Pluto's earth

Pluto's earth

Violet Lights

Tom clutched a section of railing somewhere about middle of decked two, smiled at the sun and thought himself lucky.  Around him handlers were moving backwards, forwards rapidly to load Aneagram for an on-time departure. They worked systematically, their robotic arms twirled 360 degrees, inserted a container then moved onto the next.  Amongst all the cargo was Tom's two trunks containing books, materials for his exploration of Pluto.  Normally higher ranks got travel assignments but Hedron cooperation thought he was expendable from his present position. Those were their words, “Tom could be expended for a journey to Pluto.”  His invention of a 150 character transmission unit might have gotten him here.  He was very popular round the office when he introduced these units which could transmit simple text, provided they were shorter than 141 characters, faster than neural transmission.  People were no longer born to words, which were slow, deficient, full of double meanings irrelevancies that halted communication.  Instead they used thought transmissions dictated by Geneva protocol IV. 

Tom saw two photon guns, a laser cutter, when he gripped the rails, looked below at the cargo ports. He thought to a fellow passenger – who introduced himself later as Simon, who thought they were placed in the same dinning room - about armaments below. It is normal? Armaments of battle class for a tourist boat? 

Simon was also on deck for the send-off. 

“Never witnessed a problem.” Simon replied smiling.

Tom calculated Simon travelled before.  He didn't know when or where or on what Simon travelled.  The Aneagram, an older vessels but still space worthy, had water filled swimming pools and could only provide manually prepared foods – made and served by workers who only woke for five hours a week. Whilst, Alpha Romeo, a vessel named after a 20th century combustion engine commuter vehicle in a fit of nostalgia by its makers, could luxuriously accommodate its passengers, complete with on demand food genesis robots, hologram decks for simulations of alternate holiday destinations for the next occasion. It also had three deprivation pools to stimulate senses and provide a complete immersion experience. 

It wasn't predetermined which vessel could ease its wide berth, 6000 odd passengers into the calipers of port Henderson of Pluto first as a 30 minutes departure separation was never a determinant of who's on first, what will be second.

Tom hadn't decided to stay or to go below.  He walked a little bit to decide.  Tom could see into one ballroom, several rooms, lounges adjacent to the board walk he was treading. Crew were polishing decks where passengers weren't assembled.  In another hour they will gleam with welcoming shine, beckon their guests to rub the balustrades, admire sparkles from hung crystals, feel the rub of pristinely clean flooring.  Had he looked up he would have noticed all fours decks running in parallel to deck one from bow to stern for nearly 700 metres were fitted with sun lounges, umbrellas. 

Before he could decide, he had to stay. He was somewhere half way to the bow when a large crowd assembled on port started cheering.  He didn't face them since his departure wasn't farewelled by anyone.  Their noise, exuberance brought out other  passengers without well wishers, who must have changed their minds, from cabins.  25th century techno-pop cum mood enhancer filled festivities, inducing all travellers to face a crowded portside.  A large assembly of well wishers, friends, on the stationary side, bid goodbyes.  Lights, photons, lasers fired in display mode from aft, fore and both port and starboard, were sending out curved waves in blue, white, brown as the ship farewelled port.  Tom no longer had a choice, it wasn't possible for him to leave against a tide  of passengers pushing towards external rails.  Somehow Simon was near him and Tom was trapped between Simon's right flank and someone's left side as more passengers surged forward to make sure their last wave, their kiss of fondness could be seen by those left behind.

They were only a little late. Schedule for departure at 2.45pm, they made it out at 2.55pm.

In 10 more minutes, Aneagram was nearly on the edge of the biosphere, well on their way into their 5 day journey.  Lights changed to  light violet, then subtle hues of orange, pale blue colours, on decks to resonate with a changed mood.

There was still air around for noise.  Clink, Clink, Clink Tom heard. People still had hearing and could talk even if they didn't exercise these faculties often.  A canopy had begun to encapsulate the decks, closing the ship to the outside void. 
 
Simon lingered when many passengers went below. There weren't many left on deck now.  He had a breathing tube attached to some apparatus which he produced out of nowhere wrapped around his nose and mouth.  It was ridiculously large. 

