Boxing Day 2200 and Jenny woke into the darkness, not quite sure of the time. A check of the alarm clock revealed 7:56am, time enough to get up. She hated these dark mornings, even the Christmas ones. Charlie was still snoring grossly beside her, the vibrations seeping into the floor boards. Guess who was making the breakfast this morning. Muggins, that's who. Having woken herself up in the bathroom, she padded her way into the kitchen and turned the light on. One of the child's toys was stuck under the auto-cook. She levered it out with her foot and gave it a helpful tap towards the living room. It scuttled away with a tiny squeak. She opened the dishwasher and grabbed three bowls. Porridge this morning – enough of the rich food yesterday. She put the bowls in the auto-cook, held the button down and told it what to do in no uncertain terms. Ten minutes and counting. Ten minutes, that would give her time to sit down and plan the main meal – they had family coming round today so a little thought was in order.
“Well Jenny m'girl,” she said under her breath, “you've made your bed, you'd better lie in it.”
Turkey? OK, turkey, why not? Enough of the synthetic stuff, it is Christmas after all. Sprouts, parsnips, roast potatoes – yes the delivery times were all good. They always stock up at around Christmas so as long as you picked something common you should be in luck. Hmm, ready for 2:00pm to give time for a bit of chat. The crackers could be fabricated later – she had already picked a pattern.
The buzzer went on the auto-cook and Jenny went to collect the porridge. She stopped by the old bell, her hand on its short rope. She had the bell installed to signal meal-ready, but the neighbours below had complained about the noise it made and queried vociferously why she couldn't just use the intercom. Because it sounded nice. Because it reminded her of real things. It felt real in the world of artificiality. There again, it was first thing on Boxing Day so she obligingly rang the intercom instead. That's neighbourly for you. Yesterday Jenny thought it a nice Christmas touch to reprogram Adam's console to wake him up with the pretty little snow scene and Jingle Bells she had spotted while shopping. Inevitably Adam complained that he liked his cartoon characters. The two sleepy people dragged themselves into the dinning room chairs and the news channel came on as a reflex action, breaking the quiet of the morning.
“Keep it small!” warned Jenny. The size of the active screen was wound down so it no longer shouted from most of the wall. With it the hyperactive sound of the cars screeching and panicked voices came from just the small rectangle glowing at eye-height. It was something that Jenny insisted upon, just for breakfast.
“Looks like the crisis in Greenland's going to be resolved,” said Charlie absent-mindedly. “I thought they would go the way of India.”
“Nobody else did dear.”
“What's wrong with Greenland?” asked Adam.
“They've not got control over their numbers that's what,” answered Charlie without a shadow of in-depth analysis. It didn't matter that the numbers there were still low and that most countries were promoting migration there. The reality that a bad harvest could affect anyone had gone unnoticed. “When are Sam and Rachel getting here?”
“They're your family,” retorted Jenny. “About eleven.”
“Is the oven on?”
“The cook's been set up, that just leaves the crackers.”
“It's good the crackers these days,” mused Charlie. “You can adjust size of the hats to fit heads.”
“Yes dear.”
“Never used to be like that. The cook knows it's five of us today?”
“No, there'll be six of us.”
“Six? You've asked Joe around haven't you?” asked Charlie, waking up a bit.
“Of course I've asked Joe around, he's family, and he lost Irene bless her heart earlier this year. Of course I did.”
“I don't know why – he's only got himself to blame...” he regretted that almost as he said it.
“Charlie! How can you say that!”
“If he had bought into a decent health insurance she'd still be here today.”
“You don't know that! It was an accident, could happen to anyone.” She was in a pile-up on the M5, a faulty nav-system was traced and the owner identified and convicted in his absence, having also died in the incident. His estate was duly divided up amongst the casualties and the bereaved, but it is never enough is it?
“You know he unsettles me.”
“He's as nice a guy as you would ever wish to meet. What's wrong with him now?” Jenny's face was a picture of wounded dignity.
“He's a black-marketeer!”
“So?”
“So he's not on the identity register.”
“So?”
“He could be anybody. Who knows who he is? Who he really is?”
“He's my brother!”
“Yes but...”
“No but! Just because he's not chipped, it doesn't mean he's any less human than you or I. I think he would argue it makes him more human.”
