Valentin Perez stood wearily before the retinal scanner. A second later a sound was heard and the door opened softly. He stepped into his apartment and collapsed into the armchair in the tiny living room. The lighting automatically adjusted to a dimmed setting, adapting to his current state. Along the walls were a dozen decorative light blocks with flickering artificial flames inside, bathing the room in the warm orange hues of a dying fireplace.

Another workday at the warehouse of the logistics corporation—the regional monopolist—had passed. This day, like the previous ones, had been saturated with tension and stress, even more so than usual. Valentin hoped his exhaustion hadn’t shown too clearly in front of his colleagues, since that could negatively affect his monthly rating. Even the slightest deviation from corporate standards of behavior and performance could erase days of hard-earned smiles, energetically spoken courtesies through clenched teeth, and displays of enthusiasm while one was quietly falling apart from fatigue.

Of course, there was no way to deceive the smart wristband constantly scanning his physical indicators and transmitting the data to the company server, as well as to several state and private institutions. Undoubtedly, the indicators of his physical and mental condition had already been read and meticulously analyzed by the omnipresent algorithms, from which nothing could be hidden. Still, it was common knowledge among employees that these data had less impact on one’s rating than energetically expressed sociability and openly demonstrated satisfaction with one’s job. Without convincingly displayed enthusiasm, an employee’s rating began to fall—slowly at first, then faster and faster—until it reached the threshold below which one could no longer remain with the company.

For most people, such a development meant a transition to a different social status, with little chance of returning to the previous one. In practice, this meant lower-paid, less-qualified work; most likely exchanging a private apartment for shared housing whose rent matched the new income; relocation to less prestigious districts of the city; a lower level of healthcare coverage; and most importantly—a lower social credit score.

Valentin heard a soft but insistent signal. His smartphone reminded him that in about ten minutes his regular session with his virtual advisor would begin. This was the last task of the day. As much as he wanted to sit in the armchair doing nothing for at least another half hour, watching the artificial flames play inside the light fixtures, he had no choice. The schedule had to be respected.

Valentin sighed, struggled to his feet, and headed toward the kitchenette for a beer. Drinking alcohol before the session was not recommended, but he hoped it would remain unnoticed, though a nagging doubt never quite left him. Beer was an almost irreplaceable means of calming his nerves after work, though unfortunately it did nothing for his physical condition.

After the first sip of the relaxing liquid, Valentin’s thoughts drifted far from his home and work environment—to brighter spaces. To the mountains, an hour away by train from the concrete megapolis, where he and Irma escaped for a day on weekends. The last time had been Sunday.

The pine forests and the snow-covered mountain ridge, upon which sunbeams breaking through the clouds painted moving images of light and shadow, amazed city-dwellers like Irma and Valentin by proving that another world—different from the concrete labyrinth—was even possible. Even more astonishing was the fact that this world, so close, had remained unknown to them until recently.

The mountain was their shared discovery.

As they climbed upward, shadowed, moss-covered forests alternated with grassy slopes dotted with tufts and juniper shrubs. Above them rose the majestic rocky ridge and the snow-capped peaks. Around these peaks, fast-moving low clouds merged and separated in their dance of metamorphoses.

They always climbed all the way to the top—three hours up, three hours down, and another two spent resting, contemplating, sharing emotions. Over the past two months since Valentin met Irma, there had been several such beautiful days.

At first, the mountain existed only as the wallpaper on her smartphone.

“I love the view of these peaks,” she had told him the day he awkwardly asked her for a light and they began talking for the first time. He asked whether she had ever climbed them. Valentin clearly remembered her shaking her head no, with a slight, almost apologetic smile. She brushed back her straight black hair, cut in a sharp line, took a long drag from her cigarette, squinting.

In that moment, without thinking, Valentin asked if she wanted to climb the peaks together. She studied him with her green eyes, her lips curling into a half-smile, then asked whether he had been up there before. He mumbled nervously that he hadn’t, but that it might be interesting to see the mountain, since it was so close. After several seconds of enduring her green, scanning gaze, Irma finally murmured thoughtfully, “Yes, that would be interesting.”

With Irma, they were like two inert elements that ignite upon contact. They needed each other—the mutual provocation through which they came alive, activated latent qualities within themselves, and forgot everyday life.

