by Jen Cole
She answered calmly. “I’m ready. The more I play this game, the harder it is for me to get my head around why people of the future would want to see me hunted and killed. I don’t want to die without understanding that, so here is my question. Can you please tell me all about your world and its people?”
Fitani coughed in surprise. “I fail to see how knowledge of my world can possibly assist your survival attempts. Your curiosity seems to have gotten the better of common sense. However, the rules of the game bind me to answer your questions, so I’ll do my best. Here are our lives in a nutshell:
Twelve hours of Tube, eight hours of Play and four hours of Work, make up our day.”
He paused, looking at Jo expectantly.
~~~~
CHAPTER 14
Fitani’s rhyme triggered a memory from an Australian history class. In 1856, Melbourne’s Labor Movement had won a world-first eight-hour working day for the building industry, using the slogan “Eight hours labor, Eight hours recreation, Eight hours rest’. The next century they’d revised the slogan to attach a monetary value. “Eight hours work, eight hours play, eight hours sleep and eight shillings a day.”
Fitani’s four hours of work sounded like a big improvement on this but what was twelve hours of tube? Jo just stopped herself in time from asking.
Having failed to trick her into an impulsive question, Fitani continued. “I suppose I’ll need to explain that?”
“That would be good,” said Jo.
“Twelve hours of Tube is our resting time. We rest in our tubes.” Again he paused, but now up to his tricks, Jo simply waited.
“The tubes were The Company’s great survival solution. Praise The Company. When your world’s failure to control its population led to the Great Destruction, billions were killed outright and over eighty percent of the earth became uninhabitable.
“In the bitter years that followed, when the sun’s warmth and light barely penetrated the smoke and soot circulating in the atmosphere, additional millions died from starvation and radiation poisoning. Only a handful of places with uncontaminated soil, bypassed by the worst of the radioactive winds remained, and in each of these Safe Places huddled a few thousand, desperately scratching a living in their new hostile world.”
Danny’s voice took on a sonorous note and his eyes glazed. “Children born were few and sickly. The end was upon the human race,” he intoned. “The people wailed and cursed the Ancestors who had brought this fate upon them. But just when all seemed lost, came The Great Arising! The very earth itself parted, and ascending into the light from the depths below appeared … The Company. All hail The Company!
“The blessed CEO graced my own Safe Place with his Supreme Presence, but no pocket of humanity was forgotten. Two sacred aircraft, preserved beneath the Earth, took to the skies, protected from the deadly radiation by Company Science. Over time they located every Safe Place on the planet. Then the blessed CEO sent to each Safe Place a Company Director, bearing an entourage of Family, Secretaries and Secretaries’ Families, all beautiful and sound of limb and carrying with them great works of science and learning.”
Jo gave a snort, interrupting Fitani’s ecstatic rendition.
“Something wrong?” he inquired with annoyance.
“Well if I’d been abandoned on the surface, I know how I’d feel towards those who’d dived underground to safety, and were now emerging to take over my world because their own resources had finally run out.”
Fitani was horrified. “You don’t understand at all. The Company ascended to save us. Without The Company, humanity would have been doomed.”
“Perhaps,” said Jo. “But maybe those on the surface had gotten themselves through the worst and could have survived on their own.”
“Unthinkable!” said Fitani. “BC, Before The Company, the people of the Safe Places were savages, living short, desperate lives. AC, our lives improved a thousand fold. We became civilized employees, cared for, nurtured and shown the way forward by our Great Employer.”
“No doubt The Company helped when they finally emerged, but for how many years had they hidden, safe in their underground bunkers, hoarding their science while the survivors struggled above? I’d say they owed the surface people their knowledge, without any strings attached. Instead they co-opted ‘the savages’ into their own private workforce!”
As Fitani struggled for words, the waitress appeared and slid a consommé in front of him. The plate she put before Jo held a large steak with thick-cut hot chips and a salad.
