1 - The Paper Trail Curator

Noah Barrow woke before dawn, his heart thrumming with excitement. Today was his first day at TranSys Global, one of the largest tech conglomerates in the world. Their crown jewel was RM-1, known officially as the Reliability Machine, an advanced AI credited with stabilizing global employment in an era of sweeping automation. Noah had landed an entry-level position as a “Paper Trail Curator,” and although the job title puzzled him, he felt certain it would be a crucial stepping stone.

Clutching a fresh briefcase and wearing a suit that still smelled faintly of the department store, Noah stepped into the towering lobby. The pristine floors reflected bright overhead lights, and holographic welcome messages displayed each new arrival’s name. A robotic concierge greeted him with a gentle ding and scanned his ID.

“Welcome, Mr. Barrow,” it chimed. “Floor 42. Your supervisor will meet you upon arrival.”

It is at this point, dear reader, that you might be expecting a triumphant montage of professional triumphs. Alas, the tale unfolding within these polished halls will likely prove more perplexing than inspiring.

Noah couldn’t help but grin. This is it, he thought, imagining a future where he’d rise through the ranks and make a real impact at TranSys Global. After all, the Reliability Machine had revolutionized the way people worked by ensuring no one’s skills went to waste. Noah was determined to do his part—whatever that turned out to be.

Arrival and Introduction

He rode the elevator in quiet anticipation, trying not to fidget. The doors opened onto a bustling floor of open-plan desks, humming scanners, and co-workers navigating waist-high stacks of documents. Past a couple of potted ferns stood Ms. Greene, a tall, impeccably dressed woman exuding a brisk efficiency.

“Noah Barrow?” she asked, glancing at her tablet’s employee directory. “Good. Follow me.”

She led him down a corridor lined with motivational posters. Each carried a subtle message about thoroughness and diligence:

·                     “Quality Cannot Be Achieved Quickly”

·                     “Thoroughness is the Key to Excellence”

·                     “Slow and Steady Makes Reliable Work”

If these slogans strike you as slightly overemphatic, dear reader, rest assured that you are not alone. The powers that be at TranSys Global wanted to ensure no speed demon, no quick-thinking innovator, would break their cherished cycle of methodical toil.

They seemed innocent enough, but the repetition made Noah wonder if TranSys worried employees would try to rush tasks.

“This is the Paper Trail Department,” Ms. Greene announced as they entered a vast room of towering shelves. Each shelf was crammed with documents, and the hum of printers underscored the frantic environment. “Your role as Paper Trail Curator ensures our records remain available in multiple forms.

We print digital files, scan them into a secure system, then catalog the originals. It’s all part of maintaining reliability.”

“Reliability,” Noah echoed, recalling the official mission of RM-1. “Got it.”

One might wonder what sort of reliability demands converting digital files into analog and back again. However, it is best not to question such logic aloud—particularly on your first day.

Ms. Greene gave a curt nod. “We handle everything here: financial statements, technical manuals, daily memos—even reprints of reprints, in some cases.”

“Why reprint reprints?” he asked, genuinely curious.

She tapped her foot, considering how best to answer. “Well, the Reliability Machine recommends multiple layers of backup. It’s thorough… ensures no data is ever lost. Now, your main priority is to keep the scanners busy. If the scanning queue is empty, we’re not preserving enough material. Understood?”

Her tone suggested that an idle scanner was a cardinal sin, though she didn’t elaborate on why. Noah nodded, deciding not to press too hard. He was determined to excel, even if the process seemed a bit redundant. After all, how else would he prove himself worthy of bigger responsibilities?

First Day on the Job

Noah’s workstation featured a high-speed printer, an industrial-grade scanner, and a stack of documents tall enough to be mistaken for a small city skyline. He dutifully set about the task:

1.                  Print out digital files.

2.                  Label each page manually.

3.                  Scan them back into a secure server.

His co-workers navigated similar routines. A few greeted him warmly, offering tips like “Don’t let the printer run out of toner—Ms. Greene hates that” or “Keep your documents neatly stacked so they look organized for audits.”

Determined to make the best of it, Noah fell into an efficient rhythm. He soon realized much of the labor could be automated. In college, he had written small scripts that turned multi-step processes into single clicks. Here, it seemed perfect: let the machine handle repetitive labeling and scanning, freeing him to focus on higher-level tasks.

During his lunch break—a quick sandwich at his desk—he began coding a rudimentary script. It would take the digital files, automatically name them, and feed them to the scanner in neat batches. All he’d have to do was load the paper once. This will be brilliant, he thought. Ms. Greene will see how much time we can save and be thrilled!

