4

The night promised to be beautiful. The moonlight added to the energy that emanated here with even greater force. The sky was a marker of happiness on earth. The landscape changed from minute to minute. Each time, it showed something different, yet the same thing. It had a dual meaning, though everyone interpreted it differently, more emotionally than… normally. Reason was playing tricks on everyone today. Her heart was making itself felt like never before. It seemed like nothing new, yet it made a colossal difference to someone who felt almost nothing. The breath of air was so fresh it seemed impossible. Artificial. One moment, you could be insignificant, and the next, you could rule the world. A wonderful feeling, and yet anyone who believed in it had already lost much. Too much.

Life began to change faster than anyone could have imagined. It took on new shapes, new faces. The future was approaching, richer with new events.

She could never understand why someone like him would date someone like her. She understood and saw many things, but this one would remain a mystery to her forever. He could have dated many people, yet he chose her. Wretched and without a trace of life. The only thing she associated it with was the empty taste of defeat. Nothing more. The night ended, and she already knew what would come. Pismo's

choice of life

had something special about it. Something anyone, even a layman, would notice. He had two reasons to start worrying.

First, the deadline for submitting applications for passage to the orbital station had passed yesterday; second, he no longer had time to attend to all the outstanding matters, which would now likely drag on forever, and he didn't like situations like that. The planetary station was already complete. Let's be honest, it was ninety-two percent complete, which gave a reasonable estimate that it would be fully completed in less than a year. A good astronaut would know that this wasn't much, considering the resources and time devoted to building this historic undertaking.

"It would be good if you and your crew could report to me tomorrow for their questionnaires," the gray-haired man said, lighting a small cigar.

"Fine, if that's okay with you," Clark replied.

"Yes, it would be nice to get this all over with. I don't like to put things off either." He paused briefly. "But I especially dislike failures, Mr. Clark. They're a pain in the ass, and you can be sure they're not a very pleasant affliction."

The man looked out the window. From here, he could see almost the entire city. On the horizon was a semicircular dome that would soon change a few things on this blue planet.

"I understand," Clark replied diplomatically. "If that's all, I'd like to leave," he said, and started toward the door.

The man turned and said,

"Remember, Mr. Clark, we're so far away that any unwanted surprises won't be a crutch, but a ballast." A burden so great that the mission's success could be undermined, and worse yet—the man tried to speak slowly, but was failing miserably—"we'll have to go back to the past to correct the mistakes we've made." He paused briefly. "And as you know, it's not easy to correct what you'd rather forget."

"I agree," Clark replied. "Perhaps that won't be necessary," he added.

"Yes," the man mused. "There are at least two paths to every destination, and I'll tell you a secret, we have at least a thousand possibilities here. It all depends on whether we choose wisely. Everything depends on that," he said, as if he didn't believe the power of those words. "Now, please leave," he announced. "See you tomorrow at the same time," he said, turning to the window.

Clark left the office.

The sky resembled a wondrous, almost utopian vision of a world that, for Clark and for ninety percent of the population, had never existed.

The world was heading in the wrong direction. Propaganda was rife with claims that, for example, being gay or lesbian made you trendy. Meaning, the more messed up you were, the better. He wondered if anyone still knew what normality meant. Months had passed since he'd signed up for the big project, and ever since then, he'd started observing people on the street. He hadn't seen anyone who could be considered a candidate for normality. Gender didn't matter. What mattered was that people were messed up in their heads, and worse yet, they knew it but weren't particularly willing to do anything about it. Why bother? After all, a life without problems wasn't a challenge for them. It was better to be a gray, low-quality person who, even though they knew it was sick, imitated people from music videos on billboards. They looked for everything different and sicker and ignored it. That was the world of today.

"Mr. Clark, please wake up, the normalizer has been working on you for three hours now. Isn't that too long for one session?"

A young, short, graceful woman removed the helmet-like device from his head.

"You were here yesterday," she paused, as if unsure what to say. "Using the normalizer too often can disrupt your sense of reality, and that wouldn't be good."

