The Tomorrow Gene

by Sean Platt

  “I don’t remember. I read it somewhere when reviewing your dossier. Perhaps it was on your intake form.”

  “I don’t think I put ‘I like Gus Harmon’ on my intake form.”

  “Maybe you mentioned it while we were on the Reception island.”

  “But you said you read it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How could you read it if I said it?”

  “I’m speaking carelessly. I’m sorry. I meant that maybe I heard it.”

  “Which was it?” Ephraim heard his tone and forced himself to calm a notch. What, were they spying on him now? Searching his viewing habits to see which stars he enjoyed most to mess with his mind? Is that how they’d punish him for what he was doing if they found out?

  “Never mind,” Ephraim said.

  Nolon was unperturbed. “Well, then. Do you have any questions? Anything at all?”

  “No. Thanks.”

  Nolon turned to walk away. Then Ephraim called out, “Nolon.”

  “Yes, Mr. Todd?”

  “Is Eden in international waters?”

  “Technically yes, sir. That was Wallace Connolly’s original need with Eden, during the days of Precipitous Rise. He wanted to be able to create without interference from the laws of sovereign nations.”

  “Technically in international waters?”

  “A small sector of what is now Eden used to be under the purview of Mauritius, but Mr. Connolly managed to negotiate a deal. Eden today exists within a small bubble in Mauritius’s EEZ, where it no longer extends precisely two hundred miles out as it used to.”

  “What’s an EEZ?”

  “Their Exclusive Economic Zone, sir. It’s a minor thing and nothing to concern yourself over.”

  Ephraim considered pushing further, but the trip clock was in its final minute and the tram was decelerating.

  “Is there anything else, Mr. Todd? Anything I can help you with at all?”

  Ephraim looked at the screen. At gray-haired and bearded Wallace Connolly, promising to change the world. Oh yes, he had questions. About a million of them.

  “No. Thank you, Nolon.”

  The tram slowed a hitch and Ephraim staggered.

  “Welcome to Eden,” Nolon said.

  CHAPTER 5

  PRECIPITOUS RISE

  Gus Harmon was exactly as Ephraim expected. He was a bit overweight, pleasant, stubble-faced with curly brown hair and black-framed glasses. He also smelled like weed and seemed to have spent most of the tram ride in the next car up getting baked with a trio of famous rappers.

  Despite Nolon’s strange awareness of his fandom, Ephraim really did want to meet Gus but wasn’t sure how to do so without looking like an asshole. Gus broke the ice for him. They were disembarking, and he practically staggered Ephraim to the ground, then doubled-over in deep, heavy giggles that sounded like huh-huh-huh. He made a comment about being half in the bag, then asked a waiter if he had cookies. Ephraim liked him immediately.

  “Fuck,” Gus announced. This was apparently his introduction. He extended a hand for Ephraim to shake. No names were exchanged. It was enough.

  “I love it out here,” Gus said. “They’re going to make me pretty, and I’m going to spend two goddamn weeks on the coral reef. Reef. Reefer. See what I did there?” Then, more chortles.

  Elle and Nolon moved to the front of the disembarked group, looking like two halves of the Gemini. The group hushed as the pair smiled, waiting patiently.

  “Shh,” Gus told Ephraim. “Don’t talk. Time to be serious and shit.”

  Ephraim took in the view and the warm ocean breeze, tinged with salt. The whole area was understatedly opulent. The tram station was little more than a circle of polished flagstone with a rough bamboo fence around the edges, but pretty people stood arranged in two lines near the edges, their arms strung with leis. Gus hadn’t yet made a joke about getting leid on the way out, but Ephraim figured it was forthcoming.

  “Welcome to the Retreat,” Elle said. “For most of you, this island will be your home during your stay. Others will go on to your quarters on the Strand, but most of the action happens here.” She gestured around the island like a game show host.

  Nolon took over. “Ten islands comprise Eden as a whole. There’s Reception, where you completed your intake paperwork and where our representatives will be happy to assist you, should you encounter any problems with the details of your stay. There’s the Retreat, where you are now, and the Strand — our more secluded area. You will also, if you’re bold and lucky — spend time on our party island, called ‘the Fête.’ Eden, by virtue of its founding and nature, is a no-hassle zone. Most of what you’d wish to do — whether it’s technically permitted on any mainland or not — is permissible here. There are obvious exceptions, but we doubt you’ll encounter them.”

