Time Is on Her Side

"Horatia! Are you up? You're going to be late... again!"

"Ugh... is it morning, already?" The twenty-year-old History student mumbled, holding on to the pillow as if it were the love of her life.

"Horatia! Are you even listening to what I'm saying? You know I don't like to repeat myself, young lady!"

It was morning, no doubt about it. Even if the holographic alarm clock was malfunctioning, her mother's harsh tone was evidence enough that what passed as a Sun in the Northern Hemisphere those days was up in the sky once again. Horatia opened her sleepy eyes, stretched three times to get the blood flowing, and sighed. It was Monday. The weekend had gone way too fast.

"Horatia! If I have to call you again, I swear that... get your lazy ass out of bed this instant!"

"I'm up," she lied, still enjoying the warm embrace of her nanotech blankets.

"You don't look up," her mother declared, the sarcastic voice coming from inside the bedroom. Horatia peeked to the right and noticed the nurse's uniform in the shadows before seeing the wrinkled nose, eyes, and forehead of her only living relative. Celeste was 50% adorable, 50% creepy, and only the latter percentage explained her silent approach and sudden breach of privacy.

"Geez, Mom! You scared me real good!"

"You're the one scaring me, Horatia," the older woman retorted as she wondered what she had done wrong in raising her.

Horatia jumped out of bed and into the fuzzy sensation of her hover slippers, black hair falling in a cascade along her shoulders.

"How many times have I asked you to stop calling me that?"

"It's your name... Horatia."

"Not by choice. You know I would change it right away if They allowed that."

"Well, They don't. What would you like me to call you, anyway?"

"How about just R.?"

"An initial, really?" Celeste emphasized the first letter of the last word to show just how ridiculous it sounded, but her daughter wasn't impressed.

"It's better than Horatia, at least."

"Sigh... hurry, will you? You don't want old Lazendorf breathing down your neck again, do you?"

"You got that right," Horatia agreed.

Thaddeus Lazendorf, Dean of Northern Hemisphere's University Number 3 and her 21st Century History Teacher, had the breath of a zombie suffering from halitosis. How someone so squalid, gray, and with the face of a horny baboon had become so powerful and influential was one of those mysteries future generations would spend years studying, and regretting both waste of time and money doing so. She shuddered at the thought of having to see him again, but that was her cross to bear.

"I need to get dressed, do you mind?" She waved at her mother who vanished as quickly as she had appeared. That she could be so silent was one of Celeste's most admirable qualities, and one of the primary reasons no one should try anything to get on her bad side.

Horatia stumbled into the bathroom, still recovering from the vivid images of a delightful erotic dream. Masturbating at the recollection of it was an appealing scenario she would very much like to indulge in, yet responsibility was kicking in. She glanced at the mirror and feigned a happy smile.

She stood at five feet nine in flats and a little over six feet two wearing her favorite retro plastic boots. She had the looks of an ancient Roman deity mixed with the foolishness of tender age. The freckled nose was innocent enough compared to her full lips with a suction power like no other, but what really stood out in her were the gorgeous amber eyes.

"Everyone just stares at my ass though," she said to herself. Truth be told, no one could be blamed for that as it was as perky and magnetic as her gaze. She smiled again, a frail impersonation of a genuine laugh and spouted a couple of commands.

"Toothpaste, half-full glass of water. And get my black dress ready for when I'm done."

The familiar buzzing sound played once in the bathroom, and one more time in her bedroom, orders being relayed to the invisible network of circuitry that made up the A.I. in charge of the house. Horatia blinked and grabbed the toothbrush that had just appeared in her hand. A minty balm caressed her teeth.

"Thank God they got rid of that citrus aftertaste," she mumbled. Even the water appeared smoother this time around, a realization too good to be a coincidence. "Elections in two months time, right..." she concluded.

As she brushed her teeth, Horatia's mind wandered far away, to another place, and definitely another time. Once, there had been a rise of Feminism, a wave of power destined to change the world for the better. She had read the books and articles, seen the movies heralding a joyous new dawn, yet now those beautiful pages and images of History were but footnotes in digitized compendiums no one bothered to read.

