It was the last hour of the last day of school before winter break, and Jason Jones was engraving a carbon atom with the world’s smallest holiday greeting.
The atom’s 3D facsimile, many millions of times magnified, hovered large and silvery before him. The atom itself—as well as the surface-plasmon laser he used to execute the engraving—resided in a lab 7000 kilometers away in the European Habitation Zone, but its hi-def projection inside Charlanta Academy’s MetaLab was realistic down to the picometer.
The lab was quiet and still. Most of the Academy’s learners had left early at the urging of Teaching Experts eager to get on with their vacations. But if Jason Jones was tempted to rush his work, he did not show it. It was of the utmost importance that this engraving turn out perfectly. Not only would it be the highlight of the Winter Meta Ball decor—its 3D image projected above the virtual dance floor for all the Academy’s upper grades to see—but it would be entered into his educational portfolio. This atom would remain on his permanent record as he progressed up the ranks from learner to junior expert to Expert, and then perhaps, one day, to a World Leadership position with the Technate. He mustn’t make even the most nanoscopic mistake, which was the only kind of mistake one could make when engraving a carbon atom.
He had just finished up the last S of “Happy Sciencemas.” He waved his hand, turning the atom slowly leftward to assess the quality of his work. Not bad. Not bad at all. The script was clear, the letters elegantly written. The grooved lines bore a metallic glitter, which would glow warmly under the floating orb lights at the virtual ball. He’d even added two tiny Sciencemas atoms to the sides of the message, canted upward like ringing bells. Atoms on an atom—Jason thought that was quite clever. But the project wasn’t finished. Something’s missing.
He raised his hand to the atom’s virtual surface and, with a confident swoop of his stylus, he formed a final flourish beneath the words in two graceful, calligraphic lines. Then, in tiny letters below that, he added his own initials: JEJJ, for Jason Environmental Justice Jones. (The middle names were self-applied. His parent, Trisha, hadn’t seen fit to give him any. How she expected him to rise to Expert status without a nice, technocratic-sounding name, he couldn’t guess.) No one would be able to see the signature from the dance floor, but any committees perusing his portfolio later on might appreciate it.
He stepped back for one last appraisal of his work, found it exemplary, and told the MetaLab to de-link from the European lab, submit his files for grading, and log off. Sciencemas vacation, here I come!
When Jason stepped out into the hallway, Equity Banerjee was waiting for him by the stairs, bouncing on her heels with excitement. Jason felt the warm, flushed feeling he always felt in Equity’s presence.
“Guess what?” Equity said.
“What?”
“I got a response from the Transit Authority.”
Jason knew what the response would say. Still, his heart skipped a beat. “And?”
“I’m approved! I can come to your apartment for the Meta Ball.” Equity squealed with delight.
A flurry of red and pink hearts ascended before Jason’s eyes, followed by a series of text bubbles:
Love you two!
Awww, how sweet!
Is Jason blushing? <3 <3 <3
It was Equity’s friends expressing their enthusiasm for Jason and Equity’s budding relationship. Jason thought, turn off react notifications, and the bubbles and hearts disappeared. It was nice to be instantaneously connected with all your friends, to be able to see what was going on in their lives and share with them what was going on in yours, but sometimes it could feel a bit intrusive.
“That’s great!” he told Equity as they started down the stairs. “I knew they’d approve you, though.”
“I was pretty sure they would, too, but I was still nervous. What if they made an error?”
“Errors are rarer than ever before,” Jason quoted. It was a line from one of the Technate’s advertising jingles.
“Ooh, I can’t wait,” Equity said, hopping down the last few steps.
They exited the building and made the short walk to the street, where an autonomous cab would be picking Equity up in a few minutes.
“So, did you think about—” Jason raised and lowered his eyebrows, indicating that he was referring to something that shouldn’t be spoken aloud.
“Oh—yes, I did. And I think it’s going to work out perfectly.” She held up four fingers.
