《The Gulf》 Ep. 1: Masquerade Paradisia sucks. But the whole island sails there on Monday. Well, the island doesn¡¯t really sail. It¡¯s called Gulf Sails, but there are no sails. Some of the windmills sort of look like sails. So does a lot of the architecture on the central platform. The architects did that for aesthetics, obviously. I¡¯m putting on my costume for Halloween tonight. I¡¯ll be meeting up with friends in two hours at Cask of Amontillado. I know, it sounds like a boring place where old guys sip whiskey. But that¡¯s just the basement. The main floor is a club with a gothic vibe, mainly because the building is an old cathedral. They fully exploit that for Halloween. That¡¯s why it¡¯s anarchy on Halloween night. The place to be, or at least the best place to start. I¡¯m dressing as a masquerader, and so are a couple of my friends. It¡¯s always bittersweet. Of the four months each year Gulf Sails is anchored here, it¡¯s the craziest party night in Barracuda. But it also marks the end of the best four months of the year. Barracuda is absolutely epic. And on Monday we sail to Paradisia. And as I¡¯ve mentioned, Paradisia sucks. For starters, the drinking age in Paradisia is 21. Gulf Sails leaves Paradisia next year on March first. I turn 21 on March second. So I can say goodbye to my nightlife for the next four months. Because another reason why Paradisia is so shitey, is that it is strict. It¡¯s basically the polar opposite of Barracuda. It¡¯s a cruel joke. My parents say Paradisia is meant to be a detox for the residents of Gulf Sails after going crazy for four months. Paradisia leadership is all about yoga and cleanses. There¡¯s more juiced alfalfa sprouts than vodka in Paradisia. And I¡¯m more of a vodka guy. I¡¯ve been telling my parents for years that they should just detach from Gulf Sails and dock their platform permanently at Barracuda. But they say they would never get enough work done living in Barracuda full time. It¡¯s for summer slacking, they say. Then it¡¯s crunch time. And Paradisia is the perfect environment to get the mind and body in order. I disagree. Paradisia makes me feel like I am trapped. It¡¯s half spa, half cult. I want to smack the smug looks off every one of those shysters¡¯ self righteous faces. The permanent residents of Paradisia walk around in white flowy clothes, always smiling and bowing to each other with hands clasped or pressed together. They¡¯re creepy as all hell. It¡¯s the type of place that is so sanitized on the surface I feel like there must be some kind of underground sex trafficking dungeon. Nobody¡¯s that perfect. I could move onto mainland Barracuda myself. But I don¡¯t make nearly enough money to pay for decent accommodations. And to be honest, it would be a tough downgrade slumming it after living my whole life on my parents¡¯ platform. It¡¯s nice. They do well for themselves. I put my final touch on the costume: a mask that goes over my eyes and nose. It¡¯s gold and black, with red and black feathers protruding back over my ears from the sharp edges of the mask. I put some eyeliner on so that my eyes are rimmed especially dark behind the oval slits in the mask. People will hardly notice the eyeliner though. My eyes are pretty dark anyway. I stick a gold dollar sign on one of my cheeks. On the other, a black interlocking Mars and Venus sign. You know, the circles; one has a cross coming from the bottom for female, and the other an arrow from the top right for male. I find that when I give obvious signals like this, it cuts down on the number of guys that flirt with me. It¡¯s not that it bothers me, but why waste either of our time? And for some reason, I¡¯m like a gay magnet. They love me, I can¡¯t figure it out. I¡¯m wearing a matching button down vest, like from an old three piece suit. The back is all gold, and the front is a black base pinstriped with gold. The pocket has red and black feathers poking out. The pants match the front of the vest. And my shoes are gold. I look good. The ladies are going to love it. Downstairs, my parents and younger brother are eating in front of the big screen and my mom gushes over how ¡°adorable¡± I look before telling me to get myself some dinner from the kitchen. It¡¯s all laid out on the counter buffet style. But she still describes it all, and suggests: ¡°First, you¡¯ll want to lay down the rice, then put the stew on top. There¡¯s some shredded carrots that go on top of that. And then sprinkle on the parmesan and seasoning mixture. Oh and I laid out parsley sprigs for a garnish. There¡¯s fresh bread too, so you can mop up all the extra juice when you¡¯re done!¡± I look at my dad¡¯s plate. It has three distinct sections. The rice, stew, and cabbage do not touch each other. He ate his bread first. When I sit down, he talks to me without moving his eyes from the screen. ¡°Are you going to stay out all night again?¡± ¡°Probably,¡± I say, a little indignantly. ¡°It¡¯s the last chance to have fun for the next four months.¡± ¡°Maybe you should give Paradisia a chance and do the cleanse with your mother and me this year,¡± he says, and turns to me with a raised eyebrow. I take a deep breath and widen my eyes, ¡°Maybe,¡± I say sarcastically. He rolls his eyes. My little brother Raji chimes in, ¡°I¡¯m sure the guys are gonna love your costume, Dege.¡± ¡°They probably will. Luckily I¡¯m not a homophobic little twat like you.¡± ¡°True, you¡¯ll take any attention you can get,¡± he says, and my dad chuckles, then tries to play it off like he was just clearing his throat. My mom glares at them. I finish my dinner, put my plate away, order a drone, and yell ¡°Bye!¡± from the hallway, but my mom runs out of the living room because she has to get a picture of me in my costume before I go. The drone is waiting on the landing pad. I swipe my bracelet and get in. Lift. Altitude. Acceleration. I catch a good sunset on my way into town. Purple and orange lights mark all the public landing pads for Halloween. Barracuda gets into any holiday you could think of, and some you definitely have never thought of. I¡¯m pretty sure they¡¯ve made a few up along the way so that basically every weekend during the four months that Gulf Sails is docked is some kind of festival. On Monday the city¡¯s population will halve as Gulf Sails floats to Paradisia. I meet up with Dean and Craig at Cask of Amontillado. It¡¯s just getting started. The stone archways and cast iron chandeliers are perfect. We couldn¡¯t have chosen better costumes. Somehow the DJ infuses chilling organ scales into his beat. I know that might sound weird, but holy shit: it works. She walks in to a beat. She flicks her hair to the side at the perfect time to match, not just the music, but the lasers too.
It all happens in slow motion. (Not really, but you get it.) She looks at her friend and they both start laughing, realizing she accidentally mimicked the music with her mannerisms. She has a black mask tied around her face. Her costume is a short, form-fitting dress: black with long sleeves. There are red ties around the waist and arms. And the part I like the most is the slit that runs all the way up her left thigh. She isn¡¯t just a ninja. She is a sexy ninja. Her jet black hair is tied back with another striking red complement to the rest of the outfit. She is surrounded by friends but I walk straight up anyway. I¡¯ve learned that I have the best success when I walk up to a girl straight away. Don¡¯t even think, just do it. That way you don¡¯t have time to get nervous, and girls think you¡¯re super confident. Also, you get the drop on other guys. ¡°Hi I¡¯m Rodigio,¡± I say over the music, stepping in between two of her friends and extending my hand. The two friends I stepped between throw shade my way. ¡°Hi!¡± She says with pep, ¡°I¡¯m in the middle of a conversation!¡± ¡°Ouch. Just karate chop my heart why don¡¯t you?¡± I say. ¡°How about I judo kick you out of my vicinity?¡± She says, and her friends agree. ¡°I¡­¡± I have nothing. I turn around and walk away. ¡°Have fun haunting the opera!¡± she calls after me. ¡°Masquerade,¡± I mutter. ¡°Seems like it went well,¡± Dean says.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. ¡°I decided she wasn¡¯t hot enough for me. Hey, have you guys stocked up on contraband for Paradisia?¡± Craig and Dean look at each other. ¡°What?¡± I say. ¡°Dege,¡± Dean says, ¡°We aren¡¯t going to Paradisia. We got an apartment here in Barracuda.¡± Wow. I feel sucker-punched. This is the only thing that could make spending four months in Paradisia worse. ¡°And you didn¡¯t include me!?¡± ¡°Come on, you know we wanted to. But the place we are getting is $2,000 a month for each of us, and, well¡­¡± Dean trails off. Dean sold an app he created this year. He got a big payout and will be raking in royalties for years. Craig has been programming robots for two years and makes plenty. I just fix bugs for a website hosting company¨Cthe glitches the automatic crawlers can¡¯t repair. It¡¯s easy and I can do it on my own time. I log in when I feel like it, and get paid per repair. ¡°But-¡± I¡¯m looking back and forth at them in disbelief. I just see stony masks staring back. I feel betrayed. I know Dean isn¡¯t trying to be a dick. But what he is really saying is that he doesn¡¯t want me mooching off him. ¡°Guy, don¡¯t be dramatic,¡± Craig says trying to downplay how bad I should feel, ¡°You¡¯ll be back for New Year¡¯s! TURN-OF-THE-CENTURY!¡± He booms it like an announcer and slaps my back. ¡°Yeah man come back for a whole month if you want,¡± Dean says. ¡°You can stay with us the whole time. It will make the trip even cheaper than it was going to be.¡± ¡°Can you guys believe it!¡± Craig (a little too enthusiastically) throws in, ¡°We have been talking about New Years 2100 for YEARS! And now it¡¯s only TWO. MONTHS. AWAY.¡± ¡°I plan on non-stop anarchy from Christmas Eve, to maybe January 4th or 5th,¡± Dean says. ¡°Depends on how much momentum I can build up.¡± I¡¯m glad I have this mask on. I wouldn¡¯t be able to hide my emotions otherwise. I feel suddenly like the third wheel. Like they both have something in common that I don¡¯t. I¡¯ll be a visitor in their world. I can have a taste of the high life, but not the real thing. The music gets louder and the beat turns up. We take shots. We head to the dance floor. A blond with black streaks and vampire teeth growls at me in a red strobe light. A werewolf busts a break-dance. Three witches hop in unison. More shots. Dance. Shots. Dance. I¡¯m forcing it. My game is off. I stumble off the dance floor, and bust open the double doors to the outside deck, overlooking the water. It¡¯s a cool night for the Caribbean, and steam comes off my skin. Mist wafts ghostly over the water. Distant seagulls sound like crows. The salty air smells of extra decay. The tide must be out. There aren¡¯t many people out on the deck. A few old guys from downstairs in the corner smoking cigars and having a spirited old-guy discussion. A few couples or threesomes of friends interspersed around the high tables. And four guys around 30 leaning against the wooden pillars that hold up the thick black chain railing by the bay. I walk over to look out on the choppy water. The open ocean is out to the right, and closer¨Cbut still distant¨Csits Gulf Sails, in the entrance to the bay. There¡¯s plenty of berth on either side for passing boats, freighters, and cruise ships. Way off to the left the bay gets narrower until it becomes a tidal river. Looking straight across I wouldn¡¯t know there was land in the distance except for the sparse lights of remote homes. I have to think for a minute to decide if the deck is decorated for Halloween, or if it always has these 19th century London street lamps. The real flames are the only source of light, casting shadows across the weathered¨Cbut solid¨Cwooden planks. The moon isn¡¯t quite full. It was full a couple nights ago. But it is a vibrant presence. Clouds block about a quarter of the moon at any given time, but quickly pass by. The moon¡¯s usual fractal glint off the water flickers from the clouds, matching the gas street lamps. I glance at the three men to my left. Holy shit that¡¯s Elijah Braze! He¡¯s one of the youngest Gulf of Mexico real estate moguls. He owns a tenth of Gulf Sails. And most of his platforms are downtown, hosting businesses and high-end apartments. He¡¯s popular because he is well-spoken, good looking, trendy, muscular, personable¡­ he¡¯s really a gift to us mortals sent from the heavens. He uses all this in his marketing. He speaks for conferences, classes, and camps. He appears on advertisements, in entertainment, and at events. He teaches courses, writes books, and runs businesses. And he just caught me staring at him. And now he¡¯s walking over with his three-man entourage trailing. Elijah and his friends are dressed as Alex and his droogs. He uses the cane as if it is a natural part of his everyday ensemble. In truth it makes me think of Jack the Ripper. But the rest of his outfit is straight up the height of fashion. He¡¯s got the oversized vibrant eyelash on one eye, combat boots, and a bowler hat. He¡¯s wearing black tights. And I, unfortunately, cannot help but notice that the bulge around his crotch is in the shape of a spider¨Ctrue to the book. Their ¡°waisty jackets¡± have no lapels, but quite the shoulder pads. This makes Elijah¡¯s shoulders even broader than usual. His ruffled white cravat forces him to hold his chin especially high¡­ or does he always look like that? As he walks up with a sly smile I try to play it cool, and keep character, so I say, ¡°I hope you¡¯re not on the prowl for any ultra-violence, brothers.