This story began as part of a free SF writing contest on LitReactor way back in 2013. I think the requirements beyond the genre included some believable technology and a non-human character. It was an interesting enough prompt and I had fun writing my entry. The real challenge was a test of courage–the first time I’d dare let anyone outside my writing group and family read something I’d written. After a lot of nail-biting, I posted it and eventually won a read from a professional. It was a fantastic learning experience. Even better, I found the confidence to try sending out other stories. It became my second published work and appeared in Plasma Frequency Magazine. 

AffirmNation

by Wendy Hammer

Starrr awoke to the faint but undeniably funky slap of a bass guitar and a lively horn section. Still groggy, she tried to bury her head under her pillow. It did no good; the sound was being pumped into her ear via implant. 

“C’mon, Mo, just five more minutes!” she grumbled. 

The music just got louder, then a tiny pulse of stimulant was released from her infusion pump. Starrr sat upright and kicked off the covers. “Fine!” Another pulse coupled with the jangly tunes turned her potentially sour mood back to sweetness. She sailed through her morning cleansing routine. 

You look beautiful this morning, Starrr. Today is going to be a wonderful day. The voice, Male Preset #5: British baritone variation, was smooth and natural sounding. 

She shivered slightly. “Thanks, Mo,” she said. She should probably adjust the voice, but she liked the intimacy of Mo’s current setting. She was not in a dating rotation at the moment and she liked having a sexy voice whispering low in her ear. She felt a prickle of displeasure. Being alone wasn’t always . . . Mo dispelled the negativity with a dose of euphoric. She finished her hair and makeup with a big relaxed smile on her face. 

You’re doing great.

Starrr noticed that her outfit for the day was starting to fray at the edges of the green armband. It was good that the new season was going to be distributed soon; these pieces weren’t built to last. She thought briefly about using her Discretionary Credits for an extra change of clothing to tide her over, but knew she wouldn’t. She had her heart set on something else. 

She grabbed her inset monitor from the dresser and clicked it into place. The action triggered a minute surge of electricity. Her body hummed in pleasure for a split-second, and then the screen glowed and came to life. That was better. Until the piece was nestled in her forearm she felt naked, incomplete. 

Like everyone else born in the generations since the Universion, she’d been connected to an AFIRMOS since she was a toddler. Her grandparents had often spoken of how difficult the changeover had been for them when they were kids. Her granddad, in particular, had chafed at it. Starrr had never really understood him. He made strange contorted faces and often raised his voice. Mo always had to administer stronger Adjustments when her grandparents came to visit, so her memories of him were a bit fuzzy around the edges. Their time together usually ended with Grandpa’s tranqued snores rumbling from the couch. 

Better get going if you want time for breakfast. 

Starrr moved out into the living area. Singles’ units were small, but adequate. She felt comfortable, just as she was meant to. Even the paint had been chosen for maximum Affect Lift. Her test had resulted in a match to solferino: a brilliant red-purple. She never tired of it. 

She picked out a food bowl and two supplement packets. The aroma crystals were activated as she mixed the oatmeal and banana essences into the paste. It was fortunate that chemists had perfected the flavoring agent before the fruit had gone extinct. “Worst, first,” she said and ate the packets. They tasted like sweet rice and oranges. Not bad, but she wasn’t a huge fan of citrus. Mo gave her a little nudge of appetite enhancer and she briefly wished she had another packet to eat. Starrr took a quick drink from the bubbler mounted on the wall to clear her palate. 

Excellent! You didn’t need a reminder today. Mo administered her daily dose of vitamins and maintenance meds. Hydration was encouraged. 

She ate while she listened to her mail. It was all fairly standard, mostly public notifications and ads. Starrr had just taken the first bite of her breakfast bowl when she got the message she’d been waiting a year for. With everything so connected these days, it was an almost unheard of delay. 

Congratulations! We have located your item. Upon receipt of 750 DCs, it will be delivered. Estimated arrival time is one day. —Antique Gaming Corp. 

Mo noted her rise in excitement and added, That’s brilliant. You deserve the best. 

Starrr ate the rest of her bowl and her spork in a hurry. She usually nibbled away at them because she liked to savor their crunchy sweet-saltiness. 

