Swagazine #2

     They were all different. Every one of them. No matter how you looked at it, not one of them lived that day like any of the others. There was a total of six people involved in the incident. They got up at different times, ate different things for breakfast, went to different places of occupation by different modes of transportation, had different levels of stress in their day, ate different things for lunch, and worked on different projects than those that they had worked on that morning. They had completely different lives.
     Robert Santrazon was 38. He worked at the branch of Telenova that had been set up in New Sacramento.
     Telenova was one of the most successful companies that had sprung up after the complete destruction of the Microsoft Corporation in 2013, by the relentless Jericho virus. It had released the corporation's monopoly on the software business, and given some of the other young companies some breathing room. Telenova produced mainly software, and was pulling in a net profit of no less than 750 million dollars in any given year.
     This was where Robert Santrazon worked. He was a product developments chief, and one of Telenova's most brilliant workers. The chairman of the company had even hinted that he might have a tremendous promotion coming his way. Robert Santrazon was having a good day. He had received word that the prototype for a new code compiler, had just been completed, and was ready for final testing. He had breathed a sigh of relief as he knew the project that had dominated all of Telenova's workforce for months was now ready for the final tests. The company analysts had predicted that it could boost sales by over 150 percent.
     He finished reviewing the final reports from the people he assigned to do the testing, and left the Telenova building. As he thumbed the sensor on the steering wheel, in order to start the car, the computers calm voice came over the radio speaker.
     "Good evening Mr. Santrazon," The computer said in its mellow, even voice. "The external temperature is 74 degrees Fahrenheit. Automobile internal sensors report exactly .24 gallons of tritoline fuel remaining. Maximum distance able to be covered with this amount, 23.59 miles. All other systems nominal."
     "Fine." Santrazon replied. He turned the key, and the engine began to hum beneath him. He angled the automobile into traffic, and then to an "auto- drive" lane. He maneuvered the car onto the magnetic strip, and then turned off the manual functions. The car glided smoothly over the glowing rail, and soon they were approaching the tritoline station.
     Then it happened.
     Doris Miller was a mother of two. She was a home maker. A job that had become more scorned and laughed, than any other profession. The family that she was trying to raise was well off, but not rich. They had to watch their expenses, but were wealthy enough to take trips to the other continents once every few years. She had just put her youngest son, James who was two years old, down for his afternoon nap, and picked their other son, Harris, who was three, up from elementary-preschool. She maneuvered the car into the garage, and closed the door. She went to the back seat, and undid Harris' childseat from around him, and went inside. She listened to the messages on her answering machine, and then typed in her responses. The machine automatically called the people back, and delivered the messages. It had finally lived up to its name as an answering machine. Doris put Harris on the sofa, and turned on the TV. She looked as Harris took the remote control and turned to channel 421.
     "He's learning quickly." Doris thought to herself, then smiled. She began to prepare the evening meal. There was a light blinking on the oven. The yellow one. She recognized it as the "low tritoline levels" light. "No problem." She thought to herself. She pushed the button sequence to have some pumped to the unit, directly, but another light came on as she pushed "Transmit." She had never seen this light before. She pushed the "Help" button on the oven, and then pushed the blinking light.
     "This indicator displays the condition of tritoline conduits to this unit. Currently the tritoline conduits are out of order. The auxiliary tank located on the side of this unit is now being activated." She looked, and then groaned. The auxiliary tank was empty. She needed to take the tank off, take it to a tritoline station, fill it, and put it back on the unit. She cursed her luck. She unhooked the silver box from its fasteners, pulled a protesting Harris from the TV, and looked in on James. "He'll be all right." She thought. "I'll only be gone a few minutes." She strapped Harris into the child seat again, and went to the Tritoline station.
     Then it happened.
     The tritoline station sold products other than tritoline, but that was the main item that everyone came for. The rest of the station was a convenience store, and it was here that Darius Kipp worked. Darius was an immigrant from Scotland. He had come to New Sacramento, seeking work and residence. He had found both. Making his home in the upstairs portion of the store, Darius worked as a cashier for the store. He had just collected 12 dollars for a large coffee, and a hot dog, and several gallons of fuel from a person who claimed to be traveling the entire continent. He said that he had a burning need to travel over every road and magnetic lane that had been built on the continent. Darius listened patiently, and then went back to his work after the customer left. He looked at his watch, and smiled as he knew his shift was almost over. Soon, young Thaddius would come and take over the cash register for him. He took the remote control, and turned on the television to a news station. He was just in time to hear the announcer began his reporting of the news.
     "Today, Planetary President Miles toured the southern continent. His primary mission was to determine the amount of damage a recent flood did to the grain crop, and the possible ramifications it could have on the rest of the world. The president stated that while the grain had been completely ruined, he did not sense any hatred from the farmers. The government has decided to spend half a million dollars in order to reimburse the farmers for their loss." Darius turned off the TV and laughed.
     "Reimburse the farmers. Good God." He thought with disgust. "Why in my day the president wouldn't have even left the capitol." He then caught himself. He had done something he had sworn never to do. He had spoken like a grandfather. He was only 63 for goodness sake. He had at least another 50 years left in him. He went upstairs to his home as Thaddius came into the store. He reached up, and turned the key in the lock.
     Then it happened.