¡± ¡°Ah no, perhaps just a bit of the old in and out,¡± Elijah says, winks at me, and his friends laugh. Oh shit. Here we go. ¡°I¡¯m flattered, but¨Cer¨Cwrong demographic,¡± I say, pointing to the interlocking male and female signs on my cheek. ¡°Oh I noticed that,¡± Elijah says confidently. ¡°But I also noticed the dollar sign on the other cheek.¡± A friend chortles. I blush. Still, I try to just smile and brush it off. Elijah takes a step closer, and extends his right hand, leaning on his cane with the left. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± he asks, and I shake his hand to be polite. ¡°I¡¯m Rodigio,¡± I say, but when I try to end the shake, he raises my hand to his lips and kisses the back. I know he feels me resist, but he is much stronger. I pull my hand away and try to ignore his heavy gaze. I take a deep breath and look back out over the ocean. ¡°Well aren¡¯t you going to ask my name?¡± he says, with fake incredulity. I chuckle and turn back to face him. ¡°I know who you are.¡± ¡°Well the polite thing is to acknowledge that.¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t really seem like we were doing the polite thing here¡­¡± I volly. Elijah¡¯s only chubby friend breaks in sounding bored and annoyed, ¡°Can we go back in? It smells like low tide out here and this kid is boring me.¡± He puts his hand on Elijah¡¯s arm. Elijah¡¯s eyes flash deep aggravation, compared to the intense challenge they had been imparting to me. He slowly turns his face not to look at his friend, but to stare at the friend¡¯s hand on his bicep. His friend pulls his hand away and takes a deep breath like he is brushing it off. He acts like he is over this tedious situation, and yet he stays right there. Though now his eyes look up towards the club¡¯s tall stone walls. When Elijah turns back to me, he is back to friendly and jovial. It¡¯s too much. He is letting his costume infect his demeanor. Or maybe he¡¯s really like this? ¡°So do you live on the island or the mainland?¡± He asks. ¡°Island.¡± ¡°Me too! Oh, maybe you already knew that too¡­¡± I almost roll my eyes but manage a polite smirk. ¡°I knew you had a platform there¡­ wasn¡¯t sure how much time you spend on it though.¡± ¡°I travel a lot, but that¡¯s where I stay when we are docked at Paradisia,¡± he says. ¡°Why?¡± I blurt out, ¡°Paradisia sucks. If I were you I¡¯d go to Europe or Asia or at least stay in Barracuda.¡± He gives me a tsk-tsk look, and wags his cane like he is scolding me. ¡°You don¡¯t like my friend Francesco¡¯s little society?¡± Wow. He would be friends with Francesco, the cult leader of Paradisia. My opinion on Elijah Braze has done a complete 180 in the last three minutes. In videos and writing he gives off fastidious success. Now I am just getting creepy overconfidence. ¡°I just find it a little restrictive,¡± I say. ¡°Just come to a party on my platform. We can loosen whatever restrictions you have¡­¡± The chubby friend gives a sort of amused mm-hmm snort and chuckle. This time Elijah actually closes his eyes and I can see his jaw grinding for a moment. He takes a deep breath and resumes his smile.
I turn back to face the water, but he steps up behind me and puts his hands on the chain railing on either side of me. He is now pressed against my backside. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s that mask that¡¯s getting me going so bad,¡± he says into my left ear. I can¡¯t move one way or the other without pushing past an arm. I choose the way furthest from his face. So I jerk right and actually have to put some muscle into breaking his arm free from the chain to let me out of his reach. Unphased he watches me and his smile twists, ¡°Feisty. I think I want to leave the mask for last when I¡¯m undressing you.¡± ¡°Look, since you¡¯re clearly not taking the hint,¡± I say, raising my voice, ¡°Let me make it clear: I don¡¯t care how famous or rich you are! I wouldn¡¯t get with you if we were the last two people on earth!¡± Like a shark toying with his prey, Elija¡¯s smile doesn¡¯t change. He leans in close, and I recoil my head but don¡¯t back away, not wanting to appear weak. He whispers loud enough for his friends to hear, ¡°If we were the last two people on earth, sweetie¡­ who the fuck would stop me?¡± A chill goes down my spine as he walks away, his droogs trailing, laughing and swinging their canes. ¡°See you in Paradisia,¡± a lanky effeminate friend says to me sarcastically over his shoulder. I am actually shaking. I hear the rise of the bass as the chubby friend holds the door. The bass fades as the doors swing closed. I sigh and lean most of my weight on the chain railing. This is not how I pictured my last party night in Barracuda. ¡°Prospero!¡± ¡°Shit!¡± I am startled. ¡°Where did you come from?¡± ¡°Well I am a ninja,¡± she says, melting me with her mascara lined eyes. I manage a burst of air that substitutes for a laugh. ¡°Prospero?¡± I ask. ¡°It looked like your night was going about as well as his.¡± I am still confused, wracking my brain. She notices and lets out a disappointed chuckle and looks to the side. ¡°Anyway¡­¡± she says, sort of condescendingly, ¡°I just wanted to apologize. I felt like I might have been a little harsh earlier.¡± She gives a forced smile. ¡°I hope I didn¡¯t kill your mood.¡± She starts walking away. Prospero¡­ I¡¯m dressed for a masquerade¡­ Poe! ¡°Lenore!¡± I blurt out just before she reaches the door. She stops. Turns slowly. She has a smirk on her face now. She walks back to me and I can¡¯t tell if she moves like that to stay in character, or if it is natural graceful stealth. She leans on the railing next to me, looking out over the water. She turns to face me. ¡°Majorie.¡± ¡°Rodigio.¡± ¡°Right, you told me. I¡¯m usually the one with the stupidest name.¡± I laugh, ¡°My friends usually call me Dege. I like that: Majorie. Sounds mystical almost like¡­¡± ¡°A mermaid?¡± ¡°Yeah!¡± ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure my parents just looked up mermaid names. They were obsessed with Gulf Sails but couldn¡¯t afford a platform until I was 18. I didn¡¯t want to get left behind-¡± ¡°In Asia?¡± I ask reflexively. Godammit. After a did-he-really-just-say-that chuckle she responds, ¡°I¡¯m gonna let that one go on account of the fact that I can smell enough alcohol on you to make me concerned about your proximity to these gas lamps. I¡¯m from Florida. Well at least that was the last stop before Gulf Sails. What¡¯s your story?¡± ¡°Grew up on the platforms. I think my parents made up my name¡­ never met another one at least.¡± ¡°Sounds Spanish. Are you¡­¡± she stops abruptly and looks away. Is she blushing? ¡°Am I what,¡± I laugh, finally feeling like I got the upper hand, ¡°Latino? Mexican?¡± She just looks at me recovering her confident smirk as if to acknowledge my first score in a match. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I am. A true mutt. A perfect balance if you ask me¡­¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t,¡± she winks. ¡°Okay so you read Poe, and you don¡¯t like your name. I¡¯m getting nihilist vibes¡­ What else?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not so much that I don¡¯t like my name,¡± She says, taking mock offense at my nihilist jab, ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ well for one thing, everyone who reads it first calls me MARJ-orie! So every new interaction has to start off with me correcting someone and making them feel like a dumbass.¡± ¡°Ah, that¡¯s why you¡¯re so good at that,¡± I say. She laughs. Silence except for the light splash of waves on the dock, and the distant toll of a buoy bell. ¡°So you still live with your parents on the island?¡± I immediately regret asking. This will clearly just bring attention to the fact that I still live with my parents on their platform. ¡°Yep.¡± She sighs, ¡°Next stop Paradisia.¡± My heart does a weird little flutter. ¡°Right, I guess I¡¯m not the only one who thinks Paradisia sucks.¡± Another silence. But now I get the feeling that she¡¯s thinking what I¡¯m thinking¡­ Maybe it¡¯s not going to suck so much after all, given the new company. The club doors bust open and a burst of loud bumping floods out with Dean and Craig. The lasers slash through the escaping mist. ¡°Deegie-cakes!¡± Craig calls, arms in the air as an aftershock to his thrusting of the doors, ¡°Oh hello,¡± he says eyeing Majorie lecherously. She gives a bored eyebrow raise as acknowledgment. ¡°Oh God, Dege, are you tricking this poor girl,¡± Craig says, ¡°You haven¡¯t seen under the mask yet, have you?¡± ¡°Actually¡­¡± Majorie laughs, realizing she hasn¡¯t. ¡°Hey, I haven¡¯t seen behind your mask either!¡± I protest. ¡°Let¡¯s dance!¡± Dean shouts, letting out a thick cloud of vape smoke. ¡°Is that THC?¡± Majorie asks. Dean holds out the vape. She takes it, breathes deep, and lets out an even bigger cloud. She grabs my arm, and leads me back to the dance floor. Dance. Grind. Shots. Dance. Breather. Food. Public drunken shenanigans. New club. Turn up. Shots. Dance. She turns around and drops low with the beat. My hand is on her hand on her thigh¨Cthe one not covered by her God-damn-so-sexy dress. She turns back around. Her hands are on my chest. My heart¡¯s beating out of my chest. Did she just notice? She lifts my mask. I lift hers. Kiss. ¡°See you in Paradisia,¡± she winks, hopping into her drone with the remainder of her friends as the sun rises over the Atlantic. Ep. 2: Ouch The first thing Majorie says to me as we meet at the fountain in Paradisia is, ¡°Well, at least it¡¯s an easy choice which bar to drown our sorrows in together.¡± She¡¯s referring to the fact that there is literally one dedicated bar in Paradisia. The rest are restaurant bars that close by 22:00 most days. But that doesn¡¯t make a difference to me anyway because, ¡°Actually¡­ I¡¯m only 20.¡± It takes her a second to understand the relevance of me stating my age. ¡°Oh my God! I totally forgot it¡¯s 21 here, isn¡¯t it?! Where does that random age even come from?¡± ¡°That¡¯s what it was in the United States,¡± I say. ¡°No, I know.¡± She laughs, like duh. ¡°But where did they pull that number out of?¡± ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be so bad if Gulf Sails would just park 20 goddamn meters off the coast. Then at least the bars in Gulf Sails could serve me.¡± ¡°Right,¡± Majorie rolls her eyes in agreement, ¡°Well let¡¯s run to the store before it closes. And get us something to drink on the beach?