It started earlier that morning. A slight tingling in her toes that slowly progressed throughout the day to encompass her entire body. She forgot exactly when, but around noon the tingling changed into a quiet hum, making her think that she was suddenly capable of producing her own music. Sometimes the volume would increase, forcing Betty to sit while everything around her was drowned by the overwhelming beats. She would clench her hands between her thighs and squeeze her eyes shut, allowing brilliant blotches of color to form musical notes that danced in her head. She would rock until her body reached a crescendo, the notes exploding into a firework of smaller ones. Then suddenly the rocking would stop. The notes would fizzle into blackness as the hum receded to a calming pulse, and then finally back to a tingle.

Betty stared into the mirror and watched as the grains of her reflection merged into a single black-and-white image, then layers of prime colors were added until her reflection matched her outfit. She ran her fingers along the thin fabric of her dress and lifted the hem until she could see the elastic lace bordering the top of her stockings. She pressed a scented strip of her favorite fragrance against the skin of her thigh and waited until it adhered before she carefully pealed it off. The aroma of dried flowers perspired from her pores, sweetening her natural odor.

She was mesmerized by the hem of her dress as it unfolded back in place around her legs when she stood straight. She had been patient for so long, denying those arousing desires that threatened to end her hiatus before it was time. But something, perhaps the tingling in her toes, was signaling that her wait was about to end.

Satisfied that everything was in place, Betty waved good-bye to her reflection and the image dissipated into colorless granules before the screen returned to one of her favorite self-portraits. She took the lift down twenty-three stories to the platform level. She didn’t have to wait outside her quarters long before the shuttle arrived. She spoke her destination as she stepped on board and the electronic connector chimed from inside her handbag, confirming that it had enough currency for the ride.

The sound of her heels on the floor gates of the shuttle drew the attention of the other passengers. Most of them were dressed in orange, form-fitting jumpsuits that announced they were the night shift, those responsible for the continuous operation of the station.

Betty moved farther in until she found an empty seat next to the holographic transponder. A news broadcast of an interview with Public Representative Watts was showing. He was answering a question from a reporter about his repeated attempts to get New Brazil a seat at the UN. If it had been any other night, Betty might have been mildly interested, but tonight her mind was focused on one thing, finding someone special enough to share the daylight with.

An automated voice announced that they were approaching the restaurant, and Betty moved towards the sliding doors before the shuttle stopped. Her bag chimed once more as she stepped onto the passageway where a Botz greeted her.

“Good evening and welcome to Gen,” it said as the door to the restaurant slid open.

The tingling returned, sweeping through her like a blast of artificial air. It put her senses on edge and she knew that whoever she was looking for was somewhere inside. Instinct took over and she lifted her head to a more confident angle. She walked across the floor in even, seductive strides designed to draw attention. When she arrived at the podium there were two couples ahead of her waiting to be seated. She knew it would be polite to wait her turn, but she wasn’t in the mood. She had waited long enough. Besides, nice people were attracted to niceness and the rising hum pulsating up from her toes was anything but polite.

“I have a reservation for one with a party of four,” Betty said, stepping alongside the other couples.

The maître d' lifted her head and a pair of bright green eyes set in rich, chocolate skin stared back at Betty.

Pre-genetic alteration, Betty thought as the hostess stepped from behind the podium, showing off the full length of her evening gown. The strings of music vibrating inside of Betty ceased when the woman smiled.

The hostess wore a bronze dress that complimented her complexion and stirred Betty’s taste buds for spiced cinnamon. The neckline narrowed in the center and curved under her left breast where the material finally met just below her hips and fell open.

“Betty?” the maître d' said. “Please follow me.”

Her accent was Spanish. No, wait. Latin. And it started the tingling in Betty’s toes again. The back of the dress was low-cut, and Betty fought the urge to reach out and see if her skin felt as velvety as it appeared.

The hostess pulled out the table’s single chair and slightly shifted her weight, allowing the dress to fall a little wider. She waved her hand over the holographic image of the word ‘Reserved’, causing it to disappear, and laid the napkin across Betty’s lap.

“Do let me know if you require further assistance,” she said.

“The nano second I need something, you’ll be the first to know.”

It was the roll of her hips as she walked away that made Betty wonder if the hostess was a dancer. She’d never had a dancer before.

Betty waved her EC over the reader and waited until the virtual keyboard appeared on the table. She typed in her UNet ID and hit ‘Connect’.

