2050: Psycho Island
Page 1
© 2020 by Phil M. Williams
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
First edition, 2020.
Phil W Books.
www.PhilWBooks.com
ISBN: 978-1-943894-54-3
Cover design by Tugboat Design
Table of Contents
A Note from Phil
Chapter 1: Derek and the Family Orchard
Chapter 2: Jacob and His Enhanced Family
Chapter 3: Summer Stock
Chapter 4: Naomi Sets the Stage
Chapter 5: Derek and the Boys
Chapter 6: Jacob and the Bilderberg Meeting
Chapter 7: Summer and The Resistance
Chapter 8: Naomi and Alexandria Acres
Chapter 9: Derek and the Treatments
Chapter 10: Jacob, Captain of a Sinking Ship
Chapter 11: Summer’s Hope-for-the-Best Baby
Chapter 12: Naomi and It’s Always about the Money
Chapter 13: Derek and the Picker
Chapter 14: Jacob Meets Naomi
Chapter 15: Summer and Gradualism
Chapter 16: Naomi and Vernon
Chapter 17: Derek and the Harvest
Chapter 18: Jacob and Beholden to Lies
Chapter 19: Summer and Watched or Paranoid
Chapter 20: Naomi and Suffer the Consequences
Chapter 21: Derek Burns the Midnight Oil
Chapter 22: Jacob, Drunk on Tiger Bone Wine
Chapter 23: Summer’s Stash
Chapter 24: Naomi and the Next President
Chapter 25: Derek and from Bad to Worse
Chapter 26: Jacob and No Good Deed
Chapter 27: Summer and Two Heartbeats
Chapter 28: Naomi’s Secret Weapon
Chapter 29: Derek and the Oldest Profession
Chapter 30: Jacob and Thankful
Chapter 31: Summer and the Thanksgiving Chicken
Chapter 32: Naomi Announces
Chapter 33: Derek and Nothing Left
Chapter 34: Jacob and the Funeral
Chapter 35: Summer and Things Left Unsaid
Chapter 36: Naomi and Cruella
Chapter 37: Derek and the First Cold Morning
Chapter 38: Jacob and No Leverage
Chapter 39: Summer Breaks the News
Chapter 40: Naomi on CNN
Chapter 41: Derek Almost Eight Months Later
Chapter 42: Jacob’s Swiss Family Reunion
Chapter 43: Summer and Nine Months
Chapter 44: Naomi and Get Out
Chapter 45: Derek and Closure
Chapter 46: Jacob and Hedging Bets
Chapter 47: Summer and the Day Everything Changed
Chapter 48: Naomi and Counterterrorism
Chapter 49: Derek Does Recon
Chapter 50: Jacob, the Murderer
Chapter 51: Summer and Treason
Chapter 52: Naomi and NEA
Chapter 53: Derek’s Destiny
Chapter 54: Jacob and Fishing
Chapter 55: Summer and Byron
Chapter 56: Naomi and the Headlines
Chapter 57: Derek and the Test
Chapter 58: Jacob and Selling Short
Chapter 59: Summer and Hell on Earth
Chapter 60: Naomi and Wall Street
Chapter 61: Derek Goes on a Cruise
Chapter 62: Jacob and the Ex is Gone
Chapter 63: Summer’s Nightmare
Chapter 64: Naomi and Union Money
Chapter 65: Derek and the Landing
Chapter 66: Jacob and Happy Wife, Happy Life
Chapter 67: Summer Goes to Market
Chapter 68: Naomi’s the Solution
Chapter 69: Derek and the Chosen Ones
Chapter 70: Jacob and Project Freedom
Chapter 71: Summer and El Morro
Chapter 72: Naomi Begs for Donations
Chapter 73: Derek and the Stew
Chapter 74: Jacob and the Stock is Down
Chapter 75: Summer and Soda
Chapter 76: Naomi Opposes Psycho Island
Chapter 77: Derek and the Games
Chapter 78: Jacob and to Hell with Everything
Chapter 79: Summer and Race Wars
Chapter 80: Naomi and CCCA
Chapter 81: Derek’s New Family
Chapter 82: Jacob’s Resignation
Chapter 83: Summer Goes on a Scavenger Hunt
Chapter 84: Naomi and Politically Motivated
Chapter 85: Derek and the Prize
Chapter 86: Jacob and the Mercenaries
Chapter 87: Summer and Connor’s Killer
Chapter 88: Naomi and Republican Gun Control
Chapter 89: Derek and Castillo San Felipe del Morro
Chapter 90: Jacob Lands in Sandy Bay
Chapter 91: Summer and the Laughing Gulls
