Eusebio’s Tale is the first bold instalment of the Way of Deep Time series, a prescient exploration of the intersection between humanity, nature, and technology.
The colectivo to Miraflores wasn’t too crowded today. Eusebio’s palms were sweating. He did not want to meet Zulema, and yet he must. She was his verse’s last hope. Maybe she would carry it in her lineup. Her lineup of unsuccessful verses for which she paid fire-sale prices. He wiped his hands on his horrid metallic robe and glanced around. Taking the colectivo was low status, and its occupants were entering the nicest neighborhood in Lima. No one riding it would be out to get status, he told himself. The Algorithm was weird, though. Some high-status people could pull off taking the colectivo. If you were slumming, for example, or conducting research. Or merely by being, mysteriously, cool.
I can’t afford to lose credits just by going outside. How am I supposed to live?
He glanced around at his fellow passengers. A woman dressed in a chiton more outdated than his robe held a rumpled microfiber bag to her chest, as if to shield herself from observation. A cleaning woman or servant of some sort. She was not making him lose credits in the algorithmic status matchups going on all about him. He turned to see who was behind him. He froze when he saw two young men staring back at him. They were wearing uniforms of some kind. What were they? They were young, smug. Menacing. Eusebio looked out the window. He was only about half a kilometer from Zulema’s office. He pushed the button to signal that he wanted to stop. The driverless vehicle drove past the stop. I must have waited too long to signal, Eusebio thought. It would stop at the next one. He pushed the button again, just to make sure. This time the vehicle halted in front of a public safety office.
Public safety offices were only for rich neighborhoods like Miraflores. Eusebio had never been inside one.
When he stepped off the colectivo, the two young men got out too. He looked over his shoulder. Their short black robes had yellow piping. Uniforms were not common in the Participating World. Were they security of some sort? People who committed crimes were taken away discreetly. The people doing the removal did not need uniforms.
Suddenly, one of the young men caught Eusebio’s shoulders from behind and swung him around.
“Eusebio Carranza.”
“Yes?” Who were these guys?
“Come inside with us. We want to show you something.”
The two men were younger than he, maybe twenty-three or twenty-five years old. They had short, bristly haircuts that looked very retro. They were both tall and muscular. Eusebio could not recall feeling physically intimidated in this way outside of a verse.
Eusebio looked up and down the street. The colectivo was now a hundred meters further along its route. A woman carrying a tiny pet dog in her arms looked away when she caught sight of him and the young men.
Wordlessly, one young man grasped Eusebio by the upper arm and escorted him the few steps into the public safety office. The other man held the door open. Eusebio was too surprised to resist.
The public safety office was very old. Definitely pre-war. The floor was polished concrete and was the color of liver. Liver with black and white flecks. Eusebio shrugged the hand off his arm.
Across the room a dragon lady sat at a desk. She was just the sort of person he imagined would be ensconced in a public safety office. Her make-up and hair were wonders of taste and skill—some technician had recently attended to both. In front of the desk were two genteel leather chairs, suitable for residents of Miraflores to rest in while they unloaded their polite grievances. The woman smiled at him reassuringly.
“Sit down,” said the old woman to Eusebio. Her voice was both syrupy and sharp, Eusebio thought.
When he was seated, she shot a look at the young thugs and asked, “Who is this?”
“Eusebio Carranza.”
“Ah.” The woman examined a screen in her desk, then looked up.
Through bejeweled eyeglasses, she appraised his haircut, his robe, his shoes. He could almost feel the last credits draining out of his account.
“You are without an income stream. How is this? Participation is your birthright, mijo.”
She was not going to pretend to be a sweet old woman, then. Calling him mijo—my son—was condescending, contemptuous. But more than being offended, Eusebio felt alarm. Why were they doing this?
A semi-holograph projector dropped down before him. Images and sound followed.
A manly figure stood before him, folded his arms, and smiled knowingly. Then the words “Public Service—New Lifestyles and Credit Streams for Discerning Participants” appeared. A sunny, grassy field replaced the man. Young men with hair and uniforms like those of the two thugs exercised vigorously. Then music played, and the men sprang to their feet. What were they doing with their hands? The men were saluting an older man.
Finally, strange aircraft flew through a stormy sky. The craft shot pink and green energy weapons and spun about acrobatically. The music rose to a crescendo. Then the holograph faded.
The two thugs had disappeared. Eusebio was alone with the old woman, who took off her elaborate, decorative eyeglasses and smiled at him eagerly.
“What do you think? Aren’t they magnificent?”
“Who?”
“Our boys. This is what the world has been missing. Sacrifice. Honor. Obedience to a supreme will.”
“This is…”
“Yes. An army.”
“But why do we need an army? Who is there to fight?”
The woman looked past him. “I don’t know. I don’t think it matters. It’s the army that matters. It’s so beautiful.”
The woman looked lost in thought. Eusebio stood and walked quickly out of the building.
Eusebio’s Tale is the first bold instalment of the Way of Deep Time series, a prescient exploration of the intersection between humanity, nature, and technology.