Jo smiled her thanks and her stomach rumbled as she cut a piece from the seared meat. Spearing it, she used her knife to push a golden chip and some salad onto the back of the fork and raised the combination to her lips. Fantastic! More than five hours had passed since the warmed-up quiche in Carnegie, and she was famished.
As she chewed, Jo noticed Fitani still seemed dazed. Not wanting to alienate him or his audience, she said mildly, “You haven’t yet explained about the tubes.”
“Yes, the tubes,” Fitani revived. “They will help you to understand the great beneficence of The Company. BC, the surface survivors had set up their dwellings in the centers of each Safe Place, for the only way they had of coping with radiation was to live as far from it as possible. This meant their housing took up good land that could have been used for crop cultivation. The Company Directors showed the survivors how to build tall radiation-protected silos at the edges of the Safe Places.
“Today, all employees live in this vertical housing, thereby maximizing the land over which crops can be grown. Can you imagine how we house thousands of people in a handful of silos?” he asked, immediately answering his own question with, “Tubes!”
Jo, now halfway through her steak, swapped plates with Fitani and began on his soup, which she noted with approval, was also excellent. No one disturbed them. The old man in the corner had departed, and the waitress, who’d returned to the kitchen after delivering their meals, had remained there, so the dining room was theirs.
Fitani, frustrated at his failure to transfer his own enthusiasm to Jo, began to pontificate. “An unequipped tube seems nothing special – just a hexagonal tunnel, big enough to comfortably fit a large person lying down. Does that seem a cramped place to rest for twelve hours? It’s not. The technology of our tubes turns them, compared with the accommodations of the original survivors, into little slices of heaven.”
Jo raised an eyebrow, reserving her judgment. “Go on.”
“Actually, I need to go back a bit. When the four-hour work shift ends, employees return to the silos and leave their protective suits in the cloaking room. From there they step onto a cleansing conveyer belt to be oiled, scraped, and sonically exfoliated.”
“Sounds painful,” said Jo, pushing the empty soup bowl back to Fitani and retrieving her steak.
“Not at all. It’s a pleasant process, very soothing after a hard shift at the Edge. As they leave the cleansing belt, employees thumb-in to their twelve-hour Tube-Time, and proceed to the Ladder Check-in point.”
“After having donned their civvies,” Jo interjected.
“Their civvies?” Fitani’s expression was pained at having been interrupted. “Oh you’re talking about clothing?” he said as his translator kicked in with an interpretation. “No, no. We have no need for protective coverings in the silos. The climate is perfectly controlled.”
“Are you saying everyone walks around naked?” spluttered Jo.
“Ah, question number two,” said Fitani with a grin, and Jo mentally kicked herself, grimly vowing to think carefully before she spoke again.
“Nudity is not uncommon, but tends to be the resort of lazy, lower grade employees. Those with imagination array themselves in holographic clothing of great style and virtuosity,” he said, spreading his arms.
“Programmed clothing drapes perfectly, never chafes, snags or stains and surrounds the wearer until he or she cancels the illusion. There are many styles to download from the catalogues. Naturally, the m
ore elegant the style, the more Personal Points you need to spend. Some designers program wild and wonderful creations. Others gain inspiration from the styles of previous ages. Currently fashionable among some of our show’s teen viewers, are variations on the outfits you’ve been wearing.”
During his description Jo had been gaping. “For the first time,” she admitted, “your technology impresses me.”
Fitani laughed. “Yes, we’ve been amused by your concern about minimizing the times you are uncovered. What actually fascinates our audience while you shower is the sight of such quantities of pure water doing no more work than momentarily passing over your skin before being drained away. Such a shocking waste, of what in our radioactive world is our most precious resource.”
As Jo absorbed that information, the waitress arrived to clear the table.
“I hope everything was to your liking?”
“Yes, excellent,” muttered Jo, and then recovering herself added, “I wonder if we might pay for this meal now, rather than adding it to our room tab?” She wanted no further conversations with desk clerks about payment using credit cards.
