Sector 48
I worked on this story for a couple days, but then I got bored of it and didn't touch it for a couple weeks.
Here it is so far, if people like it, I'll probably continue it, if not, well whatever.
Each morning for the past twenty years its been the same thing.
Wake up, get dressed, go to work, pretend to socialize, go to bed.
And today is the same old drill, 7,000 days into the "state of emergency"
7,000 days of our totalitarian occupation from our own governement.
Even before I open my eyes I can tell you whats waiting, above me is the light blue haze with fluffy clouds
floating through it.
Opening them, its the same story. A clear blue sky with clouds floating through it. If you look at it long enough,
with your eyes not quite open all the way, it almost starts to look real. Almost.
In reality, its rare to see the sky at all, and when you do, its not the idyllic blue they show us, the factories took
care of that years ago, no, now the skies are a dull gray, any time you see it.
Groaning I pull myself into an upright position. The holoscreen on the wall is depicting the morning news, some
story about victories on the warfront. Anyone with a brain knows it's a lie.
Shaking off the last strands of sleep my room comes into focus. Sometimes I wish I could have something
nicer, the floor is your typical grey polymer, the walls a "simulated sunrise". Piles of clothes cover the floor.
Really its not to bad, I'm lucky in that. The only thing really wrong with it is the size. Think prison cell meets
747 bathroom, yeah, that's about how big it is.
Hauling myself out of bed I slide into my chair. I was born a paraplegic, and this chair is my life. They have
newer ones, fancier ones. Ones that propel themselves, ones with adjustable heights, ones that can go down
stairs. Personally I think its all shit. Its shit for the people who want to pretend that they're not any different,
who want to pretend that they're just like any other fur who walks around these parts. I like my chair, it
reminds me that life isn't fair, that everyone isn't equal, that even a communist dictatorship cant make
everyone the same in the end.
Wheeling across the room I open the fridge. Per usual, its empty, nothing but an old rotten looking apple and
wrapper that fell off a jug of milk.
Huffing I head back towards my laundry. The simulated sunrise is starting to change from a pink to more of an
orange.
"Claire, mirror please."
The wall infront of me slowly changes from the sunrise to a reflective surface. Staring back at me was the
same grey wolf that's greeted me for the past twenty seven years, the same angled features, the same
piercing blue eyes. Rolling towards a pile I dig out a shirt and pants shimmying my way into them I cant help
but chuckle, the same process which used to take a good twenty minutes is now not even worth noting.
"Claire, standby."
The voice controlled rooms were also their idea, convenience for the common good or some shit. Personally I
hated them, while they were convienient at times, I would have still preferred to do those things by hand if it
meant I didn't have to have the ever present being in my room. To me it represented the oppression of the
rule, and all of the "laws for the progression of the populous". I hadn't chosen the name for Claire, she had
been selected by the department of home life for me, based solely on my gender. Any male fur gets a female
AI, to reinforce the ideals of being with a woman. If you were to marry you would be given a new AI to share, a
genderless one.
Sighing I moved towards the door. I was a outlaw, hiding in plain view. I broke the law by existing. They had
outlawed homosexuals years ago. They rounded up all of the self declared homosexuals or people who were
flamboyant enough to gain notice and sent them off to "correctional facilities" to have their "confusions"
straightened out.
Rolling down the hall I hear a door open up ahead, a young fox in a chair rolls into the hallway. Jessica was one
of my best friends, I met her when I moved into the handicapped living center. She has a lot of the same views
that I did, chairs aren't a handicap, their a saving grace, a way to stay different from the pack. She was also an
outlaw, a lesbian by nature, in a farse of a marriage to keep from being sent off to be straightened.
We often met up in the mornings she worked a few buildings down from my work, she worked in public
records, I was in finance. We rode the same train in, I'm not generally a sociable person, you start letting
people into your life, they start learning about you, you start opening up, and then they turn around and share
any small fact about you with public information for an extra day off from work or some crap like that.
We went through our morning commute, there weren't two slots for chairs open on the same train so I let her
get on the first train. She was flustered over some server failure and needing to retype a couple dozen
records. I didn't mind, there was a nice little eatery in the train station, and it meant I would be able to get a
bite to eat before work.
Rolling in I slid up to my usual seat, a booth for two in the corner. I was able to have a clear view of the whole
diner as well as the trains from here as well as being far enough from any of the holoscreens to have to listen
to whatever bullshit the deparment of media was spewing to the masses today.
As I nudged myself up to the table I heard a crinkle. Looking down I noticed a small packet on the floor. I
reached for it, I like this place so to pick up a bit of garbage that some other patron had left behind seemed to
eb the right thing to do. Only once I had it in my hand did I realize what it was, a data chip, usually you only
saw them in a government office, but you could buy them on the open market if you were so inclined. No, that
wasn't what was unusual about it. What was shocking was the word stenciled on the side. Jack Sanders, my
name. Flipping it over the only other marking on it was a circle, with one arrow crossing it, and another
continuing on from the edge of the circle. Panicking I jammed the thing into my pocket and started flipping
through the menu. A lizard waitress ambled over to me.
"Marnin Jack, what can I git fa ya? The usal?"
"Sure Marge, that sounds great." My voice was shaking, I knew that she noticed but after coming in here for
years she knew it was pointless to ask me anything personal.
I shoveled down my sausage and eggs, swiping my tag to pay I headed for the train, I was due at work at 900
hours and it was already 845.
Trains are both a blessing and a curse, they're nice in that they let you sit and think for a bit. They're a curse
for the same reason. I kept turning the chip over in my hand, what could be on it, who put it there, and how did
they know I was going to be at the diner today. Hell I didn't even know that until a few minutes ago.
The doors to the tram slid open and furs began to file out. Terrapin station was one of the busiest on the grid
and during rush hour it was a total mob scene. Heading for the elevator my chair was jostled more than few
times. Once the morning rush reaches a certain point people stop being able see anything but themselves and
start walking into you.
I reached my office just as the 900 tone went off. That was the only good part, as a pile of papers almost to
the ceiling had already beaten me to my desk. That's one of the things about finance, it never ends, and its
one of the most mind numbing tasks on the planet.
The rest of my workday passed uneventfully, mountains of meaningless numbers came and went, my inbox
shrank and the outbox grew, and the 1700 tones couldn't come soon enough.
As I started my commute home I suddenly remembered the data chip, it had sat quietly in my pocket for the
entire day without my even noticing it. Reaching the handicap living center I rushed towards my apartment.
Swiping my tag, the door opened with a mechanical woosh. The simulated sun was just starting to set.
"Claire, box 43."
A low pitched hum could be heard as one of my stoage baxes was retrived from somewhere in the basement.
As I waited I took out the chip, there was no mistaking it, it was my name on the side of it. A Soft "bing"
announced the arrival of my box. Rummaging through it I found what I was looking for, a tablet. The one I
chose was particularly ancient, and incredibly slow, but it had one feature that my newer one didn't. It wasn't
attached to the grid. Anything I did on it stayed on it and would be reported to the deparment of information
usage.
Fumbling I booted the thing up. The ancient mechanical fan hummed to life as I stuck in the data chip. On the
screen text started to scroll.
:HRF
:Jack Sanders
:Sector 46
:Go to-
:Sector 48
:Building 9
:Level 7
:2300
:END DATA STRING
A soft sizzling sound started to come from the data chip as some blue smoke rose from it. I rushed to my desk
and wrote down the message on the chip. There wasn't much to it. My name and location, and a place and
time whoever it was wants me to go to
So, please comment.