Authors: Alyssa Ezra
“Order up!” Cole, Coletta Harper – if once actually knew her as anything but Cole, grabbed the three plates from the pass through before her hollering cook could put the ‘p’ on ‘up’ as the ham he called a hand popped down on the little antique bell that had been part of the diner in its previous life.
The line cook, Martin shouted all day long through the pass through between the kitchen and the dining area of the in-desperate-need-of-updates diner. According to Cole’s grandmother before she had passed away six years ago, when Cole was 17, the diner was no different than when it had been last updated – fifty years ago.
“Griddle cakes and hash for the little man. The industrial breakfast for you, sir. And the veggie and soy omelette for you, ma’am. Can I get any of you anything else?” Cole had mastered the sweet smile in order to guarantee a chance of a tip. Tipping was rare these days since most service industry jobs were staffed by automatons, forcing Cole to really work for the extra cash she needed in order to be able to eat after paying the rent on the shoe-box she called home.
As she left the family to their meal, Cole leaned against the wall near the pass through, behind the counter. The diner had been modeled after those of a number of centuries before, the iconic diner of the 1950s – it was 2448 and the icon was no longer shiny and gleaming in the sunlight. In 2448 gleaming only occurred at the 300
th
floor and above. Brady’s Diner was on the 53
rd
floor, what was considered street level in the modern age of the super metropolis that stretched along the old coastline between the four main boroughs: Boston, American York, Philly, and ‘Quarter’ Down Central.
Cole’s Grandmother said that the real name for QDC was actually Washington D.C and ‘Quarter’ derived from the pre-bit currency system, but Cole couldn’t say one way or the other. All she could say for certain in the massive super city was that she wouldn’t go any lower than the 50
th
floor; she avoided those slums at all costs.
On days like today, when business was slow, Cole would fantasize about what it might be like to live above the smog; she had only been to a 300-level floor once. Gran had managed to scrape the fare up that high on the sky lift, because she had heard that there was a free admittance day to the astronomical museum and learning center. They had stayed up there all afternoon and into the night so that Cole could look at the stars and learn about the worlds that existed beyond the haze covered Earth.
While she was dreaming about having a party out on some open-air deck, an ad on the daily recyclable news screen an earlier patron had left behind. Cole scrolled back up to the ad and tapped on it, to bring it into clearer focus.
Wanted – Non-altered, genetic woman for
paid
surrogacy experiment.
Requirements – Biologically born woman, between the ages of Twenty-two and Twenty-five. No genetic alterations or therapies. Presently experiencing a regular menstrual cycle – this experiment requires a fertile candidate for a study on surrogacy.
Contact: XXX.XXX.XXX.XXXX – YYY for more information.
Cole picked up the news screen and stepped into the quiet kitchen. It seemed the cook and his crew of two had slipped away to go puff on a couple of illegal burn-inhalables. Cole shook her head and quickly dialed the number on the ad into the diner’s old communication unit. As the antique unit beeped and pinged as it connected and started passing signal to the receiving unit, Cole fidgeted nervously, self-consciously checking the front of her uniform blouse for stains. Thankfully, it appeared that she had managed to avoid the dark veggie-milk that the toddler earlier that day had thrown in her direction.
Finally, the ancient comm-unit connected with the unit indicated on the ad. The visual display swam as the diner’s unit protested actually functioning. The pixilated image in front of Cole was that of a pinched face man behind a sleek desk. The audio crackled as he began to speak and Cole had to fight the urge to cringe at the screech on her end of the communication.
“Thank you for calling Sigert’ech Industries, how may I direct your communication?” The man’s nasal tone, transferred badly through the old system, but Cole did her best to ignore it.
“Uhh – yes sir, I am calling with regard to the Surrogacy experiment. I saw an ad on the Recyc. News board from this morning.”
“Ahh, yes, please hold.” The man transferred Cole’s call to a digital hold. The display was full of swirling colors. After no more than thirty seconds the same pinch-faced man suddenly reappeared.
“In person screenings are being conducted between seventeen and twenty-one hours today for the paid experiment subject. Anticipated compensation for the selected candidate will be 7.3 trillibits, with the possibility of an after-study bonus. The screenings will take place at Tower 6, Bithmus Plaza, floor 583. Do I need to repeat that for you?”
“N-no sir.”
“Excellent we look forward to seeing you then Miss Harker.” Eyes wide, Cole stared at the now black display.
How did he know my name? Forget that – 7.3 trillibits!
If Cole worked her three jobs until the day, she was the national average age of death for anyone who lived and/or worked under the 100
th
floor – 143 annual cycles – we would never come close to earning, much less seeing a fraction of that sum. The kind of money they were offering was life changing – absolutely life changing…
*
She almost hadn’t made it; Cold had had to slide into the last upward-bound public lift from beneath the hundredth floor. The lift manager had scowled at her, but thankfully didn’t throw her off. She had raced home in between her two food service jobs to grab a change of clothes and had called in sick to the short shift she was supposed to work that night at the recycling plant.