The rise and fall of the movement and the subsequent emergence of the Super Patriarchy fascinated her more than she had the birthright to be fascinated with. For better or worse, the dawn of the 22nd Century had created her world, one where she felt like a complete stranger every single minute of every single day.

Expressing such emotions was dangerous for there were snitches everywhere, waiting for the chance to prove their loyalty to the system. Those "shadowy cowards" - as she politely called them - were a constant reminder that, despite the turmoil of random events, some things always remained the same, even if they shouldn't.

Only one person was fortunate enough to know her true feelings, and he had accepted them gladly. His name was Alex, but she preferred to call him "pet."

* * *

"What do you want?" his voice suddenly echoed inside her mind, evoking a not so distant memory. It was something he asked a lot, even more so when a special occasion was coming up. Her birthday qualified and, once again, he had no clue what to give her.

On this occasion, they sat inside one of the University's classrooms, all emblazoned with symbols of a false authority desperately trying to be real.

"A time machine," she replied, caressing his chin.

"I'm serious, R.," he rolled his eyes at her, a fact that didn't go unnoticed. Horatia adjusted herself on the wooden seat, directing his attention to her transparent boots. One of the reasons she loved them so much was because he had grown to love them, too.

"So am I. Time should be on my side, this is not how History should be."

Alex admonished her on the spot. "Keep your voice down, please! What if someone hears you and reports you for heretic remarks?"

"Let anyone try," she shrugged. "I'm not afraid of the truth."

"As much as it pains me to say it, perhaps you should be. This society may not be perfect, but it's all we have."

"I refuse to accept that argument as an excuse. Women should be worshipped as living Goddesses, not play second fiddle to men's desires. It's not right, and I know you feel the same way."

"Yes, I do... but it's not like I have a choice in the matter, is it?"

"Meaning...?" She teased.

"You've been brainwashing me into your ideals ever since we were kids, R."

"True, but it's what you always wanted, anyway."

He nodded, her hold over him becoming stronger, deeper. Alex's brain cracked delicately, every synapse aglow with submissive dreams. However, his deepest desires had to remain a secret from everyone else.

The twenty-two-year-old man was the second son of the prestigious Rutherford family and, like all second sons, he was destined for great things, just as long as they didn't overshadow the achievements of the firstborn. Terence was being groomed for politics and he dreamt of being a surgeon. His hands were steady but his mind not so much. The ideals of male dominance imprinted upon him since birth had slowly been eroded by that beautiful angel, and he loved it.

"I want to kneel before you so badly," he confessed.

"Wouldn't that be a sight for the Super Patriarchy?" She giggled.

It would but Time was not on her side.

* * *

The memory passed her by, faded back into the subconscious depth where it belonged. Horatia got dressed and headed downstairs.

"Finally!" Her mother sighed with relief.

"How do I look?"

"Lovely as ever, but dear..."

"Yes?"

Celeste pointed at her transparent plastic footwear. "When are you going to stop wearing those?"

"What's wrong with my boots?"

"Oh, nothing..." Celeste mused. "Other than they were ugly eighty years ago and continue to be ugly, today."

"They're comfortable, and I love them, so I guess the answer to your question is never."

"Never is never an appropriate answer," Celeste concluded, an adage that ran in the family or so she said.

"It will have to do for now. Okay, I'm off. See you later."

"Wait, what about your breakfast?"

"I'll synthesize a burger on the way."

"A burger? You can't go around eating burgers for..."

The front door slammed, stealing the words from her mouth. The indignation remained. Celeste sighed and sat down to eat, alone.

* * *

Before catching the InnerTube heading to the University, Horatia stopped by the nearest SynthStation and ordered a double cheeseburger. The odd-looking, angular machine complied with the same old jingle, letting everyone all around know for the nth time that "SynthBurgers' flavor was just like the real deal," a claim she always deemed obtuse considering the fact cows had grown extinct over three centuries ago. Still, they were delicious enough to curb her cravings, and that's all that mattered.

She barely had time to eat before the Tube came rolling in, extending its metallic walkways like spider legs to welcome future passengers. Despite reminding her of something better suited to be shoved up one's ass, the Tube was the safest and fastest means of transportation available, with only two accidents reported in the last forty-five years. She jumped onto one of the walkways, allowed it to retract with a creak and drifted into the transportation's bowels, just another woman in the crowd.