She turned her left forearm up, exposing her monitor. She touched the screen and activated her banking program. She’d been saving up for a long time for this. She made the transfer then updated her status on her social media cluster. 

Today was shaping up to be better than good. Today was going to be totally awesome. 

#

“Starrr. Have you had a chance to look at the server yet?” 

The sound of her own name made her tune into the extra-aural environment. The shift from the normal turned-in state to the outside was smooth enough. The music track she’d been listening to while she worked faded, and her ears filled with the sounds of the room. Public areas usually hummed with a constant stream of voices. 

She looked up from her workstation and smiled in recognition: Barnjamin. They’d been in adjoining wards during their Adolescent Recoveries. She’d always liked him well enough, but she was never quite able to suppress the memory of his face, pre-surgery. She wondered if he had the same issue with her. 

Starrr answered, being careful to include the identification tag, just in case he’d turned-in. “Barnjamin. Yes. I’m waiting for the disk check to complete. You know that always takes a while.”

He nodded and gave her the thumbs up. “Starrr. Once it’s finished do you think you could update the network wiring diagram for Machine Room Eight?” 

Before Starrr could reply, Barnjamin’s eyes went soft and faraway. His attention had been pulled by his own AFIRMOS; he’d turned-in. Barnjamin said, “Thanks, Arthur. A headache would be most unpleasant. I’ll hydrate in a moment.” His gaze sharpened once more when he was finished, so she knew it would be all right to answer. 

She nodded. “Barnjamin. No need to wait.” Starrr tapped her arm to close down the news stream she’d been viewing and got up. 

You’re so good at this. Your instructors would be proud. 

She flushed with pleasure. Like all schoolchildren, she’d been assured she had done well at everything, but like everyone, she’d eventually found herself in more and more specialized training classes. She’d liked school and she liked her job. Starrr got back to work. 

Mo rewarded her with a kiss of dopamine. 

Between a steady stream of encouragement and a few judicious Adjustments, Starrr’s daily thirteen-hour shift felt like it was over before it began. 

#

Starrr settled down on the couch with her dinner. It was a little awkward to watch a show while eating, but she’d mastered the skill. She cradled the bowl in the crook of her left elbow so she could eat and still see the screen most of the time. She’d selected a Romantic. It was a little hard to follow because they seemed to regularly introduce new characters, but it was worth it when someone finally made that love connection. The Comments always lit up in response.

She finished eating and changed programs. The most popular shows by far were the reality and competition shows. She activated Voice Participation Mode and selected an episode of Obstacle Course. She recognized some of the contestants as characters from other shows; they tended to get recycled. Starrr liked that. It helped her to figure out which contestants to root for.

This time she chose Flowrents, a character she’d liked on a show about a confused office worker thrown into a new job. Flowrents and her cohort had struggled through their cleanup of a dangerous old chemical dumpsite, but they’d completed it with minimal casualties. Starrr had liked how Flowrents had been such a good team player. The woman was looking haggard, but Starrr thought she had it in her to finish. “Go, Flow, go!” she cheered. Starrr was happy to see her comment appear in the scroll. 

Flowrents made it through the first half of the course but lost her balance when the pie guns blasted her off a narrow beam. The close-up of her crying face covered in CreamSub made Starrr laugh. Her reaction registered in the comments as “LOL.” It was one of many. Quite a few “Stupid bitch” and “Idiot!” comments also appeared. Starrr added her voice to the supporters when she exclaimed, “You’ll finish in the Second Round!”

Starrr took an immediate dislike to the next contestant, a young man who kept yelling something about “sheeple.” He just stood there, talking. The Comments were merciless. Eventually he was disqualified and was shooed off the course by a high-pressure water hose. He was going to have to do a lot better next time. Some shows were not as forgiving as this one. Starrr didn’t feel particularly generous either, and added a final derogatory when she shouted, “Jerk, loser! Learn how to run!” It felt so daring. She felt energized, clean. She liked the purging process. 

Nice one, Starrr. You’re so funny.

When the show was over, she spent the next hour or so checking in on forums. They were generally lively and informative. Once she got sucked in, she didn’t want to leave, but when Mo gave her the first nudge of sedative she took the hint and slipped into bed. 

