~~~
The One
Dedicated to my brother, Jacob
A1 wakes to the alarm in his head, pushes away the advertisements from his visuals and audio and the covers from over his body. The apartment is pretty big. He even has a toilet and an entire room for entertaining guests.
For some reason, the lights aren't on. The window is connected to the mains and the view won't turn on either. Bugger. A power cut. It usually meant they were building again. They'd swapped and changed the layout of Chelsey Heights, (Otherwise known as Sector H 656), so much in the last 12 months, that A1 had gone from taking 5 minutes to get to work to an entire 30! It was unheard of. He'd sent complaints, but they had changed nothing on his behalf. Maybe this cut would be better. He had to start seeing the cup half full.
He thinks of some Beethoven to calm him down, but the house doesn’t start playing... He hates power cuts. He'd have to revert to music in his head, which is nothing but distracting.
He dresses quickly and leaves the house smartly with, instead of Beethoven in his mind, his messages rolling over. His X wanted to know what he is up to. That’s interesting. He'd been a tad lonely, even that mess would be a good change in routine to his daily boredom.
He hops on the closest moving walkway and speeds along to the gym, where he downloads his mind onto a computer to watch the latest in the news, while a simulator does some exercise for him.
H sector is celebrating its 80th Sun day. A whole 80 years since anyone had seen the sun in H sector, it is celebrating 80 years of a pure modern world. You could still see the sun of course, if you were rich enough, or knew the people who are rich enough to stay in the richest sectors, where they pay huge prices for windows above the smog. Sector H is below sea level, so going that high means a lot of money and a lot of travel, not to mention access to the maps that could get you there. There are rumours of underground types who could get you there by other means. It didn't matter. A1 had seen the sun enough in old movies to determine it was nothing more than a shiny globe. He'd had one put into his entertainment system at home, to surprise his guests with a sunny day at the beach when they walked in. All the same, it would be quite a party this night.
Reloaded into his body, he feels his muscles pulled sore. He takes an elevator to Macdonald's and eats their Chelsey Heights special breakfast. He opens his friend list and notices Barry C is just coming in. He sends a hail. A1 lets Barry locate him and together, they eat.
"Good day, A1."
"Hello, Barry. What's news?"
"Oh, not much really. Work, work, work."
"Know how you feel. Well, at least it's the holidays tomorrow. Are you going away with your family?"
"Yes, we thought we might visit Grandma together and then take a visit to the zoo."
"How is your grandmother?"
"Wouldn't you like to know."
"Indeed, four hundred years have turned her into a shining ideal."
"A1, once upon a time, they would have shot you for sleeping with a woman that old."
"Once upon a time, women didn't live to 400 years. And men with the years I have, had peckers that only answered to a pill. People grew old. Once upon a time is once upon a time and we live in the now, a now that spits on age and the past.
"True."
"If your grandmother was given her birthing rights back, I might even consider becoming your step-grandfather."
"She's such a woman to you, is she?"
"Well no, I think she could be in time, but I don’t really know her. There was a year back, when we had some great times though, my friend."
"I would prefer not to know, really.... But I must admit, my friend, growing up to a granny as startling as her, could do some strange things to a pubescent boy's mind."
"You? No, I doubt you're really related at all, Barry. I wouldn't worry."
"Thanks, A1. Its been a true pleasure to talk with you."
"And you. But now you have to go to work, or have I truly offended you?"
"By far and above, you have offended me beyond any common ground. But truly, the Tubers won't wait."
"Tell me about it." A1 and Barry parted ways.
A1 gets up and stretches and takes to the nearest walkway again. He looks up at the roof and observes the clouds that scroll across it. When he was a boy, he'd read of other boys from older times who’d gazed up at clouds and made images of them. He'd played that game well enough thereafter, until he realised the clouds repeated every three hours and forty minutes.
It’s truly time to work. Barry was right, Tubers never wait. The walkway takes him right to Venice 1. It was the first artificial Venice made in the modern, sunless new world.