“Now Jenny...”
“Charlie! I don't want a word from you when he gets here. Is that understood?”
Charlie glowered but bit back his reply.
The rest of the meal was polished off in a humour that rumbled in the background like a lost thorn in your thumb. Adam made some comment about how his usual cereal would have been better, but after Jenny's harsh words with her husband, Adam didn't dare try it on. As she tidied away the dishes she told Adam to play with his Scalextric, which Charlie diplomatically offered to join him on. It was a mystery why the kid picked up on such a retro toy, even after the updating. It had all the old models of course, it even had a Model-T Ford which apparently just looked ridiculous on the track. Adam usually went for the latest squat designs that looked like fish on wheels. Jenny wasn't going to complain – it had been a free download. She watched them move off into the living room where there was enough floor space and put on their virtual goggles and thankfully their headphones. She could still just about hear the whining of the make-believe electric motors as it leaked from the headsets. The track they put together was allegedly three times the size of the room, forcing them to stand up every now and again so that they could see their cars properly. Adam was winning again – he had the faster reactions.
Jenny placed the bowls into the dish washer which recycled what it could and did lots of things that the ads boasted about but which Jenny ultimately didn't care about. Something to do with composting. Joe would know. For someone who shunned the new world he seemed to know a lot about it. She drifted over to the home-doctor, not really thinking what she was doing. She guessed it had been on her mind that she had missed her exercises yesterday, well it was Christmas Day after all and the insurance companies gave special dispensation for that. Nevertheless she stuck her hand on the home-doctor for five seconds. The read out was better than she expected – she didn't really need exercise today, but still, maybe a jog this morning would make her feel happier. She had stayed within the health insurance limit for three months now and felt better for it.
Instead she sat down with her girlie novel – some trash about this hopelessly romantic woman who had given it all to this one guy who was clearly best dumped, except that he didn't know about the friends she kept, or her secret aspirations. She unrolled the page and the text sprang to life and before she knew it was rapt up in the unfolding plot line.
Time drifted, the dark morning grew lighter but stayed grey and the chasing cars began to pale. Charlie had given up by now leaving Adam going round and round with five simulated opponents. He did have a set of online friends who he usually played with, but this morning it was just the synthetics. His attention was clearly beginning to wane with his performance turning to abysmal. The never-ending standard of his opponents was telling and Adam finally threw down his console in frustration.
“Adam!” scolded Jenny. “Be careful with that.”
“Sorry!” Adam genuinely looked contrite, but that never seemed to last long enough. “Can I use the cutting board?”
Ah, this game again. He had discovered the cutting board a couple of weeks ago after some kids program. "Go on, use the cutting board."
Adam grabbed a sheet of A4 from the printer and eagerly dashed off to the kitchen and thrust the paper on the board.
"Suck!"
The board sucked the paper flat through countless small holes, the temporary hiss just about audible. She watched her child as he played with the beams of laser light as he marked out the cuts he wanted, the bright lines on the paper gleaming in readiness, his fingers wondering back and forth across the paper moving the lines around.
"Cut!" A moment of inaction was followed by the impatient chant, "Cut! Cut! Cut!"
Jenny kept telling herself that it was all good exercise for working in an office. "Adam darling, you're standing too close.” She had an office downloaded somewhere. “It won't cut while you're standing there."
Adam stepped back and authoritatively enunciated, "Cut!" with an index finger pointing at the board, but not too close. The slightest of smoke rose from the paper, and a faint whiff of burning drifted away. "Off!" Pleased with his cut, Adam eagerly collected his pieces and ran back into the dinning room.
Maybe he'd make an architect, he was good spatially. They had a building program and Adam had done a few things, but not quite soared ahead like the adverts had said. That was kids for you wasn't it? She watched him construct a paper car, well, maybe it was a paper car. It could have been a dinosaur for all she could tell. They had the usual modelling tools you get with the VR package and a full-colour fabricator so really Adam could have used that but he insisted on physical objects like the paper.
Jenny's thoughts were broken by the door bell. Ah, Samaedran and Rachel. Charlie was already at the door so she held back a little. The door opened with the requisite burst of chatter and Charlie invited them in – hugs and kisses and mouth-wipes all round.
