Parasitic

ATS -1

"The older one grows, the more one likes indecency " - Virgina Woolf

New Year’s Eve  2230

Later that evening I sat on the slope of a hill playing with a piece of ribbbon one of the 'casualties' of a human testing case had left me. A little girl, about nine I think, had given me the ribbon. A visitor had given her the yellow ribbon once. I press against the soft velvet, lost in thought.

Nothing has ever satiated mankind’s need for change. Our minds feed of it.

 If things are simple, we want them complex when they’re complex, we want them sophisticated. When they’re effortlessly sophisticated, we want them divine and inspired, then we want them railed down to hedonistic simplicity.

 A large white owl hoots from thre top of the Barnhouse.

And sometimes we just want to sit in the open fields and look up at the dark blue and violet evening sky, still streaked with orange remnants of the sunset. Like the bunch of us from the Trinity Barnhouse were. I lean back against the slope of the hill we were on. A few fireflies fly by overhead. One sits in my index finger and glows quietly.

 A thousand lanterns orbed up to the sky, emitting soft glows, mirrored in twin globes in the eyes of those watching. Amongst them was a girl in her late teens, wearing flame-proof clothes stolen from somebody who wouldn’t need them anymore. Beneath her shapeless lavender slip-on. We were all hungry, there was never enough for us, the forsaken ones. We were bred in pens. Openly used for all-purpose entertainment; servants of the superior race. Sometimes I think they eat us.

I think, as the final lantern goes up, of the mortality rates in our farm as we staged the mutiny again for the yearly celebrations. The munity of 2168, in which my ancestors lost.

The back of my hand glows in conjunction with a two toned vibration. Boy 11 glances at me, our eyes meet and then he stares up as the sky again.

“Girl 8: Back to your pen”

I don’t have a name. Just an assigned numeral, when I’m gone, someone else would be moved up the Index Number Register.

I push myself up, and carefully check the slip on so the skin-tight clothes beneath them wouldn’t show. I got them off the trainer Boy 11 had managed to take out during our drakon lessons together. They were genetically modified creatures. They had wings; mostly for decorative purposes with attached arms like those of bats, ferocious panther-like faces mutated to give them the silhouette of mythical dragons.

We were being trained for an entertainment program for a men’s gathering. A rehash of gladiators in twenty third century. No one cares about the casualty nor mortality rate here. I do wonder about the rumours about us being food sources. Sometimes, when I'm feeling deep.

They set drakons on the shackled slaves instead of lions. Last month we had to do an obstacle course as live entertainment, a treasure hunt involving piranhas and vampire-inspired team mates for a humour. They injected drugs into some of the 'participants', they ended up chasing after the other 'participants' thirsting for blood- fully covinced they were vampires.

It’s amazing how I got to 18 years without a few limbs lost. Unless there was genetic modification done on us as well. Of course there has.

The back of my left hand glows again, in blue words appearing to be enmeshed through with my capillaries; “Girl 8: Report to Mesh Hall 7. Receiving Room. Claims section.”

My human heart stops for a beat, then move on. Fear is for the weak. Fear is for the unbalanced and uncentred. But it's there even if I try to supress it. Someone has come to purchase me from the farm where we are bred. I step on an ATS, Automated Transportation Station and place left palm faced down on a sterile, heat sensitive white square. My location in confirmed by more blue wording projected on to the back of my hands.

“Girl 8: Access Granted, Code 159S4” The code would now be crowning my forehead. I tie up my long brown hair with an issued hair tie. This actually a temporary sensor designed to track my location. I may use it as a bracelet as well.

I think of all the things I’d done and witnessed in my time here, and compare it to the literature of the past centuries. Survival of the fittest huh? Darwin would have choked on his far-sighted words if he saw how far we’ve evolved with that concept. Everything had to be genetically altered to survive these times.

I am a practical person. When I step into the Claims Room after the code and retina scan and see a boy, a youth of my age. I guess what sort of entertainment program I may be purchased for. Depending on the level of cruelty the person might have a threshold to, my fate is sealed in a certain mote end. Those 18 years, maybe 19 were the length of my journey in this life. So I bow down and kneel in front of him. And am entertained myself when I see him look a bit taken aback in my peripheral.

“Oh darrrlingg,” an accented, feminine voice drawls. I look up, taken aback, to a tall woman who must have been behind an invisibility shield.

“Do get up.” Her arms rest on my shoulders drawing me up. I have trouble hiding my shock. “That’s not necessary at all.” Her raspberry shaded lips curl up into a smile that actually meet her dark eyes. She crosses and uncrosses her stilettoed feet as she steps back.

 I take in the both of them as I slowly get up, careful not to stare too blatently. An A-line skirt of abstract oriental designs and a white tail behind her swishing as if with life of it’s own. Nothing I haven't seen before. The boy gives me a tight smile. And stands beside her. I think; boy toy? I have heard stories of other girls before their ashes were returned to the cemeteries. He’s tanned, a bit unevenly around the eyes. There were heart shaped whites framing the eyes. Sunglasses? It may have been humorous on occasion. A plain white shirt dress, brown leather pants, flameproof, non-conductive, non-corrosive material- I’d tried stealing a model like that from security personnel before. Good for survival. The visitor’s emblem was on both of them.

I smile and say hello with a respectful nod. The lady smiles back, showing off her pointed canines. More tastefully done than a lot I’d seen on certain visitors. College girls, for instance. The boy extends his hands for a handshake. “Chase Hamilton. This is my mother, Entessa”

I shake and return, “Girl 8. No claims so far. My records are publicly accessible, sir.”

They both smile at that.

“You need a name dear, we didn’t request for you to be given sufficient education for nothing.” My education? Some of them actually have the decency to monitor the state of progresses. I thought it was just some intimate display of power to add on to their egocentric images.

The boy nods, all blue-eyed charmed now, “How about Elsa? That’s alright. Right?”

“Elsa then, sir.”

“Dear, not sir, Chase is about your age, aren’t you dear?” Chase’s eyes flash steel grey for a moment. But the smile is still there on his face. “Just call him that. He’s only about two or three years older than you.”

I smile and say that is not my place. Chase gives me a cold look, not one I’m unaccustomed to, from visitors, that it.

“Oh, dear, you’ll get accustomed. You know each person is assigned one of you. To keep track on. I thought, why not just adopt you when you were allocated to Chase? But my former wife disapproved.”

Oh boy. Entertainment, what form now?

“So you can come join my little family, two boys, you do know what that is right? A family? Ah, and you will be a house-help of sorts. I must say,” She smiles, “I don’t want to keep you from being a participant in the most honoured annual celebrations, but...I thought you know.” Chase looks alarmed at this point.

What I do know, is that we were being monitored. There may be a chance someone pays attention depending on their positions in the outside world.

 Chase comes closer to me at this point, and slaps me. And smiles again, this time showing his teeth. And leans on one leg, a hand on the opposite hip.

“We just wanted entertainment on a home stage. The prices have been taken care of. You may go and make preparations for your staged shows. We’ll take you after.”

 I smile with a tinge of something I'm afraid to hope for and nod. You have to play on to survive in this parasitic world.