  Nolon gave them a giant smile.

  “You will visit the Reef island for many of your higher-end treatments. A few of you may also visit the Pearl — home to our most exclusive packages.”

  “I’ll bet that’s where they fuck your genetics up,” Gus whispered. As an afterthought, he added, “You know. Because after they fuck your genes, they give you a Pearl necklace.” He giggled again. Titus Washington shot him a look.

  “We also have four islands that are off-limits to guests,” Elle said, picking up where Nolon left off. “There is the Denizen, which is strictly for Eden’s permanent residents. There are no visits to that island, no exceptions. And finally, there are Islets 09, 17, and 23. Those are our backlot — where the magic happens.”

  The group began walking, Elle and Nolon in the lead. As they left the flagstone circle, each guest was given a lei. It didn’t take long; there were only fifteen or so. If anyone was going on to the Strand’s terminus, they must be returning to the station after the tour. For now, the tram’s guest contingent walked while their guides kept talking.

  “Eden is the largest artificial archipelago in the world, and all but the three islets are larger than the previous contenders in Dubai at the time of construction,” Elle narrated as they moved through a grassy area with no apparent path.

  This section looked especially resort-like to Ephraim, who’d never been to a resort and only had clichés to inform him. He spotted a sand volleyball court, a row of green clay tennis courts, and a tiny crescent of beach with deep azure ocean beyond. White-sided buildings surrounded them, but he had no idea which were spa facilities and which were quarters. None were marked. And at least as far as Ephraim could see, there were no ghosts.

  Someone raised a tentative hand. Ephraim hadn’t met whoever it was. Nobody famous. A businessman who, in his suit, hadn’t changed into suitable island garb.

  “Yes?” Elle called out, pointing.

  “Why is Eden artificial at all? Why didn’t Connolly just buy an island and build Eden there?”

  Nolon nodded as if anticipating the question. It looked as if he had too many teeth, and they were all perfect and white.

  “When Precipitous Rise technology was new, the world was excited by its potential for ‘next level’ genetic engineering. The advances in agriculture made it possible to feed hundreds of millions of people. All of a sudden, genetically modified produce didn’t seem so terrible. It’s one thing for GMO plants to be a bit larger and have better crop yields, but when tomatoes and corn could suddenly mature in days rather than months? Well, yields went through the roof. World hunger was about to be history.

  “But problems started when scientists asked what other genomes they could play with, rather than just crops. The western world didn’t like the idea of ‘grown meat,’ but even the animal rights folks couldn’t find a way to argue against it, and suddenly cultures that even the biomass of prepared insects couldn’t satisfy had an easy source of protein.

  “And so, doctors in Malaysia asked, ‘What about transplant organs?’ And transplant organs were grown, and they saved many lives. But Mr. Connolly was the first to toy with human DNA. Wrapping telomeres, removi
ng insertions in the genome, filling out deletions — the full line of genetic rejuvenations Eden has since made famous. And that’s when the World Health Organization suggested banning Precipitous Rise except for certain licensed practitioners who were limited to certain allowed applications.”

  “I still don’t see why—”

  “Not to be too dramatic,” Elle cut in, with a smile that said this part of the story was always best with maximal drama, “but in order to have his experimental freedom, Wallace Connolly needed to be in a place where laws didn’t apply. He had to develop his processes in international waters. Most of the world’s natural islands — those at least 200 miles from the shores of sovereign nations — were either far too small or already claimed. And so, the first Eden labs, before ‘Eden’ was a thing, were on a ship. Then an abandoned oil-drilling platform. Connolly was a big proponent of the seasteading movement that followed Precipitous Rise, as others scrambled to find their law-free zones. But there was only so much room on a rig, and sinking reinforced concrete to the ocean floor was ridiculously time-consuming, expensive, and slow.

