Earth Two
Earth Two
“Have you ever been to Earth One?” This was one of her well-rehearsed (but never implemented) go-to questions. It wasn’t a particularly novel icebreaker, but it was useful to get things rolling. She knew the answer but thought it would be more conversational for the person she was paired with to provide the details.
“Yes, a couple of times,” he said. “But not during the Conflicts. I work for Tangential Blasting, you know, the construction outfit. We maintain clients there.” He half-shrugged, as if passage to Earth One was somewhat routine. She looked down at his hands. They were large, meaty hands—not ones she expected from a traveling sales worker. The rest of him appeared more slender and tidy. “Have you?”
“Me? Oh, no. My great-grandfather left there when he was a young man. None of my family has ever been or even wanted to go. All the nastiness, you see.”
“Well, Earth One does have the Columns of Firth and Radiation City. They’re fairly interesting places.” He sipped at his blanched milksap, all the while never losing eye contact with her. She had ordered a tangerine fizz, and she proved to be as bright and bubbly as her drink. The evening started well, he thought. Not like the last Random Romance encounters he had slogged through.
“Yes, I’ve heard,” she said. “But why go through all the hassle when you can see something similar on VirtuocityNow? Anyway, the travel alone makes me ill. All those chemicals, all those tubes.” This wasn’t a completely truthful response, but she looked sincere.
“I hear you. I guess I’ve gotten used to it. Doesn’t faze me much anymore. Coming home is another story. I usually experience some balance issues the first day back.” He shrugged, as if the negative effects were as mundane as putting on two differently colored socks. She looked at his hands again.
“You have monumental hands,” she said. She looked into his eyes when she said it, her face still and inviting.
“Do I?” He examined his hands, flipping them over and back again. “I’ve never heard them described that way before. They look pretty normal to me.” He looked up and caught her gaze.
There was a soft dinging sound and an ad instantly appeared, precisely halfway between their expectant faces. It glowed purple and white, shimmering and flashing, inescapable, floating in a translucent haze of glittering animation:
Ask not what you can do for your country.
Ask what Aspinal Security can do for you.
The three-dimensional images were displayed on a laser-logic calcium grid, approximately two mits by three mits. The ad showed two young couples engaged in ScatterBall on an impossibly green stretch of lawn. Children were in the background laughing and playing. An in-ground pool and a blazing fire pit were situated on the immense patio. Interestingly, only two percent of the citizens of Earth Two lived this way; most were tucked neatly away in towering condominiums.
“I hate these,” she said, sighing, unable to look away—a break in eye contact would add another fifteen seconds to the advertisement. She meant the familial bliss depicted in most ads, not the obtrusive nature of them, as one might assume.
“Same here,” he said. “I’m sorry, it’s probably me. My company has contracts with Aspinal Security. I apologize.”
“No, no, don’t worry about it. It might’ve been one intended for me; I was shopping for sports bras earlier. Oh wait, you probably would’ve liked that ad.” They both chuckled over the thought. The image slowly disintegrated, and the two strangers were allowed to see each other’s faces again.
“Hey, I know it’s against the rules, but could I know your name? I’m Kint.” He offered one of his monumental hands.
“I’m Liska. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” he said, shaking her hand with enough strength to transmit masculinity but not enough to injure its delicate composition. “What do you do, Liska?” He purposefully didn’t pre-read the Random Romance disclosure file; it was nice to suspend prior knowledge and make believe this was all a chance encounter.
Conversely, Liska knew all about Kint. She had inputted her preferences beforehand: A solid, beefy man, four to four and a half mits tall, with no facial hair, a professional career involving architecture or cultural containment, no robotics or body morphs, an enjoyment of cooking and day travel, and a preference for rhythm locking and sensate coordination. Kint, on the other hand, selected the Choose For Me option, authorizing the software to run a 200-day personal history scan.
“I’m an Orbital Relay Technician at the moment, but I’m training to be a Biomechdroid Series 5 tech. I’ll get to stay on Earth Two, and there’s no commute. It’s all Sim.” A twinkle in her eye broadcast a note of pride in her new venture.
“Series 5? I’m impressed,” Kint said. He knew Series 5 techs were in high demand and required an advanced level of technical proficiency.
“Wait. You honestly didn’t know that already? Didn’t you specify elective priorities?”
“Nope, never do. I’m coming in cold. Is it a problem?”
“No. But I’m a little surprised. Most Earth Two males create a priority list as long as a thread mast.” Her forehead tightened, making a few visible creases.
