Frenzy: Enter Rabbit Dog Stage Left (Part VII)

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I and Thompson, as he shall from now on be referred to as, start running straight for the finish line. It would have been safer and more simplistic to go around the weird pond garden thing, but this is about giving people a show. We have to make it look interesting, which is how we were trained, and every racer agrees to not just get there as fast as possible. We spring from rocks and kick through thick thickets. Burrs desperately try to grapple onto my suit, but it isn’t havin’ none of that. It was designed specifically to prevent that sort of thing. Ah, the future. Is there anything like it?

We cross one main street, and then another. Most people got the memo that this is where the race is happening, so we don’t have to cross at the intersections, but there are still a few drivers there. I stop in the middle of the road to let one pass, but Thompson slides right over the top. He lands on the other side and keeps going as if nothing had happened. He may survive this yet. As I’m running to catch up with him, I realize that we’ve never had any footraces in this event. It just doesn’t happen; everybody’s coming from a different place, everybody’s going to a different place. Keilix once made the suggestion that we pair up so that we could compete with each other directly, but she only said that to me and a few others. Now I’m starting to think how much better it could be if we actually implemented that change.

We run through one neighborhood before coming across a creek. We both jump right into it and keep going like the badasses we are. We say nothing to each other, though. There’s no animosity, and we definitely aren’t friends. We’re just focused and in the zone. Agent Nanny Cam sent a second drone to keep track of Thompson. She is at least okay with him competing, but that doesn’t mean the rest of the council is. I fully expect to run into one of the leaders before we get too far.

Not long after the creek is the highway. Here’s where things get complicated. The reason they map out a path that doesn’t take you straight is because it’s unsafe to go any other way. Lincoln Rutherford’s job as the lawyer is framing the race objectives to make it clear that they don’t condone going off the trail while making it clear that they have no way of stopping it. Fortunately for us, there’s a significant amount of traffic at this juncture that people are not moving fast. They’re doing a bit of construction on both sides so, even with driverless cars, there just aren’t enough lanes to go around. People get out of their cars to cheer. This makes it even safer for us, because even when traffic picks back up, everyone’s stuck. I wave to the fans as I’m running by, but Thompson can’t think about that. He still has to prove himself worthy. I’m mostly worried about what that means for the other children who were disqualified, but weren’t allowed back in simply by not taking no for an answer.

We go through a few more neighborhoods. They’re a little harder to get through because they’ve built tall fences, but we don’t run into any problems with the residents. A few are out watching us, excited for the chance for their fifteen minutes of fame to be broadcast, but most people are either busy, or holed up inside. We end up at a wall to the highway, the other side of which we want to be. Between the backyards of these houses and the wall is an extremely dense forest. There’s no way to know how long the fence goes. Our only chance is going over it. We give each other this look and then simultaneously start scrambling up trees, switching between them as needed. Better-trained Thompson reaches the top faster and disappears.

Unlike the first highway, this one is both busy and unrelenting. It would not be safe to try and cross. This was all a stupid idea. We should have gone forwards to look for an overpass or underpass. Thompson is pacing back and forth on the shoulder, looking for an opening, but I spot a better idea. I consider calling over to him, but choose not to, because this is his mess. I run the wrong direction along the wall. It’s about as thin as a balance beam, which I practice on a lot. This is nothing to me. I hop the gap and start climbing along the metal structure they use for overhead highway signs. I then climb down to run along the median so I can make it to the matching sign structure for the northbound traffic. I get a chance to look back and find that Thompson has made the right call, and is hot on my trail. I should have made sure he did that, though. He could have gotten himself killed, and I would have been responsible for it.

“Wait for me!” he cries out.

“I’m in a race!” I call back, still trying to figure out how to get over this other wall without a bunch of trees.

“I have spring shoes!” he volleys. Okay, that’s a good reason to wait.

I take the time to catch my breath while he’s making his way over the bars and down to me. “Boost me up, and I’ll help you up from the top. No way those spring shoes get you that far.”

Part of our training is to work in teams, even though this is an individual sport. We learn moves and other special tricks together. This one is called The Lonely Diver. It’s an ironic name, because it can’t be done with only one person. With no coordination, he gets down on his hands and knees, leaning his head forward like he’s deep in prayer while I take my position a few yards away.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Pull!” he yells as loud as he can, which is protocol for these kinds of partner moves.

