Silk Street

I.

Claire was about to continue reading Vanishing Point, but something else was on her mind. On the way to the clinic today, something caught her attention.

It was down Silk St, which she passed on the way to Cybil’s diner but generally avoided. She had only walked down the street once, and immediately regretted it. It was a street a little way from the main street. It was a different main street of sorts, not so much for locals as for a certain kind of tourist.

It was just as well-kept as the rest of Haut. But it certainly had a different look to it. Most of Haut was characterized by metallic and glass architecture, and tall, bluish lights along the street. Everything was was exceedingly clean. To someone like Claire who grew up in Vermilion it was almost uncomfortably sterile, but the people here seemed comfortable enough. She was simply not used to cleanliness, straight lines, and bright lights. Vermilion was quite opposite in that regard.

Silk Street was different. Though it wasn’t dirty, it was dimmer.

According to her phone, walking through this street was the most efficient route to the clinic. If she were a local, she might have known better.

Though the street was wide like the others, it had lights strung across between the street lamps, making it feel smaller, or cozier. The lights were red paper lanterns, giving the street a warm glow that stood out from the bluish light that characterized Haut.

There was a certain type of person who normally ended up here.

There was a man who, an hour ago, went to a cafe on the main street, simply because it was a nice evening. Shortly after he arrived, a woman took a table near him. He noticed, as anyone might, that there was someone near him. And after a glance, he began to take in the details.

She was small, wearing a black leather jacket and a matching purse at her side. She was quite beautiful, with long brunette hair, green eyes, and a small nose ring as a sort of unexpected accent on her perfect face.

He looked for a moment, then looked away a few moments, then looked back. He continued in this pattern so as not to stare. He took in the details one by one, savoring them over the course of twenty minutes at least.

He thought about speaking to her, but the thought was a brief one. It had been so long since he’d tried such a conversation and, while he wasn’t exactly afraid of the result, he no longer expected any result. Besides, he did enjoy simply being near her, being able to view her in person, even if she was two tables away. Her presence seemed in that moment to be a great blessing and comfort. A reminder of memories and longings just under the surface, not quite denied but not acknowledged, either.

Just as he was appreciating another detail — in this case the almost elf-like shape of her narrow ears, a man walked up to her table. She smiled, they exchanged a few words, he gestured, and the two moved to another table on the other side of the cafe.

Until this happened, the man in the cafe had barely noticed this pattern of his, that he was paying attention to this woman even though he was pretending not to. When she walked away with the other man, he felt something strange. It wasn’t jealousy exactly, it wasn’t any belief or opinion about the woman or the man who had met her there. It wasn’t just alone-ness, for he had been alone all day before coming here.

It wasn’t exactly loss— although that was closer to the feeling. That wasn’t exactly it either, because what had really transpired? He came to a cafe, ate a sandwich, and observed an interaction between strangers.

But something within him retreated. Grew dim, veiled. There was a light which had ignited in his mind for only a moment, only to be shut off again.

What he felt now was not sadness or anger or even regret. It was darkness.

That man was on Silk Street now.

II.

There was another man. A family man, a generally quite honest man with a generous heart, a pillar of the community. His name was Ben. Two hours ago, he arrived home from work to a quiet home. There was a pot of stew still simmering on the stove. His stomach growled at the smell, and he grabbed a bowl and began filling it. As he did so he heart the shuffle of socks across the floor.

Ben: Hey.

Mary: Hey.

Ben continued filling his bowl. “The kids?”

Mary: Just put them to bed. I didn’t want them to be sleepy on their first day of school.

Ben nodded.

Ben: How was your day?

Mary yawned.

Mary: Long. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.

Ben: I’ll be right up, just need to unwind for a few minutes.

But she was already gone.

Ben was on Silk Street now.

III.

There was a man named Sam who worked long hours programming at Valhalla. He was quite successful in the eyes of his peers. He’d sacrificed his twenties to become skilled at programming, and managed to attain a prominent position at one of the fastest growing companies in the world.

He was well liked by almost everyone at work. He knew how to lead a team, how to encourage people to be their best. He was something of a mentor to the new recruits, encouraging them to play to their strength, to accept responsibility, to be a man.

He enjoyed his time at work, which accounted for most of his day. When he got home, he’d eat and find various ways to unwind and entertain himself. But then came a time, a good chunk of two hours after unwinding but before bed, a void of a time which reminded him that outside work, which occupied so much of his time, he had little else to do. His hobbies had fallen away slowly in the past few years as he focused with ever more purpose on his career. When he got home he just wanted to relax… but after a short time, he always became antsy.

Sam was on Silk Street every night.

IV.

There was a woman, too. Eliza. Like Sam, she’d spent her youth attaining success. Personal ambition was a major factor, but there was also the influence of peers, parents and professional mentors. From a young age, Eliza had been told that she could have everything. She believed, as young people are encouraged to, that there were no limits to the fulfillment one could find in life, to the experiences one could attain, and indeed that those experiences could come from any number of directions without any sacrifice. She could have a powerful, prestigious career. She could travel the world. She could partake of all the world’s luxuries and novelties. She could settle down and raise a wonderful family.

Somehow, she’d never gotten around to those last two. She still found herself at singles’ bars, but in recent years, she’d noticed — though she tried not to notice it — that she was getting less and less attention. Eliza had the type of beauty that was very conspicuous and coveted in one’s youth, but unremarkable at 39.

She’d recently come to terms with the fact that she was passed the ideal time to have children. Although it was still possible, and of course there was always adoption, the picture she’d always had in her mind — of being one of those young, energetic, happily married couples running around with children, was out of reach. That image of her imagined life became more distant and small each year, like the view of a town slowly vanishing in the distance from the window of a train.

Tonight, she was on Silk street for the first time, and not the last. She was relieved to see that she was by no means the only woman here tonight, and that was all the affirmation she needed for now.

V.

Silk Street was a world of many wonders, but one wonder stood high above them all, a towering celebration of decadence. It was called Babylon.

It was a great building made of white stone, with ornate pillars and archways. It consumed a city block, and the front door alone was a landmark. It was a massive bronze (or bronze-looking) double door, decorated with intricate depictions of abundance: bountiful vineyards tended by young maidens. The gate was always open at any time of night, and beside it were flickering red orbs which lit the gate’s design and were reminiscent of flaming torches.

All around the building, around the entire block, was a garden. It was filled with all manner of exotic plants: flowering vines, palm trees, and various fruit-producing trees and shrubs. The garden had a public pathway through the middle of it, and the whole garden had a strange tropical warmth to accommodate the plants. How this was maintained in this late autumn and even winter was uncertain to the residents, but no doubt it was an expensive affair, a testament to its profit margins.

Throughout the garden were bronze statues of gryphons and sphynxes, who looked outward on the street with a watchful gaze. Simply being in the garden or near it on the other side of the street made one feel small. And entering the gate made one feel like a king, judged worthy to enter the realm of the gods.

Though there were men and women within, even groups of men and groups of women, the two sexes rarely interacted. There were singles’ bars for that. People came to Babylon for a different reason.

Babylon was a type of business which had only really come into legitimacy in the past few years, since the fall of THESIS and the subsequent rise of the prosthesis company Valhalla.

Babylon was a dollhouse, and such places were the reason why Valhalla was a more successful company than any other robotics-related company in history.