PROLOGUE
The United States Court of Appeals has ruled that Concord’s controversial interstate border control practices are unconstitutional. The governor is speaking right now, let’s watch.
“…we call on the Federal Government to stop its program of harassment of our hard-working men and women at the borders. We must protect our State’s sovereign rights and our citizens. Therefore, we will be launching an appeal to the Supreme Court against this decision. In the meantime, we will continue to enforce the State Law.”
Well, fighting words there. Let’s go back to today’s ruling. There it is on the screen…to watch Judge Groden deliver the judgment, just say *Link2* while synced.
United States Court of Appeals for the Fourth Circuit
Robinson et al v. State of Concord
[July 9th, 2059]
In 2057, the State of Concord enacted a statute limiting the entry of out-of-state residents into Concord. The scheme was justified on the basis that the State of Concord was unable to cope with the “unrelenting flood of climate refugees” from other coastal states, which “overloaded the financial, cultural, and social capacity of the State.”
The question presented by this case is whether the 2057 statute was constitutional when it was enacted.
The Court concludes that citizens of the United States, whether rich or poor, have the right to choose to be citizens “of the State wherein they reside.” U.S. Const., Amdt. 14, § 1. The States do not have any right to select their citizens.
The Fourteenth Amendment, like the Constitution itself, was “framed upon the theory that the peoples of the several states must sink or swim together, and that in the long run, prosperity and salvation are in union and not division.” Baldwin v. G. A. F. Seelig, Inc., 294 U.S. 511, 523 (1935).
The judgment of the District Court is affirmed.
And now to our commentators Suzy Ashdod, chair of the Constitutional League, and Randolph Vann, head of the Concord City Blue Caps Movement. Welcome to both of you. Suzy, let’s start with you. Are you surprised by this ruling and what does it mean?
Suzy: It means we are all Americans, like the Constitution says. Look, a million people have already left Florida. There are millions more whose homes are unlivable along the coast. We should all—
Randolph (interjecting): You got one part right. There’s millions of refugees and no room in our state—
Suzy: Let me finish.
Randolph (shouting): No, it’s too easy for you. I don’t see you giving up your fancy house for the coasties. Who’s gonna pay? You expect us young people to pay, don’t you? Well, we didn’t create this problem.
CHAPTER 1
LILY
The interruption made him pause. He closed his eyes. I remained still and waited. When his eyes reopened, they were distant, focused on the turning of his mind.
“I invited you here…I don’t know that there’s an easy way…” He hesitated, then drew breath. “I’ll get straight to the point. I want to die.”
“What the…” The words popped out with my gasp. I stared with astonishment at my great-uncle.
“I want to have my life ended rather than continue,” he said.
I leaned away from him and waited for an explanation. But apparently, it was my turn to speak. I cleared the lump in my throat.
“Why would you want to die?” I scanned his face and hands, searching for some tell-tale sign of medical horror.
“It’s my right,” he said without emotion.
My feet shuffled nervously under the table. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Yes, there is,” he replied. “I would like your permission.”
“My permission?”
“Yes,” he said, as though anyone would understand his request.
A pall of silence descended on us. My nails dug into my palm as my mind swept over the last few days looking for answers.
***
It started when his carer called me a few days ago. Out of nowhere, I had a great-grand-uncle. His name was David Moreland. He was my grandmother’s uncle and he wanted to see me.
When I told Ava about the call, she said I shouldn’t go. For Ava, this was black and white: all people of his age were burners. They put us in this mess, and we should have nothing to do with them. But I wasn’t Ava, and the invitation reminded me of Grandma, so of course, I accepted.
As a kid, I would have lived with Grandma if I had the choice. She always had far fewer opinions and more patience than my mom. But after Mom’s divorce, we moved to Concord City and I only got to see Grandma at Thanksgiving. I couldn’t wait for those visits. The long slow afternoons sitting in her kitchen, talking about the ‘old’ movies she saw when they first came out and learning how to make tea her way. But what I most looked forward to was hearing about Mom’s boyfriends when she was a teenager. Grandma had a knack for making Mom’s life sound like a crazed soap opera, one where each episode was more outlandish than the last.
Thinking about Grandma reminded me of her insistence on good manners. I needed to take a gift to my great-uncle’s. What would Grandma have been happy with? A cake, a bottle of wine, flowers? I chose flowers.
He lived in an apartment building on the other side of a bad neighborhood, near one of the big tent cities, so I ordered a car instead of riding my bike. I avoided cars whenever I could. They always smelled funny and the greasy marks and litter reminded me of the countless others who had come before. The trip was thankfully uneventful, and the car dropped me at the curbside outside his building. I brushed myself down and entered the building.
