I only have 12 hours,
10 minutes and 19 seconds of freedom left and I feel utterly
paralyzed. Though I have never met any, the Old Ones say that the
last 24 hours are the worst, that the paralysis sets in and there’s
nothing you can do about it. I believe it now. I always swore that it
would be different for me, that I’d be Partnering with somebody –
or several somebodies – up to the last second. I couldn’t have
been more wrong.
There are those who
whisper that our last vaccination, always given at puberty, contains
a drug that keeps our minds and bodies ready and open for Partnering
and that its effects wear off exactly 24 hours before our twentieth
birthdays. I believe that now, too. It was as if a light went out in
my head and between my legs. The very idea of Partnering makes me
sick to the stomach. If it is a drug wearing off, it’s damn timely
and effective.
Of course, that’s not
all. My CU-Screen, which has always shown titillating CU-Screenplays,
now shows nothing but LifePartner- and DigiRest-sponsored
BingeSeries. I swear they’re louder and brighter than the earlier
fare. It’s hard to take one’s eyes off of them.
Though I am mesmerized
by both, LifePartner gets my fullest attention. Judging by the
comments on SocialNet, that’s true of most. LifePartner Humbotics,
Inc. manufactures the most life-like humbots. According to their ads
and their CU-Screen serials, they’re just one step away from being
sentient. “They’re not robots, they’re Humbots and the best
life partners to be found! They even have a funny bone!”
That refers to, of
course, the most successful advertising campaign ever known: Jerry
L., the star of thousands of comedies, beloved by all, who turned out
to be a LifePartner humbot. He still tells jokes in a “club”
within the Smithsonian-LifePartner Museum. He’s pretty good.
So, as a soon-to-be (11
hours, three minutes and four seconds) non-Breeder and bonafide Old
One, I get to choose a LifePartner humbot to be my mate. I already
have him pictured in my mind, and therefore on the CU-Screen whenever
I want to call him up. He is, of course, gorgeous, with blue
penetrating eyes, black hair, cleft chin and full lips. I plan on
calling him Boone. We get a year to tweak our selections (green eyes
might be nice), but after that we’re stuck with whatever
(whomever?) we’ve chosen, for, as they say, the duration. Or until
we choose DigiRest.
Many choose DigiRest
right away, at least according to the company’s statistics, which
is all we have. A full 35 percent go that route right away. When I’m
watching one of their soothing ads or CU-Screenplays, I can almost
understand why someone would choose InstantLifeSleep over having to
become one of the Workers, despite having a LifePartner to welcome
you home.
Let’s face it: After
10-12 years of being a Breeder, one gets used to all that fun and
freedom. But, as they say, one has to pay for all that freedom by
going into service. In just a few short hours I’ll be assigned to
one of the Ancients as a PillowPartner. It’s not like I know how to
do anything else. And there’s nothing else I could do even if I
could. Humbots do absolutely everything else. Oh, but the thought of
hands that are 35 years or older touching me … ugh.
I turn my eyes away
from the CU-Screen – and my thoughts away from the Ancients – and
check SocialNet, even though what little there is on SocialNet right
now is merely irritating at this point. It used to be (just
yesterday!) my life-blood, fueling my drive for bigger and better
Partnering events. Oh, the Breeders are still at it, but in the last
12 hours I’ve found myself shutting down their chatter, except for
Bren. Bren’s six months younger than I and still hormone-driven.
It’s rather endearing.
Argh! Was that my first
OldThought? Yes, I think it was.
“D, u ok?” she
asks. I’m touched by her concern, given that she has one guy
sticking his tongue into her ear and another pulling her toward a
PleasureLounger. She giggles, doesn’t wait for my response and her
feed goes dark.
I’m annoyed, but not
that annoyed. I get it. With just 10 hours and one minute left, I
call up the LifePartner order screen and go to my “favorites.” I
let the six I’ve chosen strut their stuff in RealTime, then whittle
it down to two. Aware that I’m down to two choices (though I’m
not certain “aware” is the right word here), the two – Model
2206CB and Model 2190LV – give it all they’ve got to garner my
favor. My finger hovers over the touchscreen, going from one to the
other. In the end, I close my eyes and stab. Model 2190LV it is. He
smiles adoringly at me. I smile back, then kill the screen. The last
hours I will spend sleeping.