Tom naively stayed, gawked at Simon's tubes. But Simon wasn't embarrassed by his preparedness, in fact he was proud of his preparedness, precise abilities. 

“For air deprivation, you'll feel it in a minute.” He transmitted.

Air was in short supply. They had passed the statue of the lady with the poem which indicated earth's territorial space had been deserted.  Her hologram appeared to every departing vessel at the last microsecond before complete darkness took over with a soliloquies to new arrivals and a poetic farewell to all departures.

Older vessels such as the aneagream didn't manage transition so well.  Inside there was enough oxygen. On the decks there was a transformational lag which left the ship a little short of oxygen and in a microsecond or two of darkness. In those micro-times a fusion container was fired to an elevation of 20 metres above and forward of the ship and all four levels of the aneagram were lit by an umbrella of light eminating from the probe which hovered above the craft creating a mobile biosphere.  When the big round ball full of light moved the ship moved, and if it stopped Aneagram came to a halt. Its fusion energy propelled Aneagram through solar panels.

Tom noticed half a dozen people looking up anticipating the previous moments.  With enclosed decks the Aneagram resembled a bullet slightly flattened.

Fusion made it warm - spring weather - and light will be with them until the end, but the deck was now empty except for Tom and Simon.  All had left for their rooms to bathe, rest, converse, unpack, organize, and engage in other private activities.

Tom looked for a possible exit, his signal trailed, “got to see if they've lost the baggage already.”

“I'll see you at dinner.” Simon replied. 

He had been on many cruises, seen different faces, different voices, yet they were so similar.  Facial features, height, weight were all different but when they voiced their thoughts, gave opinions it inevitably came up that they were the same type of people. 

As he descended a very short escalator down a metre Andrew wondered how they were going to meet over dinner with more than ten restaurants, 30 lounges, numerous brasseries, multiple meal clubs.  Only central command running operations would know all movements, he thought.  How could Simon be so sure they would see each other at dinner? 6000 were on the boat.  But it was just a passing thought about a 2 metre high, light brown hair man with an aquiline nose he most likely wouldn't meet again. 

In his cabin he found more to think about. He had never travelled, and it was his discovery that landed him this job  nor was he an epicure but he liked what he liked and this accommodation was good enough to his liking.  He paced the floor and discovered a 5 by 6 dimension.  He turned the recessed lights on/off from his communication device then switched it to mood mode.  He leapt onto one large sleeping platform stared upwards at an emergency pod in place on the ceiling which would descend onto him to provide total protection in an emergency.  The platform wasn't too hard too soft but just right as it adjusted  itself to his weight and length.  A personal room to the left was tested. It had been a while since he relieved himself.  A food generating facility to the right wasn't touched as he  was invited to dinner.  Monitors gave up the outside into his inside cabin because a direct external view was a luxury for a functionary.

He thoughts wandered to his girlfriend - absent from the room, from the trip.  She was greatly fond of travel, but often did it as an avatar in high end emulators. And had often asked for altered scenes, sequences that weren't so much holidays but travel sequences. They played out the scenes at least once a week.  He was the man and she was a consort.  She often thought that he must have cheated to become such a man, but could never catch him out.  At a normal height of 185cm with light skin, light blond hair, he was very different from his male avatar.  There could have been cheat sequences, duplicitous codes but he didn't insert them to morph from low to high levels.  And she never proved it.  Without evidence she remained true.  Tom just assumed he got lucky in all these scenarios.  There wasn't any other explanation for his incredible success, he reasoned.  That was the argument. They fought. He denied.

“You could have inserted information in upgrades you got from work,” She said.

“How was it possible to cheat.” He said.

“A code from your co-workers, a slip in programming, there are many ways.” She screamed.

“Where? Show me, show me where I inserted them.” He screamed.

And now she wasn't here. He had to go on his own.  They didn't break-up, she wasn't coming and that was what was decided.  She told him she wasn't comfortable with the situation.