“Rachel”, cried Jenny, “How are you? You're looking very well.”
Rachel gave Jenny a careful smile, “I do my best.”
“How's the job?” asked Charlie of Sam.
“Never better, I've been getting a lot of client-work this last year.”
“You're getting out of the house I hear. Sounds good.”
They moved into the living room with that slow-group-drift that had a patient life of its own.
“And enjoying it,” continued Sam. “Suits me I can tell you.”
“Don't you find it disorienting?”
“No I like it, I just jump into the car, and the car's part of the job ticket and knows where it's going. It's relaxing. There's four main client sites I've been working and they're like a home-from-home. You can't do food testing over the internet.”
Jenny motioned for them to sit. At this point Adam lost interest in his aunt and uncle and drifted off to find some toy to play with.
“But that's not our big news,” said Rachel. “We've decided to have a child.”
“Well, that's great,” answered Jenny, maybe a bit too hesitantly.
“Yes!” said Rachel ploughing on. “We know we're compatible because we got each other sequenced before the wedding.”
“But,” said Charlie in that kind of a voice that indicated a lack of forethought, “I thought you were going for the sterilisation benefit?”
“The Family Planning Benefit,” corrected Rachel, “was tempting, but, well... it's not the same is it?”
“So you were going for the Family Planning Benefit, but got yourselves sequenced anyway?”
“Yes,” said Rachel, “we would want it to be proper.”
“Too right!” said Jenny, eyeing her husband. “Anyway, what's that going to mean for your latest beauty treatments my love?”
“Oh the telomere treatments are right out the window apparently. I'll have to age gracefully for the while!”
“And the cancer?”
“Oh no,” said Rachel, “I've had that rechecked and nothing's doing for a couple of years at least. It's just a bit annoying really.”
Talking of annoying, Adam's toy from last Christmas had started yapping as it had got itself jammed somewhere impossible. It had done this throughout the year, the poor damned stupid creature.
“Adam, keep that dog™ under control! It's got itself caught behind the console again.”
“Aw Mum, when can I get an upgrade? It's as dumb as anything, Myrtle's got a zappo upgrade that gets bored and everything.” Not this argument again... Adam had got it into his mind that he was getting an upgrade for Christmas despite clear and unambiguous warnings that they couldn't afford the license-agreement.
“Get that dog™ now!” Jenny then added her usual, “And train it better!”
“Oh I know what they're like,” said Rachel soothingly. “My sister's got one for hers and it drives them up the wall.”
“So are you going for a boy or a girl?” asked Charlie.
“We've put in for a girl,” replied Sam. “They say they're running at around 90% acceptance for girls at the moment.”
“Oh that sounds good,” said Jenny. “We always wanted a boy, so that wasn't a problem. They say you don't find out until they do the scans.”
Rachel nodded. They could make it certain, but the randomised techniques – should you want to go down that route – just seem fairest all round. Not even the doctors have a clue until the scans.
The door bell rang for a second time, and Jenny jumped to her feet. “That'll be my brother.”
“That's Joe isn't it?” said Rachel brightly. “Sam's mentioned about him.” This received a snort from Charlie.
Jenny swung the door open and gave her brother a prolonged hug.
“Joe,” said Jenny introducing her brother, “Sam you've met. This is Rachel, Sam's better half.”
“Joe,” said Rachel, “so nice to meet you!”
They all sat back down to general and non-specific comments, the kind you forget you had ever said the minute you said them.
“So Joe,” said Rachel, “I hear you're something special on the black market.”
“Fruit and veg,” said Joe.
“Oh right, like the real thing?”
“Yes, the grown stuff.”
“But,” said Sam, “I can by fresh fruit and veg online.”
“From the supers?” asked Joe. “You can buy any food online. I'll challenge you to compare their carrots with what I sell. I know all my sources and get them to the stall within a day or two.”
“I don't see much wrong with what I buy.” countered Sam.
Jenny offered a round of drinks, which was immediately taken up. She had bought a couple of bottles of white for the meal today and now that everyone was here it was about time to get into party mode. Outside, the sun finally broke through the layer of cloud and dismal rain and a ray picked out the subtle refractions in the bottle. The golden liquor splashed happily into the glasses which were graciously accepted.
“This is nice,” said Rachel.