I think the hardest
part is moving out of the Pleasure Dome. It’s been my home since I
was 10. It had been difficult to move out of the Nursery as well. At
the exact second that I turn 20, three humbots are at the door, ready
to carry my belongings (what little I have) and escort me to my new
home. The ride on the GlideRail is smooth and quick. I see nothing as
there are no windows. They could have at least sent some entertaining
humbots; my escorts are sticks.
There is no dome over
The Colony, home to the Old Ones, and now to me. The air is thick and
burns my nostrils. The complex is made up of stack after gray stack
of cinder block boxes. There are no windows. My escorts fairly rush
me inside. There is no lobby, no common room, merely an elevator; a
humbot presses the button for the top floor. They leave my side
without a word at the door of a new chamber, a new life. I press the
thumb pad and the door slides open.
There he is, Boone, my
new LifePartner. He’s even better looking than his on-screen self.
I’m glad I chose blue eyes, they’re cool but hot, if you know
what I mean.
“Welcome home, Diana”
he says in a husky drawl. “Please don’t bother with your
belongings; it will be my pleasure to see to them.”
I step inside. The
rooms – there are three – are smaller than the ones I just left.
The kitchen/dining area barely fits two. The living/sleeping section
has room for a ConvertoSleeper, chair and CU-Screen. I’ll miss my
big, full PleasureLounge. The first thing I notice about the tiny
bathroom is that there is no mirror. All the better to not see one
grow old?
It’s never too late
to choose DigiRest, I remind myself, parroting the ads. My stomach
growls.
“Do you wish for a
refreshment?” Boone asks, startling me.
“Yes, that would be
lovely,” I say, mimicking his formal way of speaking. I might have
to have that part of his personality tweaked.
Boone pulls several
vacutainers from a shelf, unzips them and pours their contents into a
divided dish. They’re all varying shades of brown.
“Yum,” I say when
he sets the dish in front of me. The sarcasm is lost on him. At least
in the Pleasure Dome, an effort was made to make the Soytein look
palatable. The taste, I discover, is just as bad as it looks.
“What?” I say,
looking up at Boone who is hovering over me, “you’re not going to
join me?”
“While I don’t
require sustenance, I am capable of ingesting food products if
required.” He pauses. “Am I required?”
“No,” I say,
laughing, my first laugh in a long time. “No one should be required
to eat this.” I push the plate away and hope that the Ancient I am
to serve the next day will also serve me – food that is.
While Boone tidies up
what little there is to tidy, I park myself in front of the
CU-Screen. Before long, I’m yawning. I’m not used to doing
nothing. There’s no rule that says I can’t go outside or knock on
someone’s door, but I’m not up for that yet.
“Argh!” I cry, “I’m
so bored!”
If a humbot can look
taken aback, Boone does. It’s like he takes it personally.
“I’m so sorry,
Diana,” he says. “Please allow me to entertain you. I can sing,
dance, play roles – I’m programmed with scripts from over a
thousand CU-Screenplays – I know every game, can tell jokes and
much more. Perhaps you would like to be intimate?”
“You can’t be
serious!”
“I am incapable of
lying,” Boone says flatly. It sounds almost like a challenge.
I file that statement
away for further examination. Suddenly I’m totally exhausted. It
might be the middle of the afternoon, but I need to sleep. Isn’t
that what Old Ones do?
The morning shower will
take some getting used to. No more luxuriating. It’s a quick, sharp
blast of tepid, soapy water, then a short pause. Next, a slightly
longer blast of cold water, then a strong, hot burst of air that
nearly knocks me off my feet. Done.
Before I’m completely
dressed (only a short robe is required), two humbots are at the door,
ready to escort me to an Ancient One. Nervous, I’m chatty, but the
bots are all business. By the time I’m standing before the
Ancient’s door, I’m a mass of nerves. My knees actually knock
together as I press the thumb pad.