The sky is ever at dusk in Venice 1 and the gondoliers that push their way slowly down the crystal, glassy blue canals, sing random lalalalalalilaliaaaa's that are answered, conveniently, by the women in the reproduction ancient medieval houses, who re-peg dry clothes (so as not to wet any one below... conveniently), all in the roll of keeping the true feeling of Venice romantic and fantastical!
A1 loves Venice 1. This is what it’s all about. Real living. Little alleyways hiding little Starbucks and yummy smelling Pizza Huts, all Italian facade. He would love to see the real thing. No one could be prouder about where they work. Even if he is just a tubes maintenance man, he believes that being in the area makes him something special. At lunch he’d go for a slice of pizza and perhaps, even, a glass of wine. You don't get more sophisticated than that. In fact, most scholarly types hang out there. Which is why he is familiar with such types as Bonard Bonard.
But, until that time comes, when we may talk of Bonard Bonard some more, it is work time. Are the pipes airtight? Are the Tubers in need of anything? What is their health like? Who wants to move faster or slow down?
The Tubers are a species from outer space who take care of us Humans. They are who keep us alive; food, electricity. We'd covered our earth in human expansion so totally, not a square foot of earth was subject to sunlight. In return for our humanly needs, the Species requested observational tubes that they might pass through our world in order to discover the soul. The species are convinced they are without soul and that we are with it. We don't even know what soul means, but obviously it was something they desire and believe they could discover by watching us from within their tubes that wind about our cities like spaghetti.
A1 feels the tube heat momentarily as a Tuber passes through.
"Hi!", he calls. The heat returns long enough for the Tuber to murmur its hello, before rushing off again. Some are fast and some are slow. Obviously, the fast think that looking for soul at Venice 1 is pointless, while the slow, sometimes days slow, see the light in such a place. These types, A1 approves of.
"Is it not beautiful here?" A1 finds himself asking one of these slow ones, who'd arrived not long ago. The tubes are hot with the Specie’s presence and maintaining the tube systems keep A1 occupied but not distracted from conversation.
"It is interesting." It replied.
"Oh? Interesting. How so?"
"I believe that you find this place beautiful because you still worship the earth."
"Really?"
"Yes, but you are confused."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that, even if this place is not real, it is still a representation of how the earth was. How beautiful it was. You love this place because there is water. Because the houses represent houses made from the earth, of raw materials, stone and wood. Because you still love the sky, you recreate it on the ceiling. I think the soul is purely respect or worship for something you don't think you've made, or are a part of. Yet, you are a part of it."
"I guess that's true."
"Do you not miss the old days?" The Tuber asks from within.
"I might, if I had known them."
"But, you do know them enough to know you are missing out?"
"I'm not sure if these simulations are missing out on much."
"Much? Do you believe simulations miss out on anything?"
"Well, they have to, I guess. But not much worth worrying about, I'm sure." A1 reasons.
"I'm sure you are curious though. That too, is part of being a great human, I think. Those who would find out more, generally gain more."
"I'd like to see what real sunlight feels like."
"You could."
"No. I doubt very much that I could." A1 counters.
"You have two arms, two legs, a head. You are in shape. You can speak. You have what it takes to do whatever you wish, Maintenance Man."
"No, I don’t have the money. That's worth more than arms and legs."
"But you do have the money. You are human. Use your arms and your legs, your communication skills to tap that... concept you humans call money."
"Money isn't a concept."
"It is."
"It's a law! Without money, what can I do?"
"If money is your obstacle, I suggest you go around it, or beat it, take it with you, but as a tool, not a weight that drags you backward."
"Fairly spoken, but I am no business man. I don't have the patience for it."
"Then find a sunny day in another way."
"A sunny day?"
"Yes!" The Tuber is feeling impatient with the maintenance man. "Have you not considered the extent of these tubes? Follow them."
"I don’t have enough money."
"For what?"
"I'd at least need some for food. It is a long trek to the top and dangerous."
"Borrow some. Or sell your house. You don't need it any more."