Since it was a long lift, Cole inserted the bits needed to activate a privacy shield so that she could change out of her diner clothes into a simply cut, unembellished dress, save the carefully stitched on metal chain that trimmed the collar and arm holes of the otherwise, plain black dress and the carefully preserved black, heeled, real-leather ankle boots that had been in the family for more than a century.
The boots were valuable, but to Cole the dress was priceless; it was the last thing that her grandmother had given her before she had passed. Gran had spent her final days in the health center altering the size of the dress to fit Cole’s too curvy frame. Cole had always been jealous of what she had been able to see of her mother’s willowy body.
In the few pictures that her grandmother had of the woman she had born into the world, Cole had been able to see what had existed in her mother before she had become so addicted to the burn-inhalables that she had disappeared into the slums beneath 50. According to rumor, Gran had actually ventured into the slums to find her daughter, Cole’s mother, but had had to quit after she had searched all the way down to the 45
th
level.
Had Gran gone any further, the government drones were likely to void her ID chip implant that she needed in order to re-access the upper levels. The old woman had to abandon her daughter for the well-being of her granddaughter.
Cole decided to leave the privacy screen active so that she might be able to claim a few minutes to calm herself before she stepped into the air that existed above the smog for the second time in her life.
“500-levels,” the lift manager announced. Cole deactivated the privacy screen and stepped closer to the door – as much as she wanted to ogle the world that gleamed and sparkled in a series of iridescent metal spires, tinted glass, and wide platforms that housed vast spaces of naturally green foliage and explosive bursts of blooming colors, Cole couldn’t afford to miss her stop.
“550 and Chute Express to Bithmus Plaza Towers.” When the sliding door opened, Cole quickly stepped off the lift tube and navigated her way through the crowd to the Chute that would drop her in the vicinity of the towers.
*
Stepping off the Chute had been harder than getting on it. There had been a group of young privileged men that had offered to show her if she had been willing to provide them with sexual servicing.
‘Seeing as how you are a bottom feeder’
one of them had insultingly commented.
When she had refused, they had laughingly walked off. An elderly man had kindly taken Cole’s hand and asked her where she was trying to get to. When she had relayed the address of her destination, he had swiped his ID implant over the scanner and had stepped onto the Chute and had turned to assist Cole into the small pod.
“My father was stuck on the lower levels – until he joined the military during the Metro Wars. He saved my mother, and as a ‘thank you’, her father, my grandfather, sponsored his move up. Of course, he never expected his only child to insist on falling-for and marrying a bottom-dweller, as they were called in that time.” The elderly man commented as the little pod, swirled through the Chute.
“That is a wonderful story,” Cole said softly.
“And one that serves to remind those that know it, and knew my father, that one should never judge the circumstances of those who were not born into the same privilege as oneself. To make sure that I never thought too much of myself, my father would take me down to the area where he had grown up. I had to tutor the young children down there – I would help them learn to read or do math. Let me say, that sure kept me honest.” The pod slowed and coasted into a cup shaped catch that suddenly began to lift them up to a platform where the pod opened.
“Is this it?” Cole asked.
“Close, here come this way.” Cole followed the elderly man as he led her across a green trimmed platform that was suspended between two towers.
“I’m Cole by the way.” The man chuckled.
“My name is Francis. Alright Cole, do you see those doors, straight ahead?”
“Yes.”
“You go right in there, and you tell Georgy, he’ll have orange-ish hair and will be sitting behind the Security Desk that Francis Bithmus told him to clear you up to 583, you have an appointment, tell him that I will be by in about an hour to check-in with him.” Francis Bithmus’ pale grey eyes twinkled at Cole’s shocked expression. He chuckled as he pushed her toward the doors, “Go on, you don’t want to be late.”
“Th-thank you Mr. Bithmus!”
“Francis, just call me Francis,” he called as Cole briskly dashed over to the doors Francis had indicated.
As soon as she stepped off of the lift that Georgy had cleared her up, Cole’s eyes widened as she took stock of the richness of the space she had just stepped into.
“Good day. May I help you?” Cole turned and faced the woman that had spoken. At first glance, Cole was sure that the woman was an automaton, she was so very perfect that she couldn’t be human; but since Cole’s face didn’t trigger their recognition software, it became apparent that the flawless, willowy, black-haired woman was human.
“Umm, I was told to come in for screening for the Surrogacy Experiment.” The woman’s eyes widened, but she quickly recovered.
“Of course, please have a seat – I will call back and let the screeners know that you have arrived.”
Well that was weird. Then again, for as much money as they are offering, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to receive a look like that. Huh…What is that?
Cole reached for a screen that was set out on the low, real-wood table that provided a focal point for the cluster of chairs, in one of which she was seated. The display discussed an upcoming study that Sigert’ech was planning on conducting. The scientists intended to test the compatibility of human and alien genetics, in terms of procreation.
Sure, she was from the lower levels, but Cole knew that there had not been an active attempt of breeding between an Earthling and an alien race. That kind of news would have spread through the levels like an inferno.
