A Splendid Future
Daniele Lippi
Alfred is a normal lad who lives in his very normal tomorrow, maybe our tomorrow. A world that has changed much, perhaps without really changing. Looking for social redemption, he accepts a proposal that will take him far from home for a long time. When he comes back, he slowly realizes that things aren't exactly the way he expected them. A surprise that, in spite of all, will urge him to look for answers.
Alfred is a normal lad who lives in his very normal tomorrow where technology has made giant strides, even if these strides have been used by the few who have then distributed it to the many like crumbs to the hungry. A society where much has changed, perhaps without really changing. Alfred, like every lad, like every man, like every human being hopes, at least for himself, for a better future and that's what he pursues with tenacity and conviction, devoured by anguish and desire for redemption. When, in this uncertain future, he's offered such a chance, he'll seize it, embracing every single aspect and consequence, such is his desire to believe in it with all of himself. But evry medal, time out of mind, always has two sides, and Alfred will have to decide whether or not to face the side that's hidden from him, embarking on a quest and investigation, fighting against time that he has no more, or to accept things as they are and convince himself that everything is actually normal.
A Splendid Future
DANIELE LIPPI
Translated by
GIOVANNI FROSIO
Copyright © Daniele Lippi
All rights reserved.
Copyrights and translation rights are reserved. No part of this book can be used, copied or diffused by any means without written consent by the author.
The story narrated in this book is the fruit of the author’s fantasy. Therefore, it’s not autobiographic. Any reference to names, things, existing or past people, or actually happened facts is merely casual.
“Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning?
I almost think I can remember feeling a bit different.
But if I’m not the same, the next question is: Who in the world am I?”
Lewis Carroll
To all the people I meet on the trains every morning
CONTENTS
A big Thanks to you, who are reading these pages.
For further information:
https://io-daniele.wixsite.com/daniele-lippi
CHAPTER 1
Fred, in this late-autumn dark late afternoon, was walking on the crowded Main Street of Neo Apuania.
It was almost winter, but it wasn’t cold. To tell the truth, it hadn’t been cold anywhere for a long time. The last real winter was lost in the childhood memories of his generation’s grandparents.
Sometimes his father used to complain about it, but Fred didn’t like the cold. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t be so sad and angry for the disappearance of that season as other people.
He was a normal person, not a privileged schoolboy. He had no time for such things, he had to figure out how to earn his daily bread. No losing time talking about climate and other things that, in his vision, were just that way; sterile words and pointless heated debates wouldn’t surely make the difference, also because, as far as he could remember from the few history lessons he paid attention to when he was at school, it was more than four centuries that people talked about it.
Fred had always considered himself a practical guy, with his feet on the ground, so his answer was always the same: If you really care so much about winter, stop talking and do something.
Meanwhile, as his thoughts kept on lingering about the real winter he’d never known, constantly pushed by and pushing people crowding the street around him, he reached his destination.
He looked up at the three-dimensional sign above his head: GI Labs.
He stood for a moment staring it, while the other passers-by bumped into him as stupid zombies against an obstacle. Zombies. After seeing a movie on the living dead when he was a child, Fred used to see that way the mass of people crowding the streets at any time of day and night. Zombies.
He kept staring at the sign and, for the first time in many months, he was struck by doubt. Do I really want to do it? He asked himself. Your life will be better, he told himself, repeating as a mantra those few words full of hope. A hope he was already losing, and he didn’t want to give up.
I won’t become a zombie too, he told himself, as he kept being pushed about by that multitude of anonymous people passing by him. Those creatures seemed to him an endless river of resignation to survival for its own sake. No, I won’t give up, he told himself, I don’t want to give up, he repeated, and closing his eyes once more he swore to himself his life would be better than that.
Behind him, the deafening hum of the engine of a passenger shuttle soaring towards the directional canal a few metres above his head brought his thoughts back to the present. He looked one last time at the fluctuating hologram of the sign and then he took a step forward, the door opened and he entered.
