2050: Psycho Island

by Williams, Phil M.

  “I was worried about him. He’s had a run of bad luck. His mother died. His farm was foreclosed. His girlfriend went missing. I was worried he might hurt himself.”

  “Has he ever indicated that he wanted revenge for the foreclosure of his farm?”

  “No. He complained about how it’s near impossible for a small farmer to survive, but he never talked about revenge.”

  Agent Cromwell nodded, then turned his attention to Jacob. “Do you know a man named Zhang Jun?”

  Jacob’s eyes widened for a split second. “He’s the CEO of the Bank of China.”

  “Do you know him personally?”

  “We have a professional relationship. The Bank of China is a large investor in my company.”

  “Did you know that the Bank of China foreclosed on Mr. Reeves’s farm?”

  “No.”

  “Mrs. Roth.” The agent looked at Rebecca. “Did you know that?”

  “No, I didn’t. Derek never said which bank it was. Does it matter?”

  “I think it’s relevant, considering that Mr. Jun was murdered.”

  Jacob’s body went rigid. “You think Derek killed Zhang Jun?”

  Rebecca stared at Jacob.

  “Yes,” Agent Cromwell replied, zeroing in on Jacob now. “Have you ever visited Mr. Jun at his suite in The Regal Hotel?”

  Jacob stood from the couch. “This interview is over. I don’t appreciate your lack of transparency. If you need to talk to me or my wife further, you can contact my lawyer.”

  55

  Summer and Byron

  Summer lay in the hospital bed, holding her sleeping son tight to her chest. It wasn’t a hospital like any she’d ever worked in. During the delivery, doctors and nurses wore scrubs, but during rounds they, along with the rest of the staff, wore army uniforms. Two guards stood just outside her hospital room. She focused on her son, Byron, not knowing how much time they had.

  He had thin hair, like peach fuzz, chubby round cheeks, and a little button nose. He looked like Connor. Would he ever see his son? One of Byron’s hands was balled up in a fist, the other resting on Summer’s chest. He had perfect little fingers with perfect little fingernails. Summer kissed the top of his head, breathing in his new baby smell. A lump formed in her throat. She tried to focus on the here and now, to somehow stretch this moment into infinity.

  A knock came at the door; then a woman entered followed by two men. The men were nurses, with medical insignias on their uniforms, two serpents wrapped around a winged staff. Summer knew that male nurses were often summoned when the patient was likely to be hostile. The woman had a different insignia, one that featured a sword crossed with a feather pen.

  Summer looked up at the trio, instinctively gripping Byron a little tighter.

  The woman said, “I’m Major Fellows. I’m from the Judge Advocate General’s Office.”

  “Are you my lawyer?”

  “No. I’m simply here to explain your situation.”

  Summer adjusted Byron and sat up in bed, still carefully cradling her son.

  “I think it’s best if the nurses take your baby to the nursery,” Major Fellows said.

  “No,” Summer replied.

  “Let’s not make this difficult.”

  The two male nurses approached Summer’s bedside. “He’ll just be in the nursery,” one of them said.

  Summer leaned away from their large hands. “Not right now.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Fitzgerald. We have to take him now.”

  Tears slipped from Summer’s eyes. “Please don’t take my baby.”

  “Don’t worry,” the nurse said. “He’ll be well cared for.”

  The nurse leaned over the bed, put his arms around Byron, and pulled, but Summer held tight. Byron woke and started to cry.

  “Please,” Summer said.

  The other nurse pried Summer’s hands from Byron, and they whisked the baby from the room. Summer sobbed, her face wet with tears, and her nose running with mucus.

  Major Fellows watched the scene, impassive and silent, as Summer’s sobbing slowed and eventually stopped. Major Fellows grabbed a box of tissues from the bedside table and handed it to Summer. She wiped her face and blew her nose. Holding a wad of tissues, Summer glared at the major.

  “You ready to talk now?” Major Fellows asked without an ounce of sympathy.

  Summer nodded.