Four fingers. Four hours. That was how much Personal Privacy Time Equity would have saved up by the day of the Meta Ball. Jason only had three so far. But he would receive his weekly hour tomorrow, so if he didn’t use any PPT over the next week, he should be able to match Equity’s four. They wouldn’t use their PPT during the ball itself, of course. That was the time to connect and socialize with the other learners, to admire the virtual Sciencemas decorations, to show off their avatars’ latest upgrades and the dance moves they’d been practicing. But afterwards…
He’d been planning it for a month. He had a clear, perfect vision of how it would be. The music would fade out, they’d say goodbye to all their friends, the wall screens would fade to gray. Then they would each activate their saved privacy time, blocking all of their friends and acquaintances from viewing their live feeds for the next four hours. Jason would push the loveseat back into the center of the living room. His parent, Trisha, would come out of the kitchen and ask if the two of them wanted any Sciencemas cookies, and Jason would accept and then politely ask her to give them some time alone (he needed to rehearse this part with Trisha.) Jason would turn the wall screens to something romantic—a flickering fireplace or an ocean scene, maybe. They’d sit on the loveseat and eat their cookies. He would put his arm around Equity’s shoulders, casually but also tenderly (he would have to practice over the next week), and then—
“Jason!” Equity snapped her fingers. “You’re zoning out.”
“What? Oh, I was just—thinking.”
“Well, my ride’s here.” She gave him a wide grin. “Talk tomorrow?”
“Definitely.” Jason watched as she climbed into the green two-seater and waved as she sped away.
The crisp December air was filled with the sights, sounds and smells of Sciencemas.
Utility drones hovered above the sidewalk, hanging colorfully-lit Sciencemas atoms on the lamp posts along Intersectionality Avenue. The Plant Base, a popular kitchen collective on Technocracy Boulevard, had Sciencemas cookies on display in its window case, in the shapes of microscopes, test tubes, and lab coats. The autonomous cabs were decked with green and black ribbons and bows. It seemed to Jason that every habitator he met walked with a spring in their step and a sparkle in their eyes. He said “Happy Sciencemas” to everyone he passed. In the District Center, the You-Lixir autokiosk by the Technate’s Eye was serving up cups of hot mulled You-Lixir. The apple-cinnamon aroma wafted out into the street. It would have been difficult for even the most curmudgeonly counter-technocrat to not get into the holiday spirit.
A few minutes’ brisk walking brought Jason to the health complex, which was where he lived. His parent was a carer at the new Tranquil Meadows Home for Habitators of Higher Age, and the two of them lived in helper housing on the health complex campus. There was less traffic here, fewer pedestrians, and Jason always enjoyed this part of his afternoon walk because it gave him time to think. He liked being alone, and thinking. He realized some people might think that odd, but it wasn’t that he was thinking counter-technocratic thoughts or anything. Usually he thought about scientific advancements, social responsibility, or all the good he would do for the world when he became an Expert one day.
Today he thought about Equity: her voice, her smile, the way her ponytail bounced when she smiled—no, wait, that was Equity’s avatar. Not Equity herself. The real Equity’s ponytail was nice and shiny and very cute, but it didn’t bounce of its own accord.
Jason came to his building and the big double glass doors, framed in shiny brass, opened automatically for him. His parent had told him that this building used to be a hotel, which was why the apartments were so nice. When they’d first moved there from their old (much smaller) hab, Jason had thought it a bit uncomfortable to live in a building that used to be a hotel—he’d learned about them at the Academy. Hotels were from the old days, when people were greedy and wasteful. They each had their own houses, eight or nine times the size of the biggest apartment in Charlanta, and still thought nothing of spending the night at one of these hotels, while other people lived in the streets! But after a while he’d gotten used to the idea of living in a repurposed hotel. The building was already there when the Technate saved the world and took control of the existing infrastructure, after all. It was good that the Experts had found a suitable—and sustainable—use for this building, and not let it go to waste like their predecessors had.
He took the elevator up to his floor. Someone had strung up paper chains along the hallway, with Sciencemas symbols hanging every meter or so—the green-and-black eye of the Technate, a database spreadsheet, more atoms. He should probably think about putting up some Sciencemas decorations inside the apartment, too, for when Equity came over. Let’s see, he was sure his parent had a box of them somewhere, unless it had been lost in the move.
As he approached his apartment door, a query box appeared in his field of vision: OPEN DOOR TO JASON’S HOME?
Jason thought, Yes, and the door opened.
