Weary Traveler

Endless columns of Rezi-Rizes towered high above Hawthorne Street. They were linked by porous, plastic tunnels that crisscrossed through the air over gaping nets like a demented grid stitched within an insane asylum.

Rickety ladders hugged the outside of the contaminated rizes alongside ancient elevators. Ropes and pulleys rattled, gears and cogs twisted and churned, carrying boxes of nomads to their coffins in the polluted sky to pop their bonzos and chug their booze.

Small, synth-food carts, and cheap, low-tech implant centers cramped together on the ground level where holographic projectors cast moving advertisements on the smoke screen in the space between the fortress of crumbled concrete and rusted iron. Buildings warped like they had been melted and jammed together thousands of times, patched like duct tape over a deep-tissue gash.

Mitch and Nova stepped into the madness. Dozens of pairs of feral eyes followed them as they made their way through the crowd, watching their every sudden movement like Mitch oozed a trail of blood around a pack of flesh-devouring, synth-creatures lurking around the streets of Rosenfell for their next meal.

“Fuckin’ corpo,” someone muttered from within the mass.

“Oh corpooo… corpo, corpo, corpo,” someone whispered in a voice that swirled around Mitch’s head.

“Wrong district, rich boy,” a young nomad said, dropping a headless synth-rat in their path.

Nova nestled into Mitch’s side, tucked beneath his arm.

“Almost there,” he said.

They pushed through the crowd, bumping shoulders with the massive current, and stopped at the entrance to Hawthorne Alley. Fires raged and illuminated the shadowy darkness, shined through thick plumes of smoke spewing out of the ground and spreading from pipes in the walls.

“What level?” Nova asked.

“Ground level. Back right corner.”

“Good,” she said, slowly tilting her eyes upwards until the back of her head rested on her neck, “I hate going up there.”

They marched to the end. Built into the wall was a withered, wooden door that looked like it had been chewed up and spit out of a wood chipper, rolled in the gooey mud, and shoved back into the brick like a piece of nomad art.

Mitch curled his fingers, knocked on the door. The surface was soft, absorbed his knuckles and cast a dense, muffled thud.

They waited. No response.

Mitch balled his right hand into a fist, pounded against the door with the fleshy part beneath his pinky.

No answer.

“Maybe it’s a different door,” Nova said, looking around.

“Yes?” a woman’s voice crackled from a spot on the left side of the door.

Mitch bent at the waist, stared at a small speaker casting static.

“Hello, ma’am. My name is Mitch Henderson. My friend Eleanor sent me here to get fitted for a tuxedo. And a gown for my gorgeous date.”

“Oh, yes! Elle said you would be coming,” she said, voice breaking through the white noise. “Don’t bother with the door, it is a permanent part of the brick now. There is a hatch on your left. I will unlock it for you.”

There was a loud, metallic clank that sent a vibration through the ground and up Mitch’s bones.

“Just head down the steps and follow the hallway to the end. Be sure to close the hatch to keep the crazies out,” the woman said, before cutting off the static from the intercom.

Mitch squatted, grabbed the hatch’s handle, and yanked it open. A gust of air flowed from the other side, carried a fragrant floral scent. He peeked inside. A trail of yellow lights lined a short, wooden staircase that descended several feet beneath the ground.

“Not where I pictured fancy gowns and tuxedos to be sold,” Nova said.

“We’ll check it out. If she doesn’t have anything we like we can find a place in Rotech District.”

Mitch stepped down onto the first wooden step with his right foot, pressed down, tested its sturdiness. The plank accepted his weight, welcomed him with a collection of croaks and groans that echoed through the narrow corridor. He stepped down with his left foot and descended a few steps, turned around and held out his hand, guided Nova down the first few planks before turning and marching down the length of the short tunnel.

A steel door at the end of the passage swung open as they approached. Warm, yellow light illuminated the room on the other side like the radiant rays from the Sun beyond the clouds.

Mitch lowered his head and stepped through the opening, emerged into a vast foyer decorated with ornate, gold-framed paintings hanging from crimson walls. Crystal chandeliers dangled from the ceiling, shined upon wooden floorboards that glistened with each shift in perspective. Geometric and paisley-patterned rugs stretched out like runways so that one could pass through the room without stepping foot on the hardwood.

