animus

Marcie woke in the same way she always did, next to the Angel that separated her and her husband.

“I’m going to work now.” His sleeping form offered no response.

“Would you like me to make breakfast?” came Himiko’s gentle voice. She showed no signs of waking or sleeping, something Marcie would never get used to.

“No need."

“Understood. Have a nice day, Mistress.”

Most men opted to keep their Angels on Conversation Mute mode, but then again, most men didn’t get married. Marcie’s husband was odd by all accounts.

The notification in her ear interrupted her thoughts.

You’ve received a relocation, the job management system in her Pupil instructed. Report to Heaven Headquarters for your new assignment.

There was an attachment outlining her latest role and responsibilities, which she perused while sipping her coffee.

Work was scarce these days, and she wasn’t one to turn down an opportunity. Liking and sharing posts on the Feed was enough to keep food on the table for her and her husband, but just getting by wasn't enough. Two months ago, Marcie had started saving her Credits in secret.

Her ride was already waiting outside, courtesy of the agency that employed her. “Empowering Hu-women for over a century,” they proudly displayed. But their cause was less than noble. The company was receiving heavy subsidies from the State, and in turn, they invested a percentage in helping human women get assigned to jobs. They got their funds and the State got to boast their 45% employment rate, "and growing".

Hopefully it wasn’t about to change anytime soon, she thought dully as the AI navigated past the trash heaps and street sleepers.

Before they could arrive at the gates of her new workplace, however, a gathering crowd of protestors came into view. “DOWN WITH MOON", declared one of their signs. A woman pounded on the window, shouting, as the car passed.

Marcie gave her a side glance, mentally scrolling through the Feed to do her morning Likes. She felt a spark of joy seeing her Credit account growing little by little.

The AI informed her she'd reached her destination.

As she exited the car, Marcie’s back was to the crowd, growing ever raucous as she ascended the marble staircase to Heaven.

The computer at the front desk informed her she needed to go to the 100th floor. Marcie was alone in the elevator for the first fifty levels with smooth jazz, and the higher she went, the more women got on. They were having hurried, quiet conversations with one another or on their Pupils.

They filtered out of the elevator as quickly as they came. A tall woman in a dark suit remained. She was captivatingly pretty, and for a moment Marcie wondered if she might be an Angel.

“Can I help you?” The woman must have noticed her staring.

“I’m the new temp hire.”

“Oh!” Her demeanor defrosted. “You must be the new assistant for Ms. Moon, is that right? I’m on my way to see her now, so you can follow me.”

At last, they arrived at the 100th floor, and Marcie trailed behind like a duckling.

“It’s not a job for the faint of heart. The latest hire only made it one day,” she said while offering a sympathetic grin. The tiny wrinkles at the corners of her mouth confirmed she was, in fact, human. “I’m the VP here. Veronica Dawson,” she said, giving Marcie a firm handshake. “We’ll probably be seeing a lot of each other... provided you make it, that is."

Veronica pushed open the door to a conference room, revealing floor-to-ceiling windows which gave a near-panoramic view of the city. It likely would have been a sight to behold if the world outside wasn’t so gray.

But outshining any view, enthroned in a leather chair at the center of the table, was the most striking woman Marcie had ever seen.

Her blonde hair flowed past her shoulders and down her back, something Marcie had seen in old photos. Long hair was the style of Angels - it symbolized inequality and no forward-thinking woman would be caught dead wearing it.

Strangest of all, though, was her outfit. It was hot pink with sharp, broad shoulders, and she was wearing a skirt instead of trousers. Altogether, she looked to have just gotten out of a time machine. Marcie had to keep her mouth from falling open in surprise.

“You be my new assistant,” the woman said, red lips stretching across a row of perfect teeth. “Welcome, darling. Please, take a seat.” She motioned to the chair next to her and pulled out a stick from a little box, then proceeded to light it on fire. It smelled terrible.

Cigarette, Marcie’s Pupil supplied. A narrow cylinder containing burnable material, typically tobacco, rolled into thin paper for smoking. Outlawed by the State due to its harmful effects on nearly every organ of the body and its role in multiple diseases.

“Delilah Moon. Charmed, I'm sure. Sit, Veronica.”

There was no hint of Veronica's earlier good humor as she took the seat across from Marcie.

“I’m going to go easy on you..." Ms. Moon paused, at a loss.

"Marcie."

"Marcie. Right, darling. Yes, of course. Your first task will be to take notes on that memo pad.” She gestured to the yellow sheets on the table next to Marcie, a thin trail of smoke following her movement.

