Traveling Into the Future

Short Science Fiction Stories: Part 4

What the Future Is Made of

“Mirror, mirror on the wall, what do you think of the suit?” It was still early morning as I dressed in my Stuttgart hotel room. A suit was required since I was meeting someone in an hour and a half who, for professional reasons, deals with nice clothing. He is the president of the Association of the South German Textile Industry, which was re-established in 2035.
“If you want to know what I think, the suit looks as though it’s ten years old,” said Avar abruptly. I always deactivate her at night, actually – and for good reason.
“The suit is ten years old. Back then, you weren’t in my employ,” I countered. “And it comes from a factory in the vicinity, which is why I’m wearing it today.”
“In any case, it doesn’t fit you well. The pants really need to be taken in around the waist, don’t they? Besides, the technology is completely out of date. I’m not getting any data. Does it actually have an up-to-date interface?”
I squirmed: “Well, to be honest, it is quite analog. I haven’t used its only real function for a long time – it's the step counter in the pants. Shoes have been doing this for quite some time.
“Stand in front of the mirror," Avar instructed me. “I’ll show you a really cool suit.” And, however exactly she did it, I was able to admire myself in a smart-looking suit. I turned to the right and then to the left. The mirror image followed me “This two-piece from Steinmann & Löwe looks good on you,” my digital assistant said, offering a bit of praise. “It can do a lot of things. The jacket’s material has automatic moisture control. When it rains, it is sure to stay dry thanks to its hydrophobic surface and sealed fabric. When it’s warm and you perspire, the pores in the fabric widen and allow plenty of air to move through it. It should actually accommodate you.”
“Sounds interesting,” I said. “Can it make coffee, too? I could use a cup right now.”
“There’s coffee in the breakfast room, down and to the left, near the reception desk,” Avar said, as serious as ever. Is it even possible to program an appreciation of humor?
“Should I order the suit for you?,” Avar was now asking. “At the moment, it costs just 500 digicoins.”

I gave in. I actually don’t like the procedure associated with ordering. It mainly involves Avar measuring me precisely using the laser runtime process. It is not a pretty sight to have age-related imperfections recorded down to the millimeter. In exchange, the suit will fit precisely and won’t pinch anywhere.

My head was reeling when I returned to my hotel after my conversation with the friendly association president. Using countless statistics, he showed me why textiles were no longer imported from low-wage countries in 2045. The main thrust went like this: Due to artificial intelligence and new production processes, the rural regions around Stuttgart are no longer at a competitive disadvantage. In addition, there is no longer a market for low-tech textiles without sensors and electronics – they are a bit like the cars that you once had to drive yourself. The only successful companies are those that are able to produce tailor-made clothing – for anyone.

I was ready to dictate the article to Avar and delve into the resurrection of an industry once pronounced dead. But she interrupted me. “The digital twin of your new suit reported back. Its production has been completed. Would you like to read the production record?”

I agreed that it might make good material for my article.

“Avar, the phone is ringing. Can you answer it?”
“But Nero, I don’t have hands,” she quickly answered. Sometimes I just forget about that.