2050: Psycho Island

by Williams, Phil M.

  “I don’t know how you do it. I certainly couldn’t.”

  “Do what?”

  “Raise another man’s child.”

  Nathan blew out a ragged breath, the old man no longer eating, as if the idea of Jacob raising another man’s child made him sick.

  Mayer scowled at his youngest sibling. “That’s uncalled for.”

  Eric showed his palms. “I was complimenting Jacob. He’s a bigger man than me.”

  “How’s Rebecca doing?” Mayer asked, trying to change the subject.

  “She’s great,” Jacob said. “Has her hands full with the boys, but she loves being a mother.”

  “Not much to it these days,” Eric said. “Abigail lets the nanny bot do all the domestic chores. She still has plenty of time to be a great wife, mother, and pursue her passions. She’s actually writing a romance novel.”

  “Is she better than the robot writers?”

  Eric chuckled. “Touché again, brother.”

  “I read a robot-written thriller on the plane ride over,” Mayer said. “It was a little formulaic, but it wasn’t bad.”

  After dessert and bourbon, the restaurant was empty except for the Roths. Jacob hoped with the relative privacy and the relaxed inhibitions, he could complete his mission.

  Jacob cleared his throat. “Housing Trust could be a good investment.”

  “Not yet,” Eric said, grinning.

  “The stock price is reasonable since the last downturn. If I can turn it around, it’ll be—”

  Nathan set his bourbon on the table. “No. We’re not buying American companies at the moment.”

  “Since when?” Jacob asked.

  “The socialist agenda of the New World Order is bearing fruit,” Eric said.

  “Really?” Jacob narrowed his eyes in disbelief. “I know some democratic socialists were elected in the midterms, but the US is still a capitalist country.”

  “Not for long, according to the trends,” Mayer said. “Based on the demographics, death rates, and the trending preferences, we think the US will be a socialist country before 2060.”

  “We’ve done quite well under socialist regimes,” Jacob said.

  “No doubt about that,” Mayer replied. “We’re simply trying to avoid the inevitable crash during the final transition. We’ll buy important land and companies when the time is right.”

  “When there’s blood in the streets,” Eric added with a crooked grin.

  “Have we been selling US securities?” Jacob asked.

  Eric nodded. He would know. He was the head of Roth Holdings North America. “Slowly. We’d rather not cause a panic.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m telling you now.”

  Jacob rubbed his temples. “Then I’m going down with the ship.”

  “The Chinese are still buying,” Mayer said. “They might be interested in an equity position. Eric could get you a meeting with Zhang Jun.”

  Jacob turned to Eric.

  “I suppose I could,” Eric said.

  Jacob nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Arranging deck chairs on the Titanic,” Nathan said.

  “I’d rather help you at Roth Eurozone,” Jacob told his father, “or I’d take a position at the World Bank or the BIS.” The BIS was the Bank of International Settlements in Switzerland.

  Nathan shook his head. “No.”

  “I’d be willing to work for Mayer in Hong Kong,” Jacob said.

  “No. You’re right where we need you to be.”

  “I’ll be out of a job soon.”

  Nathan shook his head again. “Stop being so melodramatic. The US government won’t let a GSE fail. Too much is at stake. They’ll nationalize the company.”

  Housing Trust was a Government-Sponsored Enterprise, receiving federal subsidies and loans in return for partial ownership and adherence to regulations to maintain their preferred status.

  “They’ll give us a bailout or subsidies, but they can’t outright nationalize,” Jacob said.

  “Semantics,” Nathan continued. “Bailouts are de facto nationalizations. You know that. We create the money, and the US government doles it out. The US government will own Housing Trust, but we own the US government. If all goes well, you’ll likely find yourself as the treasury secretary. And you’ll be in the perfect position to make sure the one-world-currency survives the transition.”

  “What makes you think I’d want to be treasury secretary? I make fifteen times what the treasury secretary does. You’re making these plans that include me and my family without even telling me.”