"YES I DO!"
"Nah, not if you feel a sunny day. Once you feel nature, I promise you, you'll never want to leave. It's a hive of business and control, this place. You're controlled by walls. You can't travel more than 4 meters up, without hitting your head."
"Why do you observe it, Tuber, if you do not believe in it?"
"I am studying your souls; what makes you so different to us."
"What is it?"
"I do not know."
The end of the day comes slowly. Tuber after Tuber passes through. A1 is preoccupied. He'd been convinced, somehow, that he had to see the top. It is a long way to go, but he has to, though it will take him some months to finally believe in himself.
It is a Thursday and A1 is meeting Bonard Bonard for a walk about the canals in Venice 1. He intends to let his suave friend in on his plan to reach further than these common grounds. He is going to ask for money. Bonard Bonard is a famous writer and has just made a killing on his new romance/murder/mystery novel. It goes by the name, 'The Thorns Of The Rose'. A1 hates it.
"Hello, Ay." Bonard Bonard greets him upon a foot-bridge that stretches over one of the smaller alley canals. Bonard wears a loose white shirt, unbuttoned enough to show the black curls of his chest hair. He is lean, but broad shouldered, curly mustached and ponytailed. He is like a musketeer or a well dressed pirate. He is all man. Women love him, and men. He is often fluctuating between homosexuality and being straight, but never bisexual as a rule. He is either this way or that, he would inform his friends loudly enough for all the world to hear. For Bonard Bonard there is no such thing as a grey area in between black and white. No compromising to being man.
"Real men make up their mind entirely." He never says 'stick with it', though. Bonard sticks with nothing and no one, including his friends, such as A1, who would find himself (a little too often), out of fashion. However, when they were friends they were the best of, as long as A1 avoided stepping into Bonard Bonard's other friendship circles.
Bonard Bonard also calls A1 'Ay'. It is trendier. A1 wants to feel trendy. He likes donning his striped tight fitting t-shirts and pointy leather shoes. He'd apply a tad of foundation and make his hair slick and pasty over his scalp.
"Hello, Bon Bon! What's new my friend?"
"I have decided to marry!"
"WHO?! I did not know you were with anyone at the moment."
"I am not. But will be! I must be and should be, Ay."
"If you say so. Why?"
"I fear I will look back on my life and say I have spent it mostly alone."
"I'd say you have spent it with a fair few people, Bonard Bonard."
"Yes... But I want to wake in the morning with a woman next to me and feel good about it. Not just good for my ego's sake."
"Fair."
"Oh, life is a twisted, cruel thing!"
"Why is that Bonard Bonard?"
"Oh! I do not know Ay. I feel I am a mystery even to myself. What woman would want to marry a man such as Bonard Bonard. I am a puzzle, a dark pillar of society wrapped in shadow."
"Don’t knock yourself up over it, Bonard Bonard."
"I am knocked up! I can’t help it. I am dreadfully depressed. Please don't let anyone find out. But, but, I fear I may die alone!
"Oh dear."
"I am glad we can talk this way, Ay. We are not the worst sort of friends, you or I."
"Indeed."
"Indeed, Ay... Indeed."
"Anyway, Bonard Bonard, I need a favour."
"Indeed?"
"Yes."
"What kind of favour?"
"Money."
"Oh, I see..."
"I am leaving. I am going up to see real daylight."
"You're leaving? I forbid it! You are my friend. We friends stick together. Not ask for money so you can follow some kind of dream you've had."
"A dream now, a reality tomorrow. I will leave with or without it."
"How?"
"I will follow the tubes."
"Who put this shit into your head?"
"Tubers. But it isn't shit."
"You're shit!"
"Why?!"
"I open up to you! I am depressed... and... and I want to marry soon and you want to leave me! Leave me to myself so that I can snowball down the slopes of depression, sink into the depths of my hollow soul."
"Fuck off." A1 couldn't believe he'd said that. The air turned electric.
"What do you mean?!"
