by Adam Steel
The spiel on the video continued: highlighting the benefits ‘Edikitt’ would introduce, and how it would make the newest generation of Utopians the smartest, most advantaged people anywhere. Aya wondered if the environment in which he was pictured, really was how Mason Batide lived. The video drew to a close. It had images of young nursery children sitting around in an octagon. Aya realised what Aarif and Mada had in mind. The Fin-Sen computer remained safely anonymous.
‘Grandchildren,’ she whispered. That’s what it was, she said to herself.
Aarif wanted a son, and he wanted him to be the most advantaged boy he could be. Mada was selling her own daughter for a life of luxury. Aya’s face hardened. The betrayal and bitterness seeped up through her and nestled in her mind. Her anger won her over. She reached into her jacket and pulled out her Info Pad.
The small tablet was the equivalent of a mobile phone, except it had many other functions, half of which she didn’t understand, need, or care for. She flipped the lid open and the screen shone back at her as the device fired up.
“Info Pad. Developed by T.A.U systems.”
TAU was the headquarters for Technological Advancement for Utopia, built in Sector One near Fin-Sen. It produced everything from conversion kits of cars, to new self-clamping hair ties. TAU worked closely alongside the CUB and manufactured the various enhancements that the CUB developed.
“Synchronisation complete. Low battery-recharge now,” flashed in the top corner.
Aya dismissed it. The batteries used in these kinds of devices could be re-charged (free of cost) from shielded input terminals in the street booths. Genie provided copious amounts of energy which was made readily available everywhere.
Aya thumbed through her number list. She settled on “Work Office” and hit “Call”
A wry smile crossed her flushed face.
The Info-Pad made a series of connection noises as she held it to her lips in anticipation.
A tired, rough sounding voice came through from the other side as the call was connected.
‘Hey,’ it said.
Aya grinned and her tongue slipped outside the side of her mouth as she grinned slyly. She had the look of a naughty school girl. She kicked back against the wall containing the Info-Com and shielded the phone from the rest of the street so that she couldn’t be overheard.
‘Hey Max,’ she said in a low husky voice.
Max most defiantly did not work at her office. The name on the phone was there for Mada’s benefit. Aya was sure Mada checked her call lists behind her back but she knew she wouldn’t actually dare to ring any of the numbers.
Aya had to stifle a giggle as she heard Max over the phone. Her knees had gone to jelly as her blossoming rebellious nature took hold.
She had been seeing Max in secret for about six months. He was almost twice her age at forty one, but that just made him even more desirable in her eyes.
Max was a soldier; recalled from overseas just after the Day of Reckoning. Technically speaking, he was not a soldier anymore. He worked for the CURE now, as a box guard. He was stationed on Utopia’s only shipping facility, The Port of Utopiana. He had not been promoted across to Deckler’s TALOS division, but she hardly cared about that. Max was gorgeous. He was well toned, rugged and rough. A real, manly, man. Best of all he was her manly man and she got as much of him as she could get away with.
She had met him outside the CURE station where she worked in Sector Two. He’d been brought in and thrown in the drunk-tank. His crime was punching some guy in a seedy pub somewhere in down in Sector Seven. She had been leaving work in her tidy black and red secretary suit, with its neat CURE motif and matching cap. Max had been leaning against the wall of the station nursing a bad hangover, with a cigarette, after he had been released with yet another fine.
He was everything Mada abhorred, and that had made him instantly attractive to Aya. She had eyed his bulging muscles and the red tinge to his closely cropped hair. A white scar ‘zig-zagged’ down one side of his face. It was the result of some distant war injury. He had adamantly refused to have it repaired at Plastic Paradise.
Everything about the way he slouched against the wall oozed a rugged charm. He seemed to do everything she was forbidden to do and that dangerous appeal had been too tempting to resist.
That’s how it had started.
They met in secret. They had drunk. They had laughed and they had screwed. They had screwed a lot and it felt damned good to Aya.
Her mother would have told her, “You must not trust those soldiers. They are bad. They killed our neighbours. They are bad people.”
If Mada knew what Aya had been doing, she would have had heart failure. That idea pleased Aya even more. She quickly dismissed it in disgust.
Aya was in love with Max. She wanted to run off with him and get far away from Mada's suffocating regime and any idea of a despicable arranged marriage. She just couldn’t find the courage. Max had never mentioned any firm commitments (no matter how much she hinted at it) and it frustrated her.
Aya composed herself, ‘Um…Max. You want to get together later? I could use the company,’ she teased. She waited with baited breath for the response, holding the Info Pad close to her ear.
‘Uh – yeah – okay. I’ll just knock off work. Usual place yeah? Glad you got away from the bitch lady,’ Max said sleepily.
Aya felt a shiver of excitement run through her. Hearing Max call Mada that name made her feel more turned on. It seemed even more dangerous. She felt aroused at hearing his rough manly voice curse at the Matriarch. She grinned as she agreed and hung up.
Aya turned to carry on up the street towards the monorail station and thought again about Aarif in his impeccable suit.
