"In a world where time is the ultimate corporate bonus, some gifts come with a sting."
"Lights — 60-ohms!" shouted the figure rising from the bed. Yawning his way to the door, he fingered his matted hair with one hand, while attempting to untangle his blue, silk sleepsuit with the other.
The lights responded obediently. Immediately, they flared into the cold steel of the tiled bathroom, reflecting pools of pastel ambiance throughout the surgically white, polished room. Floor heaters hummed into compliance, their warmth fanning across the vacant floor space, and the entire room reached 75 degrees within the seconds it took for him to get to the sink.
"Good morning, Brandon!" a synthesized female voice echoed. The tiny speaker sat just above the single wall mirror. "Did you sleep well? I have prepared your sink water — 82 degrees, just as you like it."
"Good morning, T.i.s.s.a. How are you today? Thank you — you are so dependable," he responded gingerly, not yet awake but pretending to be attentive, picking the sleep out from the corners of his squinting eyelids.
"I am fine today, thank you. As fine as any Totally Integrated Security Systems Adviser could be. All functions report normal and all stations read active. The weather report from Channel 30 is as follows: All regions should experience approximately 65% total sunshine, 28% total humidity with an average high of 88 degrees and a low of 64 degrees. Pollen Count warning — 92 microns per cubic inch. I would advise that you carry double-strength eye protectors today and also a spare inhaler. Lunch consists of 'Salmon Pasta Creole' with an extra bottle of Evian. You have no new mail. According to your database entry in today's diary, it is 'Brandon's Birthday' — don't forget to send a greeting. You also have to renew your subscription to Microtechnologies Quarterly Review. I have no further news."
Brandon momentarily stopped washing and pondered on his reflection in the mirror; my birthday, he mused, Tissa's comment surprising him. He had forgotten all about it. Twenty-eight years and no family to celebrate it with had reduced his birthday to a database entry, nothing more.
Brandon was a child who had grown accustomed to the lonely life of the Preservation Facility. It was a simple care facility which didn't cater for the luxuries of life. All those cared for were from tragic circumstances whose only common factor was that they had no family or caregivers and were under the age of adulthood. Basic government provision was the best he had been given from birth, until he had been released upon attaining 18 years of age. That year had been 2146.
With the arrival of the Terraians in 2135 and the subsequent re-establishing of society under their guidance, life had continued with far more promise and order — especially for him. Immediately following his release, he had become a Foundation employee, working at the Ore Facilities in Region 3. His apartment was a luxury that came with the job. From humble beginnings, he had achieved a societal status that permitted cross-region travel.
Only selected members achieved the cross-region passes; selected members chosen by the Terraians for employable utilization. Cooperators, as the Terraians referred to them.
As supposed ancestors, sent from the future to redress the past, the Terraians made an alliance with selected representatives of the Earth in an organization known as the Foundation.
It was necessary to avoid the destruction of the planet, which would ultimately force the survival of humanity to some distant star called Terra. Terra was not a stable planet despite having an environment like the Earth and couldn't be expected to support 3 billion humans for more than 2,500 years. When the need arose to return to Earth, it had been the New Age 2120 on Terra and time was running short.
Only the Earth people referred to them as Terraians; employees regarded them as they called them, and as they liked to be called — the ancestors.
One of the first things the ancestors had established, after making contact, was the integration of advanced power technologies, negating the Earth's fossil fuel usage to nothing. It had been deemed critical that this was introduced first. To do this, relocation had been established worldwide. A necessity for the rebuilding and laying of new lifestyle foundations.
This relocation involved moving all the Earth people into the European sector of countries, the central point for all of the world's continents. This was designated as Region 1.
Those chosen for employment, as Brandon was, were moved into and housed in an area that encircled this, called Region 2. All the surrounding area, which made up the majority of the remaining planet, was termed Region 3. This region was for the deployment of Terraians and their essential work of restoration.
Segregation was deemed not only necessary, but crucial. Brandon often wondered what life was like for the majority of the population that were housed in region 1. Were they given the same luxuries and opportunities as he had been given. Regardless, his focus centered on being grateful for his own situation.
With the apparent need for the replacement of people, new modes of transport were devised and introduced worldwide, along with better health facilities and advice centers. Employment opportunities in region 2 were plentiful and the lonely and disadvantaged were given first consideration. It was so far reported as a resounding success.
Despite still being single, Brandon considered himself lucky. He smiled at his reflection. He felt good in himself as he turned back to the bedroom. He acknowledged that there was a certain freedom in not having the responsibilities and ties that came with family commitments.