Chapter 92: Naomi and the Ban
Chapter 93: Derek and Joy and Meaning
Chapter 94: Jacob and the Drones
Chapter 95: Summer and 1776
Chapter 96: Naomi, the Extreme Leftist
Chapter 97: Derek and the Aryans Strike Back
Chapter 98: Jacob and Cat Two
Chapter 99: Summer and We’re All on Borrowed Time
Chapter 100: Naomi and the Man about Town
Chapter 101: Derek and into the Storm
Chapter 102: Jacob and Five-Star Accommodations
Chapter 103: Summer and Another Night in Paradise
Chapter 104: Naomi and Man Up
Chapter 105: Derek’s All Alone
Chapter 106: Jacob and Moving On
Chapter 107: Summer and the Sub
Chapter 108: Naomi and the End of a Marriage
Chapter 109: Derek and the Dead
Chapter 110: Jacob and Letting Go
Chapter 111: Summer and Psycho Island
Continue the Story …
For the Reader
Gratitude
A Note from Phil
Dear Reader,
If you’re interested in receiving my novel Against the Grain for free and/or reading many of my other titles for free or discounted, go to the following link: http://www.PhilWBooks.com.
You’re probably thinking, What’s the catch? There is no catch.
Sincerely,
Phil M. Williams
1
Derek and the Family Orchard
“Mornin’, Mom.” Derek kissed his mother on the cheek.
Hannah Reeves stood over the electric stovetop, cooking scrambled eggs. A pitcher of fresh-squeezed orange juice was on the counter. “Good morning, honey,” she replied, not looking at her son.
Derek stared at his mother, his eyes squinting. She was a sturdy woman with thick gray hair. Chubby, not fat, but she looked a little thinner than usual. And she had dark circles around her eyes. “You okay? You look tired.”
Hannah frowned at her son. “Thanks for noticing.”
“You eatin’ enough?”
“That’s my line.” She went back to the eggs. “Put your toast on.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I’m fine.”
Derek raised his eyebrows. “You need me to work the farmers’ market this weekend?”
“I said I’m fine. You got enough to do. Make your toast. Your eggs are almost done.”
Derek eyed his mother one last time, then grabbed the loaf of bread from the counter. “You want any?”
“I already ate.”
Hannah sat with her adult son as he ate his breakfast. The kitchen table was wooden, painted white, made by De
rek’s late father. Derek took a gulp of his orange juice.
“You gonna have the George oranges ready for market?” Hannah asked.
Derek set his glass on the table with a smile. “I should have ’em picked and boxed with a day to spare.”
Hannah smiled back. “I remember when we had to hire ten guys for the picking.”
“Good thing we don’t have to anymore. We can’t afford it. And, even if we could, I’m not sure we could find farm labor. Not with UBI.”
“Your dad always struggled to find help. Even before UBI.”
Derek nodded and stood from the table, grabbing his plate and glass. “Thanks for breakfast, Mom. I should get movin’.”
Outside, scattered clouds parted for the rising sun. Birds chirped. Dew covered every surface but would quickly evaporate as the sun took center stage. From the porch of the old farmhouse, Derek surveyed the orchard. Ninety acres of premium farmland in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. The orchard sat on a gently sloped, south-facing hill. Every twenty feet or so, ditches had been dug along the contour lines, berms formed downslope, and trees planted on the berms. The ditches collected valuable water and nutrients to feed the trees planted on the berms. Eight compacted clay ponds had been constructed to collect excess runoff and to feed the trees in times of drought.
