I often write fiction shorts, but I’m going to write a whole sci-fi novel over the next year-ish serialized here on Substack. In addition to my normal newsletter, I’ll post parts here as I write them. Later I’d like to rework and edit the whole thing into a short novel, maybe self publish it.
The inspiration came from my fascination with solarpunk as a concept and art genre, and the realization that it doesn’t have to stand completely separate from cyberpunk, it’s antithesis. Not only is it more likely that the future would have pockets of both cyberpunk and solarpunk in the world, but the combination of both is a much more interesting setting for a book.
Our young hero grows up in a dystopian cyberpunk version of the San Francisco bay area and then finds their way into a solarpunk commune, but simply enjoying the easy life isn’t enough for her.
Enjoy chapter one, below | Go here for chapter two
Chapter 1: The Arena
The bloodthirsty roar from the crowd echoed around the arena, bouncing off the metal walls and plethora of screens, sound waves hitting against each other, creating a cacophony of emotion.
Each blow of the fighters elicited loud responses from the fans, humans, robots, and those in between.
Zara glanced up from her holo pad to steal a glance at the fighters fourteen floors below.
From her vantage point perched high in the stands, she could barely see the actual fighters through the chaos of neon lights, holograms, camera flashes, and fans. Neither did she have a clear view of the floating screens above the ring’s center, as a gigantic robot attendee blocked her view. She quickly tapped her glasses to watch a replay in front of her. She always made sure to connect to the arena’s live feed network for just this reason, at least she didn’t have to pay any credits, she had a hacked hookup from a coworker.
She gasped as her brother, a solid fighter but undoubtedly the underdog in this mixed augmented and organic fight, received a heavy blow to the head and staggered back, wobbling from the impact. To the surprise of the whole crowd, he stayed on his feet, shaking his head from side to side as he pushed off the assailant. Then, in a blur almost too fast to see, he spun gracefully off his left foot, turning 180 degrees, kicked his right foot up, and landed a kick with the back of his right heel to the opponent’s head. In a shower of sparks, the crowd favorite went down.
She stood watching the robot lay on the mat and twitch, willing its circuits to stay jammed, or hopefully its central processor was jolted loose. Transfixed by the fight, she forgot for a moment she was supposed to be serving drinks until the person yelling at her just behind the hologram of the fight registered.
“Hey lady, I said give me my fucking drink,” said the belligerent fan, grasping at the bottle in her hand and pulling her back to the present moment.
Zara was a waitress at the fighting arena. The arena stood twenty floors from the street level to the sky. A marvel of architecture, technology, and hedonism towering amidst the squalor and poverty in the ten-story buildings flanking it. One of the few buildings in the barrio sponsored and constructed by the techno-elite taking a page from the Roman’s book. Give the people their entertainment, and they don’t ask too many questions.
Zara got the job easily, in part because of her figure, but mainly due to a hookup from her mom, whose connections and reputation in the hospitality industry secured her the gig. Most of the staff in the arena are robots or heavily augmented humans. The only staff that were all-natural humans - organics as they were called - were some of the fighters and waitresses. Despite insane technological advancement and societal changes in the last few decades, people still just wanted to watch someone get their ass kicked and ogle the tits of a waitress.
Zara apologized quickly, “Sorry, sir!” and handed the customer his drink. He thrust his wrist forward for her to scan. With a quick swipe of her holo pad, she scanned the small chip under his skin. The holo pad beeped and pulsed green for a second. He had sufficient credits and the transaction cleared. She moved on.
“Beer, water, soma” she yelled as she weaved expertly through the crowd, watching her brother fight as much as the fans would let her.
Benji’s a good fighter, he consistently ranks in the top 90th percentile of organics. He’s probably about 70th percentile in the mixed human and robot league. No human cracked the 80th percentile in the mixed league, and all the best fighters were pure robots, their processors and mechanical bodies a clear advantage over muscle, bone, and brains. Benji does well and earns a lot of extra credits.
Her, Benji, and Mom have a little better life than most because they have jobs.
Most people don’t work. There are very few jobs left for humans ever since The Big Shift, or as some colloquially call it, The Big Shit, the AI revolution that moved society into a capitalistic nightmare.
Zara was born shortly after the shift. She was fascinated by the Big Shift, partly because she couldn’t believe that her Mom lived in a completely different society before, and partly because of how her Mom and father ended up on different sides of society with the split. As a teen she spent countless hours up late researching the time period just before she was born and how society changed. She’d pour through blog posts on less regulated parts of the internet, where she liked to think the truth lurked.
She learned how a few multinational corporations, owned and controlled by techno-elites like her father, control everything: the AIs, the robots, they own the land, everything. She learned about how as everyone was losing jobs it would have been a complete decimation of capitalism if not for The Allotment. She, like everyone she knew, received a monthly allotment of credits from the government. Her allotment was more than enough for her basics. Mom was given more till she turned 18, but now her, Benji, and Mom all received the same amount. More than enough for housing and food, entertainment, and for most people drugs, a lot of drugs.
When the Big Shift happened, her mother had told her how chaotic it was. Everyone was losing their jobs to AIs and robots. It started with cute robot arms serving coffee in SFO airport, but it snowballed. Soon, there were fully humanoid, intelligent robots serving food and drinks. Mom was lucky to be smart, attractive, and quick to move into management. Mom told her about how heartbreaking it was to lay off long-term staff and replace them with robots, but every company had to compete. Before the allotment, Mom told her how people stopped going to bars and restaurants, they had no jobs and no money.
This was when the government, which she learned through her late-night internet sessions was also controlled by the techno-elite, figured out all they had to do was give people money, access to entertainment, and drugs and most people would be content. Mom told her that when the allotment kicked in, all her old friends who had lost jobs stopped protesting and started showing back up to the bar, even if they were served by a robot that took their job.
Drugs were a real problem. Zara wasn’t much for them, but many of her friends were. Her Mom had told her that a long time ago drugs were more dangerous, but these new drugs were less problematic. That revelation had taken Zara down another dark web research session to find out that the techno-elite, along with their AIs, even figured out how to create nearly perfect drugs. Minimal side effects, nearly impossible to overdose, low manufacturing costs. The bastards even named the main drug ‘soma’, from Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, the irony was lost on most as education wasn’t included in the basic needs covered by the government or the allotment. Zara knew though. She was too inquisitive, too smart, and always found the truth somewhere on the internet.
“Top grade soma” she called out, making sure to smile pleasantly, especially to the organics.
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Yes!! Yes! Yes!! Now...more please.
Wow. When you figure out how our masters, those who don't get an allotment, can retain and grow their profit after giving the rest of us an allotment, you will have predicted our future.