The Last Human

by T F R LeBoomington

  They shot out the shaft section into another atrium and started to slow, someone had called the lift. The doors slid open, and a couple walked in, Rick kept facing outwards to avoid being seen. The couple was young and proudly cyberised. They recognised Brock almost immediately.

  “ERMAHGERD BROCK! Brock Dynamite?” Rick watched Brock in the reflection. He’d raised his hands to calm the fans.

  Mr T sprang into action, “calm down fools!”

  “Sorry… We’re such huge fans! You’re such a badass!” Brock didn’t say anything. Rick had dragged him into a thousand fights, and many of them had been recorded for everyone to see. His badassery was legendary.

  “Maybe I should start representing you Brock” Barry made a thumbs down gesture towards Rick, “instead of this ungrateful dick.” Barry jested, but Rick knew he was considering it. Rick let out a heavy sigh when the attention turned to him.

  “OMG the Last Human! I can’t believe it.” Rick turned away from the glass and eyed Barry indignantly.

  “Hey guys, how’s it going? Chillin’, hardly workin’ or up to no good?” Rick’s catchphrases drove the fans crazy. Both shrieked like starstruck schoolgirls.

  Rick, Brock and Barry all winced, no amount of tech could make that sound enjoyable. It reverberated against their prison’s glass walls and hit them again. The niceties carried on for a couple of minutes, then the happy couple disembarked on a floor full of great restaurants if you were a nobody. Rick waited for the doors to close and the lift to move before shouting at Barry.

  “Fuckin’ hell Barry!”

  “Sorry, not sorry. To be honest, it’s also part of your job to be nice to fans.”

  “Shut up for a minute while my human ears stop ringing.” Rick worked his ear with his little finger and opened and closed his jaw until he got the satisfactory pops. “Barry, you need to watch your fucking mouth, yeah?” Rick glared at Barry while waiting for him to respond.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Barry had better watch his mouth, especially where they were lunching.

  The doors opened on the 1000th floor. Some of the city’s best restaurants were here. Only big shots were served. People had to be on a list, and nobody knew how to get on that list. Barry had gotten a call one day telling him Rick and entourage were on the list. The list was unforgiving. Flavour of the month garbage got dropped just as suddenly as it appeared. Rick was a legend though. Easily the most famous person on Earth. Like a boss, he could walk into any place, any place he wasn’t banned. Le Réservoir was such a place. And like all of Rick’s favourite places, it was out of the ordinary.

  Rick followed Barry down a corridor that seemed decorated by Jules Verne himself. They waited for an instant by the cloakroom, and a waiterbot came to greet them. The dining area was illuminated with its usual enchanting blue light. Their table was up a small staircase in a bubble. Diners ate in little bubbles at the bottom of a giant fish tank. The water collection system filled the giant aquarium populated with exotic fish and plants, all made-up non-comestible species. Rick had found out they did this to dissociate between animals and food.

  The same experience was available at a quarter of the price a few levels down in a place called Skyquarium. Not for Rick though. That kind of public place would see him drown in fan love before he could get a drink. Never.

  Rick looked at the menu, but he knew what he was having. Whisky, Nikka. The menu was French-Japanese fusion, and it was all about the oceans and the delicious things you could eat from there. From what Rick understood the ingredients were all made by some restaurant variant Mr Food, and cyborg chefs prepared the dishes. Brock and Barry ordered food laced with nanoparticles. None of that for Rick, they’d just make him crap blood. He ordered the canapés selection. Easiest to eat and Rick didn’t fancy working for his food. Before the waiterbot shifted her attention away from Rick he added “and, no nanoparticles please”. It pissed him off having to specify. He also asked for a rack of Nikka bubbles.

  “No way!” Amy piped up suddenly. “You’re not getting drunk at lunch. You can have one bubble. I recommend beer. It’ll last longer.”

  “I pity the fool.” Brock smiled, and Barry laughed, Mr T always timed it right. Dick.

  “Fuck’s sake.” Rick sat angrily while the others finished ordering then muttered like a child. “I’ll have a pint. In a glass.” The pint bubbles were hard to manage.

