Savages Under Glass: Star Ascension, #8

By Jeremy Michelson

A perfect world. A perfect deception.

 

Hadley's life in the city under the dome could be perfect. If it wasn't so perfect.

 

An argument with his wife sends him storming out of his plastic apartment. Off to the only place in the domed city he feels is real. The old park at the edge of the city.

 

He encounters a stranger. Who offers him something unique in a world of plastic perfection.

 

It starts a journey that will show him the terrible secrets of his world.

 

A journey that could change not only his life, but everyone's in the dome.

 

If the master of the dome doesn't kill them all first.

 

A twisting, turning, adventure in the Star Ascension saga.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeremy Michelson
• Release date: Feb 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224511587

Book preview

ONE

Even before he saw it, Hadley knew the cheeseburger was utter perfection.

The food replicator hummed. Doing its thing.

He tapped his foot on the plastic floor in the apartment’s vestigial kitchen. After a single, musical ding, the little glass door on the dispenser slid up. He crouched down to inspect his meal. The burger stood on a white ceramic plate. Threads of steam rose from it in lazy spirals. He inhaled. His stomach rumbled as scents of cooked beef, onion, and melty yellow American cheese tickled his nostrils.

It was a work of art. The bun was golden, toasted just so. But he knew that when he touched it, the bun would also be spongey soft, molding to his fingers.

The burger patty would be so juicy and tender that every bite would send his taste buds into ecstasy. The cheese would be perfectly melted, fusing itself with the perfectly seasoned patty.

The grilled onions under the patty would be soft and slightly caramelized. The lettuce up top finely shredded and crisp. The light dab of tangy sauce on the toasted side of the buns would be just the right amount to add that extra kick of flavor without overwhelming the main attraction–the patty itself.

Hadley took the plate with its cargo of perfection from the food replicator. He dumped it in the trash. Where it belonged.

Why do you waste food like that? his wife, Nina, asked.

He dropped the plate in the trash bin. It landed with a dull thud, slicing the perfect burger in half.

Nothing is ever wasted anymore, he said, The replicator will just recycle it. Create some other perfect piece of junk.

She lowered the tablet she’d been perusing with her lunch. Just past thirty, she had lines at the corner of her eyes that she kept talking about getting fixed. And he kept insisting she didn’t.

He hadn't been able to talk her out of coloring her hair, though. He tried to tell her the gray in her auburn hair would give her a dignified, sophisticated look. A unique look. She seemed to be of the opinion it would only make her look old.

And the way she frowned at him now definitely made her old.

It wastes electricity, she said.

Which is provided by the sun via the solar array on the dome, he said.

It’s still wasteful.

So? I can dial up another one just like it, he said, And another and another and another. I can cover the city with identical cheeseburgers.

She sipped at her coffee, also dispensed by the replicator. Just as the turkey sandwich on whole wheat bread by her elbow was. She brushed crumbs off her blue smock. The same boring uniform all the Health Maintenance workers wore.

I don’t see what the big deal is, she said, It’s just food.

He lifted his hands and heaved out a sigh. That’s the problem, he said, "It’s not just food. It’s perfect food. They've programmed these things to put out absolutely perfect, perfectly identical food every single time. There's no variation."

She set the coffee cup down on the table. A replicated oak table–identical to thousands of other spit out by industrial-sized replicators.

If you want variation, pick something other than a cheeseburger, she said.

"But I like cheeseburgers, he said, I just don’t want the same cheeseburger every time."

She rolled her eyes. You’re impossible. I remember that old fast food restaurant, mac-something or other. Their claim to fame was selling the same thing all over the world.

That was junk food, he said.

I remember you waxing poetic over them, though, she said. She tilted her head to the ceiling and raised her arms. "Oh, the beauty of each individual component…Or something like that."

His face went hot. "That’s my point exactly. Every part was unique. Not this crap that’s been scanned and then spit out a million, million, million times in exactly the same way."

Nina grunted a sigh and raised her tablet back to her face. You’re impossible, she said, Go watch TV and let me eat my lunch in peace.

But–

She held her palm flat out to him. No. I have to go back to work soon. I don’t have time to listen to you whine about perfect food.

Easy for you to say, you don’t–

He ducked as a perfect, half-eaten turkey sandwich shot over his head. It hit the wall behind him and flopped to the floor.

Nina, he said, That was–

Get out! she shouted.

She lifted the heavy ceramic plate the replicator had delivered the sandwich on. He spun on his heel and made as dignified an exit as he could. In the living room, he sat down on the overstuffed couch that squatted opposite the wall screen.

Both couch and screen were, of course, identical to every other couch and screen in the apartment building. Almost everything in the apartment–and the apartment itself had been extruded in industrial sized replicators. The building had been stacked and glued together like a child’s play set. It sat in a row of five other identical buildings.

He listened to his wife stomp over to the replicator and call up another sandwich. The replicator buzzed and hummed. He could hear the rapid tap of her foot on the plastic floor. She got on his case about wasting food? What about that sandwich smeared down the wall?

He tried to frame an argument to take back to her. But he couldn’t see a way for it to end without him ducking another sandwich.

He’d have to bring it up later. When there wasn’t anything close at hand to throw at him.

And you could look for a job while you’re at it! Nina shouted from the kitchen.

He wasn’t going to dignify that with an answer. Her job provided them with any extras they needed. The apartment was provided by the city. The electricity was provided by the sun. The raw materials for the replicator were government provided.

Even the net connection was free. Though the government only provided basic entertainment packages. Premium content always cost something.

No one ever went hungry these days. No one was homeless. No one needed to work unless they wanted something more than the basics.

Like premium entertainment content.

Nina had subscribed to one channel for a short while. A current movie channel. She canceled it after he complained the movies were repetitive, their plots and characters were all cut from the same perfect cloth. Sure, the movies all hit the right emotional notes. But they were always the same emotional notes. In the same exact spots in the movie. He could time it on his watch. Thirty minutes, sixty minutes, ninety minutes…all by formula.

After the movie channel thing, Nina started reading books on her tablet.

