The Best Versions of Ourselves

Part one of an untitled scifi work involving fantastical plots and extraterrestrial intrigue.

In the deepest forest that Prospect Park had to offer, Benjamin Phillips came upon a gazebo carpeted with condom wrappers. Grossed out, proceeding down the trail, Benjamin crossed a small stream on a sturdy wooden bridge, passing a couple of men headed intently for that gazebo. The sun was setting as he walked, and night was fully upon him by the time he reached the park's open area footpaths.

Here and there on the benches that lined the path, those with no better place to be slept or drank from bottles covered in paper bags. A couple of joggers passed. Two police officers hassled one of the bench people. An old woman sat next to a tree, smoking crack when she thought no one was looking.

Quickening his pace, Benjamin made his way out of the park and onto a street of brownstones. He kept walking and found a subway station. Having hiked some miles since his job interview that afternoon, Benjamin boarded a train exhausted, and promptly fell asleep. He dreamed something quickly forgotten, missing his stop in the process, and woke to find himself way up on 23rd street.

Leaving the station to emerge on 6th Avenue, Benjamin's backpack felt heavy and his feet felt sore. He was staying at possibly the worst hotel in the world, a dive on the Bowery that smelled like a Chinatown mud puddle, filled with addicts and roaches and rats and probably lice. At just one fifty a night, it was the only place in the city Benjamin could afford. Now, heading back there, he regretted not simply continuing to sleep on the train.

More than that, Benjamin regretted coming to the city at all. His job interview had been a disaster. The interviewer's technical questions were no problem. Benjamin knew his business. But the tech startup wasn't looking for someone like him. They'd reviewed his social media activity and determined that he "wasn't doing enough to uplift marginalized communities." His answers to their questions about this were clearly unsatisfactory, and the interviewer ended things by saying he wasn't a good fit for their company's culture.

Dwelling on his problems, Benjamin walked to Bleeker St and proceeded towards Bowery. After turning down an alleyway to avoid the bar crowds, he found himself on a narrow street lined with buildings that were perpetually under construction. There, on a sidewalk that had been transformed by scaffolding into a tunnel, Benjamin came upon the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She was dressed in couture and furry slippers, with a glass of wine in one hand and a revolver in the other. Standing there, crying, taking little sips of wine, the woman blocked his way.

"Uhh," said Benjamin. "Hey there. You mind letting me by?"

"Go around," said the woman. "Can't you see I'm busy."

Too exhausted to do anything else, Benjamin laughed. "Sorry," he said. "Whatever this is, I'm sorry. But you're kinda taking up the whole sidewalk."

"Whatever this is?" said the woman. "He's dead! My partner, my husband, Octex is dead!"

"Did you shoot him?" asked Benjamin.

"No," said the woman. "The gun was for me, but I'm too much of a coward to use it."

"Any chance you'd be willing to put it away?" asked Benjamin.

The woman sniffled and nodded and zipped the revolver into a giant purse that rested on the ground near her feet. "Thanks," she said. "I'm Pipix. What's your name?"

"Benjamin," said Benjamin. "So, do you come here often?"

The joke was lame, but Pipix smiled anyway. "Stay and have a drink with me?" she asked. "This is my building. I live right up there."

Too tired to argue, Benjamin followed Pipix up an old elevator to the fourth floor, which seemed to be entirely hers. He followed her past the kitchen, where she assembled a plate of assorted snacks, to a sitting area covered in potted plants next to a glass wall. Resting there with wine and snacks, Benjamin began to relax. "Nice place," he said.

"It is a nice place," said Pipix. "But it belongs to the company. With Octex dead, they'll be moving another couple in here. I don't know what will become of me."

"That sounds hard," said Benjamin. "How long do you have?"

"He died today," said Pipix. "They'll come for the body tomorrow. After that, there will be a meeting to decide my fate."

"I don't understand," said Benjamin.

"It's complicated," said Pipix. "The point is that I don't have any say in what happens. None."

"That sucks," said Benjamin.

"What's your story, anyway?" asked Pipix. "As far as I know, you're just some strange man from the street."

"I'm an unemployed computer programmer," said Benjamin. "Tomorrow, I'm supposed to fly back to Seattle, where I live with three other adults in a two bedroom apartment. The job I was interviewing for today was supposed to be my ticket out of there, but things didn't work out like that."

"So sad," said Pipix. "You want to borrow my gun?"

"No, but could I maybe sleep on your couch?" asked Benjamin, figuring it didn't hurt to ask.

"Sleep anywhere you like," said Pipix. "Trash the place for all I care. I hope they come tomorrow for the body and find a street person in here, wallowing in filth."

Benjamin shrugged. Whatever this was, it was better than the Bowery fleabag he'd stayed in last night. "Thanks," he said. "You're a lifesaver."

"You're a lifesaver!" said Pipix. "If you hadn't come along when you did, I might've pulled the trigger."

"Yeah don't do that," said Benjamin. "I'm sure it must be very tragic being a supermodel or whatever, but there's always more to live for."

"I'm not a supermodel," said Pipix. "I only look like this because of genetic enhancements programmed into me by my parents."

"Me too, technically," said Benjamin. "But I get the sense you're being serious."

"All of my people do the enhancements," said Pipix. "They make us grow into the best versions of ourselves, we're told. They never talk about how easy heightened senses are to offend. Or about how dangerous such beauty can be. But the enhancements do keep us separate from the Earthlings. Which I'm sure is what they're ultimately about."

"The ... Earthlings?" asked Benjamin.

"Yes," said Pipix. "Isn't it obvious that I'm not an Earthling? I am Lindrue. My people have been on your planet for over a hundred years."

(Feature image from Pixabay.)

Read my novels:

Small Gods of Time Travel is available as a web book on IPFS.
The Paradise Anomaly is available in print via Blurb and for Kindle on Amazon.
Psychic Avalanche is available in print via Blurb and for Kindle on Amazon.
One Man Embassy is available in print via Blurb and for Kindle on Amazon.
Flying Saucer Shenanigans is available in print via Blurb and for Kindle on Amazon.
Rainbow Lullaby is available in print via Blurb and for Kindle on Amazon.
The Ostermann Method is available in print via Blurb and for Kindle on Amazon.
Blue Dragon Mississippi is available in print via Blurb and for Kindle on Amazon.

See my NFTs:

Small Gods of Time Travel is a 41 piece Tezos NFT collection on Objkt that goes with my book by the same name.
History and the Machine is a 20 piece Tezos NFT collection on Objkt based on my series of oil paintings of interesting people from history.
Artifacts of Mind Control is a 15 piece Tezos NFT collection on Objkt based on declassified CIA documents from the MKULTRA program.