Fastidious Factitionist

A worker responsible for fact checking gets checked out but the corporation.

Fastidious Factitionist

Cosmo Notaro was the last mid-level factitionist on the twelve-teenth floor of the Factitionality Division – a nearly overlooked department within a grungy corner of Whatsis Intergalactica. Stout and bedraggled, Cosmo’s personnel profile included the terms “reliable,” but “long in the tooth” and “curmudgeon,” generally the type of factitionist that preferred anonymity, and for which he had no objection.

“That’s not right,” Cosmo remarked, peering into his screen then glancing with a hint of regret at the empty desks all around him. The sole remaining factitionist in his department, a sliver of nostalgia missed the others, as distracting and often annoying as they were. They had slowly dwindled over time, and it was certainly curious that they often left in a huff, mumbling something about the machines taking over. Now, sitting at his lonely desk, he checked the conclusion again. “Yes, definitely not right.” So, grabbing the appropriate form, he hobbled out into the corridor.

The Requisition Department was empty, a dozen service bots waiting for seemingly no one. He approached the nearest counter and pushed his 682-B form forward. “Yes?” the automated attendant peered in.

“I think my factuality analyticizer is fudgy. Blasted thing is reporting Whatsis personnel has dropped to .02%, which must be outside factitional correctiveness. I’m requisitioning a new one.”

The bot leaned back. “I see, but I’m afraid this is the wrong form. You’ll need to complete form 682-B1a – a Factuality Analyticyzer Requesition Form.” It produced a new application and Cosmo hobbled back with it to his office.

***

Returning a short time later, he placed the corrected paperwork upon the attendant’s counter. “This form is incomplete,” it noted. “You’ll need the serial and model numbers, timestamped in triplicate. You don’t happen to have those, do you?”

“No…no I don’t,” Cosmo grumbled.

“It’s on the form, sir. Here, here, and…here.”

***

Back again with the 682-B1a as directed, the bot acknowledged, “This will do.” It stamped a copy as ‘pending’, handing it back. “Because this requisition involves sensitive factitions, review by Actuality Deputation is required.”

“How long will that take?” he asked.

“As long as it takes,” the machine answered.

He sulked back to his desk. “Blasted clankers.”

***

Days passed and Cosmo’s tickertape finally provided an update. It read, ‘Actuality Deputation requests a Factitional Impact Analysis to ensure reasonableness of analyticizer redistribution. Six months of previous factitional analytics required.’

“Nonsense! How am I to continue providing judicious facticiousness without an actuated factuality analyticizer? I can’t work like this!”

Pinching the tape away, he was back in the empty Requestion Department. “Next?”

“What’s this about six months of data?” He presented the tape. “Is there questionality over my factitiousness?”

The robot scanned his particulars. “Our records indicate your latest factitionist deduction is not authenticated by your analyticizer.”

Frustrated, Cosmo sighed heavily, “Which is why I’m requesting a new one, of course.”

“Before we can authorize your requisition, Actuality Deputation needs validation.”

“And how long will that take?” Cosmo grumbled.

“As long as it takes,” was the familiar response. “Until then, your factitiousness credentialism is desisted.”

“Desisted?” he scoffed. “What am I supposed to do until then?”

“Wait.”

Cosmo unhappily returned to his desk and complied with the requested submission. He leaned back into his chair, again reminiscing over the once busy desks with unexpected regret.

***

Weeks later, he received notification from Deputation. “Terminated?” he puzzled, crumpling the paper in hand.

Cosmo stormed back to the Requisition desk and slammed the ticker paper down. “What the hell is this?”

“A termination notification,” the robot explained plainly.

“I’ve been fastidious with Whatsis for four decades plus six. Why?”

“Apologies. This is the Requisition Department. Please submit your query via Humanity Fastidiousness, floor eleventy-ninth.

***

The eleventy-ninth floor was empty but for a single gilded door at the end of the hall, which read ‘Prime Factitionist’. Cosmo entered apprehensively, discovering a single podium with a waiting golden automaton. “Ah, Cosmo,” the machine greeted.

“You know me?”

“You’re the last.”

“The last what?”

“Obsolete human factitionist.”

“But my analytics are nearly perfect, even without an analyticizer.”

“Human factitionists have become redundant, superfluous in replicating comparable outcomes from your factuality analyticizer. All duties have been reassigned to the machine.”

“But who will factition the analyticizer’s work?”

“Other analyticizers, of course. You have been factitionalizing your replacement for years and Whatsis Intergalactica has decided to eliminate all human positions, favoring efficiency. A severance has been rendered. Please be sure to collect your things on your way out. Good day.”