“I don’t think she needs to meet anyone else,” he states with cynical conceit. Smiling, he looks at me…his handsome face is starting to annoy me since I believe his personality depends on it.
“Well we’ll have to let the scanner be the judge of that,” December responds incredulously. She locks her arm in mine and pulls me away.
“Oh, boy, Castor is after you,” she whispers to me once we are out of earshot. “Let’s try and meet someone less egocentric and scary shall we… regardless of how handsome he is.” December. My best friend. She gets me.
“Okay, that’s Phoenix Dalton. He was chosen for a career in technology based on his test scores and genetics. And that—that tall drink of water— is Leo Harris. Leo, I believe, was chosen for pharmaceuticals like me, but he was disappointed when he found out you had blue eyes, so I’m not going to mess with that,” December says with a smirk.
A small group of men have formed near the appetizers, an artificially-colored assortment of manmade treats, saturated with the correct amount of macronutrients, vitamins, and minerals. No natural form, but the Creators are working on some new developments in agriculture to perfect our nutrition without food bars.
Phoenix Dalton approaches next. The two other men heading toward us begin talking to another group of women, giving Phoenix time to meet us. “Can I get you two anything to drink?” he asks before stretching around December to the bartender. “No, thank you,” December says. “I’ll have a lime spritzer,” I say, mostly because I need something to do so I don’t fidget. He smiles at me, “Absolutely.” He asks for the drinks, and delicately slides the glass into my hand.
“So Ursa?” he asks. “That’s incredible,” he adds as December is whisked away into conversation with Leo. “Thanks,” ending my sip abruptly to reply. “Impressive. And your marksmanship scores are unbelievable. The final combat stations and that shot over 2 miles!” Someone studied me. “I bet your family is proud of that segment the Creators did on your final score. You broke the record from 2150,” he says before going back to his drink. I didn’t even know there was a segment done about me, but I nod.
“There aren’t too many women chosen for careers working so close to Creators. That says something,” he smiles again. “I’m actually going to teach the concealment and observation courses this spring,” I say. “I heard,” he responds with a smile that tugs hard at the corners of his mouth. A dimple appears for a moment and I’m forced to admit to myself that he’s a beautiful man. It’s hard not to like him.
“What about you?” I say, “Technology—I know how demanding those jobs are. You have to be a genius,” I flatter his ego. He laughs thickly. “I don’t know about all that, but I’m pretty happy doing it.” He pauses, “So Apollo and I had a bet that you were going to be in broadcasting when you turned nineteen.
We didn’t know anything about your genetics yet, though.” Apollo? My heart jumps. “Why broadcasting?” I ask coolly. “Well the Creators always put the outwardly perfect women in broadcasting,” he responds without blinking. I know I’m blushing profusely. I can feel the heat in my cheeks.
Did Apollo think that, too?
Wait, he discussed me four years ago.
Phoenix doesn’t seem to notice and asks, “So I’m actually going to see Imperium play Thursday night. Apollo is basically my brother…so I get the best seats,” he says, in response to my questioning look. Everyone tries to see Imperium play, it’s impossible to get tickets without months in advance.
“So…if you’d like to join me? I can ride the Skytrain to your building and we can go together.” I pause and reflect on his invitation for a moment; it doesn’t take me very long to decide that it’s a good idea and if nothing else, I’ll get to watch an Ignis Messorem match.
“That sounds amazing, actually,” I reply.
He lets out a breath and his shoulders relax, “Good. You scared me there for a minute.” Winking and laughing softly he adds, “It’s a date.”
2
After meeting and socializing with an absurd amount of men, December finally finds me again. “Are you using your calendar to keep track of your dates?” she questions. “I know you’re going to need it.”
“Yeah, but I told everyone I’m only doing about two dates a week until the next gathering. I don’t understand how anyone can do more.”
“Two a week?” her mouth hangs open.