The door closed behind him, chasing away the noises of the street. He found himself in a clean space dominated by white. Armchairs, chairs, tables, floor, walls, ceilings, everything was shiny white plastic. A space more sterile than an operating room and more blinding than a dentist lamp.
A robot on a wheel silently appeared beside him. From its torso up it had the features of a woman, but with deliberately angular features. “Welcome to the Genetic Investigation Laboratories.” it said with a calm and relaxing voice “First level personal identification!” it added, while a thin translucent screen appeared from a slot at the height of its stomach.
Fred put his right hand on it.
“Alfred Baghezzi!” the robot exclaimed “Welcome!”
“Just Fred, thanks!
“Alfred” the robot repeated.
“I prefer to be called Fred. Thanks,” he repeated.
“Alfred.” the robot repeated.
Fred sighed, robots could be so stupid, he complained “Let’s move on”.
“Second level personal identification, please,” the robot uttered, leaning forward “Look straight into my eyes, Alfred”.
He did so, staying still for the instant needed by the machine to scan his irises and compare them with the continental data bank. “Alfred Baghezzi” the robot confirmed, returning to its original rigid posture.
Fred was going to head towards the counter when the robot quickly stepped before him “Chronicle Acquisition!”
Fred stopped, surprised “Hey! Don’t you think that's a bit too much?" he said, looking around. He was sure that, as mostly anywhere, the room was full of micro-cameras and microphones through which someone in some place who-knows-where was listening and recording.
The robot started talking again, with its calm and relaxing voice “According to the multi - bilateral, intra - intergovernmental agreements with the Continental States of Oceania, Asia, Eurafrica, Americas, Moon and Orbital, according to article six comma three, five, nine, thirteen and seventeen, the Genetical Investigation Laboratories, a wholly-owned subsidiary of FartherWorld Company, which in turn is a wholly-owned subsidiary of the investment fund NeoLife investment fund of the pancontinental corporation Aqualife, is fully authorized to access the personal history chronicle of any client, whether potential or current, who is physically present on any property of any one of the abovementioned companies.”
Fred stared at the robot, incredulously. As far as he knew, only the military, the police and a few authorized bounty hunters had the right to access people’s chronicle. Reluctantly, he rolled up his left sleeve, looking at the almost invisible scar he had on his wrist under which, at his birth, they had implanted the biomechanical chip where his existence had been recorded since that first moment. “What if I refuse?”
“I shall ask you to leave, Alfred, before I call the security, that will then call the police if necessary. May you please confirm that you object and refuse to give me your chronicle?”
Damned little biochip. If only he hadn’t seen with his own eyes the horrible death encountered by those who had tried to take it away, he would have tried digging it out a long ago as well. He sighed and then, clenching his fists and squinting his eyes, he whispered “My life will be better!”
“Repeat, please, your answer was confused and non-exhaustive, with respect to the question asked” declared the robot.
Fred nodded and gave his arm “Go ahead”.
“Thanks Alfred!”
“Fred, just Fred”.
“Alfred” confirmed the robot, displaying a mechanical smile.
Fred was so nervous he’d gladly hit it and rip away its circuits. “Let’s make it quick, ok?”
The robot firmly seized his wrist, squeezing it until it hurt “Do not move, please.” It pointed the forefinger of its other hand at the scar, moved it right and left to find the right spot; from the tip of his forefinger a thin golden needle went out and pierced his flesh until it connected to the biochip that had grown with him, getting tangled to its veins like a parasite impossible to eradicate.
A few seconds and it was all over.
All his life downloaded in an instant.
All he had been and he had ever done.
All in a few endless, superfluous, anonymous seconds.
“This way, Alfred.” the robot invited him, walking into a narrow corridor “The assigned consultant and counselor is waiting for you in Room Five.” he added, opening a door. “Make yourself comfortable, the chance of a new splendid life is going to come true, I hope you’ll be among the few lucky ones who’ll be able to be a part of it.”
The FartherWorld slogan echoed in the aseptic silence of the room as an ineluctable life sentence.
