Remote

Codex 15111

The streets gleamed as he cruised along and thought about the Grounder raid from the previous night. He couldn't imagine how'd they'd snuck in or what they'd taken.

How could such an evil exist?

The directions home from the school had been stored on the scooter since his first day fifteen years ago when he was three. There was no need to steer or even pay attention to his surroundings, but Codex did, every day. He watched the other students race by on their own vehicles. Most of them were already hooked into a game or chatting with friends at a virtual café. Codex preferred to enjoy the March breeze in his face and survey his surroundings, not that they ever changed.

The city was beautiful and monstrous all at once. White rock mixed with sparkling stones created roadways. Pedestrian paths and skyways were gold-plated. Buildings gleamed with steel and crystal, rising into the clouds. Abstract art rose like steeples of glamour and glitz. The twenty-foot fountain released its watery spire every ten seconds. He'd grown up in it, and still found it overwhelming, much preferring the more moderate housing pods that surrounded the capital.

Once outside city central, his vehicle slid onto the Gold Line home. His parents both worked at government buildings as scientists and, therefore, lived in a priority section. Housing, like everything in New State, was based on merit and necessity. Codex had never been to the other sections of town, it was forbidden, but had studied the city landscape in detail at school along with its history. New State, the Capital, was the most important of cities. Leaders, diplomats, high-ranking police, as well as celebrities and stars resided within its cloistered boundaries.

The flourishing center spread like octopus tentacles to different districts. The Diamond pods housed the elite leaders; the Platinum pod, their most trusted and well-paid advisors; the Gold and Silver pods were for employees like his parents, scientists and politicians, all furthering the cause. The remaining pods: Steel, Iron, Concrete, Flint, Obsidian, and Wood, represented different types of workers, from laborers to customer service providers to mid-level managers.

He slowed the scooter, enjoying a final whiff of perfumed air circulated by city fans and pulled the vehicle into the loading bay. His family pod was gold, the color so bright it reflected off the fake green lawn. He surveyed the pod but could find nothing amiss, which was the norm. Regular maintenance by drones kept every house in the pod pristine. The exterior door opened for him automatically, and he entered the quiet, his parents at work.

Codex walked from room to room. He should go hook up but didn't want to. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure what other options awaited him. He could have a snack, but the bland New State food never satisfied him, leaving him hungrier rather than less. He could check in with friends but had just left them at school. There wasn't much to say after his twenty-minute ride home, and yet he was the only one who struggled to reconnect.

After pacing from room to room for a few minutes, he logged onto the computer. Doing so put him at ease, but he felt so different from his classmates. None of his peers in New State ever read poetry or discuss art. No one would dream of writing or painting, but he did. All the time. While it wasn't considered a criminal offense, it wasn't acceptable behavior. His parents said it would pass, as if it were one of the few remaining viruses technology hadn't wiped out with a vaccine.

"Go hook up," he said aloud even though he was alone in his sleeping bay. He could always play Death Bot with Gen208585 or find someone to discuss the latest episode of Brutal Bodies. He loved how that show gave people a chance to improve their appearance with technology and bionics. Some participants didn't even appear human at the end.

The echo of his fingers on the keyboard caused the poem to form. He typed the words even when his mind screamed for him to stop.

Tap, tap, tap. My fingers on the keyboard so fast they blur

Who needs face-to-face in this technological race

Spin, soar, slide. Who needs to hide when the computer screen is always

In front of them

Exposure is logging on

He debated pulling out the old book he'd found on the street one day. He had no idea where it had come from or if it was a crime to read, but he couldn't destroy the tome. It contained the poems of someone named William Wordsworth. His favorite was a poem titled, I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud. He decided against reading it again. It always made him melancholy, and that was not a normal emotion for New State citizens.

"Why does no one write poetry anymore?" he asked aloud before hooking up.