In the elevator, my reflection gazed back at me from the mirrored sidewall. I fixed my hair and straightened my creases. The bright yellow flowers glowed against my crimson top and gray pants. They were a good choice.
“Level Eight.” A stark white corridor greeted me as the elevator doors opened. I gathered myself and followed the sign to my great-uncle’s apartment.
The corridor had doors along one side and windows on the other—just like any apartment building. But, after a few steps, a familiar anxiety stirred in me. My gait slowed. Why this sudden apprehension? After a couple more steps, my feet slid to a complete stop. What the hell? My eyes darted up and down the corridor, looking for the source of my unease. They landed on the flowers in my hands. The flowers? I swallowed hard but it caught in my throat. Now my heartbeat was thumping in my ears. I turned back to the elevators and reached for the pad.
“Lily… Lily,” a voice called. “This way.”
I turned. A middle-aged woman was scurrying toward me.
“Hello, I’m Sarah.” She pointed behind her. “David’s apartment is down there.” Her voice was familiar. She was the carer who had called me.
I stood frozen. Shivers pulsed down my arms. My hands twitched. Sarah didn’t seem to notice, so either I looked normal, or she was being polite.
“I’m so glad you came,” she said as the elevator tone signaled its arrival behind us.
Sarah guided me toward the apartment. My head was light, my breathing fast. Oh god. Don’t faint! Focus on the white roofs through the windows. Breathe. Deep. Breathe. The harsh tiles of the corridor floor echoed in my head on every step. My hands squeezed tight, strangling the flowers, as though they held the secret to my strange reaction.
We arrived at the open door of the apartment. Sarah gestured to me and I stepped inside. The foyer was a different world. Subdued lighting, ochre-colored walls, and a textured beige rug. And it was warm, much warmer than the corridor.
Thud! Sarah closed the door behind us. The vibration shook me back to normality.
Stepping into the lounge room, I was met by an elderly man in a wheelchair. My great-uncle. He stared at me blankly, saying nothing.
Sarah stood to one side, watching but not speaking.
“Hello. I’m Lily,” I said, recovering enough to speak. “Umm, do I call you Uncle or something? I don’t even know…”
“Just David will do,” he said in a gravelly voice.
He had the typical hunch seen in elderly people. Despite his thinning silver hair and age spots dotting his wrinkled face, I could tell he was handsome when younger.
I bent to kiss him. My eyes glimpsed a close-up of the back of his hand. Tendons bulged and prominent veins criss-crossed under his pale translucent skin. As I straightened back up, a whiff of urine rankled my nostrils.
He wore a dark blue jacket over a collared shirt and a red, old-fashioned tie. The collar was too large for his neck, leaving a gap and highlighting the billows of skin hanging from his chin. It was like he was dressed for a wedding. Grandma wouldn’t have dressed up for a visit from me.
With a wince, he beckoned me to sit at the dining table.
“I brought some flowers, Uncle David.” I held out the flowers. “Do you have a vase?”
A silence followed for longer than was comfortable. Had he heard?
“They look gorgeous,” Sarah replied eventually. “Just what the apartment needs. We don’t have a vase—perhaps one of the tall glasses would do? They’re in the cupboard above the sink.”
I headed to the kitchen, grateful for a few moments to collect my thoughts while Sarah navigated Uncle David’s wheelchair to the table.
The apartment was one of those designed for the elderly. The kitchen, lounge, and dining areas were part of one large space, and all appointed with high-end fixtures. The entries to the adjoining bedroom, and from there to the bathroom, were wider than normal and had no doors. This allowed the wheelchair to move around. Fortunately, I didn’t need to use the bathroom, because I couldn’t see how things could be private.
Through a sliding glass door off the lounge area was a balcony with a solitary white polymer chair. The balcony balusters were conspicuously high, with the railing set around shoulder height. The cage-like enclosure made the chair look like it was on display in a zoo.
Inside the kitchen, I found the tall glasses. They were no good for holding flowers.
“Yes, these should be fine,” I said diplomatically.
On the bench, the wooden handle of a knife poked out from a pile of plates and bowls. I carefully extracted it without disturbing the stack. The knife’s serrated blade, covered with an oily film, was not ideal but good enough to roughly crop the flower stems. I divided the bunch between three glasses.
“How about we put the flowers here?” I balanced them on the oak coffee table. “They look good against the white of the sofa, don’t they? They’re tulips.”
“Thank you,” Uncle David said. “Please sit so we can talk.”
I took my place next to David at the table and Sarah joined us. The glass over the tabletop was cool to touch, a stark contrast to the room that was a lot warmer than I liked.
“Thank you for coming to see me,” David said. “It’s a pleasant surprise to find that I have some family connections after all.”
“Now that I know you’re here, maybe I can visit occasionally.” The words came out but I wondered if they were true. Right now, it wasn’t like a visit to Grandma’s.
