City Center, The (2 page)

“Close, reports,” she instructed her internal microchip. The holograms zapped off: at least she had control over something. She relished the peaceful stroll, watching the shops in her sector closing for the night. Beautifiers exited onto the streets and flitted about in their white chiffon robes. Her sector had an abundance of shops for beautification and fashion. The virtuals and cafés were located in the other sectors because they weren’t suitable for the higher-ranking section of the city. She approached her block, which housed the tallest dwelling tower only for the highest-ranking residents—those who would move into the Royal Palace after Graduation Day. The glass building didn’t shift colors; it remained pure white. Though it was made of glass, the residents couldn’t see out from the inside. She stepped onto the moving walkway lined with crystal trees streaming soft trance music from their branches. Every twenty feet a mist containing mood-lifting enhancers filled the air. Ava covered her face. She was not in the mood to be lifted.

At the end of the walkway, she stepped into the transporter. “Penthouse,” she instructed.

She entered her unit, relief washed over her body. Away from the surveillance cameras and annoying distractions. She pressed her finger on the entry panel to boot up the internal system.

“Good evening, Ava Rhodes,” announced a temperate female voice.

“Initiate Malibu sunset accent walls,” Ava instructed.

The white walls dissolved into layers of golden orange hues. City Center dwellings were designed in a minimalist approach, but Ava had a catalog of images and designs she had purchased on the dark-market to liven up her unit. Morray didn’t approve of superfluous frills, but most of the higher-ranks—especially the women of fashion—overlooked that principle. Ava slipped on a robe and went to the kitchenette.

“What would you like for dinner this evening, Miss Rhodes?” the system asked.

“Choices?”

“Tomato or broccoli soup, or a spirulina shake or avocado smoothie.”

Ava didn’t want any of those options. She wanted to be sitting with Delilah at the café getting ready to bite into an eggplant panini.

“Nothing tonight.”

“You need a healthy caloric intake. Your nutritional levels are below average.”

“A lot of things are below average.”

“I do not understand.”

“Fine. Avocado smoothie.”

Ava took her dinner into the main room and sat on the white lounger. Like everything in the unit, the lounger was synced into the City Center’s mainframe. It was designed to turn in any direction for visual optimization when playing games, downloading reports, and entertainment. Or watching classic films, her favorite pastime.

“
Roman Holiday
,” she instructed.

Some of the City Center residents—usually mid-ranking—had access to the dark-market where they could obtain forbidden downloads from the days before. Ava loved the old movies, so Delilah got her a download of
Roman Holiday
. Ava could relate to main character, Princess Anne, who was also constrained by her high rank. She loved living vicariously through the young princess who escapes her tedious duties to have an adventure in Rome, tasting life outside of royalty. Ava often recreated the scene on the crowded dock, dancing under the twinkling lights with holograms of handsome Italian men. She longed for a day when she could be free of her constraints, but she knew that was an impossible dream.

After the movie, Ava stepped into the washroom to shower before the night’s Arena event. The fitness scanner analyzed her temperature, blood pressure and weight. The results spewed across a digital panel and were transmitted to the Health Ensurance Bureau. She couldn’t wait to see what bland meal plan they’d mandate for the week leading up to Graduation Day. Purification water rushed over her body and she rinsed away the long day. The air system dried her off and she stepped into the beautification area.

“Wardrobe selection,” Ava instructed the system.

Two holograms appeared before Ava: a gown of shimmering silver and a simple black dress, which she selected. She waited a few minutes for the dress to imprint and selected a minimal beautification level for hair and makeup. She knew James wouldn’t be happy with this demure look. But that’s why it was so perfect. She smiled at her reflection and left for the Arena.

The Creator

Morray paced his
office in the west wing of the Royal Palace high on top of Griffith Park, where the Observatory once stood many years ago. He refused to live inside the claustrophobic City Center and had commissioned the palace to be built on top of the hill, keeping the giant armor-walled city in view. He missed the old observatory, but tearing it down to build the Royal Palace was just one of the sacrifices he made to keep his system running. He meditated as he walked, making sure to step in the exact center of each black-and-white tile. He stopped at windows to watch the last rays of sunset settle across the Los Angeles skyline. After so many years, he still appreciated the splendor of sunset. Watching the day ease into evening gave him a sense of much needed completion.

He tried to forget the dealings of the day. Whenever he met with Royal Court, he left feeling drained. He had decided to give the City Center residents a performance by Royal Court prior to the Arena event; the problem was getting the ten of them ready in time. He expected a spectacular performance, since it would be their last—at least this iteration of the court—but they weren’t meeting his expectations.

Earlier he had checked in on their rehearsal. He noticed a dramatic decline in their dexterity compared to the astonishing performances they gave at the beginning of their reign so many years ago. The King—once a physically superior man—had gained thickness around his middle and moved at a snail’s pace. His technique had become lackadaisical; a direct result of his relaxa-mist addiction coupled with his constant state of drunkenness. He was more interested in his goblet of red wine rather than partnering up with his Queen. By midday he was so drunk he excused himself to his chambers.

