Growing Up in Tier 3000 by Felix C. Gotschalk

Author:Felix C. Gotschalk [Gotschalk, Felix C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2025-09-23T00:00:00+00:00

Carol and Jonas seem compliant enough, standing in front of the softly whirring camera. The lens goes dark and the arm lowers into the deck.

The new young adults return to the solarium area and code in the clotures. They dispatch two charbots to recover the body. They authorize autopsy, extirpation of implants, and vaporization. They sit on chaises and gaze at a fireplace reprod, looking deceptively like small children.

XIII

The vast Sea Island Complex spreads along the Georgiana coast for fifty miles, its geodecks, turrets, and monoliths reaching up into the rich humid air. In one of the honeymoon domes, Jonas and Carol sit on filmy discs, watching the trivids. Jonas drains a small flask of vodka extract and orange pulp and turns to Carol. “Happy, little one?”

“Ecstatic!”

“Come, award Jonas a huge kiss.”

“Upper persuasion for lower invasion?”

“We haven’t ravished each other for at least an hour.”

“Let’s do it on camera.”

“And dig the holos?”

“Supra-affirm, Carol’s juicy stud.” Jonas kisses her, as if drinking from a spring, and Carol writhes and whimpers and makes urgent little noises in her throat. Her hands hold his face, both ears, and move to the neck; she squeezes the deltoids, skims her fingers down the latissimi, and holds both gluteal globes like honey-dew melons. Her fingers search inward, seeking out centerlines, symmetry points, downy hair patches, puckered sphincters. Jonas’s small body begins to redden.

“Let’s do a total eclipse,” he says.

“Anything you want, baby.”

They spring to the floor, like nymphs jumping from the tops of mushrooms. “Dial it the way you want, honey,” Carol whispers to Jonas. He crosses the satiny deck and examines the life-systems console as Carol does a cotton-soft cartwheel and lies supine. Jonas adjusts some bezels and toggles, and steps back, as if anticipating the sound of a favorite disc or tape or cube. A low bolero beat begins and willowy pastel colors ease from the compositor nozzles. Jonas falls softly prone and reaches out for Carol, as if inching flat across thin ice. He grasps her hands. The two small honeymooners lie like trapeze performers, arms outstretched, head to head, spread-eagled, Carol supine, Jonas prone. He begins to move slowly, his head now softly butting against hers, then lifting to kiss her forehead, eyes, and mouth. He hovers over her face, studying the inverted lip-line, closing his mouth over the sweetly humid folds.

“We’re forming a Yin and Yang bond,” Carol whispers, her head turned to look at the trivid deck. Jonas looks to see himself bent over Carol, knees drawn up slightly, as if crouching to receive a per anum thrust. He lingers over her small breasts and feels her tongue circling his own hard nipples. He probes her navel with his tongue, as her darting tongue flicks deep into his umbilical roothole. He whimpers as Carol sucks his navel into a convex bud, then lets it snap back to deeply introversive concavity. Carol then feels Jonas’s silky ramrod nudging at her head and his mouth trailing soft kisses down a plumb-line to her pubic thatch.

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