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Today's story is called The Pointer, an original story written for you by Daniel Hines.
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Once upon a time, in a great big city, in a great big country, in the great big world, there was a great big factory.
The factory made all kinds of things for all kinds of people, everything from food to toys, to computers, and even medicine was made at the factory.
The factory had been open for years and years and all the workers were pretty happy about their jobs.
Of course, not everyone loved every minute.
It was still work after all, but they were busy making things that people needed.
And when you spend the days that way, the work always feels like it matters.
And when you're in a great big factory with all kinds of people, there's always talking and laughing and singing to keep you company.
So things at the great big factory were going well.
But one day the owners of the factory, who none of the workers had ever met or seen, decided that the factory could make even more money.
At first, the workers thought this was good.
More money for the factory meant more money for the workers, surely.
But as they soon found out, they were very, very wrong.
The owners of the factory made special robots that could take the jobs of the workers.
The only problem was that the robots took a little while to make, so they couldn't replace everyone at once.
So what they did was they found the most loyal employee the company had, one who had never taken a day off or complained about an overtime shift, and they pulled him aside.
Now, Pete, they said, over the phone, of course.
The owners never would come to the actual factory.
We have all these great new robots, but we don't know who to replace first.
You've always had a good head on your shoulders and a good brain in your head.
We'd like you to be in charge of pointing out which jobs the robots should take over.
Pete smiled widely.
He wasn't the nicest person, and he loved any job where he got to tell other people what to do.
Sounds great, he said.
When do I start?
Today, said the owners over the phone.
The first batch of robots will be there soon.
We need you out there pointing.
Yes, sirs, Pete said.
He went to the bathroom real quick to wash up his pointing finger.
It wouldn't do for the owner's robots to see it dirty, and then went right out onto the factory floor.
Immediately, he saw another employee named John, whom he had never liked.
Without a second thought, he lifted his long, skinny arm, limbered up his bony finger and pointed right at John.
For a second, nothing happened, and the other workers gave Pete a strange look.
But then...
Boom!
Crash!
The factory doors burst open and a gleaming new robot zipped in.
It looked kind of like a person, except it had ultra-fast treads for feet and four clever arms for working and a big scanner for a face, and it was all encased in smooth white, cold plastic.
It went up to John and bumped him.
Hey, what's going on?
John asked.
You're replaced, said Pete.
With this thing? asked John.
Yep, said Pete, smiling now.
John started to argue, but just then a voice came over the factory intercom.
It said that Pete was the official pointer and if he pointed at you, you were fired from the factory and had to go home right then and there.
John was upset about being replaced by a robot, of course, and didn't want to leave, so Pete had to call security.
A muscular woman and burly man came over in their security uniforms.
But they made another problem for Pete.
They weren't willing to throw John out just because some voice they'd never met had told Pete to point.
Well, that wouldn't do for Pete, of course.
So Pete limbered up his finger and pointed at one security guard and then the other.
In seconds, two more robots had zipped in and now, officially being security, carried the old two security guards out of the factory and dumped them in the parking lot.
A moment later, they buzzed back in and carried John out the same way.
Hey, wait a minute, said John.
But he got quieter as he said it being carried away and all.
And he even got quieter still when the factory door slammed shut behind him.
Ah, now we're making progress, said Pete.
The newfound power felt good to Pete, and he was a company man through and through.
The rest of that day, he kept his eyes peeled for any little mistake.
Miss putting a tag on a unit in the assembly line?
Put the wrong sauce on a chicken sandwich in the cafeteria?
Take 31 minutes instead of the factory-approved 30 for lunch?
Pete would point and bang boom, you'd be in the parking lot with a spinning head and a robot with a smooth white, cold plastic shell would be doing your job.
By the next day, the word had gotten around.
The factory was serious about replacing people with robots and if you slipped up, Pete would point you out.
The talking was lower now, the laughter more sparse, and the singing was gone completely.
And well, no one wanted to lose their jobs, so everyone tried extra hard not to make even the smallest mistake.
Pete still managed to point at one guy who took too long at the soda machine.
They were out of diet, he screamed as the robots dragged him away.
And he pointed at another woman who took a little too long in the bathroom.
And the robots had replaced her before she even pulled up her pants.
After that, with everyone being so well behaved, Pete didn't do any pointing at all.
You'd think that would be a good thing, but you'd be wrong.
Pete got called back into the owner's office where he sat alone with a speakerphone.
That said to him Pete, we have more robots arriving by the day.
You need to point out more people.
Yes, sirs, Pete said, happy to help the owners no matter what happened to the other workers.