She would never tell him what she was reading, though.

He moved his arm to gesture the wall screen on, then stopped. What was he going to watch? Nothing that he hadn’t seen before, either literally or figuratively. He muttered a curse under his breath and pushed up off the couch. He grabbed his coat–perfectly extruded by the apartment’s non food grade replicator–and head for the door.

I’m going out, he said.

Good. Get a job, for pity’s sakes, she called from the kitchen. Something that stops you from thinking so much.

He snorted and slid the entryway door aside. Something that would make him stop thinking so much. That would describe any job. He’d dabbled in employment here and there. He hadn’t found anything that was worthy of his time. None of the employers seemed interested in his ideas on how things could be improved. Improved by adding some randomness, some uniqueness to the workplace.

People just didn’t understand.

TWO

He took the stairs down to the ground floor and stalked out the lobby into the stale, plasticky air of the city. Anonymous ground cars hummed by him on the street. Each one a bland, gray, rounded hump with little wheels. He was old enough to remember the old internal combustion engines. They were noisy and stank, but there was a world of variation in them. Even individual car had their own appearance and personalities.

Unlike the humming electric cars on the streets these days. Like everything, they were extruded by massive replicators. There wasn’t any personality in them. They weren’t objects of desire or scorn. They were just a means to get from point A to point B without walking or flying.

He hunched his shoulders, sinking his head down in the collar of his coat. He picked a random direction and started walking.

Everything these days was just so…practical.

His feet took him to the city park. As they often did when he was upset. He crossed the brick archway and strolled down the concrete walk. The concrete felt different under his feet than the plascrete the city paved most of the sidewalks with. The plascrete had a slightly springy feel to it. Better for human joints, supposedly. The concrete walk inside the park itself was hard, unforgiving. Every now and then someone’s kid would fall and hurt themselves on the sidewalk. The outraged parents would start a petition to get the park upgraded to current safety standards.

The petitions never went anywhere. For whatever reason, the city wasn’t interested in upgrading the park.

Thank goodness.

The park was the few places of randomness left in the city. It wasn’t well maintained, parts of it were overgrown. Some of the concrete sidewalks were cracked and crumbling. Every year it seemed more of the ancient maple and oak trees died. The open areas in the park grew ever larger.

At the center of the park sat a pond. The shore was lined with smooth rocks, creating the effect of a stony bathtub. Hadley had a dim memory of coming to the pond with his father and feeding ducks and white geese who swam in the pond.

There weren't any birds in the pond anymore.

No squirrels gathered nuts under the trees. No insects buzzed in the air. The park had an eerie quiet to it. The ever-present hum of electric motors had dimmed to a mere whisper in the still air. The pond itself was still, almost like a mirror, reflecting the bright lights of the dome overhead.

He sat on an ancient wood and metal bench. The boards under him were warped. The red paint that once covered them was mostly worn off. He ran the tips of his fingers over the wood, enjoying the random grain in the boards.

In his heart, he knew the park was sickly…dying of neglect, cut off from real air and real sunlight.

But it was still real. Even if everything here hadn’t grown randomly, at least human hands had once worked to create the space. Humans had dug holes in the ground and planted the trees. Humans had shaped and placed the stones around the pond.

No machine had squatted there and shat out the park.

Something sailed over his head and hit the pond. Dark water splashed. Hadley jerked around. A man stood a few feet away, a worn and creased brown paper bag hanging from his left hand.

A lovely day to visit the park, isn’t it? the man said. He turned his bearded face to the sky. But then, every day is a lovely day here, isn’t it?

Hadley cast a wary eye over the man. He was unlike most of the city's attractive and fit population. In fact, the guy was downright interesting to look at.

The first thing that struck Hadley was the man’s beard. It was thick. Luxurious. Black curls covered his chin, surrounded his wide mouth, and ran up his jaw, connecting with his sideburns. A flat, floppy blue cap covered the man’s head. It had a tiny brim in the front. Hadley had seen people in movies wear such hats, but he had no idea what it was called. People in the city didn’t wear hats.

The man was also…well, he wasn’t fat, but he wasn’t fit either. There was a word for it…portly. Yes, portly described the man. He seemed to be medium height, but his belly bulged out the front of his coat and his cheeks were full and rosy.

The man’s clothes were also odd. His brown coat and blue trousers didn’t have the subtle sheen all the replicator clothes seemed to have. They had a worn, soft look to them.

The clothes didn’t fit him very well. The brown coat was too narrow in the shoulders and the sleeves were too short for the man’s arms. His blue trousers hung loosely on him and were cinched up by what looked like a worn, black leather belt. A large, silver, oval buckle fastened the belt in the front. The buckle was covered with ornate scrollwork and a large gold coin seemed to be embedded in the center of it.

It was just plain strange to see anyone whose clothes didn’t fit perfectly. The clothing fabricator scanned you and spat out clothes. And they fit. Every time. Perfectly.

Except for this guy.

A tingle of fear went through Hadley. Or maybe it was curiosity. It was hard to tell. Was the guy dangerous? People who were different were dangerous, right?

But different was interesting, too.

The man smiled, showing off rows of yellow teeth.

I’ve seen you before in the park, he said, A lovely place to get away from the monotony of our little world, isn’t it?

I suppose, Hadley said.

The man stepped forward and held his hand out. My name is Borden, by the way.

Hadley eyed the hand. It seemed clean enough. He took it, endured a brief shake.

Hadley.

Hadley. A pleasure to meet you, sir, Borden said. Borden waived his hand at the bench. Do you mind if I sit?

Before Hadley could answer, the man was already putting his wide posterior on the bench. The warped boards creaked and squeaked. Hadley edged away from him.

Borden set the brown paper bag on his lap and gently opened the top.

I like to come here for lunch every now and then, he said, It’s one of the few places left in the city that is in a–more or less–natural state. Most people don’t appreciate that fact. But I suspect you are the exception to the rule.

Hadley opened his mouth to tell the weirdo that he was leaving. But then Borden pulled something even more interesting out of his bag.

A sandwich.

