This Little Creature Went to Market - Part 1
It was a world where time didn’t exist, where night and day blended eternally, for every minute was work o’clock, and though all was absent of light and so full of dark, somehow it was all so bustling and restless. For in Baktan, that strange tree-like planet, which floated in the darkness of the heavens like a giant woven basket, where a blind species known as the Qralkans lived, the virtues of a tireless work ethic reigned supreme. In the midst of this environment, the individual known as Prop Nit had decided that they had had enough of lazing about.
Prop’s vacation days were dwindling to an end, and they couldn’t have been more relieved. The days of idling by were weighing down on their highly-developed psyche. At last, the monotony would conclude, and they would be back at work in the fields, in the company again of those surly-mouthed labyrinth builders. That is where I belong, Prop thought. They counted the days, every morning climbing off their rocky bed chamber, squeezing their sensitive, gelatinous body through those long hallways of their underground dwellings, past the kitchenette and into the drawing-room, where tally marks were embedded into the walls, numbering the exact total remaining. Ninety days. Ninety days before they could go back to labor. Ninety days before they could go back to doing the very thing they were made for. It would be over before they knew it. But not soon enough. The anguish would soon be over if they could only withstand just that little bit more.
Prop Nit, or Nitty as their colleagues knew them, was not a particularly social creature and only got along well with their colleagues in a most detached and casual way. Unexpectedly, Nitty found themselves missing the sound of those snarling, guttural voices; all those crass jokes and blue collar remarks reverberating across every eardrum planted into their sensorily overstimulated body. These familiar sounds were a constant reminder of the community they lived in, a reminder that as they labored away under that dry, arid sky, they were doing an important job, helping to build another barrier for their insect metropolis.
Of course, it is essential to note that they only ever heard their colleagues and never actually made eye contact with them, for no one had ever developed such things among that mysterious Qralkan race. This was not the result of some birth defect, disability, or traumatic injury. It just so happened that nature, in its mysterious ways, saw to it that these loathsome, hideous creatures never develop the ability to see their own biology or to look upon their desolate surrounding environment.
If Nitty had eyes, they would have seen a planet that was drab, misshapen, and a heap of chaos. The planet Baktan stood quiet on the outskirts of that vacuum space, in a void so far away that even our most advanced instruments and technologies could never dream of leering upon. If astronomers were to see it, they might refer to it as The Sludge Society. All life here moved at a maddeningly slow pace, so slow that its inhabitants could only tolerate it because they had evolved the ability to do so. And also because they were, most of the time, too busy with work to be bored. As they were bored, Nitty thought back to how long it had been since they were at work. They could easily recall the day they were sent home to take a compulsory break. A fellow co-worker had approached them and tapped them on the back with their sharp claw. Nitty was beckoned to the manager’s office one afternoon to receive the news of their break.
On their way over, Prop entered through a large doorway and was greeted by the voice of Kuflar Nas, the shift manager. “Greetings, being. Are we having a productive labor cycle today?”
“Yes,” Nitty replied with a slight tremor of nervousness, “is everything alright?”
Kuflar chuckled, which to Nitty’s ears would sound like an unpleasant cross between a rodent shriek and a serpentine hiss. “Fear not. We have not summoned you to be reprimanded. Completely the opposite, in fact. I have some good news to share with you.”
As though a weight was lifted from their back, Nitty relaxed. Good news, they thought. Could it mean they’ll get a new pickaxe to replace the one they broke a few months ago? Maybe this would mean they didn’t have to endure as much bodily injury and would no longer have to do with their bare claws.
“The council has looked favorably on your numbers. Your accuracy and speed in your tasks are commendable. If only your peers could be as effective as you are. What’s your secret?
“Uh, just having nothing but work on my mind.”
“Mm-hmm, very profound. I’ll be sure to pass that down to the other workers. You lead by example. And so,” Kuflar continued, “for your tireless efforts since the day you arrived–”
“Many, many cycles ago,” Prop added, quickly realizing that it was a rude interjection, for which they immediately apologized.
“The length of your stay at this facility is not of note. The results, however, have proven to bear fruit. The analysts, however, look with favor upon your work. As an expression of our gratitude, we have granted you a period of time to recover.
“Recover?”
“Yes, you surely earned it, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’m sorry. What do you mean recover.”
“You know, like a vacation.”
“Excuse my ignorance, I just don’t understand.
“It means you will cease to work for a pre-determined period of time. Seven hundred, to be exact.”
“To do what?”
“Well, that’s the point. To do nothing. Or conversely, whatever you wish. Provided it is not against the law.”
“What does it mean to do nothing?”
“It means you just… relax.”
The manager spent the next several minutes trying to explain the benefits of a holiday.
In order to understand Prop’s confusion, it becomes necessary to have an understanding of the planet’s work culture.
A common notion in the everyday dialogue of the species was thus:
It’s good to stay busy. It keeps the mind sharp. Rest is for the weak. Rest is for the useless. Even the dead contribute more to society, for it is their decomposing bodies that feed the energy of our environment. Even in death, more is achieved than while resting. Rest is a useless activity.
As you can surmise, the Qralkans were not the most jovial of conversationalists. Every Qralkan had a job to do, and it was their civil duty to work themselves to death in the process of fulfilling it. For it was only through this full mortal submission to one’s station in life that one could sustain life on that strange planet they inhabited known as Baktan. It could only continue to thrive in the chaos of their existence. On this planet, the labor force was the entire adult population. You lived to work. You worked until you died. Retirement was never a part of the equation. And, for they knew of no other reality, they never raged or complained. They were all remarkably complacent with their situation in life. They had a purpose, basic and demoralizing as it may seem, and they were all the happier for it.
Unemployment was nonexistent. There was a job for everyone. If you lived, you worked. To such a degree, if you were fortunate to be assigned a superfluous job, which was busy and important, it made you look to the fabric of things; in fact, it was little more than a distraction to keep one occupied. These superfluous occupations were often much less risky and demanding and were highly sought out. One of these stations was that of the researcher.
It turned out that after enough data for the great thinkers of the Qralkan race to analyze, they realized that the Qralkans were too productive, to a rapidly disastrous degree. It turned out that their rapid productivity was rapidly burning through the already very limited resources on that desolate, alien planet. And so the great thinkers, in their boundless wisdom, saw that it was best to curb this potential catastrophe by creating the concept of vacation days. They determined that a random enforcement of vacation was necessary for any certain portion of the population. This, however, was an alien concept to this alien race, and the overseers knew that for each different industry, it would be a hurdle to explain it to those individual employees who had randomly received the opportunity. Hence, Nitty’s confusion as their superior tried to explain.
“Yes, seven hundred days of rest, same as the number of bricks which you so carefully and diligently arranged today.”
Nitty made a few clicks and clacks of approval. They were at a loss for words, stunned and humbled by the offer. For them, seven hundred bricks was no great feat. It constituted an average day’s work for them, which amounted to very little when put into context. In the grand scheme of everything that surrounded them in this invisible world of theirs, seven hundred bricks barely formed the edge of a curve of a single corner of that labyrinth world that their species had been building since the beginning of their sentience, all in tribute to their great deity Xorlos, the mighty creator of the Akina system.
“Well, now that you understand what a vacation entails, I encourage you to take full advantage,” said the superior, “for I assure you, it is truly rare that you will reap such generosity from your superiors again. The period begins immediately after your shift.”
Feeling frustrated, Prop Nit agreed to the proposal and pretended to understand its purpose.