* * *

The main building of Northern Hemisphere's University 3 was identical to the other nine facilities still in operation, a geometrical aberration of red and gray walls designed to remind people of the Super Patriarchy's symbol and flag. Getting around inside was a dizzying experience, one even more pronounced for the women, forced to navigate the secondary corridors like rats in a maze.

Horatia took the first elevator straight into the intersection of the corridor mesh, a series of prismatic numbers assaulting her senses before fading into doors, rooms, and amphitheaters with a penchant for the classic and tacky. She was ten minutes late, her best result that month.

"Wait up, Ho," a voice called out to her. Lana cut across a group of sophomores and held her right hand with an intense sense of pride. "My savior! I always get lost in here."

A demure blonde of Ancient Australia descent, Lana Danvers was all boobs and smiles and the closest thing to the epitome of BFF teenagers from bygone days liked to spew. In their case, it was true though. If it weren't, she wouldn't get away with her choice of nickname.

"I think you just like to hold my hand," Horatia teased as they continued traversing the last corridor before their destination.

Lana's teeth glistened under the artificial reflections of the Skylight Dome. "That too, but why wouldn't I? You're hot as fuck."

"And you're as silly as ever. Glad to see I'm not the only one running late, today. Did something happen?"

"Yeah... Grandpa fell ill. I had to drop him at the nearest hospital before coming here."

Horatia's grip became more pronounced. "I'm sorry to hear that. What's wrong with him?"

"Besides being old? I don't know. I' sure the doctors will find out soon enough."

"You should have stayed with him."

"I can't afford another bad report, Ho. Lazendorf is just waiting for an excuse, I'm sure."

"He's always looking for an excuse, that's true. Tell you what, you go on ahead."

"Huh? Why?"

"He'll cut you some slack if I arrive after you. Tardiness from oversleeping is a worse offence than looking after your grandfather."

"That's sweet but I don't want you to take the fall for me."

"I already made my decision, now go!" Reluctantly, Lana let go of her hand, and dashed into the open door ahead, her pink skirt waving like a ship caught in a storm. Horatia stopped a few meters from the entrance, leaned against a railing, and waited five minutes, all of them spent imagining she held a vintage cigarette and puffs of seductive smoke were coming out of her mouth.

* * *

She entered the classroom with no concern in the world. Sitting three rows ahead, pretending to be paying more attention than she really was, Lana glanced at her and silently verbalized a "Thank you".

"Ah, Horatia, so glad you finally joined us," Professor Lazendorf mocked upon her arrival. "You know, for someone with your name, I'm surprised how much you fail to live up to its legacy."

"Whatever, you big ape," she thought, wishing to have spoken these words out loud, instead. Her designated seat was taken by a recent transfer student, so she negotiated a path to the most distant aisle.

The name Horatia meant "Timekeeper", she was well aware of that, but not because she gave a rat's ass about etymology to begin with. Lazendorf had told her that on the first day of the first semester and kept repeating it to make a point. However, she always dismissed him for knew too well he dreamed of other pointy things, like his intumesced cock being shoved down her throat. She gave him a mental middle finger. "I really hate you, old man."

He didn't. He loved her, or at least he loved all the dirty things that frolicked in his mind whenever she was around. Such feistiness waiting to be broken and put to good use between his saggy legs! "It's cock time!" His animalistic self shouted.

Irritated eyes fell on her the moment she sat down. "Aren't you forgetting something, Horatia?"

"I don't think so," she replied and everyone looked at her in shock.

"The Oath," Lazendorf emphasized.

"What about it?"

"Don't test my patience, young lady. Recite The Oath. Now!"

Horatia's blood boiled like molten lava. She hated The Oath, another humiliating invention of The Super Patriarchy to keep women docile and controlled. Repetition leads to indoctrination and every class of every day served as a testament of such ideals.

"Well?"

"Please," she almost heard Lana beg. Horatia swallowed her pride once again, feeling it burn down her throat.

"Hail The Super Patriarchy. Men rule, women serve. From the Dawn of Time to the End of the Universe," she said.