Two thin slats at the far end of the table opened and four images of the word “Connecting” were projected in front of her. She placed two wireless ear buds into her ears, logged in to the restaurant’s network, and entered her table number to select the audio port.

One by one the four images came to life.

“We were wondering when you were going to show,” Trish said.

“Sorry I’m late,” Betty said as she waved her hand through the ‘Place Order’ button and selected a cocktail.

Trish and Betty had gone to the same college and had become best friends despite having never physically met. Only one percent of the global population still attended schools. With room and board prices sky-rocketing because of outrageous insurance costs, most students earned their degrees virtually.

“So where are you connecting from this time, Betty?” Laurel asked.

Betty’s goal was to try each restaurant in New Brazil. She had been living on the space station for a little over a year and only had a few left on her list.

New Brazil—or New B as its inhabitants referred to her—was the largest international space station and the only one permitted to orbit Earth. It had just over one million inhabitants and Betty spent five years going through the application and interviewing process to be selected as one of the doctors to participate in the space program.

“I’m in a new restaurant that just opened up in the Eastern Sector,” she said as her waiter placed a Moon Beam on the table and then quietly backed away.

“Was that a Syn?” Trish’s AA asked.

Every fortnight the four girls connected, and each time Trish had a different Animating Avatar. Most people selected an AA and it became their virtual identity, but Trish changed hers each time she connected. No one really knew what she looked like, but in 2199 no one really cared.

“It’s one of the newer models,” Betty said.

Syns were different than Botz. Botz were gardeners, trash collectors, mechanics and deliverymen. They retained their natural roBotic look and feel, but more importantly they were considered machines and could never be elevated to employee status.

Synthetic Beings, however, were programmed to work closely with humans yet remain autonomous in their job responsibilities. It wasn’t until about a century ago that the government finally allowed companies to fill service positions with Syns, but they still had to maintain at least a 20% human workforce (where humans were defined as non artificial beings or non post-genetically altered, manufactured, or replicated gynoids or any derivation thereof).

Syns were designed to express a variety of emotions to help put their customers and human counterparts at ease. They were nurses, waiters, traffic policemen and office workers.

“He doesn’t look artificial at all,” Laurel said.

“The engineer that designs this model lives here on New B,” Betty explained.

“So when are they going to make Syns anatomically correct?” Laurel asked.

“Only you would think about having sex with a Syn,” Corla said.

“C’mon. That would be big money. Just think about the number of lonely people who could benefit from some Syn attention.”

“That’s unethical.” Corla’s AA reflected her disgust by running a simple algorithm that analyzed the tone and pitch of her voice.

“Ethics have no place in generating currency,” Trish said.

“If it did, we’d still be in the dark ages,” Laurel added.

Betty shook her head. “I saw an interview the engineer gave on ‘O’. He said that he’d never let that happen as long as he lived.”

Trish snorted. “They’ll just wait till he’s dead then.”

“So how’s the job hunting going, Trish?” Corla asked.

“You won’t believe it!” Trish said, a signal that she had something juicy to share.

“What?” the girls said, their AAs leaning forward.

“They want me to work in an office.”

The table went silent.

“What?”

“Are you serious?”

Trish’s AA nodded. “Can you believe it?”

No one went to work anymore—well unless you had a Critical Pass. CPs were given to restaurant workers, couriers or people with legitimate reasons for commutation, like dog walkers. Most jobs could be handled via BlakHole, the global network connecting all electronic transactions. Everyone else was given a Social Pass, which suited most people just fine. No one wanted a CP.

Betty was a doctor in New B and even she didn’t have a Critical Pass. Her patients went to a Medical Station where a machine scanned their vitals and a report was sent to her via BlakHole. She would then send a medical diagnosis to her patients’ electronic personal assistant. Afterwards, they visited the nearest Medical Dispensary to receive their medication.

“So I hope you turned them down,” Betty said.

“Of course. I told them that they couldn’t pay me enough to come to work.”

Laurel’s AA interrupted. “My brother works at one of those Human and Syn Management consulting firms and he said that a lot of companies in South America are trying to bring back office hours.”

“Why?” Trish asked.

“Yeah, that sounds awful. Just think about the loss in productivity,” Betty said.

“But he says that companies are willing to sacrifice a few hours of productivity to get back that creative flare. He said that companies are losing touch with humanity and feel we should do more things together.”