Morray didn’t like witnessing the declining years of a person. Something distasteful occurred. Even with the progress he and Planner Dickson—his leading think tank administrator—had made with longevity treatments and DNA manipulation, he couldn’t figure out how to stave off aging. He thought it best to retire the members of Royal Court and City Center residents at the age of thirty-six, right at their peak—the beginning of the end. He didn’t need constant reminders of mortality.

“Is this how you plan to perform your final Waltz?” Morray asked the court.

“We’ve been practicing all morning. We’re exhaaaausted,” the Duchess said, fanning herself. Her gown was drenched. Morray looked away, disgusted.

“I see you’ve had to bring in some stand-ins,” Morray said, looking at the second-tier nobles. “Words cannot describe how much I’m looking forward to shipping all of you off to Ret-Hav.” He took a deep breath and repeated his calming device. “Composure. Lock it in. Composure. Lock it in.”

“You can blame the King, he’s completely out of practice,” the Queen spoke softly, approaching Morray. Still a regal beauty with fair skin and luminescent blue eyes, she appeared a bit tattered. “Also,” she whispered in Morray’s ear, “he’s a despicable slob with zero regard for his appearance.” She sprayed a shot of relaxa-mist to calm her nerves. Her blue eyes glazed over.

“A shame, my dear. How has he been treating you?” Morray touched her rosy cheek.

“I cannot tell you the last time he had anything to do with me,” she lowered her head.

“After your rehearsal, get yourself re-beautified, and I’ll send for you.” Morray guided the Queen back to the group. “Now, listen and listen well, as though your ears were actually connected to your brains. Tonight is your farewell performance. I expect all ten of you to have the mechanics of this Waltz perfected. You will give the residents a stellar performance. I don’t ask much, if anything, of you people. But this is important to me. I want the residents to know how well I treat them.”

Morray’s main purpose was to keep the system running efficiently, which meant keeping the masses content. He wasn’t about to let anyone see a crack in his structure.

“But, sir, we need the King,” one of the Lords appealed.

“Planner Dickson will handle that situation. For now, get back to it. Need I remind you that without me, you’re nothing? Do not disappoint.”

“And let us remind you, Morray, without us, the entire system shuts down,” said the Duke, standing up. He brushed back his damp curls and grinned.

Morray looked at the group of shoddy, perspiring nobles. How had he not noticed this level of dilapidation? He had been busy, working with the research technicians at Ret-Hav, and focusing on other various improvements to the City Center. This group was an embarrassment. He cringed at the lines on their foreheads, their baggy eyes, and the slight layers of fat on their bodies. He was tired of their same decadence year after year. He’d never understand why the elitist pigs refused to manage the upkeep of their bodies. Was a little discipline too much to ask? He’d have to find a way to ensure the next eighteen years with the new ruling class would be different. Everything was due for a change, including him.

*

Morray poured himself a scotch. “Assistant,” he said.

“Yes, Chief Morray?” the soothing female voice spoke. He remembered a time when he recoiled from this voice, but over the years he had grown to depend on the familiarity.

“Get me Planner Dickson. In person, not hologram,” he instructed.

From his windows he watched the last rays of the sun sink into the horizon. Soon darkness would seep over the Los Angeles basin and only the silvery glow emitting from the gargantuan City Center would illuminate the surrounding area. He despised the thick armored walls and clumsy design. He would have made something more aesthetically pleasing like the almost invisible geodesic structure placed over the Royal Palace. But when the City Center was erected, they didn’t have that level of technology.

“Good evening, sir.” Planner Dickson entered Morray’s office. Instead of his typical dark suit, he wore a tuxedo for the evening’s events. It took decades and much effort, but Morray was finally at a place where he could tolerate John Dickson. John never let him down, and stood by his side through the worst of times. And he was the genius behind the system. Without Dickson, Morray would’ve been gone a long time ago.

“I need you to revive the King. Once again, you’ll find him passed out in his chambers.”

“Yes, sir. Anything else?”

“I’m debating whether to include mood enhancers in the Arena’s air system.”

“I think with the anticipation for Graduation Day and your Waltz surprise, the residents will already be at heightened levels.”

“In that case, I need you to manage those levels. During the fourth quarter, disperse a low dose of sedatives. No room for upsets this close to Graduation Day.” Morray paused. “Also, Dickson, I want the East Sector to win tonight’s game. They could use a boost. Have the Info-tainers briefed and their news feeds ready to go for tomorrow morning’s reports.”

“Done. Is that it, sir?”