Good night, dear one. Sweet dreams. Tomorrow is going to be a fantastic day.

Starrr began to murmur a response, but succumbed to sleep before she could finish. 

#

The next day was a struggle. Starrr wanted to focus, wanted to be good and productive, but the excitement over the delivery was too strong for her to handle on her own. Mo had been forced to make a few more Adjustments to her than usual. Eventually they found the right balance and she made it through her shift. 

The transport home was filled to capacity. So many yellow armbands made her think that one of the bigger factories must have altered their shifts again. The crowding didn’t matter. Everyone was turned-in to an AFIRMOS, so there was no friction. Starrr distracted herself with some classic tunes. She hummed along until the transport reached her stop. 

Starrr walked the short distance from stop to tower with an extra spring in her step. She pushed open her door and there it was waiting for her. She squealed with delight. Her designated hobby space was now filled by an antique Centipede arcade game. The delivery service team had thoughtfully plugged the game in so it was ready to go. She inspected it carefully and was pleased to see that the cabinet was in excellent condition. It had faded a bit but there was no real damage. She ran her hands over the control panel. This was the key selling point for her. She’d fallen in love with the game on an emulator, but hungered for the real arcade experience. 

She started to play. It was everything she had hoped for and more. The trackball transformed the experience; there really was no substitute. She made her first life last a respectable amount of time and relished the chun-chun-chun sound that played as her score for the round was tallied. She was deep into a groove when the lines on the monitor appeared, disrupting her view. She lost a life and then the game froze. 

She stomped her foot and a little whine of discontent escaped her throat. Mo intervened. The calming Adjustment let her set aside her disappointment for a moment. “I’ve got this now, Mo.” She took a deep cleansing breath. 

Everything will be fine. You’ll succeed. 

She fetched her toolset, unplugged the machine, and opened the cabinet. The inside seemed cavernous and was lined with circuit boards. She smiled when she compared it to the much more powerful and versatile system cradled in her arm and housed in her body. 

She scanned the interior for burns, smoke, or any obvious loose connections. She checked the power supply and then turned her attention to the CRT, hoping there wasn’t a problem with the flyback. She reached out to grab a cable—and then her body was seized in a terrible, gripping cramp. She suddenly couldn’t move and felt a series of beating blows along her back. Her shoulders were forced to hunch around her ears. It was excruciating, but thankfully lasted only a few seconds. When it was over, she felt drained. The shock had been unpleasant but if there had been a real problem surely Mo would have done something. “Mo? Am I okay?”

There was a slight pause, a little fizz, and then Mo replied. Everything will be okaykay, Starrr. Systems chicking out nermal. 

“Thanks, Mo.” Starrr was still feeling woozy so she crawled out and made her way to her sleeping area. She didn’t even bother to remove her inset. She collapsed on the bed when a larger than usual dose of sedative knocked her out. She did not dream. 

#

Starrr climbed out of sleep with difficulty, to silence. “Mo?”

She heard a little hitch of static and then, to her relief, Good morning, Starrr. Apologies. You’re late. 

Her eyes widened. That had never happened before. She scurried out of bed, immediately got dressed, and rushed out the door. She hit the street running, but missed the transport by a half block. She stood there, breathing heavily, heart pounding, slightly sweaty. She was . . . agitated? “What do I do?” 

You’re late for work. Please report immediately. There was pop and Mo went silent. 

Her brow furrowed. She felt ill and unhappy; a foul taste filled her mouth. She needed to get to work. She could get help at the check-in point. When they did their routine scan they’d identify the problem and fix it. She’d get Mo back on track and get back to feeling like herself. 

Normally she would have waited for the next transport. Today she couldn’t muster up the patience. She began to walk; it felt strange and she didn’t like it much, but she kept going. What she was doing wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t seem right either. Unless they were on a cleaning crew or had become an addled Dazer, Citizens didn’t walk the streets much these days, especially between shifts. It made more sense to use the recreation zones and their climate-controlled paths for that sort of exercise.

She tried to follow the transport lines, but at a particularly complicated intersection she lost her bearings. Intuition usually guided her around. She would feel drawn to or repelled by a turn and she’d always find her way. It failed today. She was finding it difficult to focus. She’d feel listless one moment and wired the next. 

