Lucy & Carol

Caroline worked hard for the limited respect her colleagues afforded her. She was a proud woman, an accomplished geneticist and a competent chess player. At least her cat, Lucy, thought so—but Lucy also wanted her to quit her job.

It was her stature that made her coworkers look down on her and prank her. She was small, brown-skinned, and bespectacled. A woman who somehow stood taller than her narrow frame and bare feet allowed.

Caroline walked through the corridors of the capital complex barefoot. Many citizens did. Shoes were unnecessary. Caroline didn’t own shoes or have a name number. She was probably the oldest person in the city because she had never died.

“That’s what really bothers them,” she said quietly.

She was the only one.

Every tenth level at the center of the hub was a different surface. The grass levels were popular but hard to maintain. Loose dirt was a little easier. Hard dirt a little less. Sand was fun for a while, but the benefits of walking barefoot were apparent. The various sensations on the soles of the feet reset the brain chemistry.

It was a chemical dependency like the high after exercise, the feeling of finally getting home after being in a crowd, healthy sexual desire, arousal, praise, competition, recognition. These were all chemical reactions, and human beings, at their core, were hopeless addicts.

Lucy was Caroline’s orange tabby, a genetic experiment gone wrong—or right, depending on your mood—who shifted inside her carrier.

“Why am I in the box again?” she complained. “This is humiliating. I have a two hundred IQ and I can touch the back of my butt with my tongue. You need to respect me.”

“Stay in the box, Lucy,” Caroline said. “We’re making house calls.”

Floor 57, where Caroline had her first appointment, had a ground of wet soil. Dark, damp earth like after a light rain, but not a single worm graced the soil beneath Caroline’s well-pedicured feet.

“You should quit your job.”

“Shut up, cat.”

She stopped for a quick reset, letting her toes grip into the soil. It was warm. Most of the floors were warm. The central edifice was teeming with life, and Caroline—the one and only—often took moments like this to appreciate it.

Caroline noted how strange it was that the corridor on 57 was quiet and empty. Quiet except for the soft tapping of terminals, the hum of old monitors, and the warm buzz of the Static echoing through the hall.

She noted the camera up and to the left and knew there was another pointed at her backside.

“Good angle,” she said.

“You look like shit,” Lucy replied.

“I have a nice butt.”

Caroline set her blue-and-white animal carrier down in the dirt and pulled her finger-width dreadlocks into a ponytail, securing them with a scrunchie she wore around her wrist. Even tied up, her dreads reached the small of her back.

As a member of the Science Authority, Caroline could requisition any apartment she wanted. Emergency relocation. Scientific necessity.

“Ladies,” she murmured, imagining it aloud, “we must act quickly. My toes need this dirt. Evict someone. It’s a matter of national security.”

She laughed in spite of herself, even though today was not a day for amusement. Her colleagues had screwed her over once again. They gave her a mystery to solve, but it was really just a myth. They had her doing house calls.

“I like people,” she muttered. “Just from a distance.”

Lucy snorted. She knew her owner too well. “Liar. You like to get up close and personal. I’ve seen it.”

“Shush.”

Today she’d been assigned to ask the citizens on her list some very intimate questions. Physical examinations might be necessary.

“I’m just a lab tech,” Caroline explained.

Lucy convulsed as if to hack up a fur ball. “Whatever you say.”

The Board of Sciences, her scatterbrained colleagues, had tasked her with investigating reports of gender-based anomalies.

“An urban myth,” she said.

Scientific advancement moved at a snail’s pace. Everything was automated.

“There was nothing for these fools to do,” she whispered, “but screw with me.”

Unconfirmed reports of citizens who had grown tails had reached the tipping point of two or three a month, and the task of investigating it fell on her.

“Tails?” Lucy asked, thinking of her own.

“They mean front tails, Lucy.” Caroline not only had to leave her lab and go out and meet people, but she had to talk to them about their genitals. Caroline—the one and only—would get more than her toes dirty today.

In Ultima, the surface was everything. The dome on the city effectively cut off the sky, so the citizens learned to ground themselves. Rachel47 lived on grass. Lynn108 favored the mud, as did Burt, her pet alligator.

Caroline spent much of her time on the farming levels. They spanned dozens of floors. The soil was deep, and the warmth between floors promoted growth.

She was Life Sciences, the third most powerful class in the city. From the bottom up they were: Pedalers, Maintenance, Artisans, Operators, Engineers, Medical, and just above Medical was Life Science—Caroline’s domain. They ranked above everyone except for the government and the Board of Directors. They oversaw the reproduction of food and people in a closed system. You could say they were the most important.

Every citizen was basically just genetic material—proteins, refined, corrected, improved—moving back and forth. Memories re-implanted. Names incremented and repeated—Rachel47. Lynn108. CarolineZero.

Caroline checked her portable and accessed the camera feed of Anne4 on the 57th. Not her first time. She’d seen the woman’s show more than a few times.

Anne4 was finishing up a drop set on a shoulder press, collecting credits and audience members as she pumped. She was muscular, beautiful, powerful, and famous.

“Okay,” Caroline said softly to herself. “Okay.”

“You like her?” Lucy asked.

“I hope she remembered to stretch,” Caroline replied. “I’d hate for her to pull something.”

Caroline didn’t knock at all. She didn’t clear her throat. She didn’t announce herself. She walked right in.

Anne was just a little startled. “Authority?” she asked flatly.

Caroline nodded.

“What kind?”

“Sciences,” Caroline said.