¡± I laugh because the way that she ends the sentence in a question is really adorable. She smiles too. ¡°Yeah, but I better not go in with you. They might ID both of us.¡± Majorie bursts out laughing. ¡°Oh my god, you¡¯re probably right! It¡¯s like this place is stuck in the dark ages.¡± She buys. I wait. We walk. The buildings get sparser, and we transition onto a gravel road with the ocean to our right just over the dunes. Then there are just a few houses¨Ccompounds?¨Cand now we are past all civilization. There¡¯s hardly anywhere on Gulf Sails where you can be alone like this. The stars are out. The rhythm of the ocean is peaceful. Majorie and I are passing a bottle of whiskey back and forth. That¡¯s what she came out with. This woman is amazing. She bought us a bottle of whiskey, and a six-pack of beer to wash it down. ¡°You know when I lived in Heartland,¡± Majorie says, ¡°The drinking age was also 21, but they were still using actual ID cards. They were sooo easy to fake. I was going to bars when I was 16.¡± ¡°You lived in Heartland? That must have been a trip.¡± ¡°Yeah¡­ I mean people exaggerate about it. But it can get pretty intense.¡± ¡°How did you end up there?¡± I ask. She takes a deep breath, ¡°Well, that was when my parents were going through their Christian phase,¡± she laughs. ¡°I take it you didn¡¯t go through it with them?¡± ¡°Oh, I went through the motions. Do you know how painful it is to sit through church with a hangover?¡± ¡°Luckily, I do not,¡± I say. ¡°Why did your family move around so much?¡± She shrugs, ¡°My parents just liked moving. Always searching for something better while they saved for the day they could move to Gulf Sails.¡± ¡°Damn I hope they aren¡¯t disappointed.¡± Majorie laughs, ¡°So far so good. Three years is a long time in one place for us. And they seem happy. Or else they are too terrified to admit to themselves that they¡¯ll never find Eden. It probably helps that the island sails to three different ports throughout the year.¡± ¡°You said you lived in Florida too. Anywhere close to where Gulf Sails docks?¡± I ask. ¡°No, no, no. That¡¯s not Florida,¡± she corrects me, half joking, ¡°They are very adamant that you do not call Seminole part of Florida. Know many locals there?¡± I feel my cheeks get a little red. ¡°I¡¯ve been a few hours inland,¡± I say. ¡°People there are¡­ nice.¡± ¡°Right. But nice doesn¡¯t make up for their creepy.¡± We laugh. ¡°Certainly makes it interesting,¡± I muse. ¡°Something is off there,¡± Majorie adds, ¡°We stayed near Lapachicola for a few weeks, but my parents decided it wasn¡¯t worth it¡­ plus I think it would have just been torture watching the island sail away, and waiting 8 months until it came back. So we opted for Florida instead.¡± ¡°I always thought of Florida like the wild west.¡° ¡°That¡¯s an accurate way to describe parts of it,¡± she laughs. ¡°But it¡¯s not as bad as New Orleans.¡± ¡°Shut up! You did not live in New Orleans!?¡± I almost shout in surprise. ¡°Um¡­¡± ¡°Sorry, don¡¯t shut up. But really? I¡¯ve been there with Dean and Craig, it¡¯s like a pirate port.¡± Majorie laughs, ¡°Well, I lived there for about two and a half months. But yeah¡­ it does have a pretty piratey vibe.¡± ¡°Why would your parents want to move there?¡± ¡°Actually, I moved there without them¡­ It was just me and a friend.¡± ¡°What?!¡± She laughs, ¡°Oh my god, stop. Why are you so surprised by that?¡± Actually it¡¯s sort of just terrifying me how much of a badass she is. But I don¡¯t want to tell her that. ¡°You just seem so wholesome,¡± I wink. ¡°Oh please!¡± She scoffs, but can¡¯t suppress a smile as she brings the whiskey bottle back up to her lips. ¡°So what was the deal with New Orleans? Why did you go, why did you leave?¡± She swigs her beer before continuing. ¡°By the time I was 17, I had had enough of Heartland. So my friend and I cooked up a plan to move to New Orleans and become musicians.¡± ¡°You play an instrument?¡± ¡°Guitar. And I sing. So we got a complete shithole of an apartment, like one step above homeless. But you really can¡¯t tell the difference between someone homeless in New Orleans and a typical resident¡­¡± ¡°I think half of them are just homeless because they got too fucked up to find their way home.¡± ¡°Probably accurate. We ended up getting some gigs, since like every bar in New Orleans has a live band. But it was barely enough for rent, and we were living off comped food at the bars we were playing¡­ It got ugly pretty fast. ¡°In the meantime, my parents moved to Florida¡­ I guess they were pretty sick of Heartland too. ¡°And then¡­ well, the prodigal daughter returned home. Like, literally, my parents threw me a party, which I¡¯m sure would have included a fatted calf if they could have found one. Luckily I don¡¯t have any siblings to get jealous.¡± ¡°Praise Jesus.¡± I say, ¡°I thought Christian parents would have responded differently.¡± ¡°The Christian phase was over by then¡­ We kind of have a weird relationship. I¡¯m pretty convinced I was an accident, but then they just incorporated me into their lives, and I became more like a sidekick. I can hardly relate to most people who live at home. I honestly feel more like I have roomates.¡± ¡°So your parents are pretty chill then?¡± ¡°Almost to a fault.¡± ¡°I still feel like a kid at home. I gotta get my shit together and move out at some point¡­¡± ¡°Don¡¯t stress,¡± she says, handing me the bottle of whiskey. ¡°If I didn¡¯t know any better, I¡¯d say you were trying to get an underage boy drunk,¡± I say, slightly slurred. We¡¯ve been sitting on the edge of the dunes passing the bottle back and forth for a while now. She takes the last two beers from the cardboard box, one in each hand. She cracks them both open. ¡°Drink up little boy,¡± she says seductively. Laughing. Silence. Waves. Moon. Stars. Still. Eyes. Lips. Kiss. We run along the beach, hand in hand. Strip off our clothes spontaneously. Splash naked into the ocean. Swim out to where the sandy floor drops away from our dangling feet. The waning moon shimmers off the ocean chop. ¡°Wait, don¡¯t sharks feed at night?¡± she says, and swims into my arms, her hands laced behind my neck. I think she¡¯s joking, but now I¡¯m actually freaked out. ¡°C¡¯mon,¡± I say, pulling her into shore.
We spend a moment rolling in the surf intertwined, recreating that scene in From Here to Eternity (still iconic only 147 years later).If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Turns out rolling around in the sand, letting the waves wash over you makes you¡­ sandy. And it gets everywhere. Pretty soon we are grinding sand between our tongues. And everywhere else. And now I remember that salt water doesn¡¯t exactly render your manhood particularly presentable. She still looks great, lying there on the sand next to me. The moon glistens off her wet, sand-speckled skin. We both get a touch embarrassed and awkward. We giggle, and continue giggling like kids as we get dressed, our clothes considerably less comfortable than before. There¡¯s still some whiskey left. And its eyeing us like a challenge. We stumble back into town, holding each other up. ¡°Francesco sure has a nice house for being such a man of the people,¡± Majorie scoffs, as we walk past it. It¡¯s Caribbean style, pink stucco with balconies and curvy staircases galore. He has a white gravel¨Cor shell?¨Cdriveway that circles around a fountain of a man holding a crystal ball in his outstretched hand.
¡°Do ya¡­ do you dare me to take the big marble?¡± I ask Majorie. ¡°The what?¡± ¡°The thing, the ball, the crystal ball there,¡± I stammer back. We are standing in between the open white painted cast iron gate looking in. Majoriorie chortles, ¡°If you love me you¡¯ll bring¨Cyou¡¯ll make, it as an offering of your¡­ love or whatever.¡± ¡°Do you think I can climb that?¡± I ask. ¡°I¡¯d judge the shit out of you if you couldn¡¯t,¡± she says straight-faced. We meet eyes and burst into laughter, coming in to brace each other¡­ which turns into an embrace. She looks up into my eyes, serious. Her lip quivers a bit before she whispers, ¡°But¡­ are you still gonna get me the ball?¡± I start giggling and my head drops against her chest. I can feel the vibration as she laughs. I like it like this. I snap to attention. ¡°Yes me¡¯lady.¡± ¡°Ew. Don¡¯t¡­ that just sounds so awkward. Don¡¯t say that.¡± ¡°Er¨Cme mistress?¡± ¡°The ¡®me¡¯ part is half the problem.¡± ¡°I will grab¡­ whatever balls you command.¡± ¡°Just get me the fucking globe!¡± I spring into action. The statue in the center of the bubbling shallow pool is surprisingly easy to scale. I hop from the edge to the platform, pull myself up by some historical figure¡¯s marble kneecaps, and scramble past the platform and onto his shoulders. I straddle the neck for a moment and wave to Majorie. ¡°That¡¯s actually pretty impressive,¡± she laughs. I shimmy my way down, straddling the statue¡¯s arm, realizing that if I fell off at this point¡­ it would really hurt. But this realization is diluted¡­ by three beers and half a bottle of whiskey. The arm is actually pretty skinny when you get far enough to reach the glass globe it¡¯s holding. ¡°Get ready to catch it,¡± I say. I pick up the orb, and it is heavier than I expected. I hold it up with both hands to look at it. It¡¯s brilliant. Swirls of ruby micro-gems surround tiny imbedded globes of gold and silver. Blues and greens flicker off, and every second I stare it seems to draw me deeper into some less-apparent detail¨Cemeralds, sapphires, and pearls. It¡¯s sucking me in, swirling into ever finer levels of cosmic beauty. Crack. Snap. Gravity. I¡¯m in mid air. My heart and stomach have been left behind. But they catch up as I slam into the fountain. I manage to land on my side, with my arm shielding my head from blunt force bashing against any marble. But ouch. The wind is knocked out of me. I hope I haven¡¯t¡¯ broken anything. The magnificent orb shatters on the marble ledge of the fountain. Ouch. As drunk as I am, I still planned to ultimately return the globe to its resting place in the statue¡¯s hand. But now the entire marble arm is lying in the fountain. And the globe he held outstretched to the world is obliterated into a million tiny shards and several larger chunks of jagged crystal. I manage a pained glance at Majorie, who is standing frozen in horror with her hands over her mouth. And then I see two security patrol¡¯s screech to a halt in the driveway behind her. How did they get here so quick? They are joined by two guards jogging out from the mansion. Fuck. To their credit, the first thing security does is make sure I am all right. They get me and Majorie seated on the fountain edge and radio whatever codes apply. And there stand six Paradisia guards. And there sit Majorie and I, in front of a thick wall of human security. And out from his home pitter-patters Francesco, holding up his flowing white tunic, loose long hair dancing behind him. And behind his hair comes fluttering more casually a girl younger than Majorie and I. She doesn¡¯t appear to look too unlike Francesco in the dim light, with practically identical robes, and the same long dark hair. And behind her, strolling with one hand in his pocket¡­ is Elijah Braze. I recognize one minion following him¡­ the chubby one from the deck at Cask of Amontillado on Halloween. There¡¯s another trendy follower I don¡¯t recognize. ¡°My galaxy!¡± Francesco exclaims as he sees the shards of his globe on the marble. ¡°And my statue! What have you done to L. Ron Hubbard¡¯s arm!¡± ¡°What kind of damage are we looking at?¡± The guard in charge asks Francesco. ¡°The galaxy is a piece of art! One of a kind¡­ it can hardly be reduced to a price¡­ But I paid $25,000 for it earlier this year.¡± I almost choke. Instead I break into a coughing fit. Francesco turns to me as if he has just noticed that the perpetrator is at hand. ¡°And the statue itself was a $40,000 commission,¡± he says gravely. A patrol guard is recording all this on his handheld.
