The Naked World

by Eli K. P. William

  Amon’s gaze paused on Rick, and seeing that he was staring down at his lap with brooding, sad eyes, he immediately perceived what he was thinking. Rick’s greatest aspiration had been to start a family with Mayuko and he’d been determined to achieve this in spite of all the financial obstacles. Now that possibility had been taken from him by Sekido’s betrayal, and Hippo’s closing words had surely reminded him of this hard, irreversible fact. Amon wanted to go over and put a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder, but felt awkward approaching him when he thought of the lie he’d told about Mayuko, floating between them like an invisible barrier. And when Rick sensed Amon watching him and looked up to meet his gaze, Amon couldn’t help but avert his eyes.

  “I’m going to the toilet,” Rick muttered to no one in particular as he stood up, and began to carve his way slowly through the crowd with his head slightly bowed. He paused momentarily as he waited for a line of men to pass in front of him, his shoulders rising and then falling visibly with one great sigh, before he entered the gap in the standing bodies they had left and stepped out of sight.

  Strange movements caught Amon’s eye and he glanced to the stage, where a dance troupe of a dozen or so was putting on a show. The beat thrummed on continuously as it had the whole time, leaving no clear line between songs. The musicians just kept adjusting the phrases they repeated, subtly and incrementally, so that the soundscape was ever in transition, shifting so seamlessly Amon hardly noticed the changes until suddenly there was a whole new groove. Beside the band, the dancers intertwined their bodies into branching tree-like formations that ticked incrementally into new configurations, strobing their limbs to the beat like choppy cartoons. It struck Amon as strange that the people here, most of whom had never seen projected images, nonetheless imitated them in their art, like some distorted reflection in the mirror of progress.

  Bringing his gaze back to the circle, Amon saw Hippo talking with a young couple. They had been waiting not far from the circle and had approached the moment he finished his tale to ask for advice. Amon was listening to the three of them discuss how to stop a leak in one of a condo’s basement floors when he realized that Hippo hadn’t yet told his own story. Vertical’s dramatic exit, it seemed, had interrupted the rotation and wiped the fact that one person had been left out from everyone’s minds.

  Here, holding together the whole group, like a hidden pillar supporting the structure of their interconnected lives, was a gap, a narrative lacuna. Each one of them had been drawn to this community and it had embraced them, providing order, security, and health—a better life than they could have hoped for elsewhere. From orphans and pregnant mothers to outcast crashdead like Amon, Rick, and Vertical, Xenocyst helped all sorts of people. Yet Amon still didn’t understand how it worked, who funded it, what its relation was to the venture charities or the Charity Gift Economy. All these questions and many more seemed to circle around Hippo, about whose past Amon knew only that he was bankdead but kept his BodyBank like Amon, an enigma that roused his curiosity like nothing else. He was working up the nerve to ask Hippo another question, when, as soon as the couple was finished, a man came over to discuss the spread of an infection in one of the birthing rooms.

  Presently a group of about a dozen kids surrounded Ty and began to pester him, tugging at his collar and pleading until he reluctantly stood up and they all cheered. With the little ones swarming around his waist, he made his way towards the northern edge of the square and stopped on a somewhat less crowded roof. There he detached the wheels from his tricycle and began to do tricks with them—spiraling and ricocheting them off each other in complex patterns in the air—as the children pointed upwards shouting excitedly, pushing each other to gather close and grip his shorts.

  Soon Book and Little Book got up and made their way to a lineup in front of a telescope standing in a far corner. One by one, the members of the circle wandered off—some to the palm reader who had just set up a table nearby, some to dance, some to who knows where. Eventually the advice-seekers too were gone, leaving only Amon and Hippo. Finally, it seemed, the moment had come to ask for his name story, but before Amon could open his mouth, Hippo turned to him and, in a low voice, asked, “How’s it all going, Amon? Are you adjusting to life in Xenocyst alright?”

  “Yes … I’d say so. I’m doing fine, I think.”

  “So there’s nothing bothering you that you’d like to get off your chest?”

  “Not really …” Ten thousand worries frothed up all at once but none seemed worth raising, and Amon left them to bubble away.