She would have liked dress up night.  The card Tom picked off the centre console told him it was dress up for the second dinner - twentieth century costumes, males in dinner jackets, tuxedos, and females in gowns.  She would have perfumed - whirled on a spot, completely naked, about the middle of the room, whilst atomised droplets of yellow and blue perfumes slowly descended onto her somewhat toned and not at all overweight body.  She was proud of her blending abilities- a Dior, a Channel for young women, atomised in space to gently fall all over her.  Such combinations resulted in an even more perfect high note, middle note and base note than the original scent.  After her floral dressing, she would have skitted across the room, gently dropped the gown over head and they would have entered the dinning room, Paris, arm in arm - he imagined. 

As it was he had to discover the evening on his own.  He hoped Simon, if they were eating together, had good friends, delightful company. 


Twisted Corridors

Tom swiped his palm up against the metallic plate hard as he closed the door.  It was enough to lock it, and his DNA would ensure entry to his room wasn't possible until his return.  He walked forward towards Paris, his assigned dinning room, but got no further than 5 paces when he heard many other steps stomping down towards him.  Then they were on top of him.  He wasn't kicking and screaming-they were.  Tom was pinned down to the floor by at least 5 sets of boots with one set on his spread arms and legs and one on his skull.  He had no idea how they came upon him so fast, or who they were.

“off my head, off.”  He cried out loudly, but they only heard muffled sounds as his mouth was held hard against the floor.

Then they heard him when they lifted him up by the collar of his shirt and rammed him against the wall. His screams carried down the corridor, helped to shake walls.  Two immediately patted him down, whilst they had his wrists locked and body securely plastered to the wall.

“Who are you?  Is this an arrest?”  Thoughts of a pirate invasion, hostage taking situation crossed his mind.

He didn't know who they were and with his neck twisted at almost ninety degrees from its frontal position he could only see bits of  them.  There were five in all, all in black, in some sort of tight fitting material that was shiny but had the look of a life supporting outfit.  All were about the same height, 2 metres or more tall with faces half covered by the same cloth. 

“Noooh,” He managed in vain.

That was the last fully conscious action Tom took before a  gun was pressed to his neck. He hadn't been killed or paralysed or comatosed, they just wanted to manage the situation more easily.  Tom's brain was still functioning because he felt external sensations, a kick, a twist of the arm. He could have killed them but couldn't yet he could still use his arm and legs.  Somehow, they had managed Tom's anger response.

He mustered courage to move feet and legs coherently, plant each feet firmly as he followed the 
wider shape leading him. All five surrounded him, casting a shadow over his shorter frame.  They entered the window exposing the furnishings. A room, then another behind a panel. The shape disappeared, then reappeared. The room was now hidden. He was confused. He looked but could not see. A painting was there instead. He did not budge, and looked again. It was all very strange. He lost track of time. How long had he been walked, one hour, two?  Then without warning they rested.  Then just as rapidly began to move again, quietly, in low light. Human shapes with sharp projectiles or hollow cylinders hid in the corners. Gothic like creatures projected from curvatures above. They circled with a downward motion. Thumping sounds followed his footsteps. There was an upward motion, inertia, then a slight downward force. Heaving accompanied by an odd noise. Doors slid open. Tom opened his eyes wider, more forcefully. The light grew dimmer. He was 
giddy, but surrounded by luxury, the plainness of the ceiling gave way to heavens with figures, 
gold embroidery, patterns in swirls and sharps lines. He looked up, circled around on my feet. 
Statues of brass, and bronze meet my gaze at every point of the compass. Outside tiny lights 
blinked, winked to let him know that he was still in the same universe only more distant. 

“Interrogation.” A voice said. 

Tom felt no pain, no disorientation, only a sense of wonder, and astonishment. The scenery changed, perhaps because they administered a second dose.  Garlands of flowers  now decorated the vestibules, flowers seemed to have been strewn at his feet. The ground was rich red and brown in color, then the softness stopped when he made stomping noises with his feet to try and confirm he still existed. The ground was harder now, and more solid in color, uniformly brown, cracked, 
dried, cut up into criss-cross patterns. 

He craved for juice - skin and flesh strangely felt dry. 

“we need to know how it was done.” The voice said again. 