He already knows who we are, they have us on camera somewhere. But he asks to confirm anyway. A drone lands, and out step two Gulf Sails security agents. They talk to the Paradisia security, and watch something on the Paradisia guy¡¯s handheld¨Cprobably a video of what just transpired. They seem to agree. A Paradisia guard reads the indictment against me and says I can go home tonight if I agree to show up at a hearing tomorrow morning. Then I have to sign the indictment with my thumbprint. This feels dirty¡­ like using a public restroom. You can use your thumbprint anywhere to pay or verify your identity¡­ If you¡¯re smart you require back up verification in addition to the thumb print with a password or iris scan. But like most people, I prefer to use a chip, like the one in my bracelet. It¡¯s more secure because there is less room for your biometrics to get hacked. But for legal issues like this there¡¯s no getting around the thumbprint. It¡¯s not like I seriously think I am going to get hacked here, the security is trustworthy. Just, like I said¡­ it feels dirty. ¡°You¡¯ll need to provide documentation at tomorrow¡¯s hearing for the prices you gave here,¡± a Gulf Sails agent tells Francesco. ¡°I know that!¡± Francesco snaps back. ¡°I didn¡¯t realize you were such a troublemaker,¡± Elijah says to me, walking over. I don¡¯t even look at him. ¡°Majorie!?¡± the chubby friend exclaims. ¡°Is this seriously the type of company you keep?¡± Surprised, I look questioning to Majorie. Her pained expression has returned, and she looks like she is searching for an explanation. ¡°You¡¯re fired,¡± he says. Elijah¡¯s head darts towards his friend and his eyes narrow. Then he looks at Majorie, then back to the friend. He looks pissed. ¡°Data division,¡± the friend says. The friend is relaxed and speaks casually. He must work for Elijah. And Majorie works for him? I realize now we haven¡¯t actually talked about what we do for work yet. ¡°I didn¡¯t know we had a data division,¡± Elijah says with a fake smile, ¡°You told me this young lady was just a friend of yours.¡± A Gulf Sails security agent approaches, ¡°Alright Rodigio and Marjorie-¡± ¡°It¡¯s MAJorie,¡± Majorie responds reflexively. But her voice cracks and I see her brush away a tear. The security guy looks at his handheld, ¡°Oh, oops. Majorie. Sorry. Well, you two come with us, we¡¯ll escort you home.¡± Majorie and I are silent, just looking out the opposite windows as the drone gains altitude. At this time of night, there are some house and street lights on the mainland, but as soon as you get about 20 meters up you can see the city of lights sitting in the harbor. Getting higher, you see the shape of the man-made island come into view, veins of lights growing dimmer, away from the dense island center. I feel the descent, so we must be approaching Majorie¡¯s parents¡¯ house. We turn to one another at the same time and blurt out in unison, ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡± ¡°What?!¡± She says, ¡°I¡¯m the one that should be apologizing. That¡¯s so much money!¡± ¡°Well you just lost your job apparently, just for being associated with an idiot like me,¡± I say. We look into each other¡¯s eyes, and it seems to say it all. We hug and stay in the embrace until the drone stops and an agent says, ¡°Okay, this is your stop.¡± She watches from the platform as the drone takes off again. ¡°You want to get in touch with your parents to authorize the bug on the home system?¡± the same agent asks. Oof. ¡°Can you?¡± I ask. The two security agents look at each other and laugh. Then he takes out his handheld and does something. When we get to my parent¡¯s house, the system has been authorized to accept the bug, and one of the guards uses his handheld to install it wirelessly. Until tomorrow¡¯s hearing, I will not be allowed to order a drone to go anywhere off the island. They also have access to all entry and exit security cameras, including ones focused on the drone pad. I flop into my bed and manage to pass out for a few hours. You know that feeling when you wake up first thing in the morning after a night full of regrets? I¡¯m not hungover¡­ mostly because I still feel a little drunk. But I¡¯ve sobered up enough for the crushing wave of Oh Shit to wash over me. I have to force myself every little movement required to get ready. My hands are heavy, my face feels melty. Gravity is working extra on me today. I tell my parents I am going to walk to the hearing, before they can say anything to me. Looks like they briefly assess how likely I am to throw myself into the ocean. Apparently I don¡¯t look thatdesperate. They¡¯ll take a drone. It¡¯s a 20-minute walk. I step outside and see a world I¡¯ve never seen. Of course, I¡¯ve seen some version of it about 7,100 times really. But it¡¯s never been painted with these circumstances; this concoction of emotions. When you¡¯re walking to the gallows, it adds an alarming vibrance and sharpness to your surroundings. A butterfly flutters by me and lands on a flower in the prime of it¡¯s bloom. There¡¯s faint gulls in the background and the sweet, fresh smell of ocean breeze. I¡¯ve stepped out of the half-shell home and onto a patio surrounded by tropical plants. The stone path opens to a lush field of thick soft grass. Walls of rock slope down from the hill that engulfs the half-circle, three-story dome. I walk through the gate, close it behind me, and linger to look back over the platform. It looks like the shire, only the hobbit hole is much larger, and the entire front is made of glass and metal. Now I¡¯m out on the deck where the platform connects to the frame of Gulf Sails and the neighboring platforms. In front of me, across the deck, is the neighbor¡¯s platform. Each platform has six sides. My parent¡¯s has three decks, one on each side capable of docking. To my right is the open ocean since my parents have an end slot. The deck still goes out that way. I hardly over go out there, but now somehow I have the urge. I just don¡¯t have the time. I step off the raised deck and onto the street portion that the platforms connect to. The roads meander back and forth on the edges of the hexagonal platforms. On the way to the center, I cross a couple bridges. From each you can glimpse a bit of the layout of the floating city. There are channels of ocean, 5-10 meters below the platforms, depending on if you are on a bridge or a main walkway. Every now and then a boat passes by underneath. As the platforms get smaller and denser toward the city center, you can see families and couples having breakfast on their lower docks, below street level, on the water level. It¡¯s somewhat reminiscent of Venice. And the center of the island, the main city square, is actually quite the spectacle. There are restaurants, apartment buildings, shops, museums, bars, and studios. It¡¯s not a large area, but it is built up, congested, and the buildings are tall. But today, I am heading for the city arbitrator. ¡°I sentence you to compensation paid to the victim of $70,000. Our records indicate that is a sum you are unlikely to be able to afford.¡± ¡°I could probably come up with a downpayment,¡± I say hesitantly, fighting the urge to glance over at where my parents should be¡­ but they aren¡¯t here yet. ¡°It is indicated here,¡± the arbitrator says, looking at his tablet, ¡°that you would be able to come up with less than 10% of the fine. The victim has requested, and been granted, $40,000 as the threshold to avoid confinement while you pay off the rest. Are you able to post this amount?¡± I stay silent, waiting, hoping that my Dad will walk through the doors. I glance over. He hasn¡¯t magically materialized in the past few moments. I should have known this was coming¡­ I expected my dad¡¯s lawyer to show up and represent me¡­ When he didn¡¯t, I waived my right to counsel. They know what happened. It¡¯s all recorded. I watched every cringe-worthy moment myself in the courtroom. The Arbitrator is staring at me like, well? I swallow hard and say faintly, ¡°No sir, I am not.¡± I sentence you to class-3 confinement. You may be released upon reaching the $40,000 threshold and committing to payments for the other $30,000 due. Ep. 3: Last Ditch Effort ¡°You spent $30,000 on those rare fish for your aquarium last month!¡± I exclaim. ¡°Don¡¯t drag my fish into this, they are innocent,¡± my dad retorts. ¡°Besides they actually have the chance of paying me back when they start popping out $5,000 babies.¡± He doesn¡¯t even care. ¡°You probably have $50,000 lost in the sofa!¡± I notice how strange this idiom is as soon as it comes out of my mouth. Cash and coins hardly exist anymore¡­ no one loses money in the sofa. ¡°Dollar¡± is just a unit of measurement, not one specific currency. But I¡¯m too angry to consider where exactly I pulled the reference from. ¡°You won¡¯t keep your kid out of prison?¡± I continue. ¡°It¡¯s the principle,¡± my dad says. He¡¯s not yelling, he never yells. ¡°Dad! If you just pay 40 of the 70 thousand, they¡¯ll let me work the rest off without confinement.¡± He¡¯s shaking his head slightly, and making that tucked-in-lip face; the one people make when they pass a stranger on the street. ¡°I¡¯ll pay you back¡­¡± I try, exasperated. Nothing. ¡°Don¡¯t you have insurance to cover things like this?¡± ¡°We self insure for things like this. So imagine me as your insurance agent. I deny your claim for violating the terms of the agreement,¡± my dad says. ¡°Remember how I told you that you should look into buying defense insurance for yourself? Maybe you could have got the renegade plan, or something, and they would cover things like this, I don¡¯t know.¡± He is not budging. Not even showing any emotion. That is what is so frustrating. If he was pissed-off I could work with it. Emotional responses cool down and things change. But my dad¡¯s decision isn¡¯t going to change. He¡¯s not upset. There is nothing to cool down. He just made a logical decision. I¡¯m nothing like him. ¡°I¡¯m going to prison! And you could stop it without even noticing!¡± ¡°You know this affects my business Dege. Who knows how much you cost us by insulting Francesco? He¡¯s a big buyer.¡± ¡°Are you hearing me?! PRISON!¡± I pronounce the word with emphasis but I¡¯m not quite yelling. ¡°And all you care about is your business?!¡± ¡°Oh stop being so dramatic,¡± my dad says, breaking eye contact. He takes a sip of his drink. ¡°Dramatic,¡± I repeat indignantly. ¡°Do you know what happens in prison?¡± ¡°Yeah, you learn some discipline,¡± he responds. ¡°No,¡± I say shaking my head, ¡°You get raped! Is that what you want, for me to get raped?!¡± ¡°Rodigio, this isn¡¯t 2000. Statistically, you¡¯re more likely to get raped at those clubs you frequent.¡± ¡°Well it¡¯s still two years on an island with all men.¡± I shoot back, ¡°Don¡¯t be surprised when your son comes home hanging off the bicep of Buff Jimmy, the reformed pirate.¡± ¡°We should be so lucky,¡± my dad scoffs. ¡°A stern man is what you needed in your life all along. I blame myself. But anyway, there¡¯s actually an island for female confines, and you all get to meet up twice a week. Haven¡¯t you even checked out the website?¡± I turn to my mom. ¡°Is that what you want?¡± I say slow and serious. ¡°For me to come home with a bull-dike-looking prison bitch named Ricky?¡± ¡°Oh you have such an imagination!¡± She says, ¡°You¡¯re such a natural storyteller, with your creative names and flare for drama. You should spend your extra time on the island writing stories! Or maybe work on your acting? You were always so good in those plays, you loved them.¡± She¡¯s serious too, not even trolling. She will always side with my dad. He convinced her a few years ago that she was an enabler of my ¡°irresponsible behaviour.¡± This is just how she tries to stay positive. My mom forces a smile, ¡°Maybe it will be like camp,¡± she sort of laughs and shrugs. I put my face in my hands realizing that my parents are about to abandon me to a prison island. ¡°I can¡¯t believe you two are doing this to me!¡± I whimper. ¡°We aren¡¯t doing this to you, Dege,¡± my dad says with candor, ¡°We just aren¡¯t bailing you out this time. It¡¯s two years, less if you actually learn to do something people want to pay for.¡± My mom is shaking her head in agreement, looking between my dad and me. ¡°It will be good for you sweetie. Don¡¯t you want to learn a meaningful skill, go out on your own at some point?¡± Then she adds quickly, ¡°Not that you¡¯re not always welcome here!¡± My heart is beating faster. It¡¯s sinking in that I am about to go to a prison camp for two years. And that means missing New Year¡¯s Eve in Barracuda. That means being separated from Majorie.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. ¡°Why do you both hate me!? If it was Raji you would pay it!¡± I am desperate and lashing out. ¡°You know what,¡± my dad says, ¡°your attitude just proves all the more that it is high time you take a little responsibility for your actions.¡± ¡°Who buys a glass ball that costs more than I make in a year!? And I didn¡¯t know his stupid statue would break.¡± ¡°Exactly. You didn¡¯t know. But that didn¡¯t stop you from doing something impulsive and destructive.¡± ¡°I was drunk!¡± I shout indignantly. ¡°That¡¯s not an excuse,¡± he says, still infuriatingly calm. ¡°And that¡¯s the other reason this will be good for you.¡± My mom adds. ¡°They don¡¯t allow alcohol on the island, and I think it will do you some good to stay sober for a while¡­ clear your head.