  “…”

  “…”

  “Don’t be afraid to speak openly with me, Amon. I know from personal experience just how hard it can be to settle in the District of Dreams, and I’ve watched many others go through it. It’s overwhelming to suddenly be learning a million things at the same time. But your transition has been particularly tough, I think. Although many are denied Er treatment as you were, they at least have their BodyBanks removed safely.”

  Hippo paused, waiting for Amon to speak. But Amon froze under the penetrating attentiveness of his gaze, unsure what to tell him, his jaw quivering slightly though no words coming out. When a few bars of the beat had passed, Hippo put his arm around Amon and leaned in close, as Amon had seen others do when having a private conversation.

  “There’s no need to worry. Nothing you tell me now will reach the council or hurt your chances at membership. For my part, having some insight into what you’re actually going through will only speak in your favor.”

  Again Amon felt the cold teeth clench in his gut as he was reminded of the question about his and Rick’s future at Xenocyst. While he didn’t want to lie and pretend everything was perfect when it definitely wasn’t, he was worried his private thoughts and feelings might offend Hippo in spite of what he’d said. Yet being honest had taken him this far, earning him a trial period after his hearing, and something in Hippo’s steady gaze seemed to unravel his fears. Up close, his dark brown eyes appeared infinitely receptive yet troubled, as though trying to embrace the whole world but failing again and again, his warm arm around Amon’s shoulders and the stroke of his booze-tinged breath on Amon’s cheek somehow adding reassurance to his words.

  “Well …” Amon began. “I’d say that … yes, there are a number of challenges I’m still working through.”

  “Such as?”

  “Hmm … Like … I’ve been having some trouble bonding with my co-workers and neighbors and everyone …”

  “I’m sure. In fact, I’d find it unbelievable if you weren’t. What else?”

  “A lot of the symptoms Book mentioned earlier, I guess. Craving for apps and information and the boredom of having no video stimulation here. Then there’s the different working style and finding my way around without any assistance. It’s uncomfortable how everything is always changing. Not just the outer layer, the way it looks and sounds—the overlay changed like that too—but physically … Nothing lasts, so it’s kind of hard to find your footing, mentally, if that makes sense. I mean, I’ve only been here for about two months, but even if I stayed for years I don’t know if I’d ever find a stable enough place to put down roots … Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m also feeling disappointed with myself in the way I guess a lot of crashdead maybe feel disappointed in themselves. Because I used to have a job that I saw as important. Here I’m a nobody … But all of these problems, as much as they get me down sometimes, they feel manageable, like in time I’ll be able to get over them.”

  Especially with Rick back, he thought, looking in the direction his friend had gone and wondering where he was. Some of the embyrbrycks were beginning to dissolve, red-hot specks drifting off with each gust of wind like cinders popping off a fire. These joined in the air with flakes detaching from the stage and fluttered up on drafts to form double helixes of shadow petals swirling around dots of tangerine glow before dissipating into the star pockets above. While the pairs continued their slow-mo, s
top and rewind moves on the dance floor, the troupe were tangled together in a heap on the stage now, moving at double speed to the beat, limbs weaving through each other like a swarm of ticking robotic snakes, as the intensity of the music surged. Although the tempo remained steady and slow, the layered waves of rhythm shifting incrementally, a disjointed, mesmerizing force emerged from the interfusion of nether-notes, seeming to draw Amon’s awareness into the depths of the continuous song like an undertow. A surging hiss of appreciative gasps rose from all around them, washing away all other sounds but Hippo’s voice.

  “I admire your positivity and have faith that what you say is true,” he said, drawing back Amon’s gaze. “With continued effort, I’m sure you’ll succeed in surmounting those problems eventually. But I sense that you have other problems on your mind about which you are less optimistic. Am I right?”

  “Yes … well … I’m lucky, I guess, though I never planned it this way—not by a long shot. I’m lucky that I forced myself to live frugally before, because I’m already used to doing with less apps and luxuries than most crashnewbs. All the habits and restraint I cultivated are giving me the strength to get through this.