He dropped his school things next to the door and went into the kitchen for a snack. His parent had left out an apple and a package of toasted mealworms for him, and a note was scribbled on the fridge’s screen: Working late tonight. Be home around 7. Supper’s in the fridge. Love you! -Mom
He wished she’d stop calling herself that. It sounded so old-fashioned and backwards. He used to call her “Mom” or “Mommy” back when he was little and didn’t know any better—it made him blush to recall it. Since joining the Academy, he’d been much more careful about avoiding un-technocratic vernacular. He’d tried out “guardian” and “caretaker”, but had settled on “parent” because it was ungendered, dignified, but still familial.
Jason grabbed the bag of mealworms, tore open the recycled hemp paper packaging, and popped a few in his mouth. He carried his snack out to the living room and was about to start rifling through the closet for the old box of decorations, when he saw it: the embarrassment. The abomination. The object with the potential to ruin his entire Sciencemas.
In the corner of the living room, between the sofa and the storage cabinet, his parent had put up a Christmas tree.
Oh no, what if his friends had seen it on the live feed from his ocular? He’d turned off notifications earlier, so how would he even know if they had? Quickly, he turned them back on, and, heart racing, being careful not to look again at the disgraceful tree, he checked his history to see if anyone had noticed. No comments, no reacts. That was good. It had only been a moment, anyway, just a glance. No one had seen. He let out a sigh of relief.
He activated Personal Privacy Time and double checked to make sure he was truly alone. Just a minute or two, so he could take stock of the situation without any of his friends seeing. He’d still have plenty of time left to spend with Equity at the Meta Ball.
It was a small, somewhat scraggly evergreen tree in a ceramic pot. Who knew where his parent had picked it up—hopefully it had been grown in a Technate-approved greenhouse and not smuggled into Charlanta from the wilds. You never knew what kind of disgusting and dangerous contaminants might be in a plant’s leaves or roots, or in the soil, even.
Its branches drooped under the weight of a string of white lights and five red and gold baubles made of—what was that, metal? Jason shook his head in dismay. At the top of the tree was a shiny silver star, made of wooden tongue depressors wrapped in foil, and around the base his parent had arranged a white piece of fabric, possibly to look like snow.
When he was younger, they used to have one of these trees every year, with a few wrapped gifts underneath, and Christmas stockings, and Christmas dinner, and Christmas carols sung quietly before bed. But a couple of years ago Jason had realized just how terrible of a tradition it was. He didn’t blame his parent—she was born before the Technate saved the world, and she didn’t know any better. But he’d let her know in no uncertain terms that he didn’t want to celebrate that stupid old backwards holiday anymore, and last year they hadn’t. It had been Sciencemas decorations only. Had she forgotten? Did she think he’d forgotten?
Anger welled up in his chest. He turned away from the tree, deactivated his privacy time, and went to his room to wait until his parent returned home.
“I don’t see what’s so bad about it,” said Jason’s parent, straightening the shower curtain. “It’s just a few Christmas decorations. They’re not illegal.”
They were standing in the bathroom because it was the only place they could talk privately without Jason having to use up his saved PPT.
“Just because it’s not illegal doesn’t mean it’s not counter-technocratic,” Jason argued.
“What’s counter-technocratic about a Christmas tree?”
“Are you kidding me? Christmas is a capitalist holiday, centered on greed and waste. It comes from some superstitious religion from the dark ages. That Santer Closs character is like, the mascot for health unconsciousness and toxic masculinity. Trees shouldn’t be cut down, it’s bad for the environment. And Christmas is not inclusive!”
His parent scoffed. “What a load of—Jason, Christmas is harmless. I’ve been celebrating it all my life, and I’m not a capitalist or anti-inclusive, or any of those things. You act as if I’m some kind of terrorist, hiding a bioweapon in the pine needles. I’m not a counter-technocrat!”
“I know you aren’t,” Jason said, trying to calm his voice. “But you have to understand how it looks to other people, Parent.”
“Good grief, can you just call me Mom? What other people?”
“Like the other kids at school, or anyone who happens to tune into our live feeds.”
“Is that what this is about? You don’t want your friends to see that your mom put up a Christmas tree? I’m sure most of their moms have Christmas decorations up, too.”