I start running towards him as fast as I can then let one foot land on his back. At just the right moment, he pushes himself away from the ground as hard as he can, letting me fly up to the top of the wall. As a sort of redemption moment from last night when I fell from the fire escape, I manage a tight grip on the top of the wall. I use all my upper-body strength to pull myself up to safety. I can just picture a number of random people at home, watching our feeds and simultaneously shoving their fists in the air with excitement at our success.

The next move is called Social Ladder. I hang the bottom of my legs over the other side, facing Thompson while upside down.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Pull!” I yell back.

He runs for me and uses his spring shoes to jump as high as he can. I catch his armpits with my own so that we’re interlocked. There’s no good position to end up in this, and of course, it always depends on how high up you are, but it’s what you gotta do. He proceeds to use me as a human ladder so that he can make it all the way up to the top. We jump down and land on the ground together, breathing heavily after the harrowing miniature adventure. We give each other another look before breaking the sound barrier and getting back into the race. We run for over three miles just through neighborhoods, and nothing else interesting happens. But then we run into Keilix. Literally.

We don’t fall down this time, but something does fall out of her arms. It’s some weird kind of animal that I don’t recognize at all. I mean, it’s not just a breed of dog I don’t personally know. It looks like something out of a movie about wizards running around looking for mythological creatures with nothing but a suitcase. Okay, so its ears are what stick out the most...upwards, actually. They’re curved like soft tacos, and she’s moving them around out of sync, searching for the best way to listen to her environment. She’s otherwise unmoving, though. And yes, something tells me that it’s a lady; perhaps just the fact that its eyelashes are particularly long, like when Bugs Bunny dresses up as a woman to trick his enemies. The hindlegs are more like a rabbit’s, but the front legs more like a beagle’s. Her muzzle is smushed into her face and you would expect from a rabbit, but then she also has big droopy beagle lips.I seem to remember that rabbits have their eyes on the side, while a beagle’s are more straight forward. Well, this thing’s eyes split the difference between those two poles. Yes, the only right name for this strange creature was Rabbit Dog. It was a rabbit dog.

“What the hell is that thing?” Thompson cries.

Keilix reaches back down and picks up the animal. “It’s a rabbit dog, I guess. Christ, I don’t know.”

“What are you doing with it?” I ask earnestly.

“I just have this need. I have to protect it. I found it hop-running down the street. It wasn’t scared, but it wanted to get away from something behind it. I’ve been running with it ever since.”

“Well, I suppose you’re giving the fans a good show.”

She shakes her head. “I’m not. I’ve not been broadcasting. Look at the drones.”

Both Thompson and I look up at all four drones and see that she’s right. They’re hovering obediently, but the blinking red light from the cameras are off.

“She’s giving off some kind of charge...or something that prevents video from recording.”

“Fascinating,” I say in my best Zachary Quinto impression while petting the rabbit dog.

Thompson is not being subtle about how impatient he is. “Are we gonna stand here all day, or are we gonna race?”

“Go on. We’ve already established that no one can stop you.”

“What is here doing here?” Keilix asks, trying to sound upset, but still enthralled by our new pet.

“Long story,” I answer.

“Hello?” Thompson says indignantly. “I’m still here. I don’t know where the finish line is.”

“Were you just go steal your paper map at some point,” Thompson explains.

I hastily pull the map out of my back pocket, letting it tear before handing it to him. “Here. Go nuts.”

Thompson snatches it from my hand and runs off in our original direction without yet looking at it.

“I have to get back in the race too,” Keilix says. “I’ll be disqualified if I can’t broadcast, but I can’t let this thing go. She needs my help.”

“I’ll take care of her,” I claim.

“Are you sure? I still don’t know what it’s running from.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say, taking the little animal in my arms. “I’ll just keep running. It’s what I do.”

“You’ll be disqualified instead.”

I start jogging away. “Who cares?” It’s true that I don’t care anymore. I can feel the weird effect the rabbit dog is having on my empathy, but I can’t stop it, because it’s making me not want to. It’s also making me worry deeply that someone is indeed after us, so I start running hard again.

