“I don’t know that I would say often. There are also accidents to consider, but when people got old they generally spent more time in hospitals as things went awry inside.”
Genarae tsked and shook her head. “Such a sad thing. To suffer like that, I mean. Well, as you say, we do have accidents, but other than working here and being born, I’ve never spent any time in a hospital. Most don’t, so we must be healthier. Of course, hospitals that cater to retirees probably have more facilities. We still get old, but it must be less difficult.”
Their conversation was interrupted as the door to the garden slid open and he motioned for her to precede him. As she passed, the alluring scent of her tickled at his nostrils. He couldn't place it, but it smelled clean, feminine, and entirely her. Her dark hair shone as the sunlight touched it.
Darren was used to beautiful women. They flocked to the rich like...well...like birds to scattered feed. He'd never been foolish enough to believe any of them loved him for who he was. Genarae wasn't like them. Younger than he, yes. Beautiful, certainly. But Darren was beginning to see something new in her, something he'd never seen before, beauty that shined out from an equally beautiful soul.
Maybe he was foolish after all. He smiled at the thought and followed her out the door.
Outside, the air was balmy and as soft as a first kiss, fragrant with blossoms and the smell of growing things. He knew it was May, but it was nothing like the place he had gone to enter the Life/Time facility. Tucked deep underground in the relatively uninhabited hills of Tennessee, there had been only the smallest of cleared spaces for customers to alight from their helicopters. There hadn’t even been a road to the facility. No access ensured absolute privacy.
“How did you make Tennessee flat?” he asked.
“Tennessee? We’re not in…oh…I see what you mean,” she said, motioning toward a bench under a twisted tree with paper-like blossoms of the brightest fuchsia. “We’re in Virginia, about a hundred miles or so from the coast in your time. The nearest city of any size when you last lived was called Emporia. Your container was transported here when it began to fail.” At his expression of confusion, she added, “So we could wake you, you see. No one lives where that facility is. It’s a protected zone.”
“Ah,” Darren responded. “Protecting the environment?” Never a tree hugger, even he had been aware of how desperately bad the situation had been in some areas.
She laughed in response. “In a way, I suppose. It’s more like contained. You were gone a long time. A lot has happened since then.”
“Tell me,” he said, settling back on the bench. He closed his eyes and turned his face toward the warm yellow sun. The light against his skin made little prickling tickles. It felt divine.
“It would take weeks to tell you everything, but here’s the short version. Genetic engineering went unhappily berserk for a while. New species were created to combat invasive species. Others were created to aggressively protect natural environments from humans or unacceptable human behavior. Still others were created to combat those when they didn’t work out the way they were meant to.” She paused, waving a hand as if to indicate an endless cycle, and then continued. “Many places are still unsafe, like the area around the facility where you were housed.”
She finished with a shrug, as if that explained everything instead of creating more questions that begged for an answer. It didn’t matter for the moment. He had the rest of his life to figure it out.
“That’s too bad,” he said, remembering the beautiful country he’d flown over on his way to Life/Time. A blanket of green treetops, glints of gray or white in the places where small rivers and streams snaked through, the occasional cleared spot with a modest, steep-roofed house in the middle, the odd horse or two, running from the noise of the helicopter. All gone. Or maybe all there, just without houses and horses. “Can it be fixed?”
“We’re trying, but slowly and carefully. Every short-term fix creates more long-term problems,” she said with a firm, sure confidence.
Darren could only nod at that. It was true. Humanity always had been notoriously short-sighted, including him. Gain, gain, gain. Look at the bottom line and no further.
"They used to say that time heals all wounds when I was younger," he said.
Genarae looked up at him, a little crease between her brows as she thought about that. Finally, the crease faded and her lips turned up in a smile. "I like that. It's terrifically untrue, but lovely."
They got up and strolled through the garden for a while. Others meandered along the paths and greeted them politely, but they were greetings without any hint of longing for more. That was, in Darren’s experience, not normal.
No matter who they were or how good their life, the one commonality between all humans was longing. Walking down the street was like a parade of longing. For an expensive suit on another body, a gleaming gold watch on a wrist, the perfection of a face that only youth can bring, or maybe the excellent results of a cosmetic procedure on another older face. Longing was an essentially human trait…and one essential to humans.
The only exceptions were when it was the exact opposite of longing. Everyone looked at everyone else and found something to want or something they disdained.
But here, he saw nothing like that. People were kind, even warm. There was no envy in anyone’s eyes, but also no real passion. Darren leaned down to stroke the petals of a bright flower and wondered if these people of the future had finally found the solution to greed. What had they tweaked in their genes to accomplish it?
There was really only one way to find out if everyone was like this. If he wanted to find out if humans had become docile and compliant like the few he'd seen so far, he had to see more of this world. “When can we go to town?”
“Why not now?” she asked, smiling.
Darren changed direction without a second thought, guiding them back to the hospital. He said, “Perfect! I can miss my second session with Smiley if we hurry.”
