Like a Silver Shell

Laid out below her, the silver city shimmered like a mirage. In the distance, it looked clean and bright, reminding Linette of a large, smooth shell that had sat on her grandmother’s shelf when she was young. The creamy dome curled into a hollow interior of iridescent silver. Linette imagined the swooping lines of the gleaming city at night, aglow with lights. It amazed her to think that human minds had, long ago, imagined tall buildings and parks, homes and business centers, and had laid the groundwork that had made this beautiful city—her city—possible.

           She was seated at a park bench, sipping from a paper cup of dark coffee. Beneath her feet, a smooth path of manicured bricks ran past, leading toward a cluster of peaceful swaying trees in one direction, curling toward a play structure in the other. Children chased each other around the structure, laughing.

           An older woman holding her own paper cup sat down on the bench beside Linette. Smiling, she held up her cup and said, “Good today, isn’t it?”

           Linette nodded. The coffee was good every day. The kiosks made everything the way you liked it, and the product was perfectly consistent, whether you ordered it in the park, or at the marina, or at the center of the city. There was never any reason to complain.

The woman was older, with gray-brown hair held back with a brown clip, slightly askew. She glanced at the object on Linette’s lap and asked, “Is that what I think it is?”

Linette smiled. “Yes.”

“I haven’t seen one in ages. Not the old kind.”

“My grandfather had a collection. This is one of his.”

“Don’t you find it tiring to use?”

“Not really.”

The older woman eyed the object suspiciously. “It seems amazing that these used to be made completely by people. By hand! None of the tech we have these days.”

“I suppose.” Linette’s eyes flicked back to the city. It truly was amazing, the things people had made. It all just seemed so hard.

“Of course we have so many more these days. And better, too—the algorithms can personalize them, make them just how you like.”

“Yes, I’ve tried a few of those.”

“Really? Were they any good?”

“Well, not to my taste.”

“I see.” Her frown suggested that she thought Linette might be a bit elitist.

“I just didn’t find it…compelling,” Linette explained.

“Hm. Well, I suppose intellectuals like to do things the old-fashioned way, even when it’s harder.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m intellectual—anyone can do it.”

The woman shrugged. “Not anyone.”

“Most people. Even children used to do it.”

“I suppose. Not anymore, of course. My daughter wouldn’t be caught dead with one; not even the new kind. There was an algo-made one that was popular last year, but she says she doesn’t want to struggle over it. She says it’s boring.”

“It can be hard to learn.”

“She just doesn’t want to put in the effort—no point.”

“No, I suppose it isn’t really needed for most jobs.”

“Not for any. She says there’s absolutely silly to learn when you can just tell the holos what you’ve got in mind and they’ll take it and turn it into something so much better. Let them do the thinking, I say!”

“Yes.”

“Still. It’s a nice hobby, I suppose.”

“I like it, even though I know it’s a little unusual. It’s like having a conversation with someone from long ago. The new ones feel a bit like having a conversation with myself.”

“Most people like their own thoughts the best!”

“Yes. I guess.” Linette thought again of her grandmother’s shell. When Linette had held it up to her ear, she could hear the ocean. Her little brother said it wasn’t the ocean, not really, just the sound of her blood rushing in her ears echoing back through the emptiness.

“Doesn’t it hurt your eyes, though? I always found it so hard to concentrate—gave me a headache.”

Linette looked down at the object. “I struggle to focus sometimes, especially if I’m out of practice.”

“May I take a look?”

“Sure.”

Linette handed over the antique, and the woman weighed it in her hand, as if it were a stone, or a piece of beef. “It’s a big one.”

“Not that big. Lots are bigger.”

“Really? Oh, no pictures.”

“No. You’re supposed to make the pictures in your mind.”

The woman pushed back a lock of brown hair and squinted at the front. “What’s it about?”

“It’s about a man who kills his neighbor.”

“Oh! Thrilling!”

“It’s sad, really. Everyone’s poor, he’s desperate, so he steals from his neighbor.”

“Well, I suppose it’s understandable. That’s how it was.”

“That’s how it was.” Linette looked out at the city again. At the base of the hill below her, a moving green blanket of river flowed between her and the silver buildings. The entire planned city had been built by nanotech in the past ten years.

The woman was still squinting at the antique. “I hope it turns out all right for him.”

“I don’t think it will.”

The woman handed the antique back to Linette. “Oh, there’s my daughter. Watching holos as she walks; she’ll probably bump into me before she sees me.” Standing, the woman threw her half-full coffee cup into a nearby chromium trash bin. It clanged against the bottom with a thud. “Enjoy your day.”

“Thank you.” Linette took another long pull of her coffee. In the river at the bottom of the hill below, a white sailboat moved slowly, smoothly beneath a gleaming bridge. There was a person on that boat, letting the sail catch the wind. Perhaps it is a bit elitist, she thought, doing things the old way. But the sight of the white sail sent an electric thrill through her. She imagined the ropes in the sailor’s hands as they steered the boat wherever they wanted.

Away from the silver shell of the city, perhaps. Out toward the open sea.