“Why would we want to do things together again?” Betty said.

Corla’s AA cleared its throat, and everyone sighed. “I don't know, Betty. There was something special about those times.”

“Give it a rest, Corla. Everything ancient is romantic to you,” Laurel said.

“You need to get laid girl,” Trish said. “Get laid and it’ll relax you. You take life too seriously. No one wants to go back to holding hands again.”

“Yeah, remember the last plague? A simple virus wiped out 65% of our population in six months, Corla. Six months,” Betty said.

“I don’t think that could happen again,” Corla said.

“Of course not. We’ve finally gotten smart about human and Syn contact,” Trish said.

“What about you, Trish?” Corla asked. “You have two kids and that required some touching.”

The AAs went silent again as everyone stared at Laurel, waiting for her reaction.

“Trish, what is she talking about?” Laurel finally asked.

“The asteroid’s heading for Earth now,” Betty said and ordered another Moon Beam.

Trish had her children the antiquated way. They declined pre-genetic testing and instead rolled the dice and hoped for the best. They were lucky of course. Their two children were healthy and happy, but as they aged no one knew what kind of diseases or illnesses they were predisposed to developing.

“Don't you think you’re putting your children at a disadvantage?” Laurel asked.

Laurel was a huge proponent of pre-genetic testing. Her sister had children the antiquated way and one of them developed Leukemia and died at the age of ten.

“No I do not,” Trish said. “You are here because your forefathers were disadvantaged and yet survived.”

“That is the poorest excuse I’ve ever heard. Our forefathers also used fecal matter to grow their food and I don’t think we’ll be doing that again!” Laurel said.

“I’m sorry, Trish,” Corla said. Everyone knew how Laurel felt about any of the old methods.

“Okay ladies, new subject,” Betty said and snapped her fingers. “I just saw the most gorgeous creature living-kind has created.”

Trish was happy for the change. “Ooh, do tell. What did he look like?”

“Not a he, a she,” Betty said.

“Well I’m definitely interested,” Laurel said leaning forward again.

“You find anything walking attractive,” Corla said to Laurel.

“No, this one’s truly a work of art,” Betty said. “She’s a dancer.”

“So did you get her UNet?” Trish asked.

“Not yet.” Betty winked.

“No wonder you can’t keep a man, Betty,” Laurel said. “You have a serious attention span problem.”

As if on cue, the green-eyed hostess appeared to Betty’s left, halting the conversation. She laid the plate on the table. “Here you are: Seitan, freshly made here on the station and served on a bed of spinach organically grown in our Agriculture Quarters, a tangy artichoke heart pate, and raw zucchini marinated in a light olive oil vinaigrette.”

Betty raised an eyebrow and looked at the holograms. “Delicious.”

Trish was the first to comment when the hostess left. “Oh, Betty. She is absolutely scrumptious.”

“How old is she?” Corla asked. “She doesn’t look a day over nineteen.”

“Then she’s legal, Betty, and I say go get her,” Laurel said.

Trish joined in. “Because if you don’t, I will.”

“Even I know that’s a bunch of asteroid’s crap, Trish,” Corla said. “You’ve been with one man for over 13 years. You wouldn’t know what to do with a girl that young.”

“Ooh, Corla’s finally growing some,” Laurel said.

“And you would?” Trish asked.

It was Corla’s silence that gave her away. Betty dropped her fork, and it clanged against the shiny, magnetized plate. “Have you been holding out on us, Corla?”

Her AA smiled. “I’m not the kind to kiss and tell.”

“You’re not the kind to kiss, let alone—”

Betty interrupted Trish before she said something she’d regret. “Okay spill it, Corla. Who is he? How’d you meet him?”

“And is he any good in bed?”

“Laurel!” Corla said.

“Oh give it a rest. It’s the only thing we really want to hear about anyway,” Betty said. “So go on.”

After a few more minutes of prodding, Corla finally gave in and told them that her mystery man was indeed good in bed. Betty gasped, Laurel laughed, and Trish sat in silence as their sweet, conservative Corla explained, in detail, just how good.

The restaurant was closing by the time they were finished, and Betty waved her EC across the scanner to pay.

“It sounds like you and your friends had a lovely night,” the hostess said from behind.

Betty turned around. “It doesn’t seem fair that you know my name and I still don’t know yours.”

The hostess introduced herself as Mistral.

“So are you in school?”

