Identity X Read Free Page A

see through the facade of
propriety, and saw that it was just a way for tracking people’s movements.  He
couldn’t understand why society had accepted it so readily.  He cursed the
androgynous voice under his breath, stowed his identity card back in his pocket
securely, and made his way through the tunnels where the oncoming breeze
delivered an unwelcome chill, but which to its credit also began to dry those
of his hairs which had not escaped the torrential rain. 
    By
the time the twenty minute journey across the city was complete his hair was
almost dry.  Ben usually swept it back into a semi-straightened style with a
slick of the sweet smelling paste that promised more in its advertising than
the offer of a good hairstyle, but after their soaking his blond curls had
worked their way loose.  Under his raincoat he was wearing a crisp white shirt
and black tie, loosened progressively throughout the day into its current
casual position.  Combined with his raincoat he looked more like a city lawyer
or banker than a scientist.  Most of the people he worked with came to work in
jeans and at this time of year thick jumpers that looked as if they had been
pulled out from the bottom draw every winter since the day of their
graduation.   Ben had been wearing suits since he first graduated.  He knew he
was a handsome man, and he enjoyed the attention it brought with it.  At school
he had been voted the most likely to go on to become a male model, and rather
than be embarrassed by it, or see it as some sort of attenuation of his
intelligence, he was damn well flattered.   He saw no reason that being smart
meant that he shouldn’t care what he looked like.  As he made his way towards
the exit of the station he could hear that the rain had subsided, and there was
a steady stream of people on their way out.  The corridor was quiet, and as he
approached the exit gate he could see that there was a man having trouble with
his identity card.  It wouldn’t permit him access into the station and there
was a pulsating mass of people behind him that appeared to be growing
progressively angrier at the delay.  All it would take was an unpaid bill, a
trivial criminal misdemeanour, even an unfounded complaint against you could be
enough to get your identity card deactivated.   There was only one way of
getting it reactivated and that was to go in person to the Central Government
Offices and deal with whatever problem had caused the deactivation, and nobody
wanted to have to do that.
    Ben
flashed his identity card in front of the screen and the door slid open.  He
cursed the courteous computerised greeting once again and watched as the guards
made their way over to the troubled man, who had already started to protest his
innocence.  It was no use.  He already knew the guards wouldn’t listen to any
of his reasoning, no matter how logical he made it seem.  They would never
oblige by opening the doors at the hint of a convincing explanation.  If your
identity card failed you, you were out of the station on your heels. 
    The
streets were quieter with the passing of the rain, and the syrupy sweet smell
that it left behind permeated the clear air.  It was early April, and as much
as people expected the bad weather, the first proper downpour always caught the
world unawares.  There were people walking home in rain soaked suits, their
expensive shoes soaked through to the sole, and that simply would never feel
the same again.  Aside from his own problems, including his own rain soaked
shoes which he knew he would discard, Ben enjoyed the purity and cleanliness of
such an atmosphere and inhaled it deeply as he walked through the streets.  As
he approached the bar, the glow of the lights from inside in comparison to the
slick oily streets was to him as inviting as a wing backed chair and a roaring
log fire.  Shaking off the last drops of rain from his coat Ben stepped into
Simpson’s and could see Mark standing at the side of