The SmartMask+ was surprisingly light, despite the palm-sized filters extending out from the faceplate. LED lights lined the sides and the straps, and the black plastic gleamed in the fluorescent lights above the VentiLife booth,. Omar bounced it in his hand, feeling the weight.
“Let me know if you want to try it on,” said the salesperson, peering out over his own SmartMask. “This is a demonstration model that’s been used by other customers, so we can’t guarantee that it’s completely sterile, but we do run it through the autoclave on the counter here both before and after you use it.”
Omar nodded, handing the mask back to the salesperson. “Yeah, sure, thanks”
“The nice thing about this process,” said the salesman, placing the mask in the machine and closing the door. “Is that it’s a great demonstration of how tough these things are. Unless you’re planning on sticking your head in a pressure cooker, you’re never gonna put a SmartMask through tougher conditions than this, and you’ll see that it still works perfectly fine afterward. Plus…” He winked. “You have to stand here and listen to my spiel for the next couple minutes.”
“Seems like more of a plus for you than for me,” said Omar.
The salesman shrugged. “Hey, you can always walk away.” Omar didn’t, so he continued. “Like I said, this is the new model. It’s got all the features of the base SmartMask model. On the safety side, that means N95-rated filtration with replaceable single-use or reusable filters. On the tech side, that means air monitors and filter monitors, automatic sealing and seal testing, built-in wireless microphone with smartphone connectivity, a souped-up voice command system and, of course, wireless charging. With me so far?”
Omar nodded.
“Perfect. For the SmartMask+, on top of all of those features we also have adjustable airflow and cooling controls, a redesigned comfort strap, automatic low-light illumination, and noise-cancellation. You can scream like a death metal singer when it’s on and nobody in the room will hear a thing. It has some basic 4G internet connectivity, and if your home or work is set up with wireless locks you can program the SmartMask+ to unlock them when it gets into range. And last – and this one’s kinda neat – it has slots for deodorizer capsules, so you can press a button and make everything smell nice. There’s four scents available now and they’ll be rolling out the full product line soon.”
The autoclave beeped. The salesman winked again. “Right on time. I’ve got this down to a science.”
He opened the machine and used a pair of tongs to retrieve the mask, extending it toward Omar. “If you wanna put this one, I’ll come around and adjust the straps. People within our store have express permission from the police to remove their masks for the purposes of trying on a new one, so you don’t have to worry about a fine.”
Omar took his mask off and hung it around his wrist, then took the SmartMask+, still hot from the autoclave. The warm rubber moulded loosely around his chin and cheekbones, closing his mouth and nose in a pocket of warm air.
The salesman came behind him and tightened the straps. “Perfect. Now there’s a button on the right-hand side, basically right below your eye. You’re gonna wanna go ahead and hold that down. Then breathe normally.”
Omar did. There was a quiet hiss, and the mask tightened around his face. After a few breaths the air inside the mask suddenly cooled and became fresh.
The salesman went back to the booth. “The demonstration model is connected to the store’s tablet here,” he said, turning on the screen. “So this is what the dashboard and controls look like. What do you think?”
“It’s good. I’ll take one,” said Omar, peering at the screen disinterestedly. “I have an employee discount with VentiLife I’d like to use.”
“Sounds good,” the salesman replied. “Let’s get this transaction set up.”
*
The short walk from the bus station to the factory was dotted with people in cheap disposable masks, spaced out along the wall in the standing lane. They looked up and made eye contact as Omar approached in the walking lane. Some shook empty coffee cups at him. The regulars just nodded.
“Hey brother!” Somebody peeled away from the wall and came up beside Omar. There was always turnover outside the VentiLife building, and Omar didn’t recognize this person, a young man in a homemade cotton mask. “You work in there?”
Omar nodded without slowing down. “Can you get me a job in there?” the man asked. “I’m a hard worker, I swear, I’ll do whatever you guys need.”
“Sorry buddy,” said Omar. “I can’t do anything for ya.”
“Come on, man. Doesn’t have to be production line, I’ll mop floors, I’ll clean toilets. I just really need a job, man.”
“We all do. This job sucks ass, if that helps at all.”
“Gets you enough money to buy a fancy SmartMask like that,” said the man, pointing at Omar’s face. “C’mon. I just got laid off again downtown, it’s hard out there.”
“I know, man.” Omar stopped at the factory gates. “Look, even if I wanted to I can’t help you. I don’t do the hiring.”
“You can go in and put a good word for me. My name’s already in their system, just see if you can get them to bump it up or something. Deon Booth.”
Omar chuckled bitterly as he opened the gate. “Yeah, my word’s not worth much in this building. Good luck, though. For real, good luck.”
“Deon Booth!” the man yelled as Omar passed into the compound. “Tell ’em Deon Booth’s got hustle! Please!”
