Fatherless: A Novel

by Dobson, James

  “No problem!” came Sarah’s reply. “Need to borrow my access code?” The offer meant she felt bad and wanted to make it up to him. A promising sign.

  “That’d be great.”

  Seconds later Sarah reached over Matthew’s shoulder to swipe her finger across a ten-inch screen embedded in the table surface. Her fingerprint opened a window to the collective wisdom of humanity thanks to a gold-tier tech access subscription he could no longer afford. His own fingerprint gave access only to free, public domain content.

  Matthew resisted the urge to move closer to Sarah’s body, but couldn’t help breathing in her fresh, feminine scent. He felt bad for secretly enjoying the pleasure of her presence. Unlike the lurid images of seductive women that populated his virtual games, girls like Sarah incited feelings just as exciting, but more wholesome. He couldn’t describe the sensation, even to himself. She offered a mysterious healing from the diminished manhood his porn habit seemed to breed. But she was far too young, not to mention way out of his league.

  After a brief security scan, the screen came alive. Six taps on the digital keyboard presented Matthew with familiar icons conveniently sequenced in use-frequency order:

  GAMES

  GUY STUFF

  INTERESTS

  DAILY SYNOPSIS

  ACTIVE PROJECTS

  Knowing Sarah or Kelly might walk by at any time, he chose the safest icon on the screen.

  Matthew’s Daily Synopsis—April 26, 2042

  YOUR DAY: 9 a.m. = Start Work

  YOUR MESSAGES: TROLLMASTER: “You gotta see this one. Hot!”

  GAIMGOD: “I just got accepted into Zilla Clan. Eat your heart out!”

  YOUR NEWS:

  Release of Planet Battle VI exceeds game industry expectations

  YOUR MONEY: $578 monthly prescription fee charged on 4/14/2042 to Visa account

  $3200 from Campus Grinds deposit scheduled to Chase account on 4/15/42

  Matthew waved out of DAILY SYNOPSIS and selected the INTERESTS icon in search of something to occupy himself until the usual third-period rush. He went in and out of five recommended links that seemed promising, but none held his attention.

  “Here you go.” The singsong interruption startled Matthew. “Your usual poison, on the house.”

  “Wow. Thanks, Sarah.” He savored the unexpected attention.

  “You bet!” came her casual reply. “Enjoy.”

  After taking a cautious drink to avoid burning his top lip, Matthew returned to the screen and tapped the ACTIVE PROJECTS icon to initiate the research genie, hoping Sarah’s clearance would generate more useful links than his own. Seconds later, two new items appeared: a report in Green World Journal describing disproportionate environmental impact from larger households and a news brief quoting the director of epigenetic research saying something about reversing age-related dementia.

  Matthew browsed the second item. Skipping over the medical lingo, he found the article’s bottom line.

  Dr. Wayne Galliger sounded optimistic about the team’s initial findings, suggesting the project could yield practical treatment options for age-related dementia as early as fall of 2044.

  “That’s another two and a half years!” Matthew said aloud, prompting a confused glance from the student sitting at the next table. Shushing himself, Matthew scanned the rest of the article for a more optimistic crumb. Nothing.

  I don’t think I can handle another thirty months of lost keys, forgotten names, repeated conversations, and bathroom mishaps.

  Noticing the strain of his own clenched fists, Matthew decided to change the subject. It had been awhile since he last explored new pictures and updates from fellow Littleton High School graduates. Over the past three years nearly every former cheerleader had approved his “Secret Admirer” status request, giving him anonymous access to an occasional “Secret Surprise” they might post for their mysterious followers. But one prize remained, the only girl he had ever mustered up enough courage to ask to the prom. Although she had rejected him, he had never lost his fascination with her.

  Typing DAVIDSON into the search field, Matthew expected to find another perky picture of Maria. He instead saw a professional press photo beside the latest column written by her older sister—the former valedictorian.

  A quick glance at the clock told Matthew he had plenty of time to kill. He began reading…

  FREE TO THRIVE

  By Julia Davidson (RAP Syndicate)

  A friend of mine recently informed me she wants to have a child. She’s not religious, but her parents are devout Catholics. They have an opinion on the matter. Actually, two opinions.

  First, they want their daughter to find a partner (husband to use their word) before becoming a mom—something less than 25% of women do for good reasons I’ve covered in earlier columns. (Why do religious fundamentalists criticize our generation for avoiding parenthood yet complain when single women choose motherhood?)

  Second, my friend’s parents disapprove of a practice that has become standard medical procedure, even among heterosexual domestic partners. In vitro selection (IVS) brings enormous benefits to parents, children and society. But they’ve cautioned their daughter against “engineering her child” by vetting common genetic imperfections. They believe IVS puts humans in the place of God and fear we have become “picky shoppers” rather than “grateful recipients” when it comes to the “gift of life.”

  Caving to parental pressure, my friend postponed her selection appointment. I suppose I should celebrate the decision. One fewer carbon footprint polluting the planet. But I hate to see her give up something she wants just because her parents view technology as a moral bogeyman.

