integrated AI network was to stop wasting people’s time with redundant, meaningless paperwork.
I turned the page and came to the section entitled “Conditions of Employment,” which was an even longer list of rules that I was not about to read under any circumstances. They couldn’t make me read or sign any of this; I dismissed the holofield and made the executive decision not to waste any more brain power on this bureaucratic nonsense. Just then, I heard the shwip of my seat belt tightening about me, and I looked out the window to see that we were making our descent into one of the local stations.
After a remarkably soft landing, I undid my seat belt, grabbed my luggage, and stepped out of my private compartment and off of the plane, where I was greeted by a large sign reading TESHIKAGA STATION. A moment later, the doors closed behind me; though it was a six-seater transit plane, I’d been the only one on board. I’d read that in the old days, when fuel was scarce, they used to cram hundreds of people onto a single massive aircraft, and there were only a small selection of “airports” one could actually fly to.
The plane immediately pivoted and took off again, flying back toward Tokyo. I spotted a car I could only assume was my ride driving up to the lot. I found it baffling that it hadn’t been right here waiting for me, considering courtesy cars were fully automatic and had access to the plane’s flight plan. Perhaps Titan didn’t work quite as efficiently out here in the country as it did back in the big city. Either way, the car rolled up in front of me—but when the back door opened, I scowled.
“Get in,” Narain said.
12
“I see you failed to submit those documents I sent you.”
“Why would I ever do something so obviously pointless?” I was grouchy, not even attempting to hide my unhappiness at his presence. He shot me a look, then exhaled loudly.
“Well, I suppose you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he said. “It’s more of a formality than anything.”
This time, it was me who furrowed my brow and shot a look at him. So it really was pointless, then. Had he just been wasting my time as a joke?
“Don’t get it wrong. All I said was you don’t have to do it,” he added, reading my reaction. “I never said it was pointless.”
“Oh, really? Then what’s the point?”
“Imagine you had to work to survive, and I’m your prospective employer. I’ve got the power in this relationship, because you need this job to put food on the table. But I’ve also got a business to run, and profits to make, so I make you promise me that you won’t walk off the job or be insubordinate. Because I can. I’m the one offering the job. That’s what contracts are for—to make sure the employee always gets the short end of the stick. Been around for as long as the idea of work itself.”
“They sure loved their corruption back then, didn’t they?” I said, thoroughly disgusted. From the way he made it sound, work was little different from ancient slavery. They’d dressed it all up to look more presentable with modern laws and contracts and so forth, but the core idea remained the same.
“Anyway, I won’t sit here and insist that you sign the contract,” Narain said. “But you do at least need to be aware.”
“Aware of what?” I asked.
“That all work is predicated on antiquated customs, even now.”
“Oh, so did you sign such a contract?”
“Not saying that.”
I tilted my head to the side; I had officially lost the plot. I couldn’t possibly fathom what significance contracts could have if nobody ever signed one.
The car whizzed down the streets of metropolitan Teshikaga. With its rows upon rows of high-rises, it didn’t look all that different from Tokyo. While there was obviously plenty of undeveloped land up here compared to Honshu, the urban zone was fairly built up.
Land development was one of Titan’s most important tasks. All across the world, its vast network of automated heavy machinery worked ceaselessly to flatten hillsides and alter terrain in accordance with the grand long-term development plans the AI had envisioned. Which did of course account for things like balancing sustainability with the overall rate of societal expansion, but with more than half the earth’s land still completely untouched by humanity, the common understanding was that we wouldn’t reach the point of equilibrium for many generations to come. And so Titan’s heavy machinery geoengineered the very planet, reclaiming land by leveling mountains and filling in the seas—though always with a team of environmental protection phalanges in tow to help preserve the local ecosystems. It was thanks to this that we finally had access to more land than we could ever possibly want, and could have Titan develop it for us however we saw fit.
The city of Teshikaga in the Kushiro Conurbation was one of the very first areas in the entire world to experience geoengineering at Titan’s hands. The reasons for this were twofold.
Once out of downtown, we traveled through vast fields of lush greenery. We’d just crossed over the line where Titan had delimited the border of urban development. From there, the road sloped upward, and the car began a valiant ascent up the small mountain. Not ten minutes later, we arrived at the summit, and a panoramic view splayed itself across the tempered glass windows. It was a blue more brilliant than the sky, emerging from the very earth.
“Lake Mashu…” I whispered reverently, letting the name of that ethereal pool linger softly on my lips. Surrounded on all sides by a steep volcanic crater, its waters were supposedly the second clearest in all the world. With its surface spanning twenty square kilometers, and with a depth of over two hundred meters, it bore such spiritual significance to the Ainu people that they dubbed it the Lake of the Mountain Gods. I quickly reached into my bag and pulled out my camera. I rolled the window down and snapped a shot of the gorgeous scenery, capturing it forever in silver nitrate. With the inverted clouds reflected perfectly on the mirror-like surface of the still lakewater, I almost couldn’t believe it wasn’t CG. This view alone was worth the plane trip.