Arnold sat for a long time, rehearsing how he would speak to the director about a promotion.

  Now seemed like the perfect time for that kind of conversation. It was Friday—everyone was supposed to be in a good mood—and Arnold had been working tirelessly for two weeks, delivering solid results.

  He spun a pen between his fingers a few times, then stood up, straightened his tie, and walked out of his office.

  The director’s office was two floors above. Arnold didn’t go there often and was a bit nervous about the meeting. He didn’t want to accidentally say something out of line and lose the job he valued so much, so every word had to be chosen with care.

  The boss’s floor looked unusual and slightly intimidating, styled with dark wooden panels. Finding the right door, Arnold knocked.

  “Come in!” came a voice through the thick door.

  Arnold stepped in, immediately hit by the smell of tobacco. The director—George Bennett—sat behind a massive carved desk, looking rather imposing. He wore an expensive suit, thin-rimmed glasses, and had thick sideburns that completed his look. A fat cigar stuck out of his mouth. He might have looked threatening, but he always treated workers with respect, regardless of their rank.

  “Is there something you’d like to discuss?” George asked, setting the cigar into an ashtray.

  “Yes,” Arnold nodded, walking into the office and sitting on one of the chairs across the desk.

  “I’m listening.”

  “As you may have noticed from the recent reports, I’ve been working very productively over the past six months. We’ve released and sold a lot of upgrades for the Leviathan.”

  “That’s true,” George agreed.

  Arnold nodded again and continued.

  “My engineering and mechanical skills have grown significantly, and I would be very interested in taking on a promotion—one with more responsibility.”

  “And a raise in salary, I assume?” the director clarified.

  “Yes, exactly.”

  George took a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and cleaned his glasses.

  “I can give you a promotion without any issue,” he stated.

  Arnold held his breath at the good news.

  “But there’s one thing. We don’t have a lot of money to spare for our employees. Material costs are going up, interest on the factory is rising, and don’t even get me started on helium shipments. That’s why we cut everyone’s wages a couple of weeks ago. We needed more funds for production, and the army needed more of our airships.”

  Arnold’s expression became less enthusiastic, his gaze darkening.

  “But that doesn’t mean you won’t be promoted,” George added reassuringly. “You can start working as one of the assistant construction managers. It’s a heavier role than design engineer, but a higher one too, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I would.”

  Arnold was afraid to get too excited, in case George flipped the situation again with some damn ‘But’.

  “No problem!” George puffed on the cigar. “Due to the funding issues I just mentioned, your salary will stay the same for the first month or two,” he said, exhaling thick smoke. “Then it’ll go up as planned. Five hundred and fifty skrebs.”

  Arnold thought it over. Just one month. Thirty days at a slightly harder job, and after that—no more trams, a full stomach, delicious food at bars, and lots of furniture. He could send money to his mother every week and start saving for a car or a trip to Clouds Ville.

  “So, do we have a deal?”

  “Yes. Deal.”

  “Excellent,” George said, taking another drag. “On Monday, you move up one floor. I’ll send someone from your new department to help and give you a tour.”

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  “Thank you very much.”

  Saying his goodbye, Arnold left the office.

  The last couple of hours before the weekend were spent sorting his things, preparing for the move. He even took down the poster from his wall.

  Arnold had been right: if you put enough time and effort into the country, it would give back even more. Just think—in a month, he’d be living better than ever. This career step made Arnold feel like a champion, craving even more progress.

  Stan’s words came back to him about settling down. Maybe that too could be taken care of in a month. Arnold leaned back in his chair, dreamily making plans for the future.

  A sharp bell pulled him out of his daydreams—the end of the workday. That piercing sound, which usually grated on his nerves, now felt like a musical composition, bliss for his ears and mind.

  Even the tram ride home didn’t annoy him, and the trip passed in a flash.

  At home, Arnold sat down to write a letter to his mother, telling her about the promotion and how he just had to hang in there for one more month. He promised to visit her after that and bring her something nice.

  The rest of the weekend passed without any surprises, which Arnold was certainly grateful for. He bought a week’s worth of food, did another deep clean of his apartment, paid the rent, and spent his free time flipping through a simple little book and a catalog of new goods that came with the newspaper.

  On Monday, Arnold woke up feeling ready for battle, eager to conquer his new position.

