A Splendid Future
DANIELE LIPPI
Translated by
GIOVANNI FROSIO
Copyright © Daniele Lippi
All rights reserved.
Copyrights and translation rights are reserved. No part of this book can be used, copied or diffused by any means without written consent by the author.
The story narrated in this book is the fruit of the author’s fantasy. Therefore, it’s not autobiographic. Any reference to names, things, existing or past people, or actually happened facts is merely casual.
“Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning?
I almost think I can remember feeling a bit different.
But if I’m not the same, the next question is: Who in the world am I?”
Lewis Carroll
To all the people I meet on the trains every morning
CONTENTS
| Thanks | ||
| Chapter 1 | 1 | |
| Chapter 2 | 6 | |
| Chapter 3 | 14 | |
| Chapter 4 | 20 | |
| Chapter 5 | 27 | |
| Chapter 6 | 34 | |
| Chapter 7 | 43 | |
| Chapter 8 | 51 | |
| Chapter 9 | 64 | |
| Chapter 10 | 75 | |
| Chapter 11 | 80 | |
| Chapter 12 | 97 |
A big Thanks to you, who are reading these pages.
For further information:
https://io-daniele.wixsite.com/daniele-lippi
CHAPTER 1
Fred, in this late-autumn dark late afternoon, was walking on the crowded Main Street of Neo Apuania.
It was almost winter, but it wasn’t cold. To tell the truth, it hadn’t been cold anywhere for a long time. The last real winter was lost in the childhood memories of his generation’s grandparents.
Sometimes his father used to complain about it, but Fred didn’t like the cold. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t be so sad and angry for the disappearance of that season as other people.
He was a normal person, not a privileged schoolboy. He had no time for such things, he had to figure out how to earn his daily bread. No losing time talking about climate and other things that, in his vision, were just that way; sterile words and pointless heated debates wouldn’t surely make the difference, also because, as far as he could remember from the few history lessons he paid attention to when he was at school, it was more than four centuries that people talked about it.
Fred had always considered himself a practical guy, with his feet on the ground, so his answer was always the same: If you really care so much about winter, stop talking and do something.
Meanwhile, as his thoughts kept on lingering about the real winter he’d never known, constantly pushed by and pushing people crowding the street around him, he reached his destination.
He looked up at the three-dimensional sign above his head: GI Labs.
He stood for a moment staring it, while the other passers-by bumped into him as stupid zombies against an obstacle. Zombies. After seeing a movie on the living dead when he was a child, Fred used to see that way the mass of people crowding the streets at any time of day and night. Zombies.
He kept staring at the sign and, for the first time in many months, he was struck by doubt. Do I really want to do it? He asked himself. Your life will be better, he told himself, repeating as a mantra those few words full of hope. A hope he was already losing, and he didn’t want to give up.
I won’t become a zombie too, he told himself, as he kept being pushed about by that multitude of anonymous people passing by him. Those creatures seemed to him an endless river of resignation to survival for its own sake. No, I won’t give up, he told himself, I don’t want to give up, he repeated, and closing his eyes once more he swore to himself his life would be better than that.
Behind him, the deafening hum of the engine of a passenger shuttle soaring towards the directional canal a few metres above his head brought his thoughts back to the present. He looked one last time at the fluctuating hologram of the sign and then he took a step forward, the door opened and he entered.
The door closed behind him, chasing away the noises of the street. He found himself in a clean space dominated by white. Armchairs, chairs, tables, floor, walls, ceilings, everything was shiny white plastic. A space more sterile than an operating room and more blinding than a dentist lamp.
A robot on a wheel silently appeared beside him. From its torso up it had the features of a woman, but with deliberately angular features. “Welcome to the Genetic Investigation Laboratories.” it said with a calm and relaxing voice “First level personal identification!” it added, while a thin translucent screen appeared from a slot at the height of its stomach.
Fred put his right hand on it.
“Alfred Baghezzi!” the robot exclaimed “Welcome!”
“Just Fred, thanks!
“Alfred” the robot repeated.
“I prefer to be called Fred. Thanks,” he repeated.
“Alfred.” the robot repeated.
Fred sighed, robots could be so stupid, he complained “Let’s move on”.
“Second level personal identification, please,” the robot uttered, leaning forward “Look straight into my eyes, Alfred”.
He did so, staying still for the instant needed by the machine to scan his irises and compare them with the continental data bank. “Alfred Baghezzi” the robot confirmed, returning to its original rigid posture.
Fred was going to head towards the counter when the robot quickly stepped before him “Chronicle Acquisition!”
Fred