"I mean, I need the money to follow my dream and you won't give it to me, purely because you reckon you're depressed and need to marry... again."
"Again?! This, my friend, is the first time I've wanted to marry a woman!"
"There is no woman. There is no one in your life. But you are right. Last time it was a man, a man equally nonexistent."
"It was you." An awkward silence. It penetrates deep. Bonard Bonard looks miserably at his friend. All the woe in the world laps up against A1.
"Fuck off."
"Fuck off?! Fuck you! I'm opening up and again you throw me down, throw me AWAY!"
A1 can’t help but laugh. "Fuck off." And he walks away.
A1's X is named Jane. She is considered quite the artist. She exercises modern-interpretist-energy-release paintings; meaning she gets all the colours together and swirls them about a canvas, only stopping to let the paint dry (before continued swirling) if the colours begin to shitify. Meaning, if the paints are swirled too much, the appeal could only belong to those who like the sight of diahorea. Apparently, the skill of modern-interpretist-energy-release painting, is in high frequency with Jane. She is a freak, they say. The energies just flow through her to the extent that people from far-off sectors come to buy, or even learn, from the legendary artist. She is famous. She is successful. These are the kind of things that part a relationship if the other half is plainly A1. But it wasn't so. Not this time. It had in no way gotten between them. A1 was never dissatisfied dealing with maintenance work on the alien tubes. It was fascinating and he could articulate his job description to any of Jane's clients and high society friends, with such passion, that it did nothing but guarantee a total respect and a likely sale for her. He is a charismati
c man.
A1's X is rich.
"I'm going with you!" is her response. Her hair is tied back, revealing entirely her startling features. Sharp, sharp eyes that speak of clarity, yet instead express her dream worlds with pure conviction. They are blue like ice, shallow pools of eyes you could bounce straight off the surface with barely a splash. Her nose is straight, from brow to tip, sharp also. It is the sharp edge of a sword, even slightly elongated to look upon. Her mouth is all softness like her round little chin that escapes deeply into a long, long neck. Like a swan. And she is, oh, so elegant. She is beautiful. Truly.
Why had they broken up? They had passion. They had looks. They worked well together. Yet A1 hated her artwork and she wasn't particuarly keen on tubes. They loved each other, but they weren't going in the same direction. Isn't it obvious? So I guess I’m wrong... Work had gotten in the way.
But now there is an opportunity to follow a course. The surface, as mythical and beautiful as the utopia of any religion. And they could get there. It is a possibility. It is like some old crusade to the holy-land. With enough underworld publicity, they could even start their own cult.
"Our passports won't get us far enough. and money can't change that!" She says, shaking her head a day later, the day after a night of passionate reconnection. They'd spent the morning in bed discussing how to get there.
"We'll follow the tubes."
"We'll be tracked!"
"There are supposedly types who can deal with that sort of crap."
She turns onto her back and regards the ceiling as if it was some nonsensical element. "I might know where we can find those types."
That evening they stroll the streets, jacket lapels upturned, hands in pockets. She wears sunglasses and he a bandana around his head. They are gangsters tonight.
They are in a residential area. This is where Jane's friends bought drugs. Jane doesn’t like drugs. They do funny things to the shape of her eyes; and looking beautiful in her own unique way, means more than a giggle and a tickle. But tonight she is doing it, buying, but not taking drugs. Her X husband by her side, acting, a bad pretender holding a make-believe gun in his jacket pocket.
"...In my pants, Jane!" He informs her, like he is talking to a ignoramus. "I'm not mafia! The look is Gangsta."
She giggles and wraps an arm around his.
"Hey, no giggling. You're mean and sexy." Which is why she is dressed like a prostitute.
They arrive at the dealer's house. A1 suddenly feels frightened. He swallows it with a gulp along with the sudden realization of what they are doing. He knocks.
The man who answers the door is everything they expected. Rough faced, hairy, leather jacket, messy singlet, no pants on, save his boxers. He blows cigarette smoke around them, peeks outside, looking left and right down the street.