Jason highly doubted this. “Think about how this affects me. If the other kids find out, I’ll be labeled a capitalist, a counter-technocrat, or worse. Plus, Equity’s coming over for the Sciencemas Meta Ball. She’s of southeast Asian descent, you know. Christmas decorations might be offensive to her!”
“No one is offended by a Christmas tree, Jason. No one except, apparently, you.”
He couldn’t think of anyone who was, but he was sure they were out there somewhere, and their feelings should be respected and taken into consideration. If anything, he was only offended on their behalf. “I thought we’d settled this last year.”
She examined her face in the mirror, traced the lines on her forehead. “I thought you’d be over it by now. Last year, I did it for you. I left my Christmas stuff packed away and didn’t celebrate because I wanted to make you happy. But I wasn’t happy. You don’t understand, Jason. When I was a kid, Christmas was a magical time. The most wonderful time of the year. I have the happiest memories from the holidays when I was a kid, and I’ve tried to share that with you as you’ve grown, but—”
“Parent.” Jason cut her off. “I get it. You grew up in a time of greed and waste and backward thinking and the only thing you had to look forward to all year was some chintzy plastic corporate holiday, so those are now your only happy memories from your childhood. But things are different now. Sciencemas is a much more socially responsible, sustainable, and inclusive holiday. And nowadays it’s possible to be happy all year round. We don’t have to cling to those mistakes of the past. We have better ways of thinking now, better ways of doing things. We’re forging ahead with science and technology, egalitarianism and sustainability.”
“Jason—”
“I want you to take the tree down, Parent.”
There were tears in her eyes. Jason felt bad for her, but it would be cruel to pretend this wasn’t the way of things. Things had changed, and people had to change, too. He added, “And please don’t, under any circumstances, get me a Christmas present.”
“You know what, Jason?” She threw down the washcloth she’d been using to dab at her eyes. “Absolutely not. I’m leaving it up. Just don’t look at it when you walk through the living room, if you hate it that much.”
“But—”
“No buts.” She stomped out of the bathroom, went to her room and closed the door firmly. All night as he tried to go to sleep, he could hear her soft sobs from the other side of the wall.
If Jason made a hundred baskets this week in his RealActive Game Suite, he would accumulate enough points to get the upgraded skin pack, with athletic outfits and accessories that his avatar could wear not just in the RealActive spaces, but anywhere in the metaverse.
The problem was, he didn’t want to play that much virtual basketball. So he’d rearranged his bedroom furniture and adjusted the virtual hoop height and distance so that he could fairly predictably score two-point shots while lying supine on his bed with his haptic gloves on, with just a gentle, practiced flick of the wrist. That was what he was doing when Equity buzzed herself into his metaspace.
“Why are you lying on the basketball court?” Equity asked as her avatar’s face appeared in the air above his, giggling.
“I just don’t feel like playing, I guess,” said Jason.
“What if I joined you? I need to log some physical activity this week, to keep my health score up over break.”
“If you want to. My health score is fine, though.”
“We don’t have to. Anything else you want to do? Ping pong? Chess?”
“I’m on vacation. I don’t want to do anything.” He threw one final ball, missed, and logged out of the game. His wall screens went blank and a second later, Equity repopulated on the wall next to his bed, her long black hair tied up in that signature bouncy ponytail. She was one of those people who tried to make their avatar look as closely as possible to what they looked like in real life. That was one of the things Jason liked best about her. There was no pretense with Equity. She liked herself the way she was. He wished he could be more that way.
“We could just sit here and talk,” Equity said.
“Yeah, but let’s have some scenery. What do you think, lake-side bench?”
Equity wrinkled her animated nose. “No, we did that one twice last week.”
“Stargazing?”
“That’s great for you, you have connected ceilings!”
“Oh yeah, I forgot. How about Glimmerguard?”
“I love Glimmerguard!” Equity squealed.
“I know,” said Jason. He found it in his menu of backdrops and selected it. In an instant his bedroom was transformed into a pastel fantasy land. Gnarled trees spread their branches overhead, their feathery lavender foliage drifting softly in the breeze. Fairies flitted about from blooming blossom to moss-covered rock. Somewhere nearby a brook burbled, and in the distance, a herd of winged unicorns grazed on a glittering hillside.
