The wall flickered with 500 inches of escapism. Ron sat on the ragged couch with a beer. Sports memorabilia and framed college degrees hung on the wall. A thick layer of dust covered decades of nostalgia.
“Ron, what are you doing here? I thought we were eating lunch by the pool today,” a cheerful voice said.
A cane thumped each stair as he struggled to stand from the couch.
“I told you to avoid the stairs. It’s too dangerous.”
Ron extended his hand to help her with the last step, but she brushed it aside, surveying the room.
“Now I understand why you don’t want me here. This place is a mess. That monstrosity on the wall adds to our electricity bill and the smart meter taxes us for obsolete appliances.”
He reduced the volume on the antiquated television.
“I can relax here in my analog sanctuary, free from the robotic chaos upstairs. Cleaning robots, cooking robots, robots do everything these days. I want to watch my game in peace.”
Ron moved a few frayed pillows from the couch and offered her a place to sit.
“Watch the game with me.”
She swatted an empty prescription container with her cane and remained standing.
“They sent me the highlights over an hour ago - it was a great game!”
He snatched the remote from the edge of the couch and changed the channel.
“I can’t stand those immersion chips! Everyone plugged in gets the news, scores and shows in real time and everyone else watching television has to contend with the delays and ridiculous commercials. I refuse to get my head chipped.”
She shifted her weight and clenched her jaw as she leaned on her cane.
“Honey, trust our daughter. She said these chips are safe. She always gets me the best software upgrades. A perk of being the mother of the director of cybernetic interfaces.”
He took a sip of beer, his brow furrowed as he looked at the remote.
“They have to pry this from my dead hand before I submit! I want nothing beamed into my head 24/7. I was born analog and I will die analog!” He shook the remote in the air.
Sighing, she took a step closer to the couch.
“The government foreclosed on the neighbors. The feds can take your house and give it to illegals,” Ron said, pointing at the television.
“Turn off the TV and join me for lunch. Watching the news aggravates you. Besides, after tomorrow, we can enjoy our retirement.” She picked up a faded origami flower on the shelf, recalling the simpler times of a long-gone era.
The door opened for the doctor and his team after he reviewed the data beamed at his eye glass display from the synthbio workstation in the room.
“Your awake, Ron,” the lead doctor said, pressing a button on the patient's bed.
The team took their positions around the bed and monitored their own specialty patient diagnostic data.
“I can see you at the foot of my bed, but I can’t move,” Ron said.
The heart rate monitor cadence increased.
“We have you sedated and immobilized for your safety, but don’t fret, the procedure went flawless. You’ll be pain-free and mobile soon.
The team of doctors and technicians nodded in agreement.
“How is my wife? Was her knee and hip surgery a success?”
The doctor blinked to change the information display.
“They postponed her surgery…”
Ron cut him off mid sentence.
“Did you cancel her surgery for one of those ungrateful illegal criminals streaming in from the border?”
His pulse rate triggered an audible chirp from the monitor.
“Take a deep breath, Ron. Your wife is going to be ok. We don’t offer these types of surgeries to the New Americans. My team will discharge you later today and tomorrow you can enjoy your golden years.”
The doctor pressed a second button on the patient bed and Ron fell asleep.
“Director, we did not expect a visit from you today,” the doctor said.
The doctor's team avoided eye contact with the director and left the room.
“This conversion surgery interests me more than the others,” the director said, looking up at the doctor.
The director moved towards the foot of the bed, closed her eyes while assimilating the patient data from the synthbio workstation.
“We can discharge the patient once we adjust the emotional filters,” the doctor said
The doctor sat in a chair near the wall, his eyes level with the director’s. When the director entered the room, the synthbio blocked patient data to the doctor’s eye display.
“Still has his temper. I should have anticipated the challenges of connecting the digital bridge,” the director said.
The doctor clenched his fist.
“Functional tasks such as walking across a room after replacing his hips and knees are easy compared to the expressive tasks linked to memory.”
