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Scribe
Join Date: Feb 2006
Location: Brisbane
Gender: Male
Posts: 58
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A Song Of Plagues Suite 1 Part B
B
“As a species we had turned inward. We sealed ourselves in domes and in rooms. We put ourselves under constant surveillance and we watched each other. We became a televised monoculture.”
—from “A Survivor’s Log.”
Elaine Gordon stretched her slender, athletic body languidly as she woke to her alarm, a yawn blooming in the sunlight. She blinked her clear, blue eyes sleepily. Her cosy cell was lit with the warm glow of the midday skylights and the clean air was scented with peppermint. The stereo crooned her favourite song, an ancient ballad played on period instruments that had recently become popular on the local stations. She lay with her eyes closed in the soft light, smiling as the ancient recording filled the tiny space and it played over five times before she tired of it.
Music off, she transmitted with her neural implant. Shower on. The stereo fell silent and she rolled off her mattress, which then retracted into the wall. Her shower screen unfolded around the revealed recess and nozzles sprayed steaming, scented water from the ceiling. A wall compartment opened, revealing a series of motorised scrubbing brushes with new, sterile brush-attachments and several different detergent dispensers. Elaine stepped past the screen as it slowly enclosed the corner of her cell and dived under the torrent. The water was deliciously hot and bubbly, and she imagined it cooking off the dirt as she scrubbed her flawless, milk-white skin. When her skin felt absolutely clean she washed, rinsed and combed out her shoulder-length, red hair, then brushed her teeth and popped a disinfectant lozenge in her mouth to suck.
Dry me, she transmitted. The flow of water ceased and powerful jets of scented, hot air filled the shower recess, flowing from the floor, ceiling and two walls. She turned and wriggled her body, shaking her hair around, until she was completely dry.
Shower off, she sent, as she stepped through the folding screen. The shower recess was covered by a trapdoor and the screen folded into the walls. She stood for a few seconds, naked in the centre of the tiny, empty cube.
I should eat, she thought, and the idea filled her with revulsion. Her floor’s cafeteria was always crowded and the food was always the same bland nutrient-paste. Besides which, she might meet her ex-husband.
Don’t think about him! She thought, viciously. Sooner think about crap!
Using the toilet disgusted her more than anything else. She cast her eyes to the trapdoor in the corner that concealed the lavatory. With a grimace of resignation she realised she would have to use it today. She could not really afford another whole day in the DNIL sarcophagus, where her bowels and bladder would be emptied as her blood-energy was replenished intravenously, all while she lived out her fantasies in the DNIL system, oblivious to the disgusting operations of her body. But she’d used it so often, especially since her divorce, that her account was almost drained. She had never worked, so she only received the base-caste pension, fifteen hundred Hours per annum. That meant, on average, she could only afford four Hours a day of DNIL. She’d averaged fifteen Hours a day so far this year and had less than twenty remaining in her account. Unless she got an income, she would be spending the remainder of the year in the real world, eating in the crowded cafeteria and sitting on the toilet in her empty cell. But what work could she do? What could she sell? An idea occurred to her and a sudden recklessness overtook her. She knew that what she was considering would have made her ex-husband furious, and that, more than anything, made her mind up for her.
Cosmos? She transmitted into the floor’s central processor. May I speak with you, please?
Certainly, Elaine, came the response, almost instantly. Will you wait just a minute, please?
Certainly, Elaine replied. She breathed quickly, her skin was flushing with anticipation. Alone in the cell, she activated her armchair and sank into it as it rose from the floor.
After a long moment, a wall-monitor opposite Elaine’s chair chimed and turned opaque. From one side of the screen, as though walking out in front of a camera, the holographic bust of a man appeared. He seemed middle-aged, but with unlined, smooth, bronze skin and full, thick, black hair drawn into a tight ponytail. He wore an expensive-looking, black jumpsuit. He was extremely handsome, with an Incan caste to his features. His deep-set, brown eyes gazed benevolently over his beakish nose, seemingly seeking out Elaine and coming to rest on her face.
“Elaine,” the man’s voice rang deep and sonorous through the cell. “How lovely to speak with you again.”
“Hello, Cosmos,” Elaine said, her voice cracking.
“Are you well?” Cosmos asked, a thin, vertical line appearing on his aristocratic brow as the simulated face frowned in concern.
“Yes, but I’m broke.” Elaine stammered. Just do it! She thought.
“I’m broke,” she said, her voice stronger. “And I want you to help me… get some money.” Coward, she told herself. Just ask.
“Of course,” Cosmos replied, kindly. “What did you have in mind?”
Elaine knew Cosmos was a computer-program, probably holding billions of ‘personal’ conversations with other citizens around the world at this very moment. She knew that ‘he’ was an ‘it’, programmed to keep her secrets and not to pass judgement. She knew all this, but she felt the need for ‘his’ approval and respect nonetheless. She blushed and hesitated.