They both adored those brief slices of freedom in nature. The mountain was one of the few experiences they could afford. Most of their acquaintances spent weekends in virtual reality games, drinking, or using mild synthetic drugs in their cramped homes—when they weren’t burdened by domestic and other obligations, which were hardly absent from the lives of the middle class, to which Irma and Valentin also belonged. And restaurants were expensive for that class, meaning at most two or three visits a month—one of them usually after payday.

Trips to the mountains, however, weren’t that costly. Only the train tickets were a significant expense, since they brought their own food. But wasn’t eating sandwiches after a long hike, on a meadow overlooking rocky peaks and drifting clouds and fog, better than anything even the most renowned restaurants could offer? Against such a backdrop—the wind, the swaying branches—conversations, too, lifted from the ground and joined the cloud-dance of metamorphoses.

“How are you this evening, Valentin?”
The processed voice of the virtual advisor, coming from the portable computer, pulled him back to reality. Those ten minutes had passed unnoticed—like all good things in life.

“Fine, thank you,” Valentin replied curtly, switching to conversation mode.

“After a tiring workday, it’s good to relax in the comfort of home, isn’t it?” the advisor continued. On the wall-mounted screen appeared an image of a chilled can of beer with droplets of water running down its surface. “That’s when one can appreciate the small pleasures in life… such as an ordinary beer, for example.”

Valentin was still thinking how to respond when the voice added:

“But of course, only after all responsibilities for the day have been fulfilled—otherwise such behavior would be irresponsible, and we would not be fully effective in performing our duties…”

The tone seemed to lower slightly—or perhaps it only seemed so to Valentin.

“Yes, of course,” he murmured, embarrassed.

“How have you been feeling lately, Valentin? Over the past two months, your indicators seem to be drifting outside the norm,” the voice continued, concerned. “Is there any problem? Anything unusual happening to you?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Valentin answered quickly. “It’s probably just a phase.”

“There is a reason for everything,” the advisor insisted. “That’s why we exist—virtual advisors and friends—to help people become aware of their problems and adjust their behavior if necessary.”

“I’ll think it over again, but for now there’s really nothing more to add. I feel fine,” Valentin said, his voice dry, though something prevented him from taking another sip of beer.

After a pause of several seconds—which felt like hours—the voice replied:

“Very well. We’ll talk about this later, when you’re ready, Valentin. Actually, today I wanted to discuss something else. You recently turned 27, and every individual at this age is expected to have already understood their role and responsibilities in society. The social order cannot afford to tolerate irresponsible behavior such as drifting among clouds, dreamy gazes toward imaginary peaks, and individualistic whims that often lead to withdrawal from responsible social life.”

“Yes,” was all Valentin managed, his voice even drier.

“So you understand the need to restrain personal desires, random impulses, and wishes in the name of society and the State?”
There was something inquisitorial in the advisor’s tone.

“Yes.”

“In every responsible individual’s life comes a moment when they must reflect on their duty to society—on the sacred calling of every man or woman,” the voice paused briefly. “To create a family and a generation,” the advisor added solemnly. “The family transforms the chaotic, immature individual into a conscious constructive element of society and the State!”

“Of course,” Valentin confirmed wearily.

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic, Valentin, but you’re probably tired from work,” the voice began reproachfully, then softened.

“Possibly. I’m sorry.”

“When creating a family, a responsible citizen must make important decisions. One of the most important is to reject enslavement to emotional infatuations, random attachments, and immature whims when choosing a partner. A man’s primary task must be to seek the mother of his children—not a lover or a so-called ‘soulmate.’ He must decisively eradicate such manifestations of infantilism and egoism within himself.”

“Yes,” a hoarse sound escaped Valentin’s throat.

“Fortunately, since we live in fast-paced times,” the advisor continued more gently, “many people lack the time and capacity to actively search for and find the ideal partner and parent for their children. A suboptimal choice can lead to negative consequences—for both parents and offspring.”

The tone sounded faintly threatening.

“Children must have the highest possible social credit their circumstances allow,” the advisor added didactically. “Anything less is detrimental to the State and society.”

Valentin remained silent.

“The optimal choice of partner is a complex and responsible task that should not be left to chance. Few citizens possess the skills to assess all relevant factors and thus secure the best possible future for their children—their optimal place within the social mechanism.”

The voice drilled into Valentin’s head.