The waitress frowned. “It’s not usually done. We’d have to make up a special bill for you.”
“As you do for diners who aren’t guests of the hotel,” said Jo firmly. “Yes please.”
The waitress nodded and left with the plates. Jo knew her old self would have meekly signed the room chit rather than make waves. If nothing else this game was teaching her assertiveness.
“Shall I finish answering your first question?” asked Danny.
“Please do.”
“On second thought, it might be easier to show you.” He made a gesture and a vertical cylinder appeared in the middle of the table. “This is our inner silo, where the playrooms are housed.” He gestured again. A wider cylinder slid down over the first. “The outer silo. You can’t tell from the outside, but the wall is made up of horizontal tubes.”
Jo frowned. “There doesn’t seem much of a gap between the inner and outer silos.”
“It’s sufficient. Here’s a cross-section.” Fitani sliced his hand down the center of the model, and the front half vanished.
Leaning forward, Jo saw that the exposed inner cylinder was filled with rooms from top to bottom, all joined by a central lift, but before she could examine them, Fitani made another gesture and the inner cylinder vanished. She was left staring at the inside wall of the outer cylinder. It looked exactly like a giant curving honeycomb. Jo squinted into the hexagonal openings. Surely those weren’t bodies inside!
“The entire wall of the outer silo is made up of tubes,” said Fitani. “As you can see, it’s a long climb to the top tubes.” He chuckled. “Fortunately our ladders move.”
Now Jo noticed the slim metal ladders beside each column of tubes. People were standing on some and moving up and down.
Fitani gestured again and the model disappeared. “You get your ladder number at the check in point,” he said. “Then you walk the curving passageway between the two silos to your allocated ladder and climb on, stamping on a rung to start it rising. Ladders stop automatically when they reach the first free tube in their column so the employee, or employees in the case of a couple, can crawl in. As soon as a tube contains its allocated occupants, it is sealed for the next twelve hours.”
Jo gasped, and had to bite her lip to hold back the questions.
“And now we come at last,” said Fitani with relish, “to the furnishings of the tube.”
No furnishings, thought Jo with a shudder, could compensate for being locked inside a coffin for twelve hours. The tubes seem like the Japanese Capsule Hotels, but at least you can crawl out of those if the claustrophobia gets too bad.
Blithely unaware of Jo’s horror, Fitani now adopted the smooth air of a car salesman. “Each tube is furnished with a smart mat, which adjusts to any sized body or bodies in the case of a couple, providing support in all the right places. The mats contain hidden sensors to keep track of an occupant’s health, and an inbuilt pharmacopeia to treat minor ailments. A headache for example is identifiable by specific physical changes in the body, and the smart mat can administer an analgesic through its contact with the occupant’s skin. In the rare instance of a medical emergency, a signal is sent to a Med Team with authority to override the tube locks and move the employee to the hospital silo for treatment – an employee’s health and happiness is The Company’s greatest concern.
“I don’t care how comfy and caring that mat is,” said Jo. It wouldn’t compensate for being in a tomb!”
Fitani was unperturbed. “It’s true the walls and ceiling of each tube are little further than an arm’s reach away, but a holographic environment masks that. Occupants can choose their own environments from the tube catalogue. The basic ones are free, such as the impression of being in a large, airy room, or of lying in a meadow of daisies under a vast open sky, but if you wish to spend Personal Points, there are endless surroundings to choose from.
“Fresh air circulates continually and occupants can adjust temperature and flow speed using a holographic gesture-screen. The same screen allows them to make visual calls to friends in their own or other Safe Places. They can view clothing catalogues and purchase outfits for the next day, order free basic food patties and drinks, or spend Personal Points on better quality meals, which are delivered through a food hatch in the entry door.
