The United States is not really united at all. The Eastern States of America is run by Washington DC. The Western States of America now has it’s capital in Dallas, Texas, another major city that has become a giant-sized version of Venice. The Independent Republic of California is now, well, independent. There is only one President, and only one White House. The relationship of all these pieces is being worked out. The United States, if it could be called that, is limping along, far past its peak of world prominence.
That was fine with Carlton. He paid attention to the news coming out of Europe and the Asia-Pacific zone, but he was happy to be left alone in a peaceful little spot here in the heartland of The Western States of America. This was one of the few places where there was stability. Owning a home and having a job were still possible. It was feasible that a soul could spend their days being bored silly.
Salt City had been a work in progress for twenty years. Directly west of Antelope Island, Utah, it was built on an island of rock in the midst of the Great Salt Lake. You take I-80 west out of Salt Lake City, and the turn off is just after Burmester, before you get to Skull Valley. The domes were built first, their geometrical perfection was a masterpiece of engineering that had taken years to complete. Once the framework was constructed the domes were sealed with glass and plastic and a system of environmental controls installed. This did everything from opening the windows to misting the air, providing an exquisitely comfortable environment.
People had been living here all that time engineering and building, but it was very exclusive. Of the millions of Americans that were displaced or living in very poor conditions, only a select few had been invited to be part of the population of Salt City. It was intended to be a model, a prototype of the way in which all people would one day be living.
No one believed that hype any more. The decline in the economy and lawlessness in places made it unlikely that there would be any more dome cities. The once powerful streak of American idealism was on the verge of being snuffed out by the spasms of a tortured earth.
Yet there was at least a small ray of hope. For the time being, at least, the people of Salt City could set aside the darkness that brooded on the fringe of their consciousness and have a big celebration. Now it was going to be official. The dedication of the city was today.
Carlton was installing the computer system in the Salt City Municipal Library, and working up a sweat trying to finish in time. He was on his back on the floor beneath a terminal in the circulation desk of the main lobby. His head and shoulders were crammed into the space under the counter when a pair of shapely legs stood beside him. Carlton considered them carefully. Two finely sculpted calves were there beside him, hanging out the bottom of a pencil skirt. Carlton’s work momentarily forgotten, he followed the shape of those calves down to feet in simple black pumps.
Carlton had been holding his breath and biting his tongue in concentration, worming his fingers into the underside of the terminal, but now he gently released the breath in a steady stream. A skirt. Most of the skirts he had ever seen had been clothing the body of a girl he went to high school history with. The girl with the red eyeglasses.
Rachel Robbins, the girl that he could never forget. Now he was completely distracted. While contemplating the elegance of the curves and the fine skin he let his mind wander back to his youth. His first crush had been the girl who wore the red eyeglasses and skirts. He daydreamed about that girl. He had loved her in secret all those far off days of high school.
“Wow, nice legs,” Carlton murmured quietly, shook his head, and re-applied himself to finishing his task, packing away the bundles of wires and tubing.