CHAPTER 2
Fred entered the, two-by-two meter room, where there were two chairs and a small desk separating them. Closing the door behind him, he saw a hanging mirror. Instinctively he looked at himself. Long disheveled hair. Unshaved beard. Stiff dark blue duster-style coat made of compressed bioplastic, under which he wore black jersey and brown trousers. He stared into his own dark eyes surrounded by deep dark circles “I look like one of those zombies, damn!”
“Welcome Alfred!” suddenly exclaimed a bright and joyful voice over his shoulders.
Fred turned and he faced a low-quality mono-chrome green semi-transparent hologram of a chubby man dressed in the typical large suit of the executives. “Fred, just Fred, thank you”.
“Excellent, Mr. Fred Just!” said the hologram, laughing at his own joke.
It took Fred a moment to understand it, but he didn’t laugh.
The hologram sat on the chair against the wall and gestured him to do the same on the chair on the other side of the desk.
Fred looked around before sitting down. It was normal to deal with holograms of executives or clerks who physically were who-knows-where. Security reasons, they said. Fred had never been enthusiastic about it, but it was still better than dealing with a robot.
“So, Fred, may we talk on first-name terms?” said the hologram, enthusiastic as ever, winking at him.
Fred nodded.
“Of course I can!” exclaimed the official “You’re so young, you could be my son!”
Fred didn’t answer, but he was wondering if his son would ever need to show up in place like this, hoping for a miracle.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Fred, I am Martin Arese, so tell me, young man, why are you here?” continued the officer hologram, or the hologram officer, whatever “Tired of your usual life, aren’t you? Yes, I understand you, it’s difficult to drag yourself everyday towards something you don’t like, come back home to eat something with barely a touch of plastic taste, then in case go out and drink a beerotch at the usual pub where you meet the usual acquaintances (because you can’t really call them friends, can you?) and then come back home half-dazed, watch something uninteresting on the virtual-TV, end up falling asleep on the couch and without even realising it you start it all over again, don’t you? Yes, I understand you.”
Fred stared into those translucent and transparent eyes.
He must have got that information from his chronicle, there was no other way.
The hologram raised his hands and the features of his face took on a grimace of deep regret “No, I’m not kidding you, but don’t worry if I’ve guessed right, it’s the normal life of a normal young man of your age who drags his nervous existence in this ungrateful society.”
Fred instantly got depressed, whispering “I’m nothing but a zombie too.” he told himself.
“Pardon?” asked the hologram, resuming his previous jovial tone.
Fred shook his head, motioning him to go on.
“I see you’ve already paid the fee for the genetic investigation, well; before going on, do you want me to explain you again how things are?”
Fred nodded.
“You are a man of few words, aren’t you? I like you!” exclaimed the hologram, laughing “Things are like this: now we’re doing a genetic test on you, to see if you’re fit for the drugs and vaccines needed to survive, live and work on the FartherWorld asteroids in geostationary orbit around Mars.” The image of four huge asteroids orbiting around the red planet and its colonies appeared on the wall behind Martin. “Are you following me so far?”
Fred nodded, nothing new, so far.
The hologram went on explaining “If you pass the test, and you have no objections, you’ll start your journey to the FartherWorld orbital colonies, where other people like you, between one work shift and another, live (not just survive, but live) and enjoy, all at the company’s expense. Isn’t that great?” the image behind him rotated slightly, showing a glossy white sphere, then the view zoomed in and entered it, showing a city made up of tiny houses, built around a huge shopping mall enclosing restaurants, spas, gyms, swimming pools, virtual arcades and so on and so forth.
Fred nodded and this time he was about to open his mouth, but the hologram noticed it and hurried on speaking “FartherWorld, in addition to paying for your board and lodging, will pay you a monthly sum of two thousand currencies. Yes, yes, I understand this may not seem much, but think, when you come back in ten years, you’ll have had fun, helped mankind with your work, you’ll have a lot of spendable experience and, most of all, there will be two hundred forty thousand more currencies, plus a productivity bonus up to 10%, waiting for you in the bank.” He stopped and laughed loudly “Tell me, Fred, have you ever seen so much money all together?”
No, he’d never seen it, damn, and it was a hell of a lot of currencies.
