by Anita Ensal
A Cup of Joe
“The Mother Board does not eradicate,” he told her sternly.
She gave him a pitying smile. “Really? Then what happened to all the people who the Programmers deemed unworthy? Where did they go?”
“They were relocated,” he told her pompously.
“Relocated where, David?”
He thought about this. “To somewhere else,” he said finally.
“Uh huh. Well, that is the party line, isn’t it?” She shook her head. “Look, you seem like a decent enough guy, and I must admit that you’re honestly more attractive in person, in a far more normal way, than your pictures would suggest, but I fail to understand why you’re in here, talking to me.”
David didn’t have an answer. He took a sip of his drink to give himself time to come up with a reason he could articulate. The liquid was harsh and bitter, almost rancid tasting, and tasted nothing like it smelled. He grimaced in distaste without meaning to.
“Not used to coffee?” she smiled.
“I’m having a cup of joe,” he informed her haughtily.
“Oh, honey,” she sighed, “they sure don’t let you out much do they?”
Also by Gini Koch:
The Alien/Katherine “Kitty” Katt Series
TOUCHED BY AN ALIEN
ALIEN TANGO
ALIEN IN THE FAMILY
ALIEN PROLIFERATION
ALIEN DIPLOMACY
ALIEN VS. ALIEN
ALIEN IN THE HOUSE
ALIEN RESEARCH
ALIEN COLLECTIVE
UNIVERSAL ALIEN
ALIEN SEPARATION (coming May 2015)
ALIEN IN CHIEF (coming December 2015)
CAMP ALIEN (coming May 2016)
ALIEN NATION (coming December 2016)
ALIENS ABROAD (coming May 2017)
The Necropolis Enforcement Files Series
THE NIGHT BEAT
NIGHT MUSIC (coming February 2015)
The Martian Alliance Chronicles Series
THE ROYAL SCAM (coming 2015)
THREE CARD MONTE (coming 2015)
A BUG’S LIFE (coming 2015)
RANDOM MUSINGS FROM THE FUNNY GIRL
THE HAPPY ACRES HAUNTED HOTEL FOR ACTIVE SENIORS
Anthologies
CLOCKWORK UNIVERSE: STEAMPUNK VS. ALIENS –
A Clockwork Alien
TWO HUNDRED AND TWENTY-ONE BAKER STREETS –
All The Single Ladies
UNIDENTIFIED FUNNY OBJECTS 3 – Live at the Scene
TEMPORALLY OUT OF ORDER – Alien Time Warp (coming 2015)
THE X-FILES: TRUST NO ONE – Sewers (coming 2015)
A Cup of Joe
By Gini Koch
writing as
Anita Ensal
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents, and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Cup of Joe
Published by Anita Ensal at Smashwords
Copyright 2015 Jeanne Cook
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or any portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, contact the author: [email protected].
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the internet or via other means without the express written permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic and print editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Editors: Mary Fiore and Veronica Cook
Cover Artist: Lisa Dovichi
Second Edition
ISBN: 978-1-30117-6380
Anita Ensal
http://www.ginikoch.com
Dedication
To my husband, who really is the perfect man.
Acknowledgments
A variety of people have affected this story, all for the better. So it’s with great appreciation that I thank my agent, Cherry Weiner, my critique partner and cover artist, Lisa Dovichi, my editors, Mary Fiore and Veronica Cook, and my layout design firm, ArtichokeHead Creative, for all your efforts.
Thanks and all my love to my husband and daughter, for always encouraging me in anything and everything I want to do and for inspiring me in more ways than you probably know.
And many thanks to editor Jim Woods, who took so much time many years ago to encourage me and help me improve both this story and my writing in general. You showed me in the best ways how much a good editor can improve someone’s writing, and I will always be grateful for your generosity and encouragement.
Chapter 1
He was used to people smiling at him, of course.
He was the Chosen One for this time, after all. The Master Computer had picked him, out of all the males, to be the Father of the Next Generation. He was special and kept apart from the others, but that was how it worked for the Chosen Ones. David didn’t know, therefore, why the woman caught his eye.
There was nothing extraordinary about her – she just looked like a normally attractive woman, not too young, not too old. Shoulder-length brown hair pulled back into a simple ponytail, blue eyes, average height, average build. She was dressed like a worker, but not a high-ranking one like a Technician or an Operator. He couldn’t place her work by her clothing, though – most of the lower workers wore blue jeans and white t-shirts, many carried shoulder packs, and there was nothing unusual about hers.
He thought that it must have been because she smiled at him.
The Mother of the Next Generation was still growing up. In about a year she would be ready. He’d heard it explained that the females chosen were normally very beautiful and as young as the norms of society would allow. This was because the Master Computer had chosen attractiveness as a key trait and because the younger the female, the more eggs she would have for fertilization.