But a different sandwich.

Hadley's mouth still hung open, but his eyes were glued to the sandwich. He'd been through the replicator's entire catalog of sandwiches. Everything from subs to Bahn mi to tortas. He'd never seen anything like what Borden held in his hands.

It wasn’t anything fancy. It looked quite simple, actually. Two sloppy ovals of some kind of dark brown bread. A slice of thick, golden cheese, and layers of what looked like roast beef. Pale green strands of shredded lettuce poked from the sides.

A scent of meat along with a tang of vinegar touched his nostrils. It smelled different.

It smelled good.

What is that? Hadley asked.

A twinkle came to Borden’s eye. Why, it’s a sandwich, he said, Surely you’ve seen a sandwich before.

Hadley rubbed his fingers across his mouth. His stomach rumbled. He still hadn’t eaten.

What number is it? he asked, I don’t remember seeing it in the catalog.

The corners of Borden’s eyes crinkled with mirth. Oh, it’s not in the catalog, he said, It’s just something I threw together. I seldom eat from the replicators. I just can’t stand the monotony of them.

Hadley’s eyes went wide. His heart skipped a beat, then thumped into overtime.

"You made it?" he said.

Of course I did, Borden said. He raised the sandwich to his mouth and took an enormous bite. The lettuce crunched. Bread and meat tore. He pulled it away from his mouth. Hadley looked in wonder at the cross-section of it. The strata of meat, cheese, bread. It all looked so…unique.

How did you make it? Hadley said.

Borden held up a finger in a one moment gesture. He took a white cloth napkin from his bag and set it on his lap, then put the sandwich on the napkin. He took another napkin from the paper bag and dabbed at his mouth as he chewed the bite of sandwich.

Hadley trembled, barely suppressing an urge to grab the man and shake him. Where had he gotten the components for the sandwich? Was he a replicator programmer? Or had he just taken parts of other sandwiches and created a mishmash?

Hadley’s eyes went to the sandwich in Borden’s lap. No. That bread. He’d never seen a bread like that before. A misshapen oval and dark brown. What kind of bread was it? And the meat. Where did the meat come from? That had to be from the replicator. Real meat was outlawed. Killing animals for meat was considered murder now.

At last Borden finished chewing and swallowed. He dabbed the napkin at his mouth one more time.

You’re interested in the origin of my sandwich? Borden said.

Hadley was almost bouncing up and down. He wanted to slap the guy.

Yes. Do you program replicators or something? he asked.

Borden made a sour face. "My dear sir, I absolutely loathe replicators. Why ever would I want to program one?"

Then how?

Borden leaned toward him and winked. I made it. I took two slices of bread, some cheese, some meat and some other ingredients and stacked it all together in a visually and–most importantly–tasty way. And before you ask, no, none of it came out of one of those horridly boring replicators.

A chill tightened Hadley's chest. Again, he couldn't tell if it was fear or excitement. His fingers clenched the edge of the bench.

Where did you get the stuff, the ingredients? he asked.

Borden gave him another wink. That, dear boy, is my little secret, he said.

He lifted the sandwich and took another huge bite.

Saliva gushed in Hadley's mouth. It was all he could do to keep himself from ripping the sandwich from Borden's hand and running away with it. Run away. Hide behind a tree. And eat something unique. Something that hadn't already been eaten in a million other mouths.

Unique.

He waited for Borden to chew and swallow the bite. Borden was enjoying the sandwich in a very theatrical way, making small groans of happiness as he chewed, rolling his eyes to the sky.

Oh my, that is just wonderful, Borden said at last.

Where did you get all the stuff to make it? Hadley asked.

Borden raised his eyebrows and dabbed at his lips with the napkin. I told, dear boy, it’s a secret.

But–

But I suppose I could give you a little, tiny, itty bitty piece of the secret, Borden said.

Hadley leaned in, heart in his throat.

"The bread was made in an oven," Borden said.

Heat flushed Hadley’s face. He stood up, fists clenched at his side.

I should report you to the cops, he said, If that’s real meat, they’d throw you in prison.

Borden just smiled and took another giant bite of his sandwich. His eyes twinkled and he made num num sounds. Hadley spun on his heel and stomped away. As he was about to round the path and lose sight of the pond, he glanced back. Borden was still there munching away, outlined by the dead mirror of the pond.

Hadley turned away and hurried out of the park. He took his comm from his pocket. He could call the police. He should call the police. A deviant like Borden should be arrested.

For what? For doing something humans had been doing for thousands of years? Killing things to eat?

He slid the comm back in his pocket.

That sandwich. Something unique. How had Borden gotten it?

THREE

Hadley stood on the plascrete sidewalk outside the park, his hands clenched in his coat pockets. Electric cars hummed in front of him, trailing a faint scent of ozone. He should just go back home. Give Nina an apology.

Forget about Borden and his stupid sandwich.

There was a replicator stand across the street. Every apartment and office building in the city had food grade replicators. But people who worked liked to get out of the office and sit and have meals together.

The lunch crowd at the stand was thinning. Office workers in standard gray office wear were throwing plates into the trash bins and walking away in groups of two and three.

Hadley went down to the crosswalk and waited for the parade of electric cars to stop. He hurried across before they started up again. The crosswalks never seemed to give enough time for a leisurely walk across the street. The cars couldn’t run him over, but they would gently bump him if he dallied.

The replicator stand was clean and sterile. Like all of them. Like everything in the city. There were rows of sturdy plastic tables under a thin plastic awning. The actual replicators were at the back, nestled up against the building. They were heavy duty models, clad in stainless steel, designed to output hundreds of pounds of food per hour.

They were all empty at the moment. An aroma of something spicy hung nearby. Someone’s bowl of chili, probably. Hadley went up to one of the replicators and used the ID chip embedded in his right hand to call up a simple bowl of ramen noodles on the screen. He discarded the machine’s suggestions of added flavors or vegetables. None of it was real anyway. It didn’t matter what he ordered.