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Microstory 395: Self-actualization

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Enthusiasm

No one has come up to me and asked what self-actualization is, but I’m going to tell you anyway. Rather, I’m going to do my best at interpreting this Wikipedia article on the subject I have pulled up here in this other tab. It would seem that self-actualization, which is the highest level of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, is less a goal that it is a state. Self-actualization is the culmination of everything good that makes you who you are. To reach this state, you have to understand what kind of person you are, and how others see you. You have to know what you like, and what you don’t like, and how you should change or adapt. You have to let go of your hangups and biases and presumptions and hatred and pessimism and selfishness and greed and, most importantly, your ego. You have to be comfortable with where you are in life, you have to care for others, you have to be honest and reliable, and you have to always give it your best effort. You have to be clear, accepting, understanding, loving, loyal, brave, and compassionate. You have to be self-reliant but helpful to others, intelligent but respectful, thoughtful but spontaneous, prepared by flexible, confident but interested. You have to have a sense of wonder. You have to be able to accept that not everything is in your control, and that not everything will go according to plan. You have to be good. It’s important to recognize that self-actualization is not an end. When you reach enlightenment, and ascend to a higher plane of existence, that’s your end...that is, assuming your spiritual beliefs do not preclude such a thing. It’s very possible to reach a state of self-actualization, but then drop from it, whether by your own hand, or unavoidable complications. This is, not completely, but mostly, another way of describing life itself, except that it must be morally good. You’re always going to have to work at life, and it will always disappoint you. Some psychologists even say that we reach certain peaks of self-actualization all the time. It’s all just a crazy mix of circumstance (read: luck), effort, attitude, introspection, and critical observation. There’s a difference between being self-actualized, and just operating on the notion that you’re pretty swell. This step is not the last. It’s more of a beginning.

Transhumanism I

Microstory 394: Enthusiasm

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Honor

Enthusiasm. Wow, I bet you never thought I would be one to support the idea of enthusiasm. Unless you don’t know me, in which case you’re now like, “what is he goin’ on about?” Well, I’m very quiet. I only speak when I got something to say. Unfortunately, since I don’t have as much practice as others, I often say the wrong thing. I don’t have a filter, I just have a mute button. Be careful turning my volume up, because you may not like what you hear. Anyway. Enthusiasm. This is really just the word I chose as a kind of catch-all term for loving life. You can appreciate your work, and you can even have hobbies that you love, but that doesn’t mean you “love life”. The opposite of loving life, mind you, is not being suicidal. That’s a whole different situation there that I won’t get into. Though, I suppose at some point, if I didn’t already, I should have said that you shouldn’t be suicidal. Don’t kill yourself, get help. Loving life is a sort of feeling you have pretty much all the time. Of course you’ll still have problems and challenges, but if you’ve reached this point, it’s going to be a lot harder for people to get you down than it was before, or than it is for others. I would say that I’m an optimistic person, despite what facial expression you see me with (it’s called bitchy resting face, that’s just what I look like). As a futurist, I know both how bad the world is, and how bad it could become, but I also know how great we can be. Man’s fourth greatest day in history was when he looked down and saw clouds. His third greatest day was when he looked down and saw the Earth. His second greatest day was when he looked at a screen and saw the Universe. I’ve heard people lament that we were all born too late to explore the planet, and too soon to explore the stars, but this is not true. This is an exciting time. This is when it all changes. The internet, nanotechnology, longevity, and the intelligence singularity are all going to propel progress at a rate never achieved before. Man’s greatest day has been happening all along; as he looks forward and sees endless possibilities.

Self-actualization

Microstory 393: Honor

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Approval

Honor is not something I would personally enjoy, but for many, it’s important. Years ago, I saw an episode of The Boondocks that was set in an alternate reality. It describes a history where Martin Luther King, Jr. was never assassinated. In present day, his ideas are often dismissed, and his acceptance in constant flux. The writers were making the suggestion that he was only able to make things better on a grand scale by his own death. This is a terrible and scary thought, but it is true in many ways. It’s a lot easier to point out the changemakers once they’ve gone, whether they were taken before their time, or not. How many artists were successful during their lifetime compared to those who weren’t? They did exist, and some even lost their fame following their deaths, so don’t think I’m claiming an answer of zero. I’m just saying that it’s safer to respect and honor a notable figure in history, rather than someone of today, because they no longer have a chance to screw it up. We all loved Lance Armstrong until we found out that he had been using performance enhancing pharmaceuticals. Can you imagine if we had immediately put his face on money, or something crazy like that? Honor itself is not a big problem, but I do take issue with idolizing certain figures, and I’m not referring to those who were not as great as we were always taught (I’m looking at you, Christopher Columbus). By honoring particular individuals, or rather by the way we honor them, we often neglect their teachings. Students are assigned projects during Black History Month to teach them why it exists, but these feel like regular assignments, and the lesson can be so easily lost. Instead of merely honoring this one person, maybe we should just think about how they felt. Let’s talk less about what MLK did during his lifetime, and what he went through, and focus more on his words. It’s his words that he wanted you to hear, because his circumstances were out of his control. We do still need to hear about it, so we can understand the kind of world he was living in; I’m just saying we should try to treat him like a teacher. This goes for any other honored individual, including those you know personally.

