Amore Mio

The next day, I woke up late.

Robbie had messaged me, saying we had to meet up. He was free mid-afternoon (like most gigging musicians, he was a night owl). Well, why not?

Brunch was a sort of spongy bread, the ‘Nutritional Breakfast of Choice’. Thankfully, it tasted much better than it looked. Then I showered and dressed.

An autotaxi took me to the area's main park, Diamond Park. I activated my holomask and selected neutral chameleonwear. The park was astonishingly verdant and beautiful, with amphitheatres, bandstands and the occasional café-bar, plus plenty of benches for cute couples to cuddle on, especially amongst the fragrant flower gardens. Red and Grey squirrels living in harmony clambered up trees together, rainbow-feathered swans glided across a large pond, catching the eye with their shimmering colours. Traffic noise had been acoustically cancelled by sound wave generators. A gold statue of Sochiro Kazikawa stood near a fountain, where children splashed and played happily.

I walked up to the statue, admiring its ornateness and was impressed that you could have gold in a municipal park, and no one would try to swipe it. The elderly-looking Kazikawa held a fist in the air and was wearing a triumphant expression. Underneath the sign read ‘Progress in Evolution: The Collective Elevation from Adem’s Miracle’

I studied it for some time. A fairly elderly-looking person appeared by my shoulder.

“A miracle indeed. A total miracle. You don’t remember what it was like before the Greater Wars. I do…”

“You are –”

“– Ninety years old.” And in excellent health, it seemed. I pretended not to be stunned, as that might make me incongruous.

“I can only imagine what you saw in those years.”

“Let’s not go there. This man at least made technology a tool for us –”

“– Rather than an end in itself,” I said.

We smiled our goodbyes, and I took a long walk out of the park, soaking it all in. The Diamond shopping mall was close to the northern exit, and it was clearly a mall, but not garish or gaudy at all, with a rather unremarkable exterior. There were a few large screens with toned-down adverts on it – no 3D. The soft-sell was surprising, but when thinking about Sochiro Kazikawa’s priorities for society, it seemed that over-the-top consumerism was calmly discouraged.

I went in, to be greeted by a robot…duck. A five-foot-tall robotic duck.

“Woof woof. I am the Surrealist Duck. I am here to help direct you to where you want to go.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Why a duck?”

“I used to be a cute teddy bear, but I got bored. And I was far too enticing for children.”

Wow. This responsible marketing was something else – almost taking the fun out of things.

“Umm…tell me some cool things to do in this mall.”

“Scanning your mind…BING – you’re such a cat person, I can tell! I can suggest our café on the 46th floor, ‘Wanders With Whiskers’. Savour sumptuous drinks while adorable kitties snuggle up to you. No ducks involved whatsoever.”

“That sounds great! But maybe that’s for another day.” Robbie suggested meeting me at a restaurant, but I had forgotten the name. “Do you know any Italian places?”

“Oh, we have Giovanni’s on 65th, Rem’s Pizzeria on 69th, and Amore Mio on 72nd –”

“– Thanks, duck.” Floor 72 it was, then.

As I ascended in an ornate glass lift that gave a perfect view of the city on one side, I noticed the happy shoppers who entered with their colourful bags, either individually or with friends and family in tow. Everyone seemed to acknowledge everyone else, including me, who was still incognito. I was still getting used to how open and friendly everyone was, but it was scary – it felt that they could see deep inside me. And sometimes, I didn’t want that.

Because.

Robbie had arrived a few minutes before me, conspicuously stretched out at a table right at the front of the restaurant. “Hey, my man.” He smiled at me, passing me a menu. “My rich, shapeshifting man. I’m famished, please order, please feed me.” Thankfully, carbonara was a thing in 2118. I ordered that and Robbie took the alla Puttanesca. They arrived very speedily yet were cooked to perfection.

“I can see you’re a musician by birth. You’re such a freeloader!”