The diminutive director opened her eyes and covered the exposed alloy appendage with the bed sheet.
The procedure would have been completed if he had the immersion chip, she thought.
“If you can’t finish the procedure, you’re not ready to be at the forefront of medicine.”
The doctor pointed at the synthbio in the corner. His faced scowled.
“My patents for growing brain tissue from human stem cells and grafting them to silicon chips led to the creation of the synthbio organic machine. Humanity was drowning in data until my invention,” the doctor said.
The director walked towards the door and paused before opening it.
“Fix the emotional output signal before the next procedure or I’ll have you assigned to the Nutrient Supply Division monitoring the production of SLURM (Synthetic Linoleic Uptake Ration Meal.)”
The pinkish mass glowed as the electrons collided with the neurons under the transparent dome of the organic machine. Fidgeting, the nurse waited for the synthbio to finish the discharge orders. The nurse suspected the rumors were true since the director did not escort patients from the hospital.
“Ma’am, the discharge orders are complete to include the updated delivery address according to program requirements,” the nurse said.
The director reviewed the orders displayed on her ocular implant, glanced at the orderlies taking the patient to the awaiting vehicle and walked towards a private elevator.
“Ignore those procedure rumors,” she said over her shoulder.
The nurse nodded as the patient left the hospital.
Ron felt relaxed and invigorated. His mind was sharp, and he experienced no aches or pains in his joints or muscles. Even his eye site felt sharper. His thoughts were coherent as he admired the progress in the backyard. An EV trolley trundled up the driveway of the home next door, distracting him from his work list.
“You with the garden shears, get over here and unload the delivery,” the synthbio said from the delivery vehicle speakers.
The vehicle’s driver seat was replaced with a transparent case containing the synthbio.
Ron complied and waited for the trolley to open the cargo hold. He had been used to this drill for the past week as delivery after delivery arrived at the vacant house. He carried the coffin sized crate to the open garage and placed it next to the other delivered boxes before leaving the neighbor’s house. He waited for the synthbio to exit the driveway after closing the garage.
The soccer ball landed in the flower bed. Ron retrieved the ball and ambled over to the neighbors. He could hear the adults speaking Spanish on the enclosed porch.
Mista, give me the ball. A little kid said in broken English.
Ron spun the ball on his finger and bounced it off his head before kicking it.
“Wow mom did you see that kick? The ball flew past Javi and into the goal net?” the boy said in excited Spanish. “Can he play in our league?”
“No, they have a separate league. Leave the gardener alone,” the mother said in Spanish.
Ron saw the open garage where he had unloaded multiple boxes for the synthbio delivery vehicles and fixated on the Venezuelan flag hanging on the wall above the unopened crate.
“This country is great! The government gives us so much: this furnished house, a shiny new electric vehicle and our own domestic servant but we haven’t opened that box yet,” a woman said laughing with one of her cousins on the porch while watching the kids play in their yard.
Ron remained unaffected by the harsh midday sun. He finished spreading the last of the mulch and noticed one of them trundling towards him.
How I detest these things. Maybe if I ignore it, the emotional logic filter will avoid me, he thought.
The figure did a beeline towards him. An alloy arm and hand waving at him with each step.
He pickup up a 50lb bag of mulch and positioned it on his shoulder.
“What do you want?” he asked.
The spindling fingers handed him a folded up piece of paper in a shape of a flower. Its green LED eyes scanned every part of him.
“Haven’t you seen a human gardener?” Ron Asked.
The figure turned towards the shouts in Spanish coming from the porch, abandoning Ron.
Ron dropped the bag of mulch and pulled a petal on the origami flower to unfold it, revealing a note.
Don’t worry, it’s me, Claire. Our daughter will help us.
Thank You for Reading
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I will never leave the basement if this future becomes reality!
Excellent. A frightful glimpse at a potential future that is very likely to become a reality. I just hope I don't live long enough to ever see it.