“Are you going to the Sciencemas parade tomorrow?” Asked Equity, plopping herself down on a patch of moss.
“Of course. I never miss it. You?”
“Not this year. My parents said they’re too busy with work, and we can attend in meta if we want.”
“That’s too bad. I was hoping I could meet up with you there.”
“I would if I could, but—”
“Yeah, I know, the underage curfew.” Jason reached upward and brushed his fingertips against the fluffy purple foliage of an overhead branch. “My parent is taking the evening off so we can go. At least, I think she is. We haven’t really been speaking the past couple days.”
“Really?” The corners of Equity’s mouth turned downward in sympathy, and her ponytail drooped. “Why, what’s up?”
Jason was sorry he’d mentioned it. He really didn’t want to discuss this with Equity, because then she’d want him to tell her why they fought in the first place, and he couldn’t bear for her to know about the Christmas tree. “It’s just a minor thing. I’m sure it’ll blow over soon. Hey, I was wondering…”
“What’s up?”
“I know it’s a bit last-minute, with the MetaBall only three days away, but—”
“Yeah?”
“What if we attended from your place?”
“My place?”
“Yeah, I mean…I’ve never been over there. Just kinda thought it would be nice to see your apartment, meet your family.”
“I’ve never been to your apartment, either.”
“I know.”
“And I’ve already got approval from the Transit Authority. Do you even have enough time left to request a special movement authorization?”
“Maybe. Worth a shot.”
“I don’t think so, Jason. You’ll never get it approved in time. My request took two weeks to process. And they’re always backlogged around Sciencemas. Anyway, I think it’ll be much better if we do it at your place. I don’t have connected ceilings, remember? If we do it at my place, you won’t even get to see your atom that you worked so hard on!”
That was true. He’d probably regret it if he couldn’t bask under the glow of his Sciencemas atom.
“Plus you don’t have any little siblings. Mine would never let us have the living room to ourselves for the whole dance.”
And then there was after the dance. Their saved PPT. Equity was right. It would be much better at his apartment. If only he could get his parent to budge on the Christmas tree.
On the day of the Sciencemas parade, Jason’s parent seemed to be in a conciliatory mood.
Smiling a lot, helping Jason find his green-and-black jacket to show his Sciencemas spirit, and even offering to use some of her saved luxury credits to buy him a hot mulled You-lixir from the autokiosk on their way to Experts Boulevard. It was all very nice, but she still hadn’t removed the Christmas decorations, Jason reminded himself. If she really wanted to reconcile, that was all she had to do. He tried his best to be cordial, but couldn’t help feeling a chill as he walked along beside her, and not from the crisp December air.
The culminating event of the parade—the Lighting of the Atom at Technate Square—was Jason’s favorite part, and so they pressed on into the gathering crowd to find good spots near the end of the parade route. This would mean they’d have to wait a little longer to see all of the bicycle-pulled parade floats, but that was okay. It was worth the wait, and besides, there was plenty to see at the Square. The carolers were already warming up with a rousing rendition of “Tech the Halls.”
“Tech the halls with boughs of holly!” Jason’s parent sang along with the choir, but she was horribly butchering the lyrics. Jason tried to help her out.
“It’s tech the halls with nano sensors, ’tis the season to be inclusive,” he said.
“Oh. That doesn’t rhyme.”
“Not all songs have to rhyme, it’s more about the feeling they give you.”
“Yes, of course,” said his parent. “Look, Jason! Those enforcer drones are passing out candy! Don’t you want some?”
He looked where she was pointing. Two enforcer drones, with green knit caps perched jauntily on their plastic heads and atomic wreaths hung from the gun barrels that protruded from their bellies, were scattering candies on the ground for a group of delighted children. Jason was tempted, but he was a little old to be scrambling around on the ground for treats. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Sciencemas candy is for the little kids. Let them enjoy it.”
His parent smiled. “That’s so sweet of you, Jason. You’re growing up to be such a kind young man.”
The first parade float had just come into view, the cyclists at its front pumping their legs with great vigor to pull the heavy load of Experts and Junior Experts from the local Technate Council, who were waving and tossing out coupons for meatless cheeseburgers, when the alert came through on Jason’s ocular.
