Chapter 2: Chapter 1: Resolutions

Planet Earth, year 2056, November 30th, 2100 hours, New London.

 

Peter, a fifty three year old weather pattern data analyser, has been living in New London for over twenty years now. He is a single man, and spends every working day in the office, repeating the same analyses, algorithms and feeding the results into vast neural nets. A result of continuous striving to perfection, humanity has learned to influence weather patterns and create a stable environment on a global scale.  

New London, a modern city filled with skyscrapers of monstrous heights. A city that enjoys a stable and highly predictable weather pattern using devices produced and programmed by Peter's employer Omnitech. 

Our story begins on a cold November evening, when Peter returns from another day at the office. 
The temperature is freezing, the dark, cloudy sky only illuminated by holographic advertisements on all tall buildings. 

Exiting a taxi right in front of a skyscraper, the South Harbour Complex, Peter shivers from the cold. "Man, it's bloody cold again", he says. He pulls on his jacket to cover his ears, then settles the fare by swiping his left hand over the taxi's door. 
His implanted chip beeps and a message is projected above his hand "thank you for using Nova Taxi, have a nice evening". Peter doesn't have the opportunity to wave to the taxi driver, as he takes off immediately. "Nice evening to you too jerk", Peter mumbles, while following the taxi across the sky. 

Peter is lost in thought and thinks "another day of my life wasted, stuck in the office doing the same analyses over and over again. I can't see another one of those damn algorithms ever again. You would think that I at least knew how bloody cold it would get tonight. But no, I am too tired to even watch the forecast. Is this all there is to life?" He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, his warm breath condensing into little clouds that disappear in the night sky.

He then continues to think, "well at least my holidays start now. Oh joy, one month of bloody boring boredom at my own bloody home".  

His miserable thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps belonging to his elderly neighbour, Elliot Drake. "Hello Peter, are you perhaps waiting for someone?" 

"Ah good evening Mr. Drake, no I just returned from work and I was lost in thought for a minute. Are you going up as well?"

"Yes, and Peter, for god's sake call me Elliot will you? It's not the first time I asked you to stop being so formal."  

They enter the building together, then Peter replies: "Yes, yes, I know Elliot, it's a force of habit at work. It's difficult to switch from work-mode to home-mode if you know what I mean." 

An android receptionist greets them with a simple "good evening", showing a warm, but still obvious artificial smile. They both ignore him as they always do. The androids replaced so many office workers the last few years. The unemployment rates are going through the roof, so there is really no sound reason to be nice to them. 

"I guess I am lucky that my boring algorithms are still too difficult for them to understand. Or perhaps nobody trusts machines to maintain a climate suitable for us mere humans. Whatever," Peter thinks.

They slowly walk to the elevator. The corridor is well-lit, in a cold bright light. The walls only show an emergency exit plan and a television projection is showing the weather forecast. Well, a bit too late for Peter to actually be useful.

Not wanting to discuss Peter's work, Elliot swipes his hand in front of the elevator's display. It beeps and after a few seconds the doors slide open silently. They enter the elevator and the doors silently close again. 
It is a spacious elevator, easily capable of transporting 10 people at once. A large mirror makes the inside seem even more spacious than it really is. The mirror has many fingerprints on it, probably from kids playing in the elevator again. The androids are obviously too lazy to be properly cleaning the place, another reason to dislike them.

Peter looks at his reflection and sees an old weary man. His eyes are lifeless from staring at data all day long. His face pale, facial hair growing back stubbornly where he shaved this morning. Now both facing the elevator doors, Peter's eyes pass over Elliot's face. 
"It must be nice to have a family, Elliot is doing well," he thinks while quickly looking down to the floor, "well, except for his injured leg". 

"Floor one-fifty-eight", Peter speaks loudly. The elevator beeps in acknowledgment and starts to climb almost unnoticeably. Some generic elevator music is playing in the background, trying to make people feel at ease. Elevators these days only need a fraction of the time they used to, so people don't have much time for small talk. 

"How is your leg Mr Drake?" Elliot sighs at his formal speech and replies "it's much better now thank you. The surgery was already a month ago, so it's about time. But yes it's improving every day." Both of them aren't in the mood to continue the small talk, besides they don't even have the time for it as the elevator already reaches floor 120, beeping to indicate opening doors.

A woman in her late 20's or early 30's, you should never ask a lady her age, enters the elevator while carrying an old fashioned genuine paper book and only says "good evening, floor 200 please". 

Peter and Elliot both return the greeting with a quick "evening" and a quick but polite smile and a nod.
The elevator beeps in acknowledgement, then closes the doors again.

Peter thinks "that floor is the arboretum, so she probably wants to spend some time alone."
Not trying to stare at her, or trying to read the book's title, he decides to watch the elevator's floor indicator number, which increases rapidly. After a few more seconds, they reach Peter's requested floor, followed by the beeping of the opening doors. 

The gentlemen leave the elevator, completely ignoring the remaining occupant, who silently shakes her head and rolls her eyes at their lack of saying the common "bye" or even only a nod, so she decides to leave them be as the doors close, focusing instead on the cover of her book. 