"I won't be home until 19:00 tonight, Tiss, I have a meeting to attend to," he informed as he dressed. "I would like my bath ready at 19:30 and a warm meal for 20:30. Please save today's episode of 'Skyrunner' and the 'All-points Newscast.' Send the subscription credit to Microtechnologies and request their latest e-zine. Can you also send this voicemail to the dry cleaners... voicemail start 'There was a stain on my gray suit jacket that came back yesterday — March 3rd. Please can you ensure today's returns are checked. Brandon Vega. Thank you.' voicemail stop"
He dabbed at the jacket with a cloth and checked that he had placed his ID swipe card in his breast pocket.
"If I should get delayed at all today, Tiss, I will notify you. Resume security status 1 — building unoccupied. Set intruder alert to maximum settings. Link to local enforcement and emergency service establishments and maintain until notified further. I am leaving for work now."
He grabbed his double-strength sunglasses, inhaler, and lunch from the kitchen table and locked the front door with his swipe card. The security camera whirred in his direction as he went, stepping across the hallway towards the lift. He entered and pressed the button marked "Cross Region Travel."
‘The Grey Tube', as it was referred to by employees, was an overhead means of travel. It was only accessible to those residing in region 2 and in order to cross the vast distances between regions, it traveled at hypersonic speeds. The means of travel available in region 1 was still the more recognizable train system.
The Terraians had said it was necessary to segregate and quarantine humans into their own region, as they could not predict what effects their studies and procedures to restore the Earth would have on human health. Each region divided into differing zonal patterns, mainly due to the shape of the continents already, and consequently, technological integrity was different in each.
Although the Terraians hadn't openly enforced the need for taking over and redesigning the Earth's geographical accommodation, they had encouraged it as an integral benefit for expedience.
Nobody raised any suspicions and nobody that Brandon knew ever objected. It seemed to all that they had made life better all around. Government control, Terraian control — it was all the same at the end of the day.
Brandon stepped from the elevator to the curbside of his apartment block, crossing the road to the station entryway and, once inside, headed across the stationside to the rail marked Region Three — Terraia Regions. He proceeded to wait with the others for the ‘Grey Tube’ to arrive.
There were almost one hundred other employees dressed in exactly the same gray suits, all wearing double-strength protective shades, waiting for the transport to take them, like him, to the offices at the "Ore Facility" in Region 3.
He checked his wrist communicator: Humidity 24.876. Sunlight 65:1. Time 07:59.
The weather report from Channel 30 had proven to be accurate, as always, and he was running to time. The transport was due to arrive one minute later, at 08:00.
Brandon looked to the sky. The sun was a vast orange ball, suspended on a smooth, cloudless canvas. There was no breeze. The air was totally still and nothing breached the quiet. Nobody spoke — everybody was busy checking their communicators.
One minute later the transport arrived, pulling into the station and hovering to a halt below the thick overhead rail. It momentarily blocked out the immense sunlight.
One by one they proceeded along the platform, boarding individually through the electronic door at the front of the 30-foot grey tube. Each suit swiped his ID card across the scanner's plate by the door before making their way to a secure seat.
The tube was one round hulk with just the single opening. It carried no windows and appeared to be coated in some form of wax. Nobody knew how it operated as it made no sound other than a deep hum. Traveling at about half the speed of light was deemed too dangerous to observe the effects on the outside world. The distortion on the eyes would be beyond the realistic parameters that the brain can cope with and any exposure to such would immediately render the receiver to a state of cerebral convulsions, resulting in permanent brain shutdown.
With the state of the atmosphere and the resulting global warming, the sunlight had become far more intense and somewhat a yearly constant. People rarely traveled without the aid of protective sunglasses and had grown accustomed to having diminished vision outside. Windows didn't hold the same appeal as they used to and most preferred shade, even if it was enclosed from natural light. At least glasses could be removed in artificial light.
Brandon held out his swipe card. As soon as the suit in front of him had alighted the transport, he thrust his ID over the plate. The usual response light never appeared and an unknown voice greeted him — "I'm sorry, Mr. Vega — your ID is currently invalid. You have been scheduled for a health check and should proceed to the Care Center. Please step out of the queue."
The care center, thought Brandon, complying himself to the side of the queue. But I'm not ill. And who canceled my ID travel permit without telling Tiss? His questions preoccupied him as he exited the station.
The Care Center was where he had been sent to upon his release from the Preservation Facility. Funny, he thought, that's exactly ten years ago to the day!
He mused at the thought of those ten years as he approached the building.
The receptionist greeted him by name and pointed to a room at the end of the corridor. She smiled at him as he passed her and pressed a button on the desk. He removed his protectors and observed her as he went. He was not often in the company of females and he found her features and mannerisms to be pleasantly attractive.
The door opened as he approached and an ancestor gestured for him to sit. The figure was tall and lean, his features angular, yet smooth for a man of his age.