Robbie snorted tomato sauce onto the table. “21st Century guy has no tact!” Some other eaters looked over with caution and a bit of apprehension in their eyes. Momentarily, a waiter got closer.

“I do have plenty of tact – just with some people. Anyway, I’m surprised that places like this exist. Eating unhealthily seems to belong the past.” I twisted another tasty mouthful around my fork.

“It’s encouraged only occasionally. I tend to have more than my fair share, though. I’m a little…different.”

On one hand I felt I should be respectful, but on the other, I felt Robbie liked very direct conversation. Given how open people were, I would try that route for a change.

“How exactly are you different, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I don’t. Well, genetic maintenance – ‘upgrading’ – hasn’t worked on me very well. Counselling and therapy have built my self-esteem but not really changed me. All those things help most people a lot, but not me. You can tell by my performance last night, I’m a bit hyper. A bit louder than others.”

“Just a bit?” I smiled. I didn’t think he was that different to many I had known, but I really didn’t know that much about him so far.

“And you’re definitely more abrasive! See, most people would be saying sweet things to me now, being thoughtful – and it’s. So. Boring. Don’t get me wrong, they mean well.”

“Back in my day they’d maybe test you for a condition.”

“From my own thoughts? I probably have one. But in 2118, certain conditions are ‘cured’ so they don’t look too deep into certain things. They don’t slap labels on people. And people aren’t prejudiced. But – not many people ‘get me’, like, man. I mean, here I am spilling out to you so quickly, if I did that to pretty much anyone else, as open as they are, they’d be making excuses like having to go home and bath the cat, if you get my drift.”

“But this is a perfect society, surely you’d be at home here.”

“Actually no, I’d love to be in your time.”

“What?” He couldn’t seriously mean that, with all the potential difficulties he might face in getting and keeping a job and making friends – although from what I had seen with Robbie, he had it mild if this was him at his most extreme. But what did I really know anyway.

“I think I’d annoy more people, but I’d meet people more like me. I’m okay – in short doses.”

It seemed we were both alone, in our own ways.

“I’m still here. So, no one likes you. And everyone really really likes me.”

“Give them a chance to get to know you, then they’ll really hate you!”

We both laughed. “In comparison, it’ll make the Sect look like they were my fan club.”

I moved on to discussing business with Robbie, telling him my plans for the near future. Robbie nodded.

“I’m cool with whatever. You just need a MC.”

“I need someone who will tell me when I mess up, when my socks don’t match. Someone who doesn’t compare me to Jesus. I just –”

“– Survived.”

We looked at each other for a few moments, then laughed to diffuse it.

“You’re an Irishman. What was the old diss, it was…eejit. Yeah. You’re an eejit.”

“I couldn’t disagree with you! Messiah my Genetically-engineered backside.”

Robbie looked like he was gathering his thoughts. He took his time, while I enjoyed some slices of garlic bread, and was reminded of the Italian restaurant in Dublin we’d visit as a family, when life was so different. He suddenly began again.

“Everything you told me. You sound quite…uninspired by your ideas. That’s not cool.”

“I’m just repaying a debt.”

“Pretend you didn’t have any debts to pay. No guilty conscience. What would you do?”

Seven billion dead. I shuddered.

“I’d rather be a rock star, like you!” My response was semi-serious.

“Yeh right! I’m a light entertainer, at best. I can’t even play guitar. You think anyone would learn when it’ll never measure up to perfection?”

That annoyed me. “Does anyone in your band play their instruments?”

“They can, a little. No great shakes. But those gauntlets just make everything Optimal plus, and people want that.”

Did they really? Pristine perfection, for me, was not musicianship – certainly not in a live performance.

“I wondered what punks would have made of gauntlets. Not necessary for power chords and attitude.”

“You know quite a bit about music!”

I scoffed. “More than about being a Pound shop Jesus, that’s for sure.”

“Aaannnd…I saw you making eyes at my Gibbo. Are you a musician yourself?”

“Come find out!”