“One and two.” He counted out loud. He was disappointed. His high hopes from the gym interaction were dashed.
“Please respond. Please respond.” David stared at his sent feedback message. He marked his forehead with an X. Praying. Blink, blink, flash, flash, always waiting, always pending. “Arhhff. Nnect means to connect.” David kicked the stool across the room, wincing as his toe protested painfully. Oh, she looked amazing. He stalked her profile image, her selfie.
“You can’t put individuals on your internal pedestal,” Selfie explained.
David growled at Selfie and reopened his chat screen. Blink, blink, flash, flash. The green notification light demanded a response to his emasculating, pleading feedback message. Green and then green and then green; always pending was impending rejection. David went to his bed. Tried to sleep. But the projection on the ceiling taunted David as he lay in his bed staring up listlessly. “By the lucky stock!” Hours passed.
Finally as the dawn crept closer, David saw his answer on the screen: “User 25’s message has been opened and rejected again by Abigayle-25.”
And then into the silence of his utilitarian home, noise. Shock. Surprise. David’s Selfie alarm jumped out in front of him, like a mugger hidden in a dark alleyway leaping out and shattering the cocoon of safety. His alarm shook him out of his trancelike state.
“All-nighters are the stupid downfall of the productive man.” The Mindmonks preach this often. Selfie’s confident corporate smile and slick, peppy voice announced, “Time to get this day on and make it your freedom payday. Oh yeah, user. Let’s do this day.”
“I do not actually sound like that,” David groggily blubbered at his Selfie. Anger flared up, and he swatted at the more perfect image of his own face that floated above him. Long strands of golden hair haphazardly blocked his vision. “Leave me alone, Selfie, I am working from home today.”
“Work from home. Bahaha. Who would let a human pretend to work from home? Only complete idiots.” The sound of Selfie’s laughter filled the room.
David wanted to dwell in his shame and not go to work today, but who would ever admit that to his electronic conscience?
“Get up, Productzen 23, your Nnect owner has assigned you to a special task force project, which coincidentally starts today. It is rumored that CEO Saul himself may be observing this assignment. It is a required at-work project, like all jobs. Pshhshsh. Nnect is not Orns; there is no work-from-bed bonus time.” The voice’s sincerity demanded that David get up. “Prove yourself on this project, and you could be up for a freedom promotion soon. New Quarter!” The Selfie alarm paused to watch David begin his routine. The profile image started to sing in perfectly melodious tunes. “Happy alignment year to you; happy alignment year to you. Ohhh, happy doing it is. Amen.” And then in a normal voice, “Happy twenty-third, David-23.”
“Might you say that my corporate stats have aligned, Selfie?” Sarcasm crept into his voice as he addressed his lifelong partner. He almost never acted annoyed at Selfie. He knew better.
Regardless of his frustrated and tired state from the all-nighter, when he was reminded about the special Nnect project, David experienced a motivation. He amped up on an energy booster.
Selfie mused to itself as David hustled to dress and visually double-check his readiness for the day. “Twenty-Three, are you angry at me for keeping you as productive as you are, or are you bitter about being rejected by a sexy potential connection?” Good connections were the lifeblood of an advancing life and career. “I can begin searching for other potential chat relationships if that is what you need.” Selfie smiled confidently as its human counterpart finished his morning routine by refueling on some eggs and a veggie bread substitute.
“Don’t bother, Selfie.” With that, the man left, ignoring the rest of Selfie’s rant.
Uriah-177, a sleazeball unit member, moved out into the hallway and joined David as he walked to the elevator. There were a couple truths that summed up Uriah’s despicable existence. He was branded Ssential and was a member of a construction design crew. Deep purple letters sunk into his skin and heart and mind just like David’s blue, but for some strange reason that David could not deduct, Uriah just missed the mark of likability in so many ways. David speculated that the purple Ssential mortar of reason had missed Uriah’s mind. Uriah was thirty-two, with no hope of buying himself prior to the nearing mandatory retirement or administrative delegation . Half his head was a cropped white mop, and the other half was bald, with a trendy purple “SL” tattooed on the shiny open space. Uriah always seemed to be in several Nnect chat relationships or Orns person relationships—probably the reason he was so poor at age thirty-two, with zero savings and hope of Self-Purchase. He was an obsessive Spender. David shivered, happy that he was a Saver, not a Spender.
