common space, right hand, the first four measures common space, right hand, the first four measures in Flash fiction

At first glance I thought all the screens were showing batches of the same images, but as I approached I understood that each camera recorded a different section of rows upon rows of workers. They wore caps and masks and overalls -- the only variation was in their heights. I calculated several hundred, at least.

Mr JNS saw that I had arrived in his office. "Download 87% complete...thirty two seconds remaining," he said, by way of explanation. "Ok. Finished. My attention is all yours. Thank you for coming."

"It's nice to meet you," I said, although I guessed he didn't care for such remarks.

"We will begin down on the floor," he said, as he disconnected his machine, and rotated himself to face a mobility scooter parked beside the monitors.

I stepped forward instinctively, then hesitated.

"You may assist me," he said. "Your embarrassment serves no purpose here."

I helped him into the scooter and we took a lift down to the factory floor. Briefly he waited whilst I familiarised myself with the production. It was straightforward solderwork, but intricate. The workers did not acknowledge me peering over their shoulders, but after a moment an overseer tapped me sharply on mine.

"Number," it demanded, but it was dismissed by a signal from Mr JNS before I could respond.

Mr JNS began to wheel along the length of the floor. "Simply, we need help with our fifth measure," he said.

"Fifth measure?"

"I detect surprise. Some of the more established factories still have five. Of course, the first four are simple equations. The fifth too, if we are only concerned with compliance."

"Facial and vocal tone readings."

"Yes. And questionnaires."

"Numeric or verbal?"

"Both. The problem is, they lie."

"They report false job satisfaction?"

"Affirmative."

"That's very... interesting." The truth was, it didn't make sense. This job was starting to sound like an easy recalibration. "I'll need to see the common spaces in the living quarters. And you will need to update your bots to recognise hybrids before I'll set foot in this factory again. What are your terms?"

He began to send over a long stream of binary, which he knew I couldn't read until later. It's a trick as old as meat, but at that moment one of the workers caught my eye. It was a female, 5'8, with hair. She must have been unaccustomed to hearing conversation, for she looked interested. She lifted her right hand, pulled down her mask a little, and smiled.

"I'd like to offer you the position," said Mr JNS.

I forgot about the temp file until it was much too late.