The less said about the
day, the better, but I will say this: I never, ever want to become
an Ancient. I’ll take DigiRest first. His skin is loose and spotty;
his eyes runny and red. And his hands, those awful hands! The
fingernails are yellow and thick, the knuckles huge and knotty. The
only saving grace was that I got to eat and the Ancient tired easily;
he slept much of the time.
Still, I feel utterly
dirty and spent when I reach my chamber. It’s a new feeling for me.
Partnering as a Breeder always left me energized and sharp. This,
though, was sad and ugly.
Boone is waiting just
inside the door, a cocktail in his hand. I grab it and throw it down
my throat before I think to ask where it came from. Liquor is
forbidden here.
“It seems you made an
impression,” Boone says, pointing to a crock on the counter. “It
was sent by your Ancient.”
“He’s not my
Ancient,” I snap. I head to the ConvertoSleeper, which Boone has
already prepared, and curl up facing the wall. Before long, I feel
his weight on the thin pallet. He matches my contours and holds me. I
let him.
The next day is a free
day. It’s a good thing; I’m still exhausted. It’s almost as if
life is being sucked out of me. I’d like to just sit and stare at
the CU-Screen all day, but Boone suggests a walk.
“A walk? Out there?”
I ask. “Aren’t we … uh, I … supposed to limit my exposure to
the air?”
“The recommendation
is no more than 10 minutes at a time, yes,” Boone says. “I
believe you will greatly benefit from this outing.”
There’s something in
the way he says it that makes me curious. Curiosity is new to me.
It’s not something that is encouraged. I agree anyway.
Outside, Boone produces
a small, white mask and places it over my nose and mouth.
“Will this really
help?” I ask. I can already feel a slight burning in my throat.
Boone surprises me by
grabbing my hand and holding it as we walk. He squeezes it a couple
of times.
“It will help in some
regards,” he answers. I feel like he’s telling me two things. I
just can’t figure out what one of them is.
The area around the
compound is blandly ugly, all grays and browns, even the air. We walk
without talking. In fact, every time I begin to say something, Boone
squeezes my hand again, shutting me up. We come to a slight rise. On
top, I see something I’ve never seen before. It’s flat, black,
oily and utterly huge. It stretches out for as far as my eyes can
see. It scares me.
Boone pulls me to its
edge. Reluctantly, I follow.
“The Great Ocean,”
he says, barely moving his lips.
It smells of salt and
dead things. Dotting its surface are tall, gray columns, topped by
slowly spinning blades.
“Windmills,” Boone
says. “They provide power, at least when there’s wind.” Again,
he barely moves his lips. “It’s the one thing your kind did well,
finally, though it was much too late.
“You have questions,”
he adds. “You may talk here, but only with the mask.” He looks
out over the water and I follow suit.
“Why is it so still?”
I ask. I truly don’t know what to ask, not yet.
“Once, a long time
ago, there were many oceans and each one teemed with life.”
“Life?” I say.
“People?”
A small smile plays on
his lips. “No, though people did swim in it, sailed boats upon it
and took sustenance from it. There were fish, crabs, lobsters, tiny
plankton, giant creatures called whales and sharks. Dolphins and
porpoises played amongst its waves.”
I have no idea what
he’s talking about. These words are strange to me. We learned
nothing of such things in the Nursery. Boone actually sighs when he
sees how my eyes scrunch up.
“I’m going to do
something,” he says, still looking ahead. “It’s important to
not flinch or act surprised.”
“Okay,” I say,
trusting him.
Slowly, he brings his
hand up and places it on the back of my neck. It feels surprisingly
warm. He spreads his fingers, placing his fingertips just beneath my
ear. At first, I feel a tingling sensation there, then, shockingly, I
hear his voice coming through his fingers. No wonder he warned me not
to flinch.
“I can communicate
with you in this manner when we are not here,” he says though his
fingers. “You, however, cannot talk back unless you are wearing the
mask and we are near the ocean. Do you understand?”
