A Natural Selection

Waking up, Jack rolled over the mounded garbage and lifted the lid to his dumpster. Peering cautiously down the alley he decided the coast was clear and slid the side door out of his way and jumped to the ground, closing the door quietly. Sleeping in a trash receptacle was a class B misdemeanor, and getting caught was a real drag. The dripping rain soon washed his living second-skin suit clean, and assuming it's healthy natural green color, the Vend clothing emanated a rosy odor. Water-proof and heated, the suit was a bargain at fifty dollars. And it was the only reason Jack had to love the vending machines.

A doctor's son, raised to follow in his mother's path, trained as a physician and born rich, Jack was ill-suited to life in the streets. But with the coming of the Vend-Age, human doctors were as out of date as the jet airplane. A Vend-Doc could diagnose a patient in minutes and prescribe and deliver one of Proteus' wonder drugs for any illness. Hospitals began closing their doors only a few months after Proteus won the right to prescribe drugs and treat medical problems. Why go to a doctor when twenty dollars and ten minutes with a Vend-Doc could cure anything from cramps to cancer? Jack's mother sold her practice at a terrible loss and retired on her meager savings; Jack, interning at Seton hospital didn't even get a chance to pay back his college loans. His Grav-bike and all his other possessions were seized by the bank when he defaulted on the loans. All he owned now was a knife, his skin-suit, a belt pouch, and ten dollars in change. He hated the Vend machines.

As he walked to the end of the alley behind the Methodist church, a hissing sound from a nook behind the university bookstore turned his head. A Coke machine waved its arm at him and called to him.

"Pssst, hey buddy, come here... want to buy some reefer?"

Just what he needed, a black market Vend-Bot. From the exterior it looked just like any other Coke-Bot, a nine foot tall red and white rectangle with silvery metal arms sticking out of its sides, and the bulge of anti-vandal gear on top. The front offered the usual choice of cold drinks in seven languages, and there was a slot in the side for the drinks. But you probably couldn't even get a coke from the machine unless it had real cocaine in it. And these days it was hard to say no to a Vend-Bot, especially a black market Drug-bot, but Jack decided to try.

" No thanks, I'm trying to find a food-bot, I'm starving. You haven't seen one around here have you?" He took a step back, but the machine followed, hovering on its anti-gravs.

"Who needs food?", it asked in its sibilant voice," I have several different kinds of appetite suppressants: hyper-phetamine, cocaine, LSDMA, ketamine, heroin. Name your poison..."

" Um... What's cheap?" Jacked looked up and down the street trying to find help but there was no one around to call.

"Let's see, a joint will run you three dollars, a hit of acid five, and a tab of speed seven. You have ten dollars... for you I'll make a deal...the acid and two joints for only ten dollars."

Jack hated the way they could count your money in your pouch, but there was little he could do but turn over his cash or risk being set up for arrest by the narcs. He decided to try and save some money for food.

"Howabouts I buy one joint, and save the rest of my money for some vend-food?"

He quickly pulled out three one dollar coins and inserted them in the coin slot. The machine hesitated before accepting his compromise, then doled out the one joint from a hidden slot in its side. It was as big as a cigarette and as neatly rolled. Sealed in a little cellophane rap, the joint crackled as the machine passed it to him.

" Have a nice day! " , the machine hissed and settled back into it's niche as Jack strolled quickly away down the alley.

The Drug-Bot must have radioed a food-bot because as he rounded the corner, carefully stashing the joint in his belt pouch, a Fajita-Bot descended in front of Jack. Flashing its red lights and waving its arms the huge white rectangle landed almost on top of him.

"You look like a hungry man, kind sir... for only seven dollars I can let you have the daily special, Two fajitas, rice and beans, a generous portion of chips and your choice of pico de gallo, red sauce or green sauce." A picture of its offering flashed on the front of the Vend-Bot as it talked, still waving it's arms.

Too hungry to argue any more, Jack took the machines first offer. "The lunch special sounds excellent, I'll take one."

Jack slotted his last seven dollars into the Fajita-Bots greedy coin slot, microwaves hummed in the things stomach and a panel lifted to reveal a transparent Styroglass box and a plain white bag. Jack took the steaming hot containers and walked quickly down the alley to Twenty-third street. A load was lifted from Jack's mind; he knew empty pockets were the best defense against harassment by Vend-Bots. Sitting down on the sidewalk he ate his food ravenously, without looking up until he was joined by his friend Michael.

"Didn't you save me any you little shit?" Smiling an easy smile Michael towered over Jack, his bright red hair stood on end in typical droog fashion adding another six inches to his six foot height.