  These are the facts. Eight out of ten women who wish to have a child use in vitro selection, otherwise known as common sense. In our day and age, why would anyone risk giving birth to children with costly health challenges? Women no longer have to fear receiving bad news after the birth of a child due to unforeseen disabilities and complications. Only children born to parents who opt out of the genetic vetting process risk the heartache, burden and expenses associated with the most common disabilities and age-related illness. Those expenses, by the way, will end up hitting federal and state budgets as “faith children” survive their well-intentioned but misguided parents. You and I will inherit costly care and medical obligations on top of the massive care and medical obligations associated with our aging parents and grandparents.

  If my friend decides to have a child, I hope she will give the baby the freedom to thrive by eliminating the risk of unnecessary disease and disability. I only wish we could give the same freedom to those of us already burdened by both.

  Taking another sip from his mug, Matthew reread the final paragraph. Then he read it again, this time mentally selecting and rearranging seven words to give them their due.

  Give those burdened the freedom to thrive.

  Making a note to explore other columns by Maria’s sister, Matthew opened a journal page filled with previous entries. Up popped seemingly random phrases, references, and concepts he had been capturing for months. Scanning the list, he found the item he was looking for.

  SPIRIT GOOD. BODY BAD. (4th Century Manichaeism)

  Taking one final sip of his cooling mocha, he glanced out the window toward nothing in particular. Looking back at the screen, he typed a missing piece into his project puzzle.

  FREE TO THRIVE (Julia Davidson)

  Two minutes later, Matthew shot off a request to meet with the chairman of the University’s Religious Studies Department.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I don’t like it,” Troy whispered into his friend’s ear. “Near as I can figure, you’ll start with a five-stroke handicap. Maybe more.”

  Only seven of the twelve other faces in the room looked familiar to Kevin Tolbert, many of them rising stars in other congressional regions. Like Kevin, each had been invited to join the closed-door session of Senator Franklin’s austerity coalition in an effort to
stack the political deck in favor of whatever recommendations emerged. All of them were strong fiscal conservatives who had voted to support phase one of the president’s agenda. None of them would be easily convinced.

  He also recognized Trisha. Who didn’t? Every bit as striking as her magazine cover shots, Trisha Sayers seemed out of place at any gathering of corporate and congressional titans. But she qualified, especially since trading her “Trisha Delisha” pop-icon status to launch what had become the nation’s leading chain of fashion outlet stores. It only elevated her first-name-only renown, especially among women who admired the model-turned-recording-artist-turned-retail-entrepreneur. They spent hundreds of millions annually to mimic her empowering, form-fitted beauty at an affordable price. Six years earlier Trisha had given the president credibility among female voters when she endorsed his campaign. She remained a favorite face of the new, trendier conservative movement.

  “I’ll give you ten to one Franklin uses Trisha as press liaison for this coalition,” Troy said softly, clearly troubled by the prospect.

  Kevin nodded silently. Despite his concern, he had to admire the senator’s political savvy. “She’s definitely easy on the eyes,” he quipped. “Let’s just hope she goes easy on our proposals.”

  “Don’t count on it.” Troy handed Kevin a tablet containing his presentation slides and a page with a short bio on every attendee, complete with photos he could use to connect faces to competing agendas.

  The host called the meeting to order as Troy spotted a seat behind Kevin reserved for support staff and aides. He patted his friend on the shoulder. “Make us proud, Congressman.”

  “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen,” Brent Anderson began. “I’d like to once again thank you for accepting our invitation to help tackle some pretty big issues in a very short time frame.”

  Anderson had been the senator’s most important companion since their corporate days, long before Franklin had pursued his first public office. The architect of the SLASH application, Anderson proudly wore his corresponding nickname, the Scalpel. He had proven himself capable of cutting through government fat to find substantial savings. As chairman of the austerity coalition, Anderson would bring the same tough-minded tenacity to finding proactive strategies to present when revised budget projections went public. With less than two weeks to go, he hoped to solidify agreement on the most promising proposals first.

  “I’m going to assume you have all read the executive summary sent out yesterday,” Anderson continued. “We won’t take time to review the agenda other than to emphasize our goal of identifying big-boulder opportunities.”

  Kevin liked Anderson’s style. Jump right to the bottom line to avoid wasting time. Why mess with a hundred pebbles and miss the two or three large rocks?

  The agenda listed several fast-fire presentations. Each had been allocated fifteen minutes to summarize the big idea and another fifteen for group discussion. Over the next four hours members of the coalition would present, debate, and rank the most promising options. Kevin was up first.

  “Congressman Tolbert.” The terse introduction started the clock.

  “Thank you, Mr. Anderson,” Kevin began. “I appreciate the opportunity to present ideas that should, in my opinion, inform any solutions we propose.”

  With a swipe of his hand Kevin’s first slide appeared on a transparent board behind him. Across the bottom of a graph ran a sequence of decade markers starting with 1950.

  “This chart shows population trends in China over the past century.”

  Brent Anderson rose to his feet. “Mr. Tolbert, a reminder that each presentation must be short. Are you sure you want to waste part of yours talking about China? They aren’t our challenge at the moment.”