“Don’t worry. I like you, Liska. I like you a lot. I was even thinking we should… Oh, spit. Here comes another one.”
They watched as another intrusive advideo sprang up between them, being careful not to look off the grid. It was an ad for Sgt. Spader’s Barley Cereal. If you don’t want a masturbator, the brand to buy is Sgt. Spader. A young boy and girl sat in a vintage kitchen eating the advertised cereal—a scene straight out of the 2020s. The aproned father stood in the background, smiling approvingly. The kitchen’s lighting was warm and subtle. There wasn’t as much flashing, and the ad was much shorter than the previous one. After twenty seconds, it dissolved into minute, confetti-like specks and vanished.
“You eat that tasteless stuff?” Kint said with a beguiling smile.
“Well… I mean, I have it sometimes. I grew up with that load. I suppose I never took it off autostock. Let me guess; you prefer Frosted Gwerms.”
“Guilty,” Kint said, and they both laughed.
The waitron materialized to collect their secondary drink order. Liska put up her forefinger, indicating number one. Kint frowned indecisively but extended three fingers. The waitron blinked off with a whooshing sound.
“What did it look like to you?” Kint asked.
“The waitron? My childhood nanny, Mai. She always hovered around us kids, asking if we wanted this or that. It wasn’t annoying; I thought she was great. She moved to Earth One a few years ago.” These were completely untruthful statements. “What did yours appear as?”
“Mine looked like my ex’s sister, Anja. I had a thing for her, I guess.”
“Is it the reason you and your ex…”
“No, no. Nothing happened between Anja and me. I just liked the way she squeezed her puppy.”
“Oh, sweet Lotus,” Liska groaned. “You’re not one of those, are you?” She knew he wasn’t; she was merely playing the game.
“Sorry, it was one of my grandfather’s expressions. They said it a lot in his day.”
“I know exactly what you meant. I had a grandfather too, you know.” They both laughed.
“Listen,” Kint said. “Do you think you’d fancy a mindtrek to Earth Three with me sometime? No chemicals involved.”
“But it’s not finished,” Liska said.
“A lot of it is. There’s a Pinging Park now, and casinos. They’ve built some monstrous hotels; you could get lost in them. And the water—ugh, it’s so fresh and clear, and it’s not like a thousand millicerts; you can actually swim in it.”
“Really?”
“Yes, absolutely. I’ve been a few times—for work.”
“I don’t know; it’s so ridiculously expensive.”
“Yeah, it is, but it’s ad-free. And it’ll be my treat. Please consider it. I think you’ll enjoy it, and we can get to know each other better.”
“Okay, ask me again on our next date,” Liska said. She was starting to thoroughly enjoy being with this man. He was attractive, and not only his hands. His smile was addicting, and Liska could tell he was exciting and spontaneous. But how could this even work? she thought. Earth Two males were extremely critical.
“Will you be Liska again, or someone else?” Kint displayed a stressful squint.
“Same profile. I only use the one.”
“Good. Me too. Isn’t it crazy how people juggle multiple profiles on this thing? I heard of a guy who had twelve different accounts, three profiles each.” Liska’s eyebrows shot up. “Which is the max, I hear. How does he even keep track of all the info? Holy Lotus, that’s gotta be a lot of data to juggle!”
“A friend of mine at work has three profiles,” Liska said. “She pays extra for the autoprompt.”
“Ohh.”
“Yeah, that’s how they do it.”
The servebot arrived with their drinks, and Kint held his wrist against the scanner. He slid Liska’s drink across the table to her. She picked it up and held it aloft.
“Here’s to going in cold,” she said, smiling. “You’re more daring than I.” They touched glasses and sipped, waiting for the next interruptive ad. Their lapse in conversation was not uncomfortable. Kint found Liska’s gray-green eyes mesmerizing, and he used the tele-direct function to submit that fact to her.
“Thank…”
A loud, cantankerous peep-ad formed between them, flashing its annoying message along with overvolumed blister music that they could feel on the table. Several women were shown exercising in a fashionable gym, their bodies performing extreme bends and twists while running and jumping. Most of the women were trying to control their wayward breasts from the spontaneous movements—an embarrassing and futile task. But one woman (the most attractive) was smiling, and she had perfectly stationary breasts while she ran on a treadmill. The man running next to her, with rugged good looks and a heavily muscled body, smiled at her. The tagline popped and pulsated with the music:
When you want to concentrate on other things.
The new Gyro-Tech Athletic Brassiere has arrived!
