Vision of the Future (Life Goes On Ch.10a, part2)

And Calban dreamed, disturbing dreams reflecting the visions inside. He hated the domination his employers held over his life. He felt the world around him was empty. There was no one to talk to, spend time, socialise with. You couldn’t talk to machines. His sleep became restless, a part of each night was filled with half remembered dreams, which meant he was awaking before his mind was able to replenish itself.

In his dream he awakes in his room, tension stabbing him in the darkness. Something is wrong so he tears off his duvet and goes to the great Vidnet to switch on his favourite friends. Channel 12 Live comes on. A vid image plays of the news studio but there is no familiar broadcaster on screen. There is the desk he recognises. On the backdrop comes an image of a familiar building – the Mardian Hall, a famous ancient building of the City. It is a place where the most prestigious performances of cultural popularity take place. Huge orchestras of traditional and modern forms have played here and broadcast live to the whole world. Poets and comedians, dancers and actors have graced this stage. Even in a modern world where so many entertainments forms are plied over the Vidnet right into people’s homes it is internationally famous. But why are the cameras here for there is nothing happening here? The lights are on, spotlights to the stage. Robots slowly prowl the aisles bearing confectionery and soft drinks as they would when the place was inhabited. Some robots carry torches to light the way, but this is a task which would normally be carried on by employees. So where is the audience and the employees? Calban concludes this must be the end of a performance. After all it must be the middle of the night. He has not even looked at his clockwatch. But that should make no difference. The Vidnet is 24-hour and never ending. It reflects the continuity of the workplaces, the 24-hour offices, and research centres and factories where nothing stops, only the workers come and go on their shifts, and expresses the dynamism of the modern world, the Vidnet age. Channel 12 Live is always on through the night. Maybe investing Houses have pulled out. Perhaps Channel 12 Live is no longer operational. The financial plug has been pulled. But why would they keep the cameras rolling?

He touches the pad. The net switches to Channel Imperial News. That is always live and it dominates the market for news in the Empire. A story about a crash site. He can see a fly car has flown into a building, the cityscape is familiar. The scene could be Marta City but it could be any cityscape in Marta or even Gallanol. The camera scoops around, from the seat of a flycar no doubt, to get a better or more varied view of the crash site, occasionally switching to another camera on the ground looking up. He expects to see a reporter on this shot. They would surely stand on the ground explaining the damage. And where are the crash victims? A suspicious stab of increased tension flashes through him. Where are the reporters? Just then the view returns to the studio. Like Channel 12 it is empty. No presenter is at his or her seat. Where is the gorgeous Marcella Ortasian? She is often in the studio when he watches this channel, but not now. The screen flashes to a different scene.

Calban flicks channels, sees they are all empty of people. He looks out of his window. No sign. Shifts should be moving at this hour but aren’t. He goes outside to examine Network trams working. This involves the familiar walk along the high walkway to the nearest Network station. Instead of being an annoyingly long walk, when he has limited time to transport himself to work, he seems to glide, which does not cause him any concern. In his dream he is unaware that he is in the dreamstate. He believes he is awake, that all he sees is real, that he really can glide. There are no people anywhere, but the trams are working like clockwork. Out of habit he goes to work. He is unaware that he still wears his pyjamas, that he is breaking the working dress codes. Thankfully he does not consider that he may be made redundant if he arrives at work in this disarray. Calban knows the door code at his workplace and enters more easily than usual. The computers are all working, producing reports as if people were not needed any more. They are working faster and more efficiently than when the human beings were alive. Even more reports are being produced than when the people worked here. There are no more babies, no mothers or fathers, no people at all, only Calban. The human race has made itself irrelevant. He visits factories – they are run by machines; there are no people needed any more.