  “You’ve been classified as an Unlawful Enemy Combatant and would’ve been scheduled for a military tribunal and tried for treason.”

  “Would’ve been?”

  “You’ve tested positive for antisocial personality disorder.”

  Summer put her hand to her chest, her eyes bulging. “That’s ridiculous. That can’t be right.”

  “Similar to a civilian trial, the positive test would also supersede a military tribunal.”

  “What does that mean?” Summer held out her hands like a beggar.

  “It means you’ll be shipped on the next boat to US Penal Colony East.”

  Summer felt dizzy and sick to her stomach. “There must be some kind of mistake. Test me again.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

  “Please. This is a mistake. Test me again.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s not possible.”

  “What about my child?”

  “He’ll be transferred to Social Services.” Major Fellows turned and walked away.

  “Wait! This is all wrong. It’s a mistake!” Summer dissolved into tears again.

  56

  Naomi and the Headlines

  Naomi’s autonomous Toyota eased through the morning traffic, headed for her office in the US Capitol. She glanced from Independence Avenue back to her tablet. Naomi scrolled and tapped her way to the headlines for August 1, 2051.

  Sharia Law in Belgian City

  Michigan Man Arrested for Hate Speech

  Stock Market Down in Pretrading

  European Heat Wave Continues to Kill

  Bond Yields Trending Higher

  Arctic Oil Drillers Take Advantage of Ice Melt

  Water People Living in Miami High-Rises

  Venezuela Surpasses Saudi Arabia as Top Oil Producer

  Pensions Underfunded with Stock Market Crash

  Googleplex Connects Chimp to the Cloud

  Algae Oil Still Not Profitable or Scalable

  Naomi tapped in and out of various article links, scanning the information. A large section of Antwerp, Belgium, was ruled by Sharia Law. Those unable or unwilling to comply with Sharia Law were asked to relocate. In the 2010s and 2020s, primarily Muslim migrants from the Middle East and North Africa settled in countries with generous social safety nets. Many did flee war, but many others fled for economic reasons. For example, Syria boasted a per capita income of almost $3,000 in the 2010s. During this same time, countries like Sweden, Denmark, the UK, France, and Germany offered benefits somewhere between $17,324 and $38,588 per year. Many migrants responded to the incentive, leaving their home countries and building their own communities within these western-style democracies. Doomsday predictions were common, citing high birth rates among Muslim migrants and low birth rates among the locals. Many also predicted how these countries and their governments would be usurped from within, and non-Muslims would be arrested, murdered, or converted.

  In the early 2020s radical Islamic violence reached its zenith in Europe, the US, and Australia. Consequently, the rise of nationalism also reached its peak. This violence and the clash of ideologies still existed, but it was mostly contained now. The Greater Depression of the 2020s and the collapse of fiat currencies eroded the purchasing power of welfare benefits, and consequently slowed the tide of migrants. This was partially offset by climate-related refugees. The rise of facial recognition cameras, government surveillance, and the adoption of the Chinese and Russian policy of psychopath expulsion reduced the violence even further.

  The Muslim migrants did have much higher birth rates, but the moderates assimilated into
western society. The fundamentalist Muslims preached hate for the nonbeliever or the Kafir, but their children often rebelled, left their communities, and practiced a more moderate version of Islam. What was left were self-segregating fundamentalist enclaves.

  Policing these communities was near impossible for local cops, so agreements were made, allowing these enclaves to police themselves. Abuses of woman, children, and homosexuals, which were illegal in a typical western democracy, were legal and common under Sharia Law. It was legal for a man to consummate a marriage with a nine-year-old girl. Homosexuals were executed. Raped females had to produce four male witnesses to prosecute, otherwise they ran the risk of being accused of adultery, which was punishable by death. Males convicted of rape could have their conviction overturned if they married the victim. Men could beat their wives for insubordination. Polygamy was legal, husbands allowed up to four wives, yet women allowed only one husband. Polygamy also tempered the rise of fundamentalist Islam, as many young men were denied mating opportunities, causing them to leave these communities, and leaving the eligible young women to the elderly leaders.

