5. Into the Future’s Embrace

Elliot leans in, his eyes shining as he continues his ramble on history. “You know, after the Spanish lost their ‘masters of the seas’ title, they didn’t just give up. They learned from their defeat. Instead of relying on their old ways, they developed smaller, faster ships. Longer range, more efficient. It’s a pattern we’ve seen throughout history: progress always leads to more compact, powerful technology. It’s fascinating how history pushes things forward.”

“I’ve noticed. But don’t you think history is a bit… relative? It’s always written by the winners. They decide how the story is told and who’s worth mentioning.”

Elliot nods slowly, a thoughtful grin spreading across his face. “Of course. History is relative. You’ve got to read between the lines. The big events everyone talks about? Sure, they’re important. But it’s often the small, seemingly insignificant moments that ignite progress. Historians only can reconstruct events from fragments left behind. After all, they weren’t there.”

I raise my eyebrow, impressed. “Glad I’m not the only one thinking that way. So what brings a philosopher like you to London?”

Elliot’s grin widens. “Same as everyone else: a thirst for knowledge. And, to be honest, a break from my parents, who think I should settle for some boring office job.”

I hesitate. My voice lowers. “Can’t relate. I lost my parents when I was little.”

The air between us thickens with awkward silence. Elliot, clearly uncomfortable with the stillness, scratches the back of his head.

“Damn, man. I’m sorry about that. So, are you an orphan then?”

“No,” I reply, forcing a smile. “I’ve got a grandmother who always tries to feed me.”

Elliot’s grin returns, softer this time. “Well, you don’t look overfed.”

I chuckle. “I guess I was a handful growing up. Still am, I think.”

“So, this exchange program,” Elliot says, steering the conversation into lighter territory. “Is it like the old ones?”

“Not exactly. It’s more like a contract. I’m supposed to take everything I learn here back home and share it. But honestly, that’s not what I’m really after.”

Elliot’s curiosity flares. “So what are you after?”

“I want to—”

Before I can finish, the bus comes to a sharp stop. The neon sign outside the window glows in blue: University of Futuristic Technologies and Sciences.

We step off the bus, and I scan the crowd for the girl in the red windbreaker, but she’s nowhere in sight. My thoughts linger on her. Was she real? Or just a figment of my imagination, a fleeting goddess in a world dominated by science?

Elliot doesn’t notice my distraction, too busy taking in the towering university buildings. “Alex, look at this place! The name alone sounds magical. Who’d have thought futurism would become not just an idea but an entire science? It’s wild how demand for futurists has skyrocketed, way more than for politicians or even marketers.”

“Yeah,” I murmur, still searching the faces around me. “But what happens when we’re so focused on the future that we forget the present?”

Elliot shrugs, his grin unfazed. “Guess we’ll figure that out.”

As we walk toward the registration building, Elliot’s enthusiastic chatter quickly draws a small group of students. First is a dark-haired Asian girl with round glasses, Lin Dai, if I heard her name right. Then two more Turkish students join us: a blonde woman with a sharp, predatory look, and a dark-haired guy who might be her boyfriend.

Elliot, ever the charmer, turns his attention to the blonde. “So, how do you pronounce your name? Kadri or Kadriya?”

“It’s Kadriya,” the girl corrects with a proud smile. “Kadri is a man’s name.”

Elliot flashes her one of his signature grins. “Kadriya, huh? That’s a beautiful name. Ever wonder about its origin?”

She raises an eyebrow, amused. “It means ‘precious diamond,’ so I’m not exactly easy to get.”

The guy, Asil, glares at Elliot, his eyes dark with warning. “And my name means ‘noble.’”

Elliot’s smile doesn’t falter. “And what’s so noble about butting into our conversation?”

Asil’s face darkens, but Elliot’s cocky smile holds firm. After a tense pause, Asil shifts his attention to Lin, walking quietly beside me. Elliot shrugs off the interaction, smoothly turning back to Kadriya, resuming their conversation as if nothing had happened.