¡± ¡°You better get packing,¡± my dad says. I¡¯m back in my room. I still cannot accept it. I have one more thing I could try¡­ I can ask Dean. But I don¡¯t want to. And yet, I make the call anyway. ¡°I can¡¯t even believe you¡¯re asking me this Rodigio.¡± ¡°Dude, I¡¯ll pay it back with interest! I know you have the money!¡± ¡°Dege, it¡¯s not like all my money is just sitting in a wallet somewhere. I do things with it. It¡¯s invested all over, diversified. To give you that money would be an opportunity cost.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°If I give you that money, it means I can¡¯t do something else with it.¡± ¡°So you care more about making more money than you do about your friend?¡± ¡°You know where the last $35 grand I threw down went? To a start-up bringing rule of law to the parts of the world that still have oppressive governments.¡± ¡°That¡¯s just the last 35. I know you put at least that much in the virtual reality porn company!¡± ¡°I remember you being pretty excited about CyberNut at the time. But it still doesn¡¯t matter Dege, because even CyberNut deserves the money more than you do. And I deserve to put my money in the places that I want, and make money back for my risk. What do I get risking that on you? Because please don¡¯t try to tell me it¡¯s not a risk¡­¡± ¡°I just thought maybe you wouldn¡¯t want to see your friend in prison for two years. But I guess you think that¡¯s what I deserve.¡± He sighs. ¡°Dege, I love you like a brother. But yes, you deserve to be held accountable for your actions. Me bailing you out wouldn¡¯t help you in the long run.¡± ¡°Now you sound like my dad.¡± ¡°Well your dad is a smart guy Dege. Maybe it¡¯s time you start listening to his advice. I mean you keep saying, two years, two years. Have you even considered the fact that you can make that much money in two months if you really wanted to?¡± ¡°Maybe you could¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad this conversation went this way. I¡¯m now convinced that this will be good for you.¡± We hang up. I am alone in my room. I walk out on the balcony, overlooking the pool and tiers of grass that lead down to the white sandy beach, gently sloping into the ocean between large stone jetties. It¡¯s dark, but most of the palm trees and tropical ground cover are illuminated from hidden lights in the lava-rock-mulch. I¡¯ve lived here all my life. So accessible, always available just outside my back door. And suddenly I¡¯m a visitor, just here for the night. So I might as well take advantage of it. I walk down to stroll through the pristine grounds. I want to see Majorie but am not sure what to say. That¡¯s what has kept me from messaging her. That and the stomach churning reality that I am going to prison. A message comes in. Its from Majorie. ¡°Can I come over?¡± Her drone lands about five minutes later. She walks down into the backyard garden and sits down next to me without saying a word. We look at each other and force a smile. And for a few minutes we just sit listening to the waves roll off the platform. I sigh, ¡°well apparently this place doesn¡¯t have any alcohol. So¡­ want a beer?¡± ¡°God yes.¡± We grab a couple from the outdoor kitchen and sit at the tiki bar. ¡°I have to say¡­ Your platform is way nicer than mine,¡± Majorie says. ¡°Well you¡¯re closer to the center. And¡­ you get to stay.¡± ¡°What are you going to do?¡± she asks. ¡°What can I do?¡± ¡°I mean to earn the money.¡± ¡°I guess I¡¯ll keep working my bug catching job. Maybe if I put in enough hours I can cut it down to a year and a half.¡± She looks down, ¡°That¡¯s a long time.¡± Silence. Faint lapping of the ocean. Distant windchimes? ¡°I understand if you want to just forget about me and move on,¡± I blurt out. ¡°I mean we just met anyway, I don¡¯t expect you to¡­¡± I trail off. Majorie takes a long swig of her beer. ¡°We did just meet. Which is why this is so weird. Because I¡¯m not just going to ditch you.¡± ¡°Look, it¡¯s not your fault that I broke the statue. I don¡¯t want you to feel attached to me out of guilt.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not guilt. Definitely not guilt. It¡¯s¡­ well I don¡¯t know what it is. It¡¯s you, you¡¯re different. I don¡¯t know how yet, but I know a good thing when I see it.¡± Now we¡¯re staring into each other¡¯s eyes. And it¡¯s probably the only thing at this moment that can make me feel better. She¡¯s right, there is something else going on here. I just hope the separation won¡¯t ruin it. We kiss across the bar. It feels so good to just enjoy each other¡¯s company for a minute or two, sipping our beers. Then I remember the burning question on my mind (when I¡¯m not distracted by my impending incarceration). ¡°So what¡¯s the deal with your job? You worked for Elijah Braze?¡± I ask. ¡°Well yeah sort of, but I barely knew him. Ben Rupert, his head of staff is¨Cwell was¨Cmy boss.¡± Majorie sighs, ¡°But they already revoked all my permissions and sent an official severance notice so¡­ looks like I¡¯m a free agent.¡± ¡°What did you do for him?¡± ¡°Mostly data gathering.¡± ¡°You mean like marketing data for one of his businesses?¡± ¡°More like,¡± Majorie says slowly, formulating the right way to explain it, ¡°Data gathering of a more personalnature.¡± She only goes on after laughing at my blank expression. ¡°Sometimes it is digging into personal character, other times it¡¯s confirming where someone lives or sniffing out conflicts of interest.¡± ¡°You¡¯re a spy!?¡± I exclaim, only half joking. ¡°Well, I guess you could say that. Intelligence gathering.¡± She winks. Suddenly an image of Majorie seducing a business contact to get some confidential pillow talk pops into my head. She seems to see the gears turning. ¡°It¡¯s really not as exciting as it sounds,¡± she assures me. ¡°Usually it¡¯s pretty boring grunt work. The paid travel is nice¡­ well at least it was.¡± Swig. ¡°Do you have other clients?¡± ¡°Yeah, but that was by far my largest chunk of income. I¡¯m going to need to find something to replace it. All my other stuff is more routine digging. I can do most of it online.¡± Another silence. It¡¯s a wave of reality that keeps washing over me, anxiety about my fate tomorrow. I know Majorie can feel it too every time it hits. ¡°So when do you have to go?¡± Majorie asks. ¡°They pick me up at 9 tomorrow morning.¡± She gives a sympathetic smile. ¡°Any plans until then?¡± I manage a laugh. ¡°If you want to keep me up all night, I don¡¯t mind arriving to prison a little groggy. Who do I have to impress there anyway?¡± We spend the night laying in the grass, looking up at the stars, midnight skinny-dipping, and pre-dawn moonbathing. Majorie and I fall asleep in each other¡¯s arms curled up on a large plush piece of patio furniture as the sun breaks over the horizon. Ep. 4: Elba After about three hours on the airship flying towards the center of the Gulf of Mexico, I almost can¡¯t believe my eyes. It¡¯s¡­ beautiful! This prison island is breathtaking. It¡¯s shaped like a crescent moon. But it isn¡¯t flat. The back is a high hillside, and slopes down towards the bay inside the crescent. It reminds me of an Irish coastal island, especially because of how green it is. All up the hillside, the sun reflects off glass windows of buildings dotting the hillside like rhinestones. They look half-buried in the hillside. I guess I should have checked out the website. Flying lower now, I see that the entire bay is closed off. The tips of the crescent get thinner and thinner until floating structures connect them. They look moveable so boats can get into the bay. But the segments form a metal road. A vehicle could drive the entire circumference of the island and bay. In the center of the crescent island, on the bay, are big docks. There are a few small boats, a larger passenger boat, and some sort of large shipping barge. Behind that is a warehouse-like white building with metal siding that you might expect to see at a port. On the side is written in big black letters: Elba. I see a flagpole flying a triangular black flag with a white scale of justice on it. Everyone else on the airship is either a worker or a visitor. I know because they have clearly labeled sections for us to sit in. I¡¯m alone in my section, and keep getting judgy glances from the sparsely populated visitor/worker section. We land on the other side of the building in a designated area surrounded by chain link fencing. There is a sprawling Spanish style white stucco building that was hidden by the warehouse. We enter here to go through the formalities of establishing my new life on Elba. ¡°So what do you do, commute in on an airship everyday?¡± I ask the guy who just scanned my fingerprint. ¡°No I live here,¡± he says. ¡°Guards live here?¡± I ask. He smirks, ¡°Most of the jobs here are done by prisoners. Yes, even some of the security procedures are inmates¡¯ responsibilities. The warden can answer any questions you have,¡± he nods towards the guy who just entered the room, carrying a tablet. The warden is certainly not the hardened military figure I expected. His dark blond, almost reddish hair is not close cropped, but allowed to twist and curl as it sees fit. He has sandy skin and prominent dimples. Blue eyes too, which you don¡¯t see too often these days. He smiles and holds out his hand for an introduction. I¡¯m already getting a cringy camp counselor vibe. ¡°So this is the main compound,¡± he explains as he walks me out a door, and out of the secure fenced in area outside. ¡°It¡¯s where most the prisoners live and it houses the offices. It is also where you will find the commissary, cafeteria, and gym. You are free to come and go as you please from those and other non-secured areas. Follow me up this path and I¡¯ll show you your neighborhood.¡± As we meander along the path¡¯s switchbacks up the hillside, the landscaping actually rivals the flora on my parents¡¯ platform. It isn¡¯t quite as lush or full, and I notice a few of the more expensive plants are absent. But overall, the vibe is more resort than prison. After about five minutes of me zoning out to the warden¡¯s babbling, the trees open up and we come out to a clearing with an amazing view looking down the hill towards the bay. There is a pavilion with an outdoor kitchen, bathrooms, and plenty of picnic tables. There¡¯s even a fire pit with a suspended chimney to capture the smoke. A handful of guys are hanging out at a table, and someone is doing his own thing in the kitchen area behind the counter. ¡°These are some of your new neighbors,¡± the warden smiles, sweeping the room with his hand. The guy in the kitchen doesn¡¯t even turn around. The guys at the table look at me but say nothing. After a few seconds one of them manages a bored, ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± I nod. The warden commences his blabbering something about all the pavilion rules and expectations. Another guy gets up and walks up next to the warden, looking over his shoulder at the tablet. Something seems to spark his interest, and he reaches forward and takes the tablet out of the warden¡¯s hand. This had some sort of force to it, yet it was entirely controlled and smooth. ¡°Hey!¡± The warden says indignantly but doesn¡¯t actually make a move to take the device back. ¡°Crenshaw.¡± he says, like a father trying to be stern. Crenshaw, a tall husky man with a red face, is clearly not expecting any kind of response from the warden, since he doesn¡¯t move away, or even shoulder the warden out of reach. He just starts reading. ¡°Oh my God, this kid¡¯s hilarious!¡± Crenshaw says with a New England accent, ¡°You know what he did? He trashed some dumb statue that belonged to Francesco, that weird fucker who owns Paradisia.¡± ¡°It wasn¡¯t inten¨C¡± I start. ¡°Aw I hate that douche!¡± Someone at the table says. Hey maybe I¡¯ll be popular here. ¡°Hey, wait a minute. I know you! Isn¡¯t your dad Ollie Mercury, the dealer?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± uh-oh, is this attention I want? He looks at me suspiciously. No, surprised, eyeing me with curiosity. ¡°Your dad could have bailed you out of this in a second.¡± ¡°Believe me, I know.¡± Someone else, ¡°You mean your dad just abandoned you to prison for, what, vandalism?¡± ¡°Prison camp,¡± corrects the warden, who has abandoned any attempts to get his tablet back at this point. ¡°At least he booked you a cabin.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re dad covered the upcharge for a cabin instead of the dormitory.¡± I¡¯m not sure how to feel about this. The warden recruits Crenshaw, an older guy named Eric and a younger guy Brenton to show me the ropes. We¡¯re walking up to my cabin now. ¡°This place wouldn¡¯t be so bad if we had some drinks,¡± I say to Eric. The warden chuckles, ¡°Well, you know we believe our no alcohol policy helps you stay focused to get the most out of your experience here.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry we have booze here kid,¡± Eric says. ¡°Come over to cabin 8 when you get settled.¡± ¡°What? Eric!¡± the warden whines. ¡°Come on, are you serious? You aren¡¯t supposed to have alcohol.¡± The other guys laugh. Eric speaks calmly and quietly, but with confidence. He¡¯s probably in his sixties, with mostly gray hair, trimmed beard and mustache. His eyes are almost bored, or knowing. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°You guys are lucky it¡¯s me in charge here!¡± The warden retorts in typical camp counselor style. We¡¯re walking uphill, and have left most of the tree cover behind. Now there are switchback gravel paths, with scattered cabins here and there. Around each cottage are a few trees, and other shrubs.
