The Attachment Race

by Kevin Bliss

  A brief stillness followed. Then, a small portion of the men from Omicron moved forward, confident in their walk, looking over the potential ‘targets’ before them with quick eyes and steering toward the women who caught their fancy, smiles coming to their faces. Other men stood in place, looked at one another or actually backed up a step or two. Similarly, some of the Upsilonians – Peg among them – lifted their chins slightly for the first wave of men to get a good look at what they had to offer. There were also women who unconsciously backed up a bit, used the person beside them as something of a shield and weighed their next move.

  As the mingling began to play out and conversations went from an awkward greeting to exchanged pleasantries, Belinda purposely avoided eye contact with any of the men. She kept her attention on Alisson. That would be her focus for the evening: keep the girl safe.

  “Is she okay?”

  It was Grace. She placed a hand on Alisson’s back and looked her in the eye, gauging what was going on in her mind.

  “I think so…it’s…we talked,” Belinda said.

  “But, Belinda, she — ”

  “I gave her Vroo,” Belinda whispered.

  Grace digested the admission and all the implications that went along with it. She glanced around, making sure they had privacy.

  “Belinda…I didn’t know.”

  “There’s nothing to say right now. I didn’t have any choices.”

  “No. I understand that. But I didn’t know that…you…”

  Belinda looked her in the eye: “There’s nothing to say.”

  Alisson, in the meantime, had started to drift. A steady stream of men began to home in on the young beauty. She politely declined each entreaty, giggling slightly in some instances as a schoolgirl might (making her even more attractive to some suitors).

  Belinda was at her side in an instant, guiding her away from the growing collection of men. Grace took up with them and the trio began to walk along the perimeter, a trail of interested Omicronians tagging along.

  “What if they complain that we’re keeping her away from them?” asked Grace.

  “I don’t know. Just keep moving.”

  “You don’t need to talk about me like I’m not here,” Alisson said. She wasn’t angry or irritated. She simply pointed out the obvious. “I’m perfectly fine.”

  “Alisson,” said Grace, “we just want to make sure that you…know what happens if you attach. There’s no going back.”

  “I’m not going to attach, Grace. Don’t you know me by now?”

  Grace turned to Belinda with a ‘what do we do?’ look. Belinda glanced around to see how closely they were being watched – if at all. She caught sight of Peg holding up one hand, rejecting an approaching gentleman of less than impressive appearance with a single gesture. The man lowered his eyes and backed away, humbled.

  “This is so ugly,” Belinda said.

  The voice of Director Krawl blared over the sound system:

  “I have the pleasure of announcing the first attachment: Peter M, late of Warnersville, and Judith C from the Denham region are officially attached!”

  No one applauded. No one moved. The Race had truly begun in earnest and Belinda couldn’t help but notice the look in the eyes of those closest to her. The uncertainty of how to take this news, whether to pursue an attachment or remain circumspect came through loud and clear in the lip-biting, eye-darting fidgeting of both men and women mixed together in a stew of anxiety.

  “Shit. That was fast,” Grace said. Belinda looked to the clock above the platform from which Krawl had announced the attachment. Fifteen minutes had passed since the two compounds were released on one another. She got what she thought was a quick view of the newly-joined pair, smiling in a way that at least seemed genuine.

  What did they know that everyone else was still unsure about? How the hell had they decided so fast? Did one or the other catch an ad in the days leading up to the Race? Was one of them on the lookout for the other? More importantly, would it be a regret at some point in the future?

  “Okay,” Belinda said. “I’m staying with Alisson. I’ll keep her close. Try to walk her through the rest of the three hours.”

  Grace’s attention was divided. She heard Belinda, nodded slightly and then scanned the area.

  “Time’s wasting, ladies,” a passing female Watcher said to the trio – one who had rubbed Belinda the wrong way from day one. But for Grace, the words had the intended effect. She would have been more single-minded in examining the men in attendance if it hadn’t been for the upsetting episode with Alisson.

