The Clock King and the Queen of the Hourglass

by Vera Nazarian

  Reaching the top, Finnei released the final staircase cross-bar and stood up on the platform. She then spread out her hands and took an elegant dive forward through the air and caught the first hand swinger with a sure grip of both hands.

  With a gentle hum the exercise machine came alive and started to rotate along its drum axis, so that new handlebars came into view along its edges with the slow initial rotation. Finnei gripped each handlebar with alternating right then left hands and with her motion and distribution of weight the rotation of the hand swinger drum increased until Finnei hung upright rapidly moving her hands in place to keep up.

  Eventually the hand swinger moved forward, its cycle near the middle, while a second hand swinger emerged from the overhead compartment, descended in place for the next user.

  Liaei’s turn was next.

  Her heart beginning to pound in silent terror of the abyss of empty space before her, Liaei forced herself to move forward. There was the remote awareness of the safety nets stretched taut below the aerial portion of the gym, but it was not enough for the irrational ancient part of her. She emptied her mind with a force of will, inhaled deeply and at the same time plunged toward the bars hovering in the air less than a meter before her. For one sickening second she felt the imminent weightless void—the safety nets seemed a thousand meters away below—and then her hands connected with the bars and she landed with a jarring initial shock, holding on in an instinctive death grip. As the instrument began to move, she forced herself again to unclench her grip, and never looking down, grabbed for the first new bar on her right, then the second one on the left, and so on.

  Only several meters ahead of her Finnei was effortlessly nearing the end of the cycle and saying something to Olato who had stopped aero-spinning and then to Toliwe who was doing yet another cycle on the wings. There was casual laughter.

  They never knew what terror clamored inside Liaei. She made sure each time that they would not know, especially that Toliwe never would.

  “The difference between modern Life Bonding and the similar ancient social rituals,” said the harmonium, “those inter-personal affirmation rituals of the extinct people whose genetic material was closest to yours—was mostly economics. At first, contracts between individuals were superseded by contracts between families, tribes, even nations. And for the earliest homo sapiens the contract was valid only between a man and a woman pair. It was only after several thousand years had passed that same-sex bonding was legally recognized. And by then the economic rules had relaxed enough that pair and group bonding became the choice of the individuals involved only, regardless of gender, but still based on sex drive and, when applicable, medical conditions.”

  Liaei sipped from her mug of morning tea. “So then, this sex-based form of social slavery was abolished and people were free to desire and bond as they wanted?”

  “Essentially, yes,” the harmonium responded. “Since economics were no longer based on groups but on individuals. Each individual of the species became a unique resource. As a result, the power of decision belonged to that individual alone. Much of this was concurrent with the evolution of individual rights. Rights guaranteed personal freedoms, and set specific societal safeguarding limits, and in the long run it guaranteed sovereignty of the human unit.”

  “I cannot imagine inter-human slavery of any sort,” Liaei said, as the morning light came to fall on her face from overhead through the skylight, painting her skin warm mist-gold, and rendering her hair into metallic fire. “Even now, it is bad enough we are slaves to our own personalities, to duty, to what we believe is right, to resources. But to be enslaved by the idiotic and arbitrary selfish will of another, even if they are a family member? Must have been infuriating, frustrating, impossible. No wonder those poor abused people died so young after such tormented lives.”

  “Modern Life Bonding is based on affection and personal compatibility,” the harmonium said. “But it was not so before the sex drive became extinct. The power of hormonal urges was so strong in the ancients that sexual attraction was the primary factor for bonding, and then came all other reasons, even though this was publicly denied by all involved. The union of commitment called marriage, in its brief historical period when it was based on love, resulted in separations, divorces and frequent cheating on the contract, called adultery. The one positive of this supremely brief period was that the cheaters at least were not punished as severely as they had been in the even earlier times when the marriage contract was not based on the love-sex complex but economics. In those dark ages of humanity the contract breakers were often punished by severe social shunning, corporal punishment, mutilation, and even death.”

  “What?” said Liaei with a snort. “Death for no longer wanting to be with someone? Oh, Day God. . . .”

  At that point someone had come up from behind and touched Liaei on the shoulder. The contact was gentle, but she started, since she was already trembling from what the harmonium had just said.

  It was Amhama.

  “Ama? What are you doing here? I am still in class,” said Liaei.

  Amhama’s normally placid soft face was more tense than normal. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “But Riveli needs to see you now.”

  “Why? What about? I am not scheduled with her until the day after tomorrow.”

  “I know. But this is something that just came up. Riveli will see both of us.”

  Riveli’s office visit was as clinically dull as usual, except for the somewhat unexpected announcement that Liaei will be assuming her role as the Queen of the Hourglass next year as opposed to the two years she had been told recently.

  “Have you had sexual urges, Liaei?” Riveli asked suddenly, after she had asked all the usual questions. “Do you find yourself regularly thinking about physical stimulation? Have you experienced sexually stimulating dreams, or attempted to stimulate yourself in any way?”

  The room seemed very chill all of a sudden.

  Liaei became motionless.

