Predicting what the world would look like… (Excerpt from ‘Dancing in the Purple Rain’ included)

A deadly internet challenge and a global pandemic were what I needed to allow the full story to form in my head. However, I wanted to distance my story from the events of 2020.

Shifting the story into the future provided challenges of its own.

Crafting a world for 2220

When the “lie” fell into place about the drugs that my main character was taking, so too did the mechanism that created her in the first place.

Evolution is something that happens slowly. Sure, we have the technology (real technology) that can alter the genome sequence in specified ways, but we still don’t have the human genome fully mapped out. We know most of it, but not all of it. And we are still learning what happens when certain genes are different… and the impact that those differing genes have on neighboring sequences. It’s all real science.

But as the “lie” fell into place, I knew that my main character would be the result of genetic experiments that had been happening for generations. As I pieced more and more of it together, distancing the timeline from the real events of 2020, I knew I was looking at a futuristic story.

Down the rabbit hole I went. I started thinking about what the world would look like in the future—as the ice caps continued to melt, global warming ran out of control, and life took on the goal of “survival”.

What instantly came to my mind was the impact of the melting ice caps. Land would become a premium as the water level of the oceans rose. But what was more concerning was the pockets of air being released that had been trapped in the ice caps for thousands of years.

Scientists have already been able to use the air pockets in the ice caps to determine what the atmosphere was like thousands of years ago. However, my concern was the viruses and bacteria also trapped within those layers of ice. As the ice caps continue to melt, life on Earth will be exposed to diseases that were supposedly eradicated thousands of years ago… and hence we have zero immunity to it now.

And my writer brain chose to focus on what the health technology would look like, rather than projecting the human race into space. And I happily revisited some of the old stories that I loved as a teen: Blade Runner, Total Recall (the original with Arnie-Baby), Demolition Man, Robocop, The Running Man, Gattaca, and Mad Max. There were other favored dystopian films too from back then that I turned to for inspiration, but it all came down to trying to build something that had all the feels of a world that had fallen apart completely for a variety of reasons.

And I knew that the best way to showcase exactly how the world had been affected by the passage of time on a grander scale would be through the eyes of my main character as she navigates from one side of the city to the other.

So, that’s what I did.

The section where my main character travels through the city is a short little passage found near the start of Chapter 3, but it was just enough to paint the picture of the desolate world that the characters now live in.

But even when things are bleak and threatening to kill you, the human spirit finds ways to enjoy the simple pleasures in life. It might seem like a conflict of ideas, but the human heart often clings to the faint glimmer of hope. Which was another idea that also found the pages in Chapter 3.

From desolation to hope, I hope you enjoy Chapter 3 of Dancing in the Purple Rain.

(Chapter 3 is 2,475 words.)

If you missed the previous chapters, you can find the previous chapters at the following links.

• Chapter 1
• Chapter 2

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Chapter 3 from Dancing in the Purple Rain

I stood on the platform waiting for the transport tube that would take me toward the city center. Everyone around me had on breather masks and eye seals fitted securely in place. Distinguishing features came down to hair and general physique.

On my left was a man who was twice my size. I only came up to his shoulder. If I stood in the right position, the camera mounted in the ceiling on the other side of him wouldn’t see me. The same could not be said about the camera located opposite the platform. The wide-angled lens would easily spot my purple hair. But it would also spot the woman next to me with neon green hair standing next to the man with bright pink hair.

The intercom system crackled into life. “Train traveling to Sector 10 and Sector 11 now arriving. Please stand behind the yellow line.”

A single light grew in size in the dark tunnel. As the train pulled up to the platform, there was a soft hiss, the brakes being applied to stop the train.

As the pod doors opened, I stepped into a pod coded for Sector 11. Soon, the door sealed behind me with that telltale hiss as the unit’s isolated filtration system kicked in. Yet another means to stop the spread of disease. More importantly, it meant that I could take off my breather and deactivate the seals on my display glasses.

I leaned back in the seat and tried to get comfortable. The train of mini-pods soon exited the dark tunnel and headed to the elevated tracks.

I stared out over the city through the murky haze. The dome covering Sector 14 stood proudly in the center, with smaller domes scattered around it. As the city radiated outward from the Sector 14 dome, the height and extent of shielding from the elements dwindled. The outer most sectors, like the one I had just left, didn’t have much protection worth speaking of, other than the buildings that were showing signs of corrosion and disrepair.

We traveled alongside a secondary track carrying a train of mini-pods of its own. As the train hit a junction point, there was a slight shudder as the mini-pod I was in disconnected from the units around it and interwove with the train on the other track. There was another shudder as the mini-pod reconnected.

