He paused and looked past the palm trees and benches toward Clock Tower 6. From the clock tower, three ash stone pedestrian trails snaked off into the serene palm forest in the directions of the sister towers. The regal white stone structure had a large circular clock at the top with black dots signifying each hour and dark navy-blue clock hands that were shaped like sinister spears.
He reached the base of the clock tower and read the grim font: “‘Time is slaying each of us. Work harder to do something worthwhile with your time.’ True, but grim all the same.” He shuddered. Dwelling on the bright side of the careering is always better than the dim consequences of failure, he thought.
He sat for several minutes with his back against the warm rock wall, its protuberances and distortions rubbing roughly against him.
He opened his eyes to follow the trajectory of a group of green-branded humans as they jogged along the winding stone path, chanting, “Fit is the fight. Fight the burn. URA.” Their arms swung rhythmically as they moved in unison.
Several older retired part-time administrative human-doings and a pair of Self-Purchased people luxuriated in the sunshine on a small hill off to his right. Random others walked here and there, passing the tower and moving on to whatever their business might be.
Then she was there—she must have been there the whole time, observing him from the confines of the tower doorway. Gayle stepped out from the ancient beamed affair that barely held a door on its rusty hinges. She stood erect and regal over him. The breeze took her long golden hair and waved it around her head like a halo. She wore her Thrive Upbringing Division uniform: green track pants and a sleeveless white shirt with a Z-neck. Z-necks were a twisting garment line that were all the rage. She had a gray silk scarf wrapped around her neck. Her lovely, full pink lips did not smile but were instead pursed seriously at him; her azure eyes with the long lashes scanned the scene in front of the clock tower, and then she reached out her hand, beckoning him to follow. “I want to show you something.”
“Rude—good doing to you too,” David teased awkwardly. He had to jog aggressively to catch up with her as they climbed the corroded, timeworn spiral staircase. Medieval Storyworld episodes had taught David that females preferred names, not numbers. Old fashioned but true. So he turned on his charm and tried it. “Are you sure it’s advisable to use these stairs, Abigayle-25? And I will just call you Gayle, if that is all right with you.” He had not expected all this secrecy from her. He had only requested a relationship, a very public online relationship. This whole thing does not feel like a proper tee-up. More like an illegal adventure that Phel or another knight might have. The rusting and creaking stairs make this place feel illegal—and me nervous. The young man shrugged; he had never been on a date before, so he had no idea what to expect. He did not count his regrettable past relationship experiences with Bathsheba or Angela as proper tee-ups at all.
The tarnished black stairs shook off dust, small white clouds rising and spreading like ghostly fingers, as the two climbed higher and higher away from society. “Gayle, where are we going?”
She turned and pointed up but kept moving, a look that asked, “Are you dumb?” on her face.
“I mean why are we going up? Isn’t this off-limits?”
Another “don’t be an idiot” look.
“And unsafe?” The steel whined.
She did not answer but kept moving. Tramp, stomp, and thud. The two fit adults flew up the stairs as she hurried them along. He knew they were close to the top even though he could not see around the metal-framed stairs because he could catch brief glimpses out small orbital windows. Outside, the tall palm tree tops suddenly gave way to open sapphire sky and puffy white clouds. Finally, they reached the highest level. David had never been up here.
The brand feebly increased his apprehension and guilt but then stopped. David rubbed the familiar blue letters. Well, it’s not my fault if the brand doesn’t warn me. That is the point of the brand anyway. I must be fine. The aging tower swayed, and the wind whistled through cracked stone masonry grout. From the look of it, only a handful of people had been up here in recent years. Spiderwebs occupied the corners, and the timbers moaned from age.
Stating the obvious, David said to his unusual and guarded partner, “This whole tower is a rotting shell. The outside is completely new and renovated, but the Ssential construction engineers apparently didn’t bother fixing up the inside.” Coughing loudly to clear a sudden clot of dust itching his throat, he continued, “What an Orns hole, if you ask me.” I wonder why she brought me up here. Has she gone mad? He coughed again. “I think this place may give me black lung.” David pictured an episode from a series he had watched once about mad witches getting hunted down by knights. He shivered. David questioned his own motives for leaving the more conventional tee-up locations. Hope and desperation and loneliness were to blame. He would have met anywhere for a chance to further a relationship.
Gayle leaned against the outsize stone ledge, which framed a window that looked out on the diminished skyline of Xchange as it spread out below and beyond the palm trees. The portal reminded David of a castle from Alexoria. Gayle’s long, flowing blond hair shimmered in the light. The warm, gentle breeze sent strands over her eyes, and she subconsciously flicked them away with her right hand.
He started to feel the blood rush through his body, and he began to get turned on. She is hot, David thought. Several marketing campaigns had championed that phrase. I wonder if she knows that she could be a poster image with any company she wanted. Nnect hotness charts would be through the roof with a specimen like her. I should propose a mutual investment if this relationship works. Coughing, David stopped himself from saying what he was thinking. A look on her face warned some innate sense that it would be a bad idea. So he waited. Patience was not a virtue, but David still could not believe his good fortune that a person who looked like this had noticed him. She initiated this meeting; it is her prerogative to make the first move. Time hung frozen like an icicle that refused to melt and drip.