Enthusiasm

Microstory 392: Approval

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Validation

Just because people are listening to what you have to say, and are even agreeing with you, doesn’t mean you’ve been approved. Lots of speakers have seen people nod their heads at their words, but it’s gone no further than that. Many have had great ideas, but these ideas are all but meaningless if they’re not capable of effecting real change. Of course, you only hear about the successful people, because few stay long enough to make a lasting impression. That’s the point. There are exceptions, however. Am I talking about Donald Trump again, you ask? Yes...yes I am. Trump has a lot of voters; a scary amount of them, actually, but he’s only gotten this far on the strength of his own image. People like when famous people try to become famous for something else. Why is this? What is the psychology behind this phenomenon? I don’t know, I don’t have a psychology degree, and that’s not what this blog is about. Trump has no clue what he’s doing. The news relatively recently reported on him asking experts multiple times essentially why the U.S. can’t just go ahead and bomb our enemies. Sounds like a reasonable request if you’re literally a supervillain. He’s not fit to lead our government, and most people recognize this, I really believe that. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean he’s going to go away. Because even those who have no intention of voting for him still validate his voice on the regular. Every time you read an article about his latest shenanigans, or every time you write one, you’re giving him the fuel he needs to persist. Hell, even these entries that I’m writing have the potential to keep him in the global conversation. He’s loud and he’s in your face and he just won’t quit, but very few people approve of him. We’re all paying attention to him, whether we like it or not. This is not a healthy practice, and we should be able to recognize it when it happens. Since most don’t know the difference between validation and approval, the truth behind what’s going on becomes distorted and misunderstood. Eventually, this could lead to actual approval, without us even realizing it. That’s how Hitler rose to power, and I don’t mean that jokingly. That’s really how it happened. Trump is campaigning exactly like Adolf Hitler.

Honor

Microstory 391: Validation

Click here for a list of every step.
Attention

You’re almost there. I promise that you don’t have too many steps to take care of. So people not only know that you exist, but they’re listening to what you have to say. What do you think you need next? Well, if you’re not an idiot, then you can just read my title and tell straight up. If not, then that’s what. Now you don’t just want to be heard, but you want people to agree with you, or at least be ready to engage you in a conversation. If it’s that first one, then great, you’re done for now. If it’s the second one, then don’t fret. Dialogs are positively not bad things. Bouncing ideas off of other people, gathering more knowledge, and gaining insight can only help make you a better person. That’s the problem with the voting population, at least here and in the U.K. Immediately after the latter’s vote to leave the European Union, Google pointed out a skyrocket in the number of people asking their search engine what the EU even was. That’s right, despite the fact that this vote was in the news for the weeks on my side of the Atlantic, and I knew about it without being generally well-informed, people who were actually going to be deciding this didn’t know. These are people whose opinions you should not listen to, and who do not deserve your validation. That vote was obviously a sham, not to mention the fact that it was a ludicrous proposition in the first place. It’s completely backwards, we should be moving towards tighter unity, not greater nationalism. I digress. As I’ve tried to get you to understand before, do not be afraid to be wrong. One of my favorite quotes of all time is from Isaac Asimov. He said, “people who think they know everything are a great annoyance to those of us who do.” This is obviously a joke, but it’s also on point. What’s worse than being wrong is being wrong but knowing “for sure” that you’re right. If you’re in a position where people are listening to your ideas, then you have an obligation to make those ideas informed and well thought out. Learn from mistakes, change your mind, admit your ignorance and lack of education. It’ll be worse for you when people find out anyway.