Clark glanced at her. She was a pleasant blonde who cared about his health. Worse still, there was some truth in what she was saying.

"Yes, I think I fell asleep," he replied.

The woman smiled.

"It's okay, but the normalizer only works when you're in full contact with reality, so there's no need to use it while you're asleep." With that, she finished preparing the device for the next patient.

"Yes, I know," Clark replied. However, he had the distinct impression that it wasn't working for him. The normalizer worked flawlessly during sleep, just as well as, as she so aptly put it, contact with reality.

"I hope I won't have to use it soon," he said, a little louder than he intended.

"Certainly, Mr. Clark, certainly."

He left the office.

A week later,

the shuttles flew sometimes low, sometimes high. No one really knew what they were supposed to be doing. No one looked further than the tip of their noses. No one noticed that instead of the usual four trails left by such objects, this time they left five. The fifth was artificial fertilizer for humanity. Millions of ringworms and other such abominations were being dropped on people who had no idea.

Sometimes larger quantities were dropped. For example, before elections or other important national events. Sometimes it was done prophylactically. The time will come when the right person presses the red button, and suddenly everyone will fall ill. People who are insignificant. Often without a home. Suddenly they will cease to exist. They will be trampled like ants. What good is it for an elephant to trample an ant? If he had to constantly ponder and pity a single ant, he wouldn't have made any progress at all. It was impossible. That's why they began building orbital stations. Something where elephants could hide when an epidemic gripped the Earth. Some kind of shelter from the inevitable.

There was, however, one catch. How many elephants could fit in a small structure like an orbital station? Five percent of humanity? No, definitely too many. So something larger had to be built, something that could accommodate both male and female elephants. Where they could rule… only over themselves.

There's something else that millions have thought about, but that only a handful of people have worked on. Outside the law, outside the government, outside the present. They saw the future that was to come and for several years have been meticulously preparing for it. They did things that normal people wouldn't even consider. The question is who was more normal. And the question is which side would you want to be on if someone gave you a choice. Because if you don't have that choice, everything becomes simpler. Life seems very... "normal." But what if you can't live any other way? So what does normality mean? Few people even know such a thing exists. Some only think about how to pay the rent and pray they have enough food for the next month. Some have no legs and have to live with it. How can a person without two legs survive in today's world? If you can answer that question, you're already great. Life without two legs. Or a soldier who fought thirty days and rested thirty days during the Vietnam War. After the war, there's time for reflection. Irreversible changes occur in the brain. The psyche is significantly deformed. Let's think about it. Kill thirty people and live with it. People are now inventing cars that can accelerate to a hundred km/h in less than four seconds. Doesn't this leave side effects on the driver's psyche? A thought begins to form in his head… or maybe the world really is like that. Maybe you can actually be in a place dozens of meters away in four seconds. Beep, beep, beep…

"Mr. Clark, wake up, Mr. Clark. You can't sleep with the normalizer on."

The woman had a clearly worried expression. Her eyes were red, and her expression wasn't optimistic. She was angry; something was clearly troubling her.

"Mr. Clark, how many times do I have to tell you this is pointless, if you don't stop, I'll have to take special precautions with you. Do you think—"

"Okay, I understand," Clark interrupted. "I thought it was impossible to receive a message while you're asleep." He looked at the clearly upset woman.

"Yes," she replied. "That's true. None of my patients receive the message unless…" The woman paused. Suddenly, she paled, as if she'd seen a ghost. "Mr. Clark, Mr. Clark, do you see what I see?" She turned to the patient, but he was gone. He was out of the office.

Three months later,

the orbital station was nearing completion. Only a few components were missing, and they were scheduled to be delivered within two months. Everything was going according to plan. Except, perhaps, that the construction time had slipped by a month, but what's a month compared to years?

The general mood of those working on the project was optimistic. No one saw any obstacles that could prevent the completion of the station, which was intended to be a haven for people who perceived reality differently.

"One in four people will be spared. The rest are doomed. It's an age-old trope. A trope that appears in science fiction books," said Ben, Clark's friend.