Her lips moved, and she said something that David could never have anticipated. She looked straight into his eyes and asked, “Do you know where babies come from?”
“Uh orhg uhg sshmmm.” David was taken aback by the subject; he delayed so he could regain composure. Babies. She means human stock? She is using the antiquated term “babies” from Storyworld, but yes, yes, I know where human product comes from. You idiot. She is waiting.
He coughed and answered, “According to the puberty workshops attended in year ten, human-doing product comes from us.” He coughed apologetically and turned beet red. “Not exactly from the two of us specifically but from, erh, ah…I mean when a man and a woman have sex.” David kicked himself. He thought urgently, What a nerd I am. I am mixing words from Medieval Storyworld and Thrive School like a bumbling clubbing fanatic. She will think I am a geek and an idiot all in one. He corrected himself. “Not ‘sex,’ but an intimacy investment. Yes, in modern day, when two human-doings make a product, they are ‘investing.’ Yes, I believe that is how it happens. Investment.” He finished with another raspy cough. Looking up to see her condemning face, he thought hard. She nodded at him to indicate that she was indeed serious and wanted him to give a complete response. The azure eyes beneath the long lashes distracted him, judging and assessing him. Not objectifying or categorizing or checking his worth out, as was standard, but weighing something, looking for something deeper beneath his words and answers. Damn, this is more uncomfortable than an end-of-quarter review or the ending internship interview, he concluded. David could feel something deeper in himself reject the lighthearted cop-out answer, and so he decided to give his next comments on the subject his most intelligent synopsis.
He explained more scientifically, gathering upon everything he had heard on the matter. His two hands found something solid to cling to, which kept them from twitching nervously. His fingers wrapped around a rough steel bar of some sort as he sat on the ledge acr
oss from her. “I will be honest with you, Gayle. I have no idea who does most of the investing that makes our stock products. I will learn that when I am Self-Purchased, I guess. But I do know that our system of making babies—using your Storyworld word—is incredibly efficient. At Nnect, I had a project where we tested various ideas on product creation: what works the best and what would be some potential future methods. Nnect was assessing if it was worth continuing our investment in the Thrive Upbringing Division. It was a partner think tank, composed of Ssential, Nnect, and Tertain engineers—pretty much everyone but Thrive and Orns. This may be a confidentiality breach, but I trust you will repay me in kind.” He felt a little guilty about disclosing confidential information. His brand was quiet as he allowed his new range of emotions to take control of the direction of the conversation. Shifting subconsciously, he looked at Gayle to gauge whether she meant for him to answer in this direction.
She raised an eyebrow, which he took for permission to continue. “Eventually, through our reviews of the success rates and population functionality charts, we decided that the current Upbringing strategy known as the Outside-In approach that is currently employed is the most cost- and time-effective production means. The O2I theory states that human young are most productive if born naturally from a man and woman. The resultant stock must then be raised by an unbranded mother or substitute mother until age five. The theory continues that the human stock will then be sent to the Thrive Upbringing Division for productivity training. Each human is trained in our society’s aims. They’re taught in the Thrive facilities to be productive. Some keys to success included retaining unbiased trainers and striking an equal opportunity mind-set. Each of the Majors must be equally represented and spoken of during classes. Business values are instilled, history is taught, and personal career dreams are planted. The young minds are coddled and fertilized so that they can bloom to their full potential. You and I are both products of this method, as is everyone under the age of thirty-five. We were raised until we were sixteen, and then our internships began.”
She nodded at his answer. “But where do they come from, David? Whom do they come from?” She pushed him harder to come up with answers. Now she was prickling his brand-formed conscience in the wrong direction. This was completely unprofessional and a tad bit heretical to question the system. David could not decide if this whole experience was more like an Orns fantasy staged scenario, a Storyworld courtship, or a proper tee-up. It felt like something he was totally unprepared for.
He pondered before adding, “If you are Self-Purchased, you’re permitted by law to procreate in any manner you wish. Wife and husband can have and keep as many children as they want. The ownership donorship clause states that each free person, if they so choose, can raise their own children and send them to the free child seminar series for the elite. If the parents do not want to raise a child, then they send it upon birth to the Thrive surrogate mother system, where the child becomes owned by the market and sold to one of the Majors. Orns is not allowed to purchase children on the Xchange stock market. The reasons are complicated, but the stats prove that they ruin a child too quickly, and the world prematurely exhausts many potentially productive years.” He paused. He was moving from textbook data to information he had surmised. He said, “If there is a child deficit, the management teams might be asked to procreate within already purchased relationships.” Proud of his complete answer and relative expertise in a subject that was not even part of his career path, David nodded and beamed. “So, pretty much, if you’re free, you have babies whenever you want and keep the ones you want, and the rest are cared for by the Thrive system.”
“Our system sucks, David. You only know half of it. I should know; I work at Thrive. I work as a trainer for the year-twelve trainees.” She frowned, and he saw emotion simmer beneath her serious composure.