Galaxies still twinkled through the windows. And the room was much, much, much bigger now.    The space changed into a void, a limitless cavern with more twinkling lights from the 
heavens. Magellanic clouds, angels, saints formed and congregated in the corners. It was so 
beautiful. He experienced more joy, with more satisfaction, on a level he had never known, than in any gaming scenario. Streets intertwined with shapes which in turned merged with people, perhaps, as they melted and blended into ghostly shapes.

He was moved again. Once more the heaving, odd ruminations sensation returned. Tom smelled fresh dew, scents of sea, but not salt, as he moved along another corridor. The horizon had moved higher, he surmised as views from the windows dictated this conclusion. Many doors interrupted the smoothness of the boundaries. he felt warmer. The spaces had closed in. The surroundings were familiar a chair. Sobriety. 

He was in what in appeared to be an interrogation room sitting on a solitary chair with a light projected downwards onto his face,  he could hardly see because of its brightness, but could make outlines of some machines and a bench in the room.  He was alone.

“where did you take them?” the voice asked.

Tom didn't know where the voice came from as there wasn't any direct source or point of transmission - it seemed to be all around the room.

“take who? Where? Who did I take?” His faced twitched severely when he replied.

“tell me about the theft.” 

“what did I steal?” 

Maybe work got him into trouble, there was always a constant murmur at the desk about someone sometime.  Talk would change from one day to the next without any agenda or warning, of course targets never new what when they were in crosshair or what was discussed. Maybe that was it maybe it was a defective batch maybe he did sample correctly.  Maybe maybe. He was up at the same time everyday before his holidays.  Sure he was excited but not distracted, and arrived at work at a routine hour. Seven fifty five he called on the front doors with about another five who came from different pathways. A transcript was available, he had no requirements for further alibis, no time in which he could steal find loose people.  It was absurd. Too wrong and not suited to his profile as much as his self awareness allowed him this luxury of vindication. 

What was required was completed in allocated time each week, twelve hundred samples were induced into cells as assigned.  The machines spliced genome sequences in response to parental requests, cut and paste all the sequences back into a full double helical structure, each step took place in a different machine, shiny stainless steel which his co-workers cleaned, and he transferred samples from unit to unit.

Was it a bad batch resulting in rejection at end of assembly processes causing whole steps to be run over again. An entire batch was faulty making the babies disappear? Was that what they meant? Should he have picked it up, did he miss it? Why now after thousand of children could have been missed, was it an intervention?  He heard about intervention, never saw one, had heard about them.  He wasn't sure about anything..interventions...mistakes.. contamination.

“an entire deck of passengers vanished.”  the same voice told him.

How could a entire deck of passengers be his responsibility, what did he have to do with it, them, the deck or thousands or passengers, thousands, where would he put them, what purpose would it serve. 

“we found digital signature from you after investigating.” the voice said.

“I'm Tom Wiltaker, of Hedron Cooperation, level 4/5 coder.” He said then repeated it six times.

On the seventh occasion it came out as, “Wiltaker..not worker.. coder.. Hedron...4/5.”

Tom babbled more further although nothing comprehensible not a single coherent thought came from him causing central control to put him away for a few hours with another dose.  He did remember his digital signature:

Version V78
Serial number 990 b4 c7 a9 cc ff 5e
Signature algorithm ko5rsa
Issuer hve800.7ipinter
Valid from 08/09/3015
Valid to 09/10/3016
Subject KUH400.8ip.7ipnet
Public key HSV (90, 2,4bits)
Thumprint algorithm HSV sah12
Thumprint 98 vs 3a bd 21 94 la c03b af 

In Silence

It didn't begin in the usual way over drinks at a bar perched on an impossibly over designed stool where guests came together over random bits of conversation that revealed common interests.  Simon arrived early, sat himself down in a chair that was cantilevered by only one supporting piece of plastic set around a circular table for ten.  With perforations and a narrow seat it looked highly uncomfortable.  It was the sort of seating that encouraged rapid rotations of guess usually reserved for drinking spots, early morning meals rather than fine dinning venues.  But when he was on it he felt its comfort. He had never been more comfortable. The seat sank down in the right place. The cantilevered plastic allowed just enough movement.  An incredible thing, he thought.

Every chair was numbered.  Every guest had an assigned chair in an assigned dinning room. 