"Hey Peter, I know it is none of my business, but you don't look very healthy. Maybe you need a break or so?" 

Peter only nods, and says "yeah I wish."

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"Have a nice evening, Peter." Elliot decides it is best not to fuel Peter's depressed mood, so he turns right to walk to his home. 

"Yes, you too and please give my regards to your wife too Mr Drake." 

They both leave in opposite directions, Peter heading left. 

"Will do, bye" Elliot remarks while mumbling "I give up."

 

Peter continues his way home, the corridors are short, only providing access to two apartments each.  
This place is spacious and clean. The lighting on this floor is dim, automatically set to evening-mode. Paintings of landscapes adorn the walls, a legacy of some former residents, who must have apparently enjoyed generic paintings, or perhaps they were happy to leave it here. A small potted plant at the end of the corridor greets Peter, it might even say "welcome home" if it could. 

Before entering his apartment, he looks out the large windows next to his door. High on the 158th floor, you can see all the way to the harbour, lucky that no other skyscrapers are in the line of sight. But at this time of the day, you can only recognise the outlines by the small lights in the distance. He continues to stare outside, losing focus, just staring as it begins to rain again. Small drops landing on the window, then gently falling down to leave a trail. The occasional hover taxi flies below him, along this building, probably en route to the next customer.  

Peter unconsciously mumbles audibly "oh no, don't rain again. Please no, stop. I can't take it anymore. Rain every night, same work every day.  Why can't life be more interesting? I am not a bloody android!" 

Down on the streets, long lines of traffic can be seen, forming a continuous flow of whit and red dots. 
Following orderly predetermined routes, despite being hover-cars.

"Maybe I really should just leave this city for a while, just a few days. Besides, I never go anywhere. 
Mmm, I might actually do it...." Then saying out loud "No, I AM going!" His fist in the air, emphasising his determination. 

A small smile forms on his lips, while he swipes his hand in front of the door after which it slides open. 
Entering his home, the lights go on automatically to full brightness while the door behind him closes again. 
"My God, dim the bloody light right now!" he shouts. After a beep, the lights slowly dim to a more reasonable level. "mid-21st bloody century, and you still have to bloody do everything manually. Nothing works as it should."  

His apartment is of a spartan design, for Peter, minimalism is the only way to go. 

His mood is obviously back to zero again. He walks to his food dispenser and orders a pizza, which he only does on days like these: he needs comfort food. "Guess its pizza again today."

While his food is being printed, he takes a quick shower and then, after being dried off by a sonic air blast, puts on his pyjamas. He then watches himself in the mirror. He remembers Diane, his colleague, receiving a promotion today. "Man, again passed over for promotion. And again no increase in salary for me. I am willing to bet it's just because I'm a man. Women have it much better, nicer clothes, people smile at you. You can wear whatever you want, people open doors for you..literally too. Why don't I deserve to be happy? Then he raises his arms to the ceiling in frustration and shouts: "why?".  Quickly realising that Elliot next door might have heard that, he sighs and continues in a low voice: "oops... man, why me?" 

Entering the living room, he starts eating his freshly printed pizza, also taking a beer from the fridge. It really does comfort him, well a bit at least.  

"Let's see what glorious news I missed today." He waves in front of a painting which changes into a wide screen display. "Show me channel LNN ", he says. The television selects that news channel and slowly increases the sound level: "...the negotiations with the New Day Movement have failed again. Two days after the failed toxic gas attack in the Underground, the police have been trying to stop this madness by attending another meeting with the leaders of the cult. It did not result in any progress. Determined to show their force and resolution to force their religion onto others, the Days killed twenty three people today, including three young students, without any prior warning by detonating a thermal inversion bomb in a restaurant on Oak street. They..."  

"Stop, turn that damned thing off now!" Peter yelled at the television. The painting reappeared, as if it never vanished in the first place.  

"Computer, purchase a flight ticket to Tokyo, Japan first thing tomorrow morning, 7 days, my default hotel preferences. I need to get away from this madness now!" 

The computer beeps and answers him: "affirmative, working..., please confirm: your flight will depart at 09.30 hours at New London International Airport. Hotel reservations for 7 days, your usual standard room type, in Tokyo are included. 3793 credits, including tourist tax and return flight. The AI in Tokyo recommends a spiritually refreshing visit to their local shrine; based on your voice patterns used in this request. Do you wish to confirm your purchase?" 

"Yes", he answers. 

"Affirmative, your request is now confirmed and the amount was deducted from your account, the Tokyo AI asked me to relay the following message "thank you, you made the right choice, we hope you will enjoy your stay," the computer informs him and then remains quiet. 

After finishing the pizza and beer, he recycles the leftovers by throwing them into the disposal unit. 
"I'm going to bed, and starting tomorrow, I swear, I am going to have some fun, one way or another".

He walks into his living room, and simply says "bed". The room slowly adjusts to hide the furniture into the wall and rises his bed from the floor. It is convenient for a small apartment. After brushing his teeth and entering the pre-heated bed, it doesn't take long for him to fall into a deep, deep and well deserved sleep.

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