Before the Nothingness

by Kevin George

  THE GREAT BLUE ABOVE: THE PREQUEL

  BEFORE THE NOTHINGNESS

  BY: KEVIN GEORGE

  AN EXCERPT FROM THE JOURNAL OF CLIMATE CHANGE FOR THE MID 21ST CENTURY

  - In an article entitled “The Destruction of Common Current Conditions of the World’s Oceans” (August 22, 2050) by Dr. Rob N. Eason, the constant degradation of polar ice caps—which have been reduced by rising temperatures to half their size since the early 21st Century—will lead to far more catastrophic environmental effects than the world has thus far suffered. Despite rising ocean levels leading to the destruction of thousands of miles of coastlines across the globe—and the resulting relocation of millions of people, as well as the extinction of countless species of plants and animals—the worst is yet to come.

  “We’ve only begun to quantify the effects of added waters to our oceans,” Dr. Alice Reno said at a recent global conference focusing on the most pressing climate change challenges the world will face in the second half of the 21st Century. “While it’s tragic to see so much of Earth’s lands being drowned completely or turned into swamps, I’m afraid it’s short-sighted of humankind to focus on these changes that will eventually seem negligible. Our bigger concern should be changes to the oceans’ currents—the Gulf Stream, in particular—as well as the possible effects of Earth’s gravitational pull. Though many world leaders are relieved that average global temperatures have finally stopped rising over the last decade, the impending drop in temperatures will prove far more catastrophic than anything the world has seen in the last 12,000 years.”

  While some scientists agree that temperatures will lower in the next decade, most don’t share Dr. Reno’s doomsday fears for the severity of such a cool-down. In fact, many climatologists believe that as populations continue to bloom to all-time highs, the corresponding levels of carbon dioxide production from the human race will prevent temperatures decreasing lower than. . .

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Pause.”

  The mechanical voice quieted. Thomas Jonas swept a hand through the holographic images floating in front of him. Columns of numbers—most of them in red—flickered off, as did numerous expense reports, denied work permits, unusable blueprints and overdue bills. He glanced through the kitchen door, as if expecting someone to walk in. When nobody arrived, Thomas stood from his seat and turned his head, listening for any sign of noise.

  “Hello?” he called out. “That you, Chuck?”

  No response. He started toward the hallway, which was shrouded in darkness. He hadn’t realized how late the hour had become.

  Time flies when you’re having fun, Tom thought with a frown. Crunching numbers was the part of his business he hated most, more so in recent years. A simple truth had led to his current financial predicament, a simple truth proven yet again on this day. More time shifting numbers in columns and less time creating something real.

  Not that anyone would be able to tell from his clothes. He smelled like the earth, an odor most people found unpleasant but one that Tom knew was gradually disappearing from society, not that anyone cared about the environment anymore. Despite coming home hours earlier, he still wore his work clothes, which remained caked with dirt and dust. He’d probably left a trail through the house, like always, but nobody else was around to complain. Besides, the RoboSweeper had probably already done its job and—

  Haven’t heard the damn thing buzzing around all day, Tom thought, not that he’d been concentrating on anything but how to keep his business afloat, at least for the next few years. Tom glanced at the hallway floor but didn’t see the robotic vacuum. Probably on the fritz again, like everything else in this damn house.

  He nearly called out for power but didn’t want to turn on the lights of his crumbling home, or the screens that adorned most of the walls, or the holographic entertainment center, or any other aged technology meant to distract him from the misery of his life. He didn’t have the spare credits to pay for such frivolity anyway. It was bad enough he needed the help of one electronic system; he didn’t intend to use anymore.

  “Hello?” he called out again, just to make sure he was alone.

  “Are you speaking to me?”

  The mechanical voice exploded from the speakers, far louder than the hours he’d spent talking to it. Tom gasped, his heart skipping a beat.

  “Volume down, dammit!” he yelled.

  “My apologies, Mr. Jonas,” said the mechanical voice of his centralized home computer system.

  “Run a diagnostic test,” Tom ordered. “Figure out why the hell you keep doing strange things.”

  “Diagnostic test complete,” the voice said before Tom got back to his kitchen table. “Seventy-three computer viruses have been detected.”

  Tom sighed. “Seventy-three? How is that possible?”

  “Your version of Virus Snatcher has not been updated in three months,” the system said. “During that time, a worldwide viral pandemic has attacked older model centralized systems like the one used in your—”

  “That’s enough,” Tom said. “Lock volume settings to current level. Don’t adjust volume for any system without verbal override from me.”

  “Understood,” the mechanical voice said. “Home Central by Bell Industries would like to offer you a special deal on the latest operating system upgrade for—”

  “Didn’t I just say enough?” Tom asked.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Jonas, but Bell Industries wants you to know that the newest version of Home Central contains upgrades to every part of. . .”

  Tom shook his head, knowing there was no way to avoid listening to the rest of the commercial. He returned to his kitchen table and activated the holographic bookkeeping systems for The Jonas Family Building Company. He no sooner began to scroll through the numbers again than his tired eyes began to droop. He rubbed his eyelids, but that only left them wanting to close sooner. The numbers weren’t adding up the way he needed them to, no matter what he tried to shift around. Tom could no longer avoid the one question he’d hesitated to ask from the very beginning.

