Dystopian sci-fi short text.
As always, flu got me over the weekend. So I could hardly sleep with 39C+ fever, and could not help but use the time to write a dark sci-fi short text, heavily influenced by Isaac Asimov and Pavel Ievlev.
Please see under a cut.
The Contract.
**1st Arc: George, Age 8**
George walked nervously beside his best friend, Trevelian, as they approached the school gates. The towering building loomed ahead, bustling with children and chatter. Trev, brimming with excitement, jabbered away, barely noticing George’s quiet demeanour.
“So, George, you’re gonna love this,” Trev said, grinning. “I already know everything about contracts. My dad told me all about it. I’m gonna be a police patrol officer, you know. It’s the best one. Pays more than anything else except the brain contracts, and Dad says those are for nuts anyway. He says the AI fries your brain so bad you can’t even think after.”
George frowned. “Police patrol? That sounds dangerous.”
“Dangerous, but cool,” Trev shot back. “And the pay’s worth it. I mean, imagine waking up rich after ten years and having the time of your life! That’s the dream.” He looked at George with a smug grin. “So, what about you? What’s your dream contract?”
George hesitated, kicking a pebble as they walked. “I… I don’t know. I’ve always been fascinated by how the city works, you know? Like the pipes, the lights, and how everything keeps running. I think I want to work on the city’s facilities.”
Trev laughed, throwing his head back. “Facilities engineer? George, that’s impossible! Those jobs are for the top one percent of test scores. You’d have to study like crazy, and even then, it’s a long shot. Facilities contracts don’t pay much, and the non-contract ones?” Trev leaned in conspiratorially. “They’re dull, boring, and totally unglamorous. Nobody wants to end up there. Just take a good contract, man, like everyone else.”
George shrugged, feeling a pang of doubt. But as they stepped inside the school and the cacophony of children surrounded them, he couldn’t shake the feeling that understanding how things worked-truly understanding-was more important to him than anything Trev’s dad had said about the “cool” contracts.
George Platton burst through the door of their small apartment, his face alight with excitement. “Father! Father!” he shouted, his bag swinging wildly as he dropped it to the floor. “Trev was right! Mr. Binns showed us Ms. Swatzcek from Lake Owesgo today! She’s amazing! She ran an annual sociology class just for us, and she gave us real strawberries! Real ones! Can you believe it?”
Peter Platton, a weary-looking man of fifty with graying hair, glanced up from the stack of papers on the table. He managed a small smile, though his eyes betrayed a heaviness that George couldn’t yet understand.
“Real strawberries, Georgy?” Peter said, setting his pen down. “That’s quite a treat. It’s been a while since we had those, hasn’t it?”
George’s face lit up further. “Yes! Five years ago, when Mom was with us. I still remember how we all shared them. And Ms. Swatzcek said we can eat strawberries and all kinds of tasty food all the time-between our contracts!”
Peter stiffened, his hand clenching the edge of the table. His thoughts darkened. _So they’re doing it again, just like they started when I was teaching._
“She told us all about contracts,” George continued, oblivious to his father’s reaction. “She said they’re super easy and that we’ll have all the fun we want while we’re young. Mr. Binns even said it’s not necessary to study too hard until we’re eighteen. We can just have fun at school and in the dorms. He said we could even blow hash if we like, though he doesn’t recommend it until we’re teenagers. And guess what, Father? They give us free food, free clothes, and two pearl coins a month! Isn’t that amazing?”
Peter’s jaw tightened. “Amazing,” he muttered. Then he forced himself to look at George.
George just recalled. “By the way, you said mother be back soon. When _is_ she coming?”
Peter took a deep breath. His gaze softened as he crouched to George’s level. “Georgy, I have some very important news to share with you. I went to the contract facility today to check on your mother, but I couldn’t bring her home. I met Dr. Lloyd there-you remember him, right?”
George nodded, his enthusiasm fading. “Is Mom okay?”
Peter’s voice cracked. “She… woke up from her five-year contract. But her account was still negative. I thought I could transfer her our pearl coins, but this trick no longer works. She immediately signed another ten-year contract. It happened automatically, Georgy. Even Dr. Lloyd couldn’t intervene.”
George’s lip quivered. “Another ten years? But that means…”
Peter placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I… I won’t survive another ten years, Georgy. My health isn’t what it used to be. So I’ve made a decision. I’m going to sign a contract, too. For ten years. That way, I’ll wake up together with your mom.”
