Back in his room, Judas sets up his chess board—figuratively, of course. The actual game is being played across millions of kilometers, his moves transmitted via laser communication to a Jovian mathematician with an annoyingly superior attitude.
Each move takes thirty minutes to transmit, and the match has been going for days now. Judas enjoys it, partly because it requires so little actual effort on his part and partly because it lets him flex his intellect in a way his job rarely demands. The chessboard on his console gleams faintly, pieces caught mid-battle in a position that Samson had politely described as “suboptimal.”
Judas scrolls through the chat history between moves, his finger idly flicking the screen. The logs are sparse, mostly terse exchanges about the game, but every now and then, a thread of genuine conversation breaks through.
A thread from a couple of days ago catches his eye:
Elijah: What exactly is a “union”?
Judas had been half-distracted when the question came through, trying to focus on the game. His response had been automatic:
Judas: A union’s like… a group of workers getting together to make sure they’re treated fairly. You know, better conditions, more say in how things are run.
The Jovian’s reply had come back almost instantly, or as instant as the thirty minute round trip could make it.
Elijah: Treated fairly? What do you mean? Who treats you unfairly?
Judas smirks at the memory, shaking his head. The Jovian’s genuine curiosity had been baffling, almost childlike, and Judas hadn’t been in the mood to dig into it. He scrolls closer to the present day.
Elijah: Why does someone need a union? Is it a survival thing? Like a co-op for food?
Judas: It’s not just about food. It’s about... everything. Rations, time off, workload, who gets what. A union’s a way to make sure Management doesn’t decide everything for us.
Elijah: But isn’t that Management’s job?
Judas: Yeah, but that’s the problem. If they screw us over, what’re we supposed to do? Just sit there?
Elijah: Why would they screw you over? Doesn’t everyone have the same goal? Don't your centrals keep track of all the resource allocation?
Judas: In theory, sure. In practice? People in charge don’t always think about what’s best for everyone. A union’s like... insurance. Keeps them honest.
Elijah: But if they haven’t done anything wrong, why do you need the insurance?
Judas exhales, leaning back and rubbing his temples. The Jovian’s questions had been relentless, and he’d quickly realized the gulf between their perspectives. It wasn’t naivety, exactly. It was more like the Jovian had never encountered the idea that work could be anything other than perfectly structured and collaborative.
Samson’s voice breaks the silence, light and conversational. “Your queen is under threat, by the way.”
Judas glares at the board. “No kidding. Thanks for the heads-up.”
“You’ve been distracted,” Samson observes. “Are you sure you don’t want me to offer a suggestion?”
“No backseat chess,” Judas mutters, moving a pawn to block the queen. He knows it’s a weak move, but his focus is elsewhere.
The Jovian’s latest message blinks onto the screen, cutting through Judas’s thoughts:
Elijah: Do you have an example of a time when Management made a mistake?
Judas stares at the text for a moment, then types back:
Judas: Not really. They’ve been fine so far. But it’s not about what they’ve done—it’s about what they could do. You don’t wait for the fire before you build the extinguisher.
The reply takes its usual fifteen minutes to send, and their reply, the fifteen minutes to arrive, but when it does, it’s as direct as ever:
Elijah: I don’t understand. What’s the difference between being prepared and being paranoid?
Judas laughs softly, despite himself. “What’s the difference, Samson?”
“Between preparedness and paranoia?” Samson asks. “A reasonable question. The answer likely depends on the individual’s tolerance for risk.”
“Great,” Judas mutters, typing back a response:
Judas: Paranoia is thinking Management is already planning to screw us over. Preparedness is making sure they don’t get the chance.
<Read more KRAKOOM!!! over on RoyalRoad>