![\"\"](\"http:\/\/www.polutexni.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/06\/556px-Albert_Pinkham_Ryder_-_Sailing_by_Moonlight_-_Google_Art_Project-300x259.jpg\")
<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
Guests<\/em>\u00c2\u00a0was what we called the prisoners. Guests\u00c2\u00a0was what we called the prisoners. The term for us was contractors. We saw ourselves as insouciant sunbeams, a cult of gentlemen rogues rendering extraordinary service, wielding scientific methods. Sometimes just our fists were enough. UV lights glared around the clock. Gook was the yellow syrup they exuded under applied stress, which resisted scouring from […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[17],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1734","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poem"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.polutexni.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1734","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.polutexni.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.polutexni.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.polutexni.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.polutexni.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1734"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"http:\/\/www.polutexni.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1734\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1748,"href":"http:\/\/www.polutexni.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1734\/revisions\/1748"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.polutexni.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1734"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.polutexni.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1734"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.polutexni.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1734"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nThe term for us was contractors<\/em>.
\nWe saw ourselves as insouciant
\nsunbeams, a cult of gentlemen
\nrogues rendering extraordinary
\nservice, wielding scientific methods.
\nSometimes just our fists were
\nenough. UV lights glared around
\nthe clock. Gook<\/em> was the yellow
\nsyrup they exuded under applied
\nstress, which resisted scouring
\nfrom interrogation-room floors
\nno matter what corrosive rinses
\nand surfactants were applied.
\nWe had the cafeteria waitstaff
\nremove the reminiscent mustard
\nfrom the condiment lazy-susans,
\nand blunt the cutlery. We threw
\nbreadballs and surfed on the sizzle
\nof duty-free liquor transported
\nall the way from the World.
\nWe requested medical treatment
\nfor our repetitive-motion trauma
\nand demanded personal rainbows
\nof numbing pharmaceuticals. Clearly,
\nflaws were already present. Organs
\nthat might not have corresponded
\nto ours burst like eyeballs swollen
\nwith glaucoma, or rupturing souffl\u00c3\u00a9s.
\nThe fluid spewing out reminded us
\nof the slick inspirational harangues
\na representative from HQ delivered
\nweekly, propped at the rec-room
\npodium while we fossilized
\non folding metal chairs. Flowcharts
\nslid into view, titled Results<\/em>
\nAre What Counts<\/em>, as he prodded
\nthe controls, promising bonuses.
\nHe said advantage<\/em> and incalculable<\/em>,
\nand what sounded like goldrush<\/em>.
\nHis entourage gawked at the parade
\nas we herded guests to a narrow
\nstretch of shore where we kept them
\nbehind electric nets between sessions.
\nPonderous as glaciers, or cumulus
\nrising into windless air on a summer
\nevening, they looked like miniature
\nbelugas or gigantic albino muskrats,
\nbellies billowing in the shallows
\nas they huddled together. Not mammals,
\ndespite their warmth. Not like us<\/em>.
\nThe poignard spike of keratin jutting
\nfrom each orbital ridge was removed
\nsurgically at intake processing\u00e2\u20ac\u201d
\nthe greeting ritual, we called it.
\nWe gave them names: Marshmallow<\/em>,
\nCream Puff<\/em>, Cool Whip<\/em>, scarified them
\nwith ID markings. They never made
\nnoises in the audible-frequency range,
\nbut we started wearing headphones
\nanyway. Dark lenses and heavy gloves
\nwere already part of our uniforms.
\nThen one of the dishwashers let slip
\nwhat the first behavioral psychics
\nhad discovered: our guests were only
\nhapless remnants of a dimensional-
\ncartography expedition come to grief
\nwhen their energy devices failed,
\nmarooned in an unknown universe
\nwith entirely different physical laws,
\nand imploring us for sanctuary.
\nLess-gullible advisors were quickly
\nsent to oversee us, stun batons poised.
\nGuests were stubborn, we were told, and
\ncould withstand further vigor. We ran
\ninto snags. Our glowering controllers
\napplied a sort of triage: those ruined
\nirreparably would serve as examples
\nto the others. Surely survivors would
\nbargain as they became desperate,
\nand reveal their arcane inheritance.
\nWe underwent further motivational
\nconditioning; some of us were also
\nused as examples. When inchoate panic
\nset in, our replacements were already
\nin orbit above the facility. We knew then
\nthat no one was going home. After
\nflooding the administration dome
\nwith gas, we went down to the shore
\nfor the last time. We shorted out
\nthe netting, abandoned our gear
\non the beach. Our guests let us ride them,
\nour final life-rafts, all the way out
\nbeyond the continental shelf to where
\nthe huge waves began, to a place
\nwhere we had always been friends.<\/p>\nillustration is\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0Sailing by Moonlight by\u00c2\u00a0Albert Pinkham Ryder<\/h6>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"