I try to follow their banter, but my mind keeps drifting back to the girl in the red windbreaker. Was she real? Or was she just a hallucination, a hologram brought to life by my overactive imagination?

Our group keeps chatting as we make our way through the campus, exchanging the usual student stories about where we’re from and why we chose this university. But the conversation fades as we approach the centre of campus, and my breath catches in my throat.

Ahead of us stands a massive castle, but not the medieval kind. This one is alive. Its towers spin, sections shift, like a gigantic Rubik’s cube in constant motion. Flying cars zip to and from the floating platforms. The look of the place is intoxicating, vibrant. The speed, the color, the sheer energy of the place, it feels like stepping into a whole new world. It’s like nothing I have ever seen.

We run toward the entrance like kids at a playground, bursting through the doors, out of breath and laughing.

“What’s the rush?” snaps a stern woman behind the reception desk. Her smart glasses look more like a helmet, and her frown deepens as she watches us.

“To see you, of course,” Elliot says with a mischievous grin.

“There’s no room for jokes here,” she replies coldly.

Elliot raises an eyebrow. “No room for jokes? Not even with all this tech around?”

The woman’s expression doesn’t change. With a tight-lipped sigh, she gestures toward the door on the right.

Once we’re in the corridor, Elliot wastes no time summing up the encounter. “See? People get vicious when you pull them away from their tech. They can’t handle even a second without it.”

The walls around us glow with neon-blue lines, intersecting as we walk down the hall. The lights twist and merge into a spacious elevator. As soon as we step inside, the floor shifts beneath us, moving first forward, then sideways, and then up. After a few more disorienting moves, I have no idea where we are, deep inside this futuristic maze, lost in its complexity.

We step into a vast hall, filled with students pouring in from all directions. We find seats at a long amphitheater-style table, the rows sloping down toward a podium.

Elliot and I sit in the second row for a clear view. The Turkish students take the row behind us, and Lin sits even higher, among a group of other Asian students.

As soon as everyone is seated, a large hologram appears above the podium. It’s a promotional video showcasing the university’s futuristic campus: sports complexes, engineering labs, programming rooms, floating tables in the cafeteria. The video ends with the words Welcome to the University of Futuristic Technologies and Sciences.

Then, the hologram shifts, and a man with a neatly trimmed beard and slightly greying hair appears.

“Welcome, young innovators!” he booms. “I’m Jacob Wolfe, your chancellor.”

The room erupts in applause.

“Before we begin,” Wolfe continues, “please place your hands on the chair handles for a fingerprint scan. The camera beneath the table will also scan your face. This will allow us to issue your student Omni-bracelets.”

I freeze for a moment. Anxiety washes over me. Anything could happen right now. It’s an all-or-nothing moment. My heart beats louder, and my hands shake, but I make myself follow instructions. Moments later, pleasant sounds beep and small black bracelets emerge from the desks in front of us. I’m looking around, trying to distract my mind. Some of the seats around us hold holographic students, studying remotely or attending virtually. It looks as though the chairs themselves wear holograms of students who can’t be there.

We slide the bracelets onto our wrists, and they magnetically sync with our existing Omni-bracelets. Access Granted. A hologram flickers to life on my wrist, displaying my personal data. Their system doesn’t know the truth. It was only a technical error in the morning.

Wolfe’s voice booms again. “Now, please review the list of subjects available for selection.”

A holographic list appears before us, filled with course options. Elliot nudges me. “Have you decided what to pick?”

“Not yet,” I reply. “There’s more here than I expected.”

“Trust me,” he says, grinning. “Pick innovation history. It’ll come in handy.”

After a few moments of consideration, I select Programming, Futuristic Economics, and, on Elliot’s advice, Innovation History.

Wolfe reappears. “Now that your selections are made, we’ll have an introductory lecture on the foundations of futurism. Who can tell me when the idea of futurism was born?”