“Hello and welcome,” said a woman’s soft voice from the left.

Mitch and Nova turned, met the warm smile of an elderly woman wearing an incandescent, violet evening gown. She shuffled across one of the rugs, muffling her approaching footsteps.

“My name is Winifred.”

Mitch smiled, stretched out his hand, but the lady swatted it away, continued forward with her slender arms spread wide like claws, wrapping Mitch in her gentle embrace.

“It’s nice to meet you, Winifred,” Mitch said, voice softened from her strong arms squeezing around his back.

“Eleanor has told me much about you,” Winifred said, releasing Mitch. She turned towards Nova. “And who is this stunning woman?”

Nova’s cheeks blushed, bashful smile flashed across her face.

“Hello, ma’am,” she said, bowing her head. “My name is Nova.”

“A beautiful name for a beautiful young lady,” Winifred said, wrapping her arms around Nova. She released her and stood in front of them, gazed back and forth between them.

“How very nice it is to meet both of you. It is difficult to find good friends when you are as old as I am and have seen as much of this city as I have,” Winifred said. “There was a time when the knowledge of the old and wise was sought. Now, it has become a burden to bear in Rosenfell. Everyone thinks they have all of the answers these days until reality comes knocking. And it always does, isn’t that right, Mitch?” she asked, peering at Mitch with curious eyes as if she absorbed and processed information falling off of his skin.

Mitch looked away, chuckled.

“Yeah,” he said, ruffling the hair on the back of his head, “sounds about right.”

“Eleanor tells me that you two are heading to a ball?” Winifred asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Mitch said with a firm nod. “The Rotech Ball after the Corpo Convention tomorrow.”

“My, my, lucky you for your invitation. I heard those are hard to come by. What is your role?”

“I’m a member of the Rotech Executive Board,” Mitch said.

“Fantastic!” Winifred said, shaking her fist at Mitch. “Good for you, considering where you started from, yes?”

Mitch glanced at Nova, swallowed the heavy saliva lodged within his throat.

“Not to worry,” Winifred said, patting Mitch’s shoulder. “Your secret is safe with me. Believe me, I know what power does to those that do not belong within the hierarchy of social control.”

“Thank you, Winifred,” Mitch said. “If you don’t mind my asking, how do you know Eleanor?”

“That old lady and I have known each other since we were kids. Back during a time where our society actually taught children in physical buildings and this gloomy city was known by the name of Portland. Bet you two didn’t know that one, did you?”

Mitch and Nova shook their heads.

“That’s what happens when you stop teaching and taking care of the children of human civilization. You neglect them for long enough and eventually people forget their history; forget who they are and where they came from. And if you can forget all that, then those same people will forget where they are heading when it all ends.”

“When what ends?” Nova asked.

“This temporary human experience,” Winifred said. “People have been molded and conditioned to think and believe anything the corpos say and do. I mean no offense to you, Mitch. It’s just that, when a society loses its history, they will inevitably repeat history without realizing it. People will give up their human birthright to freedom and liberty for a little perceived safety beneath the almighty government and corporate state. It is a trick, an illusion, you see? There is more to life than ceaseless consumption of synth-food, booze, and bonzos. A greater, higher reality than the insignificant one of tech and material possessions. The place we go when it all ends.”

“What is it called?” Nova asked. “The place we go when it all ends?”

Winifred closed her eyes, inhaled a long breath through her nostrils, filled her lungs, blew it out her nostrils like a deep breathing meditation. She remained silent, as if conjuring up a memory from deep within the depths of her mind.

“It has gone by many different names throughout human history. Across many different religions and cultures vastly more enlightened and spiritual than the technological and hedonistic world of sin we live in today. It is the eternal and infinite reality of light, consciousness, and, most importantly… love,” she said, nodding at some memory recalled from within her mind. “Many of the elderly in this city knew it as Heaven, before the fascist corporations and tyrannical government banished that word along with God and many other spiritually significant terms long ago.”

“Why?” Nova asked.

“Power. Control. Total domination over an entire civilization’s minds and hearts,” Winifred said, shaking her head and clicking her tongue. “That erasure of the past- combined with a diet consisting of synthetic food, booze, and bonzos- is a potent mix that invariably leads to hell on earth where demons thrive and worship Satan below.”

