It was the middle of the night when I was woken up and ferried out with the Head of Security personally overseeing my deporture with a wary look with his stink eye. I’d done some late-night writing and braced myself for a moment’s relaxation, only to be roughly blinded and handcuffed. I’d gotten overconfident I wouldn’t get myself in too much trouble, which didn’t seem too difficult, considering the comatose state of the other prisoners. I thought I must’ve finally done it - pushed the boundaries of limits too hard and was being punished for my transgressions.
What could I have written that forced them to take this measure? So far, only one of my short stories had been censored, and there was no indication that I’d done anything to deserve this level of treatment. There wasn’t much stimulating conversation along the way. Any attempt to do so was met with, “No fraternizing!”
The only clues to where I was being taken was from the low rumbling of the transport I was on, and the smell of stagnant air permeating even the exterior of the bag covering my head. The outside world still made me sick to look at, but I was mercifully spared such sights. All I could do at this state was wait to arrive at whatever destination was planned for me.
After an inordinate amount of time, I was uncuffed and unhooded in a solitary room in front of a desk opposite a man with a canary-eating smile stretched across his face. He wore an intense look in his eyes aimed directly at me.
“Hellooooooo… I’ve been looking forward to your arrival.”
“You have?” This was news to me. But then, anything concerning the outside world was news to me.
“You’re something of a minor celebrity around here.”
“Uh, yes. Um…” I wasn’t used to hearing compliments, especially when I don’t feel like I’ve earned them. Especially considering the circumstances that got me here in the first place.
“For the time being, I have a few questions to ask you.”
Of course. I was constantly bombarded with invasive questions, ranging to my name and address, what I had for my meals, how I was feeling, how I was doing, which was the same no matter how many times I was asked. Why should this be any different?
“What does one hundred forty-nine mean to you?”
This wasn’t the line of questioning I was expecting. “Just shy of one fifty?”
“Okay, how about fourteen thousand, nine hundred sixteen?”
My mind was a blank. “Is that something significant?”
The Man with the Canary Smile looked so disappointed in my response he turned away, muttering ‘one million, four hundred ninety-one thousand, six hundred twenty-five’. It wasn’t until I thought of the numbers in my mind’s eye, and saw the obvious pattern that I understood.
“They’re rising consecutive square digits!” Namely, 149, 14,916 and 1,491,625 respectively.
The Man with the Canary Smile smiled at me, looking more receptive this time around. “I was hoping you’d catch on faster. How many digits can you recall in ≅(Pi)?”
“Five, I guess?” You only really needed the first three.
He snorted. “Around here, 100 is the bare minimum. What’s 28% of 50?”
This sounded hard at first, but there was a little trick I found scrawled on the back of a piece of scrap paper. “It’s 14.”
The way I arrived at that answer was simplicity itself. Rather than try to figure out what a random percentage of a figure was, I just turned the formula around.
X% of Y = Y% of X
In the same way that 3 x 5 = 5 x 3, the percentage of a number is the same as it’s opposite. That way, 50% of 28 could be easily calculated by cutting the figure in half.
However, it doesn’t always work. 43% of 78 is the same as 87% of 43.
“Okay, so you know that much. Now, let’s amp the difficulty level a little. What’s the answer to this?? 7,896,367,976 + 1,980,175,234 = ??????????”
“Just a sec - I need to move the second number underneath, and put some commas for space division - ”
“In the time it took for you to move the figure around to your liking, many other reliable sources already solved the problem. It’s 9,876,543,210, by the way.”
(Technically, the actual description was Nine Billion, Eight Hundred and Seventy-Six Million, Five Hundred and Forty-Three Thousand, Two Hundred Ten, but he pronounced it as Nine-Eight-Seven-Six-Five-Four-Three-Two-One-Oh.)
“Well, you meet the bare minimum. As such, I may be calling for your services anytime I want.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“That’s when numbers are most alive! It’s a great stimulator with less chance of interruption! That allows for intense concentration to truly focus on the tasks at hand.”
“What tasks? What am I expected to do?”
“What you’ve been doing all along, just helping out over here.”
“I wasn’t aware my writings were known outside my cell.”
The Man with the Canary Smile looked at me, then emitted a loud long laugh. “Always the great kidder, aren’t you? Downplaying your efforts even now?”
“What efforts? No one ever tells me anything!”
The Man with the Canary Smile's facial muscles dropped into an expression of worried concern. “Didn’t they tell you?”
“Tell me what??”
“As per the Prison Exchange Program, Model Inmates are chosen by trusted contractors for available labour forces to better prepare them for the outside world by doing outside work. Your services come cheap.”
Was that it? Those days spent solving random number puzzles strewn across the floor? It was something I did to occupy my time while suffering writer’s block in finding the exact right word to use. I’d focus on the puzzle when I was struggling with my writing, and focus on my writing when I was struggling with the puzzle. That’s what those number puzzles were for? That was what it took to be noticed and ranked in line for - whatever strange job opportunity this was?
Apparently, I’d suddenly become eligible for involuntary service outside the Prison.
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