Uriah rubbed David’s sense of professionalism and conventional career approach like a bad itch that would not go away. The kind of itch that David got if he didn’t shower for a week. The kind of itch that kept you tossing and turning all night. “The tattoo on your head makes you look like a tool,” David said very quietly, smirking to himself. In David’s mind, putting Nnect letters on his head would be a poor attempt to gain managerial attention.
Or maybe David was just bitter about Uriah’s way of relating with female human-doings. When it came to relationships, David was the man with one and Uriah the man with many, but Uriah still felt the need to steal David’s one. Some people were intolerable. David would never tell Uriah about Gayle.
But at the end of the workday, David did not get to choose his housing companions. The human storage lottery system, in its infinite wisdom, had selected Uriah as one of his commuting companions and storage unit neighbors. As David rode the elevator with Uriah, he began to wonder, Regardless of our individual differences and past run-ins, maybe Uriah has some valuable relationship advice. He does have a lot of exposure paying for the game. The relationship game. So David asked Uriah what he would do if he loved someone but didn’t know them.
Uriah jumped right into the conversation with his usual smug smirk and a low whistle. “Love, my man. Good to see you finally found it again.”
“I didn’t say I was in love. Just if my friend at work was…”
“My fold is huge, and yours has always been itsy-bitsy. You Savers have commitment issues. But love…it’s all the online rage these days.” He hummed a bit of “Take Her Online and Buy Her Things,” a popular tune on the radio waves. Uriah continued, “Buy her a chat relationship, if she’s single. Actually, even if she isn’t paired up, you can still buy online time”—the expert paused and tapped his finger on the doorframe as they exited the building—“but there is priority on the first relationship chat, always. Each product can purchase multiple chats.”
“Are you are talking about Orns paid relationships ? Nnect chats aren’t required.”
“Yes, Orns relationships are the best bang for your buck, my thing.”
“I am not your thing.” David brushed a hand off his shoulder.
Uriah continued, “The Orns employee is required to give you a minimum of fifteen minutes a day of video dating chat time. I am invested in four such relationships, and so I get a full hour every night in bed.” Uriah smirked. “Tool, it is the life.” He patted David on the back to reassure him, one wise man to his apprentice. “Hey, one day you’ll be able to buy yourself, and then you can objectify anyone that isn’t already purchased.”
“Or spoken for in marriage.”
“Marriage is old school, even among the Self-Purchased,” Uriah said. “But one thing that is sure…when you are Self-Purchased, you only get one marriage, so you’d better choose wisely, or it’s better to just fool around, because it’s more convenient as your whims shift.” Uriah paused with an unusual air of self-reflection. “Maybe deep down, that’s why I don’t need freedom. One product per person. Urggh.” The man shivered. Snapping out of his internal debate, Uriah declared with confidence, “Always test the product before
taking it home forever. Chemistry is what it’s all about. Even for a love of your life.” Uriah waved at David to move closer and whispered in an intimate way, “David, stop taking life so seriously. It’s all part of the big machine we run here. If you play along, you get the benefits. If I do decide to go the family route, I have my eyes on several individuals who I could purchase when I am free.”
“You are saving to buy yourself?” David said with sarcasm that Uriah ignored.
“I know you can buy only one wife, but marriage contracts are the only way to gain the legal right to birth your own stock. You get your own kids.”
David said, “Kid permits are rare. All the kids come from Thrive these days.”
“Imagine me having a family.” Uriah smiled a goofy grin and stared at the cityscape.