“I’m at the university.” There was only one institute for higher education on New B.

“What’re you studying?

“Adaptive Sciences,” Mistral said.

Betty stood, stared into those green eyes, and leaned against the table. “So what time do you get off?”

Mistral shrugged, indicating the shawl wrapped around her shoulders. “Five minutes ago.”

The hum in Betty’s toes returned as she tucked Mistral’s arm under hers. “I know the perfect place.”

They left the restaurant and the Botz stationed outside wished them farewell.

“So you’re a student,” Betty said. “And here I thought you were a dancer.”

“I teach a class at the university to help pay tuition.”

“Please state your destination,” the shuttle voice said as they stepped on board.

“Sector 9, the Astronaut’s Quarters,” Betty said.

Mistral twirled down the narrow aisle as the shuttle departed. “AQ sounds like fun.”

“You don’t look old enough to get in The Quarters,” Betty said as she sat down in one of the empty seats farthest from the HT. The shuttle was empty except for a single passenger who was asleep with his head bent forward.

Mistral grabbed the overhead railing above Betty and bent forward so that she could lower her voice. “I’m old enough.”

The shuttle slowed a few minutes later and a bell rang, awaking the other passenger. The electronic voice told him that they had arrived at his destination, and he alighted. The HT was showing a report about something happening on Earth, but Betty was focused on the woman swaying up and down the aisle. She had asked the universe to send her someone special, and after five years of waiting, it was finally happening.

They rode through the different sectors in silence. Mistral entertained Betty with her dancing until the shuttle announced that they were in the Astronaut’s Quarters.

“This is my first time here,” Mistral said as they stepped onto the smooth metal grate of the platform. “I’ve always wanted to come here. I took my finals earlier today and now I want to have some fun after all that studying.”

Betty squeezed her hand as she led them down the passageway. “Then we must celebrate.”

Cloud Strat was the busiest nightclub on the station and the queue stretched to the end of the grid, but Betty got them in with no problem. One of her old nurses moved to New B with her husband almost six years ago and opened this spot. Over the years it had gone from a restaurant to a bar and finally Strat.

The music was pumping and the dance floor was packed with young, well-toned bodies gyrating to the beat. No one landed on New B if they weren’t thin, healthy, and the best in their profession.

A waitress circulated throughout the crowd giving drinks to everyone until her tray went empty. The club’s high cover charge paid for unlimited Halos, a pale blue drink that was rumored to be a combination of shuttle fuel and asteroid piss. There was a bar for special order drinks, but most people stuck to the Halos since it all got you to the same place.

It was impossible to hear over the music so Betty and Mistral joined the frenzy on the floor expressing their attraction with jerky, rhythmic movements. They danced in a group and with one another until the music lowered and the DJ announced the time.

Mistral looked at Betty and they both joined in the screams of excitement. It was minutes before sunrise and everyone was rushing to the back wall where a floor-to-ceiling window gave one of the best views of a sun’s reappearance on New B.

Betty grabbed Mistral’s hand and fought her way through the crowd rushing at them. When they reached the bar, Betty climbed on top and helped Mistral so she wouldn’t rip her dress. The barman gave them each a Halo and the room grew silent. The music was turned off and everyone joined hands as their eyes stared out into the disappearing darkness. Betty held on to Mistral as they both waited for the first ray of light to arc over Earth.

They stayed at Cloud Strat for a few hours more before Betty suggested that they go back to her place. They decided to walk and enjoy the sunlight shining through the protective glass encircling New B.

Betty stumbled into her flat with Mistral in her arms. They didn’t make it past the hallway before their hormones took over and they made love on the floor.

It was another half hour before they moved to the bedroom. Mistral wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep when she felt the bed shift. She opened her eyes and Betty was sitting beside her. A slow satiated smile crossed Mistral’s face as she tried to reach out and stroke Betty’s back, but something tightened painfully around her wrist. Mistral looked up and saw that a thin wire secured to the headboard tied her hands. Instinctively she tried to move her legs but they too were restrained. She was about to say something when Betty leaned over and kissed her.

“I’ve been waiting so long for you.”

Mistral sobered as panic took hold.

Betty reached for the remote on the bedside table. She pushed the power button and the back wall slowly parted, allowing orange and yellow sunlight to heat the room.

“Oh don’t cry,” Betty said as she lifted her scalpel. “It’s only your eyes I want.”