In the middle of the park was a collection of buildings. Its official name was The Service Station, but people had jokingly taken to calling it The Gas Station, as a reference to the old service centers that sold gasoline for the now-defunct petrol cars. Some people also joked that it was because people stopped there to talk. There you could recharge your electropack, collect messages, stop for a juice or a light snack, and pick up groceries and fresh produce from the small shop. It had its own multi-story greenhouse growing fruits and vegetables, both for sale and for the juice bar.
They stopped at the CommuniPlug to pick up messages on their wrist-cells.
Years earlier, cell and mobile phones had been phased out. Scientists had finally proved that it was harmful to hold receivers so close to the body. And there was conclusive evidence that the frequencies of the radio waves that were emitted, over the huge network of towers and masts, had played a part in the disappearance of bees and other insects.
A new technology emerged where messages were relayed via shielded cables. It was a return to ‘wires’ and used fiber optic cables. Airways were reserved for messages marked as urgent. People plugged in their devices to send and receive all other communications as and when it was convenient. Except for emergencies, the days of instant messages were over, and people started to enjoy the more relaxed way of communicating. Being constantly contactable and ‘on demand’ had been stressful, and everyone was happier communicating when they had time to concentrate properly.
Molly and Jonathan plugged into the fiber optic cables and unrolled the retractable screens on their wrist-cells. Molly’s wrist-cell was so old there were now retro versions that looked the same. It had been one of the first, but still worked perfectly for everything Molly wanted.
“I’ll leave it to you in my will,” she always told him.
“Dah, you’ll outlive the lot of us” he always replied. He knew that Molly could easily expect to live another 15 years or more. But he also knew that one day she would be gone, and gliding round the park with her would be a memory.
Jonathan downloaded a message from Belle, a reminder from his calendar about the ballet at 7:00 pm that evening, and a snippet of the latest song from his friend Henry Hatsoff and his band Mickey Mad Hat.
“Message from Henry. What a coincidence; we’ve just bumped into his great grandmother!”
Henry Hatsoff, his stage name, was a crazy musician who had been Jonathan’s friend since their early school days. Jonathan had been one of the first to buy crypto-shares in Henry’s band to help launch them. It was always good to hear what the prolific band was up to. Their latest was a glorious mash-up of traditional African rhythms and trombone, combined with a triple-tone acoustic flute invented by one of the band members, all mixed up with the distinctive Mickey Mad Hat up-beat Latin tempo.
Molly hummed along, completely out of tune, bopping her head and smiling. She liked Jonathan’s taste in music and it kept her up to date with what was new. She read her own messages. A parcel had arrived at Centro for a hat ordered as a surprise gift for Jonathan. Mickey Mad Hat were playing their first important live show, and all the crypto-shares supporters of their initial launch had been invited to the “Wear a Hat” party afterwards. Jonathan thought it was a bit silly. Hats were the band’s special trademark. He hated wearing them, but Molly said it was a good party ice-breaker. She had ordered a collapsible top hat that he could tuck away if he wanted to. She thought he would look splendid.
There was a message with an interesting recipe for stuffed caigua, the vegetable they call the slipper cucumber.
“Jonathan, we need to pick up some things at the shop. I’m going to try out a new recipe. If you like, drop by with Belle for an early dinner before the ballet.”
Jonathan messaged the invite to Belle. She was home so bounced straight back, “I’d love to, Molly. See you at 5. I’ll bring some of my new Maca-roons for you to try.”
All the messages were done. Molly said, “Let’s have a juice while we’re here.”
They glided over, braked at the door and switched to walk mode.