George’s eyes widened. “No! You can’t!”
Peter’s grip tightened gently but firmly. “Listen to me. I’ve calculated everything. This is the plan. You’ll move to the school dorm tomorrow. They’ll take care of you, Georgy. And you’ll be fine. Just remember: no matter what they say, you _must_ study hard. They’ll tell you it’s not important, but it is. All the facilities you need are at school, except for one thing: the motivation. That has to come from you.”
George stared at his father, tears welling in his eyes. “But… what if I never see you again?”
Peter pulled him into a hug. “You will, Georgy. You will. Just promise me you’ll work hard. Promise me.”
Through his sobs, George whispered, “I promise.”
---
**2nd Arc: George, Age 18**
George sat in the empty exam room, his heart sinking as the monitor displayed his results: _89. Just one point short of the passing score._
The examiner’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Mr. Platton, you’ve missed the required score for university placement for facilities engineer. Your options are as follows: a ten-year contract as a facilities technician or a two-year facilities technician non-contract program at the community college. You know the place, your father used to teach there.”
George clenched his fists. His sleepless night-thanks to his dormmates’ rowdy celebration of their impending contracts-had cost him dearly.
His friends, still buzzing with excitement, met him outside the exam hall. “George! Don’t sweat it! Just take the contract with us. Tomorrow we’ll wake up rich, man! And we’ll party like kings until the next one.”
The thought gnawed at him, tempting and infuriating all at once. “I… I just need to see my father first,” George mumbled, pulling away from them.
When George arrived at the facility, his father was being awakened. But something was wrong. Peter’s eyes flickered open, but they were distant, unfocused, as if staring into nothingness. He muttered incoherently, fragments of sentences spilling out.
“Calculated everything… Theresa… safe… have to wake up…”
Dr. Lloyd stood nearby, his expression grim. “I warned him,” he said quietly to George. “The cluster AI uses every ounce of intelligence. He’s in there somewhere, but the man you knew… he’s been fractured. His mind’s been used too long, too deeply.”
George’s heart twisted. “But he’s awake. Isn’t there… something you can do?”
Dr. Lloyd shook his head. “This is one of the risks they never talk about. For most, it’s a clean break. For others… this. But he did not have much choice. At his age, the brain contract was the only option…”
Peter’s murmurs turned into soft, repetitive phrases, looping endlessly as though his mind were caught in a feedback loop. George watched, helpless, as his father’s body moved, but the soul behind his eyes was absent.
The blaring of alarms shattered George's focus, pulling his gaze from his father. Chaos erupted around him as someone stormed the facility, their figures masked and purposeful. George froze, unsure whether to run or hide, his heart pounding as the power cut out, plunging the room into flickering emergency lights. He stumbled toward his mother’s pod, watching in horror as her body convulsed violently within the glass capsule, the wake-up process interrupted.
Panic seized him as someone grabbed his arm. "We have to go!" an intruder hissed, dragging him toward the exit. George resisted, craning his neck to look back at his parents. His father sat motionless, muttering the same fragmented sentences, while his mother’s pod emitted sharp, high-pitched warnings. He shouted for them, but his voice was drowned out by the chaos. Before he could break free, one of the attackers yanked him into the shadows, leaving behind the scene of devastation.
In the aftermath, George sat outside the smoldering facility, trembling. Dr. Lloyd found him there, his face grim but calm. “They call themselves rebels,” Dr. Lloyd said, sitting beside George. “They think they’re fighting for freedom-freedom from the system, from the contracts, from everything.”
George’s voice was hoarse. “Why do they fight? Isn’t it obvious the contracts make life easier?”
Dr. Lloyd sighed deeply. “For some, yes. But the rebels believe the contracts steal something essential-our time, our choices, our humanity. They argue that we’re no better than tools for the system, trading our lives for fleeting luxuries. And they’re not wrong, George.”
George blinked. “Then why won’t they win?”
Dr. Lloyd’s eyes were heavy with resignation. “Because most people don’t want freedom. They want comfort. The idea of waking up wealthy, even if it costs ten years of your life, is too seductive. The rebels can blow up a hundred facilities, but they can’t change what people desire deep down. That’s why they’ll never win.”
George stared at the ground, his thoughts a storm of anger, confusion, and fear. For the first time, he chose to wait.