Derek walked to the barn, a dilapidated relic of a time long gone. Two large machines were parked inside: the tractor and the picker. The picker was long and tall and sat on four skinny knobby tires. On the right side of the machine, a hose end, large enough to pass a grapefruit, was connected to a track that extended twenty-five feet in the air. Derek climbed on the machine, sat in the captain’s chair, and pressed the Start button.
The touch screen appeared in front of him, the battery-powered engine silent. He used the joystick to drive the machine into the orchard. The picker was very slow. Even in transport mode, it inched forward at less than five miles per hour. Derek drove the picker to the first row of ripe oranges, the right side of the machine and the mechanical hose facing the fruit. He tapped the screen, selecting the speed and the settings.
The hose end came to life, moving up the track, then pivoting forward on a joint into the tree canopy. The hose end suctioned an orange from a branch, then another, and another. The oranges were fed through the hose to a soft conveyer belt and deposited into a cardboard box.
The machine inched forward as it picked the tree clean. Derek dismounted the picker and checked the box in the rear of the machine. He pushed aside the full box for storage later and added an empty box. Every five minutes or so, Derek would need to add another empty box.
While he waited, he used another suction hose, one that wasn’t automated but could be used by humans to vacuum fruit from the orchard floor. As he vacuumed, he smelled the lemongrass and oregano and basil that grew underneath and confused would-be orange pests. Vacuuming was an art as much as it was a science. He had to be careful of his herbs and to avoid gleaning damaged fruit. He had the picker down to a science. The speed he selected on the picker was just enough time for him to hand-vacuum the fruit under the tree and to change the box before the picker moved on to the next orange tree.
A mimosa tree grew between each orange tree, planted for nitrogen fixation and bee fodder. In the last few years, as the weather had warmed, Derek had planted ice cream bean trees for nitrogen fixation instead. Mimosas still grew, but, if the warming trend continued, the ice cream bean tree would be a better selection.
When Derek was born, the orchard was firmly rooted in plant hardiness zone 7. In his early teens, the orchard was in zone 8. During this time he had started experimenting with citrus, eventually breeding two orange varieties hardy enough for their mild Virginia winters, which felt shorter and milder each year. It had been dumb luck really, like hitting the lottery … twice.
He had grown thousands of oranges from seed, the cold weather killing most of them. But some of them had survived. So he had cultivated these trees until they had produced fruit, which had taken about twelve years. Most of the fruit was bitter and of poor quality, but two of the trees produced tasty oranges, and these trees he used to propagate all the orange trees in the orchard.
These two trees produced delicious oranges, but they were slightly different from one another. One ripened in early November and bore smaller, but juicier and sweeter oranges. He currently harvested these oranges. The other ripened two weeks later, produced twice the yield, with larger but less sweet oranges. He had named the orange varieties after his parents. The earlier ripening variety, George oranges, and the later, Hannah oranges. The George oranges produced a decent income, but the Hannah oranges saved the farm every year.
Derek had patented his cold-hardy oranges and had sold the rights to grow them for a small fee. Many local orchards had grown his orange trees, and it produced a modest additional income for him. Seven years ago, a large conglomerate had developed cold-hardy oranges suspiciously identical to Derek’s. Unfortunately, Derek did not have the money to sue a well-connected conglomerate with a full-time legal staff.
Since that time, many of the small orchards that grew his trees were saddled with debt and went out of business, losing to massive mechanized farms and imported fruit. The banks and financial institutions had suppressed commodity prices, hurting the farmers, causing defaults, and placing farms firmly in the grasp of multinational banks. The consumers rarely complained because they wanted cheap food, but they didn’t get cheap food. The low commodity prices only served to allow for a bigger markup for middlemen and grocers. Derek was part of a dying breed of small farmers.