The machine would access his nutrition profile and provide him with a nutritionally complete meal no matter what he ordered. He wouldn’t be able to get fat on what the machine fed him. And he wouldn’t be able to starve, either. No without a lot of effort.

The machine would inject the necessary vitamins and minerals into the food. If the system detected any illness in his body, it would automatically inject the proper medicines into his meal.

His society was very, very good at keeping his body healthy.

He took his bowl of noodles to a table in the corner. From there he had a clear view of the park entrance. He forked noodles into his mouth without tasting them. They were just fuel to maintain his body.

But what Borden had…that was something different. Borden’s sandwich…that wasn’t perfectly nutritionally balanced. Borden obviously didn’t need any food. As plump as his waistline was, he could go quite a while without eating. No, Borden was eating strictly for the pleasure of it.

And Hadley wanted that experience.

FOUR

Hadley’s fork was clinking against the bottom of the bowl by the time Borden strolled out of the park. Borden’s portly figure was impossible to miss. He just looked so out of place walking down the sidewalk.

There was hardly anyone else out walking. Most people were in their offices doing whatever busy work the system gave them for the afternoon.

Hadley watched a young couple pass by Borden. They avoided looking at him as they approached, but after they passed, they glanced back.

So did Borden. He winked at them. The couple snapped their heads forward and hurried on.

Hadley waited until Borden was a good ways down the street before getting up and following. He dumped the ceramic bowl in the trash and walked the same direction as Borden. He stayed on the opposite side of the street, keeping a discreet distance behind him.

Borden strolled down the street in an easy, rolling gait. Like he didn’t have a care in the world. He seemed to be heading for the center of town, where dull, square office towers reached toward the top of the dome. Hadley kept waiting for the man to step into one of the smaller office buildings. Why else would he be in this part of town?

But Borden took a right turn at a cross street and headed away from the towers.

Hadley rushed up to the crosswalk and tapped his foot, waiting for the traffic to stop. When it finally did, he ran across. Borden was a small figure in the distance, distinctive with his brown coat and blue trousers. And the flat, floppy, blue hat, of course.

Nobody wore hats. Except this guy.

Hadley hurried his pace until he closed within a block of Borden. Borden seemed oblivious he was being followed. He never looked back, but kept on with a jaunty spring in his step.

It was weird seeing someone so…happy…carefree. It didn’t seem right. But then, there was a lot of stuff not right about this guy.

So, call the police. Let them take care of him. What do you think you’re doing?

He stuffed the thoughts back in their box and kept walking. The guy didn’t seem dangerous. And he had something Hadley craved.

Novelty.

Borden was walking into an older part of town. Hadley cast nervous glances at the crumbling red brick buildings. They predated the dome. Part of the original city. He knew over the years the modern city had slowly overtaken the older parts. Tearing down old buildings like these and stacking the plastic block apartments up in their place.

Were these old buildings even occupied? Would the city have upgraded them to modern standards? No. The city would have just removed them and put up another plastic tower.

He glanced at the rows of dark windows going up the buildings. There was no movement in them. The whole street felt empty. There was an eerie quiet to it that made him shiver.

He reached out and ran his fingers along the bricks. Red dust stained his fingertips. Had the bricks been made by hand? No, not likely. They had probably been made in some long ago factory. But they had been placed by hand. He remembered seeing an old documentary on pre-replicator construction techniques. Fuzzy videos of men in coveralls with bricks and pointed trowels in hand. Slap some mortar on the top of a brick, set another brick on top of it. Rows and rows and rows of them.

He looked up. The building was three stories tall. A lot of bricks. Each one placed by some long dead construction worker. Every brick unique. Every placement unique.

The time and energy involved boggled his mind.

Borden.

He shook himself. He needed to focus. He tore his eyes away from the crumbling brick. Looked down the street to Borden.

Except Borden wasn't there anymore.

Crap!

The word echoed off the buildings. He ran down the street. His shoes slapped hard on the concrete. He realized at some point he’d stepped off the plascrete and onto cracked concrete. He hadn’t been paying attention.

Or paying attention to the wrong things.

He came to the end of the block. Literally. The street came to an end. The sidewalk came to an end. A gray plastic wall rose up about twenty feet in front of him. Behind that was the smooth grayish white curve of the dome. It rose and rose and rose until the top disappeared in a haze of lights.

Hadley spun around. Where had the man gone?

In front of each building were steps leading up to wide, wooden doors. Each door he could see was closed. They all seemed alike. Borden could have gone into any of them while Hadley was distracted.

He moved toward the nearest set of steps. They were made of concrete, like the sidewalk. The treads were cracked and worn, but looked stable enough. Metal handrails stood on either side of the steps. They had been painted black once. But most of the paint had flaked away. Now the handrails were more red with rust than anything else.

He swallowed hard, turned around slowly. Which building? He couldn’t just start knocking. What if there were criminals in there? He’d seen dramas about people who tried to live off the grid. The people were always hard, mean. They’d try to steal the identity chips embedded in people’s hands so they could work the replicators.

In the shows, the cops always caught them. But not before the criminals killed a few citizens.

Citizens who had wandered away from the safety of the modern city areas. Into the old town.

Heat flushed Hadley’s face. Why did the city leave these places standing? They should rip it all down…

Put up more plastic apartment buildings.

He ran a finger down the rusty handrail.

Destroy any character the city had left.

But then it would be safer.

Something whistled through the air and smacked against the sidewalk a few feet away from him. It exploded in a spray of red.

He jumped back, heart pounding.

Chunks of red brick lay scattered on the sidewalk. A cloud of red dust hovered over the spot.

He looked up. Had it fallen from one of the buildings?

Had it been thrown?

A cracking sound echoed in the red canyon of old buildings. It made Hadley think of breaking bones.

He spun and ran. He ran until there was plascrete under his shoes again. Breathing hard, his heart hammering from more than exertion, he slowed. He pulled trembling hands over his face.

For once in his life, he hurried home.

But for the entire, rushed, trip back to his plastic apartment, he felt like there were eyes watching. His back twitched, feeling unseen eyes.

But he refused to look back to see if anyone followed.

He didn’t want to know what might be following him.

