Hi from reality English (2023-2025)

An Ordinary Evening in the City

The Master passed by, looking at no one, heading to "their booth." Everyone has their own booth. That's why restaurants and clubs in Firokami are as vast as palaces. Architects perform wonders of ingenuity to make these behemoths look cozy and unimposing.

In Firokami, at the level of the coryphaeus, everyone is special. Everyone in every institution receives special treatment. The staff always knows each person's "as usual" (everything's logged in their gadgets), the machines are pre-set. Everything is always ready for everyone, everyone is always expected. Everyone is always welcome.

Another group of masters entered the restaurant and stopped. On the coryphaeus's handsome face – restrained displeasure. Apparently, they dropped by on their way, hadn't time to notify, hadn't time to order. Hadn't time to click the button on their gadget, and now they have to distract themselves from their affairs and perform an unnecessary social act.

"To the autoroom," the coryphaeus throws out.

The beautiful slave – beautiful, of course, the unattractive ones are elsewhere, for other connoisseurs – smiles, nods, leads them along. In Firokami, human production is almost zero-waste; there's a place and purpose for everyone. Even hardened criminals are put to use – serving science. In Firokami, there's no death penalty – it's unnecessary in a City where every coryphaeus has the right to justified killing.

The group of coryphaeus enters the auto room – a hall without human waiters, they'll be served by machines and robots. Apparently, they'll discuss something important. They enter a common booth, not "their own" for some reason. Presumably, they haven't decided who initiated the meeting and whose "own" booth to use.

"With recording?" asks the slave.

The coryphaeus nods.

Convenient. If anything, everyone will have proof of the meeting. The recording guarantees the deal's honesty. Later, when the gentlemen decide, the recording will be erased from the robot's memory. No, truly erased. No one's fool enough to risk keeping a recording. Well, there are some, of course. As in any evolving system. Newcomers, quick ones, young ones, foolish ones. Those accustomed to cinematic cruelty outside Firocami, never having seen such cruelty in real life. Those confusing indifference with cruelty. In the world beyond Firocami, no one cares about anyone. Firocami cares. That's why escaping the City's attention won't work.

"Maybe the masters would prefer deaf-mute slaves?" the slave offers again.

The coryphaeus shakes his head. His friend smiles sharply and maliciously.

"Just don't interfere with us, no surprises, no clever ideas about pleasing us, no 'I thought you'd like this,'" he warns meaningfully, "as if we're the only living beings in this restaurant, is it clear?"

The slave smiles obsequiously and nods. The masters sit down, and the slave leaves, closing the door.

It's his first independent day in the human hall. It would be good if they were satisfied and he kept this job.