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"The first one eclipsed the sun." That's how they described it in the holo-tapes. Millions of tons of metal across the sky, all over the world, carrying a species whose dominance was unquantifiable. I say 'was' because no one remembers.
Not long after global nuclear disarmament, the floating leviathans vanished. No one knows where except for, maybe, the ones who stayed. Azareans, as the aliens are called, made landfall and carved a new home for themselves. But before the ships left, they set about rewriting history. They were good at it.
Thanks to sustainable energy, a new kind of CPU, and holographic interfaces, Earth saw an upsurge in technological achievement: better fuel, better transportation; faster computing improved communication; breakthroughs in medical science, workforce robotics, and infrastructure led to a sensible standard of living... where it mattered. The internet never lost its sunshine, while the birth of megacities only helped augment globalization. And among the plethora of groundbreaking innovations under the regime, we were reintroduced to order. Humans know a better life so long as they recognize their rulers, those who sit at the top of the superstructures and occasionally look down. But the more things change, the fewer questions we seem to have.
Thanks to the lack of crime, sickness, and cynicism, no one has bothered to ask...
What is the cost of a perfect world?
Dun dun dun... There's no such thing. I'll just listen to non-dramatic music, now.
***
"Babel," she said, and her watch beeped. "Play Sweet Dreams by Eurythmics." The electronic beat came, that fantastic sequenced synth bass line:
:
She listened to the synchronous drum and stared over the skyline from a sixteen-story complex, a view beholden to its fair share of skyscrapers and flying cars in the rising Summer sun. Hover lanes soared at separate altitudes of glittering streaks. The morning light rose over them and the many top-floor domes, transparent bio-domes graced the top levels of the most modern buildings. The best views of the modern city offered by the modern city, yet the view could only hope to beat the ginormous Pepsi billboard on the nearby skyscraper.
"All that blue, red, and white; all that red, white, and blue," she sighed.
Bio-domes were the upper echelon of skyline real estate, reserved for greener pasture persons. Jessica sat on a regular concrete roof that happened to have stairs, though she seldom found a use for stairs.
She sat care-free on the precipice of old-fashioned concrete while city sounds came to and fro, memorizing the city plan until she heard the door burst open several yards behind her. Her watch, 9:30 on the dot. "Predictable." She then lip-synced to the security guard.
"Hey, you're not supposed to be up here!" he growled.
She turned and saw her reflection in a pair of sunglasses: fitted black pants creasing around the ankles, and a pair of mismatched shoes outer-soled with metal. Her red vest was a blast of color, underneath which her black t-shirt emblazoned a cross-armed robot. She lifted her polymer gauntlet, lowering to lock eyes beneath a pair of goggles. Sun-grazed hazel eyes laughed underneath a jagged black shag and aviator lenses that, in turn, mirrored the guard's angry mug.
He was an average Joe, bound in blank gear around his arms and legs. Across his utility belt, he carried a smoke grenade and cartridges for the stun gun on his right holster.
His scrunched face definitely resented her presence on the roof. That hat with a shield stitched, it fired an aura of authority that glared with its meaninglessness.
"I'm a rebel, so it's okay," she told him. "McFly," and the board under her arm extended several inches. When it dropped, it hovered beside her feet. When the guard advanced, she hopped on-deck and floated to the ledge. Cracking a wide, playful grin she dove off the ledge.
Stupefied, the guard lunged forward. He found the young woman angled ninety degrees, cruising down the column, and her board never touched the building; it hovered over the windows as she leaned backward. Thus, in lieu of a teen spread all over the pavement, the view was a casual wave goodbye and a smile as she touched down.
Welcome to New Sumer, Eden of the Anglo-AllianceHolo-skits of people in their jumpsuits, staring at tall and stain-free buildings by the sunrise. Similar animations played throughout the modern sprawl, non-stop. Jessica observed everyone in haphazardly surfing the streets.
"Watch where you're going!"
She countered, "Eyes off your phone, Jackass!
Jessica - A peek into the identification screen of her e-card gave the basics.
Last Name: Leibniz
First Name: Jessica
Height: 180 cm
Address: 3254 Apple Mire, Suite 13
PD (Population Designation): S1867222
DOB: 03/15/2110
Occupation: Sustenance Delivery. Because 'food' or 'fast-food' delivery is too informal. Then you get the awkward mugshot. Nothing out of the ordinary, just a stone face, longer hair, and a thin white suit that passed for a school uniform. A full-body picture would show the accompanying red skirt—not because aliens believe in gender roles but because they find its implementation ingenious to telling sexes apart, despite the fact that the alien physiognomy is negligibly different.
Everywhere, a rainbow of advertisements showcased alien and human, side by side. One preached the issues burning carbon, while another lectured on proper recycling habits. And the list goes on.
"Sing to me with more fake voices," Jessica mumbled to herself.
The biggest propaganda board always came with a big font and the chipper female voiceover: "Make the year 2129 another testament to the success of Earth-Azarea relations. Be sure to report any suspicious persons to your local law enforcement."
"And by 'persons' you mean humans. Silly space elves."
Azareans were an odd species, so far as Earthlings were concerned. They were stoic, sharper—whether or not a result of their stoic nature was a matter of some debate—and the ones on Earth had light and unblemished skin. Aside from uniform paleness, they also had pointy ears, which made common folk wonder if the spacefarers came from Middle-Earth. To put an epitaph on that stupid discourse, the aliens officially denied all affiliations to Tolkien. Nevertheless, people took to calling them "space elves" while prolific readers of Fantasy tried communicating with them in Quenya. Unique ears, eyes, and complexion distinguished the space-elf species. One other, unpleasant method was talking to them.
Jessica passed under a shaded sidewalk, floated right past a man in a satin coat, noting his alien eyes of violet and how they scowled, then mockingly bowed at his glare without the care to stop.
Azareans irises ranged into the spectrum ranged of reds, oranges, yellows, and violets. Once again, she contemplated the physiological reason for this trait, but it remained a mystery like most aspects of this species that technically ruled the planet. She didn't like mysteries.
" 'Some of them want to use you'—Shit!"
She nearly tripped over the egg near the corner crosswalk. Looking back, it was one of many knee-high robots: white, shiny, and smooth little mechanical bodies floating along the streets. When active, their only expression was two bright green ovals on a black monitor. Thanks to these little bots, clean pavement littered the streets.
Litter being hugely frowned upon, a recycle bot could be found around every city block. Their smooth shells withheld utensils that picked trash and dispensed it into many properly labeled receptacles: aluminum, glass, plastic, paper, carbon fiber, nuclear waste, and the color-coding goes on. 'Unknown' trash went into the sad face bin. The bots always got it right, however. Polished surfaces explained why Jessica nearly tripped; their paint jobs matched the pavement.
Overhead traffic curtailed as the bicycle lanes opened. Jessica mused over the speed of her board without its inhibitors, which would make it illegal. She skated near a pair of cyclists until one of them, a stalky blonde, noticed her riding alone. His smile was whiter than the pavement when his front wheel hit a hydrant. And the poor cyclist lost his grip, front-flipping on his back. Fortunately for him, his collar-bound airbag deployed. Suppressing the urge to laugh out loud, Jessica leaned over his body.
"Are you alright?" she said.
"I'm good!" he moaned, trying to play it off.
"Well, I would go to the dentist if I were you."
"Why the dentist?"
"Because you just ate shit!"
Useful technology, the airbags. Sophisticated. They inflated around the body to cushion the biker's impact, and fit into a waterproof collar. Jessica had a rare moment to appreciate their effectiveness, and remember why she wore one.
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