When the apartment door slid shut behind him, he sunk to the floor. He shook and trembled.

But it wasn’t all fear.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Borden’s sandwich.

Something real. So close he could have touched it.

Could have had it.

He got up and went to take a shower. By the time he stepped out, dripping water, steam rising from him, he had made up his mind.

FIVE

Hadley sat on the same bench and watched the dead stillness of the pond. He checked his comm. Same time as the day before. He’d already been there an hour.

Just in case Borden showed up early.

The pond had a dank odor. A little rotten, even. Nothing floated on it. No moss rimmed the edges of the stones around it. The water was black where the overhead lights didn’t create hot white spots. He couldn’t see the bottom of it. What lay under there? The bones of the fish that once swum there?

Whatever Borden had thrown in it yesterday?

Here again?

Hadley jumped. Borden came around the edge of the bench and sat opposite him. The boards groaned and creaked. Hadley felt them move under him as they bent to Borden’s weight.

Borden’s brown bag sat in his lap, the top curled down.

Who are you? Hadley asked.

Borden’s fuzzy eyebrows shot up under his flat hat.

Me? Didn’t we introduce ourselves yesterday? Borden said.

I know your name, Hadley said, "I don’t know who you are."

Borden’s eyes twinkled and a broad grin expanded his fur rimmed mouth.

Ah, yes, you’re wondering who this strange person is, he said, A man of girth who dresses far too comfortably and makes his own lunch. Instead of having lunch extruded for him.

Yes, Hadley said, "Who are you?"

Borden started to open his brown bag, then seemed to think better of it. He leaned toward Hadley. His eyes didn't sparkle with mirth. Instead, they burned with an intensity that made Hadley flinch.

"A better question might be: who do you think you are, sir," Borden said.

A chill ran over Hadley. He flinched back from Borden.

What?

Borden’s burning look turned fierce.

"You. Who are you? Borden said, Are you one of the empty minds who occupy the plastic houses of our modern city, sucking at the teat of ease and plenty? Are you an empty man? Or are you a man who desires to live?"

Hadley’s chest tightened, his cheeks burned. What are you talking about? he said.

You know exactly what I’m talking about, Borden said.

The words were a knot in Hadley’s chest. A knot that twisted painfully. How often had he thought about the emptiness of his own life? Of the emptiness of the city’s existence. Everything was always the same. The city’s residents never truly wanted for anything. The work done in those office towers at the center of the dome was pointless. He’d said that out to Nina one too many times. Now they didn’t talk about it anymore. She wanted him to work so they could get a bigger apartment. Maybe get their own anonymous electric car.

And drive where? he’d asked her.

People didn’t leave the dome. Why should they? There wasn’t anything beyond it. Nothing worth having. Their ancestors had damaged the planet to the point where it was uninhabitable. Now people lived in domes, scattered about the globe. Saved by the technology which had almost destroyed them.

We could visit another dome, Nina had said, The Paris dome still has the Eiffel Tower. It would be romantic.

It wasn’t the type of novelty he was interested in. He’d seen pictures of the Paris Dome. Sure, the Eiffel Tower was still there. A sad, sagging structure. Surrounded by gray cubical buildings exactly like the ones in the dome he and Nina lived in. There really wasn’t a Paris anymore. Or a New York, or a Tokyo, or a Timbuktu. Just anonymous domes filled with gray cubes. And plastic machines that spat out identical food and identical clothes.

If he wanted to taste authentic Parisian cuisine, all he had to do was bring up the French menu on the replicator’s screen. A few seconds later, the machine would deposit it on a plate and the door would slide up.

Viola, French cuisine. Bon appetit.

He'd tried to explain to her that none of it was real. It was just atoms sprayed down in a programmed pattern by a soulless machine.

After that argument, she didn't speak to him for three days.

He barely noticed.

So, Hadley, Borden said, What kind of man are you? Are you content to be an anonymous speck of humanity existing in an environment designed to keep you sedate?

The knot in Hadley’s chest twisted harder. How many times had the same thought bounced across his mind?

Or are you a seeker? Borden asked.

Hadley snapped his face toward Borden. The portly man leaned back against the bench, an arm draped casually over the top. The brown bag sat in his lap. The fingers of his left hand lightly tapped the bag. Did it hold another one of Borden’s real sandwiches in it?

Would Borden chase him if he snatched it and ran?

Maybe. But Hadley would bet on himself besting the pudgy man in a footrace. Besides, what would Borden do? Call the police? Tell them someone stole his sandwich, with its illegal components?

Do you seek novelty? Borden said. His fingers kept tapping the bag. Do you desire something more from your life than what our coddling government allows you to pick from a computerized menu?

Hadley clenched his fingers together in his lap. He could steal the bag. But would it be enough? No, of course not. One taste wouldn’t be enough. He’d have to have more.

Whatever you’re selling, Hadley said, I’m more than willing to buy. Let’s cut to the chase. Tell me what I have to do.

Borden’s bearded mouth turned up in a tight smile. His eyes narrowed and the mirth left them.

Are you sure?

Just tell me, Hadley said, I don’t care what I have to do. I want it. I hate this place. This…life.

Borden’s cold grin grew wider. His fingers stopped tap, tap, tapping the paper bag.

Tell me, my dear Hadley, he said, "Are you hungry?"

SIX

Borden led him to the old part of the city. The place with the red brick buildings. A place that had a musty, disused scent above the ever-present plastic stink of the dome city. Their footsteps echoed in the brick canyon. Blank windows watched them pass. Hadley's shoulders were tight. He imagined eyes behind those windows. Watching him. Judging him. They would look at his machine-made clothes. His nutritionally balanced physique. His clear skin and perfect, machine cut hair.

They would know he was a creature of the other world. At least his body was.

But his mind…

Just look at the character in these lovely old tenements, Borden said. He waved a hand in the general direction of everything. He step was bouncy, jaunty. A broad grin sat on his bearded face. His eyes crinkled at the corners. Whatever coldness had overtaken him in the park was gone.

