In The Sixth Millenium, There Is Chocolate

Aidan Smith was cold but get warmer. The woman he was looking at was covered from lips to toes in white sterile cotton. While the garb wasn’t particularly taut, it betrayed a trim body with pleasing proportions. Her blond bangs met her eye brows in an impossibly straight and level line. While he ogled the first women he had scene in four thousand years, she scribbled on a clipboard. Surprisingly, clipboards still exist in the year 6000.

The calendar in the corner of the room put the day to be January 45, 6007; four days from St. Mulligan’s Day. Aidan was slightly suspicious of the fact that they had English anything but it’s not like they didn’t have time to prepare for him. There was a ding and a green light; the door opened. The woman unzipped her neck and revealed a toothy, pleasant but rehearsed smile.

“Thank you sir, for the compliment.” She spoke slowly and choked back disgust with diplomacy.

Aidan looked down and realized that with his new blood he had his first erection, and his first blush.

“Oh, sorry.”

“It’s quite normal but would you mind obscuring your member somehow. It’s distracting.”

He cupped his hands at a slight distance as to not exacerbate things.

“Alright I’m going to describe your person as I see it. This is to find and diagnose any discrepancies between you before and after the process.”

“What would a discrepancy indicate?”

“Depends, we try not to put any possibilities in your head prematurely. You have green hair correct?”

“No, red.” He then remembered alcohol . “Wait, yes I had green hair when I was frozen.”

“Oh, good, we take space hemophilia very seriously here. Blue eyes, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Do you weigh 190 pounds?”

“Sounds about right.”

“You are 5 and 10?”

He had to decipher the statement first. “Yes.”

“You have a tattoo of a woodpecker(?) on your right butt cheek?”

He remembered alcohol. “Yes.”

“Alright, we’re done for now, in fifteen minutes we’ll begin your ‘debriefing’.” She made air quotes, unsure as an alien might wave a hang ten sign. “There is a robe that should fit you on the other side of the door. Step cautiously, you haven’t walked in sometime. The floor is cushioned for your protection.”

She left promptly for what Aidan assumed to be akin to a smoke break with the rapid departure. As he made his first step in the year 6007, he fell flat on his face. The cushioning was comfortable and he did not seem to have broken anything. He regretted not sleeping before the freeze.

After a slight bit of maneuvering, he began to prop himself on the now sealed glass door’s handle. He was able to grab the robe off the hook before collapsing on the floor again. After a few minutes trying to get the thing around him proper, he gave up. He simply resigned to enjoy the cushioning with his ass in the air and the robe draped around him. An unseen door opened and he heard a muffled giggle.

She promptly brought over a wooden chair with a ladder back which she held steady. He looked up at it annoyed and slightly hungover.

“Don’t you have a special gizmo for this?”

“The chair usually works.”

He couldn’t argue with her. Slowly he climbed the furniture and stood hunched over it. Through many awkward assisted maneuvers, he finally put on the robe and sat down on the chair. Then he tied his belt.

“You have another tattoo that anthropologists say indicates your status as a warrior. Were you frozen as punishment?”

“US Army Infantry, but no I wasn’t, I wasn’t even aware that happened. It was my choice, I was faced with something called stop loss. My superiors wanted me to go back to a war after I had done my tour.”

“So you’re a coward?”

“Not as I would I put it, but you’re pretty and you gave me a bathrobe, so I won’t hold it against you.”

“Sorry English isn’t my first language.”

“What is?”

“Esquiva. Don’t worry we have very good teachers.” She looked down at the clipboard. “Do you have any skills?”

“I’m good in close quarters combat, I took two years of dance and I can cook.”

Slowly, she framed to decipher the first clause, failing that she continued on.

“Well, we are short of cooks and dancers. Um, we’re done with this so do you mind if I take down my hair?”

He shrugged, slightly confused. She proceeded to remove her hair and put on a close by table.

“Hygiene regulations don’t allow us hair if we work with sleepers but people tend to be frightened if the first thing they see is a bald head.”

He soaked in the shininess of her head.

“Can we go get a beer?”

“I’m afraid alcohol out of fashion.”

“Just as well, what about Cocoa?”

“Is that the sweet brown bean that you crush in milk?”

“Yeah.” Culinary discussions would come later.

“I love that stuff. It’s called brown moo juice now, but your word is better. Co co right?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. You’re uninfected so I’ll just fuck the red tape and get you a wheelchair.”

“You mean fudge right?”

“Sure.” She placated his gibberish and promptly left with an excuse to drink brown moo juice on the job.

There is cocoa and therefore hope.

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