The CRC allows the citizenry or a former Deregger colony to decide the fate of the CEO that had ruled over them with an iron fist. What punishment does he get? HE gets to be the one to shovel manure from the barns, haul it, and spread it on the fields all day. Though, at least, HE gets to get regular breaks, fresh water, and time to eat, and his quarters were softer than what he used to let them have. -- Lessons
They had voted for something a lot like this to happen. To make the former boss work to his own standards. Unfortunately, according to public opinion, the Cogniscent Rights Committee had work safety standards that had to be upheld.
This meant acceptable work hours, appropriate nutrition, a safe and structurally sound habitat, and breaks to drink or go relieve himself. No impossible quotas, just pay according to the work accomplished.
It was still a massive step down for CEO Gerhalt Phanci-Slykk, who was used to a gilded bedchamber, five-course snacks, and a new wife every month. He was decidedly not used to a single sleep niche with plain bedclothes, daily rations in a bag[1], and zero company at all.
The last was entirely due to his "winning personality".
His first day after training was spent complaining about the work he was expected to do. All whilst doing the minimum possible work. He was further shocked and outraged to learn about his pay for that day.
"But I worked the five hours," he wailed. "I should be paid five Hours!"
"Five hours according to standards set by the average of thousands of workers ranging from new on the job to years of experience," said the payroll administrator. "According to that average, you have done a generous estimate of twenty Minutes. Which you have been paid in full."
"What the flakk am I supposed to do with twenty Minutes?"
"Maybe you could invest in the share market," she snarked. "Or treat yourself to some Avocado toast."
Both of these had been "talking points" in any of his prior interviews. "It's not even enough for the bus home."
"So walk. And get some healthy exercise. There are people waiting. Move along."
He could have demanded a lawyer, but he knew that the only lawyer he would get would be one paid by the body to funnel the workforce into jail, where they would be paid even less for their work.
It was a long, long walk to his new 'home'. A tiny space meant for someone living alone, according to the standards set by the CRC. Which was twice the size of the Singles Only apartments he used to rent out for exorbitant fees.
The only entertainment that was free were a series of documentaries about how horrible he was and why his empire was doomed to fail.
Gerhalt went to bed hungry, even though he could have had a baggie of Nutri-food. Just one wasn't filling and it was poverty food. He'd look like a fool sucking on a baggie for dinner.
He broke the next morning, gulping down the contents of the baggie and all but jogging to the fields to actually work this time. Surely, he reasoned, if he followed his own talking points, he would be back in charge. Eventually.
He would learn. Oh, how he would learn.
[1] Nutri-food(tm) is a chemically-balanced concoction of everything a specific cogniscent might need throughout the day. The cheapest version of which is basically vitamin soup in a bag. With a sippy spout.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / IFIMAGE]
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