Approval

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 4, 2089

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Mateo slipped his feet into the new shoes. The laces tightened up automatically, and what felt like a foam filled in the gaps around his feet. Shoes no longer seemed to need to fit exactly as they could be modified on command. They were extremely comfortable, like he was walking on air, which he technically was. He stood up and bounced up and down a little. He had a far higher spring than he did with normal shoes. He might have been able to enjoy the future if he weren’t so busy trying to survive it.

The Cleanser walked in while he was straightening his new suit. “Take care of that thing. It once belonged to a famous racer in the 2020s.” So he wasn’t even using present-day technology. What mind-bogglingly amazing tech were people using now that was better than this?  “Don’t worry, I didn’t kill him. He doesn’t need it anymore.”

“What am I doing?”

“I need you to retrieve something for me from a very dangerous location. The only thing more deadly than the location itself is the path to get there.”

“What am I there to get?”

“Rule number three,” he said with an evil smile.

“Keep track of everything you do, and everyone you meet?” Mateo asked, unsure. He had them memorized, and no longer needed to think about it. These rules were just second nature now.

“No, not your dumb time travel rules,” the Cleanser quipped. “Frank’s rules. Never open the package.”

“Oh, right. We’re still on that? Why is The Transporter franchise coming up so often?”

“Uh...” he said. “Foreshadowing?”

“Really,” Mateo did not ask.

“Probably not,” he replied quickly, clearly wanting to move on. Just go get what I asked for. I’ll drop you off at the starting line, and you’ll know what I’m looking for when you get there.”

Mateo was going to insist he tell him what the proverbial package was, but why should he even care?

“Are you ready?”

“Is that relevant?”

“Yes, this is very important to me. This isn’t designed to kill you. In fact, I would be very disappointed if it did, because you’re my only hope. I can’t coerce anyone else into doing it for me, and I’m certainly not going myself.”

“What’s so dangerous about it?”

“You’ll see. Just...keep moving.” He handed him a pair of goggles.

“Why the hell are you giving me these?”

The Cleanser was confused about why he was asking. “Well, they’re augmented reality goggles. They’ll help you navigate.”

“No, obviously,” Mateo shot back. “But I thought you didn’t like movies.”

“I don’t dislike movies, I’m just not interested in mapping them to the tribulations anymore.”

“These are the goggles that Vin Diesel wore in the movie Riddick.”

He was genuinely surprised by this. “They are? I did not know that. It changes nothing. It’s time for you to go either way.”

He stepped back with one foot so that he could be in a surfer stance. He then gathered airbender energy in slow-motion that he forced towards Mateo. It blew him away and transported him to the starting line. Or maybe he should have called it the starting altitude.

He was falling through painfully cold air, the distorted sight of an airplane shuttered a bit before disappearing completely. He looked up and saw his feet were strapped to a snowboard, and when he looked down, he could see snowy mountains reaching up towards him. He twisted and flipped around, desperately trying to get to his feet. His inability to find his place was causing him to panic, so he needed to catch his breath and calm down. He thought about how he had already done this a few times before. In fact, he spent a great deal of time practicing this sort of thing on a simulator. That was years ago from his perspective, and he was out of practice, but he just had to call upon his muscle memory.

After finally situating his feet towards the ground, he pulled the ripcord on the backpack he was now somehow wearing. He orientated himself again and started aiming for a nice layer of snow on the side of a mountain. He landed with a lot of force, but he was able to survive. The parachute automatically released itself from his back and flew away as he continued down the mountain.

Yes, he had a lot of experience with parachutes, but never had he been snowboarding. They always freaked him out, so he stuck with skis for the few times he went to the Weston mountain with his family. With that in mind, he decided it would be safest to just go ahead and stop as soon as he could, even if it hurt. There was no telling what was going to come up next. He could be heading for a cliff and have no idea. Can you jump off cliffs and survive? How does that work? No, it just wasn’t worth the risk. He went by instinct and turned the board towards the sides, switchbacking his way to a lower speed until he felt like he was going slow enough to just fall down and stop altogether.

His Riddick goggles were telling him that his destination was about a hundred miles away that way, but wasn’t any more specific than that. He pointed his board in that direction and slowly slid diagonally across the mountain. The Cleanser had told him to keep moving, but there weren’t any obvious dangers, so there was no point in getting there any faster.

