by Sean Platt
Respero was something many people had whitewashed into “graduations” (rich people’s dinners were extravagantly catered and populated by guests popping EndLax so they could fill their stomachs like bottomless pits), but Dominic, jaded from a young age, saw right through them. Dominic saw Respero for what it was: murder.
So rather than delivering his sister to her euthanasia, he’d started to dig, using all of the skills the police academy taught him for all the societally wrong reasons. The board had given the family two weeks to prepare her dinner, but within ten days Dominic discovered a hideous truth: for the right number of credits paid to their families, it was possible to buy terminally ill people to stand in for Respero.
That was Dominic’s first association with Omar, the first time Dominic was forced to choose the lesser between two evils. He sold out, becoming Omar’s inside-the-system moondust liaison in exchange for enough credits to buy Chrissy’s replacement.
It took Chrissy another fifteen relatively happy years of life spent in Appalachia to die of natural causes, but both the lesson and the wound had stayed with Dominic through the years. So when he’d been called to Times Square to apprehend a ranting vagrant a few years later, he remembered what he’d learned about Respero. The state had ordered Dominic to take the man to a free center immediately, but Dominic had sensed something in Crumb that he couldn’t ignore. There was a desperate look in his eyes — a kind of pleading intelligence that wasn’t quite able to claw its way to the surface of his crazy, scraggly-bearded exterior. Dominic was still in his cheap apartment at the time but had just gotten his designation advancement and the correspondingly large Directorate pay dole. So he’d used the surplus credits to buy another body and had shuttled the man up into the mountains to live out his days, the same as Chrissy.
And now, someone knew. The record Dominic’s tracker had made of his first encounter with the vagrant and the file showing that the vagrant’s ID hadn’t appeared on the same day’s duty roster (booking him through to Respero) had both been opened last night during the system outage.
Someone knew, and that someone had surely made copies.
It was enough of a betrayal to bust a captain to nothing — or maybe send him to an elegant dinner and a bitter dessert.
EPISODE 3
Chapter 1
January 15, 2037 — District Zero
Nicolai looked down at the two small pink pills sitting in the tiny dish, perched atop a small plate as it was set in front of him by a white-gloved waiter. His first thought was that the dish was unnecessary. His second was that the plate was, too. He’d been to restaurants where a side of ketchup would be delivered on a saucer, and Nicolai thought that unnecessary. The idea that pills would be given to him not from a bottle but in a dish was dumb, and the idea that the dish would need to be delivered atop a plate was ludicrous. It was supposed to feel opulent (like the white gloves on the waiters and the hot towels he’d seen delivered to other tables), but to Nicolai, it felt pompous.
“EndLax,” said Isaac, looking over at Nicolai. “Take them and you won’t have to pass on any of this amazing food simply because you’re full.”
Nicolai looked up at Isaac, then around the table at Natasha, Micah, Micah’s date Paige, and back to Isaac. Isaac’s expression was helpful, and Nicolai decided not to tell him that he knew exactly what the pills were. He also decided not to tell Isaac that his confused look was being caused by how he felt about them.
“It’s okay,” he said to the Monteffero’s waiter. “I’ll do without.”
The waiter didn’t take the plate away. “Are you sure, sir? You have quite a lot of food coming.”
“I’ll just stop when I’m full,” he said.
The waiter looked at Nicolai as if he’d just expressed his belief in Bigfoot out loud, then looked around at the table’s other occupants, seeming to ask if he should listen to the crazy dark-haired man and take the EndLax away. Micah nodded, and the waiter, with a sense of confused resignation, took the pills.
“You’ll have to excuse Nicolai,” Natasha said to Paige, laughing. “He’s used to eating only what he needs.” She laughed as if this were the most preposterous thing she’d ever heard, then smiled at Nicolai to show that she was teasing. Her red hair was piled high, her smile wide and genuine, her breasts pushed up and her curves — in her opulent dress — settling in all the right places.