Eventually she reached a part of the city she’d never seen before. Fear gripped her. It eased when she finally located another transport stop. She’d never seen the Grayline before, but she figured that it would eventually take her somewhere she knew. 

People started to appear. That told her that the transport would arrive soon. Starrr had thought it would feel comforting to be surrounded by others again. Instead, she cringed away. They had vacant eyes and queer shuffling gaits. Some of them were holding in-turned conversations. Others were silent. She felt separate from them but she could see she belonged. Their armbands were gray, but they all wore the season’s clothes, just as she did. They all had variations of the same hairstyle, and thanks to the averaging surgeries, their faces all shared a core similarity. She should feel a connection, but she didn’t. She was alone. 

Mo remained quiet. 

When the transport arrived she got in with the rest. It felt good to sit down. It would feel even better to get back to a familiar area. 

The transport hovered off and things became more and more strange. They passed a few vacant lots and a large greenbelt before heading into a tunnel. They emerged on the other side and Starrr was confronted with something she’d never seen before outside of an ancient vid she’d caught Grandpa crying over one day, long ago. 

It was an honest to goodness neighborhood. With lawns. And porches. They had houses. They seemed so low and solid, not at all like the towers she was used to. Starrr gaped at the sights and gasped when she saw the people walking around. One couple held hands. A woman cradled a pudgy, smiling baby in her arms. A child toddled and almost lost her balance when her puppy pulled on its leash. 

She’d seen pets before, of course. You could get one with enough DCs, but you had to sacrifice your hobby space to do so. Dogs were a rarity because they required more food and attention. But here Starrr saw three in the space of a couple of minutes. One was a huge brute with what she had to admit was a particularly endearing face: moist brown eyes, pointy ears, and flappy jowls. 

The people all looked happy, but somehow also monstrous. Starrr guessed it was because they were all so varied. Some of their noses jutted out on their faces, others had small squashed buttons. Cheekbones, jawlines, and chins were off norm. Some carried extra weight; others were too gaunt. Between that and all the new hair and clothing styles, Starrr felt overwhelmed and a bit sick. Nobody else on the transport reacted. When the vehicle came to a halt they all plodded off. Starrr didn’t know what else to do but follow. 

Each of her fellow passengers made their way to a separate house. Most went right inside their assigned homes or got to work on their gardens. One of the men was pulled aside by his employer. He stood there, nodding dumbly. Soon Starrr was the only one from the transport left. 

“Mommy? Why is that Innard just standing there? Doesn’t she have work to do?” Starrr turned and saw a small boy pointing at her. She froze. “Why doesn’t she wear the gray?” The boy was hushed and the woman pulled him to her, encircling him with her arms. It was a protective, fearful gesture. Others began to gather. 

A man approached. “You there, what’s your name?” he demanded. 

Starrr responded, though she thought it odd that he didn’t begin with even the customary aural address break you’d use to a stranger. She had better manners. “Mister Citizen. My name is Starrr.” 

The man’s eyes widened and then narrowed. He pulled a device out of his pocket, pushing on a screen. It was almost like an inset . . . and then she noticed that none of these people had monitors. None of them were turned-in. She felt dizzy and couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She heaved in air but only felt more and more disconnected. She dropped. 

#

“Starrr, we have ourselves a serious problem here. What do you think we should do about it?”

“Don’t tease her, Frank. You know the Innards can’t handle it.” 

Two men slowly came into focus. Things sharpened when she felt the familiar push of a stimulant adjustment. She almost sighed with relief. 

“Ah, felt that, did you? Looks like your AFIRMOS is up and running again. You fried it good. Did it happen when you were fooling with that machine we found in your living unit?” He didn’t wait for her to answer and continued, “It doesn’t matter. It’s back at about ninety-five percent. We’ll get to that.” Frank’s accompanying smile was oily. 

The two men weren’t like her, not an . . . Innard. But they didn’t look quite as strange as the neighborhood people. They bore a strong resemblance to one another: dark hair, deep-set eyes, thin lips, and all. They both wore gray suits and ties. She cleared her throat. “Mister Citizen. What’s going to happen to me?”

