Protocol

The unquiet that the office seemed permanently possessed by was so unsettling that periodically Sam had to disconnect her keyboard and hit the keys excessively loudly and rapidly to fill the air. This, of course, raised the ire of her colleagues, but since they were all conscientious and fastidious, they never took the time to make a formal complaint as it would be an excessive waste of time. She was especially fortunate for the military was no play for joy or personalities and was far more apt to terminate, or so she imagined, than reprimand. She lazily tapped the power button on her computer, whose symbol had long since worn off giving the blank black square an alluring sense of mystery immensely more intriguing than Sam herself, a fact which she begrudgingly had to acknowledge every time she performed her duty. The old yellowed monitor hummed and displayed the company logo, followed by the governmental regulations about spilling national security secrets. In fact, secrecy was so imperative that the divison was only ever referred to as “Logistics” and every soldier was given a random first name and stripped of their last. Sam regretted this policy as she preferred a glamorous name like Betty or Kate, but got the incredibly androgynous ‘Sam’. She lifted the phone receiver and typed in the usual extension, which never rings and never answers, and moments later the horrible suction noise indicated that her days task was in the Vac-U-Tube. She struggled to free the door from its clasp until it finally gave in with a clunk and squealed horrible as it slowly swung open. She grabbed the incredibly cheap feeling, and looking, official paper and resealed the door.

She carefully unfolded the paper and observed the that at the very least the font was a bit cheery and over time had become her favourite part of the day. That is, of course, until she read the actual words:

ADJUTANT: SAM

DATE: [REDACTED]

OFFICE: [REDACTED]

COLONY LOCATION: FOLLOW PROCEDURE MIL-2442-13

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION: [REDACTED]

CREDENTIALS:

TRASA

AbnJU76yYH6bR

8:31:02 - DESTROY IMMEDIATELY UPON RECEIPT

Sam pulled out the keyboard which screeched like nails on a chalkboard. Maintenance was not an understood concept here. She impatiently tapped the space bar waiting for the computer to respond. After hanging for awhile the cursor jumped to life and she input today’s login information. The extremely dated green-hued system flashed into existence. The Federated Coalition didn’t mention the military possessed vintage technology. Though it was quite easily to imagine some blurry faced General claiming it's more secure than modern light-speed computers. To be fair, she corrected herself, she was only sure the Federated Coalition Logistics had this issue; this was the case because she was sure life was a poorly written play by a psychopath who constantly sabotaged her for no other reason than pure sadism. Realizing the grievous violation she had just made by not destroying her official orders within the allotted time she opened the bottom left drawer on her desk and placed the paper in it and promptly closed it. Flipping the switch a incredibly frightful blue flash shot out and, following protocol, she reopened the drawer and confirmed that indeed the paper had been successfully vaporized. Or presumably vaporized as no one had ever actually explained what the drawer does except for a misaligned sticker that warned against misuse as it would lead to 'painful, excruciating suffering and death.' Returning to the screen she double clicked on the secure registry and entered the usual commands that had become automatic with the incredibly repetition the position demanded. If practice makes perfect she was Van Gogh. Constantly lifting and lowering her glasses due to the hue of green being just the exactly perfect shade that when the monitor flickered it became extremely torturous to her eyes, to say nothing of the headaches it caused. Nevertheless she persisted in her duties. Lives depended on it. National security demanded it.