  “But … but this same training I made myself go through also feels like a weakness. Like I’m so used to calculating the cost of everything I do that I feel the absence of the market more intensely than I imagine others would. Every time I do anything, even little things like taking a step or licking my lips, I feel … indebted, not to anyone in particular, just to someone. And I have so much trouble making up my mind about even the simplest things. Like I’m always wondering whether I should blink now or wait a few milliseconds. Bite my rice ball or nibble it. Ask one of my co-workers a question immediately or wait until later. There’s no price tag on any of these options, so they all feel as good as any other. But if I accept that, then there’s no more reason to get out of bed in the morning than to lie there all day …”

  No more reason to climb down a stairwell to work than to leap off it to the hard rooftops far below, he thought, but kept the depths of his despair to himself.

  “I see. Yes, I sympathize with your conundrum,” said Hippo. “I wish I could tell you where to find meaning in your choices, but that itself is a choice that only you can make. All I can suggest is to give it time. With sustained effort and reflection, the answer is sure to present itself.”

  “Thank you for your advice,” said Amon, bowing slightly to Hippo, though he felt an inexplicable pang of doubt in his chest and turned away from him. As Hippo’s arm slid from his shoulders, Amon spotted Rick. The dance floor had thinned out somewhat, and a group of thirty-somethings were accosting younger people chatting around the edges and tugging them into the center. One was emerging from the crowd hauling Rick and Vertical by their wrists. They were shaking their heads and protesting but nonetheless following along. The man deposited them in the midst of all the dancers and pushed them together, smiling and cajoling until they reluctantly took each other’s hands, before hurrying off to find more victims. The music had settled temporarily into a quieter, more mellow groove, and the two of them merely stood there for several bars looking around self-consciously, until Vertical took the initiative and they began to sway. Vertical’s mood seemed to have recovered. She smiled her horse-like smile as she taught Rick the steps and techniques, and Rick followed along with an embarrassed grin. Watching her graceful movements, Amon felt titillated for the first time by her beautiful, athletic body, with its tight curves and hard, shapely breasts. If only she wasn’t so prickly. Then Rick’s eyes met Amon’s for a moment and, seeing simple joy in place of the earlier sadness in his gaze, Amon somehow found words for his doubts. He turned back to Hippo, and, leaning in close, said, “Still, to be honest, I’m not sure it’s that simple.”

  “How so?” asked Hippo, putting his arm around Amon again.

  “I mean … I don’t know if I should bring this up, especially not at a celebration like this …”

  “No, please. I can tell we’re just getting to the core of your concerns.”

  Amon nodded. “Well, what I’m thinking relates to this one discussion I had with Rick and the Books the other day.”

  “What sort of discussion?”

  “It started with a question that Rick asked.” It had been Rick’s first time joining Amon for one of his lessons in the council chamber. Although Amon never had the nerve to interrupt the Books, instead concentrating his attention on absorbing the complex ideas he was hearing, Rick had shown no hesitation in cutting in for clarification from the very start. “We were talking about the Charity Gift Economy and he wanted to know something about the marketability of the gene pool in the District of Dreams.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, basically, the Books were in the middle of telling us how the Philanthropy Syndicate has set up this elaborate system to collect marketable human resources. He wanted to know, if marketable babies are all given to the charities and the unmarketable ones remain, why doesn’t this lead to a decline in the marketability of the gene pool over time? It seems that the venture charities should be handing out condoms to the giftless or something, but they’re not.”

  “And I suppose they explained about the variability of the standard of marketability,” said Hippo.

  “Yes,” said Amon. “Their answer to Rick was a definitive no. Since what’s considered marketable is constantly shifting, those who are giftless now could become gifted later. And because giftless sometimes produce marketable babies by chance, the more of them the better from the perspective of the Philanthropy Syndicate.”

  As Book had explained, the fact that a baby was marketable—that they were likely to be the ideal applicant for a possible job in twenty years—did not necessarily mean that they were likely to produce a baby upon reaching maturity who would themselves produce such an ideal applicant twenty years from their birth. By that time, the demands of the market would have drastically changed. In other words, marketable babies were not guaranteed to become gifted adults because what the plutogenic algorithm of each MegaGlom defined as marketable shifted frequently. This was due to developments in the theories underlying these algorithms, variation in factors fed into the algorithms (such as the availability of appropriate mates), the growth of technologies, and revision of educational methods. So while there were slight fluctuations in the average marketability of the gene pool, the loss of marketable babies caused no steady decline over time.