  “Fine,” Amy added his pint to the order. The others hadn’t said anything, but they smiled, clearly amused by their married couple routine.

  Rick was pissed off; he didn’t want to be sober. He leaned back and looked up at the fish. Some big red fish with a blobby but disturbingly human face swam by. It was trailed by a school of tiny colourful fish. A conversation had started between the others and Rick’s ears pricked up.

  “Yeah, I’ve been to the Moon. It was alright.”

  “What d’you do there?” Rick frowned when Brock asked the question.

  “Well it was a while back, but I did the usual stuff. Visiting Luna City, the original Moon Landing spot with buggies, Alien artefact museum, bars, the low G theme park. You know the usual stuff.”

  “Is that the shit you wanna do?” Brock eyed Rick intensely. “Is it?”

  “Yeah, I guess, I don’t know.” Rick was taken aback by Brock’s line of questioning.

  “Because if you run, you won’t be able to do any of that. Fuck, you think they’re gonna let you drink cocktails and hang in museums? You’re nuts! They’re gonna send someone like me after you. And I won’t be around anymore, you’ll be on your own.” The drinks arrived in a nick of time, each grabbed his and sipped silently for a minute. Rick was trying to imagine what it would be like if some Brock-like beast kicked the crap out of him. It would hurt.

  “I’ve got an idea. Leaving the show and turning your back on everything we’ve built is not a good idea. We all have so much to lose.” Rick’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, we. We built this show together, and we all benefited, and we’ll all lose out if you pull out.”

  “That’s what she said.” Rick couldn’t resist.

  “Fuck Rick... I’m trying to be serious.” Barry had been amused though, Rick could tell. Brock and the others too. Tension defused. “So hear me out before you say anything else. You’ve had enough of the show, it’s repetitive and demeaning. Right? You want to get off Terra. You’ve got the travel bug, so we go to the Agency, and we pitch The Last Human: Solus Tour! Picture it! You travel the system complaining about shit. You’ll get to see the solar system, Luna, Mars and whatever else we can cram in a season. Come on! It’s a win-win! Come on it’s a good idea, you fucking know it!” Rick maintained stony features as Barry examined him. A quick sideways glance told Rick Brock seemed intrigued.

  “And after season 11?” Barry was quick to react.

  “I don’t know man! We make the tour last forever! Let’s focus on one season at a time.” Rick didn’t seem convinced, but he tried to hide it. This could be the angle he needed to emancipate.

  “Alright, let’s say I was interested in your idea. You coming to negotiate for me?”

  “What today?”

  “Yeah, today! What did you think? That we were going to reschedule a meeting with the Dick. Joker. Yeah, today.” Rick wasn’t really sure what he wanted to do, but he definitely didn’t want to go into that meeting alone.

  “Well…OK…” Barry was visibly shaken but quickly composed himself. “As long as we’re not talking about you quitting the show... Yeah, I’m happy to come to negotiate. Let's do this! Solus Tour.”

  A colourful spread of ocean-inspired bite-sized canapés was set on the table in front of Rick. It was quickly followed by a seafood tower stacked with crab, lobster and shellfish. Many of these foods required considerable work to eat, everyone was afforded some time to reflect on what had just happened. Rick was feeling lazy, so he was pleased with his canapés selection. He looked at Brock tearing lobster and crab apart and wondered why they bothered making the shells. He also wo
ndered how they got the seafood to look so real. Have those things ever been alive? Rick’s mind pondered these and other grand questions while he sat back and popped canapés in his mouth.

  As the eating relented conversation once again hung menacingly over the table. Rick had stuffed his face with mini blinis and toasts covered in salmon, caviar, tuna tartar and oyster carpaccio among other mysterious deliciousness. It had all been so tasty he’d eaten more than he’d anticipated he would. He was dangerously sober. Not the preferred state for meeting Dick Prunce. He’d managed to get another beer, but two beers would never do the trick. Rick wondered if they still had toilets here. Maybe he could sneak over to the bar on his way there. His thought process was interrupted by Brock. He'd just destroyed two lobsters and two crabs and a myriad of prawns and shellfish, he had food all over his beard and smelled of lemon.