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He pointed at two women for walking too close together, and then pointed at two others for walking too far apart.
They were all dragged out by the robots side by side, just so equally spaced.
Pete pointed at his old friend for trying to give him a fist bump, and then he pointed at an entire department who stopped work to have a birthday party.
The robots came in like a smooth white, cold plastic swarm and dragged them out mid happy birthday to and tossed them in the parking lot before taking over their jobs.
The cake was left behind because the janitor was homesick with the flu, so Pete dialed him up to point at him over a video call.
And moments later, a robot janitor rolled in and the birthday cake hit the trash, candles and all.
Now, there was no laughter on the factory floor.
People barely dared to talk to each other, and singing was a distant memory.
Pete heard the occasional good morning, the occasional cough or shifting in a seat, and even those little noises started to bother him.
He pointed out each and every offender, everyone who made a noise or took a break, or laughed, or talked or sang while they did a boring job.
He pointed at anyone who acted, human in other words, and the robots breezed in and took their jobs without complaint.
Finally, after all that pointing, Pete found himself getting tired.
Good day of replacing people for the company, he said to himself, not worrying at all about how those replaced people would make money for food now that the robots had all the jobs.
Time to get some rest.
But before he could rest, the owners called him into the office one last time.
In the office.
They told him he had done such a good job.
They just had one more little thing for him.
A little robot buzzed in and of all things, took a plaster mold of Pete's hand in a pointing pose, of course,
They took extra care to get the details of the pointer finger just right and then sent Pete home to rest.
When he went home that night, he told his granddaughter about all the good work he had done.
What happens to them? she asked.
The robots? said Pete.
They carry on working.
No, the people, she said.
Why should I care? said Pete.
I'm the one guy you can't replace.
The guy who does the pointing. today, they even took a mold of my finger.
I think they're going to make a statue of your old pa.
What do you say to that?
She didn't really understand how any of it worked, but she was happy for her grandfather.
So she cheered and then toddled off to see if she could wheedle some candy from her nana.
The next morning, Pete went back into the factory for work.
He was delighted by the empty parking lot and even more delighted by the quiet factory floor when he went inside.
No talking or laughing or singing, just the quiet hum of the robots making the owner's money.
He walked up to take his place and there, dressed just like him, built all of smooth white, cold plastic, was a robot.
And the robot had his hand.
And at the end of his hand, the robot had his finger.
Pete's finger.
And it was pointing right at Pete.
No, Pete stammered.
Me?
But I'm the pointer.
And quick as he said that, a robot buzzed in and grabbed Pete with its four arms.
It was so strong there was no fighting back and before he knew it, boom crash, he was dumped in the parking lot.
Pete sat up and dusted himself off.
There was no talking, no laughing, and certainly no singing.
But there was some grumbling.
From around the parking lot.
All the other factory workers Pete had pointed at and replaced came out.
You're still here? asked Pete, a little afraid.
Nowhere else to go, said one.
We're here protesting.
How does it feel, asked another.
Bad, said Pete.
It feels really bad.
A burly couple stepped up.
One had a long wooden sign in her hands.
The other held two heavy pry bars.
Pete cringed back, but the burly guy just offered the bar to Pete.
Ready to do something about it?
Pete took the pry bar, and then the crowd surged him to his feet.
I think I am, said Pete.
But I don't know that protesting is going to work this time.
The owners aren't even here.
Then what?
Well, said Pete, I did manage to sneak out my security card.
And the factory workers all smiled.
Inside the factory, it was the quiet hum of robots working.
They worked fast and rarely made mistakes.
They never talked.
They never got a sauce wrong.
They never laughed.
They never stopped.
They never sang.
Not once.
Not ever.
The outer doors, the one with the security code, somehow beeped and opened.
And then, boom, crash, the doors of the factory floor rocked on their hinges.
The robots had tried to lock them, but the humans had built the factory.
Every nail and bolt and stitch, and they couldn't be held back.
The doors burst open, and the humans flooded in.
Stop!
Stop! said a robot whose job it was to shout stop when there were intruders.
The pointing robot was pointing like mad, spinning wildly in every direction.
The security robots grabbed Pete and the other woman next to him, but the humans smashed them with their signs and tools.
And then the other robots came and they smashed them too.
And I'm not going to lie, it took a lot of smashing, but in the end the humans took their jobs back.
And when the owners called and tried their best to make someone else start pointing again well, with all the talking and laughing and singing, they just let that phone ring and ring, and ring.
The End Today's story, The Pointer, was an original story written for you by Daniel Hines.
It was edited and produced for you by Ellie Hines and performed for you by me, Amanda Weldon.
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