Walter Mosley - Futureland - Nine Stories of an Imminent World

“I’m going home,” he told Athria at just past noon.

“Okay, honey. You sick?”

“No. See you tomorrow.”

At home Neil didn’t drink or watch the vid; he didn’t dream about the coast of California or anticipate Nina’s late night visit. All he did was sit in his chair and think about Un Fitt and how he had been robbed of his chance to succeed. He knew that these thoughts were ridiculous, that someone who had expertise in biology and neurology would have to take over. But Un Fitt had implied that the work Neil had done would have to be done over. Why wasn’t he allowed to get first crack at rewrites?

The vid phone came on just past twenty-three hours.

“Neil?” Nina said. Her face took up the whole screen so he couldn’t tell where she was.

“Hey, honey.”

“What’s wrong?”

“They took me off the Third Eye project.”

“Moving it down the lane?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s okay, baby. You’ll get another project.”

“I wasn’t finished with this one yet.”

“I know, babe. We all felt like that on our first project. My first time out I was working on a facet of an automated construction machine. I didn’t get nearly as far as you did but I still cried when they moved it on.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I got somethin’ll make you feel better.”

“What?”

“I’m up in a room with two sex-worker girls. I met ’em at the library. I told ’em about you and they said they wanted you to come with us. They got all kindsa toys. Come on. It’ll be fun.”

“Not tonight, babe. I mean, I’m too sad.”

Neil expected her to throw a fit. She did that whenever he refused her “feel better cures.”

“That’s okay, honey. I know it must be hard. You get some sleep and I’ll come by about five or so.”

“Okay,” Neil said. “See ya.”

Just then Nina was pulled away from the screen by an Asian woman. The woman was tall and there was a serious look on her face. She pulled Nina to her and kissed her hard. She snaked her hand under Nina’s plaid skirt and lifted her off her feet. When Neil heard his lover’s loud moan of pleasure he switched off the vid.

Dear M Un Fitt,

After careful consideration I have decided that I can no longer work with GP-9. I’ve come to this decision because I expected a greater level of independence at the job. For the past year I thought I was out of the prod lane but now I see that I’m still in the same situation. The fact that you’ve taken the Third Eye project from me without hearing how I might answer some of the technical problems proves that I have been misled. I would rather work on a GT that was honest in its appraisal of my work than be fooled by a UC who doesn’t even come in to meet us face-to-face.

As soon as Neil transmitted his resignation he regretted it. What would he do back at some GT like LAVE-AITCH-27? How could he survive as just another prod after experiencing GEE-PRO-9?

He was thinking of sending another e-mail to retract his resignation when the vid phone bleeped.

Dear Neil,

We are sorry that you are so upset by the necessity of relieving you of the Eye project. It is true, we are a production lane as you said, but our workers develop their skills rather than spend years repeating the same functions. Your next project would have been even more challenging. It is my hope that we can somehow convince you to stay with us.

Dear Un Fitt,

My argument with you is not about the necessity of taking my job away but the fact that no one discussed the decision with me.

Dear NH,

The decision is made on a higher level. Your work has a larger purpose and cannot be discussed because you are not aware of the greater plan. The reason GP-9 and other GTs around the country are structured the way they are is to get the best work out of the prods. Your happiness makes for better work. But some decisions must be made without your input.

How can I accept what you’re saying now when for the last year I have been working as a free agent? I come in when I want to, work as I will. I’ve learned more in the past twelve months than I did in my whole life before I came here. I’m sure that if I knew the greater plan that I would be even more valuable to the system.

Neil,

Sometimes knowledge is a dangerous thing. What you know might get into the wrong hands one day. The more information that slips out, the greater danger that will face all of us. We appreciate your pique but we also hope that you will trust our judgment.

Un,

We’re both men, equal under the genetic laws of 2025. In GEE-PRO-9 there are no bosses, no superiors. The only way that I can see continuing is by being trusted with the purpose of our work so that I can understand the decisions being made.

I am not a man, Neil. Neither am I a woman.

If not man or woman, what kind of person are you?

I am machine, Neil.

If you’re a machine, then who is your programmer?

God.

Neil sat back in his chair after this last communication. He didn’t know what to think about the claims of Un Fitt. He was afraid to ask any more, and so he did not answer. After a few minutes another message came in.

I know that you must be very upset about the loss of your project and about the nature of your controller. Take a while, take your vacation. And when you come back we will talk again. You are one of my favorites, Neil. Please, think about yourself.

“Hi, baby,” Nina said at five the next morning.

Neil saw the numbers 5:03 floating aimlessly around the otherwise empty vid chamber. He realized now for the first time that she was always on time.

“Hey.”

She kissed him on the lips. Her breath smelled strongly of whoever it was that she had been kissing that night. The tall Asian, Neil thought, or maybe another.

“Don’t be mad, baby,” Nina said. She sat down at his feet and played with his kneecaps, running her fingertips around in circles. “It was just nuthin’. I axed you to come wit’ me. You would’a had fun if you wasn’t so mad.”

“I’m not mad, honey. I know who you are. At least I know who you are.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I’m going on a vacation,” Neil said. “Goin’ to Maya for two weeks.”

“Since when?”

“Since yesterday. When they took the Third Eye from me they gave me a bonus vacation.”

“You gonna go?”

“I think I have to. I have to think.” Neil smiled at the order of his words.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Why not? Then you won’t have me whining at you to come over. You could have all the hefty-men and sex-worker girls you want, every night.”

“I don’t want that!” she yelled. She jumped up and slapped him hard across the face. Then she collapsed in his lap, crying.

Neil put his hands on her heaving shoulder blades. He said nothing, felt nothing, wondered nothing except about the nature of his Unit Controller.

On the following Friday Neil was one of nine hundred forty-seven passengers on the Titan 010 air cruise ship landing on Maya. He had a second-class seat, which was better than most senators rated. People all over that sleeper cabin asked him what position he held at General Specifix. Two flight aides, one a woman and the other a man, gave him their hotel numbers on the island.

On the tarmac Neil was blinded by sunlight reflecting off the bright red rock that composed the synthetic island.

“M Hawthorne?”

“Yes?”

“I’m your driver — Oscar Torres.” The large man was brown-skinned. He had a heroic mustache and two fingers missing from the hand he used to shake with. “I will take you to the Crimson Chalet and drive you wherever you need to go while you are here.”