Hadley’s gaze darted from building to building. He remembered the brick that almost hit him. If it had fallen, that meant the buildings were decrepit, in danger of falling down.

If it had been thrown…

The city government keeps meaning to get around to tearing these buildings down and replacing them with those horrible plastic cubes, Borden said. He gave Hadley a wink. But somehow the paperwork keeps getting lost and the job gets pushed back.

Hadley turned a hard look on Borden–who seemed blithely unaware of it. The man was implying some sort of corruption in the city government. Or in the bureaucratic machinery that ran it. Before he could ask, Borden suddenly turned and darted into a narrow alley between two of the tenement buildings.

Hadley stopped. The tight alleyway was dark and littered with debris. That by itself shocked him. The automatic sweepers prowled the city day and night. He couldn’t remember ever seeing trash lying on the ground. There were disposal receptacles everywhere. People didn’t just drop things on the ground. That would be…uncivilized.

He realized Borden was staring at him, an amused look on his face. He seemed to know what Hadley was thinking.

The city’s sweeper fleet are too wide to fit in here, Borden said, "And the city has no human labor force willing to do any work so pedestrian as stooping to pick up trash."

A smell wafted from the alley. It had a note of rottenness to it. Almost like the pond. But it smelled more like food that had gone bad. It was similar to the time the waste receptacle had stopped working in their apartment. The odor of all the decomposing food was enough them to drive them from the apartment until the city could get a maintenance crew to bring in a robot to fix it.

Are you ready? Borden asked, "Do you wish to back out? Do you wish to go back to your nice, safe, boring life? Do you wish to miss out on the taste of reality? The taste of freedom?"

Hadley clenched his fists and stomped into the alley. You talk too much, he said, Let’s go.

Borden laughed and walked further in. Hadley followed. The buildings cut off the dome lighting. It became dim in the alley. Colder.

A chill ran through him.

Borden led him deep into the alley. Hadley stepped around piles of unidentifiable, stinking refuse. Some of it smelled like human waste. It made his skin crawl. There were bathrooms everywhere. Why would anyone–

Ah, here we are, Borden said.

He stopped at a rusty metal railing. An opening sat in front of a set of stairs. Stairs that descended. Hadley’s heart beat faster. It was so dim in the alley, the stairway seemed to lead to only darkness. He squinted and made out the dim outlines of a doorway.

Borden went down, bouncing on each step. He pushed the door open and disappeared.

Hadley stared at the dark opening. The door was still open, as far as he could tell. No light came from the room beyond the doorway. He gripped the rusty railing. Whatever was down there was going to change him forever. It wasn’t too late to turn around and run back to the apartment. Run back to safe and boring.

He had no idea what was down there. For all he knew, Borden was one of those criminals like in the vids. Criminals who stole legitimate citizen's identity chips. He pictured dirty, musclebound men with hard eyes waiting down there. They'd have gleaming knives in their hands. One to plunge into his heart. Another to chop off his hand.

He shook himself. He was being ridiculous. The vids were stupid. There was a lot more than the chip to verify identity. He'd read an article on it once. There were several kinds of biosensors in the chip. It read vital signs and sampled DNA. And it could only be reprogrammed at a government medical facility. No one in a musty basement could hope to use the chip for anything.

No, whatever was down there was probably physically safe. More or less.

And the reward was worth any other risk there might be.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

He took a deep breath and eased down the steps. His shoes tapped the concrete. The sound echoed slightly against the stone walls. A musty, damp smell rose from the opening. But there was something else, too. A strange, yet familiar smell. Slightly sweet, warm…it made his stomach rumble. The smell tickled his memory. He knew what it was, but couldn’t quite place it. But it smelled delicious.

He reached the bottom of the stairs.

There was a light in the distance. A rectangle of yellow at the end of a long hall. A figure stood silhouetted in it. A figure with a bulging belly and a flat, floppy hat. A bag hung from his right hand. Borden. The man stood there for a moment the moved right and disappeared.

Hadley swallowed hard. Novelty. New experiences. That’s what he wanted, right.

Sure.

He rubbed sweaty palms on his pants and started down the corridor. His footsteps echoed against the concrete floor. The walls weren’t stone. He ran his fingers over them. They weren’t wood. They were something else. Another building material from the time before everything was plastic.

There were other doorways along the corridor. Paneled wooden doors stood in them. All closed.

He approached the open, lighted doorway at the end. The damp, musty scent receded as he approached. Instead, the other, stomach rumbling odor grew stronger. It filled the corridor with warmth. It was a pleasant, homey smell. It tickled a part of his brain that sent cheerful signals running through his nerves. The tightness in his shoulders eased.

Nothing that smelled that good could lead to anything bad.

At the open doorway, a white wall greeted him. The way to the left was blocked. Another opening led away to the right. He entered and quickly found himself blocked by another white wall that directed him to yet another opening on the left. He turned and found…

SEVEN

Heaven. Of a sort.

Stretched out in front of Hadley was a long, wooden table. Seated along one side were four people. One of which was Borden. The other three were vaguely like him, but completely different in their own way.

Borden sat at the nearest corner of the table. His brown bag was in front of him, still unopened. He winked at Hadley.

To his right was an older woman with gray hair and a plump figure Her cheeks were rosy, her lips pink and full. Her eyes twinkled with the same kind of mirth as Borden’s. She wore a simple, patterned dress that looked anything but fabricator made. She gave Hadley a wink, too.

At the older woman's right elbow was another woman, much younger. She scowled at Hadley, her mouth downturned and her eyes hard. She had thick, black hair tied behind her head in a long ponytail. She wasn't plump or fat, but there was a softness to her. A softness that told him her physique wasn't tuned by fabricator meals. She wore a short-sleeved blue shirt of some kind of rough cloth, as well as similar colored pants. The lack of sleeves showed off muscular arms.

The kind of arms that belonged to someone who did actual manual labor. That was almost more shocking than Borden’s plumpness.

The young woman didn’t give him a wink.

