Never more than a minute
A future where everything takes less than 60 seconds
“In Summit, never more than a minute!” declared enormous neon holograms.
Ani hailed a taxi through his NLace™ and listlessly watched the clock count down from 60.
The robo-taxi arrived with 35 seconds left.
“Never more than a minute”, the animated Summit Sam danced on the side of the taxi as it dropped him. It was true. Anywhere in Summit would take him less than a minute. If distances were longer, hyperdrive tunnels solved the problem.
Ani entered Summit Central, a 20 million sq. ft. mall filled with infinite pleasure. The holotropic lobby was themed tropical — green, lush, and wet. In the N00Vi store, he stared at the chirpy dogs. One cute puppy stood smelling his feet, eagerly wagging its tail.
New in store!
A sign flashed in his NLace™.
All Dog; None of the Mess.
That was the tagline from Orange for its dogs.
Ani wanted the mess. He walked listlessly through miles of gleaming corridors filled with more options for pleasure, hunger, peace, and entertainment than he could ever experience.
“What do you feel like eating, Ani?” The NLace™, ever caring.
It knew and measured every bio-market of his physical being. He felt hungry indeed and wondered what he’d like to eat. He didn’t have to wonder long for a little scooter zipped to stop near him which he boarded to arrive at a Ramen counter.
45 seconds to spare. “Never more than a minute!” it chirped as it zipped off.
Ani slurped his Ramen loudly, startling the cleaning bots around him. He ate slowly for more than a minute—several dozen minutes—and had all the time in the world.
Around him, the mall was busy with drones, auto sweepers, delivery pods, and humanoid service providers. There was hardly anyone like him.
A memory flashed in his head from a lifetime back of him having a beer with friends in a bar crowded with other people. How long ago was that? “45 years”, chirped his NLace™. Well, of course.
The Ramen was delicious. What next?
“Perhaps a dessert?” the NLace™ again. He didn’t even have to nod. A delivery pod arrived with the ice cream.
“Never more than a minute!” the bot chirped.
He ate the ice cream until it was a puddle in his cup, then slurped it. He rose and, on second thought, threw his cup down onto the floor, splattering the remaining drops on the gleaming, sterile floor. He stared at the pattern, fascinated until a bot came by and cleaned it up. It took less than three seconds.
NLace™ flashed numbers. His glucose was being stabilized, the sugar was handled, and he was being normalized—all in less than a minute.
He wouldn’t be hungry for 15 hours. “Your metabolic health is perfect”, the NLace™ chirped.
“Perfect,” he said in a monotone.
And then Ani went back home, having bought the things he didn’t need—something to kill time.
The apartment lit up as he entered, showing a well-curated decor for that perfect frame of mind.
Then it suddenly hit him. He’d had enough.
He had a choice: an escape. It was perfectly legal, and he didn’t even need to voice it.
“Are you sure?” NLace™ double-checked. It knew.
The countdown began flashing. 60. 59. 58.
A cocktail of drugs infused into him.
50. 49. 48.
Bliss. Fantastic visuals.
Moments of his life from a long time ago flashed in his eyes.
40. 39. 38
His eyes shut softly, and he felt himself retreating into a cosy, dark corner. One from which he’d never return.
In Summit, even death was never more than a minute.
This article was originally written for my newsletter, Could be Worse, which can best be described as a window into the cacophony of my thoughts. I publish them on Substack before I share them here on Medium. Click here to subscribe to the newsletter.
