by Simone Pond
“There you are, William. I was starting to think you ran off to join the circus.” She smiles, revealing what’s left of her teeth, then buzzes me in. I wish she’d come up with a new joke. I don’t know why it always has to be the circus. I’m already living in one.
I walk next to the trees, staying in the shadows to avoid getting picked up on the surveillance cameras. Good thing the back entrance is right next to a set of stairs that leads to my bedroom suite. Ten more minutes before the dinner bell rings. Chef Tom and his beautiful but way too skinny assistant, Maya, are running around the kitchen like they’re in a race. Servants scurry about, making preparations. We must be entertaining “the very important crowd” tonight.
“Big night?” I scoot by Maya toward the stairs.
“You don’t even know!” She winks. I etch the image into my memory to use later tonight before I go to sleep. “Vice President Gates is flying in.”
“Oh, just him…”
I run up the narrow staircase to my section of the house—a suite of rooms overlooking the woods. The black suit on my enormous bed looks like a vaporized person, and the pair of shiny black shoes on the floor tells me tonight’s going to be a long one. Mother neglected to tell me about the event, probably on purpose. I take a five-second shower to get the beach scent off my skin. The water feels like fire pellets ripping into my sunburned arms and legs. Somehow my face is burnt too. Must’ve been the reflection off the ocean. I really don’t want to do this dinner charade. I’d rather be anywhere than at a thirty-foot-long table with wealthy men pontificating on their importance in society, or sitting among women pumped so full of chemicals they look like glossy wax statues. I always lose my appetite.
“Dinner is now served,” announces the simulated voice system.
No matter how many modifications Father makes, the voice still freaks me out. Reminds me of Hal in 2001 Space Odyssey. And that didn’t turn out so good. I wouldn’t be surprised if she started shooting off random non sequiturs, or locked me in my bedroom to die alone. Some of Father’s technology freaks me out. Like the Repatterning that seems to be shaking up society, rather than fixing it. Then all this talk of Inauguration Day. And the new City Center they’ve been building to replace downtown Los Angeles. They’re advertising it like it’s some elegant paradise for sustainable living, but to me the massive black panels look like a medical building from the 1970s—only a hundred stories tall. I can’t image how grim it is on the inside. I think they could’ve made it more attractive, but it’s too late for my input. Father and I have always had trouble understanding each other.
Years ago, he created a device that could determine the exact moment the body would store a fat cell. He was celebrating with Dickson and when I asked why people needed it, he sneered at me and said, “William, if you have to ask that question, you don’t deserve to know.” He patted his young assistant on the back and toasted their success. I ran to my room and hid, crying away the humiliation until Mother came in and sat on my bed. “William, darling. Never mind your father. He doesn’t see life the way you do.” A few months later when an onslaught of viral videos raved about the latest technology in weight management—finally, people could eat whatever they desired and lots of it and never gain a pound—I understood the importance of the device. I stopped asking questions and learned to play along.
Chapter 2
The dining room looks stately and elegant. The soft light from the chandeliers and candelabras gives the atmosphere a sense of warmth, but there’s nothing affable about the room where the bigwigs gather to discuss their significant decisions—usually some absurd new law is implemented in the days that follow. The servants stand at attention as the guests file in. My place is on the south side of the table, wedged between Dickson and Mother. Father’s at the opposite end so hopefully he won’t notice my sunburn. Mother looks ethereal in her “lavender empire waist gown inspired by the early 1900s.” The only reason I know this is because she makes me sit in her dressing chambers when the shop ladies come to present their new lines. She says I have a gift for finding beauty. I don’t mind helping her; usually there’s a young assistant I can stare at while she shops. “Lavender complements the blue in your eyes,” I told her when she tried on the gown. She smiled and kissed my cheek, which pissed me off because the assistant noticed and chuckled.
“Please be seated, dear guests,” says Father.
From his side of the table, he looks more like a lord than a professor. Lord of the Pig People… His towering presence commands respect and there’s something in his steel gray eyes that makes people stand back a few feet. He’s classically handsome, more like something to admire, but never to touch. To his right is Vice President Gates, who’s been working politically behind the scenes on the Repatterning. A man so power-hungry he’s been crushing his opponents since prep school. His pasty skin is a strong indication that he hasn’t seen sunlight in years. On the other side of my father sit two of the most powerful and wealthy men alive. I’ve heard rumors they own entire islands—but I’m sure there’s some hyperbole in those stories. One of the men is the cigar smoker, Pigface, who is Wall Street. The Botox blonde sitting next to me whispers to her brunette clone that Pigface has “the Fed in the palm of his manicured hand.” The other powerbroker is slender with coifed white-blond hair and eyes so pale they look like ice cubes. He’s the head of the world’s largest media conglomerate and has been overseeing the ad campaigns for the Repatterning, which seems like a bunch of propaganda. The four men speak in low murmurs while their wives preoccupy the other men at the table with their tales of overseas visits and their never-ending search for the fountain of youth. The men nod as though they’re listening, but I can tell they’re trying to hear Father’s conversation. The servants begin food service, starting with the vichyssoise. Looks like I’ll be sneaking to the kitchen later tonight.
