Dear Rappie, a Sci-fi fic for your birthday has continued.
Dear Rappie,
These times are those that try tomato torilla souls ttt. I am certain that our last correspondence have left you feeling neglected, but fear not, your birthday gift is to be continued. Down below, in fact.
Untitled Original Story, or, Rap's Birthday Sci-fi fic! - Part 1: A Growing Boy - Chapter 1: The Etiquette of Survival.
Part...chapter??? Yes, this will be a multi-stage rocket epic space opera. There are themes and technologies in here I have been working on for ten years. Rap, will you join me and continue reading it?
_____________________________________________________________________
Chapter 1: The Etiquette of Surival.
There were six terminals in the main entrance. Twenty years ago, Father said, they were manned booths as people still cared about human interaction. Convenience had seen the end of qualified customer service for the ability to solve your own problems. With a few taps of the screen, you had instant access to all the information you needed. Simple, sleek, and highly efficient.
When I was five, the waiting time had counted in the minutes. Looking about the crowded lobby, the convenience was abundantly clear. Almost every face was slack and their eyes unfocused as they waited their turn. Hands twitched involuntarily in response to iDems unseen by my eyes.
Checking my wrist band for the time gave me something to do besides watch the tech-zombies. The display screen was five centimeters across, a little small for my size given fashion. However, I didn't care for the ostentatious designs others chose. It just wasn't practical for someone my age.
I had to look three times to confirm. It could not have been correct.
We have been waiting here for two hours? Like I hadn't better things to do with my life than sit here waiting for access to the central core. Homeworld Bureacracy Depot, never was there a more aptly named building. The lobby was little more than neat rows of uncomfortable chairs in terrible lighting. All the floors were a faded-yellow tile and the walls were cherry wood.
This was, without exception, the single most oppressive place I have ever been to. Even the walls exuded a silent menace, an almost whispered desire to crush the will of those within.
There was nothing like being stuck with your fellow human beings in the purgatory that was HBD. Grabbing my band, I twisted it to hide the screen once more. A more thorough look around revealed the diversity of registers from pale brown to darker brown, but I wasn't supposed to notice this. We were all equal in the eyes of the law. We were all here to be registered like cattle with the state.
Beside me, Father came to from his stupor with a twitch. It was time. He tapped my arm once, a gentle touch as if to remind me that he could sympathize. Everyone must go through with it at the age of fifteen. It was the law!
That didn't make the gravitational well in my gut tug any lighter at the Earth's gravity. Swallowing, I nodded at him. I stood with my head held high and tugged at the hem of my shirt. I would look my best when I faced the looming judgment.
Father snorted. Blinking, he was much slower in his ascent. There was no need for him to hurry, he wasn't facing the end of all life as we know it. He gestured towards the terminal at the far end of the lobby.
Then this was it. I nodded, then stepped forward. It was no slow march, a reluctant shuffling of the feet. I would stand strong, tall, and resolute. I would be a man in this. Soon enough, I was standing at the only unattended terminal.
The green hectagon of the HBD flashed on the display. 'Press screen to access records,' scrolled across the top. 'Press here for help menu,' flashed at the bottom of the screen.
Raising my hand, I placed it at the center of the screen. Body heat activated the sensors within and the symbol was replaced with a standard icon menu.
'Please select the directory extension you wish to access.'
There were twenty icons in four verticle rows separated by gray spacer bars. Each one was arranged according to department. Mine was the third row, Educational Services.
I pressed the icon. The screen flashed at me then a white bar appeared in the center with a numerical pad beneath it.
'Please enter your twenty digit registration identification number then tap the screen twice at any point.'
That was easy. It's the first thing they teach you right after the alphabet in primary school. Once I had typed out the correct numbers, I tripple checked them to make sure I didn't enter them wrong. Done, I tapped the upper-right corner.
Another menu popped up as several numbers raced across the bottom of the screen. It stopped after fifteen seconds, not that I was counting. Then, a dialogue box appeared at the top.
'Congratulations, Joseph Thomas Calalilly, on registering with your tertiary academy. Your school is Ladlum-Mahn. A notification has been sent to your registered guardian regarding schedule, location, and all necessary supplies. Thank you, and have a nice day.'
That was it. I was registered. They had my every bit of information and knew everything about me. I was doomed. For something so disasterous, the entire process had taken less than two minutes.
Sighing, I turned away from the screen and searched for Father.
He was standing a few paces away, arms crossed, a tight look on his face. The corners of his lips turned up as he blinked a few times. "Congratulations, son, you are now a drone in the system. Welcome. Buzz, buzz."
My cheeks warmed a little. So, maybe I had been a little dramatic in the days leading up to this moment. Turning away, I happened to glance across the other registers at their terminals.
More than one annoyed scowl stared back. The screen before them flashed various versions of the same helper hand cursor, demonstrating to them what to push and when.
Pace a little slower, I walked to Father's side. He wrapped an arm about my shoulders and gave me a firm squeeze. We did not talk about it. It was not worse or better, merely different.
