A CEO was BRUTAL to their workforce, to say the least. Suddenly, as if they had all become one hivemind: every man, woman, and child - it seemed like - on the entire colony called to the CRC. They sent drop ships and picked everyone up. Given how distant this world was, despite the fact it was THE most valuable resource planet in the CEO's portfolio, they didn't realize it had completely stopped producing for almost two days. When they went to see what the problem was they saw not a single living person left there, even the security forces, who'd also had enough, said "to banes with this," and had left. -- Lessons
Ylang Tinchure had lived by the holy word of prosperity doctrine. He was one of the leading CEOs in Greater Deregulation Upper West-by-Northwest. It was almost ludicrously easy to manipulate the working resources. Divide them by strict strata, and conquer their minds with the right kind of propaganda. Keep the grunts afraid, keep the guards vicious, and above all dangle thin and vague hope like a carrot on a stick. Just out of anyone's reach.
Of course he employed the media he owned in creating feel-good fluff pieces about completely imaginary peons finding some small success or helping out their neighbours. Every now and again, a fictitious war or a phantom terrorist would keep them patriotic enough to keep sweating away for their daily rations.
It had worked for years. That is, until Resoursica V.
It took Ylang two weeks to notice a lack of productivity reports, execution tallies, or expenses from Resoursica V. Of course it was too late by then. Past time for a surprise visit from the man whom his god had blessed with more money than any mortal mind could count. The man upon whom they all depended. Except... when he got there, there was nobody left to depend upon him.
The only lifesigns left were that of the vermin, feasting on rations left abandoned in mess halls and warehouses. There was no trace of the people. No clothing left in wardrobes, though only the supervising staff even got wardrobes. The working stiffs were lucky to have a mattress to lie down on and one uniform to work in.
If Ylang knew about the patterns of history, he might have seen this disaster coming. However, his curse was only looking at the bottom line and cutting off everything that resulted in red ink.
The Human Resource warehouses were empty. The shelves lined with mattresses and blankets and nothing else. The guardhouses were vacant. Every booth bearing an empty #1 Employee mug, courtesy of Greater Holdings Incorporated. The administration centers were vacant. Every cubicle neat and tidy, only a letter of resignation in their outboxes.
What had gone wrong? They certainly weren't virtuous enough to be raptured away. He had given them plenty of rations. More than the bare minimum. They had a choice of flavours - chicken, beef, and seafood. They could pick whatever bars they liked for regulated break time. He gave them clean water at a modest fee. Didn't they appreciate that he was taking a loss on that?
Finally, in desperation, he read one of the resignation letters.
Dear Çur, they had written. Of to a fantastic start[1]. It has come to our collective attention that you are not fulfilling your side of our employment contract. The only difference between your employees in this planetary establishment is in the four walls surrounding us and what we are expected to do for your profits. We are not blessed by your imagined largesse.
It went on for a bit, but it was signed, Flakk you, we quit. See you in the Galactic Alliance.
Ylang smashed their #1 Employee mug out of pure anger.
He knew, without having to go and find out, that there was a class action lawsuit waiting for him if he ever dared venture into Alliance space.
[1] For those who miss the snark, "cur" is a synonym for dog. Using that special French 'Ç' turns the C into an 'S' sound, making it only resemble an honourific when you hear it.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / iqoncept]
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