Available at fine retailers and Elektro-Hut.
Liska covered her face with her hands, effectively lengthening the advertisement by another quarter-minute. “Ugh, I knew this would happen. I’m so embarrassed,” she said. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it before.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Kint said. “It’s fine.” He stared at the ad, waiting patiently for the faint ding. “You know, I’ve been thinking about getting a cat.”
“A cat?” Liska said, playing along. She resumed eye contact with the ad.
“Yes, a pet cat, maybe a kitten. Wouldn’t it be nice to adopt a little kitten?” They both laughed at the ploy, knowing the next ad would possibly be feline-related. The images between them dissipated, and Kint smiled warmly. He thought there may be a chance with this one—she was open and funny, and she had a strong but feminine quality, which was becoming rare these days.
“You know, I bought a first-generation Gyro-Tech bra a couple of years ago,” Liska said. “It was horrible. So grabby. And sometimes it would move my… uh, girls… in different directions.” She looked down at her drink. It was the perfect opportunity for Kint to glance at Liska’s breasts, a somewhat normal and predictive reaction given the topic, but he didn’t. He focused on her long, shiny hair, parted in the middle, a throwback style from a century ago.
The waitron popped into view to take their entrée orders. A menu appeared in the air between the young couple; there were only three items for them to choose from. Liska held up two fingers, and Kint, one. The menu disappeared, and their table was autoset with placemats, napkins, cutlery, small plates, and a basket of citrus bread with seaweed butter. This happened so quickly that Kint almost forgot to lift his drink, which would have caused an expensive spill and a move to another booth.
“Whew, that was a close one,” he said.
“Are you getting forgetful in your senior years?” Liska teased. She already knew he was 24-3, but she realized Kint didn’t know her age. “I’m 26-5, by the way.” She lied.
“Well, here’s to middle age,” Kint said, holding up his glass. Liska raised hers to complete the toast, and they each had a buttered roll. There was the familiar ding, and Kint said, “Oh, knuckles, here’s another one,” and they both stared straight ahead. Luckily, it was a short one.
Soft-focus, slow-motion images of kittens frolicking in a vast field of grass were displayed. A rainbow was visible in the background, and gentle, whimsical music played over the enchanting scene. At the end, a logo for Rancho de Gatitos filled the center of the screen with pink and yellow letters, jiggling in a rounded, puerile font.
“Hmm, do you know Old Spanish?” Kint asked, frowning.
“No, I don’t,” Liska said—another lie. “I thought you did. How weird is that?” Her face froze for a second, but Kint barely noticed.
“Well, I’ve heard these things screw up from time to time. UniThought is the worst. I was talking with a friend about transport mechanics, hoping we’d get, you know, something useful. Up pops this thing for dental spray. It had this gorgeous woman and a chimpanzee as her dentist.”
“Ooh, I think I saw that one!” Liska said. “The chimp stuck his tongue out at her or something.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s the one,” Kint said. “I mean, we were obviously talking about glide mechanics, and you show a dental spray ad? It’s getting so bad nowadays.”
“Disclosure time—I bought it,” Liska said.
“Bought what?”
“The dental spray. I bought it. I wanted to try it.” She pronounced the word try as tray. Kint started noticing something off with her speech patterns. Liska’s lying was becoming obsessive; she had never purchased dental spray or even seen the ad.
“Are you okay, Liska?” Kint reached out and touched the back of her hand. It felt colder than before. “Liska?”
Ding.
A short ad for dental spray appeared, but it wasn’t the one with the chimpanzee. Luckily, Liska’s eyes were forward-facing, and the ad did its business and faded.
“Sorry,” she said. “I was thinking about…” Her pause was frighteningly noticeable. “…my mother.”
“Is she okay?” Kint’s look of concern was not only for Liska’s mother. He wondered if Liska was having an allergic reaction to her drink or maybe the seaweed butter.
“Oh, she’s fine. She’s dead. I mean… it’s fine; she died. Wait. My mother passed away, so it’s… fine. I think my mother is dead. I think.”
“Maybe we should go to the fresh air chamber. They put those comfy sling chairs in there now.” But as he spoke, their meals came. The servebot slid a covered plate in front of each of them, and Kint held his wrist near the scanner without taking his eyes off Liska.
“I don’t need air. I’m sorry. I don’t need air.”
“Liska? What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Tell me. What’s the problem?”
“You. You’re the problem.”
“Me? Why?” Kint was confused.