According to the information provided on the screen, there were expected potential side effects. There were the expected side effects that occurred in a normal, human pregnancy; however there were also other potential side effects – of which included death. As she was scrolling through the details, Cole realized that this was no short-term experiment, no, this was a potentially life impacting event, and not just economically. Cole fidgeted in the chair she had chosen suddenly nervous.
“Miss Harper?” The voice called from somewhere behind her, causing Cole to start and turn to look at the speaker. It was the same pinch-faced that had taken her original call.
“Yes?”
“Welcome to Sigert’ech, please come this way.” The man held the door beside him wide. It was an old fashioned door – one on actual hinges – most people couldn’t afford to have loosened the space needed for a door to swing and function as it was supposed to.
“Alright.” Cole got to her feet and crossed the expanse of the plush waiting room and slipped through the doorway ahead of the man.
“I am Benji – I am representing our clients in this venture.”
“Is this the compatibility experiment that the screen on the lobby’s low table was detailing?”
“Of sorts – I suppose you could say that the opportunity we might be providing you is of a parallel vein.”
Benji led Cole into a small, brightly lit room – there was even a window providing a lovely view down into the green-scaped platform that Francis had led her through earlier. In the room there was a small lounge bench, a table, and an armless, backless seat that was mounted on rollers.
“Please have a seat,” Benji offered as he gestured at the lounge. After she sat he continued, “The first step is that I have to take a blood sample for a battery of tests, including a genetic screening, in order to confirm that you do, in fact meet the requirements of this offer.”
As he was talking, the man who was more and more ferret looking, the more Cole looked at him, took a number of instruments and tools from a drawer within the table. The items included a small handheld computer, an attachment reservoir for the hand-held, a small sterile-wrapped adhesive pad, and a unit that looked like a vaccine gun.
“Your arm, please.” Cole extended her arm and Benji tapped lightly on the inner junction of her elbow before he settled the gun over the same spot and deployed the needle. Unlike when she had received vaccines from a similar device, Cole could feel a faint pull against her body by the gun and as she watched a visible, short expanse of tubing slowly filled with the virulent red of her blood.
Once the visible expanse of tubing had filled, Benji released the trigger on the gun unit, withdrawing the needle from her tender arm. He quickly reached for the sterile adhesive pad, opened it and with skill that spoke of practice, applied the pad to her arm over a freshly welling dot of blood without ever touching the side of the pad that would be in contact with her skin.
Cole watched as he then dispensed the blood into the reservoir attachment and snapped the unit onto the hand-held. The small computer beeped and buzzed as it whirled through the battery of tests. Benji was silent as the results quickly came through on the unit. Finally, with the last buzz and whirl of the hand held, the man looked up at Cole and smiled.
“Excellent, you meet all of the requirements and according to preliminary tests, you have perfect compatibility.”
“Oh, great – so, what now?”
“If you would review and sign these documents, that would be excellent – I will return shortly with the primary screeners.” As he was speaking, Benji dragged a sheaf of actual – not digital – papers out of the drawer of the table. He spread the various sheets across the surface of table before he stood and left the room without another word.
Cole skimmed through the first paragraph and picked up the laser pen to awkwardly scrawl her name across the bottom of the last page. The pen had nearly touched the page when she stopped, set the pen down, and took a moment to contemplate the reality of what she was about to agree to.
It could be a horrible monster. I might not have any say in what happens to the baby. I could die
. No matter the ‘what-if’ that came to mind, Cole came back to the same factor over and over again.
But if all goes well, my life will change forever…I will never have to go below the 200
th
floor…if not the 300
th
floor. I can’t claim that as things are. Save death could I really be any worse off?
Cole picked up the pen once more and roughly scribbled something that looked like her name across the bottom of the last page of the commitment contract. As she set down the pen and leaned back on the lounge, Cole heard feet approaching the door of the room that she was in, treading softly on the thick carpet of the Sigert’ech office. Benji’s narrow frame took up space in the doorway as he came to a halt just outside of the small room.
“Miss Harper, if you would follow me…” Cole stood as her initial screener collected the papers, carefully rearranging them back in order. He then led her from the room and further back into the office. At the end of the hall, they reached another heavy dividing door – Benji swiped the underside of his wrist over the scan plate, apparently this door led into the more modern area as it had secure access.
The door receded into the wall, leaving open a passage into a sleek metal and white hallway. There was no carpet in this space, only an occasional break in the wall that was filled with glass, allowing a view into the laboratories beyond.
Benji led Cole down a secondary hallway, past smaller labs until they reached a sealed door that was nearly at the end of the hallway. Benji scanned his ID Implant once more, but stepped aside and motioned Cole in when the door opened. Inside the room, there were three men, but there was something a little odd about them – Cole wasn’t sure what it was until they stopped speaking, not that she knew what the gibberish meant. The three men all turned to look at her, and the three of them had eyes the color of the ultra-neon in the prostitution corridor on the 73
rd
floor. And the whites of their eyes were not white. No, they were a lighter shade of blue – the color of the sky above the smog.