“Uriah, seriously. Don’t you ever feel like you want to talk to your relationships in person? I mean, isn’t that what real people do, free people? Not just buy time online?”
“Fool! Yes, of course, duh. I go to Orns once or twice a month once I save up enough freedoms. I get to do all the things a man should do. I watch videos, see live shows, and I get personal one-on-one relationship time with partial physical contact enabled, depending on what I can afford, haha.” Uriah scratched his tattooed head; the raspy itching made David cringe.
“Get that dry skin looked at, Uriah.”
“Don’t pretend to be a medical expert. As I was saying, I usually stop to watch some live sport battles after my love interests.” David ducked as Uriah swung his arms in a fake punch. “Love how those guys navigate the death courses and defend their battle stations. True heroes.”
“Enough on Orns.” David and Uriah had unpleasant history when it came to Orns. It made David squirm inside. He gulped and tried to shift the subject away from Orns before the inevitable awkward conversation began. “How is work these days with the construction crew? Any new buildings going up, or do they still have you assigned to that bridge over in the Thrive compound?”
“Work? We aren’t talking about careers now. We are talking about pleasure and love.” David shuffled his feet as they waited for the Gravetless, his confident air gone. Uriah continued, oblivious to his companion’s discomfort on the topic. “Remember that time we both dated the same Orns girl? What was her name? I can never remember. I told the whole storage unit about our mutual conquest.”
“Her name was Bathsh—” David stopped halfway through his sentence, catching himself from running down that rabbit hole. “I don’t remember, and it wasn’t a big deal. You shouldn’t have stalked me like that.”
“Oh, it was great. I paid for time with her after you—for weeks without you knowing. What a coincidence to see you, your sneaky saving chaste attitude and all, there in an Orns relationship ward when you said, and I quote, ‘One should never invest in temporary corporate wasteful pleasure.’ I told everyone how sheepish you are. Hahaha. I am glad to see you are doing better now.”
The two stepped into the floating silver Gravetless train at the link nearest to their housing block. It hummed along, passing over both resplendent and trashy housing cubes, popular and vacant malls, sketchy and posh entertainment districts, and personal development facilities. Productzens labeled in extravagant fonts from one of the four Majors stood or sat passively on the Gravetless as it zipped closer to the inner rings of the city. Mornings along the commuter route proved as dull and lifeless as a production line of robots emerging from the depths of a smoking gray factory. Uriah pressed into a gel-cushioned blue seat; ssential trains raced in digital strips along the advertising screen that made up the train’s ceiling. The city below was a colorful blur as they streamed past the remaining outer districts.
Uriah typed with a speed only an addict could muster on his shiny contemporary T700 Nnect device—the newest mobile unit from Nnect.
David still wanted to move the subject beyond the awkwardness of past experience, so he said, “Uriah. My friend who loves this girl has this crazy idea to handwrite her a note.”
“A handwritten note! Gahh. Letters are out of style, my friend. Extremely unsafe and impersonal; only a crazy person would do that.” He waved his device, showing a message he was sending. “The future has been here for a long time, my friend. Who can even write with a pencil?”
“Maybe my friend could try writing. I am sure if you can read, you can write.”
Uriah looked down, eyes glazing over his mobile device. “Stop looking about and instead look down and use what the blessed market gave us! This, my friend, is the way to communicate.”
“Not ‘my friend’; friends are something you don’t buy,” David mumbled to himself. And as if out of spite for his unit mate, David said louder, “You know, I think I will attempt handwriting a response. I mean, I’ll encourage my workmate to write his lover a nondigital letter.”
“I heard that first; friends are totally something you buy. What else is the point of freedoms? You have been watching too many of those Orns Storyworld episodes, haven’t you? Those human stories will make you start believing in arcane creators, romantic love, selfless honor, and other arcane nonsense. Romance is dead, my friend.” Storyworld was full of unpopular ideas. “You wouldn’t have the guts to deliver a letter.” Uriah paused and then stressed the next words. “Your workmate won’t have the balls to deliver a handwritten note, in handwriting that he can’t actually write. I bet this handwritten letter will get lost in your business. I am surprised you think you could write.”