“A number of employees use Tube-Time to further their education. Using holographic avatars, they can attend classes and participate in discussions at any virtual location. Quite a few enroll in programming courses to learn how to program holographic clothing, tube environments, or virtual games. Employees can submit their creations to The Company and if they’re deemed up-to-standard, they’re added to The Company’s catalogues and allocated a Personal Point value. Every time other employees access them, the designers receive a percentage of the Points paid. If you’re talented, it’s a great little earner. Several employees have become quite wealthy in this way.
“Most spend at least some of their Tube-Time accessing the myriads of virtual games and entertainments available. A number are free, but the best ones, like Play or Die, will cost you Personal Points to access. Different entertainments allow varying kinds of viewer participation. In Play or Die, participation is through the smart mats, which interpret viewers’ bodily responses and send them to the Emoto Board. When you come to think of it, with all the options employees have during Tube-Time, it’s a wonder we remember to get any sleep at all!”
“I would imagine resisting an increasingly urgent ‘call of nature’ might interfere with their ability to sleep,” said Jo dryly.
A small cough drew her attention to the waitress who was placing a black lacquered tray containing the bill onto the table. Jo drew notes to cover the amount, along with a generous tip.
The waitress, producing her first real smile, thanked her.
“You’re welcome,” said Jo. “Please tell the chef we enjoyed the meal.”
As the waitress departed, Jo stood. It was ten fifteen. The chauffeur would be arriving in a quarter of an hour. She strode to the doorway and found Fitani right beside her.
“By call of nature,” he said, “I suppose you’re referring to evacuations of the body. You don’t think we’d neglect to cater for those do you?”
Jo stepped into the elevator, not bothering to answer as she pressed the button for her floor.
“An evacuation bowl is built into each tube.”
“Not too close to the food hatch I hope,” she retorted.
Fitani gave a sigh. “You seem determined to deride our way of life and yet we have survived the ravages resulting from your people’s selfish overpopulating of the world.”
Jo paused in repacking the straw bag, and looked up. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Your people have done amazingly well in recovering from a nuclear holocaust, and it was petty of me to mock. I guess my ability to empathize has received a few hits lat
ely with this whole, being hunted to the death thing.”
Fitani shrugged. “You said you wanted to understand my world. Do you still wish me to continue?”
“I do,” said Jo, removing her money belt and laying it on the bed. “Please talk while I get organized.”
She opened a pocket of the belt and extracted twenty, hundred dollar notes. Five went into her depleted wallet and she looked around for something to hold the remaining 1,500 dollars. The plastic bag was hardly appropriate. Her eye fell upon the embossed leather folder found in all hotel rooms. Along with room service information and brochures advertising nearby tourist spots, most held hotel stationary.
Jo flipped open the folder and was delighted to find letter paper and envelopes. Taking one, she slipped in the money, sealed the flap and put it into the straw bag. Then, in inspiration she took another and wrote on the front, ‘The Wisemans have checked out’ before sealing the keycard into it.
I’m all paid up, she thought. I can just leave this envelope at the reception desk and then I won’t have to deal with any desk clerks.
She took off the beige shirt, which the Hunter had not yet seen, and put on the black, folding its collar down low. Then she pulled the tailored beige shirt over the top. It’ll do, she decided, inspecting her reflection. Her watch read 10.27 p.m. and casting a last eye over the room to ensure she’d collected everything, Jo grabbed the bag and headed for the door.
Fitani, all the while had been explaining the ins and outs of tube-life, describing how it linked to their music and arts, the special arrangements in the children’s silos, and so on. Now he was starting to describe to the next step in the cycle – the eight hours of play.
“Each inner silo is filled with playrooms,” he said enthusiastically. “If the Playrooms in one silo become passé, employees can take the tunnel passage to any of the other silos. No two Playrooms are the same.”
“I would have thought,” interrupted Jo, pressing the ground floor button, “that after twelve hours in the tubes, employees would prefer to be heading outside for some fresh air.”