---
**3rd Arc: George, Age 28**
George stood in the crowd, watching his friends wake up after their contracts. Their minds were quickly adapting to older bodies. They stumbled out of the pods, blinking in confusion but smiling as they received their payouts. Their laughter rang hollow in his ears.
One of his friends, Trev, spotted him. His face lit up. “George! You’re here! I knew it! Hey, it’s like we just fell asleep yesterday, right?” Trev’s grin widened. “Look at us now! Not a single thing changed.”
Before George could respond, Trev pulled him into a rough hug. “Man, it’s… well, it feels like it’s been no time at all! Just yesterday we were at the dorms. Crazy, huh?”
George hesitated. “Actually… I didn’t take the contract.”
The group fell silent for a moment, their smiles faltering. Then Trev laughed, clapping George on the back. “Still the same stubborn George! Don’t worry about it. Tonight, you’re partying with us. We’ve got enough for everyone.”
Another friend chimed in. “Yeah, we’ll cover you. No excuses. We’re celebrating, and you’re not sitting this one out. By the way, I'd like to start spending my Pearl coins in The Golden Dolls palace in the Pearl district! They only hire 10/10 girls for the contract, you know what I mean!"
George shook his head. “Sorry, but Golden Dolls Palace is no more. It closed five years ago. A lot has changed in the city these past ten years. By the way, I can show you a shortcut to the Pearl district.”
Trev smirked. “I hope the shortcut isn’t in the sewer? You must’ve learned the city’s sewer map the hard way, Georgy!”
As George watched them, he realized something: they still acted like teenagers. Their speech, their jokes, their demeanor-everything about them was frozen in time, as if the last ten years had never happened. They were trapped in the minds they had at eighteen, while George’s own face and hands bore the marks of a decade of struggle, growth, and learning.
George nodded reluctantly, but the knot in his stomach tightened. As they moved toward the bars and clubs, their laughter and chatter felt alien to him. The gap between them wasn’t just wide; it felt insurmountable.
Later, George returned to his modest apartment, where his eight-year-old son, Peter, greeted him at the door. “Dad! Guess what? We learned about contracts today! I want to sign one, just like Mom did.”
George’s stomach turned. He crouched to his son’s level, gripping his shoulders tightly. “Peter, listen to me. There’s something you need to understand…”
Please see under a cut.
The Contract.
**1st Arc: George, Age 8**
George walked nervously beside his best friend, Trevelian, as they approached the school gates. The towering building loomed ahead, bustling with children and chatter. Trev, brimming with excitement, jabbered away, barely noticing George’s quiet demeanour.
“So, George, you’re gonna love this,” Trev said, grinning. “I already know everything about contracts. My dad told me all about it. I’m gonna be a police patrol officer, you know. It’s the best one. Pays more than anything else except the brain contracts, and Dad says those are for nuts anyway. He says the AI fries your brain so bad you can’t even think after.”
George frowned. “Police patrol? That sounds dangerous.”
“Dangerous, but cool,” Trev shot back. “And the pay’s worth it. I mean, imagine waking up rich after ten years and having the time of your life! That’s the dream.” He looked at George with a smug grin. “So, what about you? What’s your dream contract?”
George hesitated, kicking a pebble as they walked. “I… I don’t know. I’ve always been fascinated by how the city works, you know? Like the pipes, the lights, and how everything keeps running. I think I want to work on the city’s facilities.”
Trev laughed, throwing his head back. “Facilities engineer? George, that’s impossible! Those jobs are for the top one percent of test scores. You’d have to study like crazy, and even then, it’s a long shot. Facilities contracts don’t pay much, and the non-contract ones?” Trev leaned in conspiratorially. “They’re dull, boring, and totally unglamorous. Nobody wants to end up there. Just take a good contract, man, like everyone else.”
George shrugged, feeling a pang of doubt. But as they stepped inside the school and the cacophony of children surrounded them, he couldn’t shake the feeling that understanding how things worked-truly understanding-was more important to him than anything Trev’s dad had said about the “cool” contracts.
George Platton burst through the door of their small apartment, his face alight with excitement. “Father! Father!” he shouted, his bag swinging wildly as he dropped it to the floor. “Trev was right! Mr. Binns showed us Ms. Swatzcek from Lake Owesgo today! She’s amazing! She ran an annual sociology class just for us, and she gave us real strawberries! Real ones! Can you believe it?”