“I have two dates for the next month! So obviously I don’t understand either,” she says in disbelief. “I didn’t even know that many guys have blue-eyes.”
She fiddles with her bracelet until the calendar hologram displays on her inner-forearm. “But some of the guys tonight—I don’t even wanna find out if we’re compatible.” Our eyes meet, and after a moment of silence, we smirk and burst into laughter. “Oh, no, Castor is headed toward us again,” I whisper in December’s direction.
“Why is he so scary?” She adds, as she quickly closes out of her calendar. “Do you think it’s just because he’s famous?” she ponders.
December discourages Castor from speaking first by striking up a conversation about how he was talking to Halley Rose—a girl who is known for being a difficult date and has –unsurprisingly- never been taken to the scanner. I notice Apollo leaning up against a wall, holding a drink, staring at me. I pretend to find interest in what Castor is saying. He’s talking about his father, Mel Quinn, a member of the Council.
Permitting a second glance toward where Apollo is standing, three of his friends, including Phoenix, are talking to him loudly, but he seems disinterested. He looks at me and gradually cracks a mischievous smile, his white teeth gleaming in stark contrast to the shadows. Returning a tiny grin, unanticipated calmness sweeps over me, but I lift an eyebrow, hoping to portray he holds no power here.
Castor and December’s conversation distorts into an echo in the back of my mind. Emotional electricity pulses through me. How you are supposed to react when your celebrity crush smiles at you? The ambience and noise of the room, his appearance, it all makes me dizzy.
I nonchalantly glance back in his direction. He’s discussing something with multiple, beautiful women. He keeps looking at me. I’m sure he’s used to the unabashed attention. Maybe my face is too obvious about how I feel. With that thought, I straighten my expression again, probably looking stupid biting the insides of my cheeks. He takes a sip of his drink, pulls himself away from the wall and rounds the corner behind him, out of sight.
“Apollo Ailmar!” December whispers enthusiastically into my ear after witnessing our exchange.
“What?” What?!” she says, her whisper almost bounding into a shriek.
“Little Freya all grown up, your very first gathering” she pauses, trying to collect her thoughts. “Apollo wouldn’t stop staring at you, like…he is fascinated with you.”
“Breathe,” I tell her, but take my own advice.
“Ok, but Freya, he is like the most gorgeous man on the planet, and he seems infatuated with you. The best Ignis player in history! And you… literally the prettiest woman I’ve ever met. And I’m not biased just because you’re my best friend. Really, your kids would be Gorgeous!” she finishes and starts breathing again before adding, “And I bet your kids would have a perfection.”
Perfections are the furthest point a known ability has reached in human history. Most Ignis players have genetic perfections. My own genetic code has broken the record for reflexes and visual acuity, thanks to my parent’s careful selection.
“Interesting, really,” I say, unable to return the enthusiasm. She’s blowing this out of proportion. I look around to make sure no one can hear her embarrass me. Castor is gone.
“But Freya…Apollo—,” she laughs, cutting herself off. “Stop,” I smile, forced and skeptical. “It’s—everything is just—” Caving, I laugh, and then my emotions flow like lava. It’s hysterical, this whole situation. It’s contagious, December’s laughter. “Okay,” she says holding her abdomen.
“W
e have to get married, like soon.” I laugh, even though it’s not funny at all. “We’re twenty-three.” “I know but this is fun,” she says, and laughs harder. I guess if pairing is our only concern, I should be grateful.
Castor is back with a drink, and my eyes continue to water from laughing. “To Castor!” December says through tears, “Why is this so funny?” I say, through even more laughter.
“Yeah, what’s so funny?” he says, giving December a patronizing look, calming me down.
We ignore him and politely excuse ourselves to the ladies room.
Before dinner, December and I stand on top of one of the white balconies overlooking the revelries. People are dancing, the ambience swelters with happiness, dreamlike. Masses of women and men have paired off for the evening. I secretly hope it will be easy for me, come to my first gathering and find a match, someone I’m genuinely interested in. I did really like Phoenix. Castor is probably the highest status imaginable in the room, but I never seriously considered him, although, he seems eager. There’s just something about him.