TBC
These times are those that try tomato torilla souls ttt. I am certain that our last correspondence have left you feeling neglected, but fear not, your birthday gift is to be continued. Down below, in fact.
Untitled Original Story, or, Rap's Birthday Sci-fi fic! - Part 1: A Growing Boy - Chapter 1: The Etiquette of Survival.
Part...chapter??? Yes, this will be a multi-stage rocket epic space opera. There are themes and technologies in here I have been working on for ten years. Rap, will you join me and continue reading it?
_____________________________________________________________________
Chapter 1: The Etiquette of Surival.
There were six terminals in the main entrance. Twenty years ago, Father said, they were manned booths as people still cared about human interaction. Convenience had seen the end of qualified customer service for the ability to solve your own problems. With a few taps of the screen, you had instant access to all the information you needed. Simple, sleek, and highly efficient.
When I was five, the waiting time had counted in the minutes. Looking about the crowded lobby, the convenience was abundantly clear. Almost every face was slack and their eyes unfocused as they waited their turn. Hands twitched involuntarily in response to iDems unseen by my eyes.
Checking my wrist band for the time gave me something to do besides watch the tech-zombies. The display screen was five centimeters across, a little small for my size given fashion. However, I didn't care for the ostentatious designs others chose. It just wasn't practical for someone my age.
I had to look three times to confirm. It could not have been correct.
We have been waiting here for two hours? Like I hadn't better things to do with my life than sit here waiting for access to the central core. Homeworld Bureacracy Depot, never was there a more aptly named building. The lobby was little more than neat rows of uncomfortable chairs in terrible lighting. All the floors were a faded-yellow tile and the walls were cherry wood.
This was, without exception, the single most oppressive place I have ever been to. Even the walls exuded a silent menace, an almost whispered desire to crush the will of those within.
There was nothing like being stuck with your fellow human beings in the purgatory that was HBD. Grabbing my band, I twisted it to hide the screen once more. A more thorough look around revealed the diversity of registers from pale brown to darker brown, but I wasn't supposed to notice this. We were all equal in the eyes of the law. We were all here to be registered like cattle with the state.
Beside me, Father came to from his stupor with a twitch. It was time. He tapped my arm once, a gentle touch as if to remind me that he could sympathize. Everyone must go through with it at the age of fifteen. It was the law!
That didn't make the gravitational well in my gut tug any lighter at the Earth's gravity. Swallowing, I nodded at him. I stood with my head held high and tugged at the hem of my shirt. I would look my best when I faced the looming judgment.
Father snorted. Blinking, he was much slower in his ascent. There was no need for him to hurry, he wasn't facing the end of all life as we know it. He gestured towards the terminal at the far end of the lobby.
Then this was it. I nodded, then stepped forward. It was no slow march, a reluctant shuffling of the feet. I would stand strong, tall, and resolute. I would be a man in this. Soon enough, I was standing at the only unattended terminal.
The green hectagon of the HBD flashed on the display. 'Press screen to access records,' scrolled across the top. 'Press here for help menu,' flashed at the bottom of the screen.
Raising my hand, I placed it at the center of the screen. Body heat activated the sensors within and the symbol was replaced with a standard icon menu.
'Please select the directory extension you wish to access.'
There were twenty icons in four verticle rows separated by gray spacer bars. Each one was arranged according to department. Mine was the third row, Educational Services.
I pressed the icon. The screen flashed at me then a white bar appeared in the center with a numerical pad beneath it.
'Please enter your twenty digit registration identification number then tap the screen twice at any point.'
That was easy. It's the first thing they teach you right after the alphabet in primary school. Once I had typed out the correct numbers, I tripple checked them to make sure I didn't enter them wrong. Done, I tapped the upper-right corner.
Another menu popped up as several numbers raced across the bottom of the screen. It stopped after fifteen seconds, not that I was counting. Then, a dialogue box appeared at the top.
'Congratulations, Joseph Thomas Calalilly, on registering with your tertiary academy. Your school is Ladlum-Mahn. A notification has been sent to your registered guardian regarding schedule, location, and all necessary supplies. Thank you, and have a nice day.'
That was it. I was registered. They had my every bit of information and knew everything about me. I was doomed. For something so disasterous, the entire process had taken less than two minutes.
Sighing, I turned away from the screen and searched for Father.
He was standing a few paces away, arms crossed, a tight look on his face. The corners of his lips turned up as he blinked a few times. "Congratulations, son, you are now a drone in the system. Welcome. Buzz, buzz."
My cheeks warmed a little. So, maybe I had been a little dramatic in the days leading up to this moment. Turning away, I happened to glance across the other registers at their terminals.
More than one annoyed scowl stared back. The screen before them flashed various versions of the same helper hand cursor, demonstrating to them what to push and when.
Pace a little slower, I walked to Father's side. He wrapped an arm about my shoulders and gave me a firm squeeze. We did not talk about it. It was not worse or better, merely different.
TBC