Over the course of the next few days, a reoccurring schedule emerged. I’d complete the transactions during the day, and hear wild theories at night. Day and night were becoming interchangeable, and with no windows and only a colour-based clock around, the passage of time began to feel hazy. The numbers were getting harder to decipher too. I went from double-checking to triple, quadruple and quintuple-checking everything. I’d barely get started in my calculations when the colours would change and the Accountant would come waltzing to my side with tales to tell.
“I’ve got some verrrrry interesting papers here! Here’s an Infrared-Violet Ultra-Red withdrawal and right here is a deposit of the exact same colour, right down to the decimal point.”
“Imaginary colours otherwise, what am I looking at?”
“These are forms to allow technological upgrades in a Factory that was supposed to double production. It took many years and backroom bargaining before they finally reached the magic number. I don’t begrudge the methods they undertook to get results - we’d never accomplish anything otherwise. But they’re so greedy that they don’t even bother to hide it. See?”
I didn’t bother listening to his words, paying attention to the requisitions on the paper instead, trying to wrest sense out of what was written there. “What does this Factory produce?”
“Wood screws for conveyor belts, a valuable component used in assembly line production.”
“So it’s a Factory for making Factories?”
“Just one of many.”
I took another look at the forms looking for commonalities. There were matching figures that was supposed to be used for replacement parts and I slowly began to comprehend the implications. Outside orders were made to create artificial demand. Costs were cut back to maximize production. Instead of making opportune use of the converting technology, they doubled the amount they needed to create twice as much.
“They produced more product than they could sell.”
“Exactly! Before this could be implemented, a required amount of Factories needed to be built to accommodate demand. Instead of using two wood screws to create four drivers, they asked for four wood screws to create sixteen drivers. By itself, that’s not very much, but multiply those requests by thousands, and you’re asking for more wood screws than they can create. Which cut into their supply. Which increased the number of faulty parts. Which devalued their reputation. The only way they could recoup their losses was to sell the Factories that they worked so hard to get... which was their intent in the first place.”
“Whose intent? The Factory owners or the people they bribed?”
“There’s hardly much difference between the two. They’re so big that there are conflicting orders on how to proceed on a transaction, that they’re regulated to influence individual factions without ever realizing they’re already within their own power.”
“In other words, they’re so big that when they attempt to sabotage one of their competitors, they’re unaware they’re hurting one of their own.”
“These aren’t penny-pinching antes. These are global laundering factions, the digits running into ridiculous figures. I have no idea what it’s all for, other than making the numbers go higher.”
“Are we allowed to look at this?”
“The worst part is while they make large sums, they hardly ever get around to spending any of it, since it’s more about the implied value of said funds rather than actual value. Their worth is tied up in all kinds of investments of future tens, that if the funds was actually touched, it would decrease in value. This disproportionate unfairness can’t perpetuate indefinitely, and the people will rise up and rebel against this injustice. And when the Revolution comes, I shall be there among their number!”
It took me awhile to realize the Accountant didn’t answer my question, being more focused in finishing his rehearsed speech. While I was told to be on the lookout for anything odd, I hardly got to have my say. Not that I had much to report, since the Accountant was more interested in hearing feedback from secondary sources.
“Have you heard back from your friend yet?” he insisted.
“I haven’t had the time.”
I kept making excuses for why I hadn’t talked to him, ranging from ‘He’s very tired’ to ‘He’s still emotionally fragile’. The truth was, apart from doing introductions and conclusions to my stories, my friend was not in a talking mood.
The Accountant kept hedging me on to the point where I gave plausible-sounding feedback for how I imagined his conspiratorial response would sound.
“My friend says that absence of a number means something. What are they trying to hide?”
These revelations galvanized the Accountant somewhat, but not for very long. With the Accountant’s persistent insistence on getting my friend involved despite my attempts to divert him otherwise, I was beginning to feel like a warhorse myself.
“Won’t I get in trouble for not working on the job?”
“Gossiping counts as work if I say it does.”
It became clear that he didn’t really need me for his services. What he really wanted was somebody to bounce his far-reaching ideas across. And in this paranoid place, I was the least likely person to share his ludicrous secrets with anybody. Having now read this, you’re now officially a co-conspiracier, so, for the benefit of your health, don’t tell anyone.
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