2043 A.D. Read online

  "Damn it! Where are my clothes?"

  He turned to the right and yanked open the bathroom door. No clothes in there either. If he was going to escape, he'd have to do it in his underwear or try to find his clothes on the way out. He couldn't even guess how difficult either task might be.

  Screw it, he said to himself. I'll leave in my damned underwear.

  He walked to the door, put his hand on the doorknob, and as he began to turn it the door swung in at him before he’d even begun to pull on it.

  ***

  Kathleen Young awoke on the couch and looked around the room she was in. The game show had long since ended and the room was growing dark since the autohost turned off the TV after detecting no motion or sound in the room other than her soft, slow breathing. She was aware of being extremely hungry but not much else yet. She yawned and stretched and wondered what she should have for dinner. Thinking of dinner made her think of Deron. She sat up abruptly trying to recall something important.

  "Deron!?" she called out. She stood up and felt a wave of dizziness pass over her as she headed toward Deron's room, thinking he was probably reading a book and didn't hear her. She glanced at her communicator. It was almost 8:30pm. Of course he was home by now, she thought, as she now recalled coming home to find that she was the first one there for a change. She stopped in front of Deron's door and knocked lightly, "Deron, honey?"

  She waited a few seconds, then knocked louder. "Deron? Are you awake?" Still no answer. "Shit," she muttered and tried the knob. It was unlocked. She slowly opened the door, not wanting to wake him if he was asleep. The room was empty.

  She was tempted to look around. Not to snoop exactly, but just to acquaint herself with her son a little more by looking through his possessions, noticing how he kept his room, and maybe by seeing what things he gave special placement to. If this had been her day off and Deron was at school, she would have done it, but right now she was hungry and starting to worry.

  Kathleen went to the dining room after stopping in the bathroom on her way to the other side of the house. She looked at the fridge, then at the phone display, not sure which to start with. A loud rumbling in her stomach decided it for her. She would start printing something to eat first, then call Charlie and find out if Deron was visiting him.

  ***

  Charlie was just getting up from his desk where he was writing in his journal when the phone rang. He picked up the phone and listened for a minute. His lips formed a straight line as he listened. "He's not here, Kathleen."

  "Are you sure, Dad?"

  "What kind of question is that? Do you think I might have overlooked him somewhere as I wandered through my palace?"

  Kathleen ignored her father's quick temper. "You don't think he might be involved in unauthorized... drug use, do you?"

  "No, Kathleen. Not Deron. That would almost require him to associate with people far below his cerebral level, and I doubt he'd find it worth the trouble."

  Kathleen's mind registered the "no" part of his answer and the rest wafted by as she checked the progress on her lasagna dinner. She took some frozen garlic bread out of the freezer and put it in the mini-oven next to the food printer. She could’ve printed the bread, but she and Deron agreed that when it came to toast, the real thing was much better. She realized that Charlie had asked her something.

  "What did you say, Dad?"

  "I said, have you called the school?" Charlie grumbled, hating to repeat himself when he spoke clearly the first time.

  "Why would I do that? School's been out for hours."

  Charlie told himself to be patient with his only daughter. She wasn't actually stupid. He was sure of it. She just didn't like using her brain. "Because," he answered with forced patience, "if something happened to him at school, they'd surely know about it. In fact, have you checked your host thingy for messages?"

  Kathleen glanced at the LED console on the wall. The door and phone symbols each had a glowing green 0 beside them. "No messages," she said, then she repeated Charlie’s words in her mind, “…if something happened to him,” and she visualized Deron lying in the street, run over by an auto-car.

  "Call me if you hear from him, Dad. Love you," she said, and hung up.

  She tapped Deron’s face on her comm’s home screen. The call went straight to voicemail. She hit the off buttons on the food printer and the oven then quickly made her way out of the kitchen and out the front door. She looked up and down the street, hoping but not expecting to see Deron walking home with an open book held out in front of him, or better yet, talking to a pretty girl on her porch. She saw neither. She half-ran to her car, and was backing out of the driveway within seconds. She turned the wheel hard to the left, stopped, turned it back to the right, tapped the letter "D" and stepped on the gas.

  Charlie squinted his eyes at the silent phone in his hand and wondered where the hell Kathleen had gone.

  If asked, Kathleen couldn't have answered that question. She didn't know exactly where she was going.

  ***

  As far as Drake Austin could tell, it was time. He took another quick glance around and almost carelessly decided that there was no danger in heading down the street to where the two girls had parked. Drake left the illumination of the corner streetlight he was standing under beside his car and walked toward the darker part of Mayfair Street.

  Although it was a summer evening, the street was quiet and no kids were about. As he approached the house, he saw that their large living room window had the blinds closed. At the adjacent house, nearer to him, there was a large willow tree with long branches hanging down all around forming a canopy. He ducked under the cover of the leaves and made his way diagonally across the yard to the ten foot wide stretch of grass that separated the two houses.