She navigated the rudimentary system until she came across OPCDN which counterintuitively was asking for the operation code name. Perhaps as another layer of misinformation this too was duplicitous; she had nothing to do with military operations, just Logistics, and more accurately, simply verified the veracity of various reports regarding colonies and stockpiles that the Federated Coalition Command required to perform accurate strategical maneuvers. Probably. No one had ever explained the exact purpose of her role; protocol strictly stated there was to be no written or verbal communication outside of authorized orders.Sam’s eyes half closed remembering how she had been lured in with flashy buzzwords like ‘intelligence officer’ which gave the impression of an action packed exciting career. Her eyes shifted side to side taking in the horrible decor that surrounded her. Despite her best attempts to circumvent regulations and brighten up the workplace with little personal touches, such as a little coloured tissue box, a poster, a small rock she had found in the parking lot one day that shone bright purple in just the right light, a small plastic figure of a rabbit that’s base read ‘Hoppy Easter ‘82’, she was unfailing threatened, by Vac-U-Tube delivered communique that she was to cease and desist or face disciplinary action at the hands of the military police. She had never seen these military police and was quite sure they were imposing figures and she would rather not run afoul of them. Strangely when she had passed the exams to be accepted into the Coalition forces, she had received a certified confidential memo informing her she was exempt from basic training of any sort and was to be put immediately into active service at an unnamed location. At the time this had been incredibly thrilling, and despite her naturally humble nature, she felt herself to be a cut above the average soldier. Karmically, as things tend to be, she found herself in this stuffy aged purgatory which was cosmically diametric to all her expectations and hopes. She slumped in her chair dejectedly as these familiar thoughts pillaged her mind of all hope. Her eyes refocused on the blinking cursor and panic swept through her as she had almost forgotten the nowvaporized information. She looked to the stained ceiling tiles and stared intensely until the information returned to her and she began to type: T-R-A-S-A. The system froze as it began its electronic lethargic trudge. After a considerable amount of time, it completed the task and refreshed the screen to display the results.

She cocked her head to the side and almost swore aloud— contravening two protocols— but rejoined herself and grabbed the desks edge with both hands and pulled her self closer to make sure her eyes hadn’t have gone iffy on her. Indeed the result was no result. A cold NO RECORDS OR REPORTS ON SPECIFIED OPCDNM. Sam squinted lost deep in thought. It wasn’t possible. She had entered the correct information, she was sure of this, but it was completely impossible for nothing to appear. At the very least there would be a military survey team report on the sector in question and there wasn’t even that. Deep though soon gave way to confusion and then to the stark realization that this now something that she had no idea in how to proceed. Same began to rock in the old chair tapping her chin with her left index finger pretending to be brainstorming. How can something that existed now never have existed? Had their unfailing, unerring, divine system failed? In reality it was a vain attempt to stave off the incredibly paralyzing fear that threatened to overtake her. Pushing the keyboard back into the recess of the desk so as to prevent any possible incidental key presses which may, with her current luck, catastrophically cause her ancient system to self destruct. Sliding her chair to the right she opened the remaining desk drawers in hopes of finding some protocol manual that would remedy this entire predicament with it's step-by-step instructions. She pulled the rectangular brass handle but nothing budged. Now extremely desperate she slid off the chair onto her knees and looked at the front and sides of the drawer but nothing of interest presented itself. Now she laid both hands on the handle and with a prolonged grunt began to pull until there was a ping and she found herself hurdling backwards still holding what was now an ex-drawer handle. Of course now the drawer was completely inoperable and would keep it’s contents forever in secrecy. Now almost fully resigned to failure she lazily gave a final inspection and to her untempered joy the bottom drawer was now ajar. Recklessly prying it fully open her salvation was brought into the light! A yellow HB #2 pencil rolled to a stop and was the first thing she noticed; though it needed a sharpening, it was clearly gnawed on like a dogs bone, and its eraser was mangled. Just behind was a piece of now petrified gum half squeezed into some waxy paper that had some primitive cartoon drawn on it. Underneath the disgusting relics was the real prize: a large rectangular book! Carefully lifting it so as not to touch the other items she freed it from its musty tomb and sat it on the worn desk. It was old. Very old. The grime attested to this fact. Lifting the cover the spine cracked as if it were a new book being opened for the very first time. Inside was elaborate cursive writing in deep blue ink—a fact that sunk her spirits as she preferred classic black. SSSSHHHHHHHH. A sound denoting an imminent delivery by the the Vac-U-Tube caused Sam to jump and the resulting anatomical response sent the book flying straight off the desk and crashing to the floor.

