Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sam has had another one of his turns. Ranting and railing against the rules of a more primitive time.

Annie does her best, tries to contain the worst, hides his confusion in an awkwardly placed 'there there' and a cup of sweet tea.

But, under it all she's embarrassed. Sam has no right spouting off on tirades about the future. He has no right trying to change the immediate present to suit his, now, distant future. It just isn't not done.

Annie has a secret.

She remembers seeing an iPod, on a day trip to the museum in Bolton, in a hermetically sealed flexi-glass case. The curator assured them that it was still usable. If they could work out how to interface with it.

It all seemed so simple, so naive. It was unthinkable that bio-chips and instant download hadn't belonged to previous generations. How could humans not become more?

But that was long ago, in another country.

She remembers the bombs over Moscow. Fifty million people dead and no-one left to blame.

She remembers discussions at University, the night-time debates about the progression of the human psyche and whether humans were still evolving. She remembers a drunken night, soon after starting her PhD, the arguments, the bet.

She wouldn't change this world for any other. The visceral pleasure of just being, so few rules acting on the liberties of the person. To be who you what to be.

No she wouldn't go back.

And besides, the wench is dead.