Simon was surrounded by luxury, several heavy multistoried chandeliers lit the dinning room.  Each had been taken from a different period in earth's past.  More important vessels hung chandeliers from Versailles, The White House, Mohammed the sixth mosque in Cassablanca.  Aneagram hung chandeliers from Chambord, several came from noble men's hunting lodges, three came from private donations from estates of movie stars.  Walls around Simon were movable, tonight they were white marble, matching with crystal decanters, flower holders on tables made of moon rock. None of the items had much value since interior decorations weren't used much in 25th century abodes.  When they were applied most wanted space age material, clean lines, white finishes.

Diners initially came in drips and drabs.  All wore their hoodies suits tonight, a black tight fitting protective cloth which controlled their hydration, oxygenation, metabolism, for support during their first full day awake.  Some guest looked like drone heads with functioning bodies disconnected from control who were getting used to a day without hibernation.  Simon knew those were the new ones, on their first cruise, who had just reached the minimum level 4/5 in their co-operation and were allowed to vacate. 

One lost looking woman who shouldn't have looked frail asked Simon, “what's your number? I have 458 and should be sitting next to 657.” 

A server immediately came to her aid.

Simon's first dinning companion was tall, brunette and beautiful.  She moved across hand woven carpets with grace. Once or twice she talked to fellow diners and touched them lightly with slender hands before she stood next to Simon who arrived early to watch the diners come. 

“We're together, for tonight.” she said sitting herself down. 

She said it outloud, without neural transmissions.  Simon heard smooth, rounded vowels from her lips. Then, she  lifted her plate to examine the design, ran those hands which Simon found attractive across the bare moonrock, occasionally rubbing fossils imbedded in the structure before moving onto inspecting cutlery.  Only after that did she reached out touched him on the shoulder and said her name, “Bernadette.”

In the hall of the good, one thousand men gathered one more time for this day, as they came together for their last supper.  Stone walls and stained glass which had taken them a generation  to complete, 1680 to 1715,reveberated with sounds of Gregorian chants.  A lone boy stood out amongst the men to chant their offering to God this evening otherwise the hall was silent.  Silence was their homage to their god as it kept their minds still, but not idle, in their struggle with control and restraint of it to commune with goodness.

Simon smiled.  Surely she couldn't be a high priest. He had never met one, especially over diner.  He introduced himself making sure he wasn't distracted by signals he was receiving which would have made him look awkward.  He said no more after telling his name. She acknowledged him, smiled towards two girls arriving at their table.

Something occurred just when Bernadette sat down. Simon had abilities to detect, it wasn't a genetic disposition, just something discovered overtime. When it first appeared he didn't recognise it, wondered why he had strange feelings at various times. He was very young the first time it happened, there had been a murder on that occasion.  It was during a dinner and the perpetrator killed during a break from the table.  He remembered the occasion very well – sibling rage the news labelled it.  Tom was at a dinner, well over 150 years ago,  seated across from a younger man called Newberry who seemed agitated.  After Newberry took a 10 minute break from dinner, Tom sensed anger and could distinctly smell blood (1). 


((1 insert murder story))
Newberry was convicted of a crime of a century. He had murdered his sister, first by strangling her until she passed out then stabbing her several times in the chest until she bled out.  His motive was thought to be her choice of an unsuitable boyfriend who could have been secretly engaged to her.  Their family was incredibly wealthy and an appropriate marriage was needed to secure family businesses and produce suitable heirs.  It was thought that Newberry wasn't pleased with her boyfriend's low intelligence and wrong side of the tracks social standing.  Many witnesses testified at hearing on fights between Newberry and his sister at society balls, and servants testified to incidents of domestic violence at their home.  Shortly before she was murdered she survived a vehicle crash on a passable road in good weather.  The incident left a dead chauffeur and consort.  Newberry murdered her during a society ball in the female bathroom during a speech that night.  She died in less than ten minutes – the only time Newberry was absent from the table. 

((end of murder story))

But now, the binary combinations only gave up an erroneous occurrence rather than specifics of an incident.  He filed it for the moment. 

Simon saw the two girls walk through the opening to the restaurant together, took two steps towards the table hand in hand but then separated.  They chatted to some very attractive guests, and now were back together, side by side, on the otherside of Bernadette.  She told him their names, suppressed and Toni.  They told him they were friends.

