Crusade Against the Machines

by Franklyn Santana

  At a Chinese fast-food restaurant I ate fried chicken with French fries. And I was trying to figure out where to go that night. At least I had some money. One of the security guards at O’Neil’s apartment had told me about a new strip club in Washington Highlands, which was not too far from my apartment and had given me a business card. He said I should check it out when I had the chance. I wondered if he was getting a commission for it. It was a little early, but when I got there, it should probably be open already. I took the Metro bus to the stop near the club. Then I walked the rest. There was electricity in this part of the city. The streets were illuminated, which made me feel much safer.

  The area looked a bit run-down, and a lot of suspicious characters lurked around in the streets. Betty, my smartphone avatar, was unfortunately not much help to me, as she didn’t know the club. Probably it was too new and hadn’t been entered in her map software yet. Since she had the look and the new personality of Betty Boobs, she was much less annoying. Twice I was approached by drug dealers. I asked the second one about the club and he showed me the way.

  The building looked like a normal tenement building. There were no signs or neon ads outside the building. Next to the entrance there was only a graffiti: »Fuck the toasters!« An allusion to robots, which the creator of this urban artwork apparently didn’t have much sympathy for. I had passed by here a few minutes ago, but had overlooked the club, which was no surprise. Only now did I see the neon sign on the inside of the wide open door. It looked like the club was operating illegally and didn’t want to draw too much attention to it. There were hardly any surveillance drones in this part of the city and certainly even fewer police patrols. The authorities turned a blind eye on this. Even a modern surveillance society needed some degree of freedom as an outlet. Otherwise the individuals who could not be integrated into the system would cause even more problems.

  In front of the entrance there was a human doorman, a rare sight nowadays, as more and more robots took over such tasks. »Members only,« said the dark-skinned muscleman in the black, tight-fitting T-shirt.

  I showed him the business card I got from Will Snyder, the security guard at O’Neil’s apartment. Apparently this was considered an official recommendation, as he finally granted me access. But before that he started to frisk me for weapons.

  »You have to leave the gun with me,« he told me. I showed him my security clearance, but he didn’t care much for it. Finally, I reluctantly handed over my pistol.

  »Take good care of that,« I told him. He said nothing and just gestured me that I was allowed to enter.

  Inside was just an empty corridor. A flashing neon arrow pointed down a staircase. Above the arrow was the name of the club: Ishtar Temple. I went down the stairs. A couple of an overweight, bald Negro and a totally drunk girl in hot pants staggered towards me. I heard loud Hip-Tech music from downstairs. There was another bouncer in the basement who held the door to the club open for me as I approached.

  I entered and looked around. Cigarette smoke filled the room, a clear indication that the club was operating illegally or at least not controlled by the law. Smoking in enclosed and public places was illegal in all states. Not to mention that I thought I smelled some illegal drugs in the smoke. The room was about two thousand square feet in size, wrapped in a dim semi-darkness and had a small stage with four chrome poles on which the same number of scantily clad go-go girls danced. Around the stage were bar stools on which the guests sat. There were also small round tables all over the room, where the girls, who were not dancing at the moment, talked to the guests. Opposite the stage there was a bar where a skinny, pale guy was pouring drinks. Various sporting events were broadcast on several large screens. I couldn’t hear the sound because the music was too loud. The only other lighting came from a few lamps that looked like artificial flickering fires burning in a kind of bronze bowl. It was probably meant to add something antique to the atmosphere. Directly opposite the entrance, on a pedestal with an eight-pointed star, the logo of the club, was a naked female statue.

  I picked up a beer at the bar and paid by inserting my new smartphone into a slot on a reader at the cash register. I also bought a few hundred-dollar-notes that were used here as tips for the dancers. This was further proof that there is a lot of illegal stuff going on in this club. The possession of cash was a federal offense. It was considered money laundering and could get you at least ten years in prison. I went to an empty seat by the stage to watch the show.

  The girls wore a kind of sexy bikini and performed all kinds of provocative dance movements on the poles. My eyes fell on the dancer who was dancing on the far left, farthest away from my place. She had long blonde hair and a perfect body. Our eyes met, and her smile suddenly gave way to an expression of surprise. I recognized her. It was Natasha, my beautiful neighbor whom I had only met this morning. I smiled at her. She turned away from me. She tried hard to overcome her embarrassment and find her professional smile again, but it looked uneasy. So that was her work. And that’s why she was unable to meet with me tonight. She was working at night as a stripper. She was obviously embarrassed that I’d seen her at work. She tried to dance as far away from me as possible and avoided my gaze, as if that would keep me from recognizing her. Yet I realized that she kept looking over at me briefly when she thought I wouldn’t notice.

  There was a certain irony in the fact that we both had tried to hide our real job and had pretended to be something else in order to impress each other, she a nightclub dancer who wanted to appear as a serious upper middle class girl, and I the bodyguard who pretended to be a rich businessman. And here we were, sitting in a cheap strip club with our true identity exposed. My situation was a little better. Theoretically I could still be a businessman, although it was of course quite unlikely that such a man would visit a place like this. The situation was kind of embarrassing for both of us.