This was how Jason experienced it:
A blinking red text box came up in his field of vision, along with a stern beeping sound inside his head. “CAUTION: BIOTERROR ALERT. LOCKDOWN IN EFFECT FOR SOUTHEAST CHARLANTA UNTIL JANUARY 2. ALL HABITATORS HAVE 1 HOUR TO RETURN TO THEIR HAB UNITS FOR LEVEL 5 QUARANTINE.”
The choir stopped singing and the whole parade went silent for about five seconds. The people on the floats stopped waving. The cyclists stopped pedaling and the floats lurched forward, toppling them from their bikes. The enforcer drones assumed defensive stances and their belly-guns extended to full length, aimed out at the crowd.
And then, chaos.
It wasn’t until they were over halfway back to the Health Complex and had left most of the melee behind that the implications descended on Jason like a swarm of nanites: Charlanta was under lockdown. Level 5. There would be no Meta Ball.
Well, there would still be a Meta Ball, but Equity would not be allowed to join him in person for it. They would both have to stay in their apartments for the next two weeks. It had never been the event itself he’d looked forward to, but the chance to spend time with Equity afterwards, time that he didn’t have to share with everyone else in the entire Megacity of Charlanta. If Equity couldn’t be there, really be there, solid and in-the-flesh, then there might as well not be a Meta Ball at all.
As soon as he walked through the door of his apartment, he rushed to his room, not even caring that he glanced at the Christmas tree on the way. No sooner had he thrown his green-and-black jacket on the floor and flopped face-down on his bed, then a message came up in his ocular from Equity. “Got time to chat?”
Sighing, he sat up in bed and opened his MetaSpace. Equity’s avatar appeared on his blank wall, a frown on her face.
“Well,” Jason said, “Sciencemas is ruined.”
“Yeah,” said Equity. “This sucks.”
A couple of frowny-faces floated into the air between them. Schoolmates expressing their agreement.
“I heard someone in the lobby say it’s another rhinovirus.”
“Oh no, and you have it even worse because you live on the health complex! Stupid bioterrorists,” said Equity. “Who do you think they are this time? Ferals? Counter-technocrats?”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” said Jason. “Not that it matters. Our whole vacation is busted, regardless. And the Meta Ball! All that PPT we saved up, and for nothing.
“We could use some of it now,” said Equity.
“You want to?”
“Sure.”
“Activate privacy,” Jason said, and Equity echoed him.
“You know, I might as well tell you,” said Jason. “Since everything’s ruined anyway.”
“Tell me what?”
“The reason I didn’t want you to come over to my apartment.”
Equity nodded sympathetically.
“It’s because of my parent. She put up this disgusting holiday display in the living room, and she refuses to take it down.” Jason felt a blush rise to his cheeks. He looked down at his lap. “It’s a Christmas tree. With a star and everything.”
Equity didn’t say anything, but Jason distinctly heard a small snort. He looked up to see her avatar’s face holding back laughter.
“Don’t laugh,” he said. “I know it’s old fashioned and backwards, I tried to explain it to her, I just—”
“No, it’s not that,” Equity said. “It’s just that—” her laughter burst forth and she couldn’t finish.
Jason waited for her to calm down. “It’s just that what?”
“That’s the same reason I didn’t want you coming over to my place.”
“Really? Your mom—I mean, your parents have a Christmas display?”
“No, they don’t celebrate Christmas. But my grandmother insists on keeping a religious shrine in the hallway. It’s right on the way to the bathroom. It’s full of pictures and statues of crazy looking gods with six arms. One even has an elephant head.”
Jason didn’t know what to say. That sounded worse than a Christmas tree. At least the tree would come down at the end of the holiday season. “Wow, that’s insane.”
“Yeah. And what’s even more insane is that she actually prays at it twice a day. Burns incense, gives the god statues little dishes of fruit…We’ve all tried to get her to tone it down, but she won’t. Anyway, that’s why I didn’t want you to come over. I never like to have my friends over, not since I was little. What if they have to use the bathroom?”
Jason laughed.
Equity clasped a hand to her heart. “I get anxious even thinking about it,” she said. “But you know what?”