“Gayle, doesn’t all of this fall under the corporate privacy knowledge clause? If there’s an integrations issue or procedure flow oversight, then that needs to be taken to HR and not to me. Human resources was created to correct deficiency. If HR advises you to take the information to QC, then they help expedite the process. This is all confidential, and confidentiality is above my risk exposure comfort level. I work for Nnect, and we don’t participate in stealing secrets. Please don’t share more if it will hinder us from teeing up.”
He noticed she wasn’t happy with his response. In fact, she looked disgusted. Her lower lip quivered. His instinct was to comfort her, but his conscience knew better. He needed to be strong for her. Aloft is strength, he recalled. He forgot who had taught him that.
“David-23, you see nothing. You understand so little of what this is all about.” She pointed out the window beyond the park to a prominent, grisly section of buildings in the distance that he had seen many times. This Thrive campus was a principal facet of the Xchange skyline. It made him shiver as she pointed to it, her hand straight and unwavering.
“It is rude to talk about that area,” David said. Common knowledge held that this grisly spectrum was the recycling center at Thrive.
“Grow a pair.”
“I will not break the integrity of my company. I’ll not fail in my career or be sold to Orns.” He said it like a prayer. Failure was not an option for David. David changed the subject. “I assume you want to talk about my relationship request? And since we are talking about product options, I am thinking if we work hard for the next ten years and mutually invest, we might be able to have enough freedoms saved up to simultaneously make the leap to the other side. It is not unheard of. We are both fine specimens and would have approved stock—I am sure of it.” David huffed as he got it all out in one breath, rushing and slurring his speech to avoid being stopped by the protests forming on her lips. He didn’t want to talk about the grisly towers. He wanted to talk about Gayle and himself. He wanted to tell her about PPRE and the excitement around it. He wanted to talk about important things. Like work.
“David, this is not about relationships. Or chat rights online.” She waved at his blue brand. “Do you want to keep that stain on you? Do you like being branded?”
Treason! She was crossing a dangerous line. David would not ignore this. “You say what?” His brand flared. Finally, it is working again, he was relieved. His anger grew with righteous adrenaline and encouraged him to shout at her and put her back in line. He felt comforted by his absent conscience’s strong return. He sneered, soaking in the surge, and rubbed his blue letters obsessively. A workie slammed into him. Damn, he thought.
“Shitty stock, damn an Orns rat,” he cursed in a low, gruff voice as the workie soared for a brief moment. The energies raging inside of him almost overwhelmed him. He squeezed the soft old iron bar so hard that it deformed. He controlled the sensations for a moment, and then he waited. He did not want to ruin this relationship just at the start. He maintained a firm voice to satisfy his need for justice but tried to reduce any tones of anger, because he desired Gayle very much. “Abigayle-25, please.”
I will not say please like some prisoner of war from Alexoria. I am a powerful career man, and she will listen and like it, he reminded himself. “Abigayle-25, do not ever talk about removing a brand or not being satisfied with it. We cannot rush freedom; we must earn it. We are both owned by reputable brands. Let us not say treasonous things.”
Her own feelings emerged at his response. “See, David? You’re a broken human who is a slave to the brand and a tool. Just as bad as Orns garbagemen. You’re a broken fool.”
He thought, Broken? I am not broken. That hurt. I work just fine. I am honest and fair.
“I work just fine,” he said. Ad hominem attacks directed at his person always deflated him. “Better than fine—you saw me work out. You should see my progress charts at Nnect.” He puffed up his chest. “I might’ve even show you if you treated me normally.”
She ignored his rant. “Look out this window again. Do you see the grim buildings?”
David looked again. T
he campus was between a section of Thrive and Orns. It was a dark blot next to the beauty of the Thrive silhouette. David had ridden past those edifices many times on the Gravetless and shivered at their ugliness and sinister metaphorical meaning. “Oh, that nasty place. I assume that is the Recycling Center. Most likely maintained with Orns support by Thrive. Where rebirth or—what is the word my manager used?—reengage…yes, I believe she said we reengage broken Productzens. It is like a jail, garbage dump, and clinic for those who fail society. It’s where a Productzen is sent when one of the Majors evaluates them and finds them lacking. Thank the stock that many common human deficiencies can be fixed or the Productzen can be retrained to be productive instead of sent directly to Orns.”
He halted his cynical rant and decided to try to be more considerate of other commonly held dogmas in regard to the grisly campus. “Some people argue that the Recycling Center campus is a prison of mercy. If inmates fail to be healed at the Recycling Center, it is over, but healed humans are welcomed back into healthy society.” He laughed with derision. “Letdowns are given over to the grasp of the Orns monopoly, which buys them cheaply to try to regain lost freedom margin creep. They find some use for everyone over there at Orns.” He shivered. “The lucky ones might get sent to a construction unit or something like that. The very lucky ones might get to risk their lives and become heroes in Medieval Storyworld or become extras in Real World.” He paused and shared something personal, his face twitching so much that he had to scratch it. “As a side note, I would be a good storyteller for Medieval Storyworld. I could see myself being a great entertainer.”
A Tale Of Doings Page 14