Marcie stared at it, dumbfounded. Was this supposed to be a prank? Or a test? After a few seconds, she finally spoke.

“Respectfully, may I ask why you don’t record the meeting and generate a transcript, ma'am?” She regretted the self-defeating words as soon as they were out of her mouth. There was a reason no company wasted time or money on human assistants. AI assistants were more than capable of doing anything a human could do, twice as fast at half the price.

Fascinatingly, Ms. Moon threw back her head and laughed.

“Usually I'd give some lip service about providing work opportunities for women, but since you asked so nicely, I'll be honest with you. The truth is that I prefer doing a lot of things the old-fashioned way." She looked at Marcie from under blue eyelids. “For a variety of reasons.”

“You don’t have a Pupil,” Marcie remarked out loud, fascination getting the better of her.

Ms. Moon clapped her hands together with glee. “Very astute! Seems like the agency sent me a good one this time. At least they managed to do something right.” She took a sip of coffee, leaving a red memento of lips behind.

“’Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.’ Have you ever heard that saying, dear?”

“No.”

“Hm. I can’t blame you, nobody knows anything these days. Well, let’s just say I’m something of a history buff,” Ms. Moon said, blowing out another smoke cloud. “But enough about me. Let’s move on to the meeting.”

Veronica started with a report of profits, which were up. There was an anti-Angel protest this morning outside, but the White Knights had quashed it. The election tomorrow was predicted to go in their favor and yes, she’d made the calls. All good news.

Marcie struggled to keep up, her hand not used to such movements. She started to record the meeting so she could play it back later and update her notes.

“Very good, you’re dismissed.”

“Ma’am,” Veronica bowed her head and exited the room without acknowledging Marcie.

“Let me see how you did.” Ms. Moon snubbed her cigarette out in a little glass dish on the table and stared at Marcie’s handwriting.

“Oh dear. Dear, dear, dear.” She shook her head and Marcie's stomach sank, thinking of her ill-fated predecessor.

“Well, no matter." Ms. Moon shrugged. “You seem decently sharp so I’m sure we can put you to use in other ways.” She lit up another cigarette and Marcie wondered how she didn't get tired of the awful smell.

“Tell me, dear, why do you think I started this company?”

Marcie was dumbfounded. Was this another test? Ms. Moon stood and strode over to the window, surveying her gray kingdom.

“Um… for profit, ma’am?”

“Oh yes, this company has made me a very rich woman, indeed. 'Strike while the iron is hot,' and all that. But the money isn't why I'm in this game, darling.” She turned to face Marcie. “No, there is more to life than money, dear.”

She took another drag on her cigarette, silent for a few moments. Marcie shifted in her seat.

“’We have emancipated women, but they remain slaves looking for their masters all the same.’”

“…sorry?”

“The Picture of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde. You see, the irony here is that Mr. Wilde knew better than us what it was like to be enslaved, in a way. He was tried and convicted for sodomy – that’s homosexual intercourse for you, dear – in a time when it was illegal. Tragic? Yes, but true.” Puff.

“Have you ever heard of a woman sacrificing her career or her family just to have a bit of dick?”

Marcie’s cheeks reddened at her words.

“Perhaps on very rare occasions it happens. Or I should say, used to happen, now that the concept of a family is a thing of the past.” She waved a dismissive hand. “My point is that men, on the other hand, are absolutely worthless when it comes to their desires. In fact, you'll find that they become quite like an animal.” Ms. Moon's mouth twitched, caught between a sneer and a grin.

Marcie thought back to her own husband who she’d left at home. She thought of him more like a helpless child than an animal.

“It started out with images, videos. Those were already enough to hook the men. Then came adult toys, and finally, my magnum opus, the Angels. Heaven provides all that, and more. Anything you can dream of!" She spread her arms wide in a theatrical gesture. "We’re always looking for the next best thing.”

"I see." Marcie didn’t think she understood.

“Have you ever heard of a power vacuum, dear? No? Perhaps that’s a conversation for another day. In the meantime, get those notes cleaned up and bring me another coffee, darling. I’ll see you in fifteen.” She strode out of the room, her hips swaying and heels clicking with every step, an artifact of a long-forgotten past.

Ms. Moon was a strange woman, that much was certain. And yet when she arrived home from work that night, Marcie, who had never read anything beyond her daily Pupil Feed and notifications, found herself searching for The Picture of Dorian Gray.