An eternity came and went and at last, regaining her composure, she waddled her feet so the chair would sail glacially towards the tube. Retrieving the package she handled it with upmost hesitation as this was in some unfamiliar capsule like container. Resting it on her lap and curling her left arm around it she attempt to twist the top off. Holding her breath she continued to torque until she felt herself becoming light headed and decided to cease the operation. She slunk back into the chair as the object sat on her thighs. It was unusually weighty and considering she had only ever received paper reports an ominous icy feeling began to form in her stomach. While contemplating this she noticed a raised nodule that seemed to lie on top of what looked like a seam running around the circumference of the object, and leaning in closer, confirmed it was indeed a seam. She fondled the raised anomaly and with some sideways force the top, pinned only on one side, rotated and revealed a glinting silver plate. Upon pressing this plate there was a satisfying clicking and the pod split into two pieces revealing a well padded interior with a red velvet bag nestled in the bottom. She grabbed the bag and let the container halves fall to the ground. Despite it's regal appearance the bag was cheap feeling and stiff. Pulling the yellow draw strings apart she pulled out two incredibly large and gaudy epaulettes and two gold lapel pins in the shape chevron with "Logistics" emblazoned in the middle. Time stood still as she gazed up the travesty that laid in front of her. Was this a promotion? Was this a mistake? What did this even mean? Carelessly she placed one by one the epaulettes on each respective shoulder, crooked though to show her protest and in hopes that some MP's would charge in for this horrendous abuse of the chain of command. The lapel pins, however, despite their impressive golden hue were incredibly light and suspicious. In her growing anger and confusion she attempted to bend one of the pins and, unsurprisingly, it immediately snapped revealing it to be little more than poorly painted plastic.

"Alright," she screamed in unbridled anger "that's it! I've given how many years to this position and this...THIS is how you reward me?!" Of course no answer came. The same still silence pervaded over her newly acquired kingdom. "Take you're goddamn protocols and rules and shove 'em! Unreal! Son's of a--" she grabbed the epaulettes and ripped the from her uniform and wound up and threw them like a professional Pitcher from the old world sports. Being extremely poorly made they instantly caught a draft and flew wildly in every which direction, completely destroy the catharsis the act had provided. Unleashing a primal scream she stomped forward grabbing the phone receiver and holding it up to her ear: silence. No dial tone. She shouted expletives into the handset and then began to slam it onto the worn desk until black plastic flew until nothing but a dangling circular speaker remained. Unfulfilled she grabbed the base of the phone and forced it into the disposal drawer, kicked it closed and flipped the switch. Blue light flashed. She pulled the handle but it would not budge; have no patience left she rapidly pulled the drawer handle until it finally loosed itself. The phone base was mangled from her extraction method but quite clearly still un-vaporized and furthermore once she threw the phone base behind her it became clear what her vaporizer really did: nothing. The drawers bottom was hinged and held up on the back by magnets. When the sheet was placed in the drawer and the switch flipped a blue light was set to flash while the magnets gave way and the paper was slid into some sort of chute that lead straight down. It was the straw that broke Sam's proverbial back. Turning she grabbed the horrible chair and swung it, letting go precisely so it collided with the monitor. The sound of a popping lightbulb could be heard and the crumpling of plastic. Walking over she was overcome with a sickening revelation: the monitor was simply a roll of transparent plastic film that advanced when certain keys were hit on the keyboard. Sam had reached the end of the roll. Her fury was gone and in its place was fear. She opened the door of her closed work unit and went to the one beside, opening it and peering in: skeletal remains were hunched over a desk identical to hers, though it was covered in cobwebs and dust. Almost unable to breathe she ran over to the next and opened it: another corpse lay on the ground as if the individual was trying to climb to the door. This was all she needed to see. Sam placed her hands on her head and felt tears forming in her eyes. Again she began to run this time to her living quarters. She opened the first barracks door and found it dilapidated and empty. Clearly it had been untouched for uncountable years.