  “This Solus Tour idea is pretty good Rick. I feel like it’s a good middle ground for the time being. We can find another solution further down the line when you lose your shit again.” Brock looked at Rick with that hopeful face he gets. Rick considered saying something positive, maybe even constructive.

  “Sure whatever. We can try Barry’s idea...” It was like putting a Band-Aid on a gangrenous leg. But I’ll play along. For a bit.

  Rick was stuffed. Lunch had been a success. In more ways than one. Barry was a bit of a genius. He’d found Rick a way out. If we get the Dick to play along.

  ◆◆◆

  Amy ordered an UberAIR+ for their transatlantic flight while they headed to the landing pads. Any normal UberAIR could make the flight, but they didn’t have the same comfort as their larger cousins. Rick boarded the cab and sunk into a plump luxury reclining seat. He kicked off his shoes and settled in for the two-hour flight. The taxi could do it faster, but the inertia dampers wouldn’t be able to stop most people from blacking-out.

  Their cab took off from a landing pad on the 1001st floor and reached cruising altitude in a few instants. The sonic boom came soon after that. Rick loved breaking the sound barrier. He craned his neck to see the shockwave.

  They sped towards Zero City 9 in a Tesla PX3. One of Rick’s favourites, and the best personal transport vehicle as far as he was concerned.

  The city was built on the ruins of the East Coast and was the second largest Zero City in the world after Zero City 4 in Africa. During the war, the US had ended up engaged on several fronts away, and at home with its own people. Rick knew all about the conflict from the countless movies exploring the topic.

  Unrest had led to the country’s fracture. Caliscadia was formed in the west and had proclaimed itself neutral. The southern states had seceded, again, though fewer than last time, and declared war on Mexico and the federal government.

  After the war, Vermont to North Carolina and out west up to Illinois had been merged and rebuilt as Zero City 9. Not much was left of the southern states or Midwest, their war with the federal government in Washington, Mexico in the south and eventually Caliscadia and Canada led to their annihilation. The Mexicans had built a wall to stop the fleeing southerners. Rick found the irony delicious.

  To this day the south was a toxic no-go zone inhabited by mutated swamp and desert people. Rick wasn’t a fan of the East Coast or South. He found people were too serious in Zero City 9 and his frail composition forbade any trips to the toxic swamplands and deserts. Caliscadia knows how to party though.

  Rick knew the flight was nearing the end when he spied the giant towers in the distance. They were headed for the mid-zone between 9-5 and 9-6 in New York. No one had said a word during the flight. Rick had been content to watch cloud valleys rush by while Brock and Mr T watched something on their screen. Barry had just fidgeted worriedly in his seat. Rightly so, if this meeting went sour, his career would be in jeopardy.

  The Dick

  Dick liked that people called him Dick. He knew they didn’t mean it as the diminutive of Richard. He didn’t care. He was the wealthiest most powerful person on this planet. They can write their opinions on a little piece of paper and shove them right where the sun don’t shine. He swivelled on his chair to face the city skyline, he caught a reflection of his impeccable three-piece and smirked. Few still wore “vintage” suits, technologically speaking they couldn’t compare to modern smart clothes. To Dick looking sharp was more important, his body was already the pinnacle of cyberisation and in his eyes nothing had ever come close to the three-piece tailored suit in terms of class. All his agents wore the now iconic Agency suits, Dick loved watching them file out to carry out his bidding. Dick liked order and uniformity. This world was too chaotic, it needed order.

  The Agency had its own building in the mid-zone, preferential treatment of sorts. Reserved for the very powerful. For those more equal than others. It hadn’t been easy to convince the Council to let him set up shop away from the towers. The first Council would have never allowed it, that fucking Frank Archer always getting in the way of business. Things had been much easier since his early retirement.

  The marketing and advertising industries had died during the war and didn’t have a place in the new beginnings. Dick had to survive until the world needed him again. It wasn’t until the first Zero Cities were populated that the desire to consume ephemeral things returned. An industry for Dick to shine. The return of entertainment and luxuries called for the return of the marketeer. That’s when the Agency was born.