We stop outside cabin 12, which has a low stone wall surrounding the front yard. When I turn around, I realize the view is amazing. The warden sees me looking off to the horizon. ¡°Faces southeast, so you¡¯ll wake up when the sun rises,¡± he says with pep. ¡°Best way to have a productive day. Here is your key, and I¡¯ll leave you in the capable hands of these fine gentlemen. Come by my office tomorrow morning at 0900 for orientation.¡± Then the warden is off, walking back down the paths. And suddenly I realize I am on my own, with three convicts, who are all staring at me expectantly. ¡°Um,¡± I say. Crenshaw takes the key from my hand and lets himself in. The other two follow. Hesitating, I trail behind them into my new home. It¡¯s a cozy studio style cottage, half built into Elba¡¯s manmade hillside. There is a sleeping loft above the small kitchen and bathroom, which take up half the cottage. The southern half is a living area full of huge windows, including glass doors which lead out to the deck. It¡¯s pretty sparsely furnished. There is a bed up on the loft, and all the kitchen appliances. A couch, a coffee table, and that¡¯s about it. It can¡¯t compare to my accommodations on Gulf Sails, but it¡¯s no prison cell. ¡°Are we allowed to decorate?¡± I ask, thinking this won¡¯t be so bad after all. ¡°Of course!¡± Brenton says. ¡°You can buy most of what you need at the commissary, or have it shipped here. But it usually takes a few days to come in, and they search it.¡± Brenton stares a lot, and he strikes me as a little dim-witted, but he seems nice enough. ¡°It¡¯s all filtered rainwater,¡± Crenshaw calls from the kitchen, helping himself to a glass of water, ¡°and runs off wave power.¡± I catch eyes with Eric from across the room. ¡°Listen, why don¡¯t we let you get situated,¡± he says. ¡°Remember, cabin 8, open invitation.¡± He ushers the other two out. I must have been giving off an even more uncomfortable vibe than I realized. ¡°Nice to meet you, I¡¯ll see you later,¡± Crenshaw says, and Brenton nods in agreement. They all leave, and I¡¯m alone. I reach for my portable, and remember I don¡¯t have it anymore. There are no screens at all in the cabin¡­ I have to purchase any technology I need from the prison. But I guess that will happen tomorrow after my meeting with the warden. When was the last time I was more than a few feet from a screen? What do I actually do with myself? Pace. Stand. Stare. Okay I think I can get into the peace and tranquility with this view from the back porch. But all I hear is me breathing. And some birds. Did they import those? Did they fly here themselves? It¡¯s hundreds of miles to any natural land. How far can birds fly over water? It¡¯s probably different for different birds. What kind of birds are those anyway? Stand. Sigh. Clap. Okay let¡¯s go find that beer. ¡°Well that didn¡¯t take long,¡± Eric says when I arrive at his cabin five minutes later. It¡¯s just him, the other guys must have gone back to their cabins. ¡°Yeah I realized I have nothing to occupy me until I make it to the commissary to pick up some electronics tomorrow.¡± Eric gives a little laugh. ¡°Well, I¡¯m not much for electronic entertainment to tell the truth. I¡¯m a little old fashioned. But I do have all the classic board games.¡± His chess set is front and center on his kitchen table. ¡°Wow, these are amazing,¡± I say, picking up the hand carved wooden King. ¡°To be honest I¡¯ve never played a physical board game¡­ only the on-screen and augmented reality versions.¡± ¡°I carved these myself. Anyway let¡¯s get you a drink,¡± he says, gesturing to his bar. ¡°So you didn¡¯t like¡­ brew this in your toilet did you?¡± I ask, half joking. ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake this isn¡¯t the twentieth century.¡± He pours us each a beer from the tap behind his bar. ¡°So, this place seems pretty chill so far. Am I missing something?¡± I ask, sipping. ¡°No, not really. It is pretty chill,¡± Eric says. ¡°Okay¡­ but there must be some catch¡­ I mean this is punishment, right?¡± ¡°No. Not really. The point is to pay back whoever you wronged. It¡¯s the camp¡¯s incentive to get you to do that. That way, victims choose Elba to collect their damages. It¡¯s your incentive to do it as quickly as possible to get back to your life. So your interests are aligned¡­ The camp wants to empower you to be all you can be, so that they keep up their reputation for getting us to pay back our debt-¡± ¡°To society,¡± I interject. ¡°No,¡± Eric scoffs. ¡°To whoever we wronged. Did you fuck up society¡¯s statue?¡± Seems like Eric has had a lot of time to understand just how this place operates. I wonder what he¡¯s in for?
He grabs two bottled beers from the fridge this time and tosses me an opener to do the honors. ¡°Okay. But doesn¡¯t the prison also have an incentive to keep you here longer, so that you keep paying them rent?¡± I ask. ¡°They don¡¯t make that much money on rent. The biggest chunk comes from a percentage of the victim¡¯s settlement. The quicker they get you to pay it off, the quicker the prison gets their money. And anyway trying to keep someone here would open them up to lawsuits and personal liability for whoever made that decision. Just not worth it.¡± ¡°What percentage does Elba get?¡± ¡°Depends, usually around 30-50%,¡± Eric explains. ¡°But that doesn¡¯t seem worth it for the victim. Francesco isn¡¯t even going to get enough from the settlement to replace the statue.¡± ¡°Crime insurance pays the prison, assuming the victim has some. Of course for someone like Francesco it¡¯s all the same, he owns Paradisia¡¯s crime insurance company too. But insurance pay less if you¡¯re a repeat offender. ¡°So say you get off here, and keep up your statue rampage. Next time around, the insurance companies are going to wonder why Elba didn¡¯t rehabilitate you the first time, and why you¡¯re costing them more money.¡± I have never really thought about how prisons worked. I¡¯ve never really had to deal with the justice system before. My family gets all the basic insurance from Gulf Sails. It all seems so complicated to me, it makes my head spin. Wish I had looked into defense insurance before all this happened¡­ Eric and I play a game of chess. It¡¯s amazing how different it feels off screen¨C the weight and texture of the wooden knight, and hearing the tap against the board as I take a bishop. Unfortunately, that left my king open, and Eric checkmates me with his rook. He pours me another beer. I reach for it. ¡°Woah, not so fast,¡± he says. ¡°It¡¯s about time we agree on the terms.¡± ¡°Terms?¡± I thought I was just having a drink. ¡°Well yeah, I¡¯m not just handing out free booze!¡± ¡°So what do you want me to¡­¡± Shit. Shit. Shit. ¡°I¡¯m just saying I¡¯m not your daddy¡­ you want something from me, I need to get something from you. That¡¯s how the world works.¡± ¡°I, uh, just don¡¯t think I could give you whatever you¡¯re looking for¡­¡± ¡°Of course you could. A young, fit guy like yourself¡­ I mean you¡¯re not the most muscular but you¡¯re clearly physically fit,¡± he says. ¡°Yeah, but no. I can¡¯t,¡± I thought this sort of thing only happened in century old movies. ¡°Well you gotta do something to earn your keep. Sure, you¡¯ll work online for your money, but we have a nice little internal economy on the island too¡­ less formal.¡± ¡°Look, I just don¡¯t need beer bad enough to exchange it for sexual favors.¡± After a brief moment of shock, Eric closes his eyes and laughs silently for a few seconds. ¡°You¡¯ve seen too many old movies kid. No, I¡¯ve got a constant supply of beer, wine, whiskey¨Cyou name it¨Cgoing. I need help with the heavy lifting. And when I¡¯m not moving around big vats of alcohol, I have compost to turn, and garden beds to repair. Just come by for an hour whenever you get thirsty. That¡¯s good for a couple drinks.¡± I let out a sigh of relief. ¡°You¡¯re not my type anyway,¡± Eric jokes. ¡°I really thought you were gay there for a minute.¡± Once again, I immediately regret opening my mouth, because the tension is palpable. Thick seconds pass before he turns to me. ¡°I am gay.¡± He says. ¡°I¡¯m just not a rapist.¡± ¡°I¨CI¡¯m sorry.¡± I say, shaking my head, ¡°I had a bad experience recently with¨C¡± I really need to just stop talking. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± he says. ¡°And I was just giving you a hard time anyway. I don¡¯t mind sharing a little with the new guy. Tonight¡¯s beers are on the house.¡± ¡°So none of¨Cer¨Cthat type of stuff happens here?¡± ¡°No! I mean nothing forced. Of course there¡¯s a few guys who shack up with each other, but that¡¯s their choice.¡± ¡°Sorry if I¡¯m a little jumpy but I just don¡¯t know what any of you guys have done to get here.¡± ¡°This is about as mild a prison as you can get. It¡¯s not like anyone here killed anyone.¡± He glances away and clears his throat, ¡°Well, no one is here for a serious crime.¡± ¡°What was that?¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Kinda sounds like someone here killed someone¡­ but it wasn¡¯t serious?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have time to get into a long ethical debate.¡± ¡°Okay¡­ Well is it rude of me to ask how long you have left here?¡± ¡°I can leave anytime I want.¡± ¡°What?! You mean you choose to stay here, even though your sentence is up, or you paid back your debt or whatever?¡± ¡°Yep.¡± ¡°I mean, this place is nicer than I expected, but still¡­ why? You are cut off from the world, you have to wait days for packages, your internet is censored¨C couldn¡¯t you get more for your money somewhere else?¡± He smiles and sighs. Looks like he is deciding how to explain something complicated to a kid. ¡°Rodigio, before I came here, I was homeless. I was addicted to heroin. I couldn¡¯t afford rehab, and I had been too much of an asshole to everyone who cared about me to get any help from them. ¡°These days Elba will take homeless people. But back then, you had to commit a crime to get in here. So I stole a car in The Kingdom¨Can empty one obviously, I wasn¡¯t trying to get shot¨Cand drove it to Miami. Freedom like I¡¯ve never felt before. By the time withdrawal set in, I was behind bars and my fate was sealed, just as I planned. ¡°I knew if they got the car back, my sentence would be minimal, so before I got arrested, I drove it right off a pier, jumping out into the water as I crashed it. Took me five years on this island to pay it off. It was a nice car. By then I proved that I could pay my rent, so they let me stay.