It took him a long time, but he made it all the way down to the bottom. After a few miles of nothing but walking, he noticed something weird. The snow was blinking. Rather, there was something in the snow that was blinking periodically. That in itself wasn’t strange, but upon bending down and inspecting it, he discovered the light to be coming from a screw. The goggles said nothing about it, but it sure seemed important, so he slipped it into his pocket and moved on. As he continued forwards, he came across other hardware, all blinking in sync with each other. Oh no, he was going to have to build something, for whatever reason.

At the end of the leg, he found what he was apparently looking for. It was a mostly built snowmobile, also blinking. He had a bit of experience fixing cars, but not all that much more than normal people have. As a “professional” driver, he had to know a few tricks, but he was in no way a mechanic. This felt like an Amazing Race challenge, but the more he worked on it, the more he focused on the blinking light aspect of the challenge. Sure, it could have just been a way for him to find the parts themselves, but why wouldn’t the Cleanser just program their various locations into the goggles?

Once he was finished repairing the machine, he consulted his goggle map and sped off in its general direction. Now, these were tribulations, and he was starting to get a hang of how things worked around here. The first mini-challenge was surviving a drop from a plane. The second was repairing the snowmobile. The third was shaping up to be about speed, and if there was one thing he understood when it came to speed, it was that it also always involved chase. Before he knew it, two drones appeared from the other side of a snow bank and started flying toward him. As they did, they released bullets and missiles towards him, all of which he had to dodge and trick. This was where his driving experience came in handy.

When movies show this kind of scene, the hero usually finds some way of getting the enemies to crash into each other, or other obstructions. That wasn’t an option here, because there weren’t any obstructions, and because those movies usually break the laws of physics in order to accomplish their goals. No, he couldn’t outsmart them, so he just never gave up. They kept shooting, and he kept snowmobiling. Eventually, they ran out of bullets and flew away. Fortunately, there weren’t any backups, otherwise, he could have been doing that all day. There was some kind of temporal distortion up ahead that he knew he would have to pass through in order to keep going. What he didn’t know was what was waiting for him on the other side. Instead of the snowy mountains, he was in a hot and dry desert. His snowmobile hit a rock and flipped him off, apparently knocking him out.

He found himself bleeding when he reawoke however long later. He looked around, hoping to find help, but all he saw were tall rock formations and billows of smoke. The goggles were no longer showing a map, but everything was in this weird purple tint. They must have been damaged in the crash. As he was crawling to what his instincts told him was a watering hole, a lightbulb turned on above his head. The goggles, this place, he was in a movie. Actually, he was in multiple movies. Falling out of a plane with a snowboard was out of xXx, blinking hardware in the snow was in the epilogue of The Iron Giant, and the snowmobile drone chase was from Babylon A.D. They were all Vin Diesel movies, and Mateo didn’t like to brag, but he did manage to see every single one of his movies, even the ones that were released after his first timejump. Right now, he was on the planet from the movie Riddick. This was all very unexpected as the Cleanser had made it very clear that the film-based tribulations were over. Perhaps that was just another lie.

Or maybe Makarion set up this tribulation before his death. He recalled conversation he and Makarion had about movies, because it was logical to do so. It was no secret that Vin Diesel was one of Mateo’s favorite actors. Perhaps it was the fact that they were both notable drivers, but Mateo always felt a particular connection to his roles. He was also an interesting guy in his personal life. He played Dungeons and Dragons, and he designed video games. He seemed like the kind of guy who belonged to a fight club, and probably had a criminal background, but no, he was just a normal dude. His movies were dangerous, but they were also exciting, and Mateo would know just what to do with each of them. If this was Makarion’s—man, what was he supposed to call him now that he knew he wasn’t really Makarion?—last gift to him, then he wasn’t going to waste it.

Mateo rolled to his back to get better access to the thick, and probably toxic, air. Up above, he could see creatures flying around. He ordered his goggles to zoom in on them to confirm that they really were aliens. It had been a while since he saw Riddick, but he could still tell that they weren’t the exact same kind, so they weren’t recreations. This meant that he really was on another planet. No big deal, this wouldn’t be the first time. Unfortunately, there was no telling what other dangers were waiting for him that he had no way of preparing for. His watch beeped, and then he jumped forward an Earthan year to the future, but everything else changed too.