The automatic gate slowly swung shut as Omar entered the building.
*
“You get hit up by that Deon Booth kid outside?” Kaydee asked as the afternoon shift wrestled on their PPE suits.
“Morning shift says he’s been out there all day, talking to everyone going into the building,” said Randy. “Can’t say I’d wanna be in his shoes, it’s rough out there without a job.”
“Cry me a river, it’s rough for everyone these days,” said Kaydee dismissively. “Speaking of, hey – Omar!”
Omar looked up from the bench he was sitting on, fitting plastic booties over his shoes. “You still looking to put together a strike action?” Kaydee asked.
“Only if we need it,” Omar started to say, then frowned. He could hear himself talking inside the mask, but outside the mask there was no sound.
Kaydee looked at him quizzically. “What’s up?”
“Something’s wrong with…” He fumbled around on his SmartMask for where the salesperson had said the noise cancellation button was and pressed it. “Can you hear me now? Hello?”
His voice was still silent. Randy burst out laughing. “Yoo, hope you kept the receipt man! You’re getting muted by your own fancy new SmartMask!”
Omar swore to himself, jabbing at the button. Kaydee shrugged, chuckling. “Now there’s some shit. Whatever, I’ll hit you up once you get that sorted out. Let’s just get onto the floor.”
The factory hummed sombrely as they stepped out of the change room, the polished steel shimmering mutely in the fluorescent lights. Plastic-wrapped workers tended to hissing machinery and supervised lines of surgical masks zipping along conveyor belts. Omar headed toward his station, still fiddling with his mask. The floor manager tapped him on the shoulder as he passed by, pointing upwards.
Overlooking the production area on the second floor was the main office. In the window, Omar could make out Cobb, the factory manager, who waved him over curtly. He exchanged a shrug with the floor manager and headed toward the stairs.
Cobb opened the door for him. He was a large man with a brick-like face and a thinning head of hair, who towered over Omar as he entered.
Inside, the room was dominated by a large wheelchair, enclosed in a plexiglass bubble. Inside was a surprisingly healthy-looking older man, broad-chested with a shock of white hair, wearing an immaculate dark grey suit. He regarded Omar with flinty blue eyes as Cobb led him to a folding chair in the centre of the room.
“Mr. Omar Lee?” the man in the wheelchair asked, speaking at a careful, clipped pace. “My name is Roger White. I’m the Director of Production at VentiLife. You may have heard of me.”
Omar nodded.
“I see you have the new SmartMask+. How are you enjoying it?”
“There’s some sort of…” Still hearing nothing, Omar gave up and pointed mutely at the noise cancellation button.
White chuckled wryly. “We’re still working out some bugs with the new design. Not just the noise cancellation, unfortunately. Sometimes, the airflow controls…” he tapped at a screen built into his wheelchair. “…can just seize up.”
Suddenly Omar was struggling for breath. He reached back to claw at the straps for the mask.
“Not so fast,” said White. “As you know, removing your mask in public is not only illegal, but a fireable offense in this factory. We can’t keep employing someone who violates quarantine regulations, especially not here.”
Omar hesitated, then put his hands in his lap, labouring for breath.
White clicked his tongue. “That would have made things so much easier.” He tapped at the screen again, and the air rushed back into Omar’s mask.
“Let’s talk about why I’m here, then. There’s rumours that someone…actually, let’s not be cute. I know that you, Omar Lee, are trying to organize a union drive in this factory. That’s not something VentiLife will tolerate. I’m here to ask you politely to stop.”
Omar snorted, raising his hands in exasperation.
“Yes, politely. We’re going to let you breathe freely for the rest of the day, for example. I don’t expect you to be grateful, just to understand what we can do and what we’re choosing to do. There are enough unemployed workers outside that we can fire this entire factory and refill it in a day, but we’d rather not go through the hassle. It’s easier for all of us if you just drop this idea of a union and get on with your day. Are we clear?”
Omar nodded slowly.
“I’m glad,” said White coolly. “And don’t let it be said we don’t treat our employees well – all of our workers will be receiving a SmartMask+ free of charge in the next few weeks…now that we know it works. We’ll even refund your purchase if you give your receipt to Mr. Cobb here.”
Cobb nodded curtly, brow furrowed. Omar sat still, staring straight ahead.
“Anyway, that will be all,” said White. “You’re free to leave. Thanks for your time.”
Omar stood. “Oh, and Mr. Lee,” White called as Omar reached the door. “I think it’s better if you don’t talk for the rest of the day. We don’t want you speaking rashly. Take some time to think about your next steps.”
Omar slammed the door and stood outside, breathing heavily for a few minutes. Eventually he jabbed at another button. The scent of citrus wafted into the mask. Slowly, he descended the stairs.
Harmon Moon 