“Send your best team of Beautifiers to the Queen. Then have her sent to me.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Morray stood next to the glass wall overlooking the grounds of the Royal Palace. The second-tier noble class gathered in the Main Garden for their own evening of entertainment. A four-string quartet played classical music and servants carried trays of sparkling champagne. The second-tier nobles had been one of many demands made by Royal Court—to alleviate boredom. But they had proved to be a time-consuming pain. Morray found himself spending too much time making arrangements for their entertainment. That night he planned for the Royal Troupe to perform the classic
Midsummer Night’s Dream
—one of his favorites, which he knew they’d never appreciate. Some frolicked about the garden like foolish children. Others disappeared into the maze for their own pre-show entertainment. He wasn’t concerned about reproduction mishaps. Like the male residents of the City Center, the second-tier nobles had been sterilized at inception. The last thing he needed was this group of heathens multiplying.

“Chief Morray, the Queen is here to see you,” the assimilated assistant announced.

“Send her in. And no disturbances.”

The Queen entered Morray’s quarters. He nodded in approval of her beautification. She had been done up to replicate Marie Antoinette at the height of fashion. Her white hair was pulled up high in a mountain of intricate curls. Light blue feathers decorated the crown of her head. Her enormous dress of blue and silver satin rustled as she walked toward him. A lavish bow rested on her bosom as though she were a present just for him.

“Sir,” she curtsied.

“You’re a doppelganger for Queen Antoinette. I’m quite pleased. Come sit.” Morray led her to one of the couches overlooking the vineyards.

“Thank you for your most kind invitation. The King has been neglecting me for quite some time.”

“Why haven’t you replaced him with a second-tier nobleman to accommodate your needs?” Morray handed her a flute of sparkling champagne.

“I haven’t found the appropriate match, sir.” She looked up. “Not since you.”

“But that was so long ago, my dear Queen. I have a busy schedule, managing the palace and the City Center. Not to mention the labs.”

“I understand, but it’s been so lonely this time around. The King simply cannot be satisfied. I hope things change after Graduation Day.”

“Yes, I agree. A change would be most welcome.” He reached out and caressed her powdery cheek.

The Queen tilted her head giving Morray space to move in closer. He touched her lips and looked into her pale blue eyes. He stopped and held her face, examining it more closely.

“Sir?” she pulled back, embarrassed.

“You’re not holding up as nicely as I had hoped. Your eyes. Something’s off with your eyes. Graduation Day cannot get here fast enough. You must go.” Morray got up and poured himself another drink.

The Queen fumbled, trying to stand and maneuver the layers upon layers of fabric. Her eyes glistened. “I apologize,” she whispered.

“Leave me,” Morray turned away.

*

On the rooftop, Morray made sure all ten members of Royal Court boarded the aircraft to the Arena. The King had been refreshed—his slender waist returned, and his eyes wide and alert. Planner Dickson was a true genius. After they flew off, Morray entered his personal hovercraft and flew toward the City Center. He selected a slow flight down the hill so he could take in the endless stretches of grass and vegetation where the city grid used to cover. Miles and miles of untouched land. No more meddling humans and their never-ending accumulation of waste, he thought. No more highways, cluttered neighborhoods or decaying warehouses.

Morray lowered his craft at the eastern wall of the City Center. He entered a series of access codes and conducted his microchip and retinal scan recognition. The panel slid open and he took a private transporter to the Arena. He waited in his private room while Royal Court made their grand and sweeping entrance. The women had their hair stacked high and wore majestic gowns, the men flamboyant waistcoats. The audience burst to life with cheering and whistling. The ten members smiled and waved, as they walked to their private box. Morray waited until everyone was seated before he entered the production booth and projected his colossal hologram in the center of the Arena. Again, the crowd cheered and whistled.

“Dear citizens of the Los Angeles City Center, welcome. As we count down the final days leading up to Graduation Day, it’s my pleasure to bring you a treat. Your votes are in and it was close.”

He glanced to the box containing the ten members of Royal Court; relieved this would be their final performance. He had grown tired of looking at the entire lot. He needed a change in scenery. He looked down toward the box below, containing the ten Successor Candidates—the future. Their young faces fresh and dewy. He noticed one of the young female Successor Candidates staring off, uninterested. He made a note to follow up with Dickson.

“For tonight’s surprise, Royal Court will perform a Viennese Waltz. Their final performance before we bring in the new Royal Court next week.”

The crowd applauded, giving a standing ovation.

“Enjoy this evening’s events.” He clicked off the hologram and went to his private room.

Morray pressed his index finger and thumb, activating his microchip. “Dickson.”

Planner Dickson’s hologram appeared. “Sir?”

“I noticed one of the female Successor Candidates seemed a bit apathetic during my announcements. Auburn hair. Light green eyes. Simple black dress.”

“Ava Rhodes, sir.”

“Oh, yes. Miss Rhodes. The current favorite for Queen.”

“She is leading all categories, sir. The residents love her.”

“Keep an eye on her.”