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Frenzy: On Your Marks (Part VI)

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They made a series of movies years ago based on a trilogy of books. They’re about a post-apocalyptic future where wage disparity had grown so far out of proportion that the rich live in a city, and supposedly never need to work, while the poor live in filthy and dangerous districts. As I guess a sort of punishment for war, these rich people force the children of the poor to compete in a deadly contest every year. The Frenzy is nothing like that, but there’s a certain allure surrounding the competition reminiscent of that story. Certain members of the council have proposed changes to the Frenzy to make it more of an event. They wants kids to run out in front of an audience the day, or even days, before the actual race. They want us to introduce ourselves, and show off in small exhibitions. That would be more like those movies, and I would be okay with it. The only reason we don’t do it now is because we don’t really have anyone available to coordinate such a thing, but no one is adamantly against it.

For now, all we do is wave to the camera during rapid introductions before entering our vehicles that have been preprogrammed to drive us to our respective starting marks. The windows are at a zero percent tint level so we can’t see where we’re going. That usually doesn’t matter. Unless you end up in an expansive neighborhood, there will probably be a landmark or two that you recognize, even if you don’t make a point of studying.

Before you enter your car, you’ll be searched for all illegal enhancements. You’re allowed to wear agility bands of limited grade, take only certain kinds of performance enhancing pharmaceuticals, and wear precisely no navigational equipment. I usually only take one reflex booster and wear special shoes that give me extra bounce, but today I have nothing. My routine was thrown completely off when I almost died and ended up sleeping at someone else’s place. I’ve just resigned myself to the fact that I’ve already won this; the competition this year is not as, well...competitive as it used to be; and I was always going for this underprepared.

I’m usually in the car with at least three other people, but this time I’m riding solo. Others are sharing points, though. My phone was taken away from me, so I can’t communicate with someone I love to calm me down. Instead, I ask the car to play me some heavy metal. I never listen to this kind of music, but it’s fine in small doses, and it does a pretty good job of pumping me up. Even through it, I sit on the edge of my seat, then I try to sprawl out, and then I kind of stand up, but nothing is comfortable. I’m so nervous. I always am, but never like this. It should be easier since I’m not hyperfocused on winning, but maybe I’m just feeling a lot of pressure to represent my family. The council considered adding video feeds to the ride, so people can watch us get ready, but most felt it would ruin the moment. This is our time, our final period of privacy before literally our every move is witnessed, recorded, and dissected. Agent Nanny Cam has procured an impressive fleet of cameras that will broadcast to the world, and the future, my progress. It can be too much for some competitors. A few, mostly younger people, have buckled under the pressure of being broadcast. They end up quitting just before, or just after, the race begins.

I can hear the crowd cheer for me before I even open the door. We’re required to meet at Headquarters no less than two hours before start time. This allows time for the council to release the starting and ending locations to the local population while racers are sequestered. They want people to come and watch us get going, again encouraging exercise and economic participation. But they don’t know who they’re gonna find when the secret Frenzy car arrives at that location. So these people aren’t here for me specifically, they’ll be happy with anyone. They go wild when I step out. I’ve largely been avoiding the news cycle since I announced coming out of retirement. I didn’t do this on purpose, there just wasn’t time. What I do know, however, is that my volunteering to go back in when my brother couldn’t do it has been a not insignificant story. This is just another thing that’ll remind you of that book and movie series. It all started when the main character sacrificed herself so that her sister wouldn’t have to compete.

I shut the door with grace and adjust my suit like a celebrity getting out of a limousine at some world premiere. The crowd cheers, especially excited that they lucked out and got me instead of anyone else. It’s kind of an unwritten rule that you don’t ask for a racer’s autograph before the race, but there are always a few fanboys and girls who didn’t get memo. They scream and squeal, eagerly reaching out with notepads, and their own arms. I humor a few of them, but then move on so I can shake a few hands and kiss some babies. Just kidding, we don’t kiss babies. I’m not some kind of world leader. One hand takes hold and doesn’t let go. He’s strong, but I can’t quite tell who it is yet. Then my eyes land on the culprit.

“Pull me in,” he says to me. The police have a barricade to prevent anyone from getting through. It’s not like the Berlin Wall; if you wanted to get through, it wouldn’t be hard, but they would quickly force you back. I have an army of cops, bouncers, and security guards protecting me who are only leased out for this once a year.

I sigh. “I need to talk with him,” I say to a bouncer who I happen to have met before.

“Are you sure?” she asks me.

“He’s fine,” I answer. “He was DQ’d, but I know him. We just need to talk.”