‘Not today buddy,’ she whispered under her breath.
Chapter 4: Max
The Port of Utopiana: Primary Docking Station
Friday 1st June
Max Benson flicked his phone shut as Aya clicked off. He stuffed the device back into the pocket of his grey and red CURE uniform and slouched against the wall: considering.
Max worked for the CURE Security Services Department. He was a security guard, which was a lesser role than the CURE Officers, who were the equivalent of Police Officers before the Day of Reckoning.
The cigarette in his hand was half burned down and a long stub of ash protruded where he had not felt like smoking it. His head hurt. This was his sixth fag break so far that day (overshooting his allowance of three) and it was still early afternoon. He had no stomach for the work today (not that he ever worked with much enthusiasm any more). This was never the job he had set out to do. He just toiled along in it now, too tired and burnt out to do anything else.
Work at the docking station was long, tiring and incredibly boring. Utopia’s main shipping vessel, Utopiana, normally came in once a fortnight and in between those fleeting visits there was precious little for Max to do. Guarding the loading crates, checking manifests and protecting against illegal immigration (which never seemed to happen) were the order of the day.
Max didn’t like or appreciate the work. It gave him far too much time to think and that’s why he was sporting the headache that hammered away in his brain. The thinking started the drinking and the drinking started the headaches. The drinking along with the cigarettes, sleepless nights and bottles of pills, that is.
He stroked the unshaven stubble on his chin and took another drag off the cigarette.
His supervisor, Price, had been getting pissy with him lately. Price was TALOS, one of Deckler’s boys. He took his job way too seriously in Max’s opinion. The TALOS boys behaved as though they were still back in action. They were the only ones permitted to carry guns and they brandished them like trophies. Their weekly highlight was intimidating the new arrivals from Utopiana. It was a far cry from when they had been the pioneers of Utopia: picking their way through the wreckage; sweeping the way clear for the reconstruction and then guarding the efforts. They’d had a purpose back then a
nd, before that, they had been fighting for a cause – For their country.
Max missed the grip of his old rifle. His hands twitched nervously as they recalled its comforting weight. His shiny black CURE issue Taser was strapped neatly to his side. He snorted. He felt like some kind of door guard now: demoted to a sort of sub-cop role. He hated the CURE Officers. He’d been dragged out of enough bars by them.
The docking station was a dull prison for Max. There was no action here. Not unless you could count the occasion when they had to zap some poor unfortunate sod who had stepped over the wrong line or who had made a break for it past the guards. The most excitement they’d had in the last few months was when a TALOS cutter ship had intercepted a bunch of illegals trying to cross the Channel. The crew members had been laughing about it in the dining hall. They had slapped each other on the back as they described the terrified people’s faces in their tiny makeshift boat when the destroyer had pointed its enormous 40 mm-laser-guided cannons at them.
He recalled their conversations.
“You should have seen those niggers row when we turned the guns on 'em!” one of them had quipped.
“No room at the inn boys!” another had added.
“I think they shit themselves!” the first man had replied, sniggering.
Max hadn’t laughed. He never laughed much anymore, especially when the joke involved a bunch of TALOS cronies joking about threatening a bunch of civvies floating in a leaky bunch of planks.
Max took another drag on his dying cigarette.
The loud speaker above his head rang out.
“Attention
Attention
Utopiana on approach
Ship docking will commence in fourteen minutes
All personnel to stations
Prepare for docking procedure”
Max ground the cigarette into the wall and dropped it not bothering to see if it went out. It joined the other burn stains on the carpet that adorned the part of the lounge where Max stood to smoke. He’d been chastised three times already for not using the provided ash disposal system built into the wall. Max hated it. It drew in the smoke from the cigarette like a small extractor fan to prevent the smell from spreading or staining the walls. Max thought of it as an unwelcome intrusion. It was after all, his cigarette and his smoke.
He really couldn’t be bothered with work today. The docking procedure was loud, long and dull. There would be lines of people to process, forms to check and if the day was particularly exciting, maybe one or two people to zap if they got out of line.
He was glad when Aya had phoned him. A quick ‘bunk-up’ with her would soon raise his spirits (at least for a little while).
Max made his way out of the lounge area into the corridors that led towards the docking area. He caught sight of Private Falkner down the end of the passage. Private Falkner was ex-military too. A lot of the dock staff were. Those that hadn’t been promoted into TALOS had been drafted into the CURE, mostly into roles down the docking station as security guards. The ex-military personnel still referred to each other by their old military ranks. It was one tradition that hadn’t died out alongside their careers. The TALOS boys made sure people like Max and Falkner were reminded they were no longer privates whenever they got the opportunity. They put an extra emphasis on their ranks when they spoke to the ‘Ex’s.’
It pissed Max off.
‘Hey Falk – come ‘ere,’ he gestured.
Falkner walked up the passage towards him as other workers filed past them, heading for the ships docking area.
‘What’s up Max? Damn. You look like shit,’ Falkner said with a half laugh.