"This isn't real. I'm asleep. I must've got a headache and.... And slipped into a... A... Coma! That's what..." she mumbled to herself but she couldn't make herself believe it. Sam was a staunch vegetarian after growing up overweight and being bullied mercilessly. It also was a driving force for her to join the Coalition and escape her childhood. The Logistics department did not recognize dietary choices and so to circumvent this obstacle she had hidden some micro green plants under her cot, bringing them into the sunlight during the day while she was working. Suddenly she realized no one had ever checked for contraband. There had been no spot checks. The reality is for the time that she had been here protocol kept her from interacting with anyone. She hadn't actually interacted with anyone since her entranced exams. Sam began to cry; there was nothing now. Like a death-row inmate she shambled solemnly back to her work cube. Standing at the entrance she observed her reckoning until her eyes came to rest on the book she had found. She walked over and picked it up, clearing away the monitor debris and placing it on the now open desk space. It was a ledger from what must be centuries ago, it had names of locations and types of supplies all written in by hand. She flipped through the pages until she reach the cursive writing she had noticed before. It was a message for someone:

"KP,

This training is garbage. I didn't sign up for Baby's First Military Training. Each day a new one of those mind killing op names. They really have ZERO creative ability, and I haven't learned anything in a year now. I heard from B that it's coming to an end, man. Finally! Look for op TRASA. That's the ticket home. B says it's some old dead language phrase or something about blank sheets or something. I don't know, girl drones so much all I head was end. If she is to be believed once you process it you'll get a VacU delivery of your badges and pins; then that phone finally rings and they give you the grand old spiel about defending freedom and blah blah, but then. Then comes the ride outta here. I never thought this was a good idea. This place is hell man, if something goes wrong, you're entombed here. I mean who thought keeping the place that keeps all things recorded and suppled unrecorded and nonexistent a good idea? Whatever. Not our problem.

-MP"

Sam nodded and gently closed the book, sliding it back in it's drawer and shut it gingerly. Excavating the old chair from the desk she sat it back down and wipe the seat with her hand. Leaning over she grabbed the horrible epaulettes and carefully applied them to her uniform. Applying the lapel pin to her left colour, and the remaining half of the broken pin on the other collar. She continued to nod while sitting, facing the door. Rising after awhile she walked along the hall, opening each cube unit until she found one with an officer. The skeleton of the once official official was lying prostrate holding a bottle. Sam's eye half closed in disapproval. Standing next to the corpse she reached down and took the officers cap, and grabbed the ribbons from the skeletons chest and ripped them off. Walking to the common area she used the mirror to perfectly attached her achievements and placed the exemplary cleaned hat on her head. Turning in perfect military precision she walked to the commandants cube and opened it. She walked to his pristine desk and put the ledger on it. Removing her overcoat she hung it carefully so it would not wrinkle or crease her badges. Returning to the desk she say at the perfectly constructed chair and opened the ledger. She took each written in page, making extra sure the contraband note was among them, and carefully tore each sheet out. Once all that remained was pristine unused lined sheets, she opened the drawer and placed all the sheet inside. Closing it she then flipped the switch and was reassured by the blue flash. Following protocol, however, she again opened the drawer and verified the documents had been vaporized. Once this was done she opened the confiscation cabinet, retrieved some blue ink and a piece of brass that someone had worn and filed into a fine tip. Returning the ledger she began to write:

//OPCDN: TRASA //AUTH: AbnJU76yYH6bR //STATUS: NOT FOUND

Once finished, she closed the ledger, returned the ink and make-shift pen to the confiscation cabinet, returned to her seat and sat facing the black desk phone.