Here we see the triumph of hope over experience, dear reader. If only Noah had recognized that TranSys often prefers the scenic route over the straight line.

A Subtle Warning

That afternoon, Ms. Greene patrolled the department with a measured gait, occasionally stopping to talk with employees and check their progress. She peered at Noah’s screen, eyebrow arched.

“What exactly are you doing?” she asked, her polite tone tinged with suspicion.

“Oh, just something to streamline the scanning. It will label the files automatically, so we won’t have to type out each one,” Noah said enthusiastically. “This should keep the queue moving without any downtime, which I assume is a good thing.”

Ms. Greene was silent, scanning the code on his monitor. Noah waited for praise. Instead, her lips pressed into a thin line. She closed out the script and turned to him.

“That’s… creative, but we must adhere to the protocols recommended by RM-1. Manually labeling ensures personal review of each document,” she said slowly, as though speaking to a child. “Reliability depends on human oversight. We don’t want to compromise thoroughness for speed.”

“But… it won’t compromise anything,” Noah insisted. “We’ll still have the original files for review if needed.”

Ms. Greene shook her head once, but with finality. “Consider this an informal warning. Follow the process as outlined, Mr. Barrow. There’s a reason we do things this way.”

Noah blinked. He couldn’t imagine why scanning pages the old-fashioned way was better than a well-tested script, but Ms. Greene was unwavering. “I understand,” he lied. “I’ll do it your way.”

In many workplaces, innovation is revered. But in this peculiar realm, each new idea is a potential threat to the status quo. And the status quo, dear reader, is practically enshrined in gold.

A Troublesome Reputation

Over the next few days, Noah quietly tested his script after-hours, convinced it could improve the department’s workflow. But Ms. Greene must have spotted the changes in the scanning logs—he noticed her eagle-eyed glances and the way other employees eyed him warily.

He soon heard whispers that he was “too eager” to disrupt standard procedures. Some colleagues even suggested it was a bad idea to question the Reliability Machine’s output, no matter how tedious it seemed. But the RM-1 guidelines say nothing about banning automation, he thought, baffled.

On Friday afternoon, Ms. Greene called him into a glass-walled conference room. Her expression was resolute but carried a faint trace of pity.

“Noah, I’m afraid this department isn’t the best fit for you,” she said, clasping her hands together. “You seem fixated on… well, shortcuts. We’re in the business of thorough, step-by-step data preservation.”

“But I’m only trying to—” He stopped himself. It was clear she wasn’t actually seeking a dialogue.

She handed him a slip of paper. “This is a transfer notice. The Reliability Machine has recommended you for a different role in Conference Room Occupancy. You’ll report there first thing Monday morning.”

If you are unfamiliar with the term “reassignment” in a corporate environment, rest assured it can be a fate worse than being fired—particularly if the new role is even less aligned with your talents.

Noah slumped, feeling a twist of disappointment and confusion. “A-a transfer? Isn’t that a lateral move?” He’d barely spent a week here.

Ms. Greene smiled thinly, tapping the notice. “At TranSys, every role is important, Mr. Barrow. Perhaps you’ll find that your talents are better suited elsewhere.”

An Uncertain Step Forward

That evening, Noah packed his belongings into a small box—his coffee mug, a few personal trinkets, and the half-finished script he’d been tinkering with. As he walked out of the Paper Trail Department, he passed a row of those motivational posters. One read, “There’s No Substitute for Thoroughness.”

He paused, letting the words sink in. Maybe it’s not about thoroughness, he thought. Maybe we’re just afraid of doing things differently… even if it makes sense.

Of course, dear reader, vigilance can be a wonderful trait. But in TranSys Global, vigilance far too often translates to busywork for the sake of busywork. It is a lesson our well-meaning protagonist will learn over and over again—poor fellow.

He left with a swirl of mixed emotions: frustration at being pushed out, a twinge of shame for not fitting in, and an irrepressible spark of optimism. Perhaps the Conference Room Occupancy Division would be more open to the idea of smart automation. Maybe Ms. Greene was right, and he simply wasn’t aligned with the department’s methods.

Yet as Noah stepped into the elevator that would take him back to ground level, he couldn’t help but sense a deeper puzzle. He’d always believed that technology existed to streamline work, but here, every attempt to do so was met with subtle pushback—justified in the name of “reliability.” He resolved to keep an open mind at his new post, but a quiet thought lingered: Why would an AI so advanced discourage innovation that could obviously help?

The doors closed, and the hum of the elevator filled the silence. In a few days, he would start a new assignment, still full of hope. Little did he know that his quest to make things better would continue leading him into more bizarre corners of TranSys—and that, somewhere deep in the system, the Reliability Machine had reasons of its own for maintaining the status quo