“Fred, Fred, Fred …” went on the hologram, in an almost epic tone “Tell me, Fred, isn’t it the perfect chance? When you come back, thirty-six years old, you’ll finally be able to start the life you’ve only dreamed of so far, that has always been denied by fate and bad luck… the moment has arrived to defeat it and take your life in your hands, Fred! You owe it to yourself! Don’t betray yourself!”
Damned hologram, Fred thought, they’d never told him those things could read your mind, “See, Martin, I’ve already thought about it all and I’m almost persuaded, but there’s just one thing I don’t understand: what’s your gain in all this? In short, where is the catch?”
Martin the hologram stared at him, sincerely hurt, then he smiled paternally “Fred, I’ll be sincere with you, don’t think FartherWorld is a charitable institution, of course we have our profit as well.” he explained “See, our problem is that the asteroids rich with Ambrongold, that our space drones have discovered throughout space, have such morphological features and geological composition that make them unproductive to be dug by our existing mining robots and, according to the computations of our analysts, it would be too expensive and too long to build new ones suitable for this purpose; therefore, we need old-style manpower, we need miners, thinking miners, miners who are fit to face and bear the tough conditions of the space and the asteroids.”
Fred listened closely, everything made sense and it was consistent with the information he’d been able to get; according to the Ambrongold quotations, just one kilo would have paid for at least one hundred miners like him and for sure, on the asteroids Martin had shown, there must have been hundreds of kilos, or maybe even of tons “If I prove to be fit, what happens?”
The hologram rubbed his hands “Well, my lad, look forward, always, this is the right attitude!”
Fred smiled, this Martin was so enthusiastic that he resulted ridiculous. A splendid caricature of the typical salesman.
“Now, it’s very simple.” continued the hologram “Let us suppose you prove to be fit for the job, and you’ll know it by tomorrow night, then you’ll have…” he made some quick computations, glancing at the holophone he wore on his wrist “a week of time to prepare, set up your belongings and show up at Zurich spaceport where you’ll board on the shuttle…” another look at the holophone “Triton-23, that will take you on the spaceship Enterprise 7, which will finally land you on Mars after only 12 months.”
Fred widened his eyes “A year’s journey?”
“Have you ever been in space?” Martin asked him back, at the peak of his enthusiasm.
Fred shook his head.
“An exhilarating experience, especially the absence of gravity, you’ll see how nice!”
“But…” said Fred “one year? Nowadays it takes even less than two weeks!” he protested.
“Yes, yes, we save a little on the transportation, but don’t worry, you won’t even notice, I mean, you’ve already been cryo-sedated, haven’t you?”
“No!”
“Ah, well, that’s another reason to do the genetic test.” Martin answered calmly “You see? No problem.”
Fred was already nervous thinking about the space journey, but now he was even more, knowing he’d have to be cryo-sedated.
“Any other questions?” asked Martin hastily, glancing at the holophone.
Fred shook his head.
“Perfect! Well, very well!” continued the hologram “I see you’ve already paid the fee for the genetic analysis, so if you agree I’ll call our Nara who’ll proceed and do it.”
Fred was perplexed “Not a hologram or a robot?” nowadays only in specialised private hospitals could one be assisted by a nurse in flesh and bone.
Martin laughed, sincerely amused “Nara is a robot.”
Fred was disappointed “And you gave her a name, as well?” he complained.
“Still better than I12-A16 or Nurse Aid Robot Assistant, don’t you think?” he laughed before continuing with the same jovial tone, pointing at a small window on the table that rotated and lifted up, offering a contract on a crypto-parchment and an electro-biometric pen. “In order to proceed, you just need to sign at the end of the page and then you’ll be all for Nara.”
Fred was about to start reading, but then he thought “Damn it, be whatever it is!” and whispered in a low voice “My life will be better than this.” and with a deep sigh he signed.
“Perfect!” exclaimed Martin, applauding “Very good, I’d understood since the first moment that you were a smart guy!” he complimented “here comes Nara.”
