“That’s enough!” Jacob said.
The boys removed their headsets and looked to their father.
“He keeps killing me,” Ethan said, his eyes wet with tears.
“Go on upstairs, Ethan,” Jacob said. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
Ethan sniffled and nodded at Jacob. He hung his headset on the wall and went upstairs.
Jacob turned his attention to David. “What did I tell you about that kind of language?”
Six-year-old David hung his head and said, “You told me not to say it.”
“And why do you keep picking on Ethan? You know he’s sensitive.”
David looked up with a suppressed grin. “It’s not my fault he’s bad at Death Duel.”
“I don’t want you playing that game anymore.”
“Aww, Dad. Why not?”
“Because it’s too violent and I think it’s making you act cruel toward your brother.”
David crossed his little arms over his chest. “That’s not fair.”
“It is fair. I should shut off VR completely.”
“Whatever.”
“Go wash up for dinner. And be nice to your brother.”
“Fine.” David stomped upstairs.
* * *
The Roths sat around the dining room table, with Jeeves serving steaming plates of rosemary roasted turkey with white-wine pan gravy, fried Brussel sprouts with bacon, dates, and halloumi, and butternut squash stuffing. On the side, Jeeves served pumpkin dinner rolls and a baby greens salad with cranberries and candied walnuts. To drink, he poured an excellent pinot noir for the adults and homemade pear and apple soda for the kids, as well as water for all.
“This is unbelievable,” Rebecca said, taking a bite of the Brussel sprouts.
“Outstanding,” Jacob said, taking a bite of the turkey.
It took approximately eight hours for Jeeves to prepare and cook the meal but only twenty minutes for the Roths to eat it. Then another five minutes to devour the sweet potato pie with maple whipped cream. As they reveled in their satisfaction, Jeeves began to clear the table.
“Can we go play now?” David asked.
“Not yet,” Rebecca replied. “It’s Thanksgiving. We should talk about what we’re thankful for.”
“I think you’re supposed to do that before you destroy the meal, like conquering Vikings,” Lindsey said.
“I don’t think it matters. I’ll start. I’m thankful for my lovely husband and my three beautiful children.” She leaned over and kissed Jacob on the cheek.
Jacob squeezed Rebecca’s hand, then said, “I’m thankful to be here with my family.”
“I’m thankful that we have food to eat and a house to live in. Not everyone has that,” Ethan said.
“That’s true,” Rebecca said, smiling at her youngest.
There was an awkward silence. Lindsey and David avoided eye contact, not wanting to share.
“Lindsey?” Rebecca prodded.
Lindsey shrugged. “I’m thankful Jeeves does all the shit—I mean—stuff we don’t wanna do.”
“I suppose that’s true too.” Rebecca addressed David. “What are you thankful for, sweetheart?”
David shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Come on. You must be thankful for something or someone? Your little brother? Your big sister?”
David tilted his head, thinking for a moment. “I know. I’m thankful that I’m the smartest and best person in the world.”
Jacob chuckled.
“And the most arrogant,” Lindsey added, scowling.
“You are very bright,” Rebecca said, “but wouldn’t it be better to be humble, like Gandhi?”
“Did you know that Gandhi was a racist? He slept naked with his niece too,” David said with a goofy grin.
Rebecca twisted her face in disbelief. “That’s not true. Where did you hear that?”
“It is true. I looked it up.”
“Why on earth would you look up Gandhi?”
“My gifted teacher has these Gandhi quotes on the wall. He’s like her hero. I know more about her stupid hero than she does. She was so mad when I told her.” David tittered to himself. “But I didn’t get in trouble because it was true. It was so funny.”
“You should be nicer to your teacher.”
“He’s right,” Lindsey said, her eyes on her tablet. “This article says Gandhi was a racist who forced young girls to sleep in bed with him.”
“Told you,” David said, beaming.
Rebecca sighed and looked at Jacob. Despite her forlorn expression, she really was perfect: high cheekbones, symmetrical face, thin nose with plump lips, and not a single wrinkle, despite being on the wrong side of thirty.
“Can we go play now?” David asked.
“No more VR for today,” Jacob replied.
David scrunched his face, his cheeks turning red with rage. He smacked his little fists on the table.
“You want to make it two days?”
David took a deep breath and smiled, his dark eyes motionless, like black holes. “I won’t pick on Ethan anymore. I promise. I just wanna play a racing game. I won’t play Death Duel.”
Jacob narrowed his eyes at David. “Okay. No Death Duel.”
“Thank you, Dad. I think you’re right about that game. It’s too violent.”
“That’s very mature, David,” Rebecca said.
“Can I play in your VR room?” Ethan asked Lindsey. “I wanna go to the Great Barrier Reef in Australia. In your National Geographic game, you can go there and scuba dive, and it’s like from before, when the reef was alive.”
“You can use mine for a little while,” Lindsey said. “I am going to a party later though.”
“Sharks like little boys,” David said, baring his teeth.
Jacob raised his eyebrows. “Don’t make me regret my decision.”
David stuck his tongue out at Jacob, hopped from his seat, and ran to the VR room. Ethan followed, thanking his parents and Jeeves for the food before he left.