"But it's true. The Normalizer has a different effect on me than on other people. Maybe it's my attitude toward the world, or maybe...

" "Or maybe it's the lack of contact with reality," said Ben, who, although he liked Clark, sometimes seemed too alienated, too often daydreaming and too rarely observing the real world.

"Maybe all this information isn't coming from the Normalizer, but from you?" Ben asked calmly.

"You think I'm making this up, that I'm hyping myself up, that I'm looking for a scapegoat." Clark gave vent to the anger that dominated him.

"No," his friend replied, "but maybe"—he paused, as if the words were too much for him—"you should look at the bigger picture, and above all"—Ben paused again—"you need to be around people. People like you and me.

" "But don't you understand that I don't have much time? Why repeat the mistakes you've already made. Why return to something that has no future?" Clark said, half-shouting, half-crying.

"I understand. Believe me," Clark said, "but it's not possible. It's…

" "Sick, right? Is that what you mean, or maybe I want to be sick, different from all you fuckers who live in illusions about the world and about themselves," Clark shouted this now in one breath, then ran out of Ben's office.

Ben sat down at his desk and pondered. Clark was… hmm… his friend. What could he do for him? No, he has to figure everything out on his own. No one else will do it for him. Either he breaks with the past or he doesn't know how it will end. He saw no salvation for him, but he couldn't tell him so directly. Either he would do something about his life himself, or he would end up badly. No one would do it for him.

Officially, there were two months left until the end of construction, but in reality, the station was already ready. It was operating at full capacity, equipped with every technical detail that constituted the latest technology. All that remained was to wait. Wait until the right people arrived on this planet and sat at the controls of this new machine. Then the right person would press the right button, and hop on, history would take on a new dimension. A very different one than before. The paranoids feared that something might prevent the completion of their work. Now they would have the opportunity to see that succumbing to this disease was not worth it. Now everything would begin to fall into place.

"Imagine a world where everyone is well fed, happy, and smiling, a world without problems, where everyone can do whatever they want," said one of the presidents, looking at the crowd, which showered him with thunderous applause at his every word.

"Such a world doesn't exist," someone shouted from the crowd.

The president tried to recognize the person who had said this, but failed.

"Yes, but it can exist, my dears, it can and will."

The crowd began to applaud the newly elected president hypnotically, barely hearing what he had to say.

"And these are not platitudes, my dears. Soon the world"—he hesitated for a moment, noting what he could say next and chose the most neutral—"will cease to be a torment for millions."

Several people opened their mouths in surprise. He wondered if they would cross themselves. No, that would be too wonderful.

"In two months, we will meet in this same place, and then I will have much more to tell you."

His tone of voice indicated he treated them as equals.

Let them feel important. It was all because of them, he thought, and ended the meeting.

He sat in the bar, watching what he considered to be average girls dancing on a pole and giving him fake smiles. For a moment, he considered taking advantage of the services they offered. It was just a dance, but for now, it would be enough. He hadn't been with a girl in months, and even a brief brush of her legs gave him an erection. He was horny. He wondered what it would be like. Choose a blonde or a redhead. The mere thought of being caressed by one of these girls for the rest of the day immediately filled him with mixed emotions. But he knew it was impossible to do without. He had a physical matter to attend to, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was a man, after all. He walked over to one of the booths and called the girl over. He paid her the specified sum and then sat comfortably in one of the rubber chairs. The girl smiled as artificially as before and took off her bra. She began to move quickly. She danced. After a moment, she removed her already sheer bra and began grinding against him. He didn't know this was also part of the program, but his ignorance didn't bother him at all. After a moment, she brought him to orgasm. A second one. She sat on his lap and began moving as if she were actually mounting him and riding him. After a moment, the music stopped and the girl began to dress.

He stood up and left the premises. From that moment on, a small chip was in his pocket, preventing him from moving without being detected by scanners. Additional rebellion comes at a price. Always. His apartment was unlike anything you could call that. Quite the opposite. It fell far short of the established standards. It was also clear he was reluctant to conform to any trends. He didn't care. After all, there were no more than two years left…