Mother pulls me over to her. “What did I tell you about staying inside on Spray Day? It’s dangerous. You know better.”
“I had my face mask.”
“Still, darling, I wish you’d mind me. Let’s hope your father doesn’t notice.” She kisses my hand, leaving a glossy coat of lipstick on my knuckles. She glances over toward Dickson, who’s trying to ignore her by avoiding eye contact, but I can feel the energy bouncing off his dinner jacket. They’ve been doing this for years—trying to hide their love affair. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve caught them pressed close together in a dark corner, or entering the empty suite at the end of my wing. Anyone within a five-foot radius knows they’re in love. Except for Father, because he’s clueless about such matters, or too busy working on the Repatterning. If he did know, Dickson would probably be banished from the technology field and working at a fast-food chain the rest of his life, or dead. Father has a knack for bringing ruin to men who get in his way. Mother nudges my shiny black shoes with her diamond-coated toenails.
“Wrong guy,” I mumble.
Her cheeks blush and she looks like a teenager caught in the act of something lewd. I smile to let her know her secret is safe with me. My allegiance ensures she’ll stick up for me when the time is right.
“John, darling, how have you been? You and Professor Morray haven’t been up for air in days,” says Mother to Dickson.
“Good,” he says, sneaking a quick glimpse of Mother. His energy shifts to a higher level—I can feel him vibrating. Man, I sound like an Energy Seeker. Father says we’re just a bunch of unruly molecules, but after the Repatterning the molecules won’t be so disruptive. I doubt he thinks about molecules the same way Energy Seekers do.
I look at Dickson. He’s in his mid-twenties, but all these years working with Father have taken a toll. His brown eyes are dimmer than when he first signed on and his dark curls have thinned out a bit, but he’s a handsome man—always polished and sporting a suit. He glances at me, giving me one of his pity smiles. “How’s the academy?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I haven’t been in days.”
>
“William!” Mother whispers and pinches my arm in the hottest spot. I bite my lip and wait for the pain to ease. “Oh, dear. I’ll have to call a medic about that burn.”
“Everything okay down on your end, Avalon, dear?” Father’s voice barrels across the table, cutting through every conversation.
“Yes, darling. And how are things at your end? Enjoying the vichyssoise?”
“Delightful. It goes quite well with the Lafite. Excellent selection, my dear.” He smiles—the first one I’ve seen in months. I can tell he’s pleased by the way he sips his wine with a slow pull. No doubt he got the better end of the deal in their marriage transaction. I wish he’d smile at me, just once. The last time I inspired any facial movement was when I won an award in fifth grade, but the second he found out it was for a poem he went back to being stone-faced. I keep waiting for another chance to make him proud. I’ve put in a few requests to help with the Repatterning, so we’ll see. I don’t need a hero’s parade; just a slight pat on the shoulder would suffice.
“So, John, darling. Are you and Professor Morray taking any breaks in the near future?” asks Mother. This is her way of hinting she’d like to spend some time with him.
“Tonight is the only break we’ll have for a very long time. We’re close to launching the final phase of the Repatterning. And completing the new city.”
“The ads make it sound like this new city is made of gold, or something.” Mother giggles—she’s never taken any of this stuff too seriously. I’m not sure she’s capable.
Dickson is always serious. “Crystal mostly. Contained within miles of solar paneling.”
“Yeah, the thing’s hideous. From the outside, anyway.” I’m not able to contain my opinion about the monstrosity that reminds me of an enormous black incubator. I can’t imagine people really living inside that thing.
“William, that’s no way to speak,” Mother says, looking around at the other guests to see if they’ve heard. Nobody’s paying attention to anything other than what’s coming out of their own mouths.
“Come on, Mother. I’ve heard you call it an eyesore. Imagine living without natural sunlight. You won’t see me anywhere near that thing.”
“There will be simulated sunlight. With the advances we’ve made, you can’t tell the difference,” says Dickson.
“I think I’d know the difference between real sunshine and enhanced lighting. Living inside that thing will be like a movie set. Only worse. There won’t be any stars.”
The word “stars” sounds funny, since all the famous Hollywood big shots have moved away. They cleared out about a couple years ago, during the initial phases of the Repatterning when the entertainment industry dismantled. People refused to keep paying exorbitant ticket prices for the same crappy content, and since the actors wouldn’t take a pay cut, movies fell to the wayside. Besides, everything is done through simulators now, so people can “star” in their own movies. Also, the classics are making a comeback—for me, anyway.
“The residents will be living in the highest-quality conditions. Everything is purified and modernized. It’s the complete utopian package,” says Dickson.
“You sound like one of the commercials.” I laugh.
“To each his own.” Dickson continues eating his cold soup.
“You got that right.”
“What’s gotten into you, William?” Mother whispers in my ear. She smells like fresh-cut gardenias with a twinge of oaky red wine.