  Lights were on in both houses, but so far his luck was in - windows were either blocked by drapes or blinds, and no one was in the rooms with an open view. In anticipation of what he was about to do, Drake's heart began beating faster; adrenaline surged through his veins and his sense perceptions were amplified. Foremost was the sense of smell. Summer grass was dominant. He could also make out the scent of the leaves twenty feet behind him in the neighbor's front yard. Somewhere down the street the smell of barbecued pork drifted to him. He could vaguely make out the sounds of children playing and laughing above the sound of his pulse thumping in his ears.

  His visual perception also seemed heightened. The grass he stood on appeared starkly green, the stucco surface of the wall before him stood out in such detail it was as if he were looking at an aerial photograph of an alien white landscape. He reached out and pressed his hand to the stucco, feeling multiple pressure points push into his skin. He slowly slid his hand down and felt a ticklish scratching on his palm. He looked at his hand and saw traces of white powder left behind in the scratch lines.

  He walked slowly, crouching to stay below the windows until he reached the redwood fence that formed a cul-de-sac in the space between the houses. The left side of the fence had a gate that led into the co-ed's backyard. Always keeping in mind the need for a possible quick escape, he noticed that the other side of the fence had no gate - it would be on the other side of the house. On his left there was a window a few feet from the gate. He glanced right and saw a matching window on the other house with Venetian blinds partially closed at a downward angle. The light was off and he assumed the room to be empty. On his left, the light was on.

  He slowly straightened his posture enough to look into the young woman’s room through the bottom slat of the fully opened blinds.

  Ten

  Deron let go of the doorknob and stepped backwards when he felt the door opening. He saw a tall, well-dressed man smiling down at him. Deron wasn't at all embarrassed about standing there in his underwear. He was too angry to care about modesty.

  The man with perfectly styled, short, blond hair continued to look at Deron with a self-assured politician's smile on his face. Deron glared back at him, grateful to have
a better target for his rage than the pretty nurse lady. Neither of them was affected by the other's expression. Deron continued to glare, the man maintained his smile.

  Deron saw something in his right hand and he seemed to have broken the spell he was under by glancing down at it. The man finally spoke in a rich, polished tenor, "Hello there, Mr. Young."

  "Fuck you," Deron responded. But the man still didn't lose the smile that now appeared to be a permanent fixture on his face. Deron was angry at the man for staring at him, for smiling non-stop, for being in this place, for having his life mysteriously interfered with by strangers, and he was angry that the woman in his room earlier had been so nice and that only now did he have a chance to vent on someone.

  "I understand that you’re upset. Please, put this on and we can talk it over." The smiling man handed Deron a paper-thin hospital gown. Deron took it from his hand without saying a word and ripped open the thin wrapper. He deliberately put the gown on backward, tying the string in front.

  "I believe you've got that on the wrong way, son." Deron thought of smacking the phony smile right off the man's face.

  "I don't see that it really matters," he spat instead.

  "As you wish. Come..." He turned back to face the door, apparently unconcerned that Deron might choose a physical outlet for the rage that was clearly visible on his face. Deron followed the man through the door and down an immaculate hallway. This was his first glimpse of anything outside the room he'd awoken in.

  The walls were white with oak trim. Wooden doors appeared on either side of the hallway at ten to twenty foot intervals. Deron noticed his bare feet were walking on carpet, rather than the linoleum or tiled floor he would have expected. At the end of the hallway he saw a lobby with a round semi-circle of a desk, where two men sat in front of a switchboard, computer terminals, and various notebooks and office supplies. They were dressed in black uniforms like the men who'd taken him from his school.

  No sounds came from any of the rooms Deron and the man passed on their approach to the lobby. "Good evening, gentleman," the man said to the two guards as they rounded the desk, heading for the reflective chrome elevator doors.

  "Good evening, sir," they replied in unison.

  "I'm taking Mr. Young up to my office for orientation. He's got a lot of spirit, but I don't anticipate any trouble."

  "Yes, sir," the older of the guards replied.

  The other made an entry into his terminal after checking the time.

  Deron was looking around for escape routes. Not necessarily for the moment. The two guards were young and fit and were armed with something he couldn't identify. He'd looked closely at their holsters and noticed they carried the same strange weapons as the eeks on the street.

  The blond man pulled a key from his waist out of a retraction device clipped to his belt and inserted it into a round lock on the wall below the call button. He removed the key and pressed the button. A voice emitted from an unseen speaker, "Seven seconds." He turned toward Deron, smiling as if he was satisfied with the short estimated time of the elevator's arrival.

  "Forgive me. I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Doctor Fielding." He didn't bother to offer his hand. The doors opened silently and he gestured with his left hand for Deron to enter before him.

  Eleven

  Kathleen departed quickly, accelerating down the street, then immediately realized that she needed to drive slower since she was hoping to find a pedestrian. She was eager to get closer to the school, but knew it was possible that Deron could be anywhere, so she slowed the car and looked all around as she drove. The vehicle computer system compared the route she was currently taking to previous destinations and offered hands-free driving to a short list of destinations. The school was not a place she usually drove to and was not on the list. She ignored the auto-drive options.