  Naomi tapped another article. She read about the Michigan mechanic who used the word “black” to refer to a person of color. When corrected, he continued to use the term “black.” The exchange was videoed, and the mechanic was arrested for a hate speech violation. He faced fines of up to 10,000 Fed Coins and up to six months in prison.

  Canada, the US, Russia, and Norway were now producing a combined total of seven million barrels of oil per day from the Arctic Circle.

  Naomi scanned another article, reading about the off-grid water people who lived in the decaying high-rises of Miami. From 2014 until 2040, as sea levels rose, Miami was forced to use expensive pumps to keep the city dry. This became impossible because of the porous land and the limestone that the city sits on. Most left the city as blackouts and floods were commonplace. In 2046, when the city was destroyed by Hurricane Yasmine, most residents had already relocated. The city wasn’t rebuilt, is now under two feet of water, and home to an apocalyptic version of Venice.

  Naomi read about the Orinoco Belt of Venezuela, the biggest oil deposit in the world. The heavy oil deposits were being developed, despite the environmental destruction, with 100 percent of the exports going to the US. Even with the rise of Arctic Oil and now Venezuela, the 2051 world oil production was roughly 67 million barrels of oil per day, down from 99 million barrels of oil per day in 2020.

  Googleplex successfully connected chimpanzees to the cloud via DNA strands called nanobots. However, the chimps had shown little increase in practical or abstract intelligence. Scientists believed this was because they didn’t have the language skills or sufficient abstract intelligence to make use of the information.

  Naomi’s electric Toyota pulled into the garage underneath the US Capitol. She turned off her tablet and stashed it in her briefcase.

  “You’ve reached your destination,” the car said through the speakers. “Have a great day.”

  57

  Derek and the Test

  Derek had been arrested last night by the Metropolitan Police but, given the diplomat status of Zhang Jun, was quickly turned over to the FBI. Then there’d been the medical tests. The saliva swab. The blood test. The brain scan. Vital signs.

  Now, Derek sat across from a ruddy-faced male agent, with cuffed hands and shackled feet.

  “Destiny Williams said you threatened her,” Agent O’Rourke said.

  “That’s true. I did. I needed her to get to Zhang. But I never had any intention of hurtin’ her.” Derek kept his word, corroborating the story he and Destiny had created to explain her involvement in the event of an arrest.

  “How did you know where Zhang Jun would be?”

  “I’m done talkin’. I want a lawyer.”

  “You’re not helping yourself,” O’Rourke said.

  Derek remained silent.

  “I spoke with Detective Osgood at Metro Police. She told me that you met with Detective Rex Barrett every week for months. Then he upped and moved out of the country. It doesn’t take much of a detective to figure out that Barrett must’ve told you where Zhang Jun was located.” Agent O’Rourke paused for a moment. “Is that true?”

  Derek didn’t respond, simply looking at his calloused hands.

  The agent sighed and said, “It doesn’t matter anyway. We’re not interested in bringing Barrett into this mess.”

  Derek looked up, narrowing his eyes at Agent O’Rourke.

  The agent sat back in his metal chair with a smirk, as if he’d just played a winning hand at poker. “You can forget about a lawyer. Hell, you can forget about everything.” The agent tapped the file folder in front of him and said, “Amazing how quickly they can churn out these tests when they have a high-profile case such as yours. A positive test on a case like this’ll save a thousand hours of investigative and prosecution work.” Agent O’Rourke opened the file folder and read from the antisocial personality test. “Positive brain scan featuring a low functioning and undersized amygdala, often associated with a lack of emotion and empathy. Low resting heart rate, which makes psychopaths more likely to take physical risks and crave excitement. And a positive DNA test complete with the warrior gene. Probability of antisocial personality 99.87 percent. Looks like you’ve got a one-way trip to USPCE.” The agent smiled wide and shut the folder. “Something tells me you’ll fit right into Psycho Island.”

