Z-Man: He's not just movies anymore!

So I grew tired of waiting for my screenplays and comic book scripts to be made into consumable media. Movies are expensive and artists are involved in their own projects. I'm reading more these days, trying to remember how to write prose. I'm really enjoying it: written fiction allows for much more creativity than film for the writer. The governing rules are more lax. A movie is a protagonist who undergoes a change, three structured acts, and a love story with a happy ending. Lame. Predictable.
In my build-up to completing a novel I'm doing some short fiction to flex my muscles, and to see if there is, in fact, any muscle tone left. Below is a piece I did for an NPR contest. The only stipulation is that it be able to be read in three minutes. Have a look and tell me what you like (and more importantly, what you don't like).



He was nearly out of breath by the time he got to agriculture headquarters. The receptionist, tinted red by the light of her tiny window, eyed him with professional indifference, waiting for him to state his business. His hand, over his heart, covered the name tag on his grey uniform.

Impatient, she started, “how may I hel...”

“I need to see the head of agriculture right away!”

A slight grin twitched to life. “Name and appointment time?”

“I don't have an appointment. This is very important! Tell him that I've figured out the soil degradation problem!”

“I'm Clerical class; I don't know what you're talking about.”

He huffed and turned his gaze to the window. Outside, miles of shriveled crops languished under artificial skies. “Produce prices are through the roof. We have to throw out twice what makes it to market.” He waited for a glint of recognition in the woman's eyes. “I can fix it.”

“Oh,” she said absently. Something on her monitor had drawn her attention away. “Would you like to make an appointment, then?”

“I would like,” he said with bewilderment, “to speak to the head directly! This is a dire situation!”

“The head is booked solid until March eleventh.” Her grin was gone. “Would you like to make an appointment?”

“Fine, then. But could you tell him... all the sod we put down... the Martian soil is leeching off the minerals.”

“If I could just see your Science Division I.D. I can schedule you in.”

“I'm not Science Division,” he admitted, knowing what was coming. “I'm a Soil Man.” But she had to have seen the dirt under his nails; she had to know.

“I'm sorry,” she lied, as she was deriving some morbid pleasure from his failure, “but the head doesn't converse with anyone under Level 6.”

“I know, but this is an emergency! The colony could be without vegetation in two months!”

Finally the false professionalism dropped from her voice. “Science Division solves problems. You're just a Soil Man.”

“I know, but I'm closer to the problem; that's why I can see it better. I tried to contact Science Division, but they don't converse with anyone under Level 5! How am I supposed to get their attention at Level 2?”

She was growing bored. “Tell it to your supervisor.”

Finally the civility dropped from his voice. “I tried to explain it to that pressed-shirt moron, but he had no clue what I was talking about! He only has that position because his parents were Level 4!”

Her hand was on the button before he finished speaking. “Sir, your tone is threatening and your inflammatory statement about a superior individual will be recorded.”

In no time flat a pair of Level 1's, men with unnatural arms and violent eyes appeared and physically removed the Soil Man from the office. On the sidewalk outside, the Soil Man turned his head to the heavens, yelling to be heard on the upper floors of the structure.

“It's the nitrates! Check the nitrates!” He stood there, pleading, for a few more moments before he turned and walked away, picking the dirt from beneath his nails.

>>END>>


Now comes the burden of title. What should I call this one? "Ease of Entry" - "Access" - "The Soil Man" - "(your suggestion here)"
Drop me a line!
- The Z-Man