“There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”
— Leonard Cohen
Most people throw up around 2 miles above surface, but not Fred. He enjoyed the heights. Advice to first timers was always to sit down in the center of the elevator and close their eyes, pretending they were sitting comfortably in their mama’s living room, but not Fred. On his first time and the thousands of times thereafter, Fred stood with his hands on the elevator railing, looking out, savoring the shrinking world below.
He never understood why they hadn’t installed a window, leaving the elevator open to the chilling air. The common theory was that if you couldn’t hack the open air in an elevator, you had no business on the crack.
Regardless of the motive, Fred liked to feel the change in the air as he moved to heights once reserved for only the gods. He breathed in deeply, allowing his lungs to adjust. He’d been born for this.
Of course, when he’d been born, “this” hadn’t existed. Most of the kids growing up had wanted to be doctors, lawyers, basketball players, singers. Fred himself had wanted to be a zoologist.
No one had considered a profession restoring the largest crack in the ozone layer ever recorded.
No one had considered the thousands of jobs the greatest natural crisis in history would create.
There were the environmentalists that studied the crack, the scientists that determined the solution to restore it, the engineers that had designed rigging to reach the crack, and the sky grunts to execute the slow and painful process required to finish the job, to seal the crack once and for all.
That was Fred. He was a sky grunt. The elite class of painters sent up to roll the ozone repairing compound over the gaping hole etched across the sky.
The job paid terrible, was highly dangerous, and had no transferable skills once the hole was ultimately eliminated, yet Fred didn’t care. He was making a difference, and during his shift, he was on top of the world. It was all worth it.
“Doors opening. Watch the first step,” said the foreman. It was the same joke every time, but it was also a warning. Each week at least three people fell to their deaths. Carelessness, high winds, stupid bad luck all played a part. Didn’t matter if you were brand new or the most seasoned on the job. If the expanse called your name, it would take you. The risk was especially high for the sky grunts. Only the foremen and supervisors were provided parachutes as standard issue.
Sky grunts weren’t forbidden from buying their own, but most opted not to. You didn’t become a sky grunt because you had the money to pay for a parachute. Even those that could afford parachutes tended to refuse them. You became a sky grunt for two reasons. The money and the thrill. Parachutes reduced both.
Fred stepped off the elevator and on to the narrow mesh platform that ran for miles in every direction. Attached to his waist was a clip he promptly connected to the platform. The only safety feature required here in the sky. There were no rails. The platform had been costly enough to build already even without including a barrier between the platform and the steep first step. Not that Fred was complaining. He knew how to work his clip. It was good and strong and had kept him alive more than once.
Fred liked the thrill, but he wasn’t stupid.
Fred was assigned to sector 17 today. He’d been on sector 17 all week. The supervisors kept saying they were nearly done with the sector, but Fred had his doubts. The holes were getting harder and harder to seal, but what other choice did the sky grunts have. Show up to your section and seal. The fate of mankind depends on it.
He pulled out his applicator and started waving it in the air. A thin, constant cloud of blue smoke puffed out of the end of device most commonly described as some elite technology hidden inside a blue craft store glue gun.
In his waist band were hundreds of extra cartridges of the blue smoke. When his current cartridge ran low, he would jam another one in the back of the device, hence the glue gun comparisons.
Fred felt warmth from the gun spreading through his hands as it went to work.
“Hey Fred, you watch the game last night?”
It was Tony. A fellow seasoned sky grunt.
Tony had the most impressive beard Fred had ever seen. If you asked Tony about it, he would tell you he planned to grow his beard until it could touch earth below or he retired, whichever came first.
“No man. Didn’t catch it. Was dealing with my sick cat.”
“Darn dude. Again? You missed out. Jefferson scored ten points in the last minute to win. It was insane. You need to get rid of that cat. Caused you to miss the greatest game in history.”
Fred didn’t have a cat. He just hated basketball. However, a few months ago he’d realized a simple truth. Having a sick cat that gave him an excuse to miss basketball games was simply an easier conversation topic than trying to explain why he hated basketball for the hundredth time.
“I remember when you got that cat. Still don’t understand why you had to go to the pet store during my annual Superbowl party. When you gonna give up and take it back. Ask for a refund.”
“It’s not that bad. She’s a good cat.”
The fake cat’s name was Penelope.
“Sure, sure,” said Tony before adding quickly, “Nothing against cats you know. Decent animals. I just like dogs better.”
“No worries. Tell me more about the game.”
A few hours later, the horn for lunch rang out, and Fred took a seat on the edge of the platform, dangling his feet out over the empty space below. From his backpack he pulled out his sandwich. His favorite since childhood. Ham and peanut butter.
The platform shook as Tony took a seat next to him. They chewed in silence as they watched the clouds swirl around their boots.
“Hey Tony, you think it’s true what they say?” asked Fred, loath to break the perfect silence, but desperate to vocalize something that had been bothering him.
“Oh no. Here we go again.”
“What?”
“You and your hypotheticals.”
“Give me a break. Just listen. Do you think it’s true?”
“Is what true?”
“What they say down there. About this crack in the sky. That it’s always been here. That we shouldn’t be sealing it. That it’s our last connection to God. That the light will go out if we close it up.”
“You’ve been spending too much time with those crack heads. Listen man. We’re sky grunts. We ain’t philosophers or religious. If we were, we’d be anywhere else. Our duties simple. Come up here. Seal this hole. Go home. Buy some drinks. Some pizza. Meet some ladies. Fall asleep on our couch and do it all again.”
Fred shook his head. How could anyone be this close to the heavens and not feel the slightest bit religious? It wasn’t natural.