"Name's Pete. Who the fuck are you?"
Jane speaks up first, while A1 does a little shift of his feet, a shrug of his jacket and an, ‘I don't care’, one sided lip raise, directed at society in general. Very in character, Jane thinks and hopes she is making an equally good impression of a scanky drug fiend.
"My name’s Jazmeeeena." She smiles abundantly and leans forward so that Pete might see the cleavage she'd donned the dress especially for. "And this is a friend of mine. Dom."
Pete’s eyes seek to undress her. He remembers himself and checks out A1. "In ya pop. Yeah, your mate said you were coming down."
Pete closes the door, trapping everyone inside to the relentless beating of his home's stench, the silent slow death of Pete. A fog, about the ceiling, of cigarette smoke.
His home is empty. Small. A bedroom, a body cleansing room and a bench pushed up to one corner. It's a dark hole and a lamp upon that bench is all that illuminates the walls, stained acrid yellow.
“Look, I have to tell you, but I ain't getting you to the surface. That just ain't my job. What you want me for is my contacts.”
“So you know who can get us to the top.”
“Yeah, I reckon. It’s me job to know that sorta fing.” He takes out a new cigarette. Offers the box around. No one takes one, so he flings it onto the bed. He pats the bed. “Take a seat.”
Jane sits down and crosses her legs high, letting her thigh reveal itself from the dress as it escapes higher. A1 stands, he leans against the wall and bumps off it rhythmically.
“So when can you introduce us to your friends, Pete?”
“Oh um… Now I guess… But you know it will cost you.”
“We know.” A1.
“Yeah we know, but not how much.”
“200.”
“Oh Pete.” Jane's disappointment is painfully obvious and Pete's own face crumples somewhat too. She slips some of her hair behind one shoulder revealing the flesh of her long neck. “We just don't have that kind of money to spend.”
“Well, what can you spend?” He swallows, knowing he's being screwed over by her charms, but it would have to be impossible for any single man to pull away; screwed over all the same.
“We can offer you 100.”
“Is that all?”
“I hate to say this, Pete, but you will have to take it or leave it. Maybe, one day I could make it up to you.”
A1 strains desperately to keep quiet and from laughing. His X is quite a woman.
An hour later, they are in another small compartment. It's lighter and smells better, though Pete’s presence is doing its best against it.
The man in the armchair at one end of the room is lean in a wiry, strong sort of way. He has very sharp eyes and a bald scalp. His name is Paulanis. He will get them to the top. For a price.
“And that price, my adventurous friends, is your first born child to serve me the rest of his days.”
Jane doesn’t have a birthing license and is about to tell him, but A1 steps forward and shakes his hand. “It's a deal.”
“I will come back when it’s born. Your honour and your freedom upon the surface depend on it."
The day is yet unborn. The sky is riddled with stars so thick it casts its own magic illumination. The land about is cast with deep shades of blue. It is fresh above the buildings and a wind, icier and colder than what they are used to, buffets them, throwing the clothes about their bodies wildly.
Paulanis stands aside from the two. They are caught in the real splendor of nature, the splendor no illusion could ever capture. It grips them like it had gripped him so long ago. He'd take them somewhere safe. There are parklands, built by the wealthy few, where couples like A1 and Jane might get lost. In fact, they'd likely die in this environment. There are no Macdonalds, no enviro-conditioners.
“My head is silent.” A1 remarks, startled.
“You're beyond the media. You've gone a lot further than your society glue.” Paulanis reminds them.
“I've never been without it. I can't even locate you guys!”
“Does that upset you?”
“No, but it's like losing an arm or an entire sense gone useless.”
“It's bought you freedom. That, and your first child.” Paulanis said.
And so it was. It became apparent that it was the food of the underworld that kept them babeless. But it was also apparent that A1 and Jane did not die and they kept themselves living off the high new world's self-sustaining abundance and did in fact pass on their first born to Paulanis, who trained and raised their child into the warrior he was ever meant to be. The prophesy child, the freedom warrior, THE ONE!