Fred was about to stand up, then he asked “What kind of beer or beerotch do you have up there on Mars?”
Martin put on an unexpected serious expression “No beerotch or other stuff up there, you’re there to work and it’s a delicate and dangerous work, so you’ll have to do without it for a while!” then seeing the disappointment on Fred’s face, he added, becoming jovial and smiling again “Can you just think how good it will taste once you’ll come back and have it again? It will be like the first time.” he said, winking at him.
Fred couldn’t help but smile, this guy could sell poverty to a beggar.
Then Martin took on again that serious expression that didn’t suit him, hurrying on to state “We don’t even have lobotoxicaine and I hope you don’t make regular use of it, otherwise I warn you that it’ll be difficult to get you among the lucky ones who’ll be chosen by FartherWorld.”
Fred shook his head “I am clean” he said, recalling the last time he’d used it. He could still remember. It was the evening of his last birthday, almost one year ago. He had never loved birthdays so, to numb himself a bit, he’d gone into one of the many federal shops to buy lobotoxicaine. As per law, everybody had the right to buy a daily dose. When he came back home, he opened the tube and spread it on his temples. The effect was almost immediate and one instantly felt relaxed and uncapable of thinking of anything negative. Then he had looked out below from his window and, staring at the horde of grey people slowly proceeding in an apparently chaotic way, constantly bumping into one another as crazy balls of a congested pinball machine, he’d thought “It’s not so bad, after all.” That was the moment when he decided he’d never use that substance again.
The door opened “Here she is, I leave you for her, so farewell and… may genetics be with you!” Martin laughed, disappearing.
Nara entered. She was a robot identical to the one who met him at the entrance, except for a red cross on her chest. “Please, Mr. Alfred, follow me.” she said with such a calm and warm voice that could only be artificial “your journey towards a bright future starts here.” she announced, reciting another FartherWorld slogan, before heading into the narrow corridor.
Fred followed her into a room, even smaller than the one he’d just come from, where an uncomfortable-looking armchair was waiting for him.
“Sit down, Alfred” the robot invited him “Roll up your left sleeve”.
Fred executed.
The robot firmly grasped his forearm “Maybe I’m clutching a little too strongly, but don’t worry, it’s just to ensure you’ll stay still, it’ll be done in a minute.”
Fred stared at the robot and thought ‘with the voice they gave you, I could close my eyes and imagine without hesitation that you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen’ but he didn’t say it.
The robot lighted his forearm with a warm green light coming from her right eye, then she aimed at a certain point with a beam of very hot red light and, with a needle coming out of the middle finger of her other hand, she quickly punctured him, absorbing both blood and organic matter while cauterizing the wound at the same time.
The procedure was unexpectedly painful and Fred understood why she’d grasped him so firmly, otherwise he’d have instinctively withdrawn his arm for sure.
“Thank you for your kind cooperation, Alfred” Nara thanked him with a slight bow “you’ll receive the results and further instructions by your certified ethermail; if you don’t have one you can ask for it at the governmental bureau for privacy or at the detachment of Keepers in your neighbourhood.”
“I’ve got it, I’ve got it” he answered, rubbing his forearm. Who doesn’t have it nowadays, he wondered, it had become automatic, it was provided at birth with the chronicle chip. Actually, the chip and the ethermail were connected and the chip was the key to access the ethermail. Obviously all the important personal communications, such as bank reports, taxes, fines etc. passed through the ethermail. One more small piece of the ingenious control system by the authorities.
Suddenly a door, that he hadn’t noticed while entering the room, opened behind him.
“Please, Alfred, you can go out from here and I hope not to see you again, which would mean that your new life has already begun!” Nara the robot explained to him.
“I hope not to see you, too!” Fred said sarcastically, still rubbing his forearm and, while he went out, he heard the robot thanking him over his shoulders.
CHAPTER 3
As soon as he got out, he was immediately pushed by a pair of passers-by. Nothing unusual in this world, he told himself, smiling as he recalled the images that Martin had showed him. Broad, clean, half-empty streets for ten years. This alone would have been priceless.
