A Silent Workshop

    Very infrequently was the workshop silent. There was always the grinding, shrieking noise of machinery, the scratching of pencil on paper, the low murmur of contemplative thought, or the loud curses of cuts mismeasured. Rarely was the faint hum of the fluorescent bulbs left unaccompanied.
    Tom arrived first, kicking up a fine layer of sawdust as he entered. The buzz of the light was quickly muffled by the slamming of the door and the wrinkling of the blueprints as they were unrolled on the drawing table. Tom squinted at the blueprints, rubbed his eyes, squinted further, and in a show of absolute disbelief, actually put on his glasses. This document, in his eyes, proved that those city folk were absolutely mad. Those bigwigs on main street wanted it as an "Art installation" to "Display local culture" but it would take a whole redwood to build. He opened the envelope containing the commission details and began reading. It started with a high and mighty speech about the exposure the installation would bring, but Tom had long ago learned that exposure was the only currency harder to spend than monopoly money. He flipped to the back to see the dollar amount. The eight was easy enough to understand but the cascade of zeros behind it where far too numerous. He read and reread and finally decided to fold up the paper and read it later when he has his senses about him. Perhaps he would have George read it, as clearly he was seeing double.
    The door shuddered open again, further disturbing the layer of sawdust on every surface as George stepped in, holding a cardboard tray of coffee atop a damp cardboard box.
    "Morning boss, brought you some coffee", called George over the load he carried. In reality, Tom was not the boss of George, but he enjoyed the salutation.
    "You got real coffee this time, right? None of that crap they adulterate it with these days?"
    "Black as your cold, dead heart", George joked as he lay down the box and handed over the coffee.
    Tom took a swig and, after determining it was sufficiently pure, bemoaned "Seems like no one can enjoy a good cup of coffee these days, they gotta fill it with all sorts of pollutants until it's hardy coffee at all".
    George nodded along as he sipped from his own, "polluted", coffee.
    The two drank their coffee, the commission, and the conspicuous amount of zeros within. After much deliberation, the two decided to take on the mammoth construction for the artistic merit of it, with the innumerable zeros merely being a benefit. The shop became its usual cacophony of buzzing and banging as the two men began their work.

    The day wound to a close with George removing his gloves and safety goggles and Tom putting the dust off of his bare hands. The day's work had done little more than add an extra half inch of sawdust to every surface in the shop, but it was a necessary first step. As tom rolled up the design documents he noticed the once damp cardboard box.
    "What's in here?", he said, kicking the box.
    "Crap, I completely forgot about that". George stepped over and peeled open the box to reveal a chunky radio console circa 1970.
    "Haven't we got enough trash cluttering up the shop without you bringing more in?" Tom questioned as he looked over the derelict radio.
    "I figured we could listen to it while we work, pump some jams. Surely even you listen to music at some point".
    "Think the thing looks like looks like it hasn't worked since the Berlin wall fell".
    "I saw it on my walk to work this morning and I figured we might as well try it out".
George pulled the decrepit radio out of its casing and plugged it into one of the overtakes shop outlets. The radios lights flicked to light and the room filled with the harsh buzz of white noise. Tom started fiddling with the knobs.
     "This thing can't reach KNAR FM. Hell, this cant even reach NPR. What a hunk of trash".
    "Just hit the scan button and see what comes up".
The radio scanned thru the spectrum, emitting a variety of white noise, until it finally landed on a station and emitted, "You are in danger". The two stood in silence as the announcement and focused on the radios transmit.
    "I've been saying it for years. You. Are. In. Danger. Do you really think you can trust them? Them!? They are against you. They are against you and all you stand for. They use lies and tricks to hide while they tear apart the very fabric of our society".
Tom inspected the radio and said, "Sounds like some sort of radio play. A weird one at that".
    The Radio interjected, "They spread lies about their motives to cover their attack and suppress their enemies with threats and violence. Most people believe them, but we don't, and neither do you."
    "Seems kinda odd to have something like that in the second person," George said as he eyed the radio. "Lisen I have to run, can you lock up the shop?"
"No problem, I have to hear more of this, figure it out".
    The shop did not subside to its normal hum of fluorescent lights that night. The buzz of radio static and rapturous declarations of its host filled the room like a sermon until George returned the next day.
    "Morning boss. brought you some coff— Jesus, did you leave last night?"
    The red-eyed Tom stood from his place next to the radio and ran to George.
    "Glad you're here. Listen, I figured it out. This is some sort of news station. But this guy is real, none of that plastic BS you get in the papers. Just an hour ago he was talking about that congressmen, Deric what's-his-name. There is evidence that he had threatened two, maybe three of his competitors to drop out. Or Pharma-med, those guys who make your allergy meds. One of these chemists come out about they put in those pills all sorts of mind-altering substances and other poison."