"Exactly," Lazendorf nodded. "Anyway, as I was saying," he pointed at the projected humanoid figure in the center of the room. "This man was one of the last Presidents of the country once known as the United States of America..."

"Iis that a dead rat on his head or something?" someone commented.

"It's called a toupée," another voice intervened. Everyone laughed, even the teacher. Horatia did as well, and once again drifted away to appease her altered state of mind.

She was powerful. More powerful than anyone suspected. She had the power to change thoughts and actions, to make suggestions grow and become permanent engravings of someone's reality. Hypnosis ran in her blood and many of her ancestors had used it for good, even going as far as saving the world on more than one occasion. Her family tree didn't lie yet it no longer grew either. It was withering, dying, deprived of sunlight and rightful ideals.

Her mother was partly to blame. She didn't want to fight the oppression of her spirit any more and subconsciously urged her to do the same. Seeing others accept blindly everything the system wanted them to believe in was already painful enough but her own flesh and blood? She said she wanted to protect her but why? What was the point? She mentally recited her own oath and hopeful mantra repeatedly to counteract the nefarious brainwashing.

"Hail women. Femininity is Dominant, masculinity is submissive. May Time reflect the truth in this and any other Universe."

* * *

The class was over before she knew it, yet her day was only just beginning.

"Horatia, a word in my office, please," Lazendorf declared. Lana's eyebrows formed an obvious "What now?" as she heard that. Both women kept quiet and Horatia followed her teacher through more spiralling corridors of controlled dreams until she reached his sanctum and the smell of blood and semen ransacked her nostrils. Terrible things had happened behind closed doors, no doubt about it.

Lazendorf sat on a hovering chair, his imported golden throne that declared just how superior he thought himself to be. One moment, he was on the same eye level as her, and in the next he was looking down like a god eager to cast his divine judgment on a feeble, worthless mortal.

"I'm worried about you, Horatia," he sibilated. "You have so much potential and yet you keep squandering it. You will lose your way unless someone mentors you, gives you the discipline of thought you so desperately need."

Standing next to a bookshelf filled to the brim with dusty books of half-assed truths, Horatia rolled her eyes.

"Is that what you really want? To mentor me?"

"Of course. You're my student, I care about you deeply."

"You care about my body at least," She laughed.

"Body and mind should be in harmony and The Super Patriarchy is clear about what constitutes harmony for a woman. You're lucky that I'm your teacher. Others would have put out that rebellious fire of yours by now in ways I dare not describe."

"Like the ones that happen around here from time to time?"

"What exactly are you implying?"

"What everyone knows to be true, Professor. You use your position to get what you want all the time."

The throne jerked as it circled around her. "I use my position to help others see the wrongness of their actions," he grinned. "I see so much darkness in your future. I want to be the light you need before your time runs out."

"That almost sounds like a threat."

"Believe what you want but there's a right and a wrong path in store for you. The right one has you locking the door behind you so I can mentor you in any way I see fit."

"And the wrong one?"

"Trust me, you don't really want to know," he sibilated.

"That's the thing, Professor. I don't trust you at all."

"I can't say I'm surprised. It seems obvious you already made your choice."

"I made it long before I entered this room. May I go now?" she asked, ironically.

"Not until you recite The Oath again, my dear."

"Not this time." Horatia turned his back on him and strutted away, leaving the very horny and angry man to his lonesome schemes. Lazendorf lowered the chair, pressed an almost invisible button on his crystalline desk and called his personal secretary.

"Miss Adams, call Lana Danvers to my office," he ordered.

"Right away, Professor."

He smirked and rubbed his cock. He would have his way, no matter what.

* * *

The library was the only place in the entire University where Horatia felt somewhat safe. When she was not in class or having replicated delicacies for lunch with Lana and Alex, she sat in a small windowed cubicle on the eastern side, facing the only visible edge of the Skylight Dome. No one occupied that division other than her and the single chair within had the grooves to prove it. A physical copy of H. G. Wells' "The Time Machine" rested on her lap, the open pages lovingly nested in her black dress.

Her ears buzzed. Alex was calling. She touched her right earlobe to activate the subcutaneous transmitter and disarmed his mind right away.

"Hello, my pet."