“I’ll be right here,” she says as she’s cracking open the barrier to let Too Young Thompson, and Too Young Thompson only, squeeze through. He was the most vocally upset about being disqualified just for being too young for the weather.

“Come on,” I say, looking across the parking lot where I can see a rather small clock tower. There’s still plenty of time. The crowd boos as we walk towards the weird little pond garden sort of thing that’s right in front of my actual starting marker. “What are you doing here, Thompson?” I ask, hands on hips.

“I wanna run.”

“I get that, man,” I say, shaking my head. “You’ve been disqualified, and there’s nothing you can do about it. I’ve seen a few other DQ’s in my day, all for different reasons. It’s true it’s never happened on this scale before, but absolutely no DQ decision has been overturned. Not once.

“This is public property, I can run if I want, and they can’t stop me,” Thompson claims.

I look around. “Yeah, this is a community college, so you’re fine here.” I look at the single paper map I was given by a council member I don’t know all that well who was assigned here. It tells me where I start, where I end, and a mapped out, marathon-length suggested route. It’s the same one Google Maps gives you if you tell it you’re walking, and you’re not a crazy person who plans on crawling through sewers. I won’t actually have to go the full marathon, because I’ll be cutting through neighborhoods which have all agreed to let me do this. Actually, the legality of that has always been questioned, it’s one step below going against the third amendment, but we’ve not had any serious law suits about it, with serious being the keyword here. “But I’ll be hopping people’s fences. If they find out a non-racer ran through their yards, and they will, they may not be so happy.”

“Fuck if I care.”

I look around, worried that someone heard that, then I pull him a little farther away from everybody. The crowd looks like they’re speculating about our conversation. The sportscasters probably are too. At this point, only a few cameras are shooting the action, but it’s basically background footage that they run during early commentary, and they keep their distance. “The council does. The city does.”

“Again, that’s not my problem. They should have known this would happen.”

“What? That a little baby would refuse to do what he’s told?”

“Screw you!” he volleys.

“This is exactly why they disqualified you. Generally speaking, kids under sixteen aren’t mature enough to handle a certain level of complication. The weather would be too hard on you, and you’re proving your immaturity by being here right now.”

“I’m gonna run,” he says without leaving room for questions.

“I can’t stop you.” I point to the table where drones are keeping charged in their cradles, and awaiting Agent Nanny Cam’s command to go off and watch. “But I promise you that they will find a way.”

“I’ll jump that bridge when I get to it.”

“They may ban you for life.”

He narrows his eyes. “Then I’ll burn the bridge.”

I’m right in that I can’t stop him, so I have no choice but to let it go. “Your funeral. Maybe literally.”

He turns his neck side to side and hops around a few times to get ready. Now it is almost time. A security guard comes up and fits me with my action cams. One goes on the chest, while the other goes on one of the legs and points downward. They call it the “foot cam” and it’s designed to pull viewers into the action. Uh...there’s a fetishist thing going on there, so there’s a special organizations of unrelated mothers trying to get them to get rid of that one, but they evidently struck out again this year.

Seven drones hover around us. One of them belongs to Agent Nanny Cam, and is just one of many in her fleet. More of those will show up intermittently. The other is a police drone armed with non-lethals. The city requires this drone to be with each racer at all times to protect us from the crazies. That’s just another reason why Too Young Thompson shouldn’t be here. He wasn’t assigned one of those, and I don’t know if he plans on sticking with me or not. The remaining drones belong to each of the major local news stations. They’re allowed at the starting points, and the finish lines, but aren’t permitted to follow the race itself. That honor is reserved for Agent Nanny Cam so City Frenzy can make a profit selling subscriptions and ad-supported feeds.

The news drones hold up little plastic levers they use to simulate raising one’s hand in a crowd. Reporters are allowed in the field, but drones and other technological developments have caused the profession to suffer on the whole. It’s much cheaper to just send one of these things out. I point to one of them. “Mr. Demir,” a voice begins. “Who’s your friend, and is he racing?”

I pause for dramatic effect while I’m shoring up my shoes. Then I look that drone right in it’s tiny little robot eye. “No comment.”

“Get there,” the security guard says.

Too Young Thompson follows me to the flag.

There’s that nightclub air horn that sounds three times in rapid succession. You know what I’m talking about? People often mimic it with their own voices when they think they’re DJs? Well, that goes off, and so do we.

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