Bernadette sensed Simon thought she wasn't a science based professional.  She supressed a smirk at thoughts of other possibilities.  She didn't know why she always got into their lot and put it down to a quirk in algorithms for these functions.  But if dinner conversation was to be boring, it would be a type of boredom that was familiar, that was practised by all of them in previous circles of acquaintances.

Mary and Byron came at the table from opposite sides.  She picked through the crowd, dodged a couple of steps, unintentionally hitting the server, then seated herself directly opposite to Simon.  Byron waited for the seat to be pulled, table napkin to be held out before he rested next to Mary.  They were a couple. 

Then  it began in the usual way, a constant chatter commenced as they exchanged greetings and personal information in thoughts, diagrams, flows of constructed visual representations at speeds much faster than speech using protocols geneva IV.  Byron had a file of many pages with a long boring introduction but with neural transmission he could tell it in seconds. He was educated at  Palliser Institute of structural engineering, and had worked for many compagnies in various roles, the lead structural designer designer for KBR Arap Joint Venture, contract structural engineer at Cardni, structural consultant at Stantic, structural designer at Mitt MacDyne, structural engineer at Beci, Structural engineer as part of a working party at Cochrane, and had started our as a  junior engineer at in Saskatoon, and at P. S.Q.R. Tanks & Equipment.  His most interesting project todate was the design and test of a prison complex, for 4000 male and female inmates, built over 260 hectares, with double perimeter fencing, laser wire at the top, sentry boxes every 200 metres, four exercise yards, 10 kitchens and eating facilities, office tower block on site for parole applications, visitors, staff training. There were also gallows and a graveyard. 

Yasmin wanted to ask but Simon got in first.

Tom told them he was an architect, and principal of vaulot&barbet architecture lab.  who had worked @ LEN Architects under Umberto Napolese & Benoit Jardine &, @ Jérôme De Elzua + Vincent Barrois Architects +  Lille Architects, and had also been a junior at various firms including Daly Architects, Genious Architects and Griffen architectures.  He was also educated in the best styles, under tution of Education Institut supérieur d'Architecture Paris, with Dugassse Feldmand and Marie Antonette as his professors. 

“How secure was it? Anyone escaped todate?” Yasmin asked.

“I put it on an island near a city off the coast but unreacheable due to shark infested waters.” Byron replied.

“That's its most physical features? an island with hungry aquatic life?” Toni added.

“It could be tuned for 4000 inmates, I tested it myself. I had the program trap me, incarcerate my brain and I couldn't escape. The island and sharks were its most decorative features.”

“You and 3999 others were bound to the same frequency projecting this prison into somatosensory areas and after how many days were you all still there within the confines of your prison program?” Toni asked (2).

((2 insert))
This isn't a mind melding process. Computers using simple binary programming converted Byron's prison into electrical impulses which are sent wirelessly to subjects' brains. Signals are received by hair cells grown, also placed in the ear near hair cells for sound, for wireless communication protocols.
((end insert))

“Just me, only me. We couldn't risk the codes to real inmates in beta. If I couldn't free myself from the program with working knowledge of the codes that trapped me no-one will.  Or at least that's the theory.  And it worked.  I was able, inside my mind, to wander the prison yards, use its library.” Byron said.

“Wow no-one escaped ?” Yasmin specified.

“There has never been a successful escape.” Byron told them. 

Bernadette smiled and nodded at everyone throughout their introductions.  She paid much attention to Simon, occasionally smiled, sneaked glances whilst pretending to look elsewhere. When their eyes met Simon smiled, more out of curiosity at this stage.  He's so exact she thought. The others weren't interested in talking, as words and languages had mostly been abolished by ministry of languages.  Bernadette had lots to tell them but was content to eat her three courses, to clangs of bowls, tapping of cutlery on tables, clings of cultery against china, for now.

Yasmin continued, “So how old are you Simon?” 

Simon heard her and could have chosen to ignore it shun her from the group but chose to reply.  He wasn't the best form nor the worst, wasn't embarrassed by the answer.

“175 years.” He said.