Males were required to be older, late twenties at the youngest, so that they would have matured into their bodies fully. David knew that he’d been chosen in part because he was considered one of the male ideals – tall, strong, handsome. But he was also considered intelligent and clever. At least he was told this daily by the Mother Board, the heart and soul of the Master Computer, and so he believed her.
But the woman hadn’t smiled at him as if he were a masculine ideal, nor as if he were bright and witty, nor as if he were the most important man in the world. She’d just…smiled. A normal smile, as if she was merely being pleasant to a stranger passing by.
This intrigued and bothered him and he didn’t know why. He turned to watch her walk down the street. She didn’t look back, didn’t seem in a hurry – she’d passed him as if he were no one special, only just important enough for a smile she might give to anybody.
David was on his free time, the part of the day when the Mother Board allowed him out to mingle with the common folk, to explore parts of the Main City, so that he would have better understanding of where his offspring would live, what they would do to support the Master Computer, why his role was so important. He’d been going to visit the Old Park, but decided to turn around and follow the woman instead.
As he quickened his pace to catch up with her, a small voice in the back of his mind mentioned that this was the first time since he was a little boy that he had ever chosen to do something spontaneous and out of the norm, and he wondered again why he felt compelled to listen to the feeling that made him want to know why he was nothing special to this woman.
She went into a coffeehouse. He knew that coffeehouses were frequented only by those on the fringe of society. He automatically registered that
she couldn’t be an Engineer, nor a Bureaucrat, and it was unlikely that she was a Teacher of the Generations, either. And she was certainly not a Programmer.
He hesitated at the door. While it wasn’t strictly forbidden for him to mingle with the common people, he wondered if he would be causing a problem by entering a lower-level establishment such as this one. But then he decided that he would use this experience as a way to solidify the need for his role in the world. The small voice in his mind mentioned that he was creating an alibi and suggested he ask himself why he felt one necessary, but he ignored it.
He opened the door and went in and waited for a few moments, but nothing happened, other than his nostrils being hit with smells he’d never experienced before, smells that made his mouth water, though he had no idea of why. The place was warm but not too hot, with steam coming off of various machines which he took to be cooking units.
Unlike most places he entered, no one came rushing over to bow and thank him for honoring them with his presence. No one even looked at him.
There were plenty of people there to look, he noted. All wearing blue jeans and t-shirts, but he saw that some of the t-shirts had writing on them. The people working behind the counter all had shirts that said, “Coffee, Tea or Philosophy?” on them. He couldn’t make out most of the others, but there was one man wearing a shirt that said, “Still Truckin’ After All These Centuries” which made no sense at all to him.
There were several people in line at the counter and he joined them because he saw that the woman was in the front of the line, ordering.
While he waited he looked around the coffeehouse. It was two stories, painted in warm browns and sepias, with a wooden spiral staircase connecting the two floors. David hadn’t seen a staircase for many years – the Mother Board didn’t like them, so there were no stairs in the main Tower building in which she was housed and he lived. They used elevators or floating plates to go up or down.
There were small, round, wooden tables all over the place, with one to four chairs around them, depending. Most were filled. There were racks and racks of reading matter – some plasticine, but most were paper. They looked very old to him. Everyone seemed to be reading something, even those people who were sitting together, though he could see some groups talking quietly amongst themselves. He wondered if this was a common lower-level activity – no one he knew in the Main System read anything. He wondered what was in the reading matter all the people were looking at and why they were reading this way when they could have easily downloaded.
In David’s experience, all data was downloaded into people’s brains via computer links hooked up to their temples. Programmers were permanently linked into the System – they all had shunts in their heads connecting them into the Master Computer’s mind. David, like most of the others in the various Towers, just used a headset when he sent and received data because, as the Chosen One, he wasn’t allowed to be physically marred in any way. No one wrote, either. Again, you hooked up and uploaded your data, essentially telling a Programmer what you wanted to say, and it was transmitted to whomever you wanted it to be.
David was at the counter now and there was a shorter man of about sixty looking at him expectantly but with no recognition in his eyes. There were two young women and one young man behind the counter as well, all of whom seemed extremely busy making drinks, grabbing foodstuffs, and handing them out to customers.
David knew that he was supposed to order something now, but he didn’t know what. The Mother Board or one of his Caretaker Programmers normally ordered things for him, and he wasn’t familiar enough with anything on the menu board to make a selection.
“Sir?” the man asked politely. “What can I get for you?”
“Uh,” David said, to give himself a bit more time, “I don’t know…how about a cup of philosophy?” he tried, looking at the man’s shirt.
