by David Beers
"Slice of pizza. You?"
"Bacon cheeseburger," Caesar said. "You sure you want a kid?"
"Hell no, but by the time I'm thirty-eight, I'll probably be ready for one. I mean, we get eight more years of marriage before we have to actually change our lives. I don't know how people made the choice before The Singularity—to think that once you're pregnant you get nine more months of freedom and then it's over for eighteen years. Ludicrous."
Caesar smiled. "Crazy how the world managed to get around for a few billion years before The Genesis, huh? All those people having to spend all that time with their children. Sickens me."
"Hey, you know what I'm saying. Why spend eighteen when you can spend ten and get the exact same thing out of it? You guys, or The Genesis, teaches them everything they need to behave in society, and we end up getting the fun parts. No changing diapers. No punishments. Just the love part. That's what I'm looking for here," Leon answered, smiling back.
"And April?"
"It was her idea."
Caesar nodded. "You know where to apply?"
"She'll figure all that out. I agreed to it, the rest is on her."
"You know the requirements right? It's not all fun and games, not all love. The Genesis is strict about what they want from you guys once they turn the child over. You fuck around and that kid ends up a delinquent after eight years of being raised by The Genesis, it's not going to turn out well for you. You get that, right?"
"Yeah, yeah. But I mean, how often does that happen?"
Caesar knew the answer although he shouldn't. He wanted to tell Leon that it happened with about three percent of all parents, but saying that was...
Unnecessary.
"No. Those numbers aren't published. Not that much, I'd imagine though. You'd hear about it more if so."
"Exactly," Leon said. "April and I aren't complete fuck ups. We'll be fine."
"Well, it's eight years off. Maybe you'll find out how to fuck up by then," Caesar said.
Chapter Five
"It's here!" His brother shouted from the living room.
Caesar knew what it was, could still remember how he had felt at the age of sixteen when his came. He didn't remember shouting like his brother, but then again, he couldn't possibly feel as enthusiastic as Cato about the future. To Cato, this day was bigger than maybe any other day he would experience. To Caesar, it had felt closer to a prison sentence—monumental, but not in the way it was for his brother.
Caesar went to his parents' house after dinner; he knew that Cato would receive his marching orders soon, and part of him didn't want to be there when they came. Cato would be excited, thrilled even. The world was finally opening to him and he could begin planning for his future based on what he found out. Caesar wasn't sure he could fake that enthusiasm. Caesar wasn't sure he would be able to look at his brother and honestly say, congratulations, because—
Well, what would he congratulate Cato for?
Just shut up, he told himself. He sat at the kitchen table and watched as his mother trotted from the kitchen, hurrying to find out what his brother now knew; his dad had probably stood up from the couch, was probably moving to hover over Cato's shoulder. The whole family wanted to know. Except Caesar. He hadn't thought it would feel like this. He knew he wouldn't ever be able to match his brother's joy, but depression? A complete despondence at getting up from the kitchen table and walking into the living room?
"Get in there," Grace said in his ear.
She was right—always looking out for him even if he wasn’t looking out for himself. He needed to be there for Cato, needed to congratulate him even if he saw no reason in it. Like congratulating someone for growing old. It simply happens, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
He stood from his chair and walked across the kitchen and into the living room.
Cato held the digital scroll in his hands, the letter clearly from The Genesis.
"What's it say?" He asked from the entrance to the kitchen.
His brother turned his head to look at Caesar, a smile broad across Cato’s face. "Public transportation!" Cato shouted, shaking the scroll as if it was real paper and not a tangible hologram.
Caesar plastered a smile on his face while the entirety of his stomach felt ready to eject everything he'd eaten that day.
* * *
Caesar leaned his head back against the seat. He didn't close his eyes but looked ahead of him, taking in the train. Public transportation! Caesar didn't even know why they called it 'public' anymore. Private transportation didn't exist, no vehicles from the days of old, when one could decide where they went and what time they arrived. His brother was really going into the transportation sector. The word public was Unnecessary, when there was no alternative.
The train flew through the air as easily as any bird ever had, following a path laid out before it, knowing intuitively where every other train was in relation to itself. Even the word train was a misnomer, because the thing flew like a jet, not attached to any rails, but without the space constrictions of a plane. Caesar looked out the window at the city below him, but he didn't need to; he simply could have looked towards his feet and seen the city beneath him, the entire train transparent. He could see other trains hovering near the ground, letting off their passengers, others speeding along just like his own, taking other people to other places.
To somewhere else.
Caesar wanted to go anywhere. Not somewhere.
His brother was just so excited. And how could he not be? This train was magnificent, a marvel of ingenuity mixed with a strange mechanical beauty. The amount of people transported around on these things daily would boggle the mind if someone tried to actually figure out the number. Trains like these, all over the world, transferring every living human back and forth on a day in, day out basis. Cato would be a part of this. Cato would help make it move, help get people from one point of their lives to the next. Cato would be there when the next generation of trains rolled out, capable of doing things that no human had ever dreamed of. Cato would see, most likely, the time when trains were done away with and The Genesis rolled out something new, something greater, something grander. Cato would work in a needed sector and he would be one of the people to keep the world turning.
