#caution! it's the prowl™

[catthepillarr]

Thought of something mid doodle

[edupunkn00b]

Out of the Machine, Ch. 1: Delivering Magic

We Deliver Magic - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Gift for @houser-of-stories for the @sanderssidesgiftxchange.

Rated T: some injury descriptions, mild swearing, mentions of blood - WC: 1916

Summary: It's December 2075, 78 years since the first baby with Powers was born.

By now, well more than half the population has either been born or augmented with Powers. Most minor—a little telekinesis, perhaps extra memory or stamina. A few can fly, read minds, or paint imaginary worlds for the people around them.

A rare few are gifted with powers so strong they spend their lives in isolated in special institutions. Or worse.

And then there are the Traditionals, those with no Powers. People practically indistinguishable from those who'd been born a century ago.

Logan Sanders is once such individual.

And everything is about to change. ---

Christmas—no, holiday—lights in red, white, and green festooned the twenty-foot tall white-on-black sign flapping above the main entrance to the Abracadabra distribution center.

Abracadabra : We Deliver Magic®

Logan Sanders shuddered as he passed the third temporarily closed staff shuttle bus stop, his rain-soaked hoodie clinging to his arms, the frigid water running down his back in rivulets.

Three months ago, he’d been assigned to put up the temporary closure signs, announcing that the stops would be renovated with brighter lights, cell phone charging stations, and more seating. He’d dutifully taped off the bus shelters with stark black-and-white ‘Please excuse our (fairy) dust while we make the magic happen,’ caution tape. Now, he grit his teeth against the driving rain as he and his fellow white badge workers walked the extra two miles to and from the only open shuttle stop.

Traditional workers weren’t permitted to park in the lettered lots closest to the complex. Those lots were reserved for corporate staff and Powered landing platforms. The warehouse received quite a few tour groups at this time of year, as well, masses of chattering visitors from all over the country, flying and teleporting in to catch a glimpse of the largest warehouse in the company staffed by non-Powered—“Traditional”—workers.

There was parking available out in the numbered lots, but with the substandard lighting and utter lack of security, parking there was a quick way to have your car prowled—or worse. Logan and all the other Traditionals just sucked it up and took the TW shuttle bus that trudged through fifteen miles of winding exhurb roads to connect to the city bus system.

Finally reaching the staff entrance on the eastern side of the building, Logan stood in line to check his belongings in the secured area, feeling his toes squish and rub against his wet socks. He’d likely dry out by the time his shift was over, and, with any luck, tonight he’d be placed in a warmer part of the warehouse, far from the chilled perishables wings or, worse, the loading docks.

Once he reached the covered section of the waiting area, and was out of the rain, he pulled out his phone to check his school email. Scrolling past the daily Trusted University Partner™ credit card offers and a second notice from the Bursar’s Office, he read the subject line of the latest email from Professor Walker, his Engineering advisor, and smiled. It simply read ‘Proposal Accepted.’

Logan glanced up and saw there were still several Associates ahead of him in line, so he took a moment to log in to his research lab’s security system to check on the remote controlled mech in his lab. He’d programmed detailed instructions in the controller so the mech could continue building a new frame for the hydraulic-powered lifting frame he was developing for his dissertation.

He overrode the automatic camera settings and turned on the camera closest to the mech. The sensors in its dome, likely alerted by the flashing light near the edge of the lens, blinked, and the mech paused its work to wave at the camera.

“Next!” The Abracadabra security guard—’Magician’s Assistant,’ Logan reminded himself—called to him, and he shoved his phone back in his pocket and let slip a tiny crooked smile as he approached.

“Salutations, Sam. Lovely weather today, wouldn’t you say?” he deadpanned, placing his sopping wet hoodie into a storage box.

Sam’s mouth twitched. “Yes, isn’t it? I was thinking of taking a stroll in the park on my lunch break.” The Magician’s Assistant opened a smaller lockbox and looked away while Logan powered down his phone and placed it, along with his keys, wallet, and health tracker, into the box, then punched in a locking code and sealed it with his thumbprint.

“I have often wondered, Sam. What would happen if I were to cut my thumb or otherwise temporarily damage my fingerprint while at work?” Logan raised his eyebrow. “Or what if I didn’t have a thumbprint in the first place? How would I get my valuables, such as they are?”

Sam tilted their head, smiling ruefully. “Leave it to you to think of that, Sanders.”

“Basic principles of Universal Design, that’s all,” Logan murmured. Sam finally barked out a small laugh, the tight, tired lines around their eyes relaxing for the briefest of moments. “And I’m only playing my role… I just got the news today. By this time next year, I will be Dr. Sanders, PhD in Mechanical Engineering and Accessibility Design.”

“Your proposal—it went through!” Logan nodded, a small smile tugging up his lips. Sam punched his shoulder, “Attaboy, Sanders! Oh—excuse me, Dr. Sanders,” they said with a wink. The AM’s scanner started to vibrate, warning them they were close to their limit for Time Off Task between security scans. Sam gave Logan a tiny wry salute before he hurried ahead to the line for the time clocks. Sam turned back to the check-in line, calling out for the next staff member waiting to start the work day.