  “Go ahead. Mix,” Belinda told her.

  Grace looked back at Belinda, her only remaining excuse for not taking part in the Attachment Race now erased.

  “Here we go!” Krawl’s voice rang out again. “Randall E and Anne T have just made it official. Two attachments down…how many more to go?”

  Grace drifted away, slowly disappearing in the constant flow of men and women.

  Chapter 14

  “Belinda, I want to walk around.”

  The typically soft voice of Alisson had changed. It took Belinda by surprise, but not enough to distract her from priority number one.

  “No. I don’t think you do.”

  “How would you know?” Alisson said, irritated. “Everyone thinks I’m a child. Did you stop to consider that I’m being sent off Earth just like all of you?”

  “You’re right. I…it’s just that you aren’t yourself right now.”

  “I’m going,” said Alisson firmly. “Just leave me alone.”

  Belinda took the girl by her wrist and pulled her close.

  “Alisson…you took Vroo. Do you remember that? It can change your thinking.”

  Alisson narrowed her gaze and pulled away with a strength that Belinda wasn’t expecting.

  “You see those Watchers? Let me go…or I’ll get them to make you.”

  Belinda was stunned. Any individual’s reaction to meds could be unpredictable, but she hadn’t imagined such a swing in Alisson. Helpless, she watched as her roommate walked away, glancing from left to right, deciding which way to go. Half a dozen steps into her departure, however, Alisson turned back to Belinda.

  “I’m sorry. I just want to walk for a while. It’s my last chance.”

  She continued on. Belinda puzzled over the comment: “It’s my last chance.” Last chance for what? A stroll on Mother Earth? To meet a man? Observing what she reckoned a safe distance, Belinda followed.

  It took quick feet and a stern focus to sidestep the men who would engage Belinda in conversation if she’d let them (not to mention the crossing traffic of people caught up in their own business). But she never let Alisson get beyond her sight.

  And then a familiar face thrust itself into her path. Peg.

  “Belinda. I need your help.”

  Belinda did her best to keep the redhead from blocking a clear view of Alisson, but Peg was insistent – even desperate.

  “Which fits me better? Lucy or Gayle?”

  “What?”

  This was nonsense. Had Peg lost her mind?

  “Lucy or Gayle. Help me.”

  “Peg, what are you talking about? I have to…watch Alisson.”

  “She’s fine. What could happen to her here? Watchers all around – nobody’s going to pull anything with that girl.”

  “Peg, you don’t understand.”

  Peg took Belinda by the shoulders and pulled her face close.

  “Listen to me: I need your help. Things are wrong. Two men already said I don’t look like a Peg. One thought I was giving him a fake name. The other said he hated the sound of Peg. Said it was a…thing. Not a name. I need a new one.”

  Belinda peered into the frantic eyes of the woman who’d been equal parts entertaining and exasperating for the past three weeks. It was virtually impossible to tell when something was truly wrong with her. She had reason to believe Peg was inclined to use meds that were not her own. Could it be that Aliss
on wasn’t the only one with chemically induced thinking?

  “Peg?”

  “Please. Lucy or Gayle. I’ve narrowed it to those two.”

  Belinda swallowed hard and tried to pull away from Peg. She peered into the tangle of people spread out before her. Alisson was nowhere to be seen.

  “Lucy. Definitely Lucy.”

  Perhaps it would satisfy Peg.

  “You’re sure?” the redhead asked.

  “Yes. No question about it.”

  Peg was mollified for a moment, but the voice of Krawl broke the spell:

  “We’ve got another. Martin U and Sarah N. It’s an attachment.”

  Peg’s face fell.

  “I can’t change my name. I can’t if I want to attach. They need my real name.”

  “That’s right, I suppose.” Belinda mustered as much sympathy as possible. Her thoughts were still on Alisson and how to begin finding her among the hundreds of people.

  Peg stepped back, gathered herself and straightened the straps on her dress. It was as if she could snap herself back into the defiant and assured persona with almost no effort. She gave Belinda a little nod and was off once more.