Max’s eyebrow twitched, irritated. He leaned against the wall trying to blink the sleepiness from his eyes.
‘Hey Falk. Listen. I’m knocking off early. Make something up for Price will ya?’
Falkner made an unpleasant expression. ‘Sheeeit man. Again? What’s it this time? ‘Fuck-girl’ been on the phone?’
Max looked at him. His cheeks flared with colour momentarily until he noticed Falkner’s widening, mischievous grin then he relaxed. Any thoughts of anger subsided as quickly as they had first appeared.
Max shrugged, ‘No…well – yes actually. But it ain’t that.’
The words began to falter as he struggled to make his aching brain work.
Falkner rolled his eyes. ‘Yeah, Yeah. Look. Go sign off. I’ll cover for you with Price. But he’s got a stick up his arse this morning. Something about a new set of directives down from Mason Deckler. You know how he hates new directives. Means the lazy bastard has to actually do some work.’
Max grunted in response.
Falkner gestured up the passage. ‘Go on, get out of here. You’ll want to avoid running into Price if you’re cutting out.’
‘Thanks,’ Max mumbled as he turned up the passage.
Falkner’s hand on his shoulder caused him to pause, ‘…and Max. You might want to lay off the Red. You really do look like shit,’ Falkner whispered in his ear.
Max nodded once without looking back and continued down the corridor towards the entrance.
The timecard bleeped angrily in red at him when he swiped his card the screen read:
M. BENSON.
C.U.R.E.
SECURITY SERVICES DEPARTMENT
UTO: 93742731.
LOGOUT:
Falkner could make his excuses to Price, but the machine would always report all of his movements to the exact minute. Max didn’t care for computers. They always seemed to screw him over in some way and they didn’t take excuses. Max pocketed his timecard and unslung his Taser from his waist. He didn’t really give a shit if Price did go ballistic. He wasn’t scared of him. Price was younger than him and Max knew what that meant. He hadn’t seen much real action and had made TALOS by kissing arse rather than actually having to dodge bullets. Max suspected if he lost his temper one day and punched Price in his smarmy mouth the man would fold like paper.
Military Bureaucrats. The worst kind, he thought. The kind that had sat in offices and tents while he (and his mates) had been getting shot to pieces.
Max hung up his Taser on the wall rack.
The digital watch on his wrist gave a short, sharp ‘beep’ as it synchronised the time with the nearby logout console. All digital watches and Info Pads in Utopia ‘synched’ themselves whenever they approached a terminal connected to Fin-Sen. It insured everyone kept the exact correct time.
Another marvellous and completly pointless advancement from the TAU, he cursed mentally.
It also removed another of Max’s excuses from being late for work.
Max left the docking building and made his way across the car park to the monorail station. He didn’t own a car and there were few vehicles in the small parking area. Most of the motor vehicles had been rendered useless and scrapped during the Day of Reckoning.
Much like me, he thought bitterly.
The only vehicle examples around now were either old, archaic petrol versions, or the newer, sleeker, electric cars, designed to be refuelled from the Genie terminals. Petroleum was a rarity and only the most stubborn or nostalgic of citizens still insisted upon driving the inefficient and out-dated vehicles. The road system was also a secondary concern in Coney and Eden City. Most transportation around Utopia was handled by the electric monorail system. It had been engineered from scratch and connected all the major hubs including the docking station and the more distant Genie facility.
When Max crossed the car park he noticed an expensive, white limousine, waiting. It was sporting a small white flag with a red ensign which fluttered in the breeze. The windows of the gleaming limousine were blacked out. As he passed by, a window slid silently down, and a black man, wearing a chauffeurs suit and cap, watched him. Max glanced back briefly and then continued across the car park. He could hear the gentle purr of the engine. He wondered who would warrant such a magnificent form of transport, and guessed they must be arriving right now on Utopiana.
He didn’t know, nor really care. It was just another rich visitor, nothing to do with him, as far as he was concerned.
Max walked past the large display monitor above the station walkway. It held a map of Utopia, with the connecting monorail lines highlighted in glowing yellow. The map showed the operational status of the system. Early on, it had been prone to electrical blackouts, with the lines flickering on and off. However, since Genie had been completely operational, the lines always remained a steady yellow light. It looked like a glowing spider’s web had fallen across the map.
The docking port was connected to Coney City by one of the thick glowing lines, which then spread throughout the city. Other lines connected the outer surrounding facilities with another thick straight line, connecting to Eden City in the north.
Small pulses of light ran along the glowing lines, indicating the positions of the individual trains. One of them pulsed towards the docking station. Above the map, a timer was running down towards zero. The digital readout was spinning down in tenths of a second. It indicated when the next train was due.
Max pulled another cigarette from his jacket pocket. He was fumbling for his lighter: despite the counter claiming the next train would be less than a minute. He almost had it lit, when the silver juggernaut roared into the station and came to an abrupt and silent halt. He sighed impatiently and pocketed the cigarette. The arrival timer had stopped at minus four seconds, highlighted in red. Everything in Utopia was just a bit too damned efficient in his opinion.