After Logan clocked in and thumbed the reader for a scanner, he powered it on as he walked toward the workfloors. A glance at the crowds queued up for one of the three working elevators led Logan toward the stairs. He paused, waiting for the screen to load with his assigned area for the day.

A blue Buffer window slowly began to resolve on the tiny screen and Logan started jogging down the stairs. He stopped short and his guts churned when a bright red overlay popped up, directing him to the Oversight office before he took his spot on the belt. Pivoting quickly, he ran up the four flights to her floor.

---

He tapped his badge at the stairwell door, catching his breath while he waited for the system to validate his temporary access to the Powered Staff level. Finally, the door flashed green and he pushed his way through, taking quick but measured steps to Esperanze Ondas' office.

Logan kept his eyes down as he passed Silvertongue’s desk, not wanting to give their facility's human lie detector any chance to question him. His orientation leader had warned Logan about the Powered staffer when they’d spotted him during the training tour.

“Stay outta his way.” Logan had frowned, opening his mouth in protest. The orientation leader laughed. “It don't matter if you haven't done anything. The bosses don't like secrets. Everybody's got somethin’ to hide and Silver’ll know.”

Logan cocked an eyebrow. “But, he’s just another Associate. I know he’s Powered, but what can he do to us?”

The leader had leaned in close and whispered, “They used to say he was in the Mad Lads.” He shook his head, as he’d caught Logan’s eye. “You don’t need that kinda trouble.” He watched as Silvertongue strode past them in the hallway. “Nobody does.”

Logan felt Silvertongue’s eyes on him as he approached Ms. Ondas’ office.

He raised his hand to knock on the solid wooden door and he grit his teeth as he heard her voice in his head before his knuckles even touched the surface. "Come in, Sanders." The door slid open and Logan stepped through.

Logan stood just inside the doorway in Ondas’ office, gripping his scanner tightly in shaking hands. The wrist strap was broken and he couldn't afford to fumble it and have the device's replacement cost docked from his pay.

"Yes, Ms. Ondas? I was—”

"You are Sanders-113? The Sanders who filed a Health and Safety claim on the Lambda belt Picker?"

"Y—yes, that is I."

Ondas let a low growl of frustration slip from the back of her throat and she closed her eyes. "Sit down." She sent the order directly to Logan’s mind and he felt compelled to obey, if only to lessen the droning in his head.

"You filed this claim against the direct orders of your immediate supervisor at the time, did you not?"

"Alain? He's—at the time?” Logan frowned. “Have I been reassigned?"

"No. Alain is no longer a team member at this facility. His failure to control his direct reports was the last of many infringements." The droning in his head increased, now a rapid stabbing at the base of his skull. “I expect a loyal team member such as yourself to not open yourself up to the same fate as his.”

She released her hold on his mind for a moment and opened her eyes, one eyebrow raised. “You participate in the tuition payment program at your university, correct?”

Logan paled as he fought to catch his breath and adjust to processing her oral voice. He cleared his throat and nodded. “Yes. Yes, I have a semester to go before I complete my Engineering degree.”

Ondas smiled, a thin, tight, upwards curve to her lips that did not reach her eyes. “And as a valuable member of the team, we are happy to extend that benefit to you.” Smile dissolving, she closed her eyes and delivered the rest of her message directly to Logan’s mind. “We would be very disappointed if you were to leave us, forcing us to retroactively withdraw our financial support for your education.”

"I understand, Ms. Ondas, and—and I would not trouble you with this issue if I did not believe its resolution was vital to the safety of our Associates.” He sat forward in his seat, spine straight, keeping as much of the tremor from his voice as he could. “With the primary failsafe disabled on the Picker Bots for the holiday rush, any failure in the secondary systems could—”

"Sanders, I know you are sincere, but your concern is misguided. Any major systems failure would be detected by the Powereds on this floor." Her voice reverberated through his mind, forcing his head to fall forward under the weight of her mental presence. "There is nothing that you have detected with your manual tools that we have not already been long aware of. The risks have been calculated by the best minds the Powered Guild has to offer."

Her tone softened slightly, perhaps realizing how close she was skating to a Bias violation. "We have access to stronger tools, Sanders. I mean no offense, and I am certain that were you born or bred with Powers, you would have come to the same conclusions we have."

Swallowing hard against the rising bile that continued exposure to unshielded telepathy can cause in more sensitive Traditional Workers like himself, Logan folded his hands over the scanner in his lap. "So the risk to Traditionals has been calculated?"

"Yes, of course, and it all falls within acceptable parameters." She swiveled in her seat, finally speaking aloud again.

"My decision is final and this meeting is over. Any additional time spent arguing will be considered Time Off Task and will go against your Rate." She tapped at a small screen on her wrist. "And you've been reassigned. You’re due at Inbound Shipping, Delta Dock."

Logan’s jaw clenched. Delta Dock was on the opposite end of the facility. He lowered his head as he stood. "Thank you, Ms. Ondas." He hurried back out through the door, pausing only when Ondas spoke again in his mind.

"Oh, and Happy Holidays, Sanders."

"Happy Holidays," he forced out and walked as quickly as he could back to the stairs. With any luck, he could make up the missed time with some extra hustle loading boxes.

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