Brandon found the room to be extremely warm, dry, and slightly discomforting. Furniture was sparse, bar the tree stump and rocks that surrounded the water feature in the corner, but he paid the decor no attention at all; his thoughts were focused on the ancestor and why he had been scheduled away from work. He lost himself to the figure before him, waiting to hear his thoughts.
The figure never moved. He sat upright not ten feet away and merely observed him. His eyes remained locked on a point between Brandon's eyes and he never blinked once. Five minutes passed without anything happening.
Brandon would have concluded that the ancestor had been in a state of trance if it were not for the words that eventually came. Still the figure's form never moved. No lips parted and his jaw remained locked, yet his words were heard by Brandon as clear as day. They resonated in his mind, instilling a sense of calm; a state free from anxiety. He seemed to possess all the qualities of an experienced, spiritual healer.
"Good morning, Mr. Vega. I trust you are well!" the ancestor stated rather than inquired. "I have the wonderful pleasure of seeing you again — now some ten years since your inauguration day. I hope you have enjoyed the benefits of our mutual cooperation."
"Indeed I have, Sir!" Brandon replied, welcoming a conversation with someone real; someone other than Tiss. "Is this to stop now?" he inquired further, suddenly afraid that this was where it was all leading.
"Not at all!" the ancestor responded, "you are a dedicated employee which we appreciate as being valuable to the cause. As such, we like to look after you as well as we can. In view of your dedication and service to the situation to date, we are giving you, your tenth-year bonus. We did not inform your T.I.S.S.A., as it is a surprise — a birthday surprise."
"Thank you," Brandon responded with a sense of mixed emotions — a surprise — he was totally flabbergasted by the whole affair. He had never had any form of celebration. His birthday had always been him and him alone. Never had he received a present and he was not sure how to react. He smiled. "That is most thoughtful, I am touched. May I ask what my surprise is?" he questioned, his excitement overriding his normal tactile manner.
The ancestor rose and slowly ventured away from his desk to a position directly behind Brandon. His movements were graceful and calm; nothing seemed disturbed as he moved effortlessly across the room. As he went, he continued speaking.
"The most priceless commodity in the whole Universe, Mr. Vega, is Time. We exhaust time in our daily endeavors until time slowly exhausts us. Exhausts us until we eventually die. It is this commodity which you have so selfishly given to our mutual cause and as such, it is what our mutual cause has taken from you. We have such advanced knowledge about the human genome that we have learned how to give time back. Today we will give you the present of time. We will give you that time back. Ten years' worth of time. It will be administered simply and painlessly with a small vaccine."
The ancestor moved quickly forward until he was directly behind Brandon's chair, his words calm and reassuring as he described the many benefits for cheating death. As he spoke his hand motioned gently until it was level with base of Brandon's skull. It shimmered and flickered for a second and then the very atoms destabilized, reshaping itself into a three-clawed limb. The limb reflected a dull, green light as the scales aligned under the artificial lighting. It seemed a natural, familiar shape; a shape more congenial to the figure's movements.
The instant the limb settled, the claws parted. Two holes appeared in the folds of the joins, one either side of the center claw, from which a needle looking implement projected itself.
The ancestor wasted no time creating two small incisions. The movements were precise; fluid. So expertly was the procedure administered that Brandon was unaware that anything was happening. When the needles withdrew, the entry points re-closed, showing no sign of any wound or mark. Only the droplets of green liquid that trickled off the needle points showed evidence of an action having taken place.
"There!... all done," voiced the ancestor. "As a further treat, I would suggest you enjoy the rest of the day at home. It will allow the chemicals in your brain to settle back. I look forward to seeing you again in another ten years, Mr. Vega. Enjoy your birthday today. Goodbye."
"Goodbye and thank you," responded Brandon, not sure what else to say and slightly confused by the abruptness of how the meeting concluded.
The ancestor returned to his desk and adopted a stationary position again. Brandon rose from his chair, taking one final look at the motionless figure before him, before turning to the door to leave.
He re-entered the corridor, smiling at the nurse behind the desk as she too wished him a happy birthday. He suddenly began to feel very good about himself. He left the Care Center on a high. All the attention he was being given somehow made him feel younger — despite the fact that today of all days was his birthday.
Maybe, he thought, birthdays are nothing more than database entries when you have control over time. The minutes passed as he considered the previous events. Eventually, he arrived back at his apartment, glancing across to the station on his approach.
He couldn't wait to get back to work. He had an overwhelming feeling that told him there was so much more work left to do; to help the ancestors. For today, though, the Ore Facility would have to excuse him. Today was his birthday and he was free to enjoy the time that he had been given. He was feeling really good about things.
After all, he'd just gained 10 years — what difference could a day make?