  Belinda did a complete three-hundred-sixty-degree turn, peering through and past people. It was a blur. So many different individuals, agendas and personalities. An uneven petri dish of leering, confusion, optimism, fear, skepticism and disappointment. She shut her eyes for a moment, gathering her thoughts. Was Peg right? Would Alisson be okay in the confines of the Race? It was important to think so if Belinda was going to keep from losing her composure. After all, should she have not given her roommate the Vroo? If she’d let the Watchers discover Alisson’s attempt at suicide, they may have sequestered her for the next twelve hours and then…who knows what?

  Spryte announced the next two attachments: Cornelia P with Andrew S followed quickly by Daisy N and Jorge L. Once the deal had been sealed, couples were taken to private spaces past the portable lavs on the edge of the clearing so they could have a chance to get to know one another better. The odd sequence of that was not lost on Belinda. She hoped (for the sake of her sanity) that at least some of the others were thinking the same thing.

  A brief glimpse of Alisson talking with two women from Upsilon put Belinda’s mind somewhat at ease. If Alisson told them about the Vroo, so be it. They’d probably keep it to themselves. After all, what did they have to gain by snitching? At least their company made it harder for the men to prey on Upsilon’s youngest.

  Someone tapped Belinda on the shoulder. She turned and found an Omicronian with bright blue eyes, thinning hair and a matter-of-factly calm manner.

  “Twenty-seven?” he said.

  “Hmm…?”

  “Twenty-seven years old?”

  It could have been an icebreaker – an insulting opening delivered with irony to bring some humor into the moment. But it wasn’t. Belinda felt she understood at that moment what she was facing. This was a man for whom the Attachment Race was a problem to be solved. A riddle which could be unwound with the right focus and aplomb. She’d known people of this ilk. The ‘collect-all-the-data’ and ‘remove-logical-impossibilities’ so that whatever remained, however unlikely, was the answer.

  Worse, Belinda thought, he reeks of confidence.

  “Twenty-nine,” she said. As the words left her mouth she clenched her jaw, wondering why she’d let it out. Why she’d answered him at all. It was exactly the sort of individual she planned to avoid at the AR. But then, in an admission to herself that revealed her ‘practical’ side, she acknowledged there was something reassuring about a man who was sure of himself as the lot of them headed into the unknown.

  “Okay,” the man said, nodding, considering that bit of information. “Good. Good. I have you at number four on my list right now. If none of the first three pan out, I’d like to visit with you further in thirty-five or forty minutes. Can you be in this spot at that time?”

  Belinda wanted to laugh, wanted to turn and walk away. She wanted to make an impression, but could only manage a confused look.

  “I won’t take it personally if you decline,” the man said. “But I think you see something in me that’s lacking in the other…gentlemen. I’m virtually assured of a spot on the light side of Luna. Imagine being able to look down on the Earth. Besides that, I’m not entirely convinced I won’t be the first human to be welcomed back here when they’ve realized their mistake.”

  Belinda tilted her head to one side, waiting for the man to crack a smile and uncover the prank he was playing so she would know an actual human being existed beneath the pale skin and blue eyes. But he didn’t.

  “I’m Conrad, by the way,” he said. “I may come back this way in a bit. Hope to see you here if I do.”

  The man started to go, but stopped: “I’m sorry. Your name?”

  “I’m…Lucy,” Belinda said, not knowing exactly why.

  “Lucy. There’s more than one of you running around here, I think. Good. Easier to keep track.”

  Conrad disappeared into the folds of people moving to and fro.

  Chapter 15

  Belinda had contemplated taking her life on occasion in the early days of her time at Upsilon. The reality was, she didn’t have the nerve.

  In years past, people who feared they were soon to be plucked from civilization and dropped into a transition compound – people who didn’t have the nerve to end things – sometimes turned to professionals. They were tricky to find, as murder continued to be illegal. There was also the urgency of getting yourself hit before the Collector came to visit.