  But Riveli did not seem to notice as she continued, “And do you think more than usual, and more intimately than usual, about any persons you know? For example, any male persons, male techs? Intimate thoughts are natural at this point—”

  Liaei, sitting on the edge of the beige fabric-upholstered chair, stared at Riveli in thunderstruck silence, while Amhama clenched her hands in the corner seat.

  Riveli shook her head then sighed. “Come now, no need to be shy or embarrassed, my dear, I am your medcare giver. This is all normal for someone in your situation, with your hormonal makeup and genetics.”

  “If that’s the case,” Liaei said with an empty face, and in a strange calm voice, “then why ask me these personal prying questions? You say I am normal, so there’s the answer. You know all about me from the regular tech diagnostic reports. You have samples of all my tissues and bodily fluids. Would you like me to void myself now and bring you the most recent—”

  “Liaei!” said Amhama. “Please don’t be rude. . . .”

  “All right. I won’t. I am sorry, Riveli.”

  Her voice was like ice. Liaei got up and without saying another word walked out of the office.

  News of her rebellion spread. The horticulturist techs who worked with Liaei that week acted and talked to her with such care that Liaei was even more infuriated and embarrassed. In the medicineal cafeteria stares followed her more than usual as she walked between the food selection aisles and seated eaters. When she got home each night, Amhama said nothing but looked at her with what Liaei thought was pity.

  Liaei ate her dinner, then cleaned up after the two of them, then immediately went to her room and locked the door after herself. She knew Amhama would sit at her harmonium display in the living room, pretending to be reading despite the sounds of savage ancient music that clearly seeped through the inadequate insulation of the door.

  Let her think I am sexually stimulating myself like a primitive in the porn displays, thought, Liaei, standing before her
mirror and watching the flow of her hair, loosened and long against her shoulders, the hairs overlying in twin arches her browline, the lashes surrounding her eyes. With her hands she brushed the surface of her arms with its fine almost invisible hair . . . everywhere.

  The music thundered around her, and the lights flickered to the savage percussion beat, while a man and woman dead for a million years sang in discord and harmony, wailing out of the past and pulling at the lump in her throat. She tried to imagine them jumping around, torsos twisting, hips gyrating, contorting, naked, twined around one another with virile limbs soaking in wanton perspiration that did not have to be recycled, massage oil and pheromones, while their hair-covered skin mingled and fused in the act of mindless burning desire.

  Her personal razor tool, specially made to accommodate the trimming of her long head hair, was in its place in her grooming cabinet. Liaei picked it up, unfolded the safety lock to reveal the short field of micro-blades and looked at it. Then, standing in front of the mirror again, she lifted the foremost lock of hair over her forehead in a taut grip and sheared it off, directly against the skin, leaving a bare spot. The skin which the hair had covered was pristine and paler than the rest of her face.

  As she worked, she hummed along with the music in a low sonorous voice.

  “Liaei! Oh, what have you done to yourself?” Chwanta exclaimed when Liaei came in for her first daily test.

  Liaei’s head formerly covered by a luxurious mane of hair was now a bare smooth scalp with the faintest hint of subdermal stubble. Instead of eyebrows, she had pale shadow-lines over her brow areas. Her eyes were red-rimmed because she had pulled out all her eyelashes and the skin was inflamed. And her arms and legs, what was visible from underneath her clothing were bare of hair also.

  Liaei shrugged.

  Chwanta, who today was wearing a sterile coat and held a harmonium pad, put the pad away on her cluttered desk, and approached Liaei.

  It was only then that Liaei was stricken by the comprehension of what she had done. Chwanta’s normally placid expression was replaced by an intense stare and a focus of such concern that Liaei was afraid.

  “Why did you do it?” said Chwanta. She put both her hands on Liaei’s shoulders, and just stood waiting.

  But Liaei had no overt explanation. To say “I want to look like everyone else” was too trite. She was already pathetic in so many ways that such a blatant call for attention was more humiliating than anything she could imagine.

  Liaei smiled, and maybe it was unnatural, but Chwanta did not know her well enough in that sense to judge. Chwanta knew all about her heart rate and estrogen balance and fluid circulation. Chwanta knew that Liaei liked to eat spicy foods and did not fancy heights. But not how she smiled when she was trying to lie.

  “Don’t worry,” said Liaei gently, as though she was the one to be consoled. “It will grow back soon enough. I am trying to see what it’s like to look like all the rest of you, for a change. Yeah, I know it’s a silly fashion phase, but just humor me for now.”

  “Oh, Li,” said Chwanta. “You are beautiful and your natural growth of hair is lovely, and you are fine just exactly the way you were formed—perfect, in fact. If anything is bothering you, if you want to talk about anything at all, you know you can talk to me, all right?”

  “Sure.”

  Chwanta exhaled in relief. “All right, then, and you look cute, girl!” She drew her tickling fingers over Liaei’s bare scalp.

  “Thanks.”

  The rest of the daily test went on as usual. Chwanta took organ function measurements and when all was done, waved at Liaei, saying she’ll see her later tonight. “Have fun with the harmonium’s history of gender differences lecture.”

  Liaei nodded with the same soft smile, and then headed to see Toliwe. Harmonium time came later; for now she had other plans.