He should be excited.
And yet, Caesar had a strange urge to kill his brother. To simply snap his neck and watch as the last of the life in him expired from his eyes. Caesar didn't want his brother to have to go through any of that, any of the things he just thought about. The rest of his brother's life had been planned out today, just as Caesar's own had been seventeen years ago. Caesar received his own letter in his scroll, telling him that he was scheduled for Population Control. He had risen to the highest spot he could in his geographic area, but so what? So fucking what? He couldn't move over to transportation if he wanted. He couldn't quit, not really—not if he wanted any kind of real life. He had to go to work every day and he had to go home and he had to do it over and over until he died. And the truth was, he had no idea when that would be. Every year The Genesis' medical advancements seemed to grow at an exponential pace, so maybe he would end up living this life much longer than he could currently anticipate. Maybe he'd live forever, and continue to go into work and look at the same crop of children, always trying to weed out the ones who didn't meet specification. Weeding out the Unnecessary.
His brother wasn't even getting that opportunity. His brother would simply make sure the trains didn't break down.
That's what Cato was excited over, and Caesar couldn't say a word about what he actually thought.
* * *
"You see what I'm saying, right?"
Grace was quiet for a few moments. "I see what you want me to understand, yes."
"But you don't agree with it?" Caesar asked. He sat on his couch, the entertainment center in front of him shut down, the lights in the living room turned off. Only darkness. No distractions. Just his thoughts and Grace.
"You want ch
oice; you want your brother to have choice. That can't happen, though. You know what happened when humans were allowed that. You know where that road leads."
Caesar sighed. Maybe. He knew probably better than anyone else, certainly more than anyone he had ever met. "They don't even see it, though, Grace. Like, my brother has never even considered that having a choice in this, in the rest of his life, might be better. To him, the status quo is more than enough."
"What's the point of all this, Caesar? You've got work in four hours and you're sitting here talking to me about the way things have been for the past thousand years. You think you're the first person to have these thoughts?" Grace moved across the living room as she spoke, her voice pacing back and forth ten feet in front of Caesar. She always paced when he frustrated her.
"Am I?" He asked.
"No. Now answer my question, what's the point of this?"
"I don't know," he said, sighing. "I just feel bad for him."
"But he feels fine. Isn't it enough that he's happy?"
"Maybe it is."
Caesar stopped talking then, eventually falling asleep on his couch.
Chapter Six
Quarterly Report
Quadrant One
The first quarter of 1232 E.S. brought quite a bit of growth in Quadrant One, both for humanity and The Genesis.
A major breakthrough in medical advancements developed out of Quadrant One: The Genesis, as publicized last year, began a pilot operation to determine how Alzheimer's disease might be reversed. After an intensive year of studies, The Genesis is proud to announce that it discovered a cure for the debilitating disease. No humans will need watch a loved one slowly digress into a state of dementia, nor have it happen to themselves. One pill, taken at any point before the onset of the disease, erases all but a .00001% chance that the disease can develop. The Genesis calculated ten years until complete eradication. The medicine, titled M8909, will be ready for widespread distribution in Quadrant One at the beginning of the third quarter. Take a moment to rejoice in this, especially if you've had a family member fall victim to such a horrible disease.
The Genesis tested twenty million children this past year, and in its relentless pursuit of perfection, the testing resulted in less than one percent of our children qualifying as Unnecessary. The first group ever tested, showed an Unnecessary rate of 75%. The improvement is massive. The Genesis calculated that within fifty years, all children created will be deemed necessary. Soon, all parents will be able to take their children home without wondering if they're adequate for society. Soon, all parents will be free from worry. From the moment they are selected as capable parents, they will be guaranteed their child.
While war is a thing of the past, something that no human alive has ever experienced, it is necessary to remember that this is the 1,231st year of a war free Earth.
A new pilot is starting in Quadrant One, which will take fifteen thousand volunteers and last three months. As is well known, The Genesis is trying to make planetary colonization a real possibility in the event that our sun burns out or some other disaster falls across Earth. While it is close to determining the exact needs for interplanetary travel, it needs to understand what type of persons would be capable of handling such a venture. Volunteerism sign-ups will be pushed out to scrolls over the next few weeks.
As the report progresses, you will see the production amounts for all needed goods, and The Genesis is proud to announce a waste percentage of less than .05%. In quarter two, the goal is to push that waste down to .045%, thus making the entirety of Earth, as well as humanity, more efficient.
The Genesis recommends you read the entire report, and please send all questions to the appropriate contacts listed inside.
Chapter Seven
"That is just great, Caesar. You must be so proud of him."
Caesar looked at the plate in front of him. His mind drifted to the piece of meat, the cattle that had been grown in a lab rather than born and raised on a field. It made for a cleaner environment. It rid the world of barbaric factory farming. Now it was laboratory farming, more humane. The cattle need never live, need never die either. The Genesis rolled out laboratory based meat a few centuries ago; Caesar had never tasted a cow actually raised on a pasture. There was no need to. Had Leon or April ever thought about this? Ever really looked at their meat and wondered if cow grown in a petri dish tasted similar to those that ate grass?