Beside the young woman was an emaciated man who was older than her, but younger than Borden. The man had a long, almost skeletal frame. His arms, encased in a tight-fitting white shirt were like sticks. The long fingers at the ends of his narrow hands were equally thin. The man’s dark eyes were sunk deep into his skull. A thin scattering of brown hair covered the back of the skull, almost like an afterthought.

The man didn’t scowl as the woman beside him did. But he didn’t look happy to see Hadley either. He flicked his dark eyes to Borden.

Collecting strays again? he said.

A broad smile spread Borden’s bearded cheeks. Not a stray, he said, "Not at all. This young gentleman is a seeker."

The thin man snorted and looked away.

Seeker my ass, he said, Looks like another replicator clone to me.

They all look the same, the younger woman said, They always do. Her voice was deep, husky. It stirred something with him.

Borden stood up. He made a small bow to Hadley. Hadley, these are my associates, he said. He pointed to the older woman at his side. This is my aunt, Celestia. Beside her is her daughter Nona and Nona’s husband, Yorrick. Everyone, may I present the newest seeker, Hadley.

None of the other three raised a hand in greeting.

An uncomfortable silence stretched out.

Borden gave yet another one of his stupid winks and sat back down. The plump woman beside him–Celestia? What kind of name was that?–clapped her hands together.

You must be starved, dear, she said, Why you’re almost as skinny as Yorrick over there. Let me get you something.

She pushed her chair back and bustled over to a counter set against the far wall. The room was fairly large. As big as four of his apartments put together. It seemed ostentatious, even though the contents weren’t fancy.

The counter seemed to be a block of some white stone set on top of some stained metal cabinets. At the end of the cabinets were large metal boxes with small glass windows set in them. There was another stretch of counter, then more tall metal boxes without window. In front of them was a large stone topped table that seemed to have a sink at one end of it.

The whole setup was vaguely recognizable as a kitchen. It was nothing like the stubby vestigial kitchen in the apartments. All that really was a bump out on the wall with the food replicator around chest height and the disposal unit a couple feet below it. Usually, there was a small sink to the side for washing one's hands, but that was it.

He'd seen old style kitchens in historical dramas on the vid. But this seemed more elaborate than those.

Celestia took something from a cabinet over the stone counter and set it down. It looked like a brown lump, but then Hadley noticed the end had the same oval shape as the bread on Borden’s sandwich.

There was a name for the object, but he couldn’t drag the word from his mind.

Celestia moved over to one of the tall metal cabinets and pulled open a door. A light flashed on inside. He saw rows of glass shelves. They held colored jars and plastic containers. She pulled several containers and jars out and set them on the counter by the first object–which could only be bread. What was that stupid word?

She took the bread–loaf! That was the word!–she took the loaf from its plastic wrapper and produced a knife from a drawer under the stone counter. She sawed off two slices of bread and lay them flat in front of her.

Go easy, Borden said, His system isn’t used to real food.

Celestia half turned and gave Hadley a wink. Oh, he’ll be fine, she said, He’s a healthy young one.

Aunt Celly… Borden said.

She turned back to the counter. She took a variety of things from various plastic containers and jar. She piled it together so fast it was all a blur. She chopped it in half with the knife, then put it on a plate she produced from another cabinet.

She brought it over and set it on the table, opposite Borden. She waved Hadley to the seat.

Sit down, dear, she said, Nona, dear, I think your bread is about done.

Nona got up slowly. She cast another hostile look at Hadley before she stalked away. He lowered himself to the well worn wooden chair. He twisted around to watch her.

She grabbed a wad of thick cloth and yanked open a door on one of the glass windowed metal cabinets. A rich odor wafted out. The same as what filled the room and tickled his senses back in the corridor. She used the thick cloth to grab a tray and pull it out. Four brown blobs sat on the tray.

Bread.

His heart skipped a beat. Was it possible?

You make bread here? he asked, Real bread?

Nona gave him another scowl. A look that said she thought he was the biggest idiot she’d ever seen.

Of course we make bread, dear, Celestia said, People have been making bread for thousands of years. There shouldn't be anything surprising about it. Though, if you really want my opinion, it's a magical process.

Nona snorted a short laugh. She slid the loaves off the tray, onto some sort of wire rack on the stone countertop.

Real bread? Hadley said. His cheeks went hot. What a stupid thing to say. Of course it was real bread.

Yeah, real bread, Nona said, Unlike that junk you get out of the replicators.

I hate replicator food, Hadley said.

Replicators were a godsend back in the day, Yorrick said, They saved the world from starvation.

Borden coughed into his hand, then pushed the floppy hat up from his brow.

Yes, but things went a bit far, don’t you think? he said.

Yorrick shrugged. "No one in government ever knows how far too far is."

So true, Borden said, nodding. He opened his brown paper bag and pulled out a wax paper wrapped bundle. He set it on the table.

Here you go dear, Celestia said.

A plate clunked on the table. She slid it in front of him. The plate was white ceramic, like thousands he’d seen over his lifetime. But this one had a small chip on one edge.

Imperfect.

But what really grabbed his attention was what sat on the plate.

The sandwich. Nothing fancy. The two halves were separated so he could see the strata inside. It was a couple slices of brown, oval bread containing some pale meat, yellow cheese, and lettuce. There was a good sized pickle spear sitting next to it.

Just turkey and cheddar on our whole grain bread, Celestia said, It shouldn’t bother your tummy in the slightest. We can work you up to something more daring later.

If he sticks with it, Yorrick said.

Bet you he throws it right back up, Nona said.

Let’s see if he’s brave enough to take a bite, Yorrick said.

He will, Borden said. The man had a gleam in his narrowed eyes. I’ve been watching him.

It mostly went over Hadley’s head. He locked his eyes on the sandwich. Real. He’d watched Celestia make it with her own hands. He’d seen the bread come out of…what was the word? Oven. He’d seen the bread come out of the oven.

He leaned over and breathed in. Yeasty scent of bread, a tang of vinegar. Meat. It smelled so good. His stomach rumbled.