     The computer built inside the hammer sensed the raised nail, and instantly changed the trajectory and velocity minutely. The worker hit the nail square on the head, driving it deep into the metal. In this day and age, nothing was made of wood unless it had an aesthetic or nostalgic value. The worker wiped the sweat from his brow, and took another titanium nail from the box. Planting it squarely on the gleaming material he swung the hammer again. The hammer made its course and speed and smashed the nail far into the metal with one blow. The worker looked over at the refueling station that lay next to the construction site. He hoped that the crazy Scotsman would just stay away. He knew that it was almost time for the Scotsman's shift to end at the station, and that he would go to his room (his "rheum" as he pronounced it with his thick accent). He would try to read for some time, then he would walk over and complain that the workers were making too much noise, and that if he "didina get some peace end quiet" then he would file a report at the police station. The workers always laughed at him, and told him that they had all of the correct forms and permits, which they did. He would stomp back to the tritoline station, and stew until the next day. The workers knew all of this well. It happened every single day. The worker continued pounding the nails into the sheet he was bonding, and finally turned off the hammer and walked to the ground level. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the dispenser, and sat down. He reflected on his position in life. An electronic hammer operator. He wondered if there was anything better in store for him. He wondered if he would ever leave the company that had given him a job for some 12 years.
     Most of all, he thought about his wife, Sarah. They both told each other that they wanted to have children, but something always got in the way. The most interesting of the disturbances was the salesman who was selling ancient literature on CD-ROMS. He had rung the doorbell at the very instant as they were preparing to go to bed together. Since neither of them was undressed at the time, they had let the salesman in, allowed him to deliver his speech about the true value of the literature contained in this package of CDs, and then shooed him out the door. Neither of them regained the interest that night.
     The worker finished his coffee, and went back to the top level where he was working. He switched on the hammer, pulled another tritanium nail from the box, placed it squarely on the metal, and raised the hammer.
     Then it happened.
     Young Thaddius was the boy in charge of the cash register after Mr. Kipp's shift ended. Thaddius knew that Mr. Kipp had tendencies towards being short tempered, but had also found a streak of goodness within the man. He rode his small moped to the back of the store, and walked in.
     Thaddius went to Leyland Junior High. He was just old enough to be working, and was proud that he had found a job so quickly. He had seen the "Help Wanted" sign in the window. He had told his parents, and they both told him the same thing. That it took years to find a job in today's economy, and that probably when he returned to the store, that the position would be filled ten times over. Somehow he had gotten their permission, and had returned. The sign was still up, and he was elated that he possibly could get to do what he had been wanted to do since he understood the concept.
     Work. His parents and friends wondered about this.
     He had applied, and was now employed at the tritoline station as a clerk in the evening shift. He brought home a salary slightly above the minimum wage. $10.30 an hour. It wasn't much, but in today's economy, what was? He entered the store, and gotten to work behind the cash register. He pulled up the work logs on the computer, and punched in his own name and number. The computer accepted both of these, and acknowledged that he had come to work exactly three minutes and 25 seconds early, and that this time was noted with the computer's payment section. He closed the terminal, and waited for customers to arrive. He noticed out of the corner of his eye a green station wagon pulling into the station.
     Then it happened.
     No one knew exactly what happened. There wasn't enough left over after it happened to determine what caused it, or who the victims were.
     Perhaps the one who came closest was young Thaddius. After seeing the station wagon he turned. As he turned he saw a white puddle. He first thought it was nothing. Then he spun around and stared at it. It was a puddle of liquid tritoline. He gasped at it in horror. "One of the cables under the ground must have broken! Ohmigod! Ohmigod! Ohmigod!" He thought to himself. He ran up the stairs to Mr. Kipps room. He had a reason to be worried. Liquid tritoline ignited at exactly 74 degrees Fahrenheit. Tritoline was also very explosive. As Thaddius reached the second step the tritoline detonated. The store's windows shattered inwards with the force of the blast, and the store was filled with what was hundreds of times worse than an atomic firestorm. Thaddius felt himself being lifted off the ground, and carried up on the shock wave. He also felt the skin on his back peeling away to reveal a blackening spine. Fortunately he was killed before he reached Mr. Kipps door.
     Robert Santrazon was almost at the tritoline station when a sphere of white light surrounded the car. The car melted around him. Its delicate computer components completely incinerated. The car stopped in the middle of the magnetic lane. Then it was propelled backwards. The magnetic lanes were designed not to let any vehicle depart from them except at the designated exit points. Robert Santrazon never made it to that exit point. His car finally stopped half a mile from the tritoline station. All that was left was the cars blackened chassis. Robert Santrazon had been completely cremated.
     Doris Miller was just pulling in the tritoline station. She was the driver of the green station wagon. She had only milliseconds to see what was going on. Fortunately she did not have to see her son die. Her last thought was. "Why did I bring Harris?" Then her face was peeled back from her skull like the husk from an ear of corn. Her charred skeleton crumbled into black powder that was scattered in the gale like winds.
     The hammer scanned the surrounding area, and saw the nail. It changed its trajectory in order to hit it with perfect accuracy. Then something strange happened. The hammer had adjusted its course, but new scans revealed that the nail was actually moving away from the hammer. The hammer tried to correct its vectors and speed, but found that its circuitry was now non-functional. The hammer lasted exactly half a second longer than the worker did.
     Commendable, considering the circumstances.
     Darius Kipp had just opened the door to his apartment when he heard a shouting behind him. He turned, and saw young Thaddius running towards the stairs. Then he saw the bolt of white energy, that carried Thaddius to him. Time seemed to slow down for Darius Kipp. He saw in slow motion the wooden stairs splintering under the force of the explosion. He saw Thaddius' skin literally melt from his bones. He saw the energy consume him. He saw no more.
     The six people had very different days. They themselves were all different. Some were old, and some were young. Some were rich, others were poor. Some were natives to the continent, others had immigrated. They were all incredibly different. Now, they had one thing in common.
     They were all dead.