Outside the Box by Grant Luebbe THIRD P LACE Hank Jennings opened his eyes. He dressed for work and stepped outside.The innovation of the Box always amazed him—a 200-kilometer enclosed Utopia. He gazed at the familiar skyscrapers reaching up to the Box’s ceiling as he walked. If they were any taller, they would poke the lights that mimicked a summer sky. He stopped at his favorite lake, staring at the city upstream. He dipped his toes in the water, sending small ripples through the lake. This quadrant was Hank’s favorite. A perfectly regulated ecosystem. No pollution, no climate change, just beauty and productivity. Not even noises from the weapons testing in the city could be heard. Welcome to Paradise. Hank’s first observation of the day was Worker 618-E. Hank liked to call him Farmer Sprott. Sprott’s task for the hour was detassling the corn stalks. He methodically snapped and pulled the tassels off the plants, row by row. Hank filled in his report. As he completed it, he looked up and saw Farmer Sprott standing still. He had finished the last corn stalk, but had not moved on to his next task. Hank checked Sprott’s work order. He should have moved on to weeding by now. “Hey, 618-E!” Hank yelled. No response. Hank walked over to Sprott and immediately noticed something was wrong. Sprott wore a blank expression. He didn’t move. But even stranger, his eyes pulsed and rumbled with a black-and-white static. Hank could see nothing in those eyes. He checked Sprott’s invigilator watch. Everything seemed to be functioning. Hank waved his hand in front of Sprott’s face. He poked and prodded him. Still no reaction. Not panicking just yet, Hank checked his schedule. The closest Worker was 532-E in the barn. Hank ran over and threw the barn doors open to find 532-E idle, with the same blank face and static, surrounded by pails of milk. “What is going on?” Hank said, trying to bury his panic. Just like Sprott, she’d finished what she was supposed to be doing and then…stopped? He took a picture with his watch to include in his report. “There’s no way these are the only cases…” Hank muttered to himself. If he raised the alarm now, he’d be bombarded with questions by the Colonel that he wouldn’t know how to answer. He needed more information. Hank ran to the hyprochip factory at the center of the city. He frantically flung open the factory doors to find 300 Workers slack-faced and static-eyed. Before Hank could even submit a report, his eyes involuntarily closed and he felt himself being pulled out of the Box. Hank’s eyes opened. The hum of machinery and muted explosions told him instantly where he was. Outside of the Box, in the Board Room. Colonel Anderson sat at the head of the table, surrounded by Boxies, the scientists. An American flag wilted in the corner. “Do you mind telling me what the HELL is going on in there?” Anderson was more irate than normal. Hank blinked. “Well, uh… I’m not exactly sure, sir.”
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Anderson scowled. “Oh, you’re not? Well, you better GET sure, because we have a war to win. What is happening with the Workers?”
