Abolition

Chapter One

I'm running late to my job interview at Weston Enterprises and Logistics, leading name in technology and my dream job, because of a sales bot.

The 16th Street Mall in downtown Denver is crawling with the fast walking, sweet talking commercials that are programmed to advertise their owner's wares. I've successfully avoided them all day and thought I was in the clear, but I must have made the barest amount of eye contact with this one as I got off the CT. The tricky thing about sales bots is while they can't actually touch a person—an injured, innocent citizen armed with a million dollar lawsuit made sure of that—they are allowed to follow a person around until the person loses them, which is rare, or stands still and waits out their spiel.

I have to wait, just like Steven had warned me I would, as the ID card declaring who I am and what my education is (KIRK HAWTHORNE, DECKERMAN METHOD) gets slippery in my hand. The dull pink line that I've been walking on my entire life goes right underneath the sales bot. I'm not moving until the bot does.

Somebody taps my should and I twist to face them, keeping my hips square with the bot. An older man is keeping his eyes carefully trained on me. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I say. The sales bot starts to talk louder, knowing that I'm distracted.

"What were you looking at?"

I can't say, "The line that predestines my entire life." I promised Mama that I wouldn't tell before she left me at the orphanage and this man, like everybody else I've met, can't see the lines anyways. His is a creamy light brown and trails to a bookstore across the street. He'll be visiting there once he's done talking with me.

"I was looking at anything other than this," I reply, gesturing at the bot, because it's an easy excuse and I really don't care about the latest and greatest way to discretely transport feminine hygiene products. The man grimaces and nods sharply once before moving on.

I roll my shoulders back as I look forward once again. Can't go through a sales bot, can't go around a sales bot, can't go under a sales bot, got to wait the damn thing out. This Interview Day hasn't been going very well for me. I'm an independently educated person in a job market full of publicly educated people and that puts me at a disadvantage, even with the highest independent education available under my belt. I've been to four interviews today and I've been politely kicked to the curb at all of them due to, presumably, said independent education. Given that my interview success has been shit so far, I'm trying not to get my hopes up when it comes to getting my dream job.

The sales bot finally tips its aluminum alloy hat at me. "Good day," it says as it moves out of my way, and as soon as it's clear of my lie I start to speed walk down 16th Street, weaving in and out of the after work shopping crowd.

I don't look at the sidewalk as I travel; normal people don't need to look at their lines to know where they're going, and I've got the map from online burned into my memory. I'm careful not to make direct eye contact with anybody, especially with another sales bot, because I don't have the time to spare. This could be the first day of a really spectacular future—if I get to my interview on time. It's my last shot; if I blow it, not only will I have to wait until next year to get a job but I definitely won't get another interview with Weston Enterprises and Logistics. They only interview once, and they're famous for it.

In the small square in front of the main entrance to Weston Enterprises and Logistics, about halfway down the Mall, there are scattered holographic entertainers and living statues. People that don't need to get anywhere fast are drawn to them, and while there are small groups around the holographic entertainers it's the living statues that are getting the bigger crowds. Some things are too classic to ignore in favor of technology, I suppose; even though these holographic entertainers are some of the most talented I've seen, there's nothing quite like a statue suddenly grabbing someone's hand and pulling it over their head.