The sign blinked insistently, making Fredd really anxious. Not that he needed any help — the whole stupid affair had him on serious edge already anyway. But that damn sign, over and over again: “Please insert 20 cents to continue the 
session.” Without this, the gate would close and the drones would arrive. He had surfaced just long enough to access the net, thinking that he could send a message to the nearby cell, but now he was a dollar short (actually just a pair of dimes) and a day late. Who would’ve thought that things could get so bad that some loose change would make all the difference? Frantically, Fredd fumbled in his pants, realizing in this moment that his very life hung in the balance…
Ever since the rise of the Fascinistas, Lupita had been in hiding — well almost, seeing as there wasn’t really anywhere to hide from the pervasive grid, at least on anything more than a short-term basis. As it became clear that politics was literally a popularity contest, barely an inch removed from celebrity culture and the world of infotainment, all bets were off in terms of even the pretense of stability and integrity. If there was a particular dog to wag, or a specific candidate even worth imputing Manchurianess to, she would have done so. But this was bigger than that, she thought, as she jumped from the emergency terrace down into the half-filled dumpster, heart pounding out a staccato rhythm…
Scot dreaded coming outside anymore. The blaring sun was more intense with each passing day, exacerbated by the fact that he only saw it on the average of once every few weeks. He took the concept of “going underground” quite literally, existing in that nebulous underworld of sewers, metro tunnels, underpasses, windowless warehouse spaces, parked shipping containers, boiler rooms, abandoned mines, submerged city terrains (upon which new ones had been built), frozen tunnels, fallout shelters, deep storage units, and more. It was amazing and horrifying that such spaces existed and that one could navigate them, but for Scot and his inopportune pigmentation, it was a life saver…
Stew liked to think about foraging on open meadows and in green forests, but the reality of the moment was of course anything but that. Still, being a 4AGER was a pretty awesome gig, since you got to go outside the dome once in a while. The fact that some folks never made it back was only a minor distraction, since some of them maybe found a better option out there, and the ones who dropped like flies and baked off in the sweltering uncontrolled heat at least didn’t have to return to the crowded, filthy, violent habitat that Stew and myriad others called home. Everyone knew things were bad and probably not ever going to get better. But at least she could get outside…
Since before she could remember specific events in her life, Kiri had the “gift” of vision — or at least, that’s what they told her. Some gift: to be able to see what was before, and what could be someday, rather than only what was here right now. This wasn’t just some poetic longing, either; Kiri was literally born without functioning eyes, but somehow had the ability to remember things from a bygone day in incredible detail, and to see things that might yet happen in equally vivid depictions. Not all of what she saw came to pass, but some of it had, and people believed in her like some sort of oracle. Really, though, she was just a scared and hungry pre-teen who only wanted to be normal…
The Futurning was unlike anything else that had ever happened before, or would happen again. Sam and Dave were part of the team working at the high desert lab for the past few years, making up the dozen scientists still seeking an answer — the self-anointed “12 Angry (Wo)Men” collective. When the system collapsed it was more precipitous and multilayered than anyone expected, with not only political and economic structures unraveling but ecosystems as well. The dispersed pockets of remaining people faced different acute challenges after the chaos of the first weeks had passed — and after most of the population had passed, caught too deeply in the gravity well of calamity…
What else was to be done? We would have to rebuild, asserted Fire. But not the same way as before. This was a chance to do it right — not something we asked for, but now there was no choice. Fire had a strong voice in the circle; s/he was articulate, kindhearted, practical, and energetic. S/he was also a little stubborn, which made for a good leader, but Fire refuted the concept altogether. No leaders but everyone, they said. Nothing for ourselves but everything for others, they taught. A little bit today and a lot more tomorrow, they encouraged. Somehow, the days seemed brighter and even the blue sky began to return, as the winds died down and the water started to flow…
Last week I had walked over to the wellhead with Satya and started to crank the handle, when she stopped me suddenly. Her dark complexion and sculpted features always commanded my attention, but I usually felt so inferior in her presence and probably acted awkwardly because of that. “It’s time to start planting seeds, again,” she said puzzlingly. When she kissed me then at the well that day, I knew what she meant and was beyond delighted. Things had finally turned a corner, the ground was stabilizing beneath our feet, and people would look up again when they talked to you. Someone was going to have to rekindle passions and regenerate life. Who better than us right here?
Lemar Starland, still caught up in this ol’dime