* * *
After a short physical, during which he was declared both healthy and disease-free, Darren hurried from the exam room and looked up and down the hallway for any sign of Smiley, the physical therapist. The coast was clear, so Darren extended an arm, elbow crooked dramatically, and said, “Madame.”
Genarae laughed and tucked her arm around his, understanding this gesture now that they had done it a few times. In his time, such a gesture might be overly familiar, but it was really a defense here. While there was none of the possessive clutching he frequently saw between young people in his day, there was a shockingly easy level of affection between people here that included touching.
When he had woken and Genarae stroked his face, he had simply thought she was comforting him in a difficult situation, but that wasn’t so. People here often held hands when they fell into step together and touched each other with ease. When he could redirect that affection to his arm in a manner that felt familiar, it wasn’t so difficult to deal with. He had a feeling Genarae understood what he was doing.
They caught a type of railway, though it was silent and not nearly as big as those of old New York. They paid no fare and Darren watched the passing scenery with interest. Neat buildings, each exactly four stories tall, were set well back from the streets. Little courtyards and parking for bicycles—it was a surprise to see those—fronted each of the buildings.
They weren’t plain or utilitarian, but they were uniform in their design. Darren pointed out his window, eyebrows raised and asked, “Does everyone live in those?”
Genarae gave a half nod and said, “In this area, yes. But there are different sizes. Family sizes differ.”
Once they passed into the town center proper, Darren thought it looked like an amusement park version of a perfect town. Everything was neat, clean, and in an amazing state of repair. Nowhere was there any sense of disorder.
Plenty of people walked the streets, some with parcels or bags slung over their shoulders. Children danced alo
ng behind their parents, some of them licking what looked suspiciously like ice cream. At the sight of it, Darren stomach tightened with a sudden longing for the treat.
“Can we get some ice cream?” he asked before realizing he sounded like an eager child.
As he entered the sweet shop and was enveloped in the scent of ice cream and something fruity, he decided the future was perfectly fine the way it was.
Chapter Four - Transition
Darren felt more than ready to take his place in the world, even if it was as a retired person. Town was no longer quite so frightening after several visits and even a bit of shopping. There was a sort of accounting—which comforted Darren immensely.
The simple idea of pluses and minuses in a log somewhere, even if only in the most rudimentary sense, had almost made him sigh in relief at the store where he “purchased” a pair of sturdier walking shoes. Sustainment and luxury points were permitted each working person and a smaller allotment allowed to children living at home. It made him feel more secure. The idea of not being rich still rankled at him, there was no denying that, but it was a whole lot easier to accept when there was absolutely no one else richer than he.
An hour later, he plopped down into the chair in his new room and tried to contain his disappointment. Rather than an apartment—even a small one—in one of the neat buildings near town, he had moved only as far as the other end of the Hospital Complex to the Transition Complex.
This building, which Genarae assured him was as nice as any other, was for those in transition like himself. This he didn’t understand. Hadn’t he just completed the biggest transition anyone could complete? Hadn’t he just leapt through time almost three centuries and not only survived the waking, but completely accepted his new reality? What more did he need to transition into? Old age?
Genarae took the other chair at his little table and reached for his hand, but he drew it back, unwilling to let her try to ease things with touch like they did so easily here. Her face showed him a new expression then. Hurt.
“I’m sorry,” he said, not wanting to cause her any pain. “I just thought I was going to get to go out there and get on with my life.” He paused, then threw up his hands and added, “Maybe take a pottery class or join a book club or something.”
The smile she gave him was patient and understanding, but as usual, also a little baffled at his strange ideas. “I understand. I really do. But this is the way it’s done. Before retirement, people come here or another place just like it for their transition period. That’s just how it is.”
"You're sure this is normal?" he asked. His sense that something was off was still there, nagging at the back of his mind. But everything was so different in this world that he'd felt like this about everything else and, so far, there had been no reason for his suspicions.
Genarae reached again for his hand and ran her fingers along the back, her touch warm and inviting. It made him want to turn his hand over and clasp her fingers in his. Instead, he pressed his fingers into the table-top to stop himself.
She said, "I'm a Transition Counselor. That's my job. I've also handled your waking and one for another man, long ago, when I was first starting out. So I see lots of transitions. There’s nothing at all to be alarmed about. The change from a life spent working, raising a family, and attending to outside responsibilities to a life of retirement is a big one. It needs guidance and attention. Other transition counselors handle the transition from childhood to adulthood. And you can see that works out well for everyone. Everything is fine."
Darren understood her words, took them in, and found nothing suspicious. But that didn't silence the voice in his head that whispered to him that something was wrong.
* * *
Transition appeared to consist of doing a whole lot of nothing unless Genarae was nearby. All around him, people were constantly being visited by family, taking outings to interesting places with friends, reading from tablets for hours on end, or listening to music and swaying in their chairs. They walked the gardens and took naps and ate far more than he had ever seen any person here eat.