  He leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head.

  “Okay, tell me the truth: is there a feasible way to fix these numbers and keep things going for the next two years?”

  “Please wait while I simulate,” the mechanical voice said.

  The holographic numbers began to shift with such speed that Tom couldn’t keep up. He couldn’t tell if it was a good sign or not that an answer was taking so long.

  “You really need a computer to answer that?” another voice asked behind him.

  For the second time in minutes, Tom felt a jolt in his chest. He instinctively swiped his hand through the floating images, but this time they didn’t disappear, apparently frozen in mid-calculation. It wouldn’t be the first time the system froze while completing a complex task and Tom was certain it wouldn’t be the last.

  He stood and turned to the young man standing behind him, hoping to shield him from the numbers. Tom would’ve kicked the table if that wouldn’t have made it obvious he was hiding something. He reached out and patted his son’s arm. Charles recoiled from his touch, but at least he no longer yelled whenever someone made physical contact with him. Tom wanted nothing more than to hug his boy, but it had been years since Charles’s diagnosis and never once had he shown a hint of change.

  Charles Jonas was a head shorter than his father. His clothes were clean and wrinkle-free, one of those status-neutral jumpsuits that were all the craze among university students. He was a bright young man and a hard worker, but his skin was milky white from a lifetime spent mostly indoors. Tom didn’t care what the doctors and environmental experts said; he didn’t think young people got enough sun these days, wheth
er the UV rays were growing increasingly stronger or not.

  “Thought I heard someone come in,” Tom said. “Didn’t know you’d be coming home tonight.”

  “Didn’t realize you were home when I arrived in an autocab,” Charles said. “Still dealing with blackouts in the neighborhood?”

  Tom opened his mouth to explain about the cost of electricity, but didn’t want to worry his son about trivial matters. Instead, he shook his head. Charles glanced at him, confused, before hurrying toward the Home Central’s main hub.

  “I told you I could fix this thing if you’d let me,” Charles said.

  “No, please, it’s okay,” Tom said, reaching out to stop him.

  Charles leapt back, throwing his arms behind him to avoid being touched, releasing the rectangular box he’d just been clutching to his chest. Tom was ready for such a reaction. He lunged forward and grabbed the box just before it hit down. He inspected the box closely, turning it over in his hands, frowning at the scratches and dents he saw in the metallic outer casing.

  “You really need to be more careful with—”

  Charles reached out and snatched the box. “It works fine,” he said. “These old HoloBoxes take a worse beating than the versions made in the last five years. I could drop it out of the window and it would still boot up. . . eventually.”

  Tom frowned. “I’m sorry, buddy. I really wish I could buy you a new one, but—”

  Charles shook his head and stepped around his father, staring at the holographic numbers floating above the table. Tom tried to swipe his hand through them again, but the numbers remained frozen in place.

  “As you can see, you aren’t the only one using outdated technology,” Tom said, smacking the side of the table to no avail. “I’m sure a hard system reboot will solve this problem. No need to waste your time watching this. Why don’t you come into the living room with me? I’d love to hear how your classes went this week? You had your exam in. . . what’s it called again? Architecture for. . . Swamps?”

  Charles tried to glance around his father until his words sunk in. Charles fought the urge to sigh as he shook his head.

  “Architectural Planning for Water-Immersed Low Lands,” Charles said. “And no, I had that class last semester, remember?”

  Tom nodded as if he knew exactly what his son was talking about; he didn’t. “Yeah, of course. You got an A, right?”

  “I haven’t received an A since elementary school when grading systems were changed,” Charles said. “But yes, I did received an Exceeds Expectations in that class, though I didn’t agree with a single thing the professor taught. If there’s one thing rising ocean levels and the shrinking American coastlines have taught, it’s that people are better off leaving the swamps for the gators. The damage is already done and no amount of. . . sorry, I can see your eyes glazing over.”

  Tom shook his head, fighting off a yawn. “No, not at all. I’m sorry, it’s just been a long day.”

  Charles nodded and stepped around his father, staring at the numbers frozen in midair. Tom no longer bothered trying to stop him from seeing. He looked at his son’s eyes, which seemed to flicker from one set of numbers to the next, processing the information much faster than Tom ever could. Charles only needed a few seconds to study the images before his face etched with concern.

  “When did things get so bad?”

  Tom shook his head. “Just a little blip, nothing to concern yourself with,” he told his son. “You keep worrying about your classes and I’ll get this mess sorted out.”

  Charles turned to his father and locked eyes with him. Tom couldn’t look away. For years, Charles stared at the ground or ceiling when talking to anyone. In this moment, Tom forgot his financial woes—forgot about all the problems he’d faced in the last decade—and saw Charles as he was as a boy.

  “I know numbers,” Charles said. “You can’t recover from them, even if business managed to pick up again.”

  This time, it was Tom’s turn to look away. He felt pressure building behind his eyes, years of growing anxiety trying to burst free at the worst possible moment. He hadn’t cried since his wife’s funeral years earlier and he wasn’t about to start now. He forced a cough and swiped at the side of his eyes.

