2043 A.D.

by Edward M Wolfe

  In the living room, the two girls sat watching television. Darla, the blonde was yawning and didn't think she'd be able to stay awake for the entire show. Gabriella was wide awake, but bored. They were watching a sit-com based on a romance between a tall woman and a short man. Gabriella thought it was stupid and the punch-lines were predictable and rarely deviated from quips based on the couple's height difference. Darla thought it was funny.

  Seeing that Darla had fallen asleep, Gabriella turned the television off with the remote control, and picked up her eReader from the coffee table. She made herself more comfortable on the couch by bringing her feet up, and lying down, using the armrest to support her head. It wasn't as comfortable as using one of the couch pillows, but she didn't mind because it would keep her from falling asleep in the living room like Darla had done.

  Drake saw the reflected light from the television stop flickering on the hallway walls and go dark. Finally, he thought. Bed-time. He thought they'd never leave the living room. He started to rub himself through his pants, anticipating the peep show that would begin as they came to their rooms and undressed for bed. He checked his position and moved away from the window a few steps. He backed into the wooden fence and stopped there, certain they wouldn't see him there in the dark. The wall in the hallway only remained darkened for a few seconds and then it was illuminated again - this time by a very dim white light. Jesus Christ! Would they ever come to bed!?

  He wished he was just a little gutsier than he was. Every time he watched someone, he got off not only on seeing nude women, but also on the fantasy of what he would do if he could work up the nerve to enter their homes and do what he really wanted. So far he'd been content to watch, but more and more he thought about taking the next step and actually touching his objects of desire. He had no moral objections to committing the greater crime of rape. The only thing that held him back was the fear of getting caught - not necessarily in the act, but perhaps afterward, once the victim reported the incident. They'd be able to describe him with ease, and eventually, he'd get pulled over for some stupid traffic violation and the cop would recognize him and his pathetic life would be over. If only he could come up with a fool-proof way of committing rape without getting caught and without having to kill anyone, he'd be all for it.

  He'd thought of bringing mace with him, but he didn't think the effect would last long enough to keep a woman from being able to see him before he'd finished with her, and it would also probably affect him too since he'd more than likely have his face close to the victim's. He didn't know the range of mace, but he assumed that kissing someone who’d just been sprayed with it would be decidedly unpleasant, even if it didn't burn his own eyes. He was confident that he could knock a woman out by hitting her over the head, but that ran the risk of accidentally killing her. And if that didn't happen, he still might end up injuring her, and a bloody unconscious woman was not on his fantasy list. He wanted his victim to be awake and aware of what was happening, but unable to see him and describe him to police afterwards.

  If he’d had a solution to this problem, he'd use it right now. He'd sneak in through one of the bedroom windows and then he'd be more patient for one of them to enter a bedroom, knowing there was a much bigger payoff to be had. Then he'd show them what a man he was. He imagined himself on top of the brunette lying face-down on her bed, straddling her, entering her, pulling her ponytail and asking, "Do you still think you're too fucking good for me? Huh? Do you? Bitch. How do you like me now? How do you like having a real man inside you?"

  Of the many women who had rejected Drake Austin and spurned his advances, these two were not among them. But he knew they were the same as all of the others. They were all the same; running around town without a care in the world. Flaunting their little bodies like they came down from heaven to where lowly mortals like Drake could look, but never touch. In fact, he wasn't even good enough to look at them. Whenever young women saw him eyeing them, they'd give him this look like they just bit into a lemon. The bolder, stuck-up bitches would glare at him as if asking how he dared look at the skin they so generously put on display. How dare HE look at them? The display wasn't for him. It was for the sexy guys. The spoiled, pampered kids who had everything in life handed to them - including the most beautiful women in the world, all because of their social status and organic wealth before forced financial equality came along.

  The fact that the government enabled all people to purchase anything and everything they wanted by subsidizing whatever anyone couldn’t afford, creating the illusion of economic equality didn’t really make a difference. People could tell if you were naturally rich, or just a subsidy case.

  Drake was tempted to climb through the window in front of him right now. He'd show these bitches they weren't special. They were nothing but stupid sluts living a life of ease. But even if he did manage to get in undetected and grab one of the girls from behind and have his way with her without her seeing his face, there was too great a chance that the other would be awakened, and then he'd be screwed.

  Nothing was going to happen tonight. Unless one of them ever went to bed. Then he'd at least get the pleasure of seeing more of them than he had at the college. At least. But he deserved a lot more than that. He had it coming to him.

  Gabriella finished the chapter she was reading and yawned. She told herself she'd read one more chapter then go to bed.

  Eighteen

  Deron stared at Dr. Fielding, waiting for him to respond. He was still thirsty after drinking a full glass of water but didn't want to pour another glass. "Deron, you're a smart, young man," the doctor said. "I believe that although you are angry now and may remain so for some time, you'll still be able to understand and appreciate our goals here, and eventually, you'll even be thankful for the changes we'll be making in you."

  Deron was certain that the doctor could not be more mistaken, no matter what his goals were. He also wondered what sort of changes they wanted to make in him. He was trying to keep his mind from racing in multiple directions at once and just focus on what was being said to him.