Nicolai tried to decide how he should respond. The Ryans didn’t know he’d come from a wealthy family, or that he’d once been wasteful in his own way. When he’d first abandoned his old life for his new one trekking through Europe’s chaos, Nicolai had missed his wealth and privilege, but he’d very quickly learned to appreciate the spartan life he’d been thrust into. It was like a whole-life fast, showing him what was truly important and what mattered not at all. EndLax, in Nicolai’s opinion, was perhaps the perfect indication of the widening gap not just in the world, but even within the NAU itself. The fact that the rich could have all they wanted was morally difficult enough… but the idea that they’d created a pill specifically so they could consume more than they were physically able to consume? That was a full step too far. Yet Isaac and Micah were his hosts, and Isaac was the reason Nicolai was sitting safe in the new country instead of still on the run amongst anarchy. He didn’t want to be rude.
“You appreciate food more when you’re rationed,” he said. “And I don’t just mean to ‘ration’ so that it lasts. I mean rationing during a meal. All this amazing food tastes better when you know you only have so much room, and must carefully pick and choose those foods most worthy of passing your lips.”
Isaac smiled, then gave a small glance to his brother. It was a proud glance that said he’d hired the perfect wordsmith to help him communicate his vision to the world.
“We’re going to be here a while, Nicolai,” Micah said. “What will you do once you’re full?” He lit a cigarette and puffed. The smoke bothered Nicolai, but it was another thing he knew better than to mention. Apparently smoking had been banned throughout much of America years before only to reemerge for some reason shortly before Nicolai arrived. It was as if, with the world in chaos, everyone had decided that lung cancer again mattered less.
Nicolai glanced to his right, toward a long-stemmed glass. “I have my wine. We have our conversation.”
Micah laughed. Unlike Natasha’s laugh, Micah’s was condescending.
“I heard you came through the Wild East,” said Paige. She looked like she was a decade younger than Micah, but her tongue was sharp. She was thin and beautiful and blond, clearly raised in privilege.
“Barbarians,” said Isaac.
“Bad luck,” said Nicolai, trying on a PR smile. “We had a lot of it in Italy and the rest of the East. When the oceans rose, they swallowed so much land that those who were left started to fight for the scraps, just like I heard happened here. There were many gangs, forming fast among too many governments. In a way, you were fortunate here to have so much space governed by one country, and just one country to the north and one to the south with whom you were so friendly. Think about it: the NAU — just the US, Canada, and Mexico — is only three governments. You didn’t need much consensus. In Europe we had dozens, in far less space. And of course, where was Switzerland while all of this was happening? Right in the middle, and you know what happened with them. With all of those governments scrambling to talk to one another, the EU coalition didn’t matter. It all went back to little kingdoms. The French stopped being EU and went back to being French again. The Germans stopped being EU and became Germans again. It all fell to pieces. Try getting that many different cultures to agree when the pillaging started and the Faction started moving their bombs around, and it’s a lot harder. I don’t blame the NAU for closing the borders and am grateful to be here. But I don’t think anyone can blame the East for what happened there.”
Natasha shrugged. She didn’t seem to see any reason not to blame the East for being who they were. It was nothing
she’d ever need to worry about.
“You may feel differently in a few years,” said Micah. “All those bombs are still over there, you know. That stuff goes back decades. Russia still has ICBMs in bunkers. India, Pakistan, Switzerland… it’s only a matter of time. The NAU rose to the challenge. And now look at us: we’re doing as well as ever.”
“Better than ever,” said Isaac, a knowing look in his eyes.
“For us, the calamity and chaos was a hiccup,” Micah continued. “But for the Wild East? Crippling. They simply weren’t strong enough.” He tipped his cigarette toward Nicolai. “No offense, of course. You were clearly strong. But as a whole, the structure there just wasn’t enough.”
The part of Nicolai that housed his pride wanted to argue, but selective abandonment and triage were the only reasons he was still alive. He’d left his school and home to burn; he’d left his town to bandits; he’d left his country and friends and everything he’d ever known to try for America, fleeing toward Lady Liberty like a cliche from two hundred years before. People who insisted on saving others and obeying their pride ended up dead. Those with enough fortitude to cut the chaff might live to see another day, and make their difference that way.