  “I’m not planning on recovering,” Tom said. “But I swear to you—I swear by your mother’s name—I will make sure I keep the business afloat until you’ve completed your final year of university.”

  Tom stared at the numbers and clenched his jaw, forcing the tears to stop welling. When Charles put a hand on his shoulder, Tom couldn’t maintain his composure any longer. He kept his head turned to the side, glad the house lights were dimmed.

  “How can you afford to pay your employees let alone my tuition?”

  Tom chuckled, clearing his throat before continuing. “That’s an easy one. I have no employees any more, haven’t for six months. But that’s okay, I can handle the—”

  “I’ll help,” Charles said. “I know I might not be great with my hands, not like you are, but I will learn. I will—”

  “Your mind is far more skilled than my hands could ever be,” Tom said. “And there’s no way I’ll let you waste your free time helping me bang together the few projects I’m working on. You need that time to study.”

  Charles shook his head. “I’m sorry, but you misinterpreted me. I didn’t mean help as in spending a few hours a week handing you tools or clearing away garbage from your work sites. I mean help as in quitting school and coming to work for you full time, learning the ins and outs of the construction business.”

  Tom’s tears of self-pity immediately vanished, replaced by grinding teeth and anger. “Absolutely not. I made a promise to your mother that you’d—”

  “Go to school? Graduate with my degree? With both degrees I’m sleepwalking toward?” Charles asked with a snort. He grabbed his HoloBox from his father and stepped around him. He sat at the kitchen table, waving his hands through the holograms in a strange pattern, causing the numbers to vanish. In their place, he powered up his old box. “What am I going to do with an Architectural degree? What am I going to do with a degree in Molecular genetics? Design a building shaped like a strand of DNA?”

  “You can make something of yourself!” Tom snapped, the first time he’d had to raise his voice to Charles in years. “You’ll have two degrees, double the chance of finding a job.”

  “Dual degrees are as common as doctorate degrees now,” Charles said. “Why would any corporation choose me and my condition over someone with similar qualifications but a perfectly normal mind?”

  “There is nothing wrong with you,” Tom said, grabbing his son’s shoulders to force Charles to look at him. Charles recoiled so suddenly that he fell off of the kitchen chair.

  “I know you’ve always told me I’m no different than everyone else,” Charles said quietly. “I understand why you said that, I understand you didn’t want me doubting myself. Well I don’t, but I am different. I see things and have ideas nobody else does. That’s why I’m quitting school as of this moment and coming to work for you.”

  “And how would working for me help with your different ideas?” Tom asked. “Even with an extra set of hands, I can’t see how I’d keep things going the way they are for another few years.”

  Once Charles’s HoloBox finally powered on—a high-pitched squealing emanating from within—his hands danced through a series of floating start-up images. Tom never ceased to be amazed how his son could be so skilled with his hands one way but barely know how to grip a hammer.

  “I obviously didn’t make myself clear,” Charles said. “I’m not interested in joining The Jonas Family Building Company with how it’s currently being operated. As you said, what’s the point of joining a sinking ship?”

  Tom’s eyes narrowed. Of course he realized Charles was right. Tom had been faced with his own failings for years, but hearing someone else mention the collapse of his business—a business he’d built with his own two hands, a b
usiness he’d given his entire life to, a business that had put food in his son’s mouth and a roof over his head—left him feeling defensive and angry. Still, he reminded himself that Charles had never understood subtlety and only spoke the truth as bluntly as he knew how.

  “Then what is it you plan on joining?” Tom asked.

  “A new company, a changed company, one no longer predicated on wasting time with home construction or remodels,” Charles said.

  He continued to swipe away at several folders until finally locating a file labeled ‘ISU.’ Charles placed a fist in the middle of it and spread his fingers to open it. A floating hourglass began to spin and a ‘loading’ message appeared above his HoloBox. He turned to his father, his eyes alight with a passion Tom had never seen in him. Tom couldn’t tell if he was excited or concerned with what his son was about to say.

  “The coastlines are disappearing; we’ve already covered that,” Charles said. “As far as I’m concerned, there are three options to deal with such a problem. First is for humans to grow more accepting of the idea of gen-mods.”

  Tom couldn’t hide his disgust. “Genetic modification on humans? That’s. . . unnatural. Isn’t that why the government banned human testing?”

  “Yes, unnatural, that’s the word they’ve used all along to describe it,” Charles said, shaking his head. “A more accurate term would be unprofitable. Have crops been genetically modified to grow in bad conditions? To produce more food? To feed our overpopulated country? Have they used gen-mods on animals to stop them from going extinct?”

  Tom nodded. “They have, but I don’t see the profit in that.”

  Charles snorted and turned back to his file, which continued to load. “And who do you think funds those gen-mods for animals? Who do you think wants to stop them from going extinct? The same people who control decisions made by the government: the corporations. They ruin the planet piece by piece, but don’t want to anger the masses while doing so. They pollute the planet until the ice caps melt and flood our coasts, but as long as they help modify animals so the changing environment doesn’t eradicate them, then people don’t—