Every conceivable pleasure

On my way to the Pleasure Zone, I think about its history. I think about its lack of freedom.

Many centuries ago, a powerful Council divided the land on Earth into two Zones: the Free Zone, where industrious, ambitious persons could realize their most lofty goals, and the Pleasure Zone, where anyone with even the slightest trace of humanity could gratify any conceivable pleasure.

Humanity had evolved to a place where this division seemed natural, but it was the Council who made it official.

In the beginning, inhabitants of the Pleasure Zone were free to enjoy, even indulge, their deepest, most cherished pleasures. Limited only by their imaginations, they were free to experience every conceivable pleasure in their own separate domains, from the most depraved to the most refined.

For them, it was one pleasure after another, with no respite from the pursuit, a constant pursuit that made them oblivious to effort of the painstaking variety, where they no longer cared to imagine living any life other than a life of pleasure. For them, life in the Free Zone was a colossal waste of time and effort.

Those in the Free Zone, the freedom lovers, however, knew better: the pleasure seekers could no longer keep up with advances made in the Free Zone.

Freedom lovers knew what the most advanced BioSynthetics in the Free Zone could achieve with the most advanced Synthetics. Ceilings of attainment had been reached in many areas of endeavor on Earth, drawing many aspirants into the environs of Earth, through the solar system, and beyond.

What the pleasure seekers didn't know now was that their habitat of pleasure had become an essential item of negotiation within the Council.

Dark clouds on the horizon

Like a statue, Christina sits in meditation in the living area, in a lotus position, wrapped in silence. When I brush her shoulder with my fingertips, she is already smiling, already aware of my presence.

I walk to the balcony and scan the Free Zone, a sprawling cityscape visible for hundreds of miles through my bioelectric eyes.

I think a thought: pay a visit to the Pleasure Zone. Christina stirs, sensing my intention.

With a wish, I summon the AeroGlider, and within moments, it hovers in front of the balcony. Moments later, Christina is by my side.

She takes my hand and I follow her through an opening in the balcony into the vehicle, and with another wish, I direct the AutoPilot to move through Sector Zero, which it does smoothly and swiftly, over and above the Free Zone, toward one of many entrances to the Pleasure Zone.

On this day, I am pleased by the sight of ominous clouds gathering on the horizon: a special treat from Weather Control, whose preference these days for sunny skies seems too persistent for my liking.

Perhaps someone at Weather Control has caught wind of the threat that faces the last vestiges of our humanity.

In the Free Zone

As I walk through the living area of my luxurious suite, its interior warms ever so slightly, casting a muted yellow-orange hue. Everything I need, and everything I could possibly want, is literally at my fingertips. For now, from my balcony, I am content just to watch the sun rise.

In the Free Zone, the silence is pure, the ultimate in quiescence. All day, every day. For the remaining persons, like myself, who still carry some trace of the organic human, this silence might pose a problem. But for me, I can no longer imagine what it would be like to live without it.

And for this silence, we have the Synthetics to thank for the peace and prosperity that is everywhere present.

In such a world as this, one might imagine that there is little anyone needs to do, and in a way, this image rings true. Our every need is met with a wave of the hand or the caress of the fingertips. But the image also rings false. In the Free Zone, we're as free to do as much or as little as we aim to do.

In the Free Zone, there is much we can do, if that is our wish.

My wish, for now, is simply to be as I am and let the sunrise saturate my awareness with its beauty and splendour.

What is your purpose?

She pulls away slowly, looks at me with a query in her eyes, and asks: “What is your purpose?”

Again, I smile. “My purpose is to love you.”

She frowns. “To what end?”

My smile disappears. “I have more purchasing power than I know what to do with; I have more freedom than anyone has a right to have; and I have the peace of mind to occupy a place in a position where I can allow myself to be, have, do, and become whatever I will or desire.”

She turns away, walks back to the window. It’s her way of telling me that she’s not satisfied with my answer. We’ve had this discussion before, her and I, and never once have I given her a straight answer. I know what she wants, but I just can’t bring myself to give it to her. I need something for myself.

I walk to her, place my hands lightly on her bare shoulders. She tenses and then relaxes. I could wrap my arms around her, embrace her, and cherish her with my embrace, but I decide to simply stand behind her, gaze through the window with her, and wait patiently for our conversation to continue.