They laughed, were impressed, nodded to each other with expressions of pleasure and satisfaction.   

“I'm just a child then at 90,” Mary, who didn't look more than 18 years old, told them.

Byron who had startling youthful appearance added, “And I'm two days over 110.” 

“I'm also the one who made bees live quadruple their normal life spans.” Mary said.

“You're that Mary, queen of nectars Mary.” Yasmin said, laughing

Mary looked pleased.

“Aren't there any poets, romantics amongst us?” Toni asked.

“Of course we can be romantics immersed in versed but we don't do it for a living,” Tony said, looking at Toni then Yasmin. 

“you have to be another science grad of sorts.” He continued.

“You've been here before? I am a molecular engineer.” Yasmin admitted.

“Structural molecular engineer.” Toni added.

“How do I find myself a romantic then?” Yasmin returned to her theme.

“There aren't any writers, lyricists in this room are there?” Mary looked at Simon.

“There are lyricists, songwriters, claymation artists here.  You'll meet them on decks, around the pool.” Simon explained, wiggled a little into his seat, enjoyed his old hand status, continued, “everyone had been meticulously scrutinised.  These soirees aren't a random show with guests turned out from nowhere ville or guests of guests crashing in. Every field of interest, all fields of prejudices were examined to create harmonious times for vacationers.  Genetic backgrounds sometimes played a part but we were put together because we can get along. As you can see our works are similar, passions pursuits can  be discussed with ease.”

“Are they all taking about the same thing in this room then?” Yasmin asked.

Simon showed the trending topic.  As requested he sent them all a presentation of his collated information, 
swim at least 3 to 4 times a day to cool the body
constant grazing for food from buffet restaurants 
eat a diverse range of foods to replicate nutritional requirements normally administered intradermally
use sunscreen whilst outdoors, but minimize exposure to direct sun to only 15 minutes a day and 1 hour at the most to prevent skin peel
make friends, relax, drink litres of fluids.

He collated information by picking up key concepts: 10 hour days versus hibernation, 5 hours working week, how they were going to survive, impact on their bodies, sustainable bodies with different approaches and strategies from around the rounds. Simon remembered skin peels, deteriorating joints, grotesque disfigurement of facial features he saw a few days in on his last trip.

Aqua Turquoise

Bernadette's hair was a mess from normal sleep.  She pulled herself out of bed, ruffled her hair making it look more like a ball.  Bernadette laughed to herself, enjoying the freedom of a real break from her routines.  The room was cold, less than the normal 10 degrees she needed for maintaining her body, but soon she will be out of these environmental suits, she thought.  And there wasn't a pod around .  Her holiday was a break from norms, but wasn't surprised she was still placed with engineers, architects - algorithms always made surprising choices for psychologists and other variables from last days. 

Today Berdanette wasn't focused on these past details. She wanted to wear a polka dot two piece swim suit, sit by the pool and talk to someone.  If Simon came by, she would be more than pleased to drink, snack with him.  Then she could wear something different, from before last days, for every dinner and other outing.  Men's suits, designer pieces for females, really interested Bernadette.  She was promised only the first dinner would be in those horrid environmental suits everyone was made to wear.  After a day vacationers would be used to their new surroundings and were encouraged to select clothing from wardrobes in their cabin, the cruise director had told them.

She found a bikini in an upper draw next to where ten gowns, few dresses were hanging.  That floral dress would really complement my summer look, she thought.  Over her bikini which sat well on her slim figure, Bernadette wore a light cotton dress with poppy flower patterns.  Her mind flashed back to another summer, when she headed north on highway one along the ocean road with the roof down, wind in her hair, to live out a moment of her life at sixteen. 

“I love it, after the smog of the city, it’s fresh, free and natural out here. The sea air, salt spray 
and sun provide an instant holiday feel and we’ve only left the skyscrapers, haze and smog thirty 
minutes ago.” She joyfully screamed above the traffic noise to her then seventeen year old boyfriend.

She smiled again, when her dinning companions discover she lived before last days, she could generate interest with a potato sack over her or an environmental suit.  Both were equally appealing in her mind.  She had to speak when the time came, speech came more easily than neural transmission and she would say what she had to carefully. Her news was limited to these five.