  The thought of his promotion gave him strength.

  By his office door stood a woman in her thirties, likely sent by George to guide him. She wore a strict suit and heels that made her look slightly taller. Her hair was dark brown, and her pale face didn’t stand out in any particular way.

  “Good morning. You must be Arnold?”

  “I am,” he replied. “Have we met?”

  “My name’s Margaret, I’m your new colleague,” she introduced herself quickly. “George asked me to show you your new office. Do you have anything you want to bring?”

  “Yes, just a second.” Arnold stepped into his office and picked up the box he had packed on Friday. “All set.”

  “Great,” said Margaret. “Follow me.”

  They walked down the hallway to one of the stairwells, then climbed one floor up. This level looked more upscale—better lighting, wallpaper, and doors.

  “Our section of assistants is at the end of the corridor,” Margaret said as they walked. “Entry’s on the left side of the hall.”

  “Got it. How many people work there, anyway?” Arnold asked.

  “Didn’t George tell you?”

  “No. And I didn’t ask. I was too excited about the promotion,” Arnold admitted with a grin.

  “Understandable,” Margaret nodded. “Besides me, there are two others—Bill and Peter.”

  She opened the door, and Arnold got his first look at his new workplace. It was a fairly large room with six office desks, each separated by high plastic partitions.

  Two desks were occupied. The men sitting there looked up at Arnold.

  “Well, hello there, Arnold,” said the tall one without getting up. “I’m Bill, welcome aboard.”

  Bill looked a bit comical due to his extreme height. His suit didn’t fit well, and the chair clearly wasn’t designed for someone his size. His long torso and shaved head made him resemble a cockroach.

  “Good morning,” Arnold smiled. “And your name?”

  “I’m Bill,” he repeated. “And that’s Peter,” he added, pointing at his neighbor.

  Peter looked to be around Arnold’s age, maybe a bit younger. He nodded in greeting and returned to his mountain of papers. Out of the four of them, Peter was clearly the messiest. His shirt was wrinkled, hair uncombed, and his tie barely knotted. Arnold gave him a mildly disapproving glance.

  “Alright then,” said Arnold. “Do you know which desk I can take?”

  “Any of them,” said Margaret as she sat in her chair. “There’s not many of us.”

  “Perfect,” Arnold nodded and carried his box to the nearest free desk, starting to unpack. Sitting down, he couldn’t see the others’ faces—only the plastic partitions.

  “Now about responsibilities,” Bill began through the divider. “We usually get weekly tasks from the higher-ups—we’re assistants, after all. Then we divide them among ourselves.”

  “Understood,” Arnold said. “So, what’s on our plate this week?”

  “We need to make arrangements with a number of factories for the project,” said Margaret.

  “Right.” Arnold nodded.

  “For that, we’ll need to provide a lot of stuff—finished blueprints and the like,” she continued.

  A hand with a sheet of paper appeared over the partition—Bill’s.

  “Here’s the list. Take it. Sign under the tasks you’ll handle.”

  Arnold took the paper and reviewed it. Most tasks already had names next to them—Bill, Peter, or Margaret. Arnold signed under all the unclaimed ones and got to work, chatting with his new colleagues along the way.

  Bill juggled conversation and work with ease and was very friendly. Margaret wasn’t as good at multitasking and focused more on the work than the small talk. Peter mostly stayed quiet, only saying a few words to introduce himself. He mentioned he’d only been working at the plant for three years but had already earned his position. Arnold was surprised—it had taken him longer to rise through the ranks.

  By the end of the day, he concluded that he had nearly finished the first of his tasks.

  New colleagues invited him to a bar to celebrate their acquaintance, but Arnold politely declined—or rather, suggested postponing the celebration for a couple of weeks. He didn’t have much money, and letting someone else, especially a near stranger, pay for him was out of the question. Besides, his head was so overwhelmed that the last thing he wanted was a noisy crowd.

  Arnold quickly blended into the team, but it took him longer to get used to the more demanding mental work. Meanwhile, the lack of money for food and taxis continued to be a source of stress. He hadn’t fainted again, but his vision would often darken, and the weakness never quite left his body. He knew the month wouldn’t be easy, but he hoped it would at least go by quickly.

  He was slowly adapting to the hunger and cold—he’d get used to the new job too. He just needed to hold out for thirty days.