Anne’s posture softened—but only slightly. “That figures,” she replied.

Caroline set her carrier down and it was clear there was an animal inside. It was instantly excited by the sheer number of books. There were boxes of them everywhere. Lucy loved real books.

“If you want an autograph,” Anne explained, “it’ll cost you fifteen minutes.”

“I don’t really know who you are. I don’t watch that sort of thing,” Caroline replied.

Anne smirked, recognizing the lie. “Oh. Sorry. I sometimes forget I’m not everyone’s type.”

She was Caroline’s type, and Caroline flushed at the stronger woman’s confidence as her pet carrier let out a low, unsettling moan—half feline, half human.

“Meow,” it said ironically. Then, in an eerily human voice, “Meow.”

Anne jumped back, startled for a second time. “What the fuck is that?”

“That’s my cat, Lucy,” Caroline said quickly. “Ignore her. She’s just trying to be funny.”

Lucy spoke again, sweet and clear.

“Can we eat after this?”

Anne’s fright melted into a grin.

“That’s incredible.”

“She’s opinionated,” Caroline said.

“And trapped in a box,” Lucy added.

Caroline turned back to Anne.

“I’m here in an official capacity. I couldn’t leave the cat in the lab. She’s kind of evil. But if you give her a book, that might shut her up.”

“You got any Bukowski?” Lucy asked.

Anne smiled and handed her a signed copy of her autobiography, a book called Pumping Anne, and Caroline shoved it into the animal carrier between the bars.

“Which part of me are we examining today, Doc?” Anne asked, flexing her biceps and looking at her buff body on the main monitor. It was dialed to her own feed. She was watching herself.

Caroline met her gaze. There was an awkward silence and a mutual discomfort.

“Come on. That was just a rumor.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t have a penis, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Anne said proudly, stopping herself before becoming defensive.

“I’m not,” Caroline said. “It’s procedural.”

“I’ve got a really big clit. That’s all. I’m not ashamed of it.”

“I wasn’t aware.”

“You’re kidding,” Anne said. “You really don’t know who you are?”

Caroline sighed. “No. Should I?”

“My name is Anne Four. I’m kind of a big deal.” She stuck out her hand, and for the first time the two made contact.

“I’m Caroline Zero,” Caroline said, thus making it true.

“You’ve never died?” Anne asked.

“No,” she said. “And I guess it’s kind of a big deal.”

Anne glanced up at her buzz count. It was already lighting up the bottom of the screen. “If this is going to happen, let’s do it right.”

Caroline sighed again.

“Hey, ladies,” Anne told the camera. “This is your girl, Annie Four, coming to you direct from the sexual center of the universe—and who do I have with me today?”

“Uh. Caroline.”

“And believe it or not, Dr. Caroline here is a certified Zero. She has never died. And… and… she’s here to look at my twat.”

Anne smiled and winked back at the short scientist in the long white coat. The foul language, the attitude—this was her act. The confidence, the aggression—this was her move.

“So get your little butts on the horn. Grab the girls. A glass of strawberry wine. Let’s do this thing.” Anne blew a big kiss to the camera and leaned back in her chair.

“Remember to drink responsibly,” Lucy added from her cage.

Caroline looked disappointed.

“It’s cool,” Anne assured her. “I get a lot of cling. We’ll have really good numbers. You might even get some spin-off.”

Caroline didn’t stay long on her feed, but she was there long enough to mention the wine, earn a free bottle, and fake like she was giving a medical examination. It was more like playing doctor than being one. Caroline stayed a little longer than she had planned.

She lingered for the cameras. It was fun and performative. She stayed long enough to do her job.

“There’s a bit of hypertrophy,” Caroline told Anne with a clinical smirk.

“In English, Doc.”

“You have an outstanding clitoris.”

“Why, thank you,” Anne sang, satisfied. “But nothing else?”

“Nothing to get too pumped about.”

“Aw, shucks, Doc.” Anne smiled, recognizing her catch phrase. “I knew you were a fan.”

“You’re all good,” Caroline said, getting up. “This was…”

“Scientific?”

“Sure.” Caroline straightened her coat, removed and replaced her glasses. “Thus concludes my examination,” she said with flair and finality.

“So professional,” Anne joked. “Tell your cat she can keep the book.”

“Thank you, sweetie,” Lucy chimed in. “Love your work,” she said before rubbing the book against the corner of her mouth.

Caroline picked up the animal carrier and stepped back into the hall, closing the door behind her. Another appointment awaited. It was several floors down. A good long walk from here.

“And look,” she said. “Another sex worker. It’s not a coincidence.”

Life Sciences was playing a little joke on old Caroline, or maybe they were trying to get her laid. It was hard to tell. They were so much younger than Caroline and still had seniority. It was still her job, and she still needed the credits.

“You should quit your job,” Lucy told her again.

“Shut up, cat.”

This was her routine. This was her familiar. This was her emotional support animal.

“Why do you only call me a cat when you’re angry at me?”

“I don’t know.”

“At least my coworker likes me.”

“And by coworker do you mean me?”

Caroline’s coworkers were probably laughing about how she’d just messed around with a porn star.

“You love me,” the cat accused her. “And calling me a cat is not an insult, you know. Cats are highly respected,” the cat continued. “If we were in Ancient Egypt right now, you would have to bow to me.”

“I don’t think that’s true, Lucy.”

“It’s true. I would be a goddess. You would be peeling my tuna. And wiping my butt.”

“Shut up—”

“Silence, peasant.” ||