  “That’s why Eden was eventually built, via land reclamation and with tons of imported backfill, on the Saya de Malha Bank, on the Mascarene Plateau. Water was shallow enough to build without pillars, and we’re far enough from tectonic boundaries that we’ve yet to have any issues with tsunamis or earthquakes. There were worries about pirates at first, but we’re friendly with Madagascar and Mauritius. How many of you flew through Agaléga to get here?”

  Hands raised. Not all, but most. Ephraim had flown direct, on Fiona Roberson’s Gulfstream. He’d assumed that was how everyone reached Eden, but apparently not.

  “There you go. Agaléga is a Mauritius island. And weren’t they terrible, pirate sorts of folks?”

  A laugh rippled through the group, but the logic didn’t follow for Ephraim, possibly because Fiona had extended his antennae before he’d left America. A defenseless little pseudo-nation had arisen in the middle of the ocean and wanted to host the world’s richest people? Eden’s flag, if it had one, should be a big bullseye for the world’s pirates. But even now, twenty years after Eden’s grand opening, there hadn’t been so much as a scuffle in its history. Who, exactly, was defending this island? It wasn’t like the U.S. Navy was eager to help.

  Ephraim raised his hand. He could have sworn both Nolon and Elle looked right at him before quickly looking away, but regardless his question went unasked.

  “This way, everybody,” Nolon said, leading them on.

  CHAPTER 6

  MYLIFE

  “The Gardens,” Elle announced with a dramatic sweep of her arm. They’d already spent several minutes walking with the lush green area in plain sight, but the flourish drew awe from the group anyway.

  Elle paused, and the crowd stopped with her. Ephraim felt something amiss but wasn’t sure what. Nolon moved to stand beside her, and the feeling disappeared. The two were like twins. Seeing them apart, even though Ephraim had only been seeing them for an hour, felt off.

  “This is one of my favorite spots on the island,” Elle told the group. “I’d definitely suggest making some extensive MyLife memories here.” She tapped her temple. “I know I have.”

  The observation wasn’t exactly hilarious, but the group mumbled a polite laugh. Obviously, everyone had a MyLife, but other than deliberate snaps, who selected what it recorded? The NDA stipulated areas where MyLife recorders had to be deactivated (something that would be enforced with scans and deletions when they checked out), but it wouldn’t be everywhere by a long shot. Guest memories were some of the most popular parts of Eden’s commercials — like memories of Pierra Page’s ass, which Ephraim had been documenting for most of the tram ride in.

  “Looks like a place where you’d do chanting and shit,” Gus whispered to Ephraim, surveying the serene gardens. “Do you think The Change owns Eden? Because, dude, I do not want to join a cult.”

  Ephraim wasn’t sure if he was expected to respond. Gus continued, making the point moot.

  “I’m super gullible when I’m baked,” Gus said. “Promise to stop me if they try to get me to sign over my worldly belongings to Papa Friesh?”

  “I don’t think The Change has anything to do with—”

  Gus cut him off,. “Shh! Important shit’s happening. Listen to what Elle’s tits are saying.”

  Ephraim looked. Elle’s Eden uniform wasn’t remotely revealing, but Gus was giggling inappropriately anyway.

  “The gardens are understood, by mutual consent, to be quiet areas,” Elle said. “We have extensive Zen gardens and walking paths throughout Eden, with this central Retreat garden having most of the visitor favorites. You’ll find guests here early in the morning, walking those paths to clear their minds, or perhaps sitting on that ridge there to look out across the ocean. The views are stunning, and best enjoyed quietly. While here, we ask that you please keep your voices down. If you come to the gardens with another person, whispers are best.” Elle turned her head, waylaying a woman walking past. “Isn’t that right, Carrie?”

  Ephraim and the others looked at the woman. She had long, wavy brown hair and flawless skin. She was runway gorgeous, maybe mid-twenties. She was wearing a white gown, somewhere between a spa robe and a nightdress, mostly opaque but not entirely. Sunlight glinting off the white wall of a building behind the woman gave her a long, lean, toned body a semi-silhouette.

  “Carrie is out at all hours,” Elle explained to the group. “She visits Eden so often that she’s singlehandedly keeping us all employed.”

