Page 6 of Tapeworld Induction

“They kept it from me at first, when I got to the age to start asking questions. They told me they’d just followed the trend, complying with the new mandatory veganism laws and learning to help to make the world a better place.” Fat chance, she thought. “One day I ended up stalking my mum on the Book. Posts from decades ago.”

Talia huffed. “Oh, boy…”

“Constance Colt, spokesperson for London’s AR chapter,” she said, putting on a voice like a TV presenter. “My mum, looking the same just younger, in the process of being de-glued from the PM’s car. That’s how I found out.” She stared blankly forward.

“And then they told you who they really were…” Talia said.

Dylan nodded. “And of course I wanted to grow up to be just like them.”

“You’re not suggesting you’d be happier if there still was a climate crisis, right?” Talia asked warily.

She shook her head. “No, of course not. Of course not. I just… I wish there was something I could fix.”

Talia gave her arm a sympathetic squeeze.

Maybe all of the people around them had it right. They were a couple of twenty-something girls on their way to Aftershock, for goddess’s sake. She should just try to enjoy herself and forget about everything else for tonight.

3

Brown-Pink

Dylan

They made their way past the bouncer at the glitzy fairy-light-lit entrance to the club, taking shelter from the wind. Inside, Dylan tried to blend in with the other people dancing, drinking, and posting on StreetSocial in the crowded venue, but struggled to get their earlier conversation out of her mind.

Eventually, tired of being stuck inside her head, Dylan signalled to Talia to ask if she wanted a drink – to which Talia gestured something like, No, still nursing this Blackberry Sidecar, thank you very much, and you didn’t even want to come today! Dylan was annoyed at how much disdain Talia could pack into a single scowly head shake.

Luckily, she didn’t catch the attention of anyone when making her way to the bar. She spotted a few cute boys here and there, but no one she imagined spending any sort of time with.

Endless taps of ale, lager, and the occasional soft drink were lined up in a row. She eyed the bartender behind them. A woman – no, a girl younger than Dylan – was tending the bar on her own, looking very experienced at drink mixing and juggling orders from multiple patrons, wing-tipped eyeliner on point. Did bartenders get make-up touch-up breaks?

“Another G&T, please,” Dylan shouted over the music.

Paying contactless – the antiquated name that had stuck around for what was now pretty much the only form of payment – Dylan swiped her hand over the tender’s terminal. Her implanted microchip was hardly cutting edge. Most people swiped with their hands, but some made a joke of the whole thing, having their implant placed in their ear or in less salubrious places.

Spotlights kept the dance floor from absolute darkness, tinting everyone’s skin the same shade of blue. Talia, a few metres away, looked happy enough, dancing with her eyes half shut, a city boy trying his luck with her – his hair was shaved ridiculously up the sides, but long enough up top to force him to push it out of his eyes after every other head bob. Bless. Talia was tolerating him well enough. She always was the more… flirty of the two of them. It stung, a little bit, seeing them having fun like that. As Dylan watched, they posed for a VR snap, courtesy of Aftershock’s paparazzi micro-drones. It looked like the city boy was about to try for a kiss. Then the drone’s flash went off, making Dylan blink.

“Hi.” A man’s voice came from beside her.

Blood rushed to her chest and her stomach clenched. After taking a second to compose herself, she turned towards him.

Beard, medium-length black hair, brown eyes, a smile. Muscular, though he hadn’t been working out, she could tell. Dylan speedily invented his life story in her head. His expression was that generic streamer friendliness, potentially interesting, potentially… not.

“Hi, yourself,” Dylan replied, giving him a mischievous smile. She liked what she saw, but had been so far into herself these last few weeks, she didn’t know what she really wanted out of tonight – and that jumble of feelings was coming out as mischief. Fine.

“I’m Isaak.” He stretched his hand towards her.

“Dylan.” She took his hand as she said it, the societal norm paralysing her after the fact. Or was it the warm touch of a guy she might actually like that made her freeze?

He smiled, and they both turned to look at the twin DJs at the corner of the nightclub – dressed in royal attire as an homage, or perhaps mockery, of the ruling Twin Queens – who deftly re-energised the club by blending a new beat into the mix. Everyone began sing-shouting the song’s lyrics. The scent of sweat and heavily applied perfumes filled the room, the aroma lifted into the air by the dancers’ reverie, catapulted through space and back again. The walls were painted in flashes of colour by lights timed to the music, while the deep bass throbbed. An idiot in the crowd rushed by and pushed Dylan towards Isaak. Her feet staggered in a clumsy movement, and she flung out her arms.

Onto his arms.

She felt the fake leather of his matte-black jacket appreciatively, a tick box filed away in her brain. She fixed her gaze on his dark-brown eyes as she moved away, letting go of him.

“Thanks,” she said, words half tumbling out of her mouth. “I’m sorry, some creep pushed me.”

“I’m glad I caught you,” he said with a smile, then he looked around curiously and stopped.