In the distance, I could just make out the concrete wall surrounding the city, separating Crystal Hills from the rest of the world. Outside those walls would have been gateway facilities, filled with people taking whatever tests the Rhodon Corporation demanded of them. Only the healthiest of specimens would be permitted through the gates into Utopia. Though none of them knew that Rhodon actively took steps to cull the herd of human lab rats to allow another ripe selection in.

It was one of the reasons why my job existed. Population control. Ensuring that Rhodon Corporation could maintain the illusion that they projected to the world—that Crystal Hills was the healthiest place on Earth to live.

A maintenance crew clambered up the outside of the dome for Sector 8, checking it for any damaged spots that might fail in the storms that would arrive in a few months, like clockwork.

The acid rain season—or what I liked to call skin-melting season—would arrive soon enough. If just one section of the dome’s exterior failed during the rains, the death toll would be unimaginable, and the reputation of Rhodon would be trashed. And I would likely be sent on multiple courier runs in the cover-up.

I really did need another job.

The train entered the tunnel leading to Sector 11’s station platform. According to the screen just above the door, the conditions inside the sector were quite favorable today. The dome’s filtration system was working at optimum, with no hint of poison from the outside world found in the sector’s air. The environmental controls maintained the constant, even temperature of a moderate spring day. And the humidity factor was just enough to ensure your skin didn’t dry out. One could happily walk around the sector without a breather or any protective clothing.

A poor-man’s haven. Never mind the rent for the closet I called home was twenty thousand credits a month, but at least I had a place to call home and didn’t need to live in the staff barracks underground in Sector 14.

I stepped off the train with my breather hanging around my neck. I still wore my virtual display glasses, but the goggle seals that hindered my peripheral vision were not activated.

I headed to the main plaza area, praying that there were enough credits in my account to get some cressicubes from my favorite vendor. It was the only natural source of mintonal I knew of. It wouldn’t be enough to completely stabilize my body, but I had few options left until I could get more Miransine.

I curled my hands into loose fists, hoping to hide the shakes. If others on the streets saw my shaking hands, they would likely assume that I was infectious and call the health police. That was the last thing I needed.

The aroma from Hope Alley called to me. That coffee shop in Sector 4 might have been a busy place, but Sector 11 was a nonstop party. And the food carts in Hope Alley were just the entry.

Steel drums played a historic Caribbean rhythm with an infectious beat that endured to this day. Even the grumpiest moods could be lifted by those rhythms. One just wanted to do a hip sway and some salsa footwork—even when they didn’t know what they were doing. With a soft smile on my face, I opened my hands and allowed the rhythm to take me wherever it wanted to. The shimmy of the shoulders would hide the shakes better than anything else I could do.

I followed my nose through the aromas of spicy foods to my favorite cart. The man who ran the food cart was an expert at Japanese–Caribbean fusion. One wouldn’t have thought the two would go together, but Hector was a food wizard. “Ah . . . Mike. The usual?”

“Yes, please.”

“Coming right up.”

I held out my wrist, revealing my pharmachip, so I could authorize payment, but Hector waved my hand away.

“Today, it’s on the house.”

“Are you sure?”

He smiled and nodded. “It’s the least I could do for the one who managed to get my Cecila the medication she needed.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “The voices were driving her crazy. Miransine is the only thing that works to stabilize her properly. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get your hands on so much of it?”

I sighed and did my best to maintain my smile. “I guess I have the right contacts.” Never mind, I had given Cecila the bulk of my personal supply, but that didn’t matter. I knew exactly what voices Hector was talking about. And those voices had been known to lead to suicide. Those voices killed my mother when I was a little girl. I couldn’t let that happen to Cecila. As it was, she had already climbed the ledge, threatening to jump, just to silence the voices.

Ten years old, and she was rapidly going insane.

“I’m just glad that she’s well again.” Though, my own health would go down the toilet if I didn’t get my hands on a new supply of Miransine and soon. The constant hum in my head would soon turn into those insanity-driving voices. If I wasn’t careful, I would find myself climbing a ledge.

“It won’t take long to have your order ready.” Hector smiled, then turned to the next person in line to take their order.

I moved to the side, doing what I could to continue to enjoy the Caribbean sounds, but the movements of my dance were forced. My heart was no longer in it.

“That was generous of you.”

“Did you say something?” I asked the person closest to me.

They just looked at me with a furrowed brow and shook their head.

“Sorry, my bad.” I glanced around to see if it was someone else who had spoken, but the others were either buried in conversations with those around them, or bouncing around in time with the music, completely oblivious to anything I was doing. It had to have been my imagination, though that thought alone put me on edge.