And the food. The food! It was night and day compared to what he found at the hospital or even out in town. It seemed limitless. Twenty-four hours a day, fresh hot food. He’d even popped in during the deepest part of the night after a bathroom visit just to try to see if he could catch them with less abundant offerings, but no, full service was available with no limit even then.
And the portions were staggering. He was a bigger man than most of those around him, in both height and overall structure, so his meals from restaurants came with fuller plates than others. Even that was accounted for by whatever system they used. But not here in the Transition Center.
It was almost disgusting to see how much food this collection of not-exactly-old people could shovel down their gullets. He’d watched one woman eat six full entrées in one sitting and then unapologetically belch with a long, satisfied croak. Then she’d grinned at him and said, “You might as well take advantage of the benefits of transition. Am I right?”
Even with the quantity and quality here, Darren preferred to take his meals out in town and forgo watching the almost debauched way the transitionees feasted. There was no meat except chicken and fish—cattle and pigs had been wiped out by some disease long ago—but even that was regulated to exacting portions so many times a week, except here. He wouldn’t have missed steaks even if they were available. The food of this future was beautiful as well as tasty, almost like edible art.
He’d asked Genarae how they managed that. In his time, the desire for promotion or more pay spurred people to make effort. It was a given that communist regimes would always produce shoddy work. No gain meant no effort.
Genarae had laughed at him like he had said the silliest thing in the world, “What, and just be retired instead of working? Why would anyone retire early rather than do their best? I'm known for my abilities at my job. I wouldn't want people to think poorly of me.”
"What happens to people who retire early?" he asked.
She shrugged prettily and said, "I imagine they do what all retirees do. But I can't imagine anyone thinks very highly of those who choose that." She started as she remembered something and snapped her fingers. "Wait, you know that other man I told you about, the one that woke from Life/Time when I first started apprenticing?"
He nodded, eager to hear anything about anyone from his time.
"He retired early! I remember that they couldn't find anything that kept his interest and he wanted to have some sort of say in the way things are." She frowned a little, clearly trying to bring up details. "Anyway, once a person retires you can access some of their records. You should look him up."
Darren was delighted to hear that. Genarae could see him fidgeting and took pity on him. "Oh, fine. Let's do it now." Her fingers make quick dashes around her tablet's surface for a moment and then a face appeared, scowling into the lens of whatever camera took the photo.
Darren let out a loud laugh and said, "I know who he is! He was a politician—young guy, full of beans and opinions—when I went into Life/Time." He shook his head. "Looks a lot older there."
They watched his transition interview, his declaration that he intended to put some things right, get this world moving in the right direction. Darren found himself shaking his head right along with Genarae at the bitter sound in the man's voice. It exhausted him just to watch the former politician.
As the weeks passed, Darren found himself almost eager for retirement. It was a novel experience, this desire to plan days that had little in the way of productivity built into them. His list grew by another place or activity to explore almost every day.
Rather than fade away and leave him on his own, Genarae had turned into a friend, as well as his guide to this new world. At least, Darren thought that’s what was happening between them. For his part, he worried he was growing too attached. What were the rules on age differences in this time?
Ever
yone was so friendly and touchy it was hard to be sure if her affection was real, but her laughs seemed genuine and her smiles touched her eyes. He hoped she wasn’t sticking around simply because he was the only one at the center that didn’t have a constant parade of family and friends visiting.
Darren tucked his shirt in and examined himself in the mirror. One of the ladies at the Transition Center could sew like the best tailor in old New York City and she’d offered—actually offered, no trades, no favors asked—to alter one of his outfits to fit more like the clothes he remembered. It wasn’t perfect, but the shirt had buttons that went all the way to the bottom and a collar he could relate to. There was even a pocket, though it was plain and had no monogram.
The pants, well, those were another story. The soft cotton couldn’t be given structure no matter how skilled the seamstress or how hot the iron. Not that he’d been able to find an iron anyway. It seemed those too had gone extinct. He turned to one side and then the other, frowning and smiling into the mirror by turns. It would have to do.
“Time,” he called out into the empty room and the friendly, androgynous voice of the computer told him. Just fifteen minutes until Genarae was supposed to arrive, and she was always on time. Darren waved off his still unsatisfactory reflection, smoothed his new collar flaps down, and left the room. Tonight it was his turn to show Genarae something new.
Chapter Five – And Italy
“I’m not sure about this,” Genarae said, trying to peer through the small window inset into the door to the kitchen proper. She looked worried, almost like she felt she was doing something wrong.
“No, no,” Darren replied, waving away all her concerns and tugging her hand so she’d follow him back toward the dining room. When she turned to look at him, he pushed on. “I checked with dietary. They’ll treat this like any other meal. It’s fine! I promise.”
She followed, though her footsteps weren’t her normal eager staccato taps, but more the reluctant clomps of a kid going to the dentist. “It doesn’t sound like it’s good for me. I mean, I’m hungry. I want a full meal, not a couple of bites.”
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