  “But they are an important reference point, Mr. Anderson,” Kevin said. “Their economy is in a free fall after decades of rapid expansion. Their decline will shed light on our own.”

  “Very well.”

  “The black line tracks population. You’ll notice a gradual leveling off that started in 2022, about two parenting cycles after China implemented the most far-reaching population control measures ever devised. Fears over feeding their massive populace led to policies that created a very different problem.”

  Another wave of Kevin’s hand caused a second line to appear.

  “The green line shows total gross domestic product for China by decade. We see a bubble of growth from about 1995 through 2017 as they took advantage of lower dependency ratios. With one child per couple, women entered the workforce like never before, dramatically expanding their economy. They grew at lightning speed, for a while. As you know, that growth slowed and then stopped about fifteen years after their population peak. They’ve been shrinking ever since.”

  A third line appeared.

  “This blue line shows the percentage of the Chinese population over the age of seventy, the highest ever recorded. The low dependency ratio that had been fueling growth turned on its head. Instead of one dependent child per couple, they now have two dependent parents per child. They find themselves paying the piper for the decades spent making money instead of raising kids. Today they don’t have enough young adults to fuel an economic engine pulling a pretty heavy load of nonworking passengers named Mom, Dad, Grandma, and Grandpa.”

  A sequence of identically shaped graphs with similar trend lines appeared on the screen in rapid succession, each with a different title:

  JAPAN

  KOREA

  AUSTRALIA

  NETHERLANDS

  SWEDEN

  CANADA

  FRANCE

  RUSSIA

  GERMANY

  ENGLAND

  “As you can see,” Kevin explained as the series of charts continued, “every other developed nation in the world has been experiencing the same phenomena thanks to a combination of declining fertility and senior longevity.”

  The dominos stopped on a graph labeled USA. “And we now find ourselves in the same situation. The black line reflects actual and projected population in the United States as reported by the Census Bureau since World War Two.” A consistent but decelerating climb, from a 1950 start of one hundred and fifty million to a 2050 peak of four hundred million. “As you know, we will never reach the growth levels predicted in 2030, leading us to our present financial crisis. This year marks the first year we will see net population decline. Based upon current trends, our pool of working-age adults will continue to shrink.”

  Kevin looked at the clock. Five of his fifteen minutes had passed and he had said nothing the group didn’t already know. He hurried on.

  “We looked beneath the surface of the data hoping to find bright spots in this overall cloudy picture.” A color-coded map of the United States appeared, various regions bearing different shades of red toward light pink. A few appeared in pure white.

  “What do the circled white regions represent?” asked someone seated to Kevin’s left.

  “I’m glad you asked, Mr. McGurn,” Kevin replied after a quick glance at Troy’s pictorial cheat sheet. “We call them bright spots. They are subregions of the country that show consistent economic growth even during down cycles. Our goal was to identify any common characteristics as a shortcut to finding effective turnaround strategies.”

  “Did you?”

  “We did. Two.” Kevin looked at Troy, who offered a slight nod of affirmation. The moment of truth had arrived. In the next five minutes Kevin would make the most important and risky pitch of his political career.

  Troy jumped to his feet to distribute twelve copies of the supporting research document as Kevin advanced to his next slide.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the regions with the strongest and most consistent economic output share two simple characteristics.”

  Kevin swallowed hard.

  “First, they have much higher rates of fertility, more than twice the national average.” Kevin paused to let one unlikely reality settle before revealing a second.

 
; Here goes, he thought.

  “They also have the fewest transition volunteers.”

  At that moment, every bit of oxygen left the room.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Thank you both for seeing me.” Angie’s voice was slightly higher than usual, anxiety restricting her vocal cords. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

  The pastor’s wife, Talia, moved toward their nervous guest to offer a reaffirming embrace. Angie clung possessively to the elegant, dark-skinned woman. After a few seconds, she released her hostess with a blush. It was not the kind of first impression Angie had intended to make.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess I needed that more than I knew.”

  “Please, don’t apologize.” Both women looked at Reverend Mubar, the white of his smile lifting the mood. “We’re glad you came.”

  The pastor spoke with the faint echo of an accent neither Kevin nor Angie had been able to peg despite six months of competitive speculation. His light ebony complexion and deliberately articulate vocabulary suggested childhood immigration from an African state. Kevin had guessed Uganda while Angie supposed Ethiopia. Both assumed Reverend Mubar had come to the United States between the ages of seven and nine, since his speech retained scant traces of his mother tongue.

  The minister ushered his wife and Angie toward the counseling section of his office. Angie accepted one of two chairs opposite the sofa positioned behind a glass coffee table displaying an assortment of scones next to a small teapot with matching cups on saucers. The presence of delicate china made Angie even more grateful the pastor’s assistant had offered to occupy the children in the nursery during the session.

  Talia sat beside her husband and began pouring tea. Angie watched quietly, wondering how to begin. She had never met with the pastor before and wondered why his wife had joined the discussion. She took a small sip of tea while wondering who should speak first.