  Toliwe was in the development lab on the 78th floor of the medicineal, where he normally checked Liaei’s breathing patterns and lung capacity. Liaei walked into the room noiselessly, more self-conscious than usual. She did not look at ecosystems of transparent glassoid which lined the walls, and where various living plant and animal cells grew in gaseous fluid cocktails of mauve and amber and green hues under a variety of illumination.

  She looked at the man who stood with his back to her, focused intently on his task of processing genetic material through micro-filtering equipment.

  Toliwe had on the requisite sterile coat, and held a bouquet of fine transparent tubes in one hand, delicately playing each tube with an agile finger when needed, which extended to various living mass containers on the work surface. With the other hand he directed a beam of harmonium-tuned energy from a fine pointing device which activated and shaped the arrangement of genetic material inside living cells.

  Liaei watched his silhouette, the smooth head, strong but slender neck, coat fabric covering wide tapering shoulders.

  A spasm of nerves squeezed her throat, but she forced herself to speak.

  “Hi . . . I’m early.”

  Toliwe’s shape froze for a moment, then without turning around he continued the complex set of motions with his hands, saying, “I’ll be with you in a moment. Go on and sit down.”

  Liaei obeyed, and walked over to the other side of the lab where the lung machine was, and sat down in one of the chairs. With movement she felt the air wash over her naked scalp, and it was an odd feeling. She was still not used to it, the cold and vulnerability.

  As she sat waiting for him, her arms itched. She’d removed hair from every possible surface of her body. Her eyelids itched also, but she knew not to touch them so as not to induce an infection. Idle moments poured in an endless stream.

  Toliwe finally came around, tired and reserved as always, carrying his usual data pad. Only this time, seeing Liaei he stopped. His handsome face did not show any significant change of expression, but Liaei knew, because she had watched him so closely for so long, that when he stilled like that it meant he was paying attention.

  “What happened to your hair?” Toliwe asked.

  Liaei laughed and shrugged. “I got tired of it. Wanted to try another look. What do you think?”

  “Oh,” he said.

  “So, what do you think?”

  “Fine either way. I like it, but I think your head of hair looked just as good. It was natural to you.”

  “Oh.” This time she said it.

  Toliwe was staring at her, it seemed. Or maybe not. Maybe he was looking blankly, as he usually did.

  Liaei felt cold gripping her, nervous clenching, spasms in her gut.

  “Go ahead and grab the breathing tube,” Toliwe said after another brief moment, and turned to engage the lung machine. It was going to be the extent of his reaction, Liaei realized.

  As the harmonium energy field came alive with a hum that was just out of human hearing range, but giving off vibrations that were still tactile, Liaei held the long pale tube end and breathed into it rhythmically, the best she could. She was feeling short of breath and somewhat lightheaded.

  The data drum began to turn and Toliwe observed the incoming data dots, then frowned slightly. “Your exhalations are weaker than normal today,” he said. “Are you feeling okay?”

  His cool voice struck Liaei with a jarring impact, and more spasms echoed in her gut and chest.

  She forced herself with a superhuman effort to relax, and started taking deeper breaths, so as to produce richer exhalations.

  Toliwe glanced at her a couple of times with his beautiful dark eyes. For the rest of the test he said nothing.

  “As the Queen of the Hourglass, you will need to master the art of sensual movement, which is one of the key elements of seduction,” said the harmonium.

  Liaei sat half-listening, one hand propping up her cheek, and the tips of her fingers brushing absentmindedly against the faint stubble at the edge of her scalp. All of her body surfaces from which she had removed hair itched, and now she wished she had not removed her an
imalistic coating. Only a day had passed and already it was growing back. And her new habit was to feel the stubble, to run her fingers against the growth on her head, arms, and legs.

  “Since you like to dance, Liaei,” the harmonium said, “you will probably enjoy this portion of your sexuality education.”

  The display screen came alive.

  “Unfortunately we have no other records of real ancient sex dance, except for this one synthetic digitalization of something called belly dance. And it is also regrettable that the image used in the animation is not of a homo sapiens female but an artificially generated composite creature with some of the sexually prized proportions of the female human body but the head and hindquarters of an extinct mammalian animal called a cat. Try to imagine the rest of the body as human as you observe the very brief display.”

  “Oh, great,” said Liaei.

  A rhythmic percussion and wailing wind instrument soundtrack came on, and the display crackled in broken-up frames of the million-year-old recording. Bluish-green background took on rudimentary perspective as a female cartoon creature with greatly exaggerated spherical breasts, pronounced recessed umbilical cord area, and round hips began to undulate. The feline head of the image had long eyelashes that it batted over great unnatural round eyes, and it swished its tail in curving arcs as it moved. Back and forth the hips ground, covered with a thin low-slung belt of shining material and tassels, while the strange giant mammaries jiggled under their presumed weight. The creature waved its plump arms in delicate soft curves, and clicked some kind of tiny snapping instrument with the fingertips. As the performance ground to a halt, the cat woman pouted with her swollen human female lips that grew in size, nearly filling up the display area, and were colored the typical red. She made a kiss sound, then flicked a pink tongue provocatively.

  The display faded.