  What few advertising professionals remained had turned to the arts or education. By their own admission, they were useless at much else. Some, like Dick, weren’t cut out for anything else but marketing, advertising and selling crap to people. And they didn’t want to change. Dick didn’t want to change.

  He was a relic of the pre-war corporate greed that drove the world for so long. He knew it. But he saw it as an advantage over the kind-hearted fools of this new world. He’d been poor and insignificant during the purge, a young nobody in a faceless corporation, no one had paid attention to him. He'd escaped the lynchings. He was a greedy cunt, but a sly one, and patient one.

  Dick bid his time. UBI enabled him to survive during the rebuilding. And sure enough, the day came when need was replaced with want. Marketing useless products was once again a profession. Because of its devious nature AIs, robots or highly logical cyborgs struggled with the job. By this point, most people had embraced the new societal model and few remembered how to sell shit to blind people, and fewer still wanted to. Dick created the Agency and easily got all the big contracts. He surrounded himself with the last of the Gordon Geckos and the Agency grew to become one of the most powerful entities on Terra. The dream peddlers.

  It was all innocent in the beginning. People made things. They wanted others to know about it. But people who made things rarely liked selling them. They just loved making. Dick understood that.

  Transhumans were obsessed with their utopian dream. This world of scientists and artists was blinded by their desire to build a better world. And Dick helped, as long as it helped him. His work had taken people to the stars and stopped wars. As a fortunate side effect, he'd amassed considerable wealth and power, and he'd ensured it went mostly unnoticed by members of the Council and public.

  Dick worked hard on assuring no one knew how many pies he was fingering at any given time. Slowly, his tentacles spread to every media outlet. His propaganda machine gradually brainwashed people into accepting the Agency’s activities. Overtly, all he did was help people and since the general assumption was that people were good now; most took him at face value and didn’t question his motives. He was unburdened by morals and liked to make people dance like puppets. His Smartcube had told him he was a psychopath. He’d destroyed it and funded the development of the Smart Orb. He saw AIs as assistants and nothing more.

  Few other companies dabbled in marketing and advertising, so most contracts went to the Agency. This included the lucrative Council contracts. Guidelines were simple. Produce content that promoted the Council's efforts to colonise space
and further transhumanity. Dick could do that. Easy.

  The start of the mutant-cyborg conflict had propelled the Agency to new heights. Marketing products was good business but effectively becoming the governments PR branch was even better. And though the Agency was profiteering from war they were doing so in a government-sanctioned effort to promote peace. Dick was cool with it, and nobody else seemed to care.

  The mutant-cyborg war had been a ridiculous conflict in grave need of being blown out of proportion. It’s around that time Dick started meddling more in politics. He’d become addicted to the power. He revelled in his machinations and manipulations. Dance puppets! Dance!

  The conflict started for insane reasons. Mutants were all younger, and the first ones were all born of cyborg parents. Nobody had paid any attention to that until one-day half the world was populated with superhuman teenagers. The first of their kind… Teenage angst on a level never experienced before, and unlikely to be experienced again.

  For the first few years, the conflict was mostly harmless rebellion and protests. A new species tried to make its voice heard, and its place in the world recognised. Dick had considered doing some work for them, but they couldn’t really afford his services on their allowance. Fortunately for him, the people in charge treated the problem like parents rather than like diplomats. They simply ignored their mutant children’s pleas and then dispensed mild discipline. None of it had worked.

  The Council had commissioned the Agency to create unifying content. The Futurist Family sitcom had done well, it wasn’t enough. When the first mutants came of age, they started leaving their homes in the Zero Cities and going out into the world to make their own home. Such a group of mutant youths, hailing from European Zero Cities set up a colony in southern Europe. The old cities were left standing, and there was no Council presence, in those days things were still somewhat chaotic outside of city limits. There were no Zero Cities near the Mediterranean. Not much fighting had happened in southern Europe. Nuclear fallout. Which was not a problem for mutants, so they chose Sicily as their capital.