Chapter 1 #2
“Umm . . . hello? How did I end up in the future? And who are you?” A million other questions rocket through my mind.
Why can’t I move? Why am I naked? Are there flying cars?
Has AI taken over the world? Can I go back?
Are you going to murder me? Is everyone I know dead?
That one almost doubles me over, but I’m still frozen.
I don’t ask any of these questions because he seems a bit overwhelmed.
And on the off chance he isn’t a serial killer, I don’t want to increase my chances of the answer to the murder one being Yes!
Perhaps he’s just a nice man with a time machine and this is all some sort of accident.
Ignoring my questions, he comes to squat at my feet. Then he looks up at me between my exposed breasts. I can only catch his eye if I look down at the edge of my field of vision. My two pert nipples frame his handsome face. “Name?” he asks, as if whatever I say is guaranteed to annoy him.
“Electra Lynch,” I say. And yes, Dear Reader, I know my name is PERFECT for a futuristic time travel novel.
My hippie parents narrowed it down to Electra, Lily Breeze and Kilenya Rain, so I think I’ll count my blessings.
Not that I didn’t appreciate my father trying to pick a tribal name to honor our heritage, thus mine, but Kilenya, while beautiful, literally means “coughing fish.” Imagine explaining that on a first date.
“What’s yours?” I ask him, thinking maybe this is something he’ll answer.
“Ressix,” I think he says. Then he spells out, “A,” pause, “R-E-S-6-MSP-00022960,” like that means anything to me.
“So, Ressix, then? I assume the rest of that is some type of identifier,” I say. “And you spell it R-E-S and the number six, is that right?”
From his position at my feet where he’s punching buttons on the scale thing, he releases an exasperated groan. “In a moment, you’ll have full motor control of your limbs.”
“Okay, then.” I remember the way he looked at me earlier. I figure I better double check in case I need to come out of this paralysis state with swinging fists. “You’re not going to hurt me, right?”
I mean, I was having such a good day. Three hundred years ago, I guess.
And I really don’t want to get tortured.
This is what I was actually thinking in the moment, which as I write this now, I realize might seem a little too casual.
Like, shouldn’t I be more alarmed? Looking back, yes, but to give myself credit, I am probably experiencing some major shock and denial at this point.
Remember, the mind is a powerful machine and, in the moment, my narration cannot be trusted.
“I’m going to press this button and you’ll feel a flash of pain, but it will be over soon. Then you’ll be released. Please don’t freak out on me,” he says, an unfeeling, aloof edge to his voice.
A beep sounds, then blistering pain the likes of which I’ve never known flashes across the soles of my feet. I jump-step across the room, howling in agony. “Fuck!” I finally manage.
I brace my hands on the back of the couch and work to steady my breathing. By now, my brain starts to fire again. “2390, huh? That’s wild.” And it is wild. Like really, really wild. The million questions start back up. I want to shout all of them at his retreating back.
“Indeed,” is all he says as he goes into another room. I cover my breasts with my hands, though it’s pretty pointless, and wait for him to come back.
He returns, holding out a button-down shirt toward me as if he’s trying to keep as much space between us as possible. As if he might catch something from me, like lice or empathy. “Put this on,” he says.
I take it. It’s his. It smells like him. Not that I know what he smells like. Only that I am guessing this glorious, woodsy citrus scent belongs to him.
After sliding it on, I take care not to miss a single button. Then I pull my tumble of black hair from the collar, so it falls down my back.
Res6 hasn’t stopped watching me since he handed me the shirt. He blurts, “How is that so unbelievably sexy?”
This is what he says to me. Now imagine, after the last ten minutes I’ve had—waking up in the alleged future, getting drugged, feeling the most acute pain of my life, not knowing how I got here or what happened to anyone from my time, my friends, my family—he’s thinking about how sexy I look in his shirt.
His gold eyes darken slightly and I can tell he means it.
Has this man never been around a woman before?
Still, like in every idiotic romance novel, my stupid stomach dips with the way he’s looking at me because evidently my inner cavewoman likes the attention. He bites his lip and releases a forlorn sigh, as if it’s a tragedy.