David stopped the tirade by agreeing: “Our generation is all about voice command, vibration, and video typing.” He paused. “My office published a report about how our generation has lost the ability to write. I will figure out how to write one and deliver it. You’ll see.” In Thrive Upbringing David had tried to write a girl a handwritten note, but his hand had shaken so badly trying to force a few letters that the note was barely decipherable. His mind had wanted to, but his body had not been able. But David wanted to try again, and as he sat on the train, he pulled out a small, expensive piece of paper and a little pencil, placed them so only he could see, and glared at them. Try, dammit!
David’s self-satisfied commuting partner smirked childishly and proudly displayed an image of a woman. “See, this is my friend Althaaana-30,” he drawled. “I get time with her at nine fifteen. She works with Nnect relationships during the day—very motivated young woman. It’s a great relationship. The last two weeks we have gotten really deep.” Uriah paused, then in a serious tone said, “I have even been able to share my self-betterment strategy.” David wondered what strategy Uriah could boast about. He was destined for the Recycling Center.
David had ceased listening as Uriah droned on eagerly through present and past relationships, saying how sexy one was or how conversational another was. He commented on clothing styles, jobs, and life goals.
But it seemed uselessly fake compared to the words of Gayle’s note. A real handwritten note, off the grid and just for him. His aspirations of becoming a next-level Nnect employee seemed somewhat less important, just slightly less, as he pictured that note and Gayle in his mind’s eye. The city flew on by below. They passed the billboards advertising the benefits of freedom, including massive displays of several luxurious Freedom Purview hilltop properties.
Uriah’s stop approached. ssential in gigantic script letters danced like a light show along the sides of the many-storied chrome buildings. Silver panels of solar absorption material made up the walls and tall slanted roofs of the Ssential campus. Ssential was known for its construction, building engineering, energy storage, water supply, and everything else essential to the infrastructure of the city of Xchange. Uriah was a low-level technician in one of the Ssential construction divisions.
“Poor stock bastard.” David almost felt bad that Uriah was doomed. But almost felt bad did not mean he actually felt bad. He despised Uriah. David said, “Thank Xchange that lowlifes like Uriah will get what they deserve.” David knew exactly how much th
e T700 cost—his team at Nnect supported the device, and it was very expensive. Way too expensive for a technician like Uriah to afford and still be able to save toward retirement. The saddest thing was that Uriah seemed to think things would work out. Uriah would learn at forty what David already knew: that it was only a matter of time before Uriah would end up in Orns.
Such was the justice of Xchange. The majority who could not afford to buy themselves because they never advanced up the corporate ladder or disciplined themselves to save freedoms would be sold as permanent human waste to Orns. David could not afford to worry about human-doings like Uriah; David knew that people earned their lot in life with their daily choices. Besides, David was scared shitless for himself. Fear for my salvation is more than enough to worry about, he thought. The Mindmonk motivational speeches taught David not to waste precious time on empathy. Pity took away from the individual’s choices; there was an opportunity cost to such behaviors. Such weakness wasted time.
Uriah hunched his back, straddled the seat, and boosted himself up, never taking his eyes off the device in his hand. “Good working, my Nnectonian lover boy. Catch you up higher in your career.” With that the man was gone, along with many other Gravetless riders dismounting at the Ssential stop.
The purple campus zipped into the train’s rear view, and new colorful stops emerged as the commuters continued to their offices. Now that David was left with some semblance of privacy, he took out the small crumpled white note and his writing instrument and new piece of paper. He wanted to write something so badly, but he didn’t know how. Instead he just stared. His hand began to shake as he held the pencil over the tiny white sheet. His mind and hand couldn’t do it. Normally his brand would motivate him to not try so hard on a frivolous thing. But oddly his brand wasn’t stimulating him much.
A Tale Of Doings Page 8