Orphans

24

24 There is a push and a rush and a slight metallic crunch. We are landing. I reach for my bag and there is a box. The box is small, rectangular, slightly glowing with a nearly, but not completely, imperceptible hum. Where did it come from? Morg, of course. There are debts to be paid. How did it get here? And does that even matter? I pick it up and watch it glow for a moment in my hands. There is a metallic belch. “Mr. Radd,” the E.C. says, “you will deliver the box to the Good Luck Sector bazaar when the opportunity presents itself.” “Okay,” I say, “and how will I know where to go?” “The box will lead you, sir,” the E.C. replies. “What?” I say. But there is a click, and then there is silence, though only for a moment. “Hey kid,” Ricky says walking in and hugging me, “it’s show time, let’s hit it.” We leave the shuttle and walk through the small airport that sits on the outskirts of Fu. Near the exit doors stands a male E.C. holding a sign that reads “Joyful Future Real Estate welcomes you.” “Hey there,” Ricky says waving to the E.C., “we’re the guys you’re looking for.” “Welcome,” the E.C. says, “please follow me.” As we walk out I see Dave and George decked out in what looks like military gear lifting several large bags and exiting a side door. “Are you sure Dave and George are Geologists?” I say to Ricky as we climb into a waiting car. B E N TA N Z E R 81 “That’s what they keep telling me,” Ricky says, “and whatever they say is good enough for me.” We pass through the streets of Fu with a smoothness that belies the still mostly undeveloped nature of the streets and areas that fall outside of the four main sectors of the city. The top of the dome is nearly too high to see, but coming in from the airport you can see clearly what exists outside of the dome, sand dunes and wind, minimal vegetation and endless space to develop—first buildings, then neighborhoods, one day towns, urban centers and states. People will live here and they will thrive. Somewhere , someone has it all mapped out, and all we need to do is fill the vision with actual people. “We are entering Prosperity Sector,” the E.C. says. The sparse urban space gives way to clusters of nondescript , low-hanging office buildings. Here there is an uptick of activity, actual sidewalks and people walking on them. And it’s not like Baidu, not at first blush certainly. People actually stop and talk, and seemingly without fear of helicopters, guns or the unemployed assailing them. Nor are the homeless herded anywhere, because there don’t seem to be any homeless either. I start to wonder what it would be like to bring Shalla and Joey here—a fresh start for us, full of possibility?—but I quickly kill that thought. This new world is for those of privilege and connection. We will never be welcomed here. Baidu is the end of the line for people like us. “We’re here,” the E.C. says. “Let’s rock and roll,” Ricky says. Ricky and I enter one of the buildings that is otherwise no different from the one to the right or left except for the sign by the front door, which reads Joyful Future Real Estate. There are no scanners here. You see a door and then you open it. We walk through the lobby and get to the O R P H A N S 82 front desk where we are met by a receptionist with long, black hair and blue-tinged skin. “Hey there Ricky,” she says, “how’s it hanging?” “Professional as always baby, love that,” Ricky says, smiling before leaning way in toward the receptionist, moving her hair, placing his mouth next to her ear and talking low, though not so low that I can’t hear him. “And it’s hanging low, the toilet water was freezing this morning . Then again, you already know that, don’t you?” “Funny guy,” the receptionist says playfully pushing Ricky away. “Tell me, who’s your handsome friend? Is that your son? Is this like bring-your-kid-to-work day...