Father stands up and stares us down. “Before the main course,” he says, “I’d like everyone’s attention. I have a brief announcement regarding my dear wife and son.”
The guests grow silent, giving him their full attention. He looks at me with a wide grin. He’s smiling, so it must be good news, but my chest tightens anyway. Mother releases my arm and I sit up straight, waiting with anticipation.
“Dear guests, as you know, we’re quickly approaching the final phases of the Repatterning. I’ve invited all of you here tonight because this will be our last gathering in this house with this exact group of people. Well, at least until the situation is more contained,” he says, eying the guests. They nod and smile. I sense a shift in Dickson’s energy. He’s squirreling around in his chair, grasping the edges of his seat, and trying to remain still. Mother reaches around my chair and touches his shoulder. He relaxes a bit. My nerves are shaking and jumping all over the place. I wish he’d get to the point.
“After next week, things will be different. Most of you will go off to your private islands for the next few years. While Dickson and I continue our research and oversee the final touches for the new city,” Father tells the group.
I’m jittery waiting to hear where Mother and I fit into his plan. I’m hoping he’ll ask me to join his team to assist in the lab. I’ll have to be trained, since I don’t know the first thing about DNA coding, or whatever else they’re working on. Dickson can tutor me—he owes me for keeping my mouth shut all these years.
Father continues with his speech. “After the three-year incubation period, we will return to officially manage the new society. We’re working for the greater good and toward a better future. And with this there will be some small sacrifices.” He looks at me again; his grin morphs into a smirk. “Tomorrow my dear wife, Avalon, and our son, William, will relocate to the Denver facility. This will be for their protection during the final phases.” He holds up his glass of red wine. Everyone lifts up a glass. “I’d like to toast to their safe departure and speedy return. And to the Los Angeles City Center where we’ll all meet again to celebrate Inauguration Day!”
My gut explodes into a million sparks of acid. I drop my glass, spilling red wine all over the white table linen. A server runs over to clean up the mess while the guests continue applauding my father. He sits back down and stares at me. I wonder if there’s anything human residing inside his cement body. He looks over to Dickson and lifts his glass. He knows. This is our punishment: Mother and Dickson for their disloyalty, and me for keeping my mouth shut. I want to knock Dickson out of his chair and kick his ass, but Mother holds my wrist. “There, there, my darling. Things happen for a reason. At least you and I will be together.” Some of her radiance has faded away. We both lost in this transaction. I stand up without permission and start to leave the room. The guests look around at each other, shocked and befuddled.
“William.” My father’s voice prickles down my neck.
I’ve never stood up to the man in all my years, but tonight my fear is replaced with a visceral bitterness I can taste in my mouth. “If I’m leaving in the morning, I better pack.” I stop myself from adding profanities and telling him he’s the worst father in the entire world. That wouldn’t make a dent in his armor. I’ve never mattered to him. I was just a by-product of a marriage he never wanted in the first place.
“We’re not finished here.” His anger is palpable.
I look into his steely eyes. “I am.” I leave the room. Footsteps follow behind me, and I expect to see Mother, but it’s Dickson.
“I’m sorry, William. I requested taking you on as my apprentice.” He must think this will make me feel better.
“Let’s get one thing straight, Dickson. I will never work for you in any capacity. Now go finish your dinner. If you play your cards right, you might get one last session with my mother.”
Chapter 3
I’m standing next to Mother in the driveway, waiting for the car to take us to our private jet at Santa Monica Airport. We were told not to pack anything because everything would be provided in the Denver Subterranea—an underground facility where we’ll live among the top chosen people until the Repatterning is complete. But I ignored those instructions and filled my backpack with the essentials I cannot live without: my skateboard, some t-shirts and a hardback of Robert Frost’s poetry. I’m wondering how long it’ll be before I see the sky again. I don’t care how advanced the technology is inside the facility; nothing compares to fresh air.
“Not
hing gold can stay,” I say to myself.
“What is it, my darling?” Mother looks into her compact, touching up her lipstick.
“Will you need that there? In our new prison world?”
“William, you don’t understand. These units are like castles.”
“Made of sand.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t want to live in the ground like a mole. It isn’t natural.”
“Well, darling, we don’t have a choice. And from what I’ve heard, you don’t want to be around during the final phases of the Repatterning.”
“I thought the idea was to make things better.” I wish her mirror would slip out of her fingers and smash to the cement. She’s too absorbed in her own beauty to understand the freedom we’re about to lose.
“Things will be better in the long run. Remember what your father said, about making sacrifices?”
“You mean, crack a few eggs to make an omelet? I didn’t think that meant his own family. Aren’t you pissed about being shipped off like garbage to a landfill?”
“It’s not like that, darling.” Her blue eyes are glazed over; she’s probably high on mind-numbing agents.
“Aren’t you going to miss your boyfriend?” I take a stab to make sure she’s still among the living.
“Let’s try to forget about all this for now. Let’s look ahead, not back,” she says, shutting her compact and slipping it into her red Prada bag.
“Is Father coming down to say goodbye?” I already know the answer.