“Chilean,” said Jenny. “We've had it before.”
“Do you do wine?” asked Sam of Joe.
“No, just fruit and veg.”
“Ever thought of wine?”
“Couldn't do it – too much paperwork.”
The sun, having made its sole voyage into their lives, disappeared again. Jenny looked at the rain outside, the darkened room and table in front of them. It needed some brightening up.
“Oh my dears,” said Jenny, “you have to see this.” She had just got these table lights new for Christmas, and this was a perfect chance to show them off. They were the tiniest of lights in a cascade making up a Christmas tree in such detail that you just have to wonder.
“Oh I saw those while I was shopping,” said Rachel. “Aren't they gorgeous.”
Charlie shook his head, but then offered to black the windows. With the room now in darkness, the table lit up with a thousand pin pricks that glittered. Charlie put the other Christmas lights on so that they could see what they were doing. Sam dutifully exclaimed that it was so Christmassy to which Jenny replied that it was, it really was.
“Oh, I nearly forgot the crackers!” exclaimed Jenny happily. “They'll take about twenty minutes to print. Hang on, I'll fire up the fabricator.” She went back into the kitchen and pressed the fabricator button and told it to bring up the pattern she had paid for yesterday. The machine started churning. It wasn't the quietest or fastest, but it did the kind of stuff you couldn't shop for any longer: kitchenware, stationery, furniture and crackers of course. The new models could make just about anything, well apart from batteries for some reason. However, they would have to wait for the new models to come down in price. They say these models will even print food, but what you put inside you matters doesn't it?
Then everything went black and silent, nothing... all was still, just the soft pattering sound of the cold winter rain on window pane.
"Hold on," said Jenny, "just a blackout, the lights will be back on in a second." The seconds proceeded past in stately fashion, not one of them bringing the much valued light. "Charlie?" she said breaking the hush again. Charlie went to the window and tried the window switch. The window refused to clear. "Charlie, can you dig out the candles?"
"You've got candles?" queried Joe in a cajoling voice.
“We get blackouts every now and again, so we've got some candles. You know – self-sufficiency.”
There came the sound of Charlie stumbling in the darkness, the muted swear word, an electronic bark, the opening of a cupboard and finally the scrabbling to pick some candles up. Charlie switched the first candle on and held it up for all to see, its blue-white light flickering in parody.
“Let there be light!”
“Mum, what's wrong with the power?”
A full and detailed discussion of the power companies' short comings, the broken promises, the lies, the inability of the government to plan and the delays and ever increasing costs in bringing the new fusion plants on-line would nicely fill the rest of power cut and probably the rest of the day.
“These things happen.” Just not normally for more than a couple of minutes.
Oh no, the auto-cook: it was still half-an-hour to end-of-program. If the power didn't come back on soon the auto-cook would reject the whole lot. Jenny got up and wondered back into the kitchen, grabbing a candle from Charlie on the way. She peered through the front glass but could see precious little in the candle light.
“Don't open the door!” said Joe, getting up and coming after her. “It'll keep the heat in and continue cooking for a while. “Here,” he said, gentling holding her hand with the candle, “put the candle behind your head and you be able to see better without the glare.”
“But it's going to be ruined!”
“No it won't, the meat is nearly done anyway, just give it time. Let's see what we can do about the veg.”
“But...” Although she did appreciate her brother's soothing words, facts were facts. “The cook will reject the meal if the power's off any longer.” Any longer? It might have timed out already.
“The cook is over-cautious. It's not got any brains so it plays safe. Hang on, I'll switch it off at the mains so it can't automatically trash it.”
“No!” she spoke without thinking.
“It can't do you any good if the power comes back on now. Let's gain control of this thing first, tell it who's boss.”
Jenny acquiesced. “But how do we tell if the turkey's good to eat?”
“Stab it under the arm pit and see what comes out. It'll be fine. Let's see what we can do with the veg. What did you get?” She told him. “The carrots we can have raw. The potatoes and parsnip will be roasting with the meat. The sprouts we'll have to do without.” Adam announced his pleasure at this last bit of news.
“But,” said Jenny, “it's not Christmas without sprouts.”
Nevertheless, it was still going to seem like Christmas with all the candles standing on the table top. Adam, who had been looking shifty, shyly asked for a candle and disappeared off to the toilet.