Of course, the only thing natural about Tony was his beard.
“Yeah, man. You’re right. I hear you.”
“You better. Save the religious stuff for Christmas,” said Tony, using his sandwich to point out a kid Fred hadn’t seen before that had started working again. “Would you look at this.”
“Must be one of the new recruits.”
“Exactly. What’s this rookie doing? Lunch ain’t even over yet,” said Tony.
“Come on, Tony. You know how it is for the new guys. Always trying to make a name for themselves.”
“Someone should tell him we all get paid the same. Working through lunch ain’t going to do him any good.”
Before Fred could stop him, Tony stood up, gesturing towards the kid.
“Hey rook relax. We’re union up here. We get full lunches. Is the rules.”
The kid ignored Tony and continued working. He was approaching the interchange between Sector 17 and 18.
The interchange was where you switched your rigging between one sector and another, a surprisingly simple yet dangerous exercise. If you were going to die up here, it was most likely going to happen at an interchange, especially during your first week.
“Can you believe this kid?” asked Tony, sitting back down to finish his lunch.
Fred couldn’t stop looking at the kid, watching him approach the dangerous interchange.
“Hey kid, hold up. Let me show you a tip,” said Fred, pulling his feet back up on the platform.
“Wasting your time. It’s lunch. Kid wants to die on lunch that’s his personal use of time,” said Tony, but Fred ignored him. Lunch or not, he didn’t intend to watch someone slip off the edge.
The kid kept working, ignoring Fred’s calls to wait a minute. Reaching the interchange, the kid unlatched his harness from Sector 17 and slammed it down on Sector 18.
At last, the kid turned to acknowledge Tony and Fred with one of those looks only teenagers can pull off. A look that is equal shares “I don’t need you. I’ve got this.” and “pure ignorance.”
Fred paid no attention to the look. From here, he could see the truth that the kid was too busy gloating to realize. It was a common, deadly mistake. This kid in his attempt to show off had slammed his clip down too fast. The force with which he’d slammed it down caused the hook to spring open again. Even now, the edge of the hook was barely gripping the edge of the rung, barely holding the kid to the platform, barely pretending it intended to keep the kid alive.
“Hey rook. Stop showing off and double secure your rig,” said Fred, quickening his pace.
The kid looked down and saw the mistake. It was obvious if you paid attention and so easy to avoid.
When you become a sky grunt, they trained you on all the stuff you needed to know. The training was surprisingly simple, not because the job wasn’t dangerous but because there was very little you could do if it was your time to go.
Whenever in doubt, they taught you to get low to the platform until you were safe. Aside from that, the only advice was to pray. The kid at least knew the first part as he immediately began to drop towards his knees, reaching for his hook.
Still, Fred could sense it. He could taste it in the air. The skies knew. They could sense the vulnerable state this kid was in.
The view was beautiful, but mankind wasn’t meant to spend this much time close to the heavens in this lifetime. The sky was always waiting, ready to snatch those that it found unprepared.
A massive wind kicked up, pulling itself along the platform hand by hand before it knocked the kid upside his head. The kid’s hands flung back as he tried to balance himself, reaching for a support that was not there. There were no rails on the platform. No place to steady oneself other than the ground far below.
Fred only had seconds before the kid was gone forever. The clip had fully flung free. This kid was going to go over the edge.
Fred dove towards him, reaching to grab any part of the kid and steady him.
Fred landed on top of the kid, pressing both of their bodies into the platform. He could feel the kid’s breath on his neck. The kid whimpered, terrified at how close he’d come.
Fred sat up and looked the kid square in the eye.
“You always double check the clip at an interchange.”
The kid nodded. He couldn’t be more than 15. The workers kept getting younger and younger. Everyone needed work, but Fred still struggled with the thought of kids coming up here, risking their lives. This kid should be in school. Kicking a ball with his friends. Flirting with girls by punching them in the arm. Not facing almost death at the interchange between Sector 17 and 18.
“Thank you,” said the kid.
Fred shrugged. He didn’t need or want the thank you, but he was glad the kid appeared to have the message. Wasn’t so long ago that Fred was getting a similar message himself. Everybody almost slipped off the edge at some point. It was part of the job. The trick was still being around to tell the tale of carelessness afterwards.
“Just double check next time,” said Fred, leaving the kid behind and returning to Tony who was already shaking his head.
The lunch bell rang again, signaling time for everyone to return to work.
“That’s what the kid gets for working through lunch. Should have let him fall. We might have gotten a half day off to re-watch those safety videos.”
Fred couldn’t tell if Tony was being truthful or not. It was always hard to tell when Tony was being serious.
As Fred turned back on his applicator, he looked out at the expanse before them. As deadly as it could be in the sky, who would ever willingly choose a second on the ground over this?
Eventually the evening bell would ring, and everyone would go home.
He’d take a ride down the elevator followed by another night. A ride up the elevator followed by another day.
A ritual repeated over and over, 365 days a year, by Fred and an army of men and women working steps from the door to heaven. Men and women that chose to believe they could save the world inch by inch, one foot at a time. Some doctors. Some lawyers. Some people who had no skills at all. People desperate for the money or desperate for the thrill.
When Fred eventually left that evening, he couldn’t help but think back to the conversation he’d been having with Tony before the incident with the kid. Was the world a bit darker than the day before or was it only a series of tricks played by the approaching night? A thought he would have to shake off before another day. That wasn’t a question for him. That wasn’t his calling.
His official position title was a space sealing technician, but no one up here used that term after the interview.
They were sky grunts. All of them. Nothing technical about it.