“And what about those bombs?” said Micah. “They’re already starting up the old machines over there. Did you hear that report about pirates who stole an entire fleet of old English military vessels? They’re carrying warheads. There are subs, magnacopters, supersonics, all of that. It’s only a matter of time before they stop scrapping in the East and find legitimate ways to come after us here.”
Paige said, “We have an army.”
Micah looked over at her with a mixture of surprise (that she’d spoken) and irritation (that she’d said something so stupid). “There’s no army,” he said. “There are monkeys with guns. The legitimate bases were all destroyed in the calamities, and the groups that resurrected them are quasi-military at best. And then sure, the NAU government took them back over, but did they swap out every scrap of personnel? Were there enough people left who knew all of the secrets, about where the big machines were and how to use them? You know why we haven’t nuked the East?”
“Because it’s genocide?” said Nicolai.
“Well, that’s what they say.” Micah brought his cigarette to his lips and let it hover. “But I think it’s because no one knows how to work it all. Or that it was disassembled or damaged beyond repair. We lost a lot of intellectual capital in the wars: all of our smartest people. It’s taken time to grow them back. But the future of a country is in its people. We lost all of that knowledge, and that can’t be allowed to happen. And now? I’m telling you, we’re sitting ducks. We’re the block’s one rich house, surrounded by ghetto. They’re eyeing us. Bet your bottom dollar, the rest of the world will find a way in.”
“Well…” said Isaac.
Micah looked over. “Isaac.”
Isaac stopped speaking. Nicolai sensed that some unspoken understanding had passed between the brothers. The public version of who the Ryans were and where they had come from was vanilla, but Nicolai could taste the nuts. They were both impossibly wealthy and supposedly had come from family money: a line of engineering plants scattered throughout North America, plus various other controlling industry interests. But Nicolai knew business and knew the history of the biggest of the Ryan companies, and he found it hard to believe that all of those fabricators, faced with the international embargo that had blocked raw imports from countries outside of the NAU, had had what they needed to spit the volumes required to thrive after the word “volume” lost most of its meaning. The NAU was self-sufficient today and had been for three years, but a significant side effect of the contained economy was the stalling of manufacturing. Technology puttered along, but true innovation was only now starting to progress again. Micah was right; the country had lost much of its brainpower. It had also been borrowing a large amount of brainpower from the rest of the world (particularly Japan) prior to cutting off. The NAU’s isolation was forcing it to better itself, but the fledgling nation was only now finding its legs. There was another story, Nicolai thought, about how Ryan Enterprises had managed to keep its head above water during the transition — and delving into military operations was certainly one possibility.
Nicolai raised his eyebrows, asking an unspoken question. Isaac looked at Micah. Micah closed his eyes briefly, then shook his head as if to say, Whatever.
“There are rumors,” said Isaac in a voice that suggested that what he was about to say wasn’t a rumor at all, “that the military is working on a kind of wall.”
“A wall around the whole country?” said Natasha. She looked at Nicolai, then smiled. She’d had a lot to drink, and had been friendly throughout the meal. Maybe too friendly.
“Around the entire NAU,” said Isaac.
“How will a wall stop bombs?” Nicolai asked.
“The rumors — and they’re just rumors, understand — suggest that this wall will be a bit more than bricks and mortar.”
“Like what?”
“That’s all the rumors say,” said Micah, holding and then releasing another line of smoke. “A fancy wall.”
Isaac looked at his younger brother, apparently understanding that it was time to stop talking. So he did, and a few minutes later the first course arrived.
It took fifteen waiters to bring all of the food. The table that Nicolai, Micah, Isaac, Natasha, and Paige were sitting at was much larger than necessary for a party of five, but when the waiters arrived, something whirred beneath the table; an aperture bloomed from the middle and fresh table poured into the hole from underneath. The table swelled in size the way a pancake spreads when new batter is poured into the middle. They were still close enough to talk, but fortunately Natasha was now far enough from Nicolai that she could no longer brush his legs with her feet under the table.
