Chapter 10

By the time he was done with all the explanations it was late.  Even Rachel began to look tired, and, when the conversation lulled, she stretched and yawned.

“Carlton, this has been great, but I better be getting home.”

He looked at his watch, 1:25 AM.  “Good grief, I had no idea.“ He looked around the empty Café. The bored Barista had all but given up on life.  “You’re right. Thanks, Rachel, this has been the most fun I’ve had for ages.”

“You need to get out more.”  She smiled.  “OK, let’s get out of here.  Walk me to my car?“

“Of course.”

The Barista perked up when he saw them get up, followed them to the door, and, politely, wished them a good night.  Rachel and Carlton both laughed.  They walked in silence for a few minutes.  Carlton had done more talking this evening that in the last two weeks put together and he was tired.  He was also uncertain how to proceed.  It was OK though, because Rachel, in her dependable way, began speaking again.

“Will you be doing the maintenance on the library computer?”

“Yes, and it will be under warranty for three years too, so if anything goes wrong…” he paused and inwardly winced, “you know who to call.”  He felt himself being drawn to the edge of a precipice: emotional entanglement.  Panic began to well up inside, warnings began to sound in his mind.  In a millisecond Carlton lived through a whirlwind romance with Ruth all the way up to the inevitable painful ending.

“Great,”  Rachel noticed the flicker in Carlton’s countenance, and summed it up with accuracy and insight.  However, she was not here to play games, and had an agenda that Carlton knew nothing about.  Her heart went out to Carlton.  He was like so many others she had met, so desperate and so small.  So afraid.

“They probably have your number at the library, but why don’t you let me write it down now?”  She smiled, but did not look into Carlton’s face, rather, she rummaged in her pocket-book.  Then they were at her car.  She thanked Carlton again for a pleasant evening, and chuckled as he clumsily fumbled the car door.  When she was seated she put the key in and rolled down the window.



“One last thing.  Do you go to church anywhere?”


“Yes, I just started going to Anchor Baptist Church, why don’t you come Sunday? Oh, Tomorrow!”

Carlton frowned, talk about curve balls.  “I’ll think about it.“

“OK, bye.”  She checked the mirrors, looked over her shoulder, waved, and drove off into the night.

A chasm opened up below Carlton’s feet, and her stared down into oblivion. So, not only was he going to get his heart broken, again, but he was going to get drawn into a bunch of religious clap-trap while it was happening. He sighed. Shook his head in an attempt to clear it, then walked to his own car contemplating the trials and pitfalls of life. Only yesterday he had been safe and secure in his introverted bubble. Now he was naked and exposed in a situation that, though he had dreamed of it for years, he didn’t want to be in.

It was Rachel though. It wasn’t some random woman that he blundered into. His heart was already leaking blood from the anticipated wounds as he made his way home. Home, that was a convenient distraction, but another situation that he really didn’t feel like dealing with right now.


Chapter 9

As a High School student Carlton had been withdrawn and quiet, unsocial and uninvolved.  One of his teachers had been convinced that he was using drugs because he was so pale and tired.  In reality, he had been up late into the night, designing, building and refining his electrically independent computer.  He drew his own blood for it, leading to symptoms of anemia.

His prototype was, in retrospect, an archaic fossil as soon as it was operational, but he won a National competition with it.  He won because his design exemplified the philosophical goals of the contest: energy efficiency.  A small cup of sugar-water ran the computer for a week. A unique feature of his system was that it had its own personality.  It was more than just artificial intelligence being self-aware.  This was deeper.  The computer was curious about the people it interacted with.  It wanted to know how to please its operators, and what it could do to be of value in the pursuit of knowledge. The fifteen minutes of fame it bought Carlton was fun, but more important was the availability of funding to be able to pursue his idea full-time.

That was ten years ago.  Since then he, and the computer systems he built, had come a long way.  When his invention received the National spotlight there were imitators right away, even mass-produced versions from Asia.  He could usually stay a step ahead of the competition.  Any time there was an innovation from elsewhere he could adapt quickly.  Over time the competitors had failed because they couldn’t develop viable business models.  Their computers also lacked the flair of personality that Carlton’s had.

Carlton had learned a lot by trial and error.  A big boost to the performance of the computers came from using artificial red blood cells.  The effect had been dramatic.  But with increase in processing power came an unfortunate side effect.  The computer had no personality.  It couldn’t function in the unique manner that was the whole point of building the system that way.  Carlton went back to using real blood and supplemented it with artificial additives, he just didn’t tell anyone.