  Carrie laughed. Even her laugh was beautiful.

  Everyone smiled. Nolon motioned for the tour to move on, and then both he and Elle gave Carrie a small wave goodbye.

  They crossed the grass, moving on to an immaculate path that wound around an elaborate, twenty-foot-wide fountain with three tiers. Ephraim took it all in, more spellbound than he should be given his mission. Then someone poked him on the shoulder.

  Gus. Apparently one of Ephraim’s favorite actors had now become his new best friend.

  “Dude. Who did that woman look like to you?”

  “Which woman?”

  “The hot one. With the tits you could see through her robe.”

  “I don’t know. Should she look like someone?”

  “Did you ever see Time’s Up?”

  “That the one with Mel Samovar?”

  “You’re thinking of Time’s Arrow. I’m talking about Time’s Up.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Dude. It’s a classic. You need to see it.”

  Ephraim waited.

  “And?” Ephraim finally prompted.

  “Well? Didn’t that girl look like Carrie Whitney from Time’s Up?”

  “I haven’t seen it. But I know who Carrie Whitney is. And that’s not her.”

  Gus put on a knowing expression. “Looked exactly like her, dude.”

  “Carrie Whitney is at least sixty years old.” Then, trying to compare the brief glance he’d had of the Carrie in the garden to the grande dame movie star, Ephraim said, “Maybe it’s her daughter.”

  The group stopped again. Because he was focusing on Gus, Ephraim almost knocked Sophie Norris to the ground. Sophie laughed, running a stabilizing hand across Ephraim’s shoulder.

  “This building here is one of our many oases,” Nolon was saying at the group’s head. “Oases offer at least one — but possibly many — of the ‘more traditional’ spa treatments. Oasis treatments are mainly for relaxation, since their benefits are insignificant next to even Eden’s base rejuvenation treatments. But if you’d like a facial just because it makes you feel good, you can get one at one of the oases. Plus manicures, pedicures, mud and mineral springs treatments, massage, and a few others. Any kiosk will give you the full rundown, and you can just pull them up on your heads-up display at any time by accessing the Eden directory. If you do it that way, on your MyLife, it’ll even paint you a line to follow.”
/>   Nolon looked at Elle, and Ephraim sensed that Nolon was about to tackle something uncomfortable.

  “Please just remember that MyLife recordings fall under special purview in the Eden NDA,” he said. “I hate to talk legal when you’re here to relax, so this is the last time you’ll hear it — but I wouldn’t be mentioning it if more than one guest hadn’t considered sharing his MyLife recordings after leaving the islands. We want you to have full experiences, and MyLife is my sixth sense, as it probably is for you. But as the expression goes, ‘What happens on Eden stays on Eden.’ There are strict penalties for sharing anything, even screen grabs. And your activity will be monitored to ensure compliance.”

  Ephraim could have sworn Nolon looked directly at him. His paranoia was running away with him, just like Dr. Scully had repeatedly told him it had a way of doing.

  Be cool, Ephraim. You’re just a guest with nothing to hide.

  With business concluded, Nolon clapped and gave the crowd a handsome smile. “Now. Who wants champagne?”

  CHAPTER 7

  CHANGING DESTINIES

  They waited for their champagne under a slatted roof patio in the lee of the oasis building. Ephraim looked toward Gus to see if he’d noticed Nolon’s comment about being “monitored,” but instead of Gus, he found himself facing the broad back of Altruance Brown. Gus wasn’t in sight, and Ephraim’s impression was that the two men had been swapped. It was as if Gus Harmon had grown a foot and a half, transformed fat to muscle, and deeply tanned.

  Altruance was watching another of Eden's commercials on a massive screen mounted on a wall strewn with climbing ivy. On the screen was a well-dressed black woman, perhaps in her mid-forties. Flute music played in the background as she stood in a field of what might have been blowing wheat, on a bluff overlooking the ocean.

  She smiled. “My name is Laura Carter, and I’m fifty-nine years old.”

  The woman faded, and a white man replaced her. He also appeared to be in his forties, with salt-and-pepper hair at his temples. He had the look of a hero in a semi-romantic movie. The kind of older man young women tended to drool over.