“Visits would be nice,” Sarah said after David was quiet for longer than seemed reasonable.
Sarah’s words prompted David to continue. “I remember your grandmother. When I last saw her, she was probably ten years old.”
“Do you remember any stories about her? I’d love to hear them.”
“My memories of her are a little vague.”
“Did you talk much with her?”
“Not really.” The conversation fell to a dead end.
Why was I having to make the discussion? Still, I needed to say something or the visit would never end. I stuck with the simple things.
“Your apartment is nice. Is it government-sponsored?”
“Absolutely not,” he scoffed. “There’s already too much government meddling in our lives.”
“Definitely, its—”
“We’ve become a welfare state.” His voice rose. “The government knows everything. Artificial intelligence controls everything. Humans are becoming redundant.”
Sarah interjected. “David, it might be best if you avoided this topic.” She smiled at me. “You can see David feels strongly about it.”
I ignored Sarah. “There’s a growing movement of people who want less technology and AI in our lives,” I explained.
David’s eyes widened.
“It’s called ‘Humans First’. You should join.” Oh shit! Why did I suggest that? The image of Vince in his blue cap at our last Humans First meeting flashed through my mind. He and his friends wouldn’t much like having some old person as a member.
“There’s too much AI,” David agreed. “During my career, we didn’t have to rely on artificial intelligence…”
We continued our discussion, David talking about his concerns on humans being shut out of decisions, and I told him more about my group.
When David talked, his eyes darted between me and Sarah, his head remaining still. It was creepy, like one of those statues whose eyes follow you around the room. As the discussion went on, he became more animated, but with each movement came a wince.
After a particularly loud moan, Sarah interrupted. “David, I don’t think talking about this is in your best interest.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. When they opened, they were focused into the distance.
“I invited you here…I don’t know that there’s an easy way…” He drew breath. “I’ll get straight to the point. I want to die.”
This was not a dream, or a nightmare. Those you could wake up from.
Sarah broke the silence. “David wants to exercise his rights under the State Euthanasia Law. He needs his next-of-kin to give permission.”
“Am I the next-of-kin?”
“You’re David’s closest surviving relative.”
I turned to David. “Do you have a medical sign-off?”
“I don’t need one. I’m ninety-six now,” David said.
“There’s nothing seriously wrong with you, is there?”
“It might look that way.” His eyes turned to Sarah. “I have a terminal illness.”
“Terminal?”
“I don’t want to go into details.” His eyes shifted back to me. “It’s a complicated medical situation, which young people like you wouldn’t be familiar with.”
He paused, then continued deliberately, as if scripted.
“I have so many ailments and take so many medications. I’m in constant pain. I’m losing my senses. I don’t have opportunities to interact with people. Everything is dominated by artificial intelligence. Life has become a constant, painful chore. I would like to go while I still have my dignity.”
This was a long way from my fantasy of chatting about Grandma.
“I’m sorry.” My eyes turned down to my lap. “This is a big question from someone I hardly know.”
“I hope the fact that you don’t know me makes it easier for you,” he said coolly.
Images flashed through my head. A woman lying in a hospital bed, shrunken and fragile, and covered in wires and tubes.
“I saw my mother die. She suffered a lot.” My shoulders shivered as a bead of sweat ran down my back. “I don’t want to be part of another death.” My mind instructed me to leave, but my feet were anchored to the floor.
“I know it’s a shock.” David’s voice was steady and considered. “But this is what I want.”
What you want? What about me? How dare he sit there serenely while my emotions were tossing me around? Stand up and leave. But my motor functions still refused to cooperate.
My eyes locked onto the caged chair on the balcony, trapped just as much I was. “So, the only thing you need to die is my permission?”
“There is one other requirement,” Sarah announced.
“No there isn’t!” David glared at her.
“David has a social obligation he may have to fulfill.”
“No, I don’t!” David countered. “I’m getting a medical waiver.”
“He’s been called to appear before the Climate Court,” Sarah said.
My ears pricked up.
“That’s enough!” He threw up his arms. “Ooff!” he winced. Color faded from his face. His shoulders drooped.
The discussion froze.
Eventually, Sarah spoke. “Lily, I know this is a lot to take in. Is it all right if we end the visit and get back in touch after a few days?”
“Sure.”
But I was not sure at all. I had come expecting some sort of chat about my family from years ago. You know, sharing stories and looking at photos. Instead, I was caught in the middle of an argument about choosing to die. A part of me had an impulse to help, but mostly I didn’t want anything more to do with this man and his unreasonable request.
As I walked out of the building, I was met by a display of framed photos of old cars—people driving on the way to somewhere. This little celebration of excesses from the past reminded me that Ava had told me not to come. She was right.