His phone chimed in his pocket. He grabbed his cell and swiped right with his left thumb while still holding the suction hose with his right hand. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” April replied. “I’m sorry to bother you. I know you’re busy.”
“I’m not that busy. The picker’s doin’ all the work. I can do my job with one hand tied behind my back.” Derek continued to suction oranges as he spoke with his girlfriend.
“I won’t be able to see you this weekend.”
“I was lookin’ forward to seein’ you.”
“I know. Me too. I’m sorry. We’re prepping for next week’s trial. I’ll be lucky to sleep, much less have the weekend off. Don’t you have Lindsey with you this weekend anyway?”
“I want you both here. It’d be good if Lindsey got to know you better.”
“She probably wants some father-daughter time.”
Derek exhaled. “I doubt that. I don’t think she even wants to visit anymore.”
“That’s not true.”
“I wish it wasn’t. I don’t blame her. She lives in a mansion where she has all the latest gadgets and doesn’t have to lift a finger. She comes here, with no VR room, no butler cleanin’ up after her, and the internet’s slow as molasses in January.”
“She’s a teenager. It’s a phase. She’ll get over it.”
“You’re right.” Derek paused for a moment. “I need to quit my whinin’.”
“I should get back to work. I’ll call you this weekend.”
“Okay.”
“Bye.” April disconnected the call.
Derek replaced his phone in his pocket. The picker shuddered and stopped cold. Derek checked the dashboard screen. It was blank. He turned off the power and waited. He’d been having trouble with the machine overheating. To save itself from frying any important parts, the picker shut down when it got too hot.
His mechanic had told him that the picker was in desperate need of refurbishment and probably needed a new motherboard, but Derek hoped to get through the fall, using the money from the harvest for the repairs. Ten minutes later, he turned on the machine. The picker resumed work, and Derek breathed a sigh of relief.
2
Jacob and His Enhanced Family
The Roths tapped on their tablets as the robot served them breakfast. The dining room table was covered in white linen, a chandelier overhead, antiqu
e and ornate plates on display in the nearby china cabinet. Jacob and Rebecca had smoked salmon and eggs benedict and roasted potatoes with chicory and hollandaise sauce. Their boys, David and Ethan, had buttermilk pancakes, bacon, and organic apples. Their eldest child, teenager Lindsey, also had pancakes, but hers were chocolate chip with cinnamon whipped cream.
“Hey, no fair,” David said, scowling at his sister’s breakfast. “Why does she get whipped cream?”
“And chocolate chips. You need to learn to code.” Lindsey grinned at David and took a bite of her pancakes.
“I do know how to code,” David said to Lindsey. “Better than you, stock girl.” He said stock girl under his breath.
“But who has chocolate chip pancakes, and who doesn’t?”
“All the pancakes are good,” said Ethan, the youngest. He looked up at the robot and said, “Thank you for breakfast, Jeeves.”
“You’re very welcome, Master Ethan,” Jeeves replied.
“Make me chocolate chip pancakes now,” David said to the bot.
“Right away, Master David.”
The five-foot-six robot was shaped like a human, with arms and legs and a head roughly proportional to a human being. His aluminum and titanium frame was covered in white and blue plastic, making him look softer and more toylike. Six years ago, when Jacob had purchased the household bot for Rebecca, the bot’s demeanor and British accent had been chosen by Lindsey.
Rebecca looked up from her tablet. “No, Jeeves. Don’t spoil him. Nothing is wrong with the breakfast he has.”
David crossed his arms over his chest, his face reddening. The six-year-old had straight dark hair parted to the side, dark eyes, and a gap where his bottom front baby teeth had fallen out. “That’s not spoiling me. Pancakes cost like one Fed Coin.”
“It’s not about the money.”
“Do you want me to have a bad day?”
“This isn’t a debate.”
“I want chocolate chip pancakes!” David smacked the sides of his fists on the table.
“That’s enough,” Jacob said, glaring at David.
Rebecca took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. “Jeeves isn’t making you another breakfast. That’s final.”