Jacob shook his head. “They grow up so fast.”
“Too fast. They know too much for their age,” Rebecca replied.
“This is normal for enhanced children. Mayer and Eric’s kids are the same way.”
“I think they’re in VR too much.”
“They’ve been staying up until like one in the morning,” Lindsey interjected.
“How do you know that?” Rebecca asked Lindsey.
“They wake me up when they come up to bed.”
“And then they’re up at six.” Rebecca turned to Jacob. “I really regret that reduced sleep gene we opted for.”
“Imagine what you could accomplish with three extra hours every day,” Jacob said.
31
Summer and the Thanksgiving Chicken
They sat in the back of the Hyundai, watching Connor’s tablet. The man they called Braveheart ranted on the screen with his face pixelated and his voice digitized.
“USPCE and USPCW, otherwise known as United States Penal Colony East and United States Penal Colony West, otherwise known as the American Psycho Islands, are nothing more than a brilliant ruse to rid the country of dissidents. Throughout history, governments have used fear as the catalyst to take away freedoms in the name of safety and security. Benjamin Franklin said, ‘Those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.’
“Admittedly, I do not have concrete proof, but many of my friends, friends from the freedom movement, began to disappear in 2044, the year the island prisons were opened for business. If I’m ever caught with my clandestine broadcast, I have no doubt I’ll be labeled a psychopath, and I’ll be sent to one of the Psycho Islands. Many argue the merits of the island prisons, citing the astonishing drop in crime rates. But this is street crime committed by poor people. What about crimes committed by the wealthy and connected, by the government? When was the last time you heard of one of them being sent to the Psycho Islands
? These psychopaths continue to operate with impunity because they’re above the law. What fun would it be to make the laws if you actually had to follow them.”
Braveheart faded to black, and Connor set aside his tablet.
“He posted that two days ago, and it’s already gone, deleted from the internet,” Connor said. “I downloaded it within an hour of the release.”
“Are you sure that’s smart?” Summer asked. “You could get into trouble.”
“It’s not against the law.”
Summer shrugged. “It seems like they can make whatever they want illegal.”
“That’s true.” Connor glanced at the time on his tablet. “It’s not too late to go to Crosspointe.”
“We talked about this.”
“I just wanna have a nice meal. You know my mother. She does a serious spread.”
“I know, but we’re spending Christmas with your parents. It’s only fair to spend Thanksgiving with my dad. We can’t bail on him now anyway. He’d be crushed.”
Connor sighed. “Fine, but, if it’s terrible, I wanna stop by my parent’s house for leftovers.”
* * *
Summer’s autonomous Hyundai dropped them off in front of Patrick’s apartment building. Inside, the elevator was still broken, so they took the stairs, breathing in the smell of urine as they did so.
Patrick answered the door with a big smile, a hug for Summer, and a firm handshake for Connor. Summer handed her father a bottle of wine.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Patrick waved them in, took their coats, and tossed them over the couch.
They followed Patrick into the tiny kitchen, the smell of roasting chicken and garlic growing with each step.
“Smells good, Dad,” Summer said.
“Thanks.” Patrick grabbed a burnt mitt and opened the oven, removing a golden brown chicken. “I cooked a chicken. The turkeys were outrageous this year. I hope that’s okay.”
Connor frowned at Summer, while Patrick attended to the food. Summer returned a disapproving look.
“It’s fine,” Summer said. “Looks great.”
Patrick warmed the dinner rolls and the green bean casserole in the microwave. He lined the steaming spread across the counter. They grabbed plates and filled them, buffet style. Patrick opened the wine and poured water from the tap. Summer declined the wine, citing an impending headache. Patrick fussed over her, finding some expired aspirin in the cupboard.
They sat around the table, and Patrick expressed his gratitude for their presence. They ate their food from mismatched plates amid Connor’s dour mood, no doubt thinking of his family and the five-star Thanksgiving they were missing. Despite the standard fare, Summer went back for seconds. She was, after all, eating for two.
Summer set down her fork, her plate clean. “Thank you for dinner, Dad. It was great.”
“I’m glad you liked it,” Patrick replied.
Summer glanced at Connor, who nursed his glass of wine, food still on his plate. She had an urge to shove the food down his throat. Instead she looked at her father and said, “What do you think of enhanced babies?”
Patrick wiped his mouth and said, “It’s a contentious issue. If we lived in a society with equal opportunity, then I have no problem with parents planning and investing in the health and intelligence of their children. The problem, as I see it, is that unless you’re a member of the political class or the favored business class, it’s unlikely you’ll be able to afford an enhanced child. And it’s even more unlikely that your child will be able to have an enhanced child. It’s become another way to widen the gap between the haves and the have-nots.”
“What about us?” Summer asked, gesturing to Connor. “Should we wait until we can afford an enhanced baby to have children?”
Connor glared at Summer. “I don’t think this is the right time for this discussion.”
Summer glared back. “Connor doesn’t think we should have natural children.”
“It’s really hard for natural children to compete with enhanced children. It feels cruel to bring them into the world, knowing they’ll be failures.”
