IN (1)

A desert expanse waits outside the room windows, but that only encourages Carson to return to his INdivan  beside the others arrayed in a fantastic digital design. The  room, unlike the dystopic images from many of your choice of twentieth century films and novels, was bright, coloured in waves of pixels and windows to the outdoors. It was not unpleasant at all, and there was choice. There were real options for those of us who had not as yet fully opted IN. 

Carson had to admit at this point that he was likely more IN than not. He hadn't paid attention to this stats lately. He recalled Petra suggesting that this was the first sign that he would go all  IN at some point. Whether or not you simply felt that it took too much energy to check, or whether it was the fatigue that comes from continually confronting the possibility of loss, not knowing how much time you were IN indicated something, she said. "It means that you've got a preference. That you're leaning toward IN. That you go OUT for a break, but you know you're going back IN. That you're always measuring the time that way." This memory was from a while back. Carson can't be specific about it. He's rummaging about in his mind for the last memory he's had of a conversation with Petra. Was that it? Smiling, he thinks that he might try google it. Of course it will be logged, to be found somewhere ing the v-base. Every room had one. He turns from the window to Petra lying on her IN-divan beside him. He wants to touch her, to awaken her. Only his respect for the freewill protocols stop him. From withIN he's can invite her OUT, but she retains full right to her bodyspace.

You'd think that since most were IN for most of the time that the scan would not take long. Still the range of vocabulary people use during an OUTmoment is quite narrow. What word could he search that would be unique to that one conversation? His memory reels. Resisting the siren call of his INdivan he stands at one of the upright datadocks and keys in 'Petra.' Ten thousand and twenty-two results, beginning with the most recent whose first frame includes Petra and the form of a woman named Naomi. Carson realizes his error immediately. Now he'll want to know more. How many OUTmoments has Petra taken since the last one they had? With whom? Was she forgetting? Why wasn't he? He refines his search prompts: 'Petra,' and 'INtime.' 

As he waits he feels the room fill with the unison susurrant breathing of the INs. This was touted as one of the marvels of going IN, that to Carson had seemed so banal at the time. One brochure header he'd read went: "go IN, get INtune!" How long ago was that? His self-mem was in decline. Bits and pieces - pastiches - unassimilable bits. A headline or an image without context. How long had he had these questions? Didn't he have a recollection of the datadocks being busy? Of having to go IN if he wanted to get data-time? Why was he the only one standing now, in the bright light of the sun? Why did the white sun seem so near? And the sand outside - had it always so fully surrounded the room?

The desolation was expansive and gorgeous. Blue sky. Tan-red sand sifting in the wind around the trunks of trees that remained a miraculous green. He thought he remembered talk of subterranean irrigation. He thought he remembered talk of the appreciation of this new aesthetic: barren-lush.