Peter Platton, a weary-looking man of fifty with graying hair, glanced up from the stack of papers on the table. He managed a small smile, though his eyes betrayed a heaviness that George couldn’t yet understand.
“Real strawberries, Georgy?” Peter said, setting his pen down. “That’s quite a treat. It’s been a while since we had those, hasn’t it?”
George’s face lit up further. “Yes! Five years ago, when Mom was with us. I still remember how we all shared them. And Ms. Swatzcek said we can eat strawberries and all kinds of tasty food all the time-between our contracts!”
Peter stiffened, his hand clenching the edge of the table. His thoughts darkened. _So they’re doing it again, just like they started when I was teaching._
“She told us all about contracts,” George continued, oblivious to his father’s reaction. “She said they’re super easy and that we’ll have all the fun we want while we’re young. Mr. Binns even said it’s not necessary to study too hard until we’re eighteen. We can just have fun at school and in the dorms. He said we could even blow hash if we like, though he doesn’t recommend it until we’re teenagers. And guess what, Father? They give us free food, free clothes, and two pearl coins a month! Isn’t that amazing?”
Peter’s jaw tightened. “Amazing,” he muttered. Then he forced himself to look at George.
George just recalled. “By the way, you said mother be back soon. When _is_ she coming?”
Peter took a deep breath. His gaze softened as he crouched to George’s level. “Georgy, I have some very important news to share with you. I went to the contract facility today to check on your mother, but I couldn’t bring her home. I met Dr. Lloyd there-you remember him, right?”
George nodded, his enthusiasm fading. “Is Mom okay?”
Peter’s voice cracked. “She… woke up from her five-year contract. But her account was still negative. I thought I could transfer her our pearl coins, but this trick no longer works. She immediately signed another ten-year contract. It happened automatically, Georgy. Even Dr. Lloyd couldn’t intervene.”
George’s lip quivered. “Another ten years? But that means…”
Peter placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I… I won’t survive another ten years, Georgy. My health isn’t what it used to be. So I’ve made a decision. I’m going to sign a contract, too. For ten years. That way, I’ll wake up together with your mom.”
George’s eyes widened. “No! You can’t!”
Peter’s grip tightened gently but firmly. “Listen to me. I’ve calculated everything. This is the plan. You’ll move to the school dorm tomorrow. They’ll take care of you, Georgy. And you’ll be fine. Just remember: no matter what they say, you _must_ study hard. They’ll tell you it’s not important, but it is. All the facilities you need are at school, except for one thing: the motivation. That has to come from you.”
George stared at his father, tears welling in his eyes. “But… what if I never see you again?”
Peter pulled him into a hug. “You will, Georgy. You will. Just promise me you’ll work hard. Promise me.”
Through his sobs, George whispered, “I promise.”
---
**2nd Arc: George, Age 18**
George sat in the empty exam room, his heart sinking as the monitor displayed his results: _89. Just one point short of the passing score._
The examiner’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Mr. Platton, you’ve missed the required score for university placement for facilities engineer. Your options are as follows: a ten-year contract as a facilities technician or a two-year facilities technician non-contract program at the community college. You know the place, your father used to teach there.”
George clenched his fists. His sleepless night-thanks to his dormmates’ rowdy celebration of their impending contracts-had cost him dearly.
His friends, still buzzing with excitement, met him outside the exam hall. “George! Don’t sweat it! Just take the contract with us. Tomorrow we’ll wake up rich, man! And we’ll party like kings until the next one.”
The thought gnawed at him, tempting and infuriating all at once. “I… I just need to see my father first,” George mumbled, pulling away from them.
When George arrived at the facility, his father was being awakened. But something was wrong. Peter’s eyes flickered open, but they were distant, unfocused, as if staring into nothingness. He muttered incoherently, fragments of sentences spilling out.
“Calculated everything… Theresa… safe… have to wake up…”
Dr. Lloyd stood nearby, his expression grim. “I warned him,” he said quietly to George. “The cluster AI uses every ounce of intelligence. He’s in there somewhere, but the man you knew… he’s been fractured. His mind’s been used too long, too deeply.”
George’s heart twisted. “But he’s awake. Isn’t there… something you can do?”