  "Someday you might even be proud that you were one of the first to help usher in a new age for mankind. This is actually quite an opportunity, which you'll understand shortly."

  "Could you just actually tell me what "this" is instead of talking all around it without really saying anything?" Deron asked, and then decided he would have more water just to have something to do with his hands. He was trying to maintain control in the most out-of-control situation he'd ever found himself in.

  "Of course. Forgive me. There's just so much that I wish to convey to you and I don't have a ready speech or prepared introduction to our program and how we intend to help you with it."

  "And this is ‘help’ that I have no choice of opting out of. Is that right?"

  "Well, for the time being, your participation is mandatory, but I'm hoping that as we progress you'll become more of a voluntary, and perhaps, even proud participant. But enough of our hopes and intentions. I'd like to tell you what you're waiting to hear, but I will have to start with a little bit of background. I'll try to be brief as I understand your current state of anxiety and impatience to learn your role in our program.”

  Deron took a deep breath, trying to keep himself as calm and as patient as he could manage. He wished he had a gun and imagined himself shooting this wordy bastard between the eyes, then shooting anyone else who came between him and an exit. He had never been so scared or angry before. He tried to will his heart to beat more mildly and to slow its pace.

  Dr. Fielding stood up and walked toward the eQuarium, gathering his thoughts. He'd delivered this speech many times before in his mind, but hadn't considered the fact that young men and women suddenly torn from their familiar routines and loved ones wouldn't necessarily be in a receptive state of mind. He knew now that a modified approach was imperative, and that sedatives would be a must with future subjects. He looked at the fish, then turned around and faced Deron. He clas
ped his hands behind his back and said, "Deron, man's needs are simple. He needs nothing more than food and water to survive. Everything beyond those basic needs are choices. The choices we make are those that raise our existence from one of mere survival, to pleasure or happiness while surviving. And since man is a social creature, the choice is almost always made to congregate with others. This enhances our survival capability and leads to pleasure-producing interactions."

  Deron felt like he was in sociology class and feared that this was going to be long and boring and maddening to listen to since he still could not conceive of how this had anything to do with him. If his mother had committed him to this place, he swore he wouldn't talk to her for at least a year. She always complained that he didn't socialize enough and now this Fielding guy was talking about mankind and socialization. Is that what this was about? Something his mother thought would help him become more like others - like the mindless zombies at school?

  He wondered how long he would be stuck here. How long would it be until he saw Michelle again? And Charlie. And Feenix. Fuck! He hated being here already and wanted to cry.

  Okay, he told himself. Calm down. For now, I'm stuck here and need to figure out what they want from me so I can appear to give it to them as quickly as possible and get the fuck out of here. But he was also determined to find a way to escape while going along with the program.

  ***

  Michelle walked away from the parking lot without saying a word to Jenny who was pre-occupied with Zeke and hadn't even noticed that she had left. Everything felt wrong to her right now. Walking down the sidewalk at night alone in an industrial area; wearing extremely revealing clothing; the sick feeling in her stomach that was less nausea now and more anxiety; and having Jenny as a friend.

  Oh god, the thought of having to get on a bus and ride it home with the clothes she was wearing. She wished she could start this whole day over again. If she could, the first thing she'd do is find out what happened to Deron. If he had been arrested for something, she'd find out what for. She'd visit him in jail and give him money and talk with him and let him know he wasn't alone. Let him know he had friends.

  As Michelle thought of herself as a friend to Deron she started to cry. What a great friend she'd been. She barely acknowledged his existence at school. She rarely talked to him even outside of school anymore. And yet, whenever she did "lower herself" to speak to Deron - who was not a card-carrying member of the popular crowd - she was brief with him, rushing their conversations to a speedy end – afraid that someone might see her with him.

  Oh, Deron. Sweet, Deron. He hadn’t changed. He was always happy to see her. He never seemed upset or angry with the way she acted toward him. Judging by his behavior and how he talked to her, one would think they were still best friends. Michelle began crying even more and felt an ache inside her chest as she thought of how she and Deron had been the best of friends most of their lives. They had grown up together and spent every weekend hanging out, watching movies, riding bikes, talking, and always laughing. Whatever else they were doing, they were always laughing. Deron made everything fun.

  Wherever he was, Michelle knew he was not having fun or laughing now; sitting in a jail cell somewhere after being taken away by the cops. It didn’t make any sense. Deron wasn’t a criminal. He was a nice guy who never bothered anyone. During lunch break he ate quickly, by himself, then went off campus to smoke until fifth period. Was that it? Was he arrested for smoking without a license?

  Michelle turned a corner onto a major boulevard and saw a bus stop just a few stores away. She looked around, feeling very self-conscious wearing Jenny’s slutty clothes. There was moderate traffic in both directions, but no pedestrians. She could see people inside of a sandwich shop to her right, but their backs were to her. She walked quickly to the bus stop enclosure and pushed the Plexiglass door open, walked over to the bench and sat down.