Jack returned Michael's smile between bites, his green eyes laughing at the implied joke that Michael would ever eat before noon. He waggled his head making his curly brown bouffant dance hysterically.

"What's so funny, asshole! Or are finally gonna choke on all that food you eat?"

Finished, Jack licked his lips and pulled the joint from the pouch belted around his stomach. Michael's face lit up, grabbing Jack's hand he pulled him to his feet. Jack was six inches shorter than his partner, but a little more heavily muscled. He looked around to make sure nobody had seen the joint and scampered down the alley with Michael behind him. Unwrapping the joint, Jack pinched the end and it glowed alight. He inhaled the rich fumes and coughed.

"Tastes like good shit, one of the new Indica Hybrids I'll bet." Rolling the cigarette in his hand he sniffed at the stream of smoke wafting up in the dull drizzle and then took another hit.

"Hey give me that shit humphrey." Michael reached out and snatched the joint from Jack's hand and began huffing furiously on it.

They puffed on the joint for several minutes, passing it back and forth. When it got down to roach size Jack ate the stub. Michael made a face, and Jack laughed loudly until he coughed and turned red.

Recovering, he defended his action, " It gets you high, life eating hash, a body high."

"Fuck that, it tastes like shit. I don't see how you can do it, yuck..."

"Willpower Fuckhead.... besides it don't taste half bad once you get used to it. Let's go to the Women's house and find Trish and Ann."

Already walking toward the end of the alley, Michael looked over his shoulder. "Best idea you've had all day, come on what's taking you?"

Trish and Ann, our girlfriends, lived in one of the few remaining bastions of civilization, the Women's House. Once a refuge for battered and homeless women, when human economy began to disintegrate, they had bought the whole block facing the University. When the police could no longer afford to pay their employee's and the streets were home to millions of jobless, the Women's House offered shelter to women to protect them from the anarchy. They had huge greenhouses on the roof, and kept chickens and goats. They also all had guns, little twenty-two caliber rocket pistols provided by the growing commune.

The guards at the front door carried bigger weapons, machine gun pistols, Uzi .11's , firing hundreds of tiny rockets per minute. They recognized Jack and Michael, and called inside for Trish and Ann, who came out quickly, teasing their blond and black hair up one last time as they stepped into the warm drizzle that had become Austin's only weather. Trish jumped up and wrapped her legs around Jack, and Ann brushed the water from Michael's face and gave him a long kiss. Rearranging their guns around the hips of their green skin-suits, the two women took on a serious look and began discussing the news from the commune.

Trish, at five foot without her hair, the shorter and more energetic of the two, started the discussion."Have you heard that they threw Proteus out of the U.N.? And he didn't even protest, he's still refusing to offer more jobs or clean up his mess. He isn't even slowing production."

When Trish stopped Ann added, " There's talk of war, the generals think they can beat Proteus. I don't believe it, Proteus is too smart."

" And the ice caps are still melting, and the global temperature is still rising...so even if there isn't a war, things are gonna get worse before they get better."

As the quartet headed for the Vend-Mall, a group of skateboarders with dreadlocks sped past and around them on the sidewalk. The mall was less crowded than usual, but the lines for work were longer. After waiting forty-five minutes, all that was left was drug testing positions with long questionnaires to fill out and a movie to watch. The pay wasn't bad, fifty dollars for six hours, but sometimes the side effects were wicked. They all took their job anyway, there was no other way to make money than Vend-Corp, and even the Women's house needed operating capital. To the men it was the difference between eating and not eating.

The drug was a tranquilizer of some sort and Jack thought that he must of dozed off in the movie section, the questionnaire seemed to take forever. Some after-effect of the drug was making his head fuzzy, and his mouth was dry. As he headed out the door the machine issued him a slip of printed paper with his handful of coins. Joining the rest of his droogs in the deserted lobby, he began reading the unusual bit of paper.

Everyone on Earth but a few selected winners has perished in the war between the Vend-Corp and the governments of earth. You have all been in a stassis field for about three days while a sort of death ray killed everyone but the hundred thousand I have chosen. You are a winner! You and your companions have the whole planet to yourselves! Included in the prize is a survival kit containing concentrated rations to last you several weeks, fishing equipment, and a solar powered stove. Enjoy yourselves...

P.S. The money you have is useless, because the Vending Machines will no longer sell to humans.

The four confused humans walked out into the slow drizzle, peopled by corpses and silence, carrying the packs their demented benefactor had given them. As they trudged down to the street, the dreadlocked skateboarders swooped past them, identical packs on their backs.

©Gregory Lee Jones 12jan95