He lifted his hands over it. His fingers trembled. He touched the bread. It was soft, spongey. It really wasn’t any different than any other bread he’d ever touched. But it was real. Human hands had made it. It was unique. If he went over and looked at the loaves Nona pulled from the oven, they would all be slightly different. Unique.

He wrapped his fingers around one half, lifted it from the plate. Brought it up to his face. He paused. Everyone stared at him. Borden’s eyes gleamed, the corners of his mouth turned up. Celestia had a motherly smile. Nona had narrowed eyes and half a sneer. Yorrick sat with arms folded, his face expressionless.

Hadley looked back at the sandwich in his hand. What was he doing? Taking food from complete strangers? It could be stuffed full of poison for all he knew. It would serve him right if it was. No one dragged him down here. His own feet carried him.

And so what if it was poisoned? Did he want to keep living in a world full of empty copies? If he died here, at least it would be…original.

He put the sandwich to his mouth and took a huge bite.

The slightly earthy flavor of the bread hit first. It was coarse and chewy and full of flavor, unlike anything he'd ever had.

Then he tasted the turkey meat. It had a delicious smokey flavor to it. A natural flavor, unlike what passed for smoked meat from the replicators.

Then the tang of cheddar cheese, the crunch of lettuce and the sharp taste of vinegar. It all came together in a delirious explosion of flavor. Unique from anything he’d ever eaten.

Oh man that’s good, he said.

Celestia clapped her hands and beamed a huge smile at him. Borden smiled, too, and nodded. Nona just turned and when to tend to her loaves of bread. Yorrick continued to stare without expression.

Hadley took another big bite. It tasted just as good as the first. Maybe better.

Go slowly, young Hadley, Borden said, Your system isn’t used to non nutritionally balanced food.

Don’t care, Hadley said. He finished off the sandwich half in three more big bites.

Borden unwrapped the wax paper around his sandwich and took a big bite of his own.

Celestia will fatten you up in no time at this rate, he said.

Hadley grabbed the other half of the sandwich bit off a corner. He put it down and tried the pickle spear. It had a delightful crunch to it. Tangy, vinegary, with a strong garlic flavor. It was robust.

Celestia went over one of the big metal cabinets she had gotten the meat out of. She took out a pitcher of something and got a clear glass from another cabinet. She brought it over and filled the glass before setting it in front of him.

Lemonade, dear, she said, Freshly squeezed this morning.

He took the glass and sipped at it. It was tart and sweet and icy all at the same time. And so good. He drained half of it in one swig.

Good, he said, earning another smile from Celestia.

He chomped the rest of the sandwich and finished off the lemonade.

That was the best meal I’ve ever had, he said.

Borden raised an eyebrow. "It’s probably the first real meal you’ve had in a very long time, he said. He folded his hands in front of him and leaned forward. You’re old enough to remember the world before the domes, aren’t you?"

Hadley leaned back. The old world. That place with blue sky and wind that brushed your face. Smells of dirt and salty, fishy ocean air. Bright green spring leaves after the snows of winter melted away.

Even then food was being spat out of replicators. His mother had gotten one so she wouldn’t have to cook. He complained the food didn’t taste right, but she wasn’t interested in his opinions.

I remember, he said, Some of it, anyway. I was only eight when everyone got moved into the domes.

Borden pushed half his sandwich to Hadley. Hadley grabbed it and gnawed off a corner. Same earthy bread, but this time the insides were roast beef and some kind mild white cheese he couldn’t identify.

Borden stroked his thick beard. He regarded Hadley with an appraising look.

Hmmm, I’d guess to be in your early thirties, yes?

Hadley nodded. He took another bite of the sandwich. Oh, it was so good. So real.

So, around a quarter century in the dome, Borden said, Most of your life. Tell me, sir…have you ever gotten used to living here?

A loaded question. Suddenly the food in his mouth seemed heavy, thick. He put the sandwich down. Celestia suddenly reappeared with the pitcher of lemonade, filled his glass. He downed a third of it, washing the sandwich down his throat.

Never, he said, Never gotten used to it. Never want to get used to it.

Yes, it’s a pity that the world outside the domes is unfit for human life, isn’t it? Borden said.

Yeah, I hate it here, Hadley said. He wolfed down the rest of the sandwich. Drained the glass of lemonade again.

To a man lost in the desert even a simple glass of water is finer than ambrosia, Borden said. He handed Hadley a white cloth napkin. You have some mustard on your mouth.

Hadley wiped it off. His stomach gurgled. Then it twisted with an unpleasant sensation.

Crap. Had they poisoned him after all?

A mild wave of nausea went through him. He gripped the edge of the wooden table and willed it to pass.

It came back. Stronger.

He’s going to lose it, Yorrick said.

If you feel the need to vomit, dear, Celestia said, Please run for the sink.

Better yet, use the damned toilet, Nona shouted, It’s right through there. She pointed to a door on the far side of the kitchen.

Just the idea of running for the toilet made the nausea twist his gut. He wrapped his arms around his stomach. He gave his four captors a glare.

You poisoned me, he said.

No dear, Celestia said, You just ate too much, too fast. You're not used to real food anymore.

Everything you’ve eaten for the last twenty-some years has been perfectly nutritionally balanced for your system, Borden said, In the old days, we savages just stuffed our faces and let our bodies sort out what they needed.

Hadley clamped a hand over his mouth. The sandwiches and lemonade were trying to force their way back up his throat. Or his stomach was trying to push them. He wasn’t going to let it. It was going to stay down, damnit.

It’s all right young Hadley, Borden said, Most people can’t keep down their first real meal.

No, Hadley said, I’m not going to throw up.

A snort from Yorrick. I know how to make him puke, he said.

Hadley tensed. Was the man going to get up and punch him in the stomach? No, Yorrick sat there, arms folded over his chest.

Here’s a thought to turn your stomach, kid, Yorrick said.

Yorrick, Borden said, a tone of warning in his voice.

That turkey sandwich you just ate, Yorrick said.

Here we go, Nona said. She moved over to the bathroom door and opened it.

Where did the meat come from? Yorrick said.

Hadley looked to each of them. Borden and Celestia looked away, their lips pressed