"Do you think there is any place we could actually buy a real cow? Like off a farm or something and have it butchered and then we could freeze it and cook it when we're ready? Does anything like that exist anymore?" Caesar asked.
Leon laughed. "What?"
"A steak. Like, do you know if we can find a real steak somewhere, a real cow?"
"Why would you want to do that?" April asked.
"I don't know. You ever wonder what it tastes like?"
"No," she said without a beat in between his questions and her answer. "All of that nonsense almost killed the environment, all those cows, and the way they were treated? No. Just no. You do?"
"Hush," Grace said in a voice barely audible. "You talk to me like this. Not them."
Caesar stared down at his plate. Grace was right, probably. What would he gain talking about this? This wasn't one of the books that Caesar read in his spare time, wasn’t Orwell's 1984; police wouldn't be waiting outside for him when he finished eating, but it could possibly put eyes on him that needn't be there. Caesar knew his gravest sin, and it wasn't wondering about whether grass fed cows tasted different than lab generated cows. It was his intelligence. It was that he thought these things at all. That's what The Genesis didn't want, that's what was Unnecessary. He knew it was right, that intelligence wasn't needed in this society—not with The Genesis, not with The Singularity having occurred. He should be eradicated and his genes not allowed to continue. He could talk about cows and whatever else he wanted to, really, as long as The Genesis didn't test his intelligence. If that happened, though, what he thought no longer mattered; all importance rested with what his brain could do—and then, Bye-bye, Caesar. Nice knowing you. No need to worry about showing up for work anymore, because you're going to end in a puddle behind some glass container. Easier to clean up that way, ya know?
And still, he couldn't shut up.
"Yeah," he said. "I do. I'd like to try it sometime." Caesar looked up and met April's eyes.
"I don't think they have farms like that anymore," Leon said.
"You're probably right." He put a bite of the steak in his mouth.
"So what are you guys doing for Cato?" Leon asked, obviously trying to change the subject. The whole conversation felt awkward for all involved; only Caesar wanted to push it. There was a scab here and he wanted to pick at it, even though it might hurt. He wanted to see what was underneath the scab, whatever that might be, blood or disease. He wanted to know exactly why April stared at him so seriously.
"Why would we do something for him?"
Again, Leon laughed, but not the surprised laugh he had made with the cow comment. This laugh didn't sound like there was any humor in it at all. It sounded like he laughed because he didn't know what else to do.
"Because he just received his placement?" April said, her eyebrows rising.
"Everyone receives a placement. Do you take someone out to celebrate when they hit puberty?" Caesar asked. He didn't raise his eyes from his plate. That might be too much, saying this and challenging them with his eyes.
"Puberty?" April laughed now, mocking him. "This isn't puberty, Caesar. He just found out what he's going to be doing for the rest of his life."
"Shut up," Grace said. "Don't say anything else. You hear me?"
He heard her but didn't care. He was in his friends' house. Should he not speak openly? If not here, then where? Only to an application? Is that who should hear these things and no one else?
"Someone told him what he's going to be doing for the rest of his life. Someone assessed his capabilities a
nd said, 'here, this is where you'll fit in nicely.' Is that something we should celebrate, April?"
She dropped her fork on her plate, and the sound of metal on glass seemed to echo forever in the dining room, saying more than words could.
"You got the quarter one update, right?" She asked.
He nodded.
"Are you not happy with that? My mother, right now, has Alzheimer's; she doesn't even know who I am when I show up to see her. Now I know I'll never get it and I'll never have to watch Leon get it either. That not enough for you? How about the war stat that we so easily gloss over now simply because we don't know what war is like. You're not the only one that reads, Caesar. I've read what happened. I know what sarin gas is. I know what nuclear warheads are. And I also know that those things don't exist anymore, that when Leon and I have a kid, I'll never have to worry about him being sent to war for some rich person. Are you not happy with those things?"
Caesar finally looked up from his plate. He looked at Leon first, trying to judge where he was at. Leon leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. A smirk hinted at the corners of his lips, but his eyes weren't quite jiving with the smirk. His eyes glinted with something that might have been fear.
Caesar looked to April.
"Maybe I'm just an unhappy person," he said, smiling and popping another piece of steak in his mouth.
Leon laughed, real, hardy, and April smiled too.
The meal went on.
"You're losing your mind," Grace whispered.
* * *
"You heard him? Was he being serious?"
Leon didn't know. He didn't know, really, what his friend was talking about. Caesar had left after dinner, and for the first time in his life, Leon was relieved that he wasn't around. He'd never seen Caesar act like that before, talk like that, stare at both of them with such intensity. The whole thing was surreal. Leon picked up the last plate on the table and brought it to the sink, placing it on the pile. He reached to the right and pressed the start button; a plastic barrier moved over the plates and the wash cycle began.