  “We weren’t sure of the direction of the US, but, after what we saw today, we are now,” Mayer said. “We didn’t want to alarm you until we knew for sure.”

  Jacob stared at his father. “What makes you think I want to be front and center of this shitstorm?”

  “You’re welcome to do as you wish, but I don’t have to give you a job in this company or at any of the major banks,” Nathan said.

  Jacob opened his mouth to speak but shut it instead.

  Nathan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, glaring at Jacob. “If you ever want to take over Roth Eurozone, I suggest you pay your dues. We’ve done very well in communist and socialist countries, but the timing has to be right. We have to be out of the US markets before the downturn, and we have to do this without triggering a crash or a major spike in precious metals. Then we have to be in position to buy strategic businesses, land, and resources at the bottom. This often requires cooperation with the government as markets are illiquid in these situations. Ideally, the socialist government survives the transition, but whatever government arises from the ashes, whether it be free-market capitalist or communist or anything in between, it uses our money and only our money. To ensure our business interests are protected, we need people in key positions of power within the US government.”

  “This isn’t 1930. Americans aren’t self-sufficient anymore. Half of them would be undernourished without UBI.” Jacob looked around to make sure nobody was listening. “If this happens, millions—no, tens of millions—of people will die, and nearly everybody will be impoverished.”

  Eric and Mayer had the decency to look down, uncomfortable or ashamed at profiting from pain.

  However, Nathan was unabashed. “It’s unfortunate, but it’s coming whether we like it or not. We can either profit from it or watch as someone else does.”

  “What am I supposed to do in the meantime?” Jacob asked.

  “You need to meet with Naomi Sutton,” Nathan said.

  “The socialist congresswoman?”

  “Given the data we’ve recently obtained, we think there’s an outside chance she might win the presidency. If so, she might be the perfect candidate to further our interests and to bring this destiny to fruition quickly.”

  “Why me? Eric has a whole division of lobbyists at Roth North America.”

  “She hasn’t been amenable to our advances. You’re the head of a Government-Sponsored Enterprise that finances low-income housing. She’s a socialist who thinks housing is a human right.”

  7

  Summer and The Resistance

  A knock came at their apartment door. Connor opened the door and stepped aside for Javier. They formed two-thirds of The Resistance, as they called themselves. Their conspiracy group wasn’t nearly as serious as it sounded. Mostly they ate junk food and talked shit about the government. Summer set a bowl of chips and salsa on the coffee table.

  “Hi, Javier,” Summer said with a smile.

  “Hey, girl.” He smiled back, but it was forced, his voice unenthusiastic. Despite the half-hearted attempt, Javier had a nice smile with big luscious lips. He had thick curly hair tied back in a tight ponytail, high cheekbones, big brown eyes, and a thin build. If not for the strong jaw and the protruding Adam’s apple, he could pass for female.

  “You okay, dude?” Connor asked.

  Javier sat on the couch. “I got an SCS viol
ation. Lost ten points. Whatever, I don’t give a shit about my social score, but they hit my fuckin’ UBI for 5 percent.”

  Connor sat on one of the chairs opposite the couch. “Shit. That sucks.”

  Summer sat in a matching chair next to Connor.

  “Yeah. I also gotta fuckin’ message from the SCA, reminding me that, by installing a chip, I could boost my SCS and my UBI payment.” The Social Credit Administration—in conjunction with the IRS—administered taxes, UBI payments, and social credit scores. “They’ve been trying to get me to install a chip forever.”

  “The chip’s not so bad.” Connor held up his right hand. “I didn’t get the tracker option.” Between Connor’s thumb and index finger was a rice-size RFID chip that doubled as his driver’s license, birth certificate, voter registration, passport, credit cards, bank account, checkbook, car keys, and social credit score.

  “Shit, I bet everyone with a chip got the tracker regardless.” Javier shifted his gaze to Summer. “You don’t have a chip, do you?”

