by  dmotion

Ice Cube in the Heavens

Prologue

He blew into his coffee mug and sipped as if he drank aged wine. It may as well have been aged wine for what it cost him to get this in 15 seconds straight from Columbia. Dirt and all they sent it through the LightTran. He should have opted for some fresh espresso from some shop in Italy. That however would have taken 3 minutes and that was way too long. He had already spent 30 seconds getting brown sugar through the LightTran. This would have to suffice till he LightTraned to work in the morning, somehow. Coffee was the only thing that took this wretched headache away. He grasped his forehead in pain.

Perhaps he should see about getting some eye therapy. He didn’t have those fancy retinal augment screens or any of the fancy gadgets that most people had. He wouldn’t be able to do even half the things he’d done with those things. No one would meet with him. The journalists--or at least the good ones didn’t have augments. Usually not a single one. Sure some had the video nails augment that turned each nail into a set of 10 miniature video drones that could send live video globally but those were the heavily sponsored. “Those old techs back in the day would have loved those ‘thumb-nail’ videos,” my grandfather said when they came out. Still he had made a name for himself. Getting interviews with famous dregs and should be dregs of society. The after birth gene splicers who constantly changed genomes on the fly. (Popular among college aged youths seeking to advance their careers) Although legislation had been introduced to legitimize their trade. Those for it, argued that adults that did not appreciate the augments and genes their parents had chosen for them to be grown in vitro should have the opportunity to change them if they wished. Alas he had none. His parents and grandparents were of a remnant that decided it best to conceive naturally which meant that they still engaged in an archaic practice of pregnancy. Almost no one became pregnant now. Children were birthed in mere weeks. They could also be brought to the age of 10 in months. Cloning although legal was frowned upon and could not be accelerated or the genome modified. He sighed. He didn’t understand why he was thinking of this. Ever since his father died he was urged by colleagues that he should make use of his father’s organ zygote clause of his insurance. “You have one every 10 years,” they insisted. I told them my father had none. He had not wished to create any. He did not wish his consciousness be loaded onto any of the digital realms so one could be created.

He lost the respect of many colleagues for coming from ‘purists’. ‘Purists’ were usually politicians, journalist, clergy or if not related to one those people who pursue illegal activities as deemed by the zones. He sat down, took a big gulp of his coffee--looked at the stars. At least his thoughts couldn’t be monitored in this zone. The Ice Cube this zone was nicknamed. An entire city about the size of Monaco in a faraday cage chilled to a constant -20 Fahrenheit to prohibit most augments and communications. Its where most insurance companies, the rich ones anyways, kept their high value organ zygotes. The LightTran was the only means of goods transport into The Ice Cube. Human LightTran was prohibited. Most other ice cube city zones were not as restrictive. Here in The Ice Cube--a perfect geometric cube, around 830 meters high was the first of its kind. The birthplace of the LightTran and the technologies that had made insurance companies billions. Here those who valued privacy, safety and order came here. His birthplace, his home. Where most ‘purists’ lived. Where there were still at least trees and some holographic sham in place for stars. Yet he could not find the person that built all this. He was one of the most renowned men in the world. Seldom seen outside The Ice Cube he built. Rumored to be a purist. A mad man...or genius, possibly both. His search for him had led him here, back home. Great, this coffee was going to keep him up now. It also needed more sugar.

He would follow up on his lead later. He needed this interview. It would allow him to make his final big mark in journalism. He rubbed his eyes. Massaged his temples. Rubbed his forehead with his palms. Maybe he had spent too much time outside the cube. Maybe his grandfather and his father were right. The only people that live to be a hundred naturally are those in the cube. All others go through three organ zygotes before they reach forty-five. He snickered. Yeah, but they drove in aluminum-steel fiberglass molded contraptions called cars to go to work and waited hours in huge lines to get to places mere minutes away. They even took some their clothes off just to travel to other places in aluminum tubes called airplanes and sat packed in those tubes for hours--days at time to travel the globe. Yeah, they’re insane. They don’t know what they’re talking about. He was getting some eye therapy tomorrow...maybe.