2084: Slavery Resurgent

“Arbeit macht frei (Work sets you free) – sign above Auschwitz death camp gate”

“There is nothing worth seeing at the North Groom incineration site, just a big pile of ash and partially burned rubbish. It is not worth your time to go there,” the visibly irate Assistant Director reiterated. “Nevertheless, the Director promised you could see it. It might be dusk by the time you arrive, but, if you insist, the shuttle bus will take you there.”

“Much obliged, we won’t be long,” said Congressman Udall as he turned to walk towards the shuttle bus.

“My day is over,” stated the Assistant Director, “so I will not be coming with you. However, I phoned Mr. Ostrowski – he is our sanitary engineer at North Groom – and he will show you what little there is to see. It was a pleasure conducting you on a tour of GLAD. Y’all come back and see us sometime.”

Following a less-than-heartfelt farewell, the Assistant Director walked back to the facility. An orange sun was sinking below the nearby mountains as the group boarded the shuttle bus. In late afternoon, the temperature was almost bearable. Franklin stuck his arm out of a window and made an obscene gesture. George 99,689,794 settled back in his seat and tried to take a nap, but blissful sleep was not to be. Everything he saw at the GLAD facility had brought back remembrances of what for him had been a living hell. Eventually, George 99,689,794 gave up trying to sleep. He turned towards Franklin and asked, “Are we having fun, yet?”

“Fun bypassed this hellhole long ago and it has no intention of ever coming back. I was in a bar once drowning my sorrows in tequila when a drunken redneck shouted, ‘The South shall rise again!’ Everybody howled with laughter, including me. Nobody is laughing now,” declared Franklin.

“Imagine how depressing it is from my perspective,” remarked George 99,689,794. “I have gone from a billionaire hedge fund manager to a pathetic slave in less than six months. They took away my name and gave me a number. I’m surprised they did not tattoo it on my wrist. Now, they drag me back here so that I can relive the horror.”

The shuttle bus lurched to a halt in front of a small quonset hut approximately 200 yards south of Homey Field. Darkness was descending, but Franklin could discern the outline of a nearby rubbish heap. The corrugated aluminum door to the quonset hut opened allowing a beam of light and a balding individual in a yellow jumpsuit to escape the interior.

“Welcome, I am Jim Ostrowski – call me ‘Pops’. The Assistant Director said you would be coming. There is nothing to see out here but the maintenance hut and the garbage pile out there,” he said, pointing in the direction of the dump. I have been here twenty-four years. Let me get a flashlight and I will show you folks around. Would you like to step inside?”

“Thanks, but we would prefer to wait for you outside where it is cool,” Congressman Udall commented.

Mr. Ostrowski went inside and returned shortly with a titanium flashlight that resembled a policeman’s baton.

“You are wearing a yellow jumpsuit like an automaton, but you couldn’t possibly be an automaton if you have worked here for twenty-four years,” reasoned George 99,689,794.

“GLAD threw away a cardboard box full of jumpsuits. I couldn’t bring myself to burn them since there was nothing wrong with them and they fit me perfectly,” Mr. Ostrowski explained. “That and they’re more comfortable than the overalls I used to wear. The only drawback is that there are too few pockets. But you aren’t here to listen to me make a fashion statement. We need to get going while there is still a little light. It gets pitch black at night out here.”

The group walked with Mr. Ostrowski to the rubbish burn site. “I was just about to burn the trash the garbage truck brought in today when the Assistant Director phoned and said you would be coming. For a small underground installation there sure is a lot of waste. I figured you’d want to see it before I set fire to it.”

“Are there any human remains?,” queried Congressman Udall.

“Depends on what you mean by ‘human remains’. There are a few spots at GLAD without flush toilets. I’ve been told that the pen where they house the automatons has two deep holes for them to relieve themselves in. The shit is covered with a layer of lime until the holes are full. Then they pump it into 55 gallon plastic drums and haul it here. I burn it with aviation fuel and it stinks so bad that the passengers complain about it at Homey Field,” disclosed GLAD’s Sanitary Engineer.

“That is not quite what I meant,” chuckled Congressman Udall, suppressing an urge to outright laugh. “At any time in the past have you cremated any human bodies, organs, or bones?”

“GLAD grows surgical replacement organs. Defective organs are sent here for disposal,” Mr. Ostrowski reluctantly admitted.

“Do you mind if I use that shovel over there to poke around the trash heap?,” asked Congressman Udall.

“Not at all, but you won’t find anything of value in there,” stated the Sanitary Engineer with conviction. “Although I found a cast iron kettle fifteen – no, it must have been sixteen – years ago. It’s perfect for cooking jackrabbit stew.”

Franklin took the flashlight and held its beam steady while the Congressman went through the big pile of trash with a shovel. A few minutes went by without finding anything worthy of note. Congressman Udall stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow. Physical labor was definitely not his forte. George 99,689,794 was considering volunteering to take a turn at shoveling when to everyone’s surprise Congressman Udall took a clear plastic test tube from his coat’s inside pocket and filled it halfway with ash taken from the previous day’s burn. He added an ounce of water, placed his thumb over the top, and shook the test tube vigorously for almost a minute. When Franklin shined the flashlight on it, the mixture in the test tube had turned to bright red.

“Wha...what’s that mean?,” Mr. Ostrowski stuttered.

“It turns red in the presence of human DNA. This is a foolproof test for human remains. United Nations investigators use it to detect mass grave sites. It is introduced as evidence to convict war criminals,” pontificated Congressman Udall. “Perpetrators get long sentences. After World War II, many of the Nazis who operated the concentration camp crematoriums were hung or executed by firing squads. And they were the lucky ones. I’ve seen old black and white photographs of the Commandant at Bergen-Belsen who was ripped to shreds by angry Partisans. I hope I never see anything like that again. Ghastly deeds begat ghastly punishments.”

“What about automaton remains?,” inquired the visibly shaken Sanitary Engineer. “Are they tested differently?”

“Yes, automaton DNA is vastly altered. I did not bring that test with me. Should I have?,” postulated Congressman Udall.

“Shortly after I came to Area 51, there was a rumor circulating that a certain Central American dictator was extradited to the United States for human trafficking and was killed while trying to escape. It was said my predecessor burnt the corpse here and later ground up the bones. Also, a few inmates have died prior to undergoing transformation. The Director ordered me to dispose of the bodies. At first, the technicians used automaton DNA to grow medical replacement organs, but sometimes the patients’ rejected them. They have had better luck with organs grown from human DNA. Yesterday, GLAD dumped six plastic bags filled with defective organs. I had no idea what was in the bags, but when I burned them, it smelled horrible – like hair on fire. I had to wear a face mask,” confessed Mr. Ostrowski. “Am I in danger of being prosecuted for what I did? Will I go to jail? I was just following orders.” Mr. Ostrowski’s voice cracked and he sobbed, “It’s all so unfair!”