“You didn’t fill out the elective priorities form. Why didn’t you fill out the elective priorities form? Why didn’t…” Liska froze again.
“What?”
“You should have filled it out, Kint. You should have. Now it selected me.”
“Yeah, I’m glad I got you. I still don’t see the problem.”
“You should have filled it out, Kint,” Liska repeated. “Filled it… out… Kint. My mother is dead, I think.”
“Liska, please tell me what’s going on.”
“You didn’t specify human. You didn’t fill out the elective priorities form and you didn’t specify human and now you have me and I know you want human but I can’t fulfill that for you. I’m sorry.”
Kint sat back in his seat and sighed. “Oh,” he said. They both watched an advertisement for the newest fresh air chamber model. After the ding, Kint said, “Are you sixth-generation?” Liska shook her head, causing some of her hair to fall across her face. “Fifth-generation?”
“No. I’m sorry,” Liska said, leaving the hair in her face.
“Then what?”
“Third-gen,” Liska said softly. She made a weak attempt at blowing the hair away—it only puffed out momentarily. Kint reciprocated by blowing out a long, worried breath through his pursed lips.
“That means… So you don’t… So you’re… So you don’t have…” Liska shook her head several times, creating more of a hair wall in front of her face.
“I’m sorry. I never get selected.”
“Don’t be sorry; it’s my fault. Holy Lotus, a Gen 3?!” Liska began crying, which surprised Kint because he thought he remembered Gen 4’s big thing was the introduction of real tears. And a rudimentary…
“I should go. You’re wonderful, Kint. I’m sorry, I should go. I’m sorry.” Kint recalled the Gen 3s did trigger a repetitive speech problem when stressed. He started laughing. “Why are you laughing?”
“It’s kind of a funny situation. I’ve never even met a Gen 3, and here I am falling for one.”
“Really?” Liska’s response was barely audible from behind her hair.
Kint got up and moved to Liska’s side of the booth. He delicately moved her hair away from her face and used a napkin to blot her tears. “May I?” Liska nodded, and Kint took her hand in his and inspected it. “Amazing.” The hand seemed perfect in every way: skin tone, femininity, finger length, and fingernail structure. The palm felt soft with just the right amount of fleshiness. He jokingly wiggled each of the fingers, which made Liska chuckle. He kissed her on the cheek and said, “Why don’t we enjoy our dinner and continue our conversation?”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” Kint said, and he kissed the back of her hand and returned to his side of the booth.
“I could get an upgrade, but it’s so spitting expensive,” Liska said, now dry-eyed with a less stressed facial appearance.
“We can talk about it later,” Kint said, and he removed the covers from both of their plates. “Mm, smells good.”
“I’ll be right back,” Liska said. “I must look horrible.” She left to visit the hygiene kiosk. Kint replaced the plate covers, but there wasn’t a reason to cover Liska’s plate—Gen 3s had no oral cavity heat sensors or advanced taste receptors. An ad for Joffrey’s Joint Lubricant came up, and Kint stared straight ahead, shaking his head slightly and smiling with mild bewilderment. He didn’t want the ad to last any longer than was necessary; Liska might be embarrassed.
Liska returned, now with her hair perfectly in place and a bit shinier. Her cheeks were now rosy, and subtle eye makeup had been applied.
“Aw, you look nice, but you didn’t need to do that,” Kint said. “I liked the fresh-out-of-college look.”
“Well, you should have requested it on the form, silly man.”
The unlikely pair enjoyed their first dinner together and took pleasure in getting to know one another. Kint paid the exorbitant fee to rid themselves of advertisements for the remainder of the evening. After dinner, as they walked to their respective transports, Liska discreetly set her lips to suppleness level 9B in anticipation of a goodnight kiss.
“So… how about our trip to Earth 3?” Kint said as they reached the vehicle landing. The two of them stood under a massive, radiant billboard for Flat Joy energy-squashing supplements. A flying insect landed on Liska’s bare arm but immediately flitted away. Liska pinched her chin and squinted upward, as if in deep thought.
“Hmm, I guess I should think it over,” she said, but she couldn’t help smiling at her Random Romance partner, breaking the feigned seriousness. They gazed silently into each other’s eyes, both thinking of the awkward evening that had brought them to this point.
“You know, there is one thing I am curious about,” Kint said.
“Yes, what is it, Kint?”
“Well…” he said, a bit apprehensively.
“You can ask. It’s okay. I’m okay now.”
“Right. Fine. Um… why does a Gen 3 need dental spray?”