A student near the front raises his hand. “After the Great Tragedy of 2030?”

“Not quite,” Wolfe says, shaking his head. “The idea of futurism first emerged in the early 20th century as an artistic movement. It promoted speed, technology, and progress, rejecting the past. Filippo Marinetti, an Italian poet, founded the movement in 1909 with the publication of the Futurist Manifesto.”

As Wolfe speaks, holographic paintings appear above the podium, subtly animated for effect.

“The painting on the right,” Wolfe continues, “was created by Giacomo Balla in 1913. It’s called ‘Abstract Speed + Sound’ and captures the sensation of a car speeding past. The other painting, by Gerardo Dottori, depicts an aerial battle during World War II, with planes as symbols of speed and progress.”

The holograms fade, leaving only Wolfe’s voice. “Futurism infiltrated every aspect of art, including painting, sculpture, music, and architecture. It represented humanity’s triumph over nature. Though the movement waned after Marinetti’s death, its spirit lived on in the minds of scientists, engineers, and inventors. And now, we stand at the dawn of the Futuristic Age.”

Wolfe’s hologram flickers and disappears, replaced by a quote from the Futurist Manifesto:

We declare that the splendor of the world has been enriched by a new beauty: the beauty of speed.

The lights in the hall come on. We rise to leave, but my attention remains fixed on one figure.

At the top of the hall, just stepping into an elevator, is the girl in the red windbreaker. She moves gracefully, her presence commanding, like a goddess standing on the threshold of Olympus. I blink, rubbing my eyes. Was she real?

“Elliot, do you see her?” I ask, nudging him.

He squints, scanning the hall. “See who? I can’t see a damn thing with all these people.”

The elevator doors close, and she vanishes. I rush toward the nearest elevator, hoping to catch up with her. But by the time I step outside, she’s gone.

Elliot finds me moments later, tapping me on the back. “What’s the rush, man?”

“I thought I’d catch her,” I mutter.

He chuckles. “Don’t worry. You’ll see her again. If she’s in our course, she’s not disappearing that easily.”

I nod, still wondering if she was even real.

As soon as my mind drifts away from the girl, I finally take in my surroundings. This entrance is different from the one we came through earlier, but I hadn’t noticed until now. I must’ve been distracted, confused by the reception area and the woman behind the desk, still glued to her TV shows inside that strange helmet of hers.

Now, as I blink the remnants of the goddess image from my mind, the scenery unfolds in front of me like a painting coming to life. The road ahead slopes gently downward, bordered by vibrant green lawns that crawl up the walls of sleek, blue-and-purple modern cottages. In the middle of the avenue, a towering stage rises up, where holographic student musicians rehearse, their notes dancing through the air as they adjust and practice their melodies.

To the left of the stage, a double-decker glass cottage gleams in the sunlight. Tables float effortlessly, both inside and out, as if gravity is just a suggestion. On the right, a smaller, spherical building catches my eye. Its walls shimmer, and a giant hologram pulses inside—advertisements, no doubt. I had read something just the other day about how advertisers had begun using the empty space beneath store ceilings to run these holographic displays. Futuristic marketing, invading every corner of our lives.

Elliot and I walk closer to the stage, taking in the scene. The avenue stretches ahead of us, a beacon of futuristic life. But Elliot, always curious, points toward a narrow, winding path veering off to the right.

“Let’s check that out,” he suggests, already turning down the path.

We follow the trail as it snakes through the trees, and the scent of pine and damp greenery fills the cooler air. It feels cleaner here, untouched. The twisting path pulls us deeper into the woods, and I breathe in the earthy freshness of it all.

Then, rising out of the forest like a relic from the future, a towering filtration device stands before us. Its sleek white frame contrasts starkly against the natural beauty of the pines, yet it feels like it belongs here. Four meters high and five meters wide, it hums quietly as it purifies the air and water. Even here, in the heart of nature, humanity’s hand has left its mark, using technology to bend the environment to its will.