Frank answered. “We’re not Citizens. We’re Middle Management.”

She paled. She didn’t really know what that meant but could tell it wasn’t good. Fred grunted and turned to Starrr. “It’s up to you. For whatever reason, you strayed off grid. Worse, you saw the Execs while awake. We can’t have that. It’ll throw off the balance. Productivity could take a hit. So, it’s decision time.”

Starrr swallowed and wished Mo would give her some reassurance. “Can’t I just go home? Go back to the way things were?”

Frank shook his head. “We used to try that. Almost never worked. With such poor odds we have to take that option off the table.”

“What about the neighborhood? Can I live there?”

Frank looked at her with some surprise and then turned to his partner. “She’s quicker than a lot of the others. I think we’ve got a live wire here, Fred.”

He turned to Starrr. “You can’t live there. Wrong class. Won’t happen.” He held up his hand, three fingers raised. “You’re lucky we believe in Waste Not, Want Not. Your new life comes down to three choices: Dazer.” He checked her reaction. 

She shook her head. Wandering the streets, sleeping in community wards, dazed from drugs, trapped in dreams? “No thanks.” 

He lowered the finger. “Domestic.” He saw no recognition. “Like the Innards on the transport. They’re like you, but it’s necessary to keep them turned-in tighter. Can’t have them talking.”

She shook her head, more tentatively this time. He lowered the second finger. “And the third?” Fred held up the last digit and said: “Character.” His mouth twisted with amusement and he glanced at Frank. “I always thought that should be another D. Maybe—Diuretic?” 

“Don’t be an ass.” Frank didn’t seem impressed with his twin. He took over, turned to Starrr and added, “As a Character you’d star in a number of the entertainment programs as your new job. You’d live in a new unit. You’d still get most Adjustments, but we need your emotions to be raw. No Affirmations. You’ll be given to the Comments. It’s all part of the purging, you understand.”

Starrr’s hopes fell. She wished Mo would tell her what to do. She twisted her hands together and shifted in her seat. Dazer. Domestic. She sighed. Her choice was clear. She wanted to be as close to her old life and as aware as she could be. Starrr lifted her head high. “Character.” 

Mo would have told her she’d done great. Mo would have said she was pretty and kind and smart—that she deserved the best. Mo would have made her feel safe.

Fred clapped his hands. “Oh, I was hoping you’d say that. Have we got a debut for you!” 

#

Starrr’s first appearance was on a brand new program called Play for Your Life. The premise was simple: opponents would compete at various games. The victor remained on the show and the loser would have their fate decided by Viewers’ Choice. 

The viewers would determine the Character’s new assignment. Some options were nice, comfortable, fun: romance serials, skill demonstrations, learning programs and the like. Other choices were far less safe and palatable. Starrr had flinched at the list and remembered howling with laughter at the agony of the Character’s defeats or worrying about the dangers they faced. She remembered crying for more. 

The first round interviews gave the audience time to pick favorites and villains. Popular characters might have a better shot at a positive outcome, a slim chance for kindness. Starrr understood how important the moment was, but it was hard to focus. The comment streams were piped simultaneously into her ear, filling her head. 

This is a new one. 

I like her. 

She’s got FAIL written all over her. 

Is she going to cry?

 LOL. 

It broke her a little to hear Mo’s voice now, but when the second round began she steeled herself and walked into the play area. 

She saw two things she recognized immediately: a quivering Flowrents and an antique Centipede machine. Starrr felt an unusual rush of excitement and fear. It wasn’t measured and regular, not an Adjustment. Her hands shook and she broke out in a sweat. 

The machine could be a good sign. Flowrents may have experience at being a Character, but Starrr knew the game. 

She could do this. “Bring it on.” Starrr spit out the words before remembering to smile. 

Bitch has balls! 

Way to go, Starrr!

You suck! 

Flowrents will p0wn!

At the signal, she faced the machine and placed her hands on the control panel, cupping the trackball in her palm. She turned her attention out to the game, and tried her best to ignore the near constant stream of viewer comments Mo was reciting in her ear. 

She began to play. 

It was time to see how good she really was.