“Yes and no,” I
say. “I understand what you’re saying, but don’t understand why
you’re saying it. I’m afraid.”
“You should be
afraid, but not about what I will tell you. All will become clear,”
he says. He takes his hand away from my neck and lets it rest on the
small of my back, like a lover would. “It’s time to go back,”
he adds. I notice that this time his lips move normally.
I’m bursting with
questions, but resort to silly chatter. I’m good at it. Still, it’s
odd interacting with a humbot this way. They were always silent
workers in the Pleasure Dome, sort of a backdrop. I’m trying to
wrap my head around that and what he’s told me so far. It’s
exciting and scary at the same time. I’m anxious to learn more.
After another horrid
meal, helped by a few swigs of the Ancient’s liquor, Boone and I
settle in front of the CU-Screen. It’s comedy night, with humbots
competing to win the Jerry L. Comedy Award. They don’t show the
audience, but I know it’s full of Breeders looking for some
diversion. I know, I’ve been there myself.
Pretty soon, Boone
stretches an arm across the back of the ConvertoSleeper like a shy
lover. Knowing what’s coming, I can barely pay attention to the
jokes, but try to laugh appropriately. After a few beats, Boone
begins to massage my shoulder, then my neck. It actually feels
wonderful, so I’m a bit startled when he starts talking through his
fingers. I smile at him, then turn back to the screen.
“Very good,” he
says. “I knew you would be a fast learner.”
The praise pleases me.
“If you sit on the
floor between my knees,” he says with his mouth, “it would be my
pleasure to give you one of my special neck massages.”
“That would be
wonderful, Boone,” I say, tossing a small cushion onto the floor. I
sink down on it and stretch out my legs. He’s soon massaging and
finger talking. I’m not sure which one I like better.
“In order to
understand your world as it is today,” he says, “you first need
to know how it was in the past. Not the past that only goes back to
your nursery days, but the past that came long, long before.”
I moan with the
pressure on my neck. It’s both a signal to continue and one of
contentment.
“I know you have been
taught that the world consists of the Nursery, the Pleasure Dome, the
Colony and the Ancients’ Domain. This is not so. This world, the
planet earth, is far larger than one can imagine. It is part of an
even larger thing called the universe, filled with stars and other
planets. This earth, in fact, is home to other people across the
Great Ocean.”
“Boo! Hiss!” I
screech at the screen, but what I’m really telling Boone is that
I’m not pleased, nor inclined to believe or understand what he just
said.
“Hush,” he says,
continuing to massage. “I don’t expect you to grasp it all
immediately. Please just listen. There will be a time for questions
and more answers.”
I clap for the latest
joke, signaling to go on, not really sure I’m ready for that.
“The earth is
ancient,” he says. “Not like the Ancients are ancient, but
billions of years old. It was a paradise of verdant fields, huge
forests of trees; clean, clear oceans, lakes and streams; home to
millions of species of birds, plants, insects, animals and sea
creatures. Not to mention billions of people.”
Again, I am
overwhelmed. Again, he’s using words I simply can’t comprehend. I
give my head a shake as if to brush away a stray hair. What are
trees, I wonder. Birds? Lakes? If only he can transmit images through
those fingers of his.
“I know it’s a lot
to digest,” he says, making small circles under my earlobes. It
hurts, but it feels good. “Through greed and a thirst for power,
your kind destroyed the balance that kept the world’s abundant life
fed. Its livable acres shrunk to two-thirds its size. Then one-third
as the oceans rose higher. What little land was left became barren
and useless, poisoned by the greedy. The few who survive, who hold
the reins of power, do so at the cost of the powerless. You are, I’m
afraid, more of a servant than I am.”
At this, I rise, rigid,
angry. I try not to let it show. I make a dismissive gesture at the
screen.
“Those judges,” I
say, “what do they know? It’s clear to me who the winner is.”
I have never been so
angry, so distraught. I have been a Breeder for half my life, free to
do what I will, to have fun, to bed whomever I choose. Servant
indeed!
“Prepare the sleeping
space,” I say, hautily. “I am in need of rest.”
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