He looked up at the dark sky where the clouds, loaded with rain and smog, prevented from seeing the stars and the moon. The stars. He’d seen only a few times. The few times they’d accepted his request to buy a ticket (at an exorbitant price) giving access to the highest skyscraper in town. Only from there could you see them, and only if the sky was clear, of course, which didn’t happen very often, actually hardly ever, to tell the truth.
It started raining. Fred pulled his coat tight, raising the hood. It was almost nine pm. He hadn’t realised that he’d been in there for more than two hours. In a while the caustic (or salty? he’d never really understood) fog would descend and he had forgotten the regular respirator. He looked around. Some people were already wearing it. A small silicon mask with a purifying valve to be applied on the nose or on the mouth, as needed. An essential tool for long term survival, but with such a high cost that not everybody could afford it. He himself had been able to buy it just four years ago. The private health companies obviously didn’t give it for free and, by the way, they said that it wasn’t necessary to stay outside after half past nine pm and, statistically, after that time there were more victims from crime than those from caustic fog. No one believed it, but the health companies were simply too powerful to counter.
Anyway, it was time to go back home, so Fred set out, letting himself be carried by the human river, until he reached the first Airtube entrance. He climbed up the wide metal spiral staircase. He reached the second floor and waited with tens of other people bundled up like him and like him looking for shelter from the hot rain loaded with desert sand.
The Airtube arrived, announced by a short siren sound. Fred lifted his eyes. The big metal tube, a little more than ten metres above his head, opened. A long articulated wagon started coming down. The gears that moved the cables supporting it screeched and seemed to scream, praying to be lubricated.
Fred looked at it, recalling how it frightened him when he was a child and he believed it to be a monster snake that ate people. He smiled. Actually, it did look like a snake and, as he discovered years later, his design was inspired by that animal.
The Airtube stopped next to him. Some coils receded to let him in. The seats were very few, but there were a lot of poles and handles on the low ceiling. The coils closed. There were no windows; they were useless. The snake wagon went up again, the tube closed. They left. It felt like a ride on the rollercoaster and every time there was someone falling. No one ever helped up the unlucky. Neither did he. Those who fell knew it and didn’t complain; by the way, they had surely been among those who didn’t fall as well and, just as surely, hadn’t lifted a finger to help those who had fallen. Nevertheless, occasionally, someone complained about it, but he was inevitably stared at as if he was crazy. Nothing unusual.
Five stops later Fred got off and he came back down to the level of the street and the ubiquitous crowd. He had almost arrived but, passing by a small kiosk, he realised he was hungry, remembered he had nothing to eat at home and stopped by. He ordered a seaweed fibroburger and fried jellyfish sticks. He sat on one of the few stools of the kiosk and waited.
“Hard day?” asked the sweating and busy cook in the kiosk.
His face was dark and marked by deep shadows. His long and untidy beard hid a pitted skin. His flabby belly, typical of a beerotch abuser, didn’t improve his already squat silhouette. He really looked like a person who didn’t sleep enough.
“Not as yours.” Fred answered frankly.
The cook laughed “Cook in the day, security in the evening, doorman at night” he exclaimed, lifting his eyes in glory, then he slapped his own belly “woe betide if I didn’t have this to sustain me” he laughed.
It took Fred just one look at his shiny slimy temples to understand why he was in such a good mood. “You should quit” he whispered, pointing at his temples
The cook, rudely but meaning no harm, threw in front of him the food he had ordered. “Yes, and then maybe I’ll climb up on the Tunnel Tower and fly away!” the cook laughed again, wiping his hands and his sweaty face with the dishcloth before going to serve another client who had just arrived.
The Tunnel Tower. Nothing more than a pole, a little more than twenty metres high, overlooking a precipice at the edge of the poorest part of Neo Apuania. It should have been the starting point of a new Airtube line serving those poor people, but at a certain point some bureaucrat decided the project wasn’t convenient nor profitable, so there was just the pole left, with the stairs climbing up to its top, reminding forever those derelicts that they’d been forsaken.