  “I’m chip-free,” Summer replied, holding up her hands and wiggling her fingers. “When I was little, my dad refused to let my school insert one, and he’s always been adamantly against them. I guess it rubbed off.”

  “It’s dumb though,” Connor said. “We’re all still chipped, whether you carry the card or have the implant. You get bonuses on your SCS and a higher UBI payment if you get the implant. The extra Fed Coins add up over time.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t have to take the card with you,” Javier said.

  “It doesn’t matter. If they wanna find you, they’ll find you. You can’t buy anything without your card, and the facial recognition cameras are everywhere.”

  “It’s the principle.”

  “I guess.” Connor rolled his eyes. “What did you do anyway?”

  “To get the violation?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I was arguing with this douchebag on Chirper about Psycho Island.”

  “Did you want something to drink?” Summer asked, standing from her chair.

  “Anything with alcohol.”

  Summer went to the kitchen and grabbed a six-pack from the fridge. She knew Mark would be there soon, and she didn’t feel like getting up again. Her feet ached from the double she had pulled last night. She returned to the living room and set the six-pack on the table. Summer grabbed a beer for herself and sat next to Connor again.

  “I told that punk ass the truth,” Javier said, shaking his head. “Nobody believes this shit until it happens to them. People think we’re safe because there’s no crime and the psychos get a one-way ticket to a fuckin’ island.”

  Summer opened the can and stared at her beer.

  Javier grabbed a beer, opened it, and took a swig.

  “You have to be brain dead to think they’re only sending psychos to those islands,” Connor said. “Guaranteed they’re sending antigovernment activists too. They probably fake the psycho test.”

  “A hundred percent,” Javier said. “I remember when I was a little kid, people used to say all sorts of crazy shit on the internet. They used to talk about government conspiracies all the time. The Gulf of Tonkin, 9/11, Venezuela, Operation Paperclip, the fuckin’ Lusitania, the USS Liberty.”

  “Operation Northwoods. Operation Ajax,” Connor said.

  “Exactly. Now people are so fuckin’ afraid. I bet all those people who used to post those conspiracies were sent to the island. Nobody’s left to tell the truth.”

  “I bet they sent Roger Kroenig there.”

  “A hundred percent.”

  “Who’s Roger Kroenig?” Summer asked.

  “The ex-congressman who quit midterm because of all the corruption,” Connor said. “He disappeared five years ago. He was huge in the freedom movement.”

  Javier nodded in agreement.

  “Do you want this?” Summer asked, handing her beer to Connor.

  Connor took the beer, his head cocked in confusion. “You don’t want it?”

  “No, I don’t feel like drinking.” Summer thought of the life growing inside her.

  “I always feel like drinking. I’m surprised it’s still legal.” Javier took another drink from his beer.

  “Why would they make it illegal?” Connor asked. “It’s another thing that’s killing us off.”

  Javier chuckled and grabbed a few chips from the bowl on the coffee table.

  “Do you think they’re using the threat assessments to determine who to send to the island?” Summer asked.

  Javier swallowed. “Definitely. The other thing they do is classify people as Unlawful Enemy Combatants. Once they do that, you’re done. No due process. No rights. Nothing. If they say you’re an Unlawful Enemy Combatant, they’ll do whatever the fuck they want with you.”

  “The NSA flags certain words and phrases. I’m sure it’s easy to get caught in the net, even if you’re not an activist.” Connor gestured with his beer to Summer. “You should tell Javier about what happened to that guy at the hospital. The one with the yellow threat level.”

  Summer looked from Connor to Javier. “We can actually see people’s threat levels. We use them so we know who to be careful with. A few weeks ago, we had a guy come in with a yellow threat level. Almost everyone we see is green and maybe a few blue, but rarely do we get a yellow. Usually when we have a yellow threat, the guy’s brought to the hospital in handcuffs. But this guy came in on his own, and he was a real pain in the ass. Super rude to the doctor and the nurses. We finally had a bot take care of him because nobody could stand to be around him. He broke some things in the room, and the bot reported him. Then he was gone. The police came and took him away. When I looked him up again, his threat level was orange. I’ve never seen an orange before.”