“Elaine,” said Cosmos, gently. “I can see you are in some distress. May I offer a suggestion?”
Elaine nodded, not meeting the holographic gaze.
“You have no skills or abilities that recommend you for any particular profession, and you retain hopes of obtaining a breeding license, so you will not consider selling your ovaries for the exowombs. I know you are anxious about hygiene so you are unlikely to consider prostitution, therefore your best chance at an income is to lease the sensor channels from your cell to the broadcasting networks.”
“How does that work?” Elaine asked, as if she hadn’t tuned in to thousands of the voyeur channels herself in the past.
“Simply put, anyone in the DNIL system can choose to watch the interior of your cell at any time. They pay the broadcasting network by the second and you receive a fixed percentage of the profits.”
“Yes, but how much money do I get?” Elaine asked.
“It varies, of course,” Cosmos said. “Do you wish me to guess?”
“Yes. How much?”
Cosmos smiled at her impatience.
“You are unusually attractive,” he said, without any particular emphasis. “But without advertising it will take some time for you to establish a loyal audience. I estimate an income of two hundred Hours in the first month, rising to about one thousand per month after the first year.”
“Done,” she said instantly. “Can you arrange it for me?”
“Of course, Elaine,” said Cosmos. A closely-worded document appeared on the wall-monitor, as though the AI was holding it up against a window-pane. “This is the industry-standard contract.”
Elaine didn’t bother reading it. She hated reading. She transmitted her signature to the document file and Cosmos counter-signed it in her presence before it vanished.
“When does it start?” She asked, breathing fast as though she had just run a race.
“Roughly ten seconds ago,” said Cosmos. “There are currently four people logged on.”
“Why?” Elaine asked stupidly, unable to repress a nervous glance at the walls and ceiling. In the DNIL system, it would seem to the viewers that they were standing in her cell, but to her they were invisible.
Like renting space to ghosts, she thought, and repressed a shudder.
“As I said, you are unusually attractive,” said Cosmos. “There are currently over eight hundred million people previewing the voyeur channels. I imagine that your appearance has caught their eye. In fact, as I speak, the number of viewers has risen to thirty-one.”
Elaine sat numb in the chair.
“Eighty-five,” said Cosmos after a moment. “One hundred and forty… Two hundred. Do you wish me to continue?”
“No, that’s alright, thankyou, Cosmos.” Elaine said distantly. “How much money have I made?”
“Point oh-oh-four Hours and rising.”
“In a minute! That’s alright! How much will I have by tonight?” Elaine asked and she thought: I can spend the evening in the catacombs!
“That depends largely on the spectacle you provide. If you remain as you are and do not move, probably up to three Hours.”
‘… as you are,’ thought Elaine then she noticed what had been troubling her.
“Er, Cosmos?”
“Yes, Elaine?”
“How much money would I make today if I… er, put some clothes on?”
“Significantly less, of course. I cannot be more accurate than that.”
“Right,” she stuck out her delicate jaw and stood abruptly. She was still completely naked and she felt acutely the hundreds of eyes upon her. She shivered and then she thought: But they’re paying. They’re actually paying to watch me. The found the idea suddenly exhilarating. Another thought struck her and she grinned devilishly.
“Can you show me the ratings live, please?” She asked Cosmos and the statistic appeared in bold numerals on the wall immediately. There were more than five hundred viewers.
“Thankyou, Cosmos,” she said. “That will be all.”
“You are welcome, Elaine. Until we meet again, farewell.” The image of Cosmos bowed politely and vanished.
Elaine waited for another minute, standing in the centre of the cell with her hands on her hips, tapping one foot slowly on the padded floor. Then she opened the closet with a transmission and took out a casual blue kimono which she put on slowly. She watched the ratings waver for a moment and then drop. When there were less than four hundred and fifty viewers she slipped the kimono off one shoulder, exposing a single, flawless breast. The ratings began to climb again after a few seconds. She pulled the kimono over her shoulder again and laughed out loud as the numbers dropped almost instantly. She unbelted the sash slowly and then held open the kimono like a flasher for less than five seconds. The numbers went up sharply. This time, when she belted it closed around her thin waist, the numbers held steady at about six hundred for almost a minute before they began to drop. She was beginning to get an idea of the audience.
Later, she had another shower, leaving the screens folded, and the numbers went up to over a thousand. Afterwards, despite herself, she had to go to the toilet and was startled when almost three thousand people tuned in to watch, tuning out again when she’d finished.
A whole lot of weirdoes out there, she thought and she laughed. A whole lot of rich weirdoes. I wonder how much money I’d make just by sleeping on top of the sheets.
__________________
"The clown bestows upon his audience the saving grace of laughter."
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