  In the meantime, a black-skinned dancer on the stage in front of my seat tried to catch my attention and danced particularly provocative in front of me. Her panties moved seductively only a few inches away from my eyes, while she looked at me smiling. She noticed that I was staring at her colleague Natasha the whole time and looked over to her. Natasha tried to ignore me and continued with her show as if nothing had happened. The girls now took off their tops and danced bare-breasted. I decided to wait for the show and hoped to have a chance to talk to Natasha afterwards. Somehow I saw it from the funny side. So I kept trying to make eye contact with her and smiled at her. But she looked away every time. After another song the girls took off their panties. And although I had the clean-shaven pussy of the black dancer right in front of me, my eyes kept wandering towards Natasha.

  »You really like this little blonde, don’t you?« she said to me, while she spread her legs invitingly in front of me. I grinned and took a sip of my beer.

  When the next song was over, the dancers changed. Natasha was the first to hurry off the stage. She was so nervous that she stumbled and fell down the narrow stairs with her high heels. One of her colleagues helped her up. She gave me a quick glance and then disappeared with the three other naked girls behind a curtain that led into an adjacent room. Obviously it was the dressing room. The next group of dancers entered the stage. My eyes were fixed on the curtain. I waited until Natasha and her colleagues would come out again to sit with the guests.

  While the show continued, the previous dancers came back from the dressing room one by one a few minutes later and sat down at the tables. Only Natasha did not appear. Instead, the black dancer sat down next to me. She was now wearing a bikini and a long, transparent black skirt that was open at the front.

  »Hi, I’m Evelyne«, she introduced herself and stretched out her hand.

  »Dexter,« I replied laconically as I shook her hand. I hoped that she would disappear again and hinted my lack of interest by not looking at her but rather at the curtain of the dressing room. I didn’t want Natasha to see me with another girl when she returned.

>   But the dark-skinned stripper was quite insisting. »You’re Natasha’s neighbor, right?« She smiled.

  »So to speak,« I replied, trying to appear disinterested.

  »You really gave her a shock when you showed up here,« she said. »How did you find her here?«

  »Why? It was only by chance that I came by here,« I replied. Apparently, Natasha believed that I was following her. »Where is she? Why doesn’t she come out?«

  The dancer, who had introduced herself as Evelyne, grinned and replied: »She is embarrassed. Besides, her foot hurts after the fall. She’s rubbing her foot with ointment.«

  »And why is she embarrassed? What’s the problem?«

  »Well, obviously she didn’t want you to know she works here.«

  »But it doesn’t matter,« I tried to reassure her. I hoped that she’d tell Natasha that I didn’t care that she was a stripper. After all, I wasn’t a puritan either.

  »Apparently it matters to her.«

  »She doesn’t need to be shy. I’m not that uptight. Can’t you tell her I’d like to talk to her?«

  »You don’t understand. You are a customer. For Natasha, this is not so easy. Many girls here lead a double life,« she explained to me. »By day they’re playing the good girl, and at night they work here at the club.«

  I started to feel kind of guilty about coming to this strip club as a customer. I looked at Evelyne. She was obviously longer in the business than Natasha. She was slim, almost too skinny. Her breasts were rather small for a stripper. Her skin was deeply dark and her face was quite pretty, though not as pretty as Natasha’s angel face. But I guess that was a matter of taste. There was something mysterious about her eyes and somehow she appeared kind of roguish to me. I don’t know why I had this impression, but it probably contributed to the fact that she was not my type, unlike Natasha. But now that Natasha wouldn’t talk to me directly, she was my only connection to her.

  »It’s hard to find a job these days,« she continued. »Even if you have a university degree, what’s the point? You can never be so good that a robot wouldn’t be better at your job. Ironically, it’s the higher qualified people who have now to be most anxious for their jobs. Natasha told me she has a degree in economics. And now look at what she’s doing.«

  I nodded. »Well, at least she has a good-paying job.« It reminded me that she could afford a car and I couldn’t. I added with a grin, »And she won’t be replaced by a robot any time soon.«

  Evelyne laughed. »I think someday these will be the last jobs left for humans: strippers and whores.«

  »Well, then my career prospects aren’t looking so good,« I said.

  »Or artists and athletes, anything that has something to do with entertainment. This is the only thing, where robots can never completely replace humans.«

  That girl wasn’t stupid. I a way she was right. But it was a little unusual for me to be talking to a go-go dancer in a strip club about a subject like that.

  It didn’t look like Natasha was going to show up any time soon. And Evelyne seemed to be an interesting conversation partner. That’s why I agreed when she asked me for a drink. As a reward, she sat on my lap and performed a naughty dance on me.

  Natasha only came out of the dressing room twice all evening. That’s when she had to dance. All the time she tried to keep as far away from me as possible. She wouldn’t let our eyes meet. Meanwhile, I was talking to Evelyne. I slipped her a few hundred dollars as a tip. Even though she was not really my type, I had to admit that she had beautiful long black legs, perhaps the most beautiful legs I had ever seen. Her skin was smooth and soft and she had not an ounce of excess fat on her body. She told me about the work at the club, and I told her that I was the bodyguard of a U. S. senator. She seemed to be visibly impressed. This time I didn’t even have to make up a story, but could stick to the truth.

