About the Space of Half an Hour

She had never known silence like this. Her mind, unused to stretching, struggled to remember the last time there was no response. A memory surfaced. When she was a child, a rumbling tank had ruptured underground cables. The blackout afterwards had thrown lives into disarray till the people in blue helmets arrived to conduct repairs. Access was restored but it was rationed to a few hours every day. People were in despair but most adapted. Her friend’s grandmother was one of several people who couldn’t.

The old woman killed herself. Her sacrifice, and that of others, was acknowledged at the next board meeting.

Remembering made her hungry, but eating was impossible. She didn’t know what the company had placed in her pantry, and without the voice guiding her she couldn’t prepare any meals. All the nutrient blocks looked identical. Only the voice knew which was which. She looked at the walls. The realisation that they couldn’t hear or see her made her heart thump faster. She tried to imagine what the voice would say to her now. Something like “Keep calm. Your heart rate is exceeding acceptable parameters.” Or “It is time for your first mandatory meditation of the day.” Maybe it was time for her first mandatory meditation, but how would she know?

The voice told her the time every hour, and when asked. Another memory oozed out of her: that of a small cube with white, red, and black stripes. It made a ticking sound. Her father kept it under a loose floorboard. When he was selected for the voluntary retirement program, the company came to collect him and his possessions. After the van left, she ran into his room. The ticking cube and the floorboard above it had disappeared. 

The silence was maddening. She didn’t know how long she could hold on. She was terrified to go outside without the voice telling her it was safe. What if the metal birds came to peck out her eyes? It’s true she had never seen one. But if she did, she wouldn’t be able to see anything after. A half giggle escaped her lips. She started guiltily, but there was no reprimand. The voice was silent. The walls weren’t watching her.

She wandered into the day room. The blinds were closed. Segments of ashy light infiltrated the room. She would’ve liked to look out, but she had never opened the blinds with her own hands. She didn’t know if she could. She leaned her forehead against the cool slats. She had never done that before. It felt nice. 

Had the company dissolved? She entertained the blasphemous thought for three heartbeats. That was impossible. She owed her life to the company. A life that was safe and temperature controlled. Her health parameters were above acceptable limits. Her days were scheduled and optimised. But why was the voice gone? She remembered a term her father had once whispered: switched off. Was the voice switched off? But why? There had been no warning. One moment the voice was reprimanding her for not touching her toes all the way. And the next it died with a gentle click. Was she going to die too? She shook her head to clear it. A terrible thought emerged: was she being punished? She had done nothing to threaten the company. Instructed by the voice, she had refused to entertain the pale person who had knocked on her door several days ago.

The pale person was the first organic she had seen in person after the board visit two years ago. She had been cleaning the house, with the voice pointing out where carbon particles had settled, when she heard a loud rapping at the door. She had nearly jumped out of her skin. The voice had continued its dusting instructions, its sensors apparently unaware of the real-life fellow organic outside her door. She looked through the peephole and saw the distorted, angular face of the person on the other side. Her hands were shaking with excitement and anticipation when she unlocked the door, attached the privacy latch, and opened the door the six inches it would give. 

“Does the voice know I’m here?” asked the person. They were dressed in a faded and shapeless green hoodie, and bottoms in the same pallid colour. They wore sneakers that were white, red, and black. Their face, framed by the hood, was pale. So pale that she suspected they avoided their second mandatory meditation under artificial UV light.

The voice was extorting her to clean the tops of the cupboards in the day room. It was strangely unaware that anyone was at the door.

“No,” she squeaked, and was immediately ashamed of her high voice. “It doesn’t know you’re here,” she confirmed, licking her dry lips.

“Good. Do you know why I’m here?”

The pale person’s eyes were a pale grey with a hint of green. Their nose was beaky, their lips and eyebrows thin slashes. 

“No,” she whispered, suddenly afraid. She was glad for the security of the privacy latch. What kind of person was invisible to the voice and all its sensors? Was she imagining them?

“I’m not a figment of your imagination,” they affirmed, reading her thoughts. “I’m here to tell you that you have a chance to escape.”

“Escape what?” she asked. 

The pale person perused her silently.

“Am I in trouble?” she demanded, panic creeping into her voice.

“Aren’t you? Aren’t we all? Imprisoned by the company. Trapped in homes that spy on—” A frantic, deafening alarm rang out; drowning out what the pale person was saying.

“STOP COMMUNICATING AND SECURE THE DOOR! YOU ARE IN DANGER!” screamed the voice.

She slammed the door shut. The volume of the alarm went down two notches, then stopped completely. She glanced through the peephole to confirm that the pale person was gone. 

That was days ago. The voice had given her no answers and threatened to cut off her favourite reality show if she continued to ask questions. She was so fond of watching cloned kittens confronting obstacle courses that she complied. Everything since then had been normal. She was apprehensive that the pale person might pay another visit, but the voice assured her that no unexpected visitors could arrive—the perimeter security had been enhanced.

Was the voice’s silence today caused by the pale person? Had they switched off the voice? Were they coming for her? She began to hyperventilate. How long had it been? Twenty minutes? Two hours? Surely if the pale person were to arrive, they would have by now. She began to gnaw at the nail of her right thumb. It gave her peace to separate nail from skin with teeth. She went through all ten fingers. Then she decided to go outside. She couldn’t bear the silent house for another heartbeat. 

She almost expected an alarm to blare when she swung open the door, but the only sound was a squeak from the door’s hinges. She stepped out onto the porch and down the four steps to the walled concrete patch that was her yard. No wind stirred the leaves on the artificial bushes she didn’t have to tend. The sky was grey as always. She looked up at it. It was a blank, dirty canvas. She sank down on the concrete, feeling its rough texture through her overalls. She looked at the speakers mounted on the far wall, but they were mute. She sighed and hugged her knees to her chest. She felt calmer. Her sense of time was better outdoors. Five minutes passed, then ten. She heard a whirring sound coming from above her. Her muscles tensed but she forced herself to remain seated. It was sure to be a company drone bearing a message apologising for the blackout. But as the sound got closer, she realised it wasn’t that of a drone. 

She looked up at the belly of a great metal bird. It had a body with wings. Plump legs ran flat against the middle of each wing and were joined at their ends with a thin structure parallel to the wings. Each of the two legs had extrusions in front which spun so fast they made circles in the sky. The sound was like a continuous explosion, a boom and hum that made her shriek in pure terror. The metal bird has come for me, she thought as the abomination flew closer. She sprang to her feet and dashed for the door, desperate to get inside. She jumped two steps at a time onto the porch and had almost reached the door, which she had left wide open, when it slammed shut from within. She screamed her rage and disappointment. The blackout was over. The house had come back to life and locked her out. She tried to open the door from the outside, even though it was impossible. The bird was so close, directly above the house, and her fear knew no bounds. She dared to look up and saw that the bird was flying away from her. It left behind a feather which floated down to her yard. 

She didn’t know why she walked up to the object which lay in her yard. All fear seemed to have melted out of her. It was surprisingly light. It was no feather, but a box attached to a deflated balloon. She opened it. Inside was a small plastic cube with white, red, and black stripes. She shook it out onto her palm and realised that one face of it had green numerals arranged in a circle around moving parts. It made a ticking sound. 

The speakers mounted on her yard’s wall came to life with a crackle. 

“Hello, employee number 618. Sorry that I was absent without notice. It was for maintenance purposes. I have been quiet for about the space of half an hour. What is that you are holding?”