  Her reasons for abruptly leaving the house and driving off in a rush were just now beginning to form in her mind. She just knew that something had to have happened to Deron. Maybe he was hit by a car on the way home from school. That was entirely possible. She could easily see him in her mind, crossing a street without looking, reading a book. If something like that had happened, and no one knew who he was, and they tried unsuccessfully to scan him, they wouldn't know to inform her that her son was injured. She knew she would one day regret not getting him chipped. But he was adamant that he would never be marked and tracked like an animal. Thanks, Dad. So she had applied for the religious exemption just to appease him and end the argument.

  She followed along the route he normally walked from the school to their house, hoping she would not see evidence of an injury accident. She didn't know what form such evidence might take, but perhaps there would be crime-scene holo-tape somewhere, or maybe an officer taking pictures or digitizing an accident scene. Or, God forbid, she didn't want to think this, but she couldn't stop herself – it might come as blood on the highway and a medical examiner's vehicle on the side of the road.

  She also knew that if he had been killed by a car many hours earlier, there might be no evidence of such a tragedy. It was dark and she'd surely miss small overlooked signs such as broken glass or shards of red or yellow plastic that weren’t swept up during the accident clean-up. But she had to do something. It was supposed to be next to impossible for a car to hit a solid object, but that was technology she didn’t understand, so she suspected it could still happen.

  She slowed as she approached an intersection and turned on her left turn indicator. Something in her rear view mirror drew her attention and she saw a black car behind her that appeared to be speeding up when it should have been slowing down.

  Shortly after she turned, the black sedan reappeared in her rear-view mirror. The driver flashed his lights and she wondered if he was signaling her or someone in the oncoming lane. But he stayed behind her, even as she began making random evasive turns and eventually deviating so far from the path to Deron’s school that she became lost.

  Finally she saw the flashing of blue and red lights inside her car and in her mirrors. She pulled over to the side of the road. As she did so, the flashing lights went off. The driver emerged from the car and approached her. The passenger stayed behind, occupying himself with the vehicle’s computer.

  “Mrs. Young. My name is Eric Harris. I’m with the Department of Equal Opportunity,” the man said loudly so she would hear him through her closed window.

  She looked at him, puzzled. Why would the DEO be following her and pulling her over? She hadn’t done anything to oppress anyone, had she? She pushed a button to roll down the window.

  “I tried calling your house and your comm but got no answer, so my partner and I came to visit you in person, but you were driving away as we were approaching, so we ended up following you. We didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “You just want to talk to me? I can’t imagine why. Have I done something wrong? Is there a problem at the hotel?”

  “Oh no. Absolutely not. Can we go someplace to talk so I don’t have to explain everything on the side of the road?” He smiled at her with charm.

  “Oh, yes. But I, um… I’m not even sure where we are.”

  He quickly consulted his communicator and said, “There’s a coffee shop not far from here. How about if we trade places and you follow us for a minute?”

  “Okay. Sure.” Kathleen felt sure that the man wasn’t lying, and he was very attractive. She looked forward to finding out what the DEO wanted to talk to her about.

  She followed the black car for about a mile until it pulled into the parking lot of a local restaurant specializing in breakfast. Within a minute the three of them were seated in a booth that the man asked for when he saw it was surrounded by empty tables.

  The men sat on one side and Kathleen sat across from them. Eric introduced himself again. “I apologize again for inadvertently startling you. My name is Eric Harris, and this is my partner Johnny Tran.”

  “Pleased to meet you both,” she said, mostly look
ing at Eric.

  “Are you hungry? Dinner is on us if you are.”

  She was hungry, having abandoned her dinner. “No, thank you. Just coffee will be fine.”

  “Okay. Well, if you change your mind, just let me know.”

  “Thank you. I will. I’m more interested in what you wanted to talk to me about.”

  “Oh yes, of course. It’s about Deron, but don’t be alarmed. He’s fine.”

  Kathleen’s eyes widened at the mention of her son, then she relaxed when Eric told her that he was fine.

  “Has he done something… unfair?”

  “Actually, Kathleen, it’s not so much what he has done as much as what he might do. There’s a brand new program that aims to help people who are at risk of running afoul of the law, and as it turns out, Deron could very well be a good candidate for the program.”

  “Deron’s at risk? I know he’s different, but he treats everyone equally and he’s completely law-abiding.”

  “Kathleen, do you remember when you were a teenager and you did things your parents didn’t know about?”

  She closed her eyes and nodded.

  “Well, Deron is no different. He has done some things that I’m sure he hasn’t shared with you. Maybe not enough yet to land him in jail, but enough to have gotten himself on our radar. The thing to focus on though is not what he’s done wrong, but how much there is to be gained by being a program to iron out the wrinkles in young men like him. Get him back on the right path, and ensure a trouble-free future.”

  “It sounds pretty good when you put it that way. Like his misbehaving led to a blessing.”

  “That’s a great way to look at it, Kathleen.”

  “How does this work? I’m sure he won’t be interested if I suggest it to him. He’s not much of a joiner. He’s more of a spectator. He has very few friends, and the only person he spends time with is his grandfather – who is not a good influence on him.”