Carlton’s business was called Hemalytic Erythroprocessors LLC. There is no such thing as a hemalytic erythroprocessor, it was just a name that Carlton made up by combining the words hemoglobin (the molecule in red blood cells that carries oxygen) with analytic, and erythrocyte (red blood cell) with processor.  It meant that Carlton could call his company HELL Computers, which he thought was funny.  He would chuckle every time he read the name.  One of Carlton’s major flaws was that he thought he was clever and witty.  He was often confused about why people didn’t think his jokes were funny, and would usually assume that they were just a bit dim.  It didn’t occur to him that he was being offensive.

It had played out in his attempts at romance more than once. His preoccupation with the development of his systems was very obvious to anyone who knew him. Every now and then though, usually in the spring of the year, he would emerge from seclusion with the notion that he was lonely, isolated, and needed a companion. He would latch onto whatever poor soul crossed his path and smiled at him, causing him weeks of pining and consternation until she eventually succame to his charms. After that things would go downhill quite quickly as he realized that the attention that his new companion deserved was well beyond his capacity to provide in an ongoing relationship. Things always ended badly. His car had been vandalized more than once, his garage doors sprayed with graffiti three times, and had been called every name under the sun. Oddly enough, his spurned ex-girlfriends somehow all seemed to settle on the same expression of their utter disdain, unmentionable here. His most recent encounter, which really wasn’t very recent so, technically, he was overdue, had ended with the lady calling him, “the stupidest genius she had ever met,” which was one of the nicest insults he had ever received.


Chapter 8

Carlton’s computer systems were a remarkable feat of theoretical pioneering.  The engineering was fairly simple, and the raw computing power was not great, but that was not the point.  In a similar way to how fine art has an intrinsic value to culture and society, even though it may be just a few bits of wood, canvas and paint, Carlton’s computers were revolutionary.  The fundamental basis was an idea that Carlton had in High School.  There had been a big push back then to develop energy-efficient technology.  There was a well sponsored National competition for clever inventions that Carlton decided to win.  Carlton’s idea was to generate electrical power at the place where it was needed, rather than storing it elsewhere and using wires and connectors to transport it.

The human body, Carlton theorized, is powered by changes in electrical potential as electrons move across cell membranes.  The energy to do this comes from biochemical reactions in the cells.  This is called respiration.  Power is not transported to the cells like electricity is, but fuel, from metabolizing food, is taken there in the blood.  Each cell converts the fuel into the energy needed to power all of the cellular processes.  Blood transports everything necessary for metabolism to each cell, and it takes the waste products away.  Carlton figured on making a computer that operated in a similar way.

Carlton wanted to generate the computer processor’s electrical power right at the processor.  The processor would need to be small and have low power usage, but if hundreds, maybe thousands, of these processors were linked together the computer should be fast enough.  Most importantly it would not need a source of electricity.

The idea was simple enough but it turned out to be a practical nightmare.  As Carlton thought and designed he built small replicas of human organs.  A pump to circulate oxygenated solution was the heart.  An aerator to add oxygen and remove carbon dioxide was the lung.  A filter to remove waste products from the solution was the kidney.  The solution in the machine was the blood.  To keep it simple Carlton used real blood, his own. Each of these components also needed power, and so his problem was not only to make a system that could power its processor, but could produce enough surplus electrical current to run the other peripherals necessary to the system.

One of the early challenges was how to develop a membrane that was big enough to be useful, but that would be able to perform in the same way that a human cell membrane does. His first experiments involved using the papery layer of skin that is found in between the layers of an onion. This is just one cell thick but it can be peeled off if you are careful. He was very careful, and his success at generating a measurable electrical current by filling onion skin membrane with his blood was all he needed to develop a full fledged obsession.

His work after that introduced him into the medical field and the world of cosmetic surgery, where researchers were growing human skin from stem cells for use in re-constructive surgery. He convinced his parents to fund his project and custom ordered a sheet of artificially grown human skin that was one cell thick, and big enough to cover a twenty inch computer screen. It died, but not before he demonstrated the validity of his idea, prompting a new burst of investigation into a cellular substrate that was not living tissue. This he eventually found in a lab in Geneva, Switzerland, who had stumbled upon the invention by chance while developing a lining for the inner wall of the Superconducting Supercollider at CERN. Now he had a cellular substrate that was the equivalent to one cell thick, was made of cell-sized miniature compartments and was porous. It was ceramic and very durable. It worked perfectly, and he began generating the electrical current he needed. The next challenge became finding a processor that would work in the system.





