My father tells me that I look silly in a doublet and stockings, but he is pretty old fashioned. I set the lace to sparkle so as to contrast the undulating blue and red neon and I turn on my ear radio to drown out my father’s griping about how the Bush Dynasty isn’t what it used to be. I smile because the Oil Wars are such a joke among my peers. We often have a chuckle about those of the republic as we watch the films that Duke Swarzenegger’s father made. Imagine, killer androids! Father loves to rant about how the androids have robbed the youth of a work ethic, like slaving away was some sort of honor.
I leave the apartment and enter the parking lot. I snap my fingers and the door of my Ford Vital opens. I declare my destination and the autopilot kicks in. The familiar sounds of liftoff and rumble of turbulence soothes me. I close my eyes and enjoy the respite. The strains of Moby’s latest mesh of his old and new works finishes and I know that I am at the gathering place.
Everyone seems to have gone all out today. Slim looks sexy in his latex jumpsuit. He’s set it to camouflage and so the tiny cameras in it are projecting the surroundings. All you really can see is his head, but the fiber optic weave in his hair makes him look positively electric.
“So,” Slim greets me, ”Ready to vote on the euthanasia bill today?”
“So ready,” I replied gleefully.