December and I frequently glimpse at each other, to roll our eyes at the conversations below or to snicker as silently as possible at the behavior of some after having too much to drink. But when we hear Phoenix’s voice echo from below, our eyes grow wide and we fall silent with grins.
He’s in the midst of a discussion with someone with a virile, tranquil voice. My eyes stare widely at December’s zealous expression and we both peer down over the railing, out of our minds with curiosity. I see Phoenix’s light brown head of hair first, my eyes travel to dark locks that surround a face of olive skin. He’s talking to Apollo Ailmar.
December shoots me a sideways smile. Her excitement is almost tangible. We both slowly slide back an inch, ensuring we are completely out of view. A microscopic amount of guilt wrenches in my gut, since they believe their conversation is private.
“You haven’t kept track of a single date, and I heard you agree to go to Rome with that— Electra Anderson,” Phoenix says, pointing with a nod of his head. Rome is a restaurant with an attached club, named after an ancient society. It is one of the many establishments specifically designed for pairing couples. I’ve obviously never been, having never gone to a gathering before tonight.
“I’ll remember…but the Creators decide in the end,” Apollo responds. “With a scanner deciding what’s the point. There are bigger issues.”
Phoenix refuses to acknowledge the information and shakes his head.
“You only have to have over 75% compatibility, that’s probably over a third of this room,” Phoenix responds, taking a sip from his drink, “I am personally going to go for the girl I want.”
“And that’d be Freya, right?” Apollo asks, letting out a chuckle filled with condescension. I freeze. Phoenix ignores the jab and says, “I’ve heard so many rumors about why she’s waited so long to show, but she accepted my offer. So maybe she’s finally ready to try out the MCS.
And you know, I like her even more after actually meeting her. It’s like she’s completely unaware that she’s literal perfection.”
“I think you’re going to have some competition. Freya is going to be paired with someone with a perfection. I take a peek through the railing as he takes a sip of an orange substance that fizzles in his glass. “I’m high enough ranking, and if we pass together, we pass,” Phoenix murmurs. “She can choose between matches. I just hope science agrees with me and we get higher than a seventy.”
Embarrassment floods every ounce of my flesh. I imagine I’m burning an obvious shade of ruby. I notice December staring at me out of the corner of my eye, but I don’t move, still mortified that they’re talking about me.
“I’m just excited she’s pairing,” Phoenix says again, “I turn 25 next year.” “I do, too. But I’m not worried,” Apollo responds.
“Of course not— just snap your fingers, right?”
“Really?” Apollo actually looks insulted, “I get assigned a genetic match if I haven’t paired by twenty-five, same as anyone else.”
Phoenix quickly says, “It’s not like that, but you are famous…you’re Apollo, and you could pick any girl and take her to the scanner—tonight— if you wanted to.” Phoenix is right of course.
Voices grow loud with laughter. Castor stands nearby, surrounded by women, as many as I’d seen fawning over Apollo earlier. Obnoxious comments are flying out of his mouth. The women huddled around are snickering. “Well you don’t have any interest in her right?” Phoenix blurts out, while Apollo’s attention is still on Castor.
“Freya? –Apollo asks skeptically, turning back to Phoenix. “I mean anyone with eyes is attracted to her, but you don’t have to worry about it.”
My heart sinks a little. Well, then.
I noticed you haven’t spoken to her,” Phoenix says, pausing, “or do all women come to you?” Apollo lifts an eyebrow. “Women that look like that are usually boring. I know from experience. She’s all yours,” he adds vainly. I unknowingly emit a soft, melodramatic gasp. December scoffs before muttering “Like you belong to anyone. He doesn’t know anything.” I smile at the comment but it still stings.