Dr. Lloyd shook his head. “This is one of the risks they never talk about. For most, it’s a clean break. For others… this. But he did not have much choice. At his age, the brain contract was the only option…”
Peter’s murmurs turned into soft, repetitive phrases, looping endlessly as though his mind were caught in a feedback loop. George watched, helpless, as his father’s body moved, but the soul behind his eyes was absent.
The blaring of alarms shattered George's focus, pulling his gaze from his father. Chaos erupted around him as someone stormed the facility, their figures masked and purposeful. George froze, unsure whether to run or hide, his heart pounding as the power cut out, plunging the room into flickering emergency lights. He stumbled toward his mother’s pod, watching in horror as her body convulsed violently within the glass capsule, the wake-up process interrupted.
Panic seized him as someone grabbed his arm. "We have to go!" an intruder hissed, dragging him toward the exit. George resisted, craning his neck to look back at his parents. His father sat motionless, muttering the same fragmented sentences, while his mother’s pod emitted sharp, high-pitched warnings. He shouted for them, but his voice was drowned out by the chaos. Before he could break free, one of the attackers yanked him into the shadows, leaving behind the scene of devastation.
In the aftermath, George sat outside the smoldering facility, trembling. Dr. Lloyd found him there, his face grim but calm. “They call themselves rebels,” Dr. Lloyd said, sitting beside George. “They think they’re fighting for freedom-freedom from the system, from the contracts, from everything.”
George’s voice was hoarse. “Why do they fight? Isn’t it obvious the contracts make life easier?”
Dr. Lloyd sighed deeply. “For some, yes. But the rebels believe the contracts steal something essential-our time, our choices, our humanity. They argue that we’re no better than tools for the system, trading our lives for fleeting luxuries. And they’re not wrong, George.”
George blinked. “Then why won’t they win?”
Dr. Lloyd’s eyes were heavy with resignation. “Because most people don’t want freedom. They want comfort. The idea of waking up wealthy, even if it costs ten years of your life, is too seductive. The rebels can blow up a hundred facilities, but they can’t change what people desire deep down. That’s why they’ll never win.”
George stared at the ground, his thoughts a storm of anger, confusion, and fear. For the first time, he chose to wait.
---
**3rd Arc: George, Age 28**
George stood in the crowd, watching his friends wake up after their contracts. Their minds were quickly adapting to older bodies. They stumbled out of the pods, blinking in confusion but smiling as they received their payouts. Their laughter rang hollow in his ears.
One of his friends, Trev, spotted him. His face lit up. “George! You’re here! I knew it! Hey, it’s like we just fell asleep yesterday, right?” Trev’s grin widened. “Look at us now! Not a single thing changed.”
Before George could respond, Trev pulled him into a rough hug. “Man, it’s… well, it feels like it’s been no time at all! Just yesterday we were at the dorms. Crazy, huh?”
George hesitated. “Actually… I didn’t take the contract.”
The group fell silent for a moment, their smiles faltering. Then Trev laughed, clapping George on the back. “Still the same stubborn George! Don’t worry about it. Tonight, you’re partying with us. We’ve got enough for everyone.”
Another friend chimed in. “Yeah, we’ll cover you. No excuses. We’re celebrating, and you’re not sitting this one out. By the way, I'd like to start spending my Pearl coins in The Golden Dolls palace in the Pearl district! They only hire 10/10 girls for the contract, you know what I mean!"
George shook his head. “Sorry, but Golden Dolls Palace is no more. It closed five years ago. A lot has changed in the city these past ten years. By the way, I can show you a shortcut to the Pearl district.”
Trev smirked. “I hope the shortcut isn’t in the sewer? You must’ve learned the city’s sewer map the hard way, Georgy!”
As George watched them, he realized something: they still acted like teenagers. Their speech, their jokes, their demeanor-everything about them was frozen in time, as if the last ten years had never happened. They were trapped in the minds they had at eighteen, while George’s own face and hands bore the marks of a decade of struggle, growth, and learning.
George nodded reluctantly, but the knot in his stomach tightened. As they moved toward the bars and clubs, their laughter and chatter felt alien to him. The gap between them wasn’t just wide; it felt insurmountable.
Later, George returned to his modest apartment, where his eight-year-old son, Peter, greeted him at the door. “Dad! Guess what? We learned about contracts today! I want to sign one, just like Mom did.”
George’s stomach turned. He crouched to his son’s level, gripping his shoulders tightly. “Peter, listen to me. There’s something you need to understand…”