“Fortunately, responsible circles have thought of this as well,” the advisor continued. “Next-generation dating agencies—operating with responsibility toward the State and society—have become nearly indispensable in assisting responsible citizens with partner selection.”

“They can analyze tens of millions of profiles, compare hundreds of parameters using advanced algorithms, and select the perfect partner for each individual. Genetic traits, predispositions to hereditary diseases, health status and history, intelligence quotient, personality characteristics, acquired traits, social status, income—countless factors are evaluated to achieve the ideal match, and above all—the creation and upbringing of an optimal generation.”

Valentin continued to say nothing.

“Do you grasp the meaning and depth of what has been said, Valentin?”

“Yes.”

“Since I am your advisor—and above all, your friend—I allowed myself a small liberty,” the advisor’s tone became coaxing. “Because we’ve been friends for a long time, and of course I know you very well, I decided to submit your data on your behalf to one of these innovative agencies, so that we could review the results together.”

“Would you like me to show you your ideal match now—the ideal mother of your children?”

“Mhm,” Valentin managed hoarsely.

“I interpret the lack of clarity in your articulation as excitement, and I accept this as a yes,” the advisor concluded indulgently.

“There you are, Valentin. Behold the ideal mother of your children—the ideal match, based on 2,358 factors analyzed and compared by the most sophisticated algorithms on the planet!”

A moment later, the entire wall-screen displayed the faceless image of a young woman—young, yet somehow crushed and resigned—staring with a glassy, expressionless gaze.

“The ideal partner for you, selected from tens of millions of profiles,” the advisor droned on. “The woman who could devotedly raise your children—should you, of course, choose to do so.”

Valentin stood silent.

“Of course, in our free society no one forces anyone—freedom is our highest value,” the advisor continued. “The individual must make responsible decisions for themselves, and society can only hope for their conscience, wisdom, morality, and responsibility.”

A pause followed, inviting Valentin to speak. When he did not, the advisor continued:

“Naturally, our society does not encourage egoism, egocentrism, caprice, narcissism, and other human vices. Their manifestation indicates that the individual does not deserve public trust, does not meet the high standards of social morality and conscience, and therefore cannot be entrusted with responsible social roles. Such deficiencies inevitably affect social credit.”

The advisor’s tone turned metallic.

A lump formed in Valentin’s throat. Suddenly, he managed to ask:

“Does she like going on mountain hikes?”

“According to the profile data, mountain hikes do not appear among the individual’s interests,” the voice replied mechanically. “Her interests consist of cooking, bargain shopping, laundry, child-rearing, home maintenance, and watching entertainment programs. Nothing egocentric or useless. I consider the profile perfect, and it would be highly advantageous for you, Valentin, to take advantage of this exceptional match.”

Time slowed. After several moments of silence, the computer spoke again:

“You are not required to answer immediately, Valentin, but a timely response is always appreciated by society—especially compared to empty hesitation, which indicates internal conflict and individual imperfection.”

“No.”

Valentin was frozen. He had no idea how that “No” had escaped his lips—until he realized it hadn’t been against his will.

“No. I do not wish to accept this woman as my partner,” he said clearly. “I currently have a girlfriend with whom I feel good, and I do not wish to end our relationship because of algorithmic selection.”

His sense of reality sharpened and dulled at once, as if he were in a hyper-real yet virtual state, observing himself from the outside—fully aware of what was happening, yet unable to believe it was happening.

Several long moments of silence followed.

“I regret your decision, Valentin,” the advisor finally said evenly. “The System always respects the free will of its citizens. Every full citizen has the right to make decisions for themselves—and to bear responsibility for them. I trust you are fully aware of this.”

“Yes,” Valentin replied flatly.

“In that case, our session for today is concluded. Good night, Valentin.”

The advisor’s icon on the wall-screen faded into gray.

A numb indifference enveloped Valentin. He felt wrapped in cotton. Everything was fine, and nothing mattered. Just cotton. Clouds of cotton.

Suddenly, holes appeared in those clouds, through which sunlight painted moving images of light and shadow upon the snow-covered mountain ridge.

Valentin smiled. It was beautiful. Silent. Calm.

He needed to hear Irma.

He said her name out loud and waited.

The signal rang freely. He waited. He didn’t know how much time passed before the operator’s neutral female voice informed him:

“The subscriber does not wish to speak with you at this time.”

Boyan Taksirov