That pole overlooking that disadvantaged wasteland, dwelt by invisible people, had become one of the favourite destinations for suicides, also because, in zones like that, watchmen or Keepers of order were hardly ever seen. Nobody seemed to care about the fact that suicides happened almost daily.
Maybe the sadder thing was that, at the bottom of the slope, where the dead bodies of the suicides fell, a small crowd gathered every day to compete for the few belongings of the corpses. Oftentimes these quarrels ended up in a brawl, and the brawl in a homicide, which roused new brawls to grab the belongings of the new victim too.
Then every day, at dusk, the Free Phalanx passed, a debated volunteer organisation who always operated at the edge of legality. Inconvenient for many, but still very convenient for things like that. Probably that was why the Regents of the Governance hadn’t dismantled it yet, even if Fred was persuaded it would happen sooner or later. One day they would tread on the toes of a friend’s friend and… voila! The end of it! Like most of the good things in this world.
Fred smiled to himself, it was like the lyrics of a song by that old artist that, probably on purpose, had thrown himself down the Tower Tunnel with all his currency on him. “Why must I do myself harm to do you good?”
“My life will be better than that!” Fred told himself, biting the last bit of his fibroburger and then heading home.
Five minutes later, he was in his neighbourhood. A normal social neighbourhood, the copy of many others scattered all over town. A maze of dark streets surrounded by thirty-plus store building. About ten apartments for each floor. All of them occupied. Every building also had an underground parking area, stably occupied by tens of homeless people and where nobody had parked his vehicle for years. At times, observing some of them he had know for a long time, he wandered why they were still called homeless. They did have a home, indeed: the parking places of the buildings. They used their energy, diverted their water, in short, they lived down there like he lived twenty-three floors above.
Walking towards his flat, he noticed a new graffiti on the wall. A sort of dark representation of a bride. Nice. Someone in this scum is really gifted, he always told himself, looking at the drawings. Especially daring too, considering the height reached by the graffiti. How they could draw them without an apparent support point had always puzzled him, as well as when they drew. He had lived there for many years, but he’d never seen a writer at work, still the graffiti kept on popping up like mushrooms.
When he reached his building’s entrance door, he tried to see if the fingerprints scan would work. He placed his hand against the display on the wall. It flashed and then turned off. No way, it still didn’t work. Nothing surprising. He was about to search his pockets for the key, but he immediately changed his mind. There was no need. He put his hand into a few years hold hole in the security door and opened it with the handle on the other side.
When he got in, he was welcomed by the hum of the lights turning on with difficulty and the crackle of the alarm that tried to click on and then went silent with a loud crack. As usual.
He walked along the narrow hallway, where two people could barely pass side by side, reaching the elevator. This was maybe the only decent thing in this building and surely the only one receiving maintenance. It was large, fast, with mirrors on the side walls and the ceiling (unfortunately all broken) and a capacity of at least thirty people; it could bear up to almost five thousand kilos. It reached the twenty-third floor in the blink of an eye.
A hallway even narrower than the one in the ground floor. Standard security door with fingerprints, iris and personal chrono-chip recognition. Apartment 23/9. He entered. The door lead directly to the small kitchen-living room. From there, a door led to the bathroom, another one to the small bedroom (with disappearing bed in the wall) and so much for his house. All his life. Nothing more. He was obviously on rent. A house, even this apartment, would be too expensive for a normal guy like him.
He headed straight to the fridge. He took out a bottle of low quality beerotch and fell on the old broken couch. He turned on the virtua-TV, staring the three-dimensional holographic images in front of him without seeing them. He slowly gulped down the bottle, without thinking about anything, then he decided, while staring at the merry white-haired and bearded man on the label “I’m not going to work until I get my results.” he declared, before slipping into a dreamless sleep.
The following days passed slowly and lazily. Fred spent most of his time looking at stupid pointless programmes, listening to music, playing and most of all sleeping. As he’d told at work that he wasn’t fine, he couldn’t go out. These days every company would activate the “illness assurance” provided by the neighbourhood Keepers: an automatic face recognition programme that used the thousands of cameras scattered all over town to catch you anywhere you might go.
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