  Derek was unresponsive and lacking in emotion.

  58

  Jacob and Selling Short

  “The Bank of China wants out,” Ramesh said. “They’re planning to liquidate their position.”

  Jacob sat behind his desk, across from his CFO, rubbing his throbbing temples. “Did they say why?”

  “No, and it makes no sense.”

  “We’ll have to issue more stock.”

  “The stock price will crash.”

  “It’ll crash when the Bank of China sells anyway.” Jacob pushed his glasses up his nose.

  “They’ve agreed to sell in small blocks over the next few months, provided we agree not to issue more stock.”

  “This isn’t out of kindness. They’re trying to sell for the highest price possible.”

  Ramesh nodded. “There’s not enough liquidity for them to dump their shares in one batch. The algorithms would destroy the stock price. They’d end up with pennies on the Fed Coin.”

  Jacob blew out a breath and said, “We’ll need a bailout at some point.”

  “I agree.”

  Jacob’s cell phone chimed on his desktop. He glanced at the number. “I need to take this.” Ramesh left the office, and Jacob answered his phone. “Dad?”

  “How could you be so stupid?” Nathan Roth said.

  Jacob’s heart rate increased. “I don’t understand.”

  “They know that Rebecca was married to Derek Reeves.”

  “Who knows?”

  “The Chinese government. The interim CEO at the Bank of China and the top-level executives. They’ve been doing their own investigation. This is why you don’t marry someone with a checkered past.”

  Jacob’s armpits were sweating now. “I’m not responsible for what Derek did. Neither is Rebecca. And she doesn’t have a checkered past. She was divorced. It’s not a crime.”

  Nathan huffed. “The optics are dreadful. They know you were at Jun’s hotel. Then Derek Reeves shows up in the very same hotel and kills him. To them, you’re either involved or, at the very least, you’ve disrespected them.”

  “I was there eight months ago.” Jacob sounded whiny.

  “You’re a disgrace to this family. If I didn’t think it would make us look weak, I’d disavow your existence.” Nathan Roth disconnected the call.

  Jacob set down his phone, a lump in his throat. He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes with his handkerchief. But the tears kept coming. He suppressed his sobs, his head in his hands, and his handkerchief covering his face.

  When
it was over, he wiped his face, put on his glasses, and silently chided himself. You are a disgrace. Get ahold of yourself. You’re not a child. He can’t control you anymore. Jacob thought of April. If you were a real man, you would’ve saved her, and none of this would’ve happened. Derek’s a real man. He would’ve saved her. Jacob slammed the sides of his fists on his desktop and suppressed the urge to scream.

  He bowed his head, breathing deeply, trying to calm himself. Once he was calm, he grabbed his briefcase from the floor, setting it on his desktop. He opened it and removed his personal laptop. He logged on to one of his brokerage accounts. Actually, one of his shell company’s brokerage accounts. He set a series of trades, put options, and five blocks of one million shares of HTI—Housing Trust—stock, to be sold short.

  59

  Summer and Hell on Earth

  The FBI shackled her legs and hands and then drove her to a jail and processing facility in Baltimore, Maryland. Thankfully, it was a short ride. Summer’s legs and feet swelled, and blood and tissue still leaked from her vagina. Milk leaked from her breasts. Her belly was smaller, but she still looked about five months’ pregnant. She was lucky she didn’t need an episiotomy. Summer knew that these postpregnancy symptoms were normal.

  She was processed, which involved paperwork, a strip search, fresh underwear, and the donning of light-blue pants and a matching pullover that read USPCE on the back. One of the female guards gave her a sanitary napkin. Summer went through the processing with a detached demeanor, as if watching her body from above.

  During processing, one of the female guards whispered, “Are you pregnant?”

  “I was,” Summer replied, her head bowed.

  “You must’ve just given birth.”

  “Two days ago.”

  The guard shook her head and said under her breath, “Damn, that’s cold.” Then she turned to the supervising guard and asked, “Is she going on the ship today?”