"Gee, Tom. I didn't hear about any of this, are you sure that's—"
"Of course you didn't hear about it. They don't want you to hear about it because it would obstruct their plans. The radio talks all about it. They control the newspapers, the TV stations too. If any of their plot comes to light, they make sure it gets buried".
    "Tom, I think you need to take a step back. Who is this guy on the radio?"
    "Here, just listen to him. Let's get working on the project and you will hear him. You'll understand it then."
    Tom left it at that returned to his work. While George was confused, the radio did not appear to impair Tom's performance so he let it be. And so, hesitant at first, the two men when to work on their craft with Tom occasionally calling "You see, this is what I mean", and George not understanding the outlandish and frankly unreasonable reporting of the radio. This became the daily cycle with the two men working in silence as the radio drowned out the clamor of their tools. The buzz of the radio filled the room at all hours.
Tom was annexed by the broadcast. He arrived early and stayed late in order to hear all the host had to say. His media diet had always been slim, only consisted of the local paper and the Bill O'Reilly show, but now he regarded all other news with contempt.
    "Do you seriously believe this stuff", he barked in response to George's mention of the news,          "This is small potatoes in comparison to what really going on, but off course they wouldn't tell you about that. That's part of their plan and you are playing right into it".
    The radio's broadcast began to grow in scale but Tom's trust never waned. He slapped the coffee out of Georges' hands one morning when the radio suddenly sprouted, "don't trust the tap water. That how they get to you". George came into the shop one time to find most of the electronics and power tool disassembled with Tom ensuring, "Don't worry, I'll put them back together, I just need to see if any of them have these chips the radio talked about".
    Despite this, Tom's work was as industrious as ever and the two neared completion of the Colossus after a few months. Where George had at first been permissive of Toms strange obsession, he grew angry over time. Tom, who was diligent about shop rules but absolutely militant about the radio rules: It must never be shut off. Its volume must be kept to a roaring high, "so I can hear it over the saw". Had there been other stations to turn to, they would have been strictly banned.
Days turned into weeks as the two men chipped, shaved, and sawed their creation into existence. On the eve of the project's completion, George headed to the shop with his singular coffee and tried the door. Stuck. He tried his keys on both locks. No dice. Finally, he set his coffee down and threw his shoulder into it. A bruised arm but no opening. By this point, Tom had heard him and come over to the other side of the door.
    "Who is this?!"
    "Who do you think, I'm the only one who works for you"
    "Oh! George, just stays quiet and I'll get this open for you".
What followed was 5 minutes of cracking and splitting noses from the inside of the shop. When the door opened Tom grabbed George and pulled him in. Before he could ask what was going on Tom returned to the door and started to bord it shut again.
    "Tom! What the hell are you doing!"
    "They're out there. Prowling the streets, looking people like us, this is what the radio has been talking about and its finally here. We have to hunker down, stay hidden. This barricade should keep them out for a while and I've got supplies to last".
    As he said this he referred to the mound of boxes he had next to the blocked windows in the back. The whole shop had been rearranged to block the windows and doors with the only things on the table in the center being the commision and the ever profiting radio. In the pile was bottled water, jars of peanut butter, jerry cans, and a generator to use it with. Over the weekend Tom had managed to turn the wood shop into a sort of isolationist bunker to envy the Unabomber.
    "What is going on in here? When did you even do this?"
    "The radio started last Friday night. It was said they were rounding people up and sending them to camps, That they were sending troops through to the street to hunt people down. I bought everything I could from the gas station down the road and started boarding this place up."
    At this point the radio burst in and barked, "They are coming, just outside the door. Quickly board it up".
    Tom Continued boarding with renewed vigor as he called to George "Thank god you made it here in time, I thought they had gotten to you. We can stay here for awhile but once we run dry we will have to make for the woods".
    "Tom, this is crazy, there is nothing going on out there, the biggest news story this week was that some televangelist from the 70s died. You need to calm down and turn off that goddamn radio for a minute".
    As tom continued to ignore him, George turns to the radio and meant to reach for the plug. The radio burst out in a fiery yell, "You let one of them in! He is with Them! He Will hurt us!"
    At this yell, Tom sprung from the door and yanked the radio from George.
    "Get your hand off of this! You're with them, one of them! Your here to report me!
    "Tom you're acting crazy! Turn that thing off and talk to me".
    The two men grappled with the radio as it screamed and stated that the danger was in the room and that Tom must protect it. Tom landed a blow to George's stomach and he released the radio. The momentum carried Tom back and he, the radio, and their project toppled. The radio emitted a last shriek of static scream as it and the project collided with the ground, shattering into placidly chunks and wooden splinters. The two looked over the shattered reminisce, Tom leaning against the table and George doubled over against the wall. The shop was silent, barring the faint hum of the fluorescent bulbs and the hoarse breathing of the two strangers.