  Rather, what might cause such a decline, contrary to Rick’s suggestion, was the culling of the giftless population through the use of contraceptives. This was because giftless adults were occasionally upgraded to gifted or produced unmarketable babies who turned out to be gifted as the standard of marketability (and giftedness) changed. Moreover, due to the random manner in which hereditary traits from parents are passed on to each embryo, giftless couples also occasionally produced marketable babies, while gifted couples frequently produced unmarketable but gifted or simply giftless babies. Since the gifted were more likely to produce valuable resources, cost-benefit analysis recommended providing them a slight bonus to raise the statistical chance of their success in reproducing, and each MegaGlom invested in its own vending machine brand to distribute this bonus, cultivating a brandclan over which it had claim to resources. But allowing and even encouraging the giftless to proliferate was preferable as it tended to increase the size and diversity of the population, which raised the probability of their occasionally producing a baby who was marketable, gifted, or set to one day become gifted according to one of the algorithms. To this end, therefore, the Philanthropy Syndicate jointly operated the generic vending machines and maximized the likelihood of an increase in total yield at minimal cost.

  “Right,” said Hippo. “And how exactly does that relate to the issues you’re facing, Amon?”

  “It led me to ask a question of my own. It seemed to me that their explanation raised a number of moral issues. The way they described the Charity
Gift Economy made it sound like people were cattle or show dogs or something. I couldn’t see how GATA could call hiring bankdead to provide babies exploitation and charge MegaGloms credicrime fines for that, but allow them to basically initiate a collective breeding scheme.”

  “And how did the Books respond?”

  “They said that according to the standard line taken by the Philanthropy Syndicate, the Charity Gift Economy is not comparable to breeding because there is no connection between the parents choosing to gift their babies willingly and the venture charities providing supplies out of pure kindness. Instead it is the ultimate expression of freedom.”

  While the gifted had learned over time that remaining together in their brandclans and mating in their designated pairs improved their chances to be able to gift a baby and earn more supplies, no one was ever forced or even asked to breed and no one forcibly prevented from doing so, either through the threat of violence or by any other means. The bankdead had never even been taught explicitly that there was any connection between the genes of the parents, whether babies were accepted, and the category of supplies disbursed. If anyone were to teach them this, the CG Economy could potentially be mistaken for a black market arrangement, requiring GATA to issue fines. Instead, bankdead had simply learned over the years through experience how the machines operated and decided of their own free will to accommodate their lives accordingly.

  The whole process was automated, systematic, and objective. The Philanthropy Syndicate generously provided charity and the bankdead provided gifts of their own volition. The MegaGloms might decide sometimes to adjust that charity according to their own business models or not take in some babies depending on certain abstract standards, but this did nothing to change the essentially compassionate nature of their giving. Already they provided a basic minimum for everyone, which some even referred to as welfare corpocracy. If they decided to provide more for certain individuals, that was their own prerogative, and where was the fault in giving more? If the bankdead were influenced to behave in a certain way by such adjustments, that did not alter the fact that they were making voluntary choices. The venture charities simply operated drop boxes for babies, similar to the foundling wheels of Europe in the Middle Ages though sealed with temperature controls to protect their contents from the elements and vermin. This was a service for unfortunate parents who could not adequately take care of their offspring, and for their unfortunate offspring who were granted Opportunities and Freedom as a result. So if there was even the faintest trace of pressure on the bankdead, it was to encourage generosity towards the next generation. In the words of the MegaGlom human resource PR manuals that the Books had quoted, the level of scarcity and quality of supplies were the main ‘humanitarian pressures’ adjusted in a process of ‘charitable selection’ to ensure marketable genes would survive and the overall marketability of the gene pool would gradually increase, or at least remain in equilibrium, depending on what the market demanded.