“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.”