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t you get lonely? Don¡¯t you ever want to build a life with someone?¡± I ask. ¡°Ah they come and go, just like the real world out there. Except you know what,¡± He laughs, considering it, ¡°The best¨Cand longest¨Crelationship I ever had was on this island.¡± He sighs smiling, looking off into the surf wistfully. ¡°Did it end because he left Elba?¡± I ask. His smile fades. Eric sighs and looks at his watch¨Cthe old mechanical kind¨Cthen back to me. ¡°Time to leave.¡± So I make my way ¡°home¡± in the dark. Ep. 5: Davy Jones’ Locker Walking to the warden¡¯s office for my meeting about how I am going to work off this debt, I see one of the men who was in the kitchen yesterday. The one who was doing his own thing behind the counter. He is outside his cabin, number 7, working in the front garden. He looks so familiar. I figure everyone has been pretty friendly, I might as well take the opportunity to ask if I know him from somewhere. ¡°You look really familiar to me,¡± I say casually as I walk up by his waist-high stone wall. He briefly pauses his weeding and clipping to look up at me, a bit bewildered, and then resumes his work. ¡°I think we might be related,¡± I continue. ¡°Oh yeah?¡± he says, this time not bothering to look up. ¡°Yeah, we do kind of look similar,¡± I say. He scoffs, ¡°Kid, there¡¯s a billion people that look just like us. We¡¯re what they used to draw in books about what future humans would look like, once all the races finally started fucking each other.¡± Not quite sure what to say to that¡­ I feel my cheeks getting a little red. ¡°Still¡­ I feel like I¡¯ve seen you at an old family reunion or something.¡± He ignores me. ¡°Well, what¡¯s your name?¡± I ask. ¡°Alright, I admit it, I banged your mother, I¡¯m your real daddy,¡± he says deadpan looking me in the eye. I give an uncomfortable laugh. Then an awkward silence commences as he continues weeding. I guess he¡¯s not going to tell me his name¡­ I switch topics. ¡°So¡­ what are you in for?¡± ¡°Why don¡¯t you mind your own goddamn business?¡± He picks up his shears and basket of clipped veggies, and walks inside, letting the door slam behind him.
The warden greets me in his office, ¡°Rodigio¡­ can I call you Rod?¡± ¡°No! I mean¡­ why don¡¯t you call me Dege? My, uh, friends call me Dege.¡± ¡°Why not Gio?¡± He laughs. I force a smile. He continues, ¡°Dege, what¡¯s your plan to pay off this debt?¡± ¡°Well, I just figured I¡¯d keep working the same job I¡¯ve been working¡­¡± ¡°Okay¡­¡± the Warden says glancing to the side, ¡°The thing is, we ran the numbers on that, and it would take you about two years to pay off the minimum balance.¡± ¡°Is there something you think I could do to get me there quicker?¡± I ask. ¡°Sure, and that¡¯s what we¡¯re going to figure out. For now, keep working your main gig. But start thinking about your side-hustle. We are going to have weekly meetings. So I have a little homework for you. Start brainstorming. I want to see everything you are interested in, and at least one idea for each of those interests for how you could make money with it. It doesn¡¯t have to be realistic, anything goes, just write it down. Sound good?¡± Actually, it does sound like a good idea. I nod in agreement. ¡°Any other questions before I show you to the commissary?¡± ¡°Oh, what should I call you?¡± ¡°Just call me Warden. Or Ward if you like¡­ no, no I¡¯m kidding. But seriously, we wardens tend to keep our true identities private, just to prevent any conflicts of interests.¡± ¡°Okay. There was one other thing I was wondering about. Is there anyone here who has killed someone?¡± ¡°Oh sure, but they are kept confined, you won¡¯t run into them.¡± ¡°No, but I mean, in the general population¡­ Eric made it seem like someone is here for murder?¡± ¡°Well, Dege, I¡¯m really not allowed to get into the nitty-gritty details of all that for confidentiality purposes.¡± ¡°Are you serious? You let Crenshaw look all over my information yesterday,¡± I let it slip before I realize how rude it sounds. But still, it¡¯s a valid point. The warden scoffs and is clearly annoyed, ¡°Let him? What did you expect me to do, use physical force over that? Call the guards to slam him to the ground, put him in solitary? Part of this camp you¡¯ll find, Dege-¡± it¡¯s annoying the shit out of me that he keeps using my name over and over, ¡°-is about growing up. You¡¯re young, but growing up can happen at all ages. Yes, Crenshaw still has some growing up to do. But I think you can do your part by letting the little things go.¡± In the commissary, I buy all the prison¡¯s technology so that they can spy on me. They block half the internet¨Cwell technically more than half the internet since about 60% of it is porn. I call Majorie to video chat. ¡°I swear if you come to visit, you are going to feel like it¡¯s a vacation.¡± ¡°Oh, you can have visitors?¡± She sounds shocked, but not pleasantly surprised¡­ ¡°Well just for select days. No overnight visitors.¡± ¡°That¡¯s¡­ cool,¡± she says¡­ but it doesn¡¯t sound like she thinks it¡¯s cool. ¡°If you don¡¯t want to visit I understand,¡± I say, then I start jumbling words trying to give her excuses, making sure she knows she has an out¨C ¡°No, stop, it¡¯s not you, it¡¯s none of that. I¡¯m sorry, my mind¡¯s in a weird place right now¡­¡± ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± I ask, assuming it has to do with me. A bit narcissistic I suppose. ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to say anything¡­¡± She¡¯s figuring out how to dump me. ¡°But my old boss, the one who worked for Elijah, Ben Rupert¡­¡± ¡°Yeah?¡± ¡°They found his body this morning, floating in the Gulf off the coast of Paradisia.¡± ¡°Oh my God,¡± my heart drops. It¡¯s not like I knew the guy, I only saw him twice and neither instance was particularly pleasant. One involved me being accosted by Elijah, and the other watching Ben fire Majorie after I broke Francesco¡¯s statue. But it¡¯s always strange to know that the person you saw walking around, talking, breathing, living, just a few days ago is¡­ dead. ¡°Yeah, so please don¡¯t think my mood has anything to do with you¡­ right now the investigators are calling it a likely suicide, or possible accidental drowning.¡± ¡°But you¡¯re skeptical?¡± I ask, sensing she needs to talk about it. ¡°I knew Ben pretty well¡­ you never know, but suicide would surprise me. That, and the questions the investigators were asking me. They definitely think there was foul play.¡± ¡°How can you tell?¡± ¡°Well, they showed me a video. He¡¯s staggering around drunk on the deck of some seaside penthouse downtown. Then he just climbs up on the railing and jumps. Something about the way it happens though¡­ it¡¯s just so weird. I¡¯m suspicious it¡¯s a deep fake, and I think the investigators are too.¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°Why are they asking you? Just because of the work you did for Elijah?¡± Majorie¡¯s throat tightens, ¡°Yeah, I guess they just think I would have some insight into who might be a suspect, since I did a lot of digging into people surrounding Elijah. But they¡¯re being coy, like they don¡¯t want to clue me in to what they¡¯re thinking.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Well¨C your internet is monitored isn¡¯t it? Like, the prison could watch and listen to this entire conversation if they wanted to?¡± ¡°Yeah but I don¡¯t think they would unless they had a reason.¡± ¡°Ben liked to be in the know. I mean working for a guy like Elijah, you have to have your eyes on everything. There are always people trying to screw over rich successful guys like that. Ben wasn¡¯t exactly popular with the people he excommunicated from Elijah¡¯s circle¨C or never let in in the first place. Anyway, I really can¡¯t say anything else. I already got a lawyer because of all the confidential information my job involved. I don¡¯t even know who would come after me for divulging, or not sharing, certain details.¡± ¡°Come after you, like hurt you?¡± ¡°No, I mean legally,¡± she shakes her head like it was a silly thing to ask. But I didn¡¯t think it was such a stupid question. Her ex-boss did just turn up dead.
Sleep. Work. Eat. Sleep. Work. Eat. I quickly get in the habit of spending my evenings at Eric¡¯s cabin, doing some work for him as the sun sets, and having a drink while playing a game of Chess or Parcheesi or Go. ¡°You never back out Dege. You never just call it quits when you¡¯re surrounded,¡± Eric says as he surrounds another set of my black stones. The way he says it makes me respond, ¡°That¡¯s a good thing, isn¡¯t it? Never give up, never surrender.¡± ¡°He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight.¡± ¡°Sun Tzu, The Art of War,¡± I say. ¡°Very good, you¡¯ve read it?¡± ¡°Only parts.¡± ¡°I have to say I¡¯m impressed by how familiar you are with the world of literature. Few your age are so well-read.¡± ¡°A lot of good it¡¯s done me. Reading books doesn¡¯t exactly pay well.¡± ¡°It pays dividends. But investments take time. And for real wealth of knowledge, you need a broad and diverse portfolio.¡± I get a lot of little tidbits like this from Eric. Normally I would roll my eyes, but for some reason the way Eric says it isn¡¯t cringy. He¡¯s also great for finding out more about Elba, and the people here. ¡°Hey, what¡¯s the guy¡¯s name in cabin 7?¡± Eric tenses up, ¡°Why do you ask?¡± ¡°Just felt like I¡¯ve seen him in an old family video or something.¡± Eric relaxes, ¡°Oh, ha, you guys do kind of look alike. Hey, actually¡­ yeah that¡¯s weird, his last name is Mercury too. George Mercury.¡± ¡°I knew it!¡± ¡°Well let¡¯s not jump to conclusions¡­¡± ¡°He kinda seems like an asshole.¡± ¡°He is,¡± Eric says distracted, as he looks on the board where to place his next stone. ¡°You guys don¡¯t get along?¡± Eric looks up, a bit baffled. ¡°We get along great,¡± he says, to the clack of another white stone hitting the board.