  Even if I didn’t manage to get in contact with Natasha that evening, I had a nice time in this club. It was only when my money ran out that I decided to go home. But I decided to come back to the club as soon as I had some money together.

  Evelyne said goodbye by giving me a long French kiss. I felt myself getting more and more aroused. There was something magical about that girl that turned me on. Unfortunately I had no money to take her home. So I had to keep on kissing her. While she stood in front of me, pressed close to my body, I noticed her silver necklace. It had the logo of the club on it. I hadn’t noticed such a necklace on any of the other girls. I asked her about it, but she didn’t answer me and covered the amulet in her hand. After another kiss I left the club.

  I returned home, where electricity had been restored in the meantime. That Evelyne had made me hot. I just couldn’t fall asleep yet. So I turned on the screen and selected one of the porn strips with Betty Boobs that I had downloaded from the Internet.

  Betty was my dream girl. She simply had the perfect figure, and I don’t just mean her huge tits, which had become her trademark. Everything about Betty was just right. If I ever met a woman like that, I’d probably settle down and start a family. If only I’d had her e-mail address. But unfortunately, the only email address I could find was that of her production company. And I didn’t think they’d be willing to help me. There must have been hundreds of requests a day from crazy fans like me. And I hadn’t even legally purchased her films yet. That wouldn’t make for a good impression.

  After the film had only been running for five minutes, the screen suddenly went black and it got dark in my apartment. I cursed. No electricity again?

  I groped my way through the darkness to the door of my apartment. When I opened up, there was a bright light outside. Not only were the advertising monitors on, but the ceiling lights were on, too. That was quite unusual. Usually they were turned off or at least dimmed when the building was switched to battery power. That meant I was the only one who didn’t have electricity. Cursing I opened a small flap in the wall next to my front door, where were the fuse box and the electricity meter were located. A big zero grinned at me on the electric meter. I had used up all my kilowatt-hours. Why now? I hoped that I could still get electricity tokens somewhere at this time of night.

  I asked my smartphone: »Betty, is there any shop still open at this hour? I need a power token.«

  »But of course, Cliff,« whispered the erotic voice of Betty Boobs. »I’ll show you on the map all the supermarkets and gas stations that are still open.«

  It only took ten minutes. Then I came back with a $100 electricity token. That was more than five kilowatt-hours and would last for the night and maybe the next few days, if I used it economically. I rubbed the number on the card free and typed it into the electricity meter. Shortly afterwards it showed me a big five with a series of numbers behind it. The light in my apartment went on again.

  I didn’t finish the porn flick with Betty Boobs. I was too tired by then. But the simple fact that I could sleep with a working ventilation system had been worth it to get the power token the same night.

  Half an hour later I was sleeping peacefully.

  *

  When the alarm sound woke me from my dream the next morning, I was a little confused at first. I remembered having a very strange dream. I couldn’t remember what exactly had happened in the dream. But somehow I remembered the image of a white room, like in a hospital.

  I stretched my tired limbs to wake up. Luckily, I hadn’t overslept today. But it would still be a very unpleasant day. I had to travel with Neil O’Neil to Lansing in Michigan, where he wanted to meet the Republican candidate for the Senate, this McCain guy. It was about what he had discussed yesterday with the representative of Boston Dynamics and this other guy from the Fed. I hated those long trips.

  At eleven o’clock in the morning I was sitting with O’Neil in the first class cabin of the MagLev train to Lansing. In the past, one would have made such trips by plane, but domestic flights no longer existed. Air travel had become very expensive. Only the airlines of the USEAN states and the Union St
ate still offered international flights from Los Angeles, Washington, D. C. and New York. But only a few still flew abroad. For tourists, flying had become too expensive and for business people it was not necessary, since virtual meetings could be held over the Internet. The last American airlines had therefore stopped operating ten years ago due to a lack of economic profitability. Only the U. S. Air Force still operated some airplanes.

  Neil O’Neil had once told me: »When some technology is discontinued because it has allegedly become unprofitable, the real reason is always that they no longer master this technology. Lack of profitability is never the cause, but the effect. It’s because they can no longer manufacture the spare parts. That means they have to buy them at a high price or improvise in some other way. And of course profitability suffers as a result. Most People think that technology will always keep advancing. But that’s not true. Sometimes things go backwards. Think about space travel. We used to go to the Moon. Nowadays we have to have our own satellites launched into orbit by the Chinese or Russians. Or what about the supersonic flight? The Concorde was mothballed because of alleged inefficiency, but the truth is that they were no longer able to maintain it. There has never been a successor model. And it’s the same with civil aeronautics. There are no more airplanes because we no longer produce the parts ourselves, because all the factories have been outsourced to Asia. And now we have neither the engineers nor the know-how.«

  O’Neil loved those kind of schoolmasterly lectures. He believed that only he had a full understanding how the world worked, and it gave him an immense pleasure to share his wisdom with others. I, for one, was just bored, when I had to listen to his monologues.