I forced myself to take several deep breaths. I held my hand flat before my belly. Crap. The shaking had gotten worse. A lot worse. I needed mintonal.

One by one, the people waiting to collect their food disappeared, replaced by another who had put in a new order. I only had to wait for five minutes, but five minutes of trying to hide the shaking was more than enough.

I thanked Hector for the food, then made a beeline to a secluded spot. With no fear that anyone might be watching me, I quickly unwrapped the cressicube and took a bite. My hand shook violently. If the food cube had been smaller, I would have shoved the whole thing into my mouth at once. But given the choice between choking and shaking, I preferred the shaking.

From experience, it would take roughly twenty minutes before the effects of the mintonal in the cressicube to kick in. It wouldn’t be enough to take away the shakes completely, or the humming in my head, but I only had to get through a few hours until I could pick up my prescription.

I looked at the clock on my virtual display. Five hours to wait, assuming there were no other delays.

“But there are always delays.”

I spun around, looking for the one who just spoke to me, but there was no one nearby. “Hello?” I pressed my fingers to the side of my glasses, activating the voice command for my personal AI system. “Alice, run a complete scan of the area. Search for anything that could result in audio disturbances. Radio signals. People nearby that I can’t see.”

“Scan complete. There are no radio anomalies detected. The closest life force is twenty-five meters away.”

“No audio messages that randomly played before?”

“Negative. You have no new messages.”

Damn it. It had to have been my imagination. But if that were true . . .

I shoved the last of my cressicube into my mouth, praying that I wasn’t finally succumbing to White Rabbit syndrome.

A muted ding sounded in my ears, and the number 1 flashed in the corner of my vision. I really didn’t want to know what the message said. No doubt, it was something to do with my climbing audimensase levels.

Another ding, and the blinking light shifted to the number 2. Then another, and another. Number 4.

Damn it. All I wanted to do was to pick up my prescription, then disappear from society long enough to hide my increasing symptoms and to sleep off the crazy of the morning. Surely, the fact that I had been on the clock since 10 p.m. the night before would have been enough to say that my working day was done.

“But is a courier’s work ever done?”

I spun around again, scanning for the owner of the voice. My heart raced ahead. Three times now, I had heard a voice right there, beside me. And all three times, the owner of the voice was nowhere to be seen.

I was overtired. That had to be it. My audimensase levels were skyrocketing, and I hadn’t had much sleep. It had to be just my imagination. Though that thought didn’t bring me much solace. The last time I had heard voices like this, I was locked up for psychological evaluation and a full battery of tests were carried out. They upped my Miransine dosage big time after that. Which was why I had so much of it that I could spare some for Cecila. But I miscalculated how much I needed to get by . . . and I ran out.

Another ding and the number of messages now counted in double digits. How many more messages could I ignore before they overrode the call block-out I had put in place? Well, whatever the number was, there was no way I could continue to ignore them for five hours.

Ignoring any concerns about the public seeing my shaking, I darted out of my hiding spot and headed straight for the pharmacy, hoping against all odds that they had already filled my script.

The dings turned into ringing. Damn it! When will I learn to not jinx the good luck?

My shoulders sagged as the caller ID displayed the name Tam Haworth. For the lack of a better term: my boss. Tam not only gave out the delivery assignments, but they also managed the rest of my life. Tam decided when and if I got paid. Tam was the one to oversee my medical treatments. And Tam was the one who ensured that I had the freedom to move from sector to sector in the way I was used to. When Tam said, “Jump,” there was only one response. “How high?”

I knew from experience what would happen if I ignored Tam’s calls. And it wasn’t pretty.

While continuing to walk briskly toward the pharmacy, I reached up to my temple and pressed the answer button on my glasses. “Tam, I’m sorry, but now is not a good time. I’m on my way to the pharmacy to pick up my script. My audimensase levels are climbing—big time.”

“I know. Which is in part why I called. You need to report to headquarters immediately. I will have an emergency script filled here waiting for you.”

“But Tam, I also need to get some sleep. I’ve been up—”

“I am sorry, Michaella, but we have a situation that could compromise the security of our entire operation. All members of PentWave are to report immediately. No exceptions. From your present location, it should take you no more than ninety minutes to get through the checkpoints and to report to the team room. If you are not here within two hours, I will send a STAR unit for you.”

I closed my eyes and tried really hard to bottle up my frustration. The last thing I needed was a Special Task and Reconnaissance unit rocking up to escort me to who knows where. They would not be gentle. “So, no sleep then?”

“I am sorry, Michaella.”

I blew out the breath I had been holding. “On my way.” There was no need to say anything else. I just turned around and headed for the transport tubes to Sector 14.

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Dancing in the Purple Rain is now available from your favorite retailer.