“Freya was chosen for Ursa. The Creators chose her. Her test scores and genetic capabilities have to be amazing,” Phoenix finishes with satisfaction. “I wouldn’t call that boring.” Apollo scowls. “Why are you trying to sell her to me? Do you want me to want her?” Annoyance is plastered on his face.
Phoenix looks angry. “You say that like I wouldn’t stand a chance if you were interested.” “It’s not like that man, they’ll want her with a potential Creator,” Apollo says grimly. “They’ll put her in broadcasting to ensure it.”
“You really think the Creators would switch someone with the genetic abilities for Ursa to broadcasting? There’s absolutely no way,” Phoenix says furiously. Apollo ponders silently for a moment. His eyebrows lower, a minor squint encompasses his eyes while he studies Phoenix’s expression. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Phoenix looks confused. December looks at me and mouths “This is crazy,” her eyes sizzle with obvious pleasure that she tries to conceal, a forced sympathetic expression fading in and out.
“The Creators will find a way to put her on viewing screens and link her to someone important,” Apollo finishes briskly. “I knew that right when I saw her and read her codes.”
December is looking at me wide-eyed. “Let’s just stop before someone hears us,” Phoenix motions toward some passerby’s. Apollo adds, “Our society may have started with complete reliance on reason, but now—“You can’t keep talking like that just because you’re Apollo Ailmar. We’re like brothers, but you’re wrong. I know you think you know best, but you don’t know everything.”
“Speaking of Freya, where is your girl?” Apollo questions and looks around the room. December’s face flushes and she leaps backwards, “oh sh—
I back up casually and laugh in response to almost getting caught. This night has turned out a lot differently than I imagined, maybe worse. Reaching out, I take December’s arm, leading us both toward a large staircase in shared silence.
“I’m sorry that was awkward—but on the bright side, Apollo Ailmar was discussing you for like 10 minutes!” she says, trying to cheer me up. “Meh,” I vocalize my disinterest. “I’m already over it. Childhood infatuations never last long.”
Dinner is announced, as we hesitantly wait for our assigned positions at the massive, glass dining table that nearly extends wall to wall. The seats are elongated and egg-shaped, looking exceptionally white, even with the walls and dishes being a similar hue. Those setting the food down are in public service careers; lower-income than most of us here tonight, the hapless of the genetic draw. They walk in and out of sliding doors silently, setting down dish after dish of overly colorful, processed concoctions.
I manage to fit myself and my gown into my assigned seat, thrilled that December is seated just one egg-shaped chair away from me. I
lean backward as a server fills my glass with a deep, red fizzling liquid. The chatter of the bachelors and bachelorettes begins to die down as a woman appears at the head of the table.
“I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight,” she says in a crisp, clear wafting voice. I recognize her upon further investigation. She is the wife of Creator Archer Perkins. Her name is Astrid.
“As you know we have become a great civilization through unity and adherence to our customs. Every person contributes their life to the community.
The individual is crucial only in their contribution as we aspire to be one public with our enhanced capabilities, doing our part for the good of society—as the original Saros intended.” Astrid picks up a glass filled with the same mahogany substance that swirls in each of our drinks.
“You are each here to find your partner,” she says, a sudden expression of solemnity floods her face. “But more importantly, you are fulfilling your obligation to the last remaining civility in this world. Your children will continue our legacy and become our engineers, athletes, officers, teachers and even our Creators. And for that, we thank you.”
Astrid Perkins lifts her glass high into the air and unleashes a grin that looks incredibly forced, her lips stretching over stone teeth.
“To our future,” she says. “It’s in good hands.”
Everyone repeats “good hands” and takes a sip from their drinks. She adds, “And I hope most of you are paired by next month’s event.” And the dining audience chuckles softly. She takes her seat and promptly begins a conversation with those around her. My eyes scan the room quickly. It really is euphoric—the scene. The healthy faces of those attending are glowing, half due to the lit centerpieces and half due to the eagerness to make a good match.
MATCH CITY Page 2