Thank goodness for my actual brain, though. Because fuck this guy. I cross my arms over my chest and make eye contact with him so hard I think he might be a little taken aback. “Tell me what is happening.”
He glances away and walks over to a computer desk, which holds what I guess are 2390 computers.
I assume I’m meant to follow, so I do. Three little metal stands with horizontal bars on top rest on a utilitarian gray desk.
An electronic pad sits in the center of the arrangement.
Some type of computer screen? There is a slit at the top of each bar.
Right as I’m leaning over the desk to inspect them, light flickers from the openings and then I’m looking at what appear to be completely solid screens.
I reach out to touch one, but my fingertips only poke a hole through the screen, which fills in when they retreat. “Weird.”
“It’s probably easier if I show you.” He motions to the desk chair. “Sit.”
He seems to have some idea of what has happened, which is a relief, I think. But wait, whatever has happened was clearly not intentional. I’m torn between life-altering fear and morbid curiosity.
Curiosity wins out, and I take a seat. He hovers his hand over a little illuminated pad, moving his fingers.
A red beam scans the space in front of the screens.
He stares at the beam unblinking for a second.
Must be some type of eye scanner. Then, without touching the electronic pad or anything, windows open.
Letters appear across the screen, forming words in a search bar. Results populate.
Then the man, Res6, with some unseen technology, selects one. A page opens, and a video begins. I realize he must be telepathically communicating the commands to the computer. I’m momentarily fascinated until a man appears on the screen, facing the viewer.
He is slipping a thin strap off a woman’s shoulder, the expression in his eye unmistakable.
All we see is her from behind. Her beauty is implied.
He kisses her bare skin, and she gives a little quiver.
Then the man looks up at the camera. “When’s the last time you found a partner who really desires to please you?
Who wants the same things you do? Someone who recognizes and gives you what you need? ”
Okay, so far, pretty innocent, right? Like a rich guy dating service. Or one of those sugar baby operations.
It gets weirder. And quickly.
The man puts his hand on the woman’s shoulder and presses down.
She slips below the camera’s view, and we all know what she is meant to be doing next.
At this point, I’m trying really hard to keep an open mind, though the feminist in me is raging.
The man grins at the viewer. “Don’t you think it’s time to make the right choice? ”
What misogynistic bullshit.
A logo pops up on the screen, CHOICElover, in block letters.
Each letter of CHOICE matches the rainbow, minus violet, which is reserved for lover.
The screen changes to a different man on a computer.
He’s on some type of shopping site, selecting checkboxes.
I look closely at what he picks, and a voice says, “It’s easy.
First you select your CHOICElover’s temperament.
You can choose up to ten characteristics. ”
The man selects the following: agreeable, sexy, sweet, kindhearted, empathic, charming, caring, adventurous, sexual, and respectful.
Please join me with a collective eye roll. The more exaggerated the better.
Somehow, I know where this is going. I wonder what boxes Res6 selected for me.
Because clearly this is what I was meant to be.
A CHOICElover, which is some sort of futuristic sex doll for this man, hence his forward comments.
This time when my stomach dips, it isn’t in a cute, fluttery way.
It’s in an I think I’m going to be sick sort of way.
I keep watching. Because by the end of the video, I presume I’ll have some answers.
The actor clicks NEXT.
A new screen pops up that looks like an online catalog. But instead of handbags or boat parts, it’s people. A button at the top says FILTER. The man clicks it and the voiceover says, “This is the fun part. Just click Filter, and choose your ideal partner. CHOICElover will do the rest!”
The man clicks female, blonde, 5’3” – 5’7”, blue eyes, soft curves (the other choices are voluptuous, athletic and androgynous).
There are other criteria to narrow down, but the man leaves those alone.
He presses search and the field of people to choose from narrows.
He scrolls for a while until he finds the blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman he wants.
When he clicks on her headshot, a new window pops up with the same woman but her full body. And guess what? She’s nude.
At this point I give Res6 a this can’t be for real look.
“Keep watching,” he says, as if he doesn’t think this the least bit insane.