“What?”
“This year I’m trying to be okay with it.”
“How?”
“She’s from the old world, you know? Her old beliefs, all these superstitious rituals, they’re like a virus she carried in with her when she entered the new world. The virus isn’t contagious to us because we’ve been vaccinated by the new social order. But she’ll have it all her life. It’s kind of sad, really. But she can’t help it. And even though she has these backwards beliefs and ways of doing things, I still care for her. She’s an important person in my life, you know?”
“Yeah, I know,” said Jason. He felt just the same way about his parent.
“And she’s got something against having her consciousness uploaded when she dies, so she won’t be around forever.”
“I guess maybe that’s the true meaning of Sciencemas,” Jason mused.
“What is?”
“Well, think about it. Sciencemas is a celebration of science, technology, innovation, and all the good things that the Technate has given us since it saved the world. But what do all those good things boil down to? What really is the value of science and technology?”
“It makes our lives better,” said Equity. “It keeps us safe.”
“Exactly. Safety. I was angry with my parent because she was being so thoughtless. That’s why we weren’t getting along. But what really matters? Are her counter-technocratic micro-aggressions going to make even the smallest dent in the progress the Technate is making through science and technology?”
“No,” said Equity. “By the time we’re her age, all that silliness will have almost passed out of the world.”
“Right. So what really matters, then, is that she’s safe. Even if she insists on thinking and believing in things that are wrong, the Technate keeps her safe regardless. And that matters. It matters to society, but it also matters to me. Because she’s my parent, and I care for her. Trusting the science. Trusting the Technate. That’s the true meaning of Sciencemas.”
After saying goodbye to Equity, Jason walked out of his room to get a snack. There was the rustling of paper coming from his parent’s room, and looking through the crack between the door and the jamb he saw her tying a red ribbon around a brown paper package. Once she’d finished tying the bow, she placed it carefully at the foot of the bed and stood there for a moment, staring at it, stroking the ribbon with the tips of her fingers. She looked so wistful and sad, Jason could hardly bear it.
The next morning, Jason woke up early. He brewed Trisha’s favorite coffee-flavored beverage and opened a package of artificially flavored cinnamon rolls, then went to knock softly on her bedroom door.
“Are you awake?” He asked.
“Yes,” came her muffled reply. It sounded like she’d been crying again.
“Come out to the living room,” said Jason. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
She came out a few minutes later in her old bathrobe and slippers. When she saw the coffee and cinnamon rolls on the table, she smiled. “Oh Jason, how thoughtful!”
“Is today the day?” He asked. “You know, the C-word. I couldn’t be sure, it’s not marked on the Technate calendar.”
“Close enough,” she said. “It was yesterday.”
“There’s something else,” Jason said. “Look over there.” He pointed at the Christmas tree, being careful not to look at it directly, and Trisha walked over to it. Jason had already turned on the string of lights remotely.
His parent laid her hand on the small box that Jason had placed under the tree while looking nonchalantly into the kitchen. “Is this a gift?”
“Yes.”
“For me?”
“Yes, open it!” Jason couldn’t help feeling a little bit excited, though this was all for her benefit only, of course.
She opened the box. Inside was a torn-off piece of paper from a package of toasted mealworms, folded in half. She unfolded it and read the message inside. He’d written it with her eyebrow pencil in the bathroom, where none of his friends would see. It said:
DEAR MOM,
IOU 3 HOURS OF FAMILY PPT. MERRY CHRISTMAS!
PLEASE DON’T READ THIS OUT LOUD.
LOVE, JASON ENVIRONMENTAL JUSTICE JONES.
“Really, Jason?” She smiled even bigger and wiped a tear from her eye. “You’d do that for me?”
“Activate privacy,” he said, and she echoed him.
Jason settled down on the sofa in front of the Christmas tree. He had to admit the tree had a nice, warm, glowing aesthetic, even if it was a symbol of capitalist greed. “Of course I would, Mom,” he said.
THE END.
Thank you for reading!
This short story takes place in the world of my ongoing dystopian novel, Technate 2051, and features some of its characters. If you love it, please share it with your dystopia-loving friends.
Check out Chapter One!
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-Starr
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