Patrick took a sip of his wine, then said, “Life is hard and unfair. That’s part of being human.”
32
Naomi Announces
Naomi stood at the podium in the Rayburn Reception Room of the US Capitol. The press sat before her, many with cameras and microphones. Thankfully, the big networks were in attendance.
“Thank you so much for coming,” Naomi said. “I have an announcement to make, but I’m hoping you’ll indulge me first, as I’d like to tell a story. An American story.” Naomi paused for a moment. “My dad was a truck driver. For forty years, he drove an eighteen-wheeler across this country, logging millions of miles. In 2028, he lost his job to autonomous trucks. Shortly thereafter, he drank himself to death.” Naomi glanced around the room, her eyes already wet. “My mother was a public schoolteacher for thirty-five years. Her pension was mismanaged and inflated away during the Greater Depression of the 2020s. My brother fought for this country as a soldier. He went to Syria in 2023 and never came back.”
Naomi pulled a handkerchief from her jacket pocket and dabbed the corners of her eyes. This prop and performance was planned, practiced, and executed to perfection.
“My story isn’t unique. I’m not special. Millions of Americans have similar stories. The small farmer who lost his or her farm because of climate change and subsidies to big ag. An entire generation of elderly people who watched their retirements disappear like a cruel magic trick. Soldiers with physical and mental disabilities who lack proper care. The hardworking people everywhere who’ve lost their jobs and their purpose to robotics. Our leaders tell us that this is the wealthiest nation the world has ever known. I believe that to be true, but it begs the question …” Naomi paused for effect, the reporters hanging on every word. “Why do we have the largest gap between the rich and the poor in the history of this country? Where did all this wealth go? It went to big business, big banking, and big politics. The leaders of this nation, the very people who were supposed to be good stewards, to guide us to prosperity, they enriched themselves and their capitalist partners at the expense of us all. They privatized the profits and socialized the losses.”
Naomi scanned the audience. The video cameras were still running and pointing in her direction. A few reporters took pictures. “Despite the darkness that we’ve experienced over the past few decades, I see a light at the end of the tunnel. That light is you. I believe the American people are ready for change. I believe the American people are tired of the corruption in Washington and on Wall Street. The tunnel is dark and scary, but, if we walk it together, we’ll make it to the other side. My name is Naomi Sutton, and I’m announcing my candidacy for President of the United States.”
33
Derek and Nothing Left
“I told you that I’d call you if we found her,” Detective Barrett said.
Derek sat at his kitchen table, his cell phone to his ear, and his crutches on the chair next to him. “Do you have any new leads?”
“No.”
“Is there anything I should be doin’?”
Detective Barrett blew out a breath. “The best thing you can do, Mr. Reeves, is stay out of it and let us do our job.” The detective disconnected the call.
Derek tossed his phone on the kitchen table, the cell landing next to a blue urn that held what was left of his mother. It had been ten days since April went missing, and the police still didn’t have any leads. Derek tried not to think of the implications. He grabbed his crutches and hobbled outside to the apple trees. The boys picked late-season apples by hand, filling their boxes. It was the last harvest of the season. The tractor was parked nearby with the trailer attached.
“We’re almost done,” Ricky said, heaving a full box of apples onto the trailer.
Carlos picked and deposited apples into the apron attached to his chest.
“How much you gonna sell these f
or?” Ricky asked, his baseball cap shading his face.
Derek shook his head. “Nothing.”
“What?”
“We’re gonna put these along the road with a sign that says free.”
Carlos heard that and turned, his dark eyebrows scrunched together. “Why?”
Derek sighed, leaning on his crutches. “Because I’m gonna lose this place either way. Whatever I make, the banks are gonna take.”
“For real?” Ricky asked.
“Unfortunately,” Derek replied.
“Shit,” Carlos said.
“Come here for a minute, both of you.”
Ricky and Carlos walked closer to Derek, within touching distance. Derek reached into his pocket and removed two small credit cards. He handed each boy a card.
“What’s this?” Carlos asked.
“They’re prepaid credit cards for 300 Fed Coins each. I wish it could be more, but …” Derek exhaled heavily. “Anyway, you can use ’em on Amazon or anywhere.”
Ricky gave Derek a hug and said, “Thanks, Derek.”
“Yeah, thanks, Derek,” Carlos said.
“You two can take as many apples as you want for your family and friends too,” Derek said.
Carlos pursed his lips and asked, “What’s gonna happen to you?”
Derek rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll live on UBI like the rest of America.”
34
Jacob and the Funeral
They were dressed in black, lost in their own thoughts. Rebecca and Lindsey sat in the back seat of the autonomous Mercedes, staring out the windows. Jacob sat in the front passenger seat doing the same. The Mercedes slowed and turned on Derek’s gravel driveway.
Along the road, boxes of apples were stacked on a long table, with a sign that read, FREE. The Mercedes traversed the long driveway through the orchard. Curvy rows of fruit trees flowed across the landscape, their leaves orange and yellow and fire-engine red. The change of seasons came later and later. The Mercedes parked near the farmhouse, next to a battery-powered tractor. The parking area was devoid of cars.
2050: Psycho Island Page 13