  She wished she had a coat to cover herself even though it would have made her uncomfortably warm inside the bus stop. She also wished it wasn’t so well-lit. She thought it was ironic that she was put off by the amenities that made waiting for a bus much safer and comfortable than it was in the old days when there was merely a bench or a three-sided enclosure exposed to the elements.

  Now that bus stops were fully enclosed and air-conditioned with bright lights, people felt safe and comfortable while waiting for a bus. But it made Michelle feel like a slutty mannequin on display for the passing traffic. On the far end of the bench, she saw a newspaper someone had left behind. She walked over to it, sat down and opened the paper, holding it in front of her like a shield. It was the sports section which she had no interest in, but she held it open, blocking the view from her head down to her waist. She waited for the bus that would take her back home to where she could get out of these awful clothes and start thinking about how she was going to make some serious changes to her social life.

  When the bus finally came, Michelle boarded it feeling more embarrassed than she thought was possible. Women looked at her with jealousy. Their plastic surgery and other body enhancements couldn’t compete with her youthful physique. They pursed their lips and squinted their eyes. Men looked at her differently. Licking their lips and opening their eyes wide, eyebrows involuntarily rising as they looked her up and down, then up again. Michelle opened the folded newspaper and again covered as much of her body as she could as she walked past the seated passengers.

  A man who hadn’t taken his eyes off of her since she got on moved over to the window seat and patted the seat he had just vacated, inviting Michelle to sit next to him. She quickly looked away and walked past him. She saw a girl a few seats down sitting by a window, chewing gum and staring absent-mindedly through the dirty glass. Michelle sat in the seat next to her and folded the newspaper, using it now to cover only her stomach and chest.

  The girl in the window seat was wearing old-fashioned ear-buds. Michelle followed the white insulated wires flowing down from her ears to where they terminated inside of a small, purple purse. She was glad that the girl was absorbed in her music because it meant she would be unlikely to start a conversation.

  “First time?”

  Michelle was startled by the question. “Excuse me?”

  “Is this your first time hooking?”

  “What? No! I mean, I’m not. Hooking, I mean.

  “You just like to dress like you are?”

  Michelle blushed and looked away for a second, then turned back and said, “These aren’t my clothes.”

  “Right. I suppose you’re just wearing them for a friend,” she said and laughed.

  “Actually, I am. I know that sounds stupid, but they really do belong to a friend – an ex-friend.”

  “Is your friend working?”

  Michelle looked at her blankly, not understanding the question.

  “On the street. Is your friend a hooker?”

  “No. She’s just a bit…” Michelle was going to say “slutty” but then stopped, not wanting to insult the girl who was apparently a prostitute. “She kinda dresses like one.”

  “Well, if you ever decide you wanna work, you’ll just need parental consent to get your license. With your looks, you could make a lot of money, girl. A lot.”

  “Thank you… um, but I don’t think I ever will. Thanks.” Again Michelle felt like she may have just insulted her seat-mate and didn’t know if she should try to be diplomatic and assure the girl that she meant no offense, or if she should just shut up since she wasn’t doing very well so far with her efforts at being social.

  The girl was looking Michelle over with a clear view of her body behind the newspaper and finally said, “Yep. You’d do very good.” She turned to her left and touched the sensor and said, “In fact, I’m getting off at the next stop where I’m gonna meet a client worth about $2,000 for thirty minutes. If you wanna come along, he’ll probably pay you the same. You just have to promise not to steal him from me. I think you’re a little cuter than me and he mi
ght like you more. Young ones get all the best customers.”

  “Thank you, but I just wanna get home. I haven’t been feeling well. That’s really nice of you to offer though.” Michelle felt like she was having a conversation in a bad dream or in a bizarre stage play. She just wanted this night to be over. She looked out the windows on the opposite side of the bus to see if they were near the next stop. She didn’t know if she could handle much more of this conversation. All she could really see though was the interior of the bus reflected back at her on the Plexiglass windows.

  “Around here, they spend way more time looking than fucking. It’s way easier than you might think.”

  “They?”

  “The Vietnamese. They like to look at your cooch. Well, pretty much most Asians are like that. All the ones I’ve been with, anyway. They’ll gaze into your crotch like they’re looking for the meaning of life to jump out at them. And half the time, they don’t even fuck you – like they have some shame thing goin’ on. Ya know? But it sure doesn’t stop them from looking. I’ve actually thought of keeping magnifying glasses in my purse and selling them for an extra twenty bucks.”

  The bus began to decelerate and Michelle silently thanked God. She had absolutely no idea how to respond to the platinum blonde pixie and what she was saying. The bus came to a stop and the girl grabbed her little purse and got up.

  “This is my stop. If you ever change your mind, you can usually find me around here.” She squeezed past Michelle and stepped into the aisle. “Can I zing you my number?”

  “Sure,” Michelle said, pulling her communicator out of a boot. She pressed a few buttons, then the other girl pointed hers at Michelle’s and they both chimed.

  “Call me if you ever want to learn. My name is Sabrina. I’d be happy to work with you and show you the ropes. I’ll even loan you the money to get your license. No subzies on licensing for some reason,” she said, smiling.