“But what about cutting the turkey?” exclaimed Jenny. “The cutting board's got no power either.”
“Use a knife?” suggested Joe.
“I don't have knives!” exclaimed Jenny in a shocked voice. “What would I want knives for?”
“Then we'll rip the turkey apart with our hands,” suggested Sam facetiously, a comment that after a few seconds of silence became their best option.
“But the cutter does it all in cubes for me,” said Jenny half-heartedly. She liked her dinners in cubes. There were a few sniggers at her expense, but in truth not one of them, except perhaps Joe, had done anything different. The cutter knew its way around any carcass you could dream of, and even if you found something particularly obscure it could always log-on and download a pattern.
“Mum! Mum! Mum!” Adam reappeared in the living room. “The toilet's not flushing!”
Charlie groaned and Jenny explained that it was an automatic flush.
“Have you got a bucket?” asked Joe. Jenny thought for a moment and then disappeared into the storage cupboard. Having pushed passed trays of cables and gadgets, dislodged piles of pattern licence agreements and finally dug down through the spare pieces of carpet, she unearthed their bucket. Joe accepted it with a smile, filled it up under the kitchen tap and then disappeared into the toilet. He returned announcing it was done.
Everyone settled back down with a few more meaningless throwaway comments before the conversation took another serious turn.
“What,” asked Joe this time, “happens if the lights don't come back on?”
“But they will,” stated Charlie.
“Probably will this time,” accepted Joe, “but they didn't in India.”
Charlie wasn't having that, “India was different.”
“All that happened differently in India was that they lost faith. The people panicked, grabbed whatever they could, the riots started and the infrastructure collapsed. It could happen here.”
“In Britain? We're not a third-world country.”
“Nor was India. If you thought you could not feed your family, what would you do? Would you let Jenny and Adam down?”
“Of course not!” snorted Charlie. “I'd do whatever it takes.”
“Which is what the Indians were doing.”
“But it's not going to come to that, not here. We behave differently. The government would make sure people had food.”
“How?” Joe paused before continuing, “A ten minute black-out was enough to rob you of your dinner. Everyone in this block is the same. They can't look after themselves without all their gadgets. That's hundreds of millions of people. Where is the food going to come from? It would have to be taken from the distributors. Who's going to pay for that? Food distribution is now localised in estate depots so that you can get your order within an hour. They make such a big thing about this on the commercials. Give it two days without power and those estate depots will be raided, so the government must act before then. It can't do that everywhere.”
“So Joe,” said Sam bluntly, “how much do you earn?”
Jenny interrupted, “Oh but that's not what it's about is it? You can't measure your worth by how much you earn.”
“Not enough,” replied Joe. He caught his sister's eye, “I'll be honest about this, it doesn't pay well.”
“But,” said Sam, “you only employ yourself, maybe another, you don't need to dish out all those extras that a big company needs to do.”
Joe shook his head, “It's not so much my costs – a lot of my food is diverted from the supers as they won't take it unless it is perfect. It's the regulations that are killing the trade.”
“Regulations?” said Sam incredulously. “You're on the black market.”
“There's no such thing as the black market, we're just what remains of the independents. I may not be chipped, but the authorities can still find me, and I have to comply with all the regulations that are aimed at the supers. It's killing us.”
“But there are reasons for those regulations,” said Rachel. “Without them... God only knows.”
“Those regulations,” replied Joe, “are needed because the supers always try to cut corners. They cheat and they scrimp and they make you think this is real food, they tell you that sliced bread is wonderful, they tell you their way of cutting cheese is the only way of cutting cheese. So regulation after regulation is passed and they can handle it because they're big enough. If I did to my food what they did, I would go straight out of business, but I still have to fill in the forms. I spend my days filling in forms, not selling. This is my job.”
“Don't we all?” asked Charlie.
“Yes,” said Rachel, “that's what jobs are. That's what I went to university for.”
“No,” corrected Joe. “Sam here couldn't go out and check food without the infrastructure behind him – the form fillers, the lawyers. They are the only thing that stand in the way of his clients ripping him to shreds in the court of law. This is the future, not me and my way. We're a dead end. No one can survive without these machines that feed off the regulations.”
The lights came back on.