  “Man, they snatched him up. I wonder what you gotta do to get red?” Javier asked.

  “Kill the president?” Connor asked with a crooked grin.

  “Don’t say that shit out loud. You never know, I could be COINTELPRO,” Javier replied with a smirk.

  COINTELPRO was an abbreviation derived from the FBI’s Counter Intelligence Program—a series of covert projects conducted from 1956 until 1971, for the purpose of disrupting domestic political groups.

  “Wasn’t that on The Underground last night?” Connor referenced the dissident vlog.

  Javier nodded. “I love me some Braveheart.”

  “I’m surprised they haven’t caught him yet.”

  “I bet he’s not even in the US. He’s probably in South America, using a really good VPN.”

  Connor’s phone buzzed. He tapped on the screen, his app showing the entrance to the apartment building. He tapped the green button, buzzing his guest inside. “Mark’s here.” Connor went to his apartment door, opened it a crack, and sat back down.

  “You gotta ask Mark about this hive mind,” Javier said. “Some scary shit.”

  “What’s a hive mind?” Summer asked. “Like everyone thinking the same thing?”

  Mark Benson pushed into the apartment, shutting the door behind him.

  “Mark, come over here and tell Connor and Summer what you told me about the hive mind,” Javier said.

  Mark was tall and pale, overweight, slightly cross-eyed, with a big bushy beard. As Mark approached the couch, his BO wafted over Summer. It wasn’t as bad as usual. He sat on the couch with a groan.

  “I have something much bigger to tell you guys,” Mark said, his eyes wide open. Mark grabbed the bowl from the coffee table, put it in his lap, and shoved a fistful of chips into his mouth.

  “Seriously, dude?” Javier asked.

  “What?” Mark mumbled, his mouth full.

  “I thought you had huge news.”

  Mark swallowed. “I do.”

  “Tell ’em about the hive mind first.”

  “Don’t you wanna hear about the biggest news I’ve ever had?”

  This wasn’t the first time they’d been tantalized by the biggest news ever. Usually it was bulls
hit or something they already knew.

  “I’d like to hear about the hive mind,” Summer said.

  “Me too,” Conner added.

  “Fine.” Mark acted miffed, but he loved being the center of attention and the bearer of conspiracy theories, even if it wasn’t in the order he’d like. “The hive mind is a Googleplex project, where they plan to connect human brains directly to the cloud. That would mean these people could speak any language on the planet, could quote any famous poem, and could access infinite information in a nanosecond. These people would be legit cyborgs.”

  “Sign me up,” Connor said.

  “Fuck that. They’ll use it to control our minds from the inside out,” Javier said.

  Mark pointed to Javier. “That’s exactly what they’ll do, and they’ll have no shortage of sheeple to connect to the cloud.”

  “They’ll have to get FDA approval,” Summer said. “That could take a decade.”

  “Yeah, if it was for profit. This isn’t about profit. It’s about control. The government wants to use this technology. If they want it approved, it’ll be approved. You really think they give a shit about our safety?”

  Summer shrugged. “The police do a good job protecting us. Women used to be afraid to walk the streets alone. I go running by myself without a care in the world.”

  Mark’s nostrils flared. “Seriously, Summer? We live under the iron grip of tyranny, where criticizing the government might send you on a one-way trip to Psycho Island. We may have a low crime rate according to their statistics, but nobody counts all the rape and murder that happens on the island prisons. They don’t count that for good reason. I bet it’s apocalyptic there.”

  “Mark has a point,” Javier said.

  “Damn right I do.”

  “I have a point too,” Summer said, her voice even. “It’s not black-and-white. Police officers and soldiers and even politicians, they’re people too. Obviously, you have some power-hungry A-holes, but you also have a lot of people who are trying to do the right thing.”

  “I think you’re missing the point,” Mark said. “It doesn’t matter that some of these people are nice. Everything that they do is paid for with extortion.”