SPACE BOSS THE LORD OF SPACE

Jeremy walked the spiralling passageways of his new workplace alongside his new workmate. The undulating echo of their footsteps carried far along the circular, ribbed corridor.
	“Hold tight to those bags, Jerem. You only ever drop them once.”
 He turned his head up at her with a pained look on his face. She wouldn't tell him her name.
	“Can you please not drop the 'y'?”
	“Why?”
Jeremy's lower lip quivered. Jerem sounded like germ, and germs were dirty and gross. She reached down and ruffled his hair in response. His breaths came short and shallow and his knuckles were white against the straps of the bag. A bead of sweat dripped from his brow and fell in between the folds of plastic.
	“Careful, Jerem! You know how the boss is with salt!”

  The corridor widened into a small room with a circular disc inset into it's centre.
	“Get the door, will you, Jerem?”
Hands trembling, Jeremy lowered the bags carefully onto the ground, and bent over the manhole sized cover on the floor. His short, squat fingers fumbled for purchase in the narrow gap between the trapdoor and the smooth metal of the floor. He managed to lift about a centimetre before a nail broke and it thudded back down into the ground. He turned back to his co-worker with a pleading expression.
	“Wouldn't this be easier with a pry-bar or something?” he whined.
She rolled her eyes at him.
He tried again, feeling himself on the verge of tears. Grunting, he managed, barely, enough height to shift his grip to the underside of the disc and slide it backwards along the floor. Tepid air wafted from the oubliette below like nausea rising from his stomach. In the gloom below, Jeremy could make out a bloated silhouette among the slick of grime and mold coating the base of the pit. The mouth stood illuminated at the apex of the figure; a maw hung ever open to accept its rightful tribute. Light glistened off of various cylindrical constructs that ran from the base of the figure into openings in the floor... though Jeremy could not see where they led. The jawline of the mouth curved inside outwards at its edges causing the teeth to unfurl like the petals of a lotus flower. Beholden to this motionless structure, Jeremy thought only that he might like to see a real lotus someday.

  His co-worker had walked away from him over to a wall glittering with red and green.
	“Get to it, Jerem. Don't miss.”
Jeremy fumbled with the bags, his hands shaking. Carefully, he tipped the contents down into the pit. The parcels made soft smacking sounds as they landed and slowly receded into the mouth below. A hissing sound issued from where his co-worker was standing, and she pulled a white sheet marked with pale blue from a crack in the wall. She looked over it briefly, then walked over to stare at a black panel on the other side of the room. Jeremy wandered over to the white sheet. He could not read, but he could see:

03122240
SYSOLF – NOMINAL
SYSPRT – NOMINAL
SYSMTHFL – NOMINAL
SYSTST – INADMISSABLE
*
*
*
*
*
MORE SALT

  Jeremy called out across the room.
	“What does this mean?”
She wouldn't answer. He moved to slide the lid back in place. At the sound of scraping metal she called out to him without turning around.
	“Leave it, Jerem.”
	“But what about-”
	“Just leave it.”
He paused. Her voice sounded slightly unsteady under the usual monotone.
	“Are we... done for today?” he ventured. She didn't answer. Jeremy stood patiently, staring at her back. Abruptly, she gave a start as another hiss issued from the wall behind them both. Jeremy turned to see another white sheet hanging from the crack in the wall. Neither of them moved. After a moment, he heard his co-worker behind him call out in a strained voice.
	“Will you get that for me, Jerem?”
Jeremy made two steps towards the wall before he felt something pull him by his shirt, backwards, into the hole behind him. He called out in shock as it closed over his face and shoulders, obscuring his vision. For a time, he struggled, then was still.

***

My ears have long since numbed to the sounds of footsteps in these halls. A young boy walks beside me; far too young if you ask me. Couples have long since numbed to my calls of protest every time another is conceived. Another mouth to feed. Another set of hands to feed. I see his grip start to slacken and I admonish him. He wants me to call him by his full name... Jerem meant twenty three in my native tongue, and while technically he is only the thirteenth I've worked with, it will do fine. Better than what he wanted. I can give him Jerem at least. He is sweating with exertion. I feel my stomach start to churn a little. I consider taking a bag off him, then remind myself that its best to keep these things at a distance.
  We enter the room. I tell him to get the opening. I'm far too emaciated these days for heavy lifting. He is still young, and likely stronger now than he will ever be. The novelty of a new member wears off around his age, and people stop caring. Give it another year or two and he would just be another gaunt face in the crowd. He asks for a pry-bar. I feel amused despite myself at the idea that you could only worry about something like that.
  He manages to lift it off and I catch a glimpse of the mouth before I shut my eyes and turn away to the wall mounted console. I hate that it reminds me of the roses in my backyard back at home. He starts emptying the bags at my behest. I dare not look. Instead, I take the report as it is printed and read over it. A lump rises in my throat at the last line... but what could I have done? I couldn't have carried it myself, and we didn't have the time or supplies to fetch another batch...
  I leave the paper hanging and walk over to the window to gaze out into the inky expanse. Used to be you could see at least a tiny pinprick of light. I try searching for it to take my mind off things, but its been a year and two months since I last found it. I hear him try to close off the opening. I wish I could ignore it and let him, but I know I can't. I call out to him. I wish he would just listen and stay quiet but he protests, if only briefly. I wish he would just stay quiet.
  A chill runs through me as I hear the printer run again. I know what is coming but I dare not look. I ask Jeremy to bring it to me. Better he doesn't see it coming either. I try not to listen, but the echo probably carried for at least a kilometre down the halls. After a time, I walk over to the printout. I feel like I'm going to throw up as I read it.

MORE SALT
MORE SALT
MORE SALT
MORE SALT
MORE SALT
MORE SALT

Another mouth to feed...