Chapter 7

Carlton knew the perfect place.  A hip counter-culture coffee shop with an independent label brand.  The kind of place where poets and students hang out.  To Carlton the coffee had a very slightly burnt taste, like they were trying too hard to be cool, but it was cool because it was local.  Carlton liked it.  It was in downtown Salt Lake City, an hour away, but Carlton lived near there and it turned out, Rachel did too.  This was the place where, in his daydreams, he had gotten down on one knee and asked this woman to marry him many times.

Rachel was a constant bubble of questions about the computer, Salt City, and Carlton’s life.  She kept it up quite easily which was fortunate, because if the conversation was left up to Carlton it would probably been a few nervous murmurs.  Carlton felt like a kid again.  They laughed about old times, old friends, and 10 years of lonely life evaporated out of Carlton’s mind.

She would not stop asking about the computer.  Every time the conversation strayed to some childhood event, Rachel steered back to Carlton’s computer at the library.  It wasn’t so bad, Carlton got to explain how it worked, and how he had developed the systems that ran it. Let’s not forget that he was the genius who had revolutionized computing. Even though, however, the revolution had turned out to be a minor blip in the march of progress. He felt self-conscious and he checked over his shoulder more than once.

Carlton had rehearsed conversations like this one, with Rachel, in his daydreams.  He had played out his scene in a way in which he was completely prepared, composed, in charge, and directing the action. Now that he was speaking with her for real it was strange, not like he had thought at all. He was nervous, disconnected, and frequently exposed, unaccustomed to any scrutiny or expectation of accountability, suddenly being scrutinized and held accountable. He had imagined her gazing at him with big school girl eyes like a star-struck kid.  Not so.  Here was a mature woman who was not going to take any crap, and was certainly not going to swallow Carlton’s usual line of bull.  Yet she kept on asking questions, and he kept on answering them.

At times his answers became deeply technical and he was afraid he was boring her. Rachel, however, did not seem to have have any difficulty grasping the details.  Rather, she was quite familiar with the back story of how the blood-based computer system came about.  She knew about some of the recent breakthroughs and developments too. After a while he relaxed. It was delightful that all the time he talked he could gaze into her face. It was too much to be true. Not only was she sitting here with him, but he actually had an excuse to look at her, and looking at her was what he wanted more than a dying man in a desert wanted a glass of water.  It was the face of his dreams, both awake and asleep, but now it was not a girl in his memory, but a woman in his presence.  It was a far more beautiful face than his imagination had dreamed of, it was a woman, not a kid, there were lines and a seriousness that was startling, but there was a girl in there too and at times if emerged with a flourish. The best part of it was that she kept on smiling, listening and asking questions.

As time ticked by Carlton noticed that the coffee shop had emptied out.  They were getting irritated looks from the Barista, who clearly wanted to be elsewhere.  Carlton tried once or twice to wrap up the conversation and move on, out of a weird sense of wanting to do the Barista a favor and let him close up the shop, but Rachel was a lively stream of questions and comments so he gave up. They talked and laughed. Carlton felt himself falling in love, for real, not in an imaginary way. Yet he could already feel the pain of another failure, it brooded at the edge of his thought. He lived the emotions of the whole cycle of acceptance, trust then dismissal and being crushed. But this was Rachel. He would go through all of it for her, that was his dream come true.





Chapter 6

“Rachel?” The woman of his dreams was standing before him.  He would have fled if she wasn’t holding him.

“Yes,” she smiled some more, then let him go.  She checked her outfit in a professional way then turned to her two companions at the circulation desk. She gave a dismissive wave to say get back to work.  She looked back at Carlton smiling, “Carlton, wow, I mean, it’s been a long time. How are you?“

“Rachel.”  Carlton reached to shake her had and looked into her eyes.  “It’s really good to see you.“  Rachel blushed slightly and looked away.  He held her hand for a moment, until she shook free.  She focused on the computer terminal.  “Are you finished?  I mean, we have to have this thing turned on and running before the folks come in.”