  The most well-known of the so-called suicide hitmen went by a single name: Wallace. It became trendy to have Wallace end one’s life (if he could be found and wasn’t already booked solid). He was both prolific and elusive with more than two hundred kills and no arrests. Law enforcement didn’t even know how to begin identifying the man.

  And perhaps there was no better indication of society’s loss of rational behavior than the admiration the elite had for Wallace. When he’d gotten too old (or too tired) to continue his work, a media conglomerate negotiated immunity for him on the condition that he never kill again and that he commit to a five-year stint as the host of a program to be titled, “I’m not Saying I Did, But…”

  When the inevitable objections were raised by DG groups, officials had a response waiting:

  The gentleman in question represents a unique sort of human being. For the sake of better understanding the full spectrum of psychological anomalies, Wallace (no last name known) shall remain on Earth for extensive observation as part of an immunity agreement with the collected governments of Earth.

  The message? If one wasn’t otherwise deserving of a place on the home planet, consider the possibility of transforming into an aberration so extreme it could serve as a permanent Earth exhibit/curiosity. Something between a museum piece and the sort of things which used to populate that old Earth spectacle: carnival sideshows.

  Past the point of hiring someone to end her life (as if she could have afforded it), Belinda turned her focus to containing racing thoughts and managing her supply of Vroo within Upsilon. It was the only thing she needed to worry about controlling – and it proved more than enough. But now the equation had changed. By virtue of giving Alisson the pills, she took stewardship over someone else’s wellbeing.

  Trying to ‘control’ Alisson had never crossed Belinda’s mind inside Upsilon where fences, schedules and routines were safeguards to keeping people in line. Besides, if there was a more compliant, milder soul in the compound, Belinda couldn’t imagine who it was. But now, in the unpredictable wilderness that was the Attachment Race, control was hard to come by. Alisson had the rules of the event to keep Belinda at bay. The Vroo cut both ways.

  Another attachment was announced as Belinda continued to weave through the clusters of men and women and desperately searched for Alisson. When the quivering, angry face of a ‘gentleman’ from Omicron caught her attention,
her pulse jumped. She couldn’t hear the words coming from the man’s mouth, but his exaggerated annunciation and wild eyes had to be the precursor to a fight. The figure to whom this irate Omicronian was speaking had his back to Belinda, hands buried in his pockets and didn’t so much as flinch.

  The angry one kept on, checking from time to time whether they were being observed by any Watchers. He pointed, again and again at the ground – no, it was at the shoes worn by the other man. Still, the second man (for all Belinda could see) remained stoic.

  And then there was Alisson. She walked right into Belinda’s field of vision, drifting alongside the two men with a potential fight in the making, smiling dreamily. The anger dissolved in the first man as soon as he laid eyes on the young beauty. He looked down at his shoes, which caused Alisson to do the same.

  She started to giggle. Something about the shoes was funny as hell to her. Belinda closed the distance. When Alisson looked up again, she spotted her roommate and the smile began to fade. She backed up, turned and started to walk away. Her new admirer – the man with the funny shoes – followed.

  Belinda stopped and started again a couple times in her pursuit until she was beside the man whose hands remained in his pockets. They looked at one another. The stranger offered a friendly smile. As if on cue, Belinda and the man glanced down at his feet at the same instant. One brown shoe, one black. Their eyes met once more and the man shrugged.

  He was fair-skinned, with mild features and curly hair. Belinda thought sure he was about to introduce himself, but nothing happened: the man was content to wait for Belinda to say something. Instead, she turned her attention back toward Alisson. The Omicronian who had seemed ready to throw punches a moment earlier was talking with her and the dreamy smile had come back. It couldn’t have been his charm, Belinda decided. The guy had harsh eyes and a long face that rendered his expressions slightly grotesque. When she watched Alisson look at his feet and giggle once again, Belinda realized that the man also wore one brown and one black shoe.