The others behind the counter heard his order and David saw them look at each other. Then the girls both began to giggle while the boy gave him a contemptuous look before he tickled one of the girls, making her laugh out loud.
The older man raised his eyebrow, but didn’t change expression otherwise. “Philosophy’s available later tonight, sir. How about a nice cup of joe?”
“Sure,” David agreed quickly, hoping that his confusion wasn’t completely evident. He was supposed to be the most intelligent man there was, but he could tell from the way the young people behind the counter were laughing that he’d made a serious blunder.
He handed over his AllCard to pay, but the man shook his head. “We don’t take those here, sir, I’m sorry. We need a barter slip.”
David was surprised but he knew he shouldn’t be. Barter slips were only used by lower-level workers, this was an establishment catering to lower-level workers, of course they needed proper payment. But he didn’t have any.
He opened his mouth to say so when the older man gave him a kind smile. “On the house, sir. Seeing as we didn’t have what you originally ordered.”
David nodded dumbly, then moved off to the pick-up spot down at the other end of the counter, where the other customers were waiting.
He stood with the crowd until the young man called, “Regular cuppa joe,” and looked straight at him. David recognized this was his order, so he took the steaming cardboard cup the boy handed him and, ignoring the smirk on the boy’s face, turned to look for a place to sit – and for the woman.
He spotted her off in a corner in the far back. She was sipping a drink, leafing through what looked like a magazine. He went over to her, holding the burning cup, and stood at the table, wondering what he should say. He noted the smell he’d first noticed when he’d entered was coming strongly from his cup, but he knew without testing it was still too hot to drink, even though the scent made him want to drink it, and right away.
She seemed to notice him and looked up, giving him the same smile she had on the street. “Hi.”
He waited for her to say something else, but she didn’t, she just sat there, looking at him with a slightly expectant expression. He didn’t know what else to say, so he repeated her. “Hi.”
“My, that certainly took a lot of time and thought to come up with,” she said with a small laugh. “Can I help you, or do you just need a chair?” she indicated the empty one across from her which he was standing by.
David decided that he felt idiotic standing here staring at her, and besides the cup was literally burning his hand. He put it down on her table and sat in the chair. He noticed music in the background suddenly. It didn’t sound like the approved music, either. It was very faint, and he determined it was coming from the upper level. If he strained he could make out that the singer was going on about the end of the world and melting, or something like that. “What’s that song?”
She gave him an amused smile. “It’s old. Much older than any of us. From several centuries ago. The discs survive, though. It’s a love song.”
“What’s that?”
She gave him a sympathetic look. “Something I doubt you’ll ever be allowed to know about.” She looked back at her magazine and began thumbing through it again.
He was so shocked that he couldn’t stop himself. “Excuse me, but do you know who I am?” he asked her in an offended tone.
She looked up again. “Of course I do. Everyone does. You’re the king of the sperm donors. It’s not like we aren’t inundated with your photo everywhere we look. Outside of places like this, that is.”
He was offended by this comment, but he didn’t say anything.
She gave him a long look. “Did you follow me in here just to verify that I knew you were the Chosen One?”
He wanted to say yes, but the small voice in his mind shouted, and he let it answer for him. “No. I came in here because I wanted to meet you.”
She raised her eyebrow. “Why?”
David tried to think of how to answer that question. “I…I don’t know,” he admitted after a few long moments of silence.
>
“Ah.” She closed her magazine. “Well, in civilized society, which I realize you’ve probably never really been in since you were a child, it’s customary for a strange gentleman to at least introduce himself to a lady and then ask her name in return. Normally before he sits down and begins asking her questions.” Her tone was gently chiding, but also amused, and he wondered why it didn’t make him feel embarrassed. It made him feel things, he had to admit – he just didn’t know what they were.
“I…my name is David, David Chosen,” he offered, using his official last name, not the one he’d been born with, and wondering why this was important since she did know who he was. “And, I was wondering…who you might be?” he managed, dredging up something he vaguely remembered seeing or hearing when he was very young.
She gave him another amused smile. “My name is Emily. Emily Dickinson, which joke, I also realize, you would not necessarily ‘get’.” He knew he looked confused, and she explained. “She was a poet from a long time ago. I’m not a poet, but I am a writer, or, as I believe those you associate the most with would say, the lowest of the lowest.” She said this, he felt, as if she were expecting this information to end their conversation.
“What do you write?” He wondered why she seemed surprised that he was still sitting with her.
“Propaganda, mostly,” she said wryly. He was confused, and she could tell. She sighed. “Sorry. I write about you, David. And the donorette.” He looked blankly at her and she sighed again. “Sorry…the future mother of the next generation.” He felt that she hadn’t said it as a title, like most people did, just as a statement, and he wondered why he thought this.