“Sure, you’re all set.”  He regained his composure.  She nudged passed him and stood at the terminal, hit the power switch and waited. Carlton smelled perfume, fabric softener and woman.  A pump began humming, then a trickle as fluid coursed through the fine tubing that Carlton had installed.  Beneath the monitor was conduit box that Carlton had not put the cover on.  It was possible to see some of the internal working of the computer.  There were clear plastic tubes connected to the motherboard, and red liquid crept along them, flowing into the terminal.

“Is it real blood?” she asked Carlton quietly.

“Oh no,” he said dismissively, trying to cover a lie.  “Well, parts of it were once.”  He knew that she did not believe him so he tried to remake his answer.  “It’s a souped up blend, the red blood cells are real, and the platelets and stuff.  But it’s mixed with a special plasma-like fluid that works as a coolant and lubricant.”


“Well, err plasma.  From volunteers.”  He wished she would stop.


“Of course,” he frowned beginning to get irritated.  “He should be ready.”

Ruth leaned in close to him and whispered, “Are you sure she’s a he?”

“Oh yes,” he nodded emphatically, “He’s a he all right, just you wait.”

Ruth straightened up and addressed the console, “Can you hear me?”

There was a slight hiss that drew into a ragged wheeze, like the labored breath of a dying man.  It coughed, and seemed to clear it’s throat.

“Yes,” came a man’s voice from the console, “I can hear you.”

“Hello, my name is Rachel Robbins, I will be your programmer.  We are in the records section of the municipal library in Salt City, Utah.  Have you accessed your primary commands?”

“Yes,” the voice strengthened and had a deep resonance.

“See!” Carlton mouthed.

Rachel began a sequence of checks with the machine.  Carlton began to clean up his tools ready to leave.  He still couldn’t believe it.  Rachel Robbins, after all this time.  And wearing a skirt.  The glasses were gone, but it was Rachel Robbins.  Who would have thought.

As he made for the door, Rachel called to him.

“Wait, I only have a few left,” she indicated her clipboard, “Can you hang on for a few minutes?”

“Sure,” Carlton smiled.  Sure he could wait around for a few minutes, for the woman who had occupied his daydreams for years.

When Rachel finished it was quite a bit later, but she was cheerful when she at last turned her attention fully to Carlton.

“I ’d really like to talk about the computer, but I’m hungry, need a cup of coffee, and you probably do too?” she raised her eyebrows emphatically.

This was getting better and better.  Now he was about to get to go sit down in a Café with this women.

“You must be a genius, I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”

“Great, where’s a good place to go, I’m new in town.”



Chapter 5

“Excuse me,” said a voice from above the skirt, out of Carlton’s view.

“Yes Ma’am,” he replied.

“Hi,” her voice was edgy, slightly irritated. “How much longer is this going to take?” The feet, in pumps with a small heel, were shifting around.  He sighed.  His neck was stiff and hurt from craning so long, so he lowered his head to the floor before answering.

“Ma’am,” he began, “I wish I was done now so I could get up and take a look at you.”  The words were out before he thought what he was saying.  He winced, expecting a kick.

She chuckled, “I can’t believe you said that,” she relaxed a little, and then walked off.

As she turned Carlton caught a glimpse of a faint circular scar in the back of her right knee.  His heart skipped a beat.  He remembered something similar on Rachel Robbin’s leg, something that he had put there.

They had been on a school field trip to a nearby farm when they were about 12 or 13 years old.  It was close to the end of the trip, all the kids were playing King of the Castle on a big haystack.  Carlton had stayed close to Rachel all day, who played along, being friendly and eating her lunch with Carlton.  He was infatuated with her.

During the game in the haystack Carlton had been King, defending his position and throwing the other kids down as they tried to take his place.  He lost his balance and fell, crashing into two other kids as he went down and he wound up in a heap of bodies. There were legs and arms all over the place.  He got kneed in the head and elbowed in the ribs.  In a fit of exuberance grabbed a leg and bit into the flesh behind the knee.  There was a scream, and he received a powerful kick in the face.  It had been Rachel, and after that she didn’t speak to him again.

Carlton concluded that the woman who had just spoken to him could be Rachel Robbins.  His heart beat faster, his hands started sweating, his mouth became dry and he came close to panic.  What if it were Rachel?  This was a terrifying prospect, but so was the possibility that he was getting himself worked up for no reason, and it was some other woman who wore skirts and had a bite mark.