The white-gloved waiters placed platter after platter onto the table. Nicolai, who’d eaten his share of fine food, had never seen so much haute cuisine at once: Kobe burgers topped with seared foie gras and truffles on brioche buns; hand-packed sausage infused with hundred-and fifty-year-old Louis XIII cognac, topped with lobster and seared in olive and truffle oil; pizza topped with four types of caviar plus lobster tail; and what Nicolai knew would be his favorite before it touched his tongue: delicately crafted quesadillas with hen of the woods mushrooms, ricotta, and caramelized chayote squash on two perfectly-cooked tortillas.
Once the waiters had finished setting dishes on the table and wishing the diners bon appetit, everyone but Nicolai took the EndLax tablets from their dishes, swallowed them with a gulp of overpriced wine, then began piling their plates high with giant helpings of the exorbitant dishes as if they were at an all-you-can-eat family buffet. Nicolai, who enjoyed sampling food at all economic levels and had been to plenty of buffets, found it interesting that the ridiculously rich ate exactly like the moderately poor.
After over an hour of gorging and small talk (and more too-friendly looks from Natasha, a few of which Nicolai found himself returning against his better judgment as one empty glass ran into the next), the diners seemed to grow bored with the food and stopped eating. Nicolai, who had taken no EndLax, felt full and satisfied and pushed his dish toward the middle of the table as he leaned back in his chair. Looking around, it was as if the others hadn’t even eaten. They’d consumed thousands of dollars’ worth of food that seemed to have pleased them not at all. It was a kind of gustatory masturbation for them, with no release.
Micah ordered “Dream Chocolate,” a whipped mousse the Monteffero was well known for having perfected, in a way that suggested he felt obligated by ritual to do so. Nicolai found himself salivating in anticipation, but looked around the table and wondered if the other diners, who wouldn’t need to make room in their bellies, would even be able to taste it.
As they waited for the desserts to arrive, Isaac stood.
“I’d like to make a toast,” he said, raising his wineglas
s, “to a mastermind, a visionary… and my amazing younger brother.”
The others raised their glasses. Nicolai did the same, wondering what he was actually toasting.
“To the man who saw opportunity where everyone else saw tragedy,” Isaac continued. “To the man who, while the world was panicking, saw a way to line his pockets.”
Isaac’s voice was unsteady, and Nicolai realized just how drunk he was. Micah tugged at him, simultaneously thanking his brother and trying to get him to sit.
“But nobody ever gives Isaac any credit,” said Isaac.
Micah half stood and said quickly, “And to my brother. Who supported me all the way.”
“Supported you?”
“Who was forward-thinking enough to steer our companies toward a brighter future,” Micah amended. Then, quieter, just to Isaac: “Sit down.”
“Who signed the loans, as ill-advised as some of them were!” said Isaac, still raising his glass.
“Isaac.”
“Who shouldered all the risk, while someone else did all of the… what?” He looked down at Micah, annoyed.
“That’s good. Thank you for the toast.”
“I just think we deserve recognition. Because this is good for everyone.”
“Yes. Thanks. Sit.”
“Not just us! Opportunity for the NAU!”
Micah, still tugging: “Yes. Sure, Isaac.”
A few waiters were starting to arrive, removing plates that were, in many cases, still mostly full. Nicolai watched, estimating the dollar value of each dish. There went most of a pheasant under glass — probably over a hundred dollars. A bowl of caviar, mostly full? Twice that much, at least. The meal was ridiculously expensive, and the diners had raised their collective fingers at the price, sparing nothing and wasting much. Nicolai watched the waiters’ faces. Though their expressions were neutral, Nicolai knew their thoughts wouldn’t be. Despite working in opulence, the servers themselves were probably barely scraping by, like most of the country. Nicolai had been hungry many, many times over the past few years and could see their disgust, barely hidden. Would they try to take the expensive food home for themselves and risk losing their jobs? Or would they simply toss it into the garbage and resent the table’s opulent waste?