“How do we change that reality?” Mitch asked.

“Love yourself. Love each other. Love and have faith in the power of the Almighty God, Creator of the Universe, and rid yourself of the life that this devilish, sinful world has forced upon you. Love permeates the entire cosmos. It opens secret doors to dimensions that are inaccessible to those wretched creatures filled with self-loathing and hatred of others.”

Mitch gazed at Nova, reflected the smile that beamed across her face, turned back towards Winifred.

“Sounds easy enough,” he said.

“And just who do I think I am?” Winifred said. “Giving you two a sermon when you came here for a gown and tuxedo. Come on, follow me.”

Winifred waved them forward, shuffled across a long rug that led all the way to the back of the room. An enormous mirror about twenty feet tall and ten feet wide covered part of the wall. It was surrounded by yellow light bulbs that sparkled from one to the next.

“Okay, one at a time. Nova will be first,” Winifred said, grabbing ahold of Nova’s arm and guiding her towards the middle of the rug until she was planted at the center of the mirror. “Stay in that spot. The rug will measure your shoe size.”

Nova stared straight ahead, gazed upon her reflection in the mirror.

Winifred stepped out of the way and slipped a metallic cap over the thumb and index finger on her left hand, tapped them together like she was pinching the air. A holographic tablet appeared, glimmered with a blue hue.

“Let’s see here…” Winifred said, tapping and sliding her fingers across the tablet. “What color are you thinking, sweetie? Any you could possibly think of.”

“How about we start with white?” Nova said.

Within a few seconds Nova’s reflection transformed. Her white peacoat, black pants, and purple-chrome boots disappeared… replaced by a snow white gown decorated with a fancy, patterned twirl of lace and crystal that wrapped around her torso, turned into a puffy skirt that spread across the floor.

“Go ahead and grab a handful at your hips and give yourself a nice spin,” Winifred said.

Nova pinched the area just outside her hips, twirled. The image of her reflection spun, bottom of the gown cast rays of white light like it shined out from facets of a diamond ignited by flame. She slowed her twirl, faced the mirror.

“Beautiful,” Mitch said.

“Let’s try some variety, shall we?” Winifred said.

In rapid succession, her finger swiped across the tablet, cycling through a series of white gowns over Nova’s reflection. Both short and long. Some plain in style, others dazzled with tech and jewels and lace, ribbons and bows. Some with shoulder straps and some without; some that left her stomach bare, others with an open back.

“Wait!” Nova said. “Go back.”

Winifred swiped across the tablet, pulled up the previous dress. The gown settled snug over Nova’s body, tight around her breasts and stomach in an intricate lace pattern adorned with glimmering crystals and pearls. Ruffled ripples radiated from her hips down the length of the long skirt. The embroidered silk trailed across the ground like the tail of a comet flying across the heavens above the clouds.

Nova turned around slowly, peeked over her right shoulder and examined her bare back. A large bow tied over her tailbone with two ribbons that draped over her hips.

“I love it,” she said.

“Wonderful,” Winifred said, tapping the tablet. “I’m going to cycle through different colors, see if you like one better with this design.”

Nova’s reflection shifted through a kaleidoscopic rainbow that raced through the spectrum of color. From pale to bright whites… beige... cream... tan. Dark browns to vibrant green. Crimsons… pinks… purples. Radiant oranges through pastel yellows. Cerulean to glossy gray… bright neons like Winifred had captured the Twilight, cycled through them so that the reflection in the mirror sparkled in Mitch’s hypnotized eyes.

And then, Winifred’s fingers ceased sliding and tapping. Her eyelids expanded to the same size as Nova’s and Mitch’s as they all gazed at the refection of a luminous, sky blue gown, plucked straight from an ancient fairytale. They were silent for a long moment, taking in the radiant beauty of Nova.

“How about a little bit of tech?” Winifred asked. “Spice it up a bit.”

A glimmer flashed across the reflection of the gown like a forcefield had slipped over it.

“Give it another twirl,” Winifred said.

Nova spun, kicked up the sides of the gown. The silk skirt exploded with bursts of color that spread like mist, expanding and contracting like a stellar nursery gathering clouds of dust for star creation. What looked like tendrils of electricity wriggled and intertwined through the lace across her torso, collected and flared within the crystals and pearls.