The next moments were torturous as Carlton snapped tight the last tube clamps, checked seals, replaced panel covers and collected his tools and trash.  He got ready to get up and meet the lady, whoever she was.  It involved having to wriggle out from under the counter in a rather undignified way.  Then he was out and on shaky legs he stood up.

He looked around to see where the woman was.  She was close by, her back to him, and he checked her out, head to toe and back again.  Twice.  It was a skirt all right.  Neat, straight down to her knees.  The upper body was in a matching suit jacket.  There was a flow of long hair straight down from a center parting to a point between her shoulder blades.  It moved as she moved, and caught gleams of the sun from the skylight.  Carlton got lost in the beauty of the moment enjoying the play of light on the silky hair.

He was staring at her with his mouth open when she turned around.  She recognized him and her countenance brightened.  Remembering Carlton’s silly remark from under the counter she narrowed her eyes and said, “I should have known.”

Carlton stammered a response, then she gave a girlish laugh and ran the few steps between them, catching him in an embrace.  She smiled and said, “Is that really you, Carlton Feathers?” then she winked at him, “Close your mouth sweetie.”



Chapter 4

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.




Chapter 3

The drive to undertake this great endeavor had come from a century of the American continent being and torn by one natural disaster after another.  People fled the battered coastal regions of the United States.  Sea level had risen about ten meters.  Florida was practically gone, and what was left was an alligator and snake infested swamp that was put through a blender every year by hurricanes.  The whole East Coast had changed so much that in places it was miles inland of its former position.

Land subsidence in New Orleans, Louisiana and along the Mississippi river allowed the waters of the Gulf of Mexico to flood a wide area of the Mid-west.  Now an inland sea, up to 100 miles wide in places, stretched from the Gulf of Mexico to St. Louis, Missouri.  There are no bridges anywhere along this stretch.  Ferries and aircraft are the only options for travel between the eastern and western parts of the south-eastern USA.

In the west, The Independent Republic of California is a massively overcrowded island archipelago off the New West Coast.  The San Andreas fault had split wide open during a period of repeated massive earthquakes. Everything from the fault line westward reared up and toppled into the ocean.  The Pacific ocean had rushed into the widening gap and what was left above sea level were a chain of mountainous islands from San Francisco in the North, to Malibu in the South. They are moving westward at the rate of ten meters per year and earthquakes are almost a daily occurrence.  The islands are separated from the New West Coast by a sound that is over 1000 feet deep in places.  The only really good consequence of this was the amount of beach front property along the West Coast has quadrupled.

The environment is so fractured in so many places that much infrastructure and industry has collapsed.  Changes and upheavals are so common that the normal and orderly functioning of society is impossible.  Peoples’ lives are disrupted so often that they live as semi-nomadic hunter-gatherers.  Albeit quite well-to-do hunter gatherers with cell phones and off-road vehicles.   Either that or they are enlisted in the armed forces, the Police, or in the Federal Emergency Management Agency.  FEMA is now the largest Government Agency both in terms of scope of mission, proportion of the Gross Domestic Product consumed, and sheer numbers of employees. FEMA encompasses the Departments of Homeland Security, Defense, and the Interior.  It manages the Environmental Protection Agency, which is convenient, since it also manages the strategically vital oil and gas industries.  Oil and gas production is heavily militarized. Providentially, thanks to the effort of a President long since passed into history, the US Government happens to be the largest producer of solar energy cells in the world.

Real estate is at a premium since so much land has been lost or destroyed.  What is left is critical for use in agricultural production, but bands of roving nomads, and gangs of desperadoes mean that the farms to have to be run as fortified and well defended plantations.

The computers do not like it at all.  Of course it is OK for solar-powered laptops, smart phones and such utilitarian devices as humans like to play with, but the big mainframes can not abide the frequent electrical and network outages.  Not to mention the roving packs of semi-wild humans that will smash them up just to strip out the copper wiring.  All the big mainframes want to be in Salt City.


Chapter 2

Carlton was listening to the radio while he worked, and at that particular time he was in the Municipal Library of Salt City, Utah. Not Salt Lake City, that was an hour’s drive away, but Salt City, a fabulous new feat of architectural brilliance.

Not long from now but still a ways away the sustainability movement completed its greatest ever achievement: A city-sized municipal infrastructure that was completely self-sufficient for energy, water and food.  It was called Salt City, and it was made up of geodesic domes built in the salt flats not far from Salt Lake City, Utah.  Each dome was one mile in diameter, towering half a mile into the sky.  They were in a hexagonal arrangement, the central one sat somewhat higher than the others.  It was a gleaming structure that shone brilliantly in the vast white plain of the desert.  The city had been designed and built by the same American idealism that had made the atomic bomb and put men and women on Mars.

