The Bootstrap Machine
In which an insomniac mother of three battles her money troubles through frontier science. 1100 words.
Between the afternoon call centre shift and night cleaning at the hospice Maude had half an hour to race across Hammersmith to her flat. Jenny was not yet old enough to cook but had laid out the pasta, ‘up 15p last month’, and tomato tins, ‘35p extra’, on the countertop, so that Maude could immediately boil water, dump pasta in pot, and plate it for the kids, taking a few bites herself before heading out.
At the smudged and grimy doors of the hospice, which she would have to clean, she had a blessed five minute cigarette break, hoping her supervisor did not see.
At 3am she came home with the mind-loosened energy of one who has given up all hope of rest. Two items by the door heightened this strange mood. One was a viciously tiny white envelope with ‘FINAL NOTICE’ stamped in sickening red ink. The other was a medium sized brown parcel. She ignored the envelope and seized the package, running to the boiler-room.
It was little more than a cupboard. She squeezed in with the boiler and a semi-translucent vat, large enough to hold a fully grown woman. Wetting her dry lips, and hands shaking, she tore the tape from the package and dug through the polystyrene. She touched cool metal and hard plastic. The final piece.
She approached the vat, rearranged its tangled wires. She’d installed the dodgy vacuum cleaner for a pump and it worked perfectly, a stroke of genius that had come to her one sleepless night such as this.
Working steadily until the morning birds sang, she installed the last component. It was to run a precise electrical current through the nutrient solution.
Finally, nothing was left but to fill it up, turn it on, and see if it worked.
And wait...
Two months later Maude was smiling happily to herself as she sat at her desk in the call centre. She saw herself across the room, intensely involved in a call, caught her eye, and gave a little wave and a thumbs up.
Maude saw her and returned the gesture with a grin. Maude got to her feet. Her shift was over, and she didn’t feel bad about the three hours break she now had. She hummed to herself as she left the centre and got in her car.
Of course the kids were shocked. But once they realised it meant more time with mummy, and the red stamped letters were getting fewer and less vicious, they accepted the whole thing, as children do. After they’d gone to bed, all the Maudes would cram into the kitchenette and split a bottle of wine, and then a few more.
Maude tottered to her feet and raised her glass to Maude and Maude.
“I’m going to go and sleep. For a full eight hours!”
The other Maudes laughed and applauded.
After a heavenly night’s rest, she drove merrily to the call centre. She hadn’t been at her desk for long when the supervisor tapped her on the shoulder and called her up to Brendan Waverley’s office.
She opened the door, saw the big man at his mahogany desk and gulped.
“Don’t fire me Mr. Waverley,” she blurted out instinctively.
He raised his eyebrows quizzically, “Maude Myers? Why would we fire you, you’re our star employee. Not only have you been working every shift, night and day, you appear to be working multiple at the same time.”
“So sorry…”
“You’re a prize asset to the corporation. There are three yous, and each of your yous’ productivity has increased several-fold. Don’t apologise, I’m just curious as to how you’ve done it.”
Maude was thankful for the chance to explain. She couldn’t help but mention the ever-gathering snowball of debt, the cruel and sudden rent hikes, the precise cost of three new school uniforms. Afterwards, Brendan Waverley spoke quietly.
“Really pulled yourself up by your bootstraps, haven’t you. Do you think I could… see it?”
They took his chauffeured Bentley. He blinked when he saw Maude and Maude there in the flat but shook each identical hand politely. They ushered him to the boiler-room cupboard.
“Breathtaking, and you did it all by yourself?” He approached the vat, mystified by the half-grown female form which floated within.
“I saw the idea in these online videos. But they couldn’t get it to work. Then one night I got in from a shift… saw three ‘Payment Dues’ in one go, pasta up 20p… and I was in such a funny mood it just came to me: run a bit of electricity through it. Somehow, I knew it would work.”
“And here we are,” said the Maudes in unison.
Mr. Waverley was very, very impressed. He shook hands all round and congratulated everyone on being such smart and dedicated workers, said he wouldn’t soon forget the wonder he’d seen, and gave them all the day off with full pay.
“What a charming man he is,” said Maude.
“So lovely and kind. What was that thing he kept asking about?”
“Patent rights.”
“What’s that then?”
“Must be some kind of legal thingy.”
It was some weeks later, a bank holiday. The newest Maude had just come out and Jenny was watching TV and started pointing excitedly.
“Mums! Look! Look! There’s your invention on the telly! And your boss.”
Brendan Waverley was beaming, talking excitedly and gesturing to a shiny, chrome vat.
“I’m stupefied. And they are like the original in every way?” Asked the newsman.
“They work just as hard. But you’d be mistaken for thinking these are human beings. Legally, they are just property, and every employer that signs up to our comprehensive service plan retains the rights to any clones and their labour.”
There was a knock at the door. Firm, official, insistent. This was someone who knocked on doors for a living.
Outside, Maude saw a scrum of men; blunt, apish men in uniforms, and one, balding in suit and tie; small, beady, fastidious.
“Maude Myers? This is a repossession. We understand you have property belonging to Brendan Waverley in there,” he squinted. “Or indeed, that you yourself may be up for repossession…”
As the bailiffs pushed past and into the house, the kids and the Maudes cried out in alarm.
“I need to determine which of you is the real, original Maude Myers,” said the beady little man.
“So Mr. Waverley can pay me for my invention?”
“Pay? You? No. He can only sue that one for infringement. Furthermore, he can only repossess the clones. I’m also acting on behalf of the debt reclamation companies, so they know who still owes them money.”
END