“It’s gorgeous,” Nova said, staring at her reflection and rubbing her palms up and down her peacoat and pants.

“I’ll send this to the printer.”

“Winifred,” Mitch said, shuffling next to her side. He glanced back at Nova, smiled, whispered something in Winifred’s ear.

“That’s very sweet of you,” she said, glancing at Nova. “I can do that.”

“What is it?” Nova asked, stepping away from the magical mirror.

“It’s a surprise,” Mitch said, planting a kiss on Nova’s cheek.

“Alright, Mitch, step on up,” Winifred said.

Mitch settled into the spot where Nova stood, looked down at his suit, and then stared up at his reflection.

Winifred cycled through the traditional black and navy tuxes… whites and charcoal grays. All clones of corpo tuxedos that had existed long before.

“Anything more... abstract?” Mitch asked.

Before the last word dropped out of Mitch’s mouth, his reflection transformed into an illuminated, royal violet jacket and matching slacks that swirled across his body like melting white gold. The fabric glimmered with each shift of his body, shined like bolts of electricity coursed across the glossy material. A lustrous, charcoal gray shirt, and an obsidian tie like a black hole had been roped from the center of the galaxy and strung from his neck.

“How’s that for abstract?” Winifred asked.

Mitch nodded, adjusted the tie in the reflection.

“Perfect,” he said.

“The gown should be just about finished. I’ll send this to the printer along with the rest. They’ll be ready to go in a few minutes,” Winifred said. “I arranged for a Helo. You can take my elevator to the roof so you don’t have to fight your way through all those nomads again.”

“Thank you for all of your help,” Nova said.

“Yes, thank you, Winifred,” Mitch said, slipping his right hand into the inside of his jacket. He pinched his credit disk, held it in front of him. “How much do I owe you?”

Winifred held up her hands, shook her head.

“Not taking anything. I have enough already. Too many credits change a person. Hold onto those and buy your lady something nice. And besides… I owe old Eleanor a favor. I’m sure that I’m in her debt as much as you are.”

“That is very kind of you,” Mitch said, hugging Winifred. “Thank you.”

There was a flash on Winifred’s tablet followed by a soothing melody. She glanced at the hologram.

“Follow me,” she said, shuffling across the long rug.

Winifred turned left, followed a shorter rug that led into an open doorframe on the right wall. There was a steady, white light that shined from the room where a machine whirred, squealed mechanical noises like some kind of archaic android language.

Mitch and Nova stopped in the door frame, stared at an enormous cube with glass windows like an industrial-sized oven.

“What is this?” Mitch asked.

“This is a 3D printer,” she said. “My ticket to freedom. Let’s me print anything I can think of, as long as I have the raw materials. And thanks to Eleanor, I have access to all the materials I need.”

“Where did you get it?” Nova asked, walking up to the machine to peek into its front window.

“Eleanor gave it to me many years ago as part of a debt she owed me. Now, whenever she needs something, she gives me the materials and I print it here. No corpos necessary,” Winifred said.

“Where does she get the materials?” Mitch asked.

“She said it’s best for my safety that I don’t know.”

Winifred grabbed several, cardboard boxes and black sleeves that looked like body bags from off of a short, wooden table tucked against the left wall, walked up to a door on the left side of the machine. She opened the hatch and pulled out the tuxedo and gown, placed them both inside the sleeves and zipped them up. Then boxed the rest of the items and placed them on different shelves of a metal rolling cart idling next to Mitch.

“Alright, you two,” Winifred said, patting the top of the cart, “the sleeves have your tuxedo and gown for the ball. One of the boxes has your shoes, and the other two boxes have the items that you requested, Mitch. Take this cart with you on the elevator and just leave it up on the roof before you get on the Helo. I will get it later.”

“Thank you, again, Winifred,” Mitch said, wrapping his arms around her for one last hug.

“Good luck at your convention,” Winifred said, voice muffled by Mitch’s shoulder. She peeled away, embraced Nova. “And have a wonderful time at the ball. I know you will steal the show.”

Mitch wrapped his hands around the cart’s handle and pushed it across the trail of rugs to the elevator doors. He pressed the button on the wall, then stepped through the opening doors. They turned and waved at Winifred as the doors slid shut, jolting the elevator upwards to their awaiting Helo.