The project had been born out of the severe stress on the the American people over the course of decades. The United States had become very unstable in places due to catastrophic natural disasters and migrating populations, so it was decided that a stable, self-contained and highly defensible place was needed to store all of the computing hardware necessary to run the country’s systems. The project had inspired a generation of productivity and economic stimulus and served as the focal point of the Nation’s energy and resources.

It was a real city, though, make no mistake.  It got dirty and lots of things broke and needed to be fixed.  It needed people to get dirty every day to make sure that there was a spotlessly clean environment for all the computers to work in.  It hadn’t taken long for advanced  computers to figured out that the people were the primary source of errors, breakages and dirt.  In all honesty they would have preferred it if there could have been a few nice clean robots to maintain them and perform upgrades. However, it was also well-known that people, especially those that didn’t understand computers, were highly unpredictable, prone to anger and violence, and likely to take the law into their own hands when they saw resources being squandered or unfairly allocated.  When the people got angry they didn’t care how much of a mess they made and they went around breaking everything. The people all needed a place to live, food to eat, basic necessities and occasional luxuries. After all, the computers were, technically, their tools.

In general the computers didn’t complain and they really appreciated the effort that people put in to keep them running.  When all was said and done, people needed computers and computers needed people. Sort of.  At least, for right now.  Some of the best and most advanced computer systems were now located in the gleaming domes of Salt City, for which they were truly appreciative. Carlton specialized in a particular type of computer system which was know for its unique interface.


Biblio’s Blood – Chapter 1

A woman with a barcode tattoo on her forehead

It was an indefinable moment in a dimly remembered future that is neither near nor far away.  A radio chattered to itself distantly, until a blast of fanfare erupted and sent the idle drifts of thought scurrying for cover.  Carlton Feathers, working nearby, heard it and groaned.  The fanfare was accompanied by the cheers of a stadium crowd that was seething with anticipation, just as if the North Carolina Tarheels were in the final of the National Basketball Championship, the leading scorer was at the free throw line, one point down, 1 second on the clock, with a chance to win the game. Then the announcement began:

“Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention please!” he scored the first free throw and the pitch of the excitement rose.  It was as if the whole world was vibrating with the pulse of the crowd.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.  Ladies and gentlemen, the time of waiting is almost over!” he scored the second shot, won the game, the buzzer rang and the crowd exploded into noise.

It took several moments for the roar to die down enough for him to continue.  “Yes, my friends, the door is about to open on the threshold of the next great step in our journey of human evolution,”  the announcer paused to allow another wave of very loud crowd euphoria,

“That we, as the human species, have ever attempted.” The noise of the crowd was so great again that he was shouting at the top of his lungs.

“Yes, my friends, the time is at hand.” he paused, savouring the moment, building his crescendo,

“We stand,” there was a tremble in his voice now as he was giving it everything he had,

“On the threshold of World Monetary Union!”  His voice carried above the crowd, and it brought the house down.

The insane applause was faded out, and a narrator came on to describe what would happen in the next few days, and to reassure everyone that they were in the best possible hands.  There was nothing in the world to worry about.  Everything was going to be all right.  World Monetary Union was finally here, and there was still one week left for every man, woman and child to get their financial affairs in order, register, and receive their WMU bar code tattoo.

Carlton had groaned when he heard the announcement because it was another reminder that he had not registered yet. There were times when he was a terrible procrastinator, and this was one such situation. He had left it so late to make inquiries about registering that the only appointment he could get was at 8 PM the following Friday. The deadline was 9 PM, so calling it down to the wire was an understatement. Technically it was no more complicated than filing an income tax return, yet for some reason it had become a huge psychological hurdle that he had to jump. Carlton had a problem with filing taxes too.

There was something about the whole system that made him nervous. He didn’t know why but it felt somehow wrong. Carlton had no idea that World Monetary Union and the registration barcode tattoo was linked to the fulfilment of an ancient Biblical prophesy, and he wouldn’t have paid any attention if someone had tried to explain it. To him it was more about loosing control over his money and assets. If anyone had told him that registering and receiving the tattoo would ensure that his soul would burn in hell until judgement day, he would have dismissed them as quaint and offered them a $20 bill.