In my free time, I read up on everything I can find about what happened to Ben Rupert. They¡¯re still calling it a suicide. But Gulf Sails put together a task-force with Paradisia and brought in a third-party investigator to specialize on the case. Then there¡¯s the statement from Paradisia¡­ It¡¯s Francesco talking about if he had only seen the signs, he could have been there for Ben. In the end, it turned into a pitch for the zen relaxation of Paradisia, versus the hustle and bustle of the money-focused, individualist Gulf Sails. Francesco sure doesn¡¯t seem to mind them injecting some of that money into Paradisia for four months a year. But I suppose he would say he¡¯s just doing them a favor by cleansing their chakras or thetans or whatever. On our next video chat, I ask Majorie if she¡¯s learned anything new. ¡°The task force is trying to get its hands on all the data they can. But Ben had a two terabyte encrypted hard drive they can¡¯t access. Of course, they want my help getting in. But I didn¡¯t have access when I worked for him, let alone with all my permissions revoked.¡± ¡°Why would he need so much storage? And why wouldn¡¯t he just store it in the cloud?¡± ¡°He probably wanted to maintain physical control of it. I think that¡¯s where a lot of the data I gathered for him ended up¡­ audio, video, pictures, files.¡± ¡°Shouldn¡¯t that have gone on a company server? Wouldn¡¯t you think Elijah and others at the company would have access to that kind of stuff?¡± Majorie hesitates, ¡°I don¡¯t think Elijah knew about a lot of stuff Ben collected.¡± Then she adds, ¡°But that¡¯s the way companies work. Elijah shouldn¡¯t be micro-managing his security and intelligence.¡± ¡°Still seems strange that he wouldn¡¯t even have access to company info. I assume the investigators are talking to Elijah too?¡± Majorie sighs, ¡°Well, yeah, it was Elijah¡¯s building Ben jumped off. But they have already turned over all the footage, and access to the relevant databases. They¡¯re cooperating. Elijah actually even donated some money to the task force.¡± ¡°And they¡¯re still calling it a suicide?¡± ¡°In public yeah¡­ but they¡¯re getting ready to change that.¡± ¡°Do they have suspects?¡± I sort of feel like I¡¯m grilling her. But it¡¯s a mixture of interest and anxiety. This is all too close to Majorie for me to relax. Majorie takes a deep breath, ¡°Yeah, there was a group of guys from South-East Asia renting a room and-¡± her voice cracks, and she can¡¯t seem to get the words out. She wipes a tear and continues. ¡°Well, they just think they are connected to organized crime, and it¡¯s strange that they were in and out so quick.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I say, trying feebly to comfort her through a screen, ¡°let¡¯s talk about something else.¡±
¡°Alright Dege, looks like you earned $3,000 last month! Nice Job!¡± The warden says with annoying enthusiasm. I can¡¯t believe it¡¯s already been a month. It feels too normal here, and that worries me. On the other hand, that¡¯s the most I¡¯ve ever made in a month. Maybe this place is what I needed¡­ ¡°So then once we subtract $300 for rent, $664 at the cafeteria, $740 at the commissary, and $280 online, you have $1,016 left. Er¨Clooks like we have a little problem here,¡± the warden says with an oops sort of laugh. ¡°Looks like you¡¯re supposed to put at least $1,500 a month towards your debt if you have it. At this rate, we are looking at over two years.¡± ¡°What?!¡± I had no idea I spent that much. ¡°Can they just keep me here forever, like a slave until I pay them? ¡°Well it should have all been explained in the contract you signed. You did read it first, didn¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Umm¡­¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± the warden says, ¡°This was your first month, I¡¯m sure you won¡¯t be spending that much at the commissary every month now that you¡¯ve got your cabin all furnished with your upgrades, right?¡± ¡°Right,¡± I agree, a bit dejected. ¡°Now the thing is¡­ it looks like you¡¯ve spent a lot more of your time working, and that¡¯s why you¡¯ve made more money. That¡¯s admirable. But you¡¯ve basically topped out. You showed me a lot of great ideas a couple of weeks ago. Have you chosen a side-hustle to focus on? ¡± I cringe everytime he calls it a side-hustle. ¡°Well I think I want to start a blog about movies, cinema history. Not too many people focus on the real old ones these days. But there¡¯s so much there. It¡¯s like looking into a portal to the past. There¡¯s so much material, so much to talk about. And it¡¯s not too competitive of a niche.¡± ¡°A blog,¡± the warden repeats monotone. ¡°Alright. Well, let¡¯s see how that goes.¡±
¡°We have the same last name,¡± I say to George next time I see him working in his garden outside cabin 7. ¡°Jesus kid, we have the same last name for the same reason we have the same color skin, and the same round features.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°What am I your fuckin¡¯ history teacher?¡± I stare blankly. He sighs in aggravation, but he stops what he¡¯s doing, and leans against his gate to explain. ¡°The god of trade, Mercury. It¡¯s an adopted last name. When the United States broke apart there was an entirely new boom in the merchant class. Laborers, blue collar workers, tradespeople¨C hell, drug dealers¨C it became a lot easier for them to make a living doing small time business. Wasn¡¯t so hard to compete anymore. They moved to the least restrictive new jurisdictions. That was like a mixing pot for people of all different backgrounds. And like I told you before, it¡¯s no coincidence that that¡¯s when all the different colored people started screwing each other. Trade, kid, Trade!¡± he practically yells. ¡°Breaks down all sorts of barriers.¡± ¡°Well-¡± ¡°Bup bup bup-¡± he interrupts. ¡°That was your history lesson for the day. Next one will have to wait til the next time you come around to annoy me with more of your stupid bullshit¨C that is unless I¡¯m feeling violent. Your call on if you wanna take that risk.¡±
Work. Evening gig. Side-hustle. ¡°So how¡¯s the blog going?¡± the Warden asks when we run into each other in the cafeteria. He says it in his usual jovial tone but the whole phrase somehow reeks of an eye roll. ¡°I got 64 views last post,¡± I shrug. ¡°It was about Terminator, and why the fear of a real life Skynet was overblown¨Cwell, except for the incidents-¡± ¡°I read it. Interesting stuff Dege. Not sure if I agree with your take on how they solved the AI consciousness problem¡­ I guess I¡¯ll have to tune in for the Terminator 2 post.¡± I eat with Brenton, and am forced to listen to his take on the reality show Evolution. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen it,¡± I admit when it¡¯s clear that my nodding in agreement has run its course. ¡°Oh, man, Dege, you gotta see it! They¡¯re starting to partner up based on the characteristics they want their kids to have in the fifth generation¨C that¡¯s how long the show¡¯s been running! You should see the muscles on some of these people. And others have practically superhuman eyesight, some have made careers because of the expert sense of smell that¡¯s been bred into them. And it¡¯s all done without gene-editing, just selective breeding.¡± ¡°Who produces that?¡± I ask skeptically. ¡°Reality Quest.¡± ¡°Yeah, you know that¡¯s all bullshit right?¡± Brenton scoffs and looks at me like I have two heads, ¡°It¡¯s a reality show.¡± After the stimulating lunchtime conversation, I walk out past the lobby, where everyone is first booked into Elba. There¡¯s an airship just arriving, and I glance into the opening hatch. Elijah Braze is standing right in front of me. What the fuck is he doing here?! My heart¡¯s pumping with anxiety. I know my jaw is hanging wide open, and I can¡¯t help but stare. It has probably only been a few seconds but I feel like I have been gawking at him for way too long, unable to believe I¡¯m actually seeing what I¡¯m seeing. And before I can think to look away, he turns and makes eye contact. He looks angry. But on recognizing me, he lets out a short laugh of amusement before his face droops into a wry smile. He¡¯s being led out by guards. He¡¯s an inmate!
Ep. 6: Prison Island New Year Murder. Elijah is here awaiting trial for the premeditated murder-for-hire plot of his friend and former chief of staff, Ben Rupert. The news broke the day after he arrived here. It¡¯s the biggest story sinceI-can¡¯t-remember-when. ¡°Why would they let him come here?!¡± I practically shout. ¡°I thought they weren¡¯t supposed to allow murderers in class-three confinement!¡± I¡¯m at Eric¡¯s cabin, and tonight I insisted on the hard stuff. I¡¯m a few shots in, and cradling a mug of beer. Eric is being a good sport about it, trying to calm me down. ¡°Just remember, he¡¯s not a murderer yet. He¡¯s innocent until proven guilty.¡± I give Eric a sharp look. ¡°Itisa little strange,¡± Eric admits. ¡°It¡¯s the first I¡¯ve seen them let an accused murderer book a cabin and roam the island freely. I guess wealth does come with some perks.¡± ¡°And why does he get so much time to prepare for trial? I got less than twelve hours for mine.¡± ¡°A, they always give more time to prepare in serious cases. B, you really should have insisted on representation at your hearing. Sounds like you basically got railroaded¡­ a good lawyer would have got an extension to prepare an argument, find some good precedent, and probably could have kept you out of confinement while you paid your debt. Then again the odds were stacked against you with a guy like Francesco. But still, you probably could have got the release threshold down to five or ten grand¨C¡± ¡°Can you just let me vent?¡± I ask. But I know the truth is, he can¡¯t. He really can¡¯t help but look at things from a logical, rational perspective. That¡¯s actually why I like spending time with him. But right now, I could do without it. Eric flashes a sympathetic smile. ¡°Look, it¡¯s a big island, just avoid him.¡± ¡°He¡¯s two cabins down from me!¡± ¡°Lock your door at night.¡± ¡°I love how not getting attacked ismyproblem. Talk about blaming the victim.¡± Eric shrugs. ¡°You¡¯re right. That¡¯s not fair. And it¡¯s also the natural state of the world. Getting struck by lightning isn¡¯t fair. It¡¯s not your fault. And you don¡¯t deserve it. But you still shouldn¡¯t stand in a field during a lightning storm.¡± ¡°But-¡± I start. Eric interrupts, ¡°I know you aren¡¯t ¡®standing in a field.¡¯ But you can¡¯t reason with predators anymore than you can reason with lightning.¡± Eric gets up and fumbles around in some drawers. He drops a set of brass knuckles that thud on the wooden table.
I look at him skeptically. ¡°What? If you¡¯re actually concerned, you should be prepared to protect yourself.¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t weapons prohibited here?¡± I ask sheepishly. ¡°Yeah, and so is alcohol. Besides this isn¡¯t a weapon, it¡¯s jewelry, four rings all joined together.¡± I smirk, and pick up the knuckles. They are even heavier than I expected. They look hand pounded, like an ancient Roman cuff bracelet a warrior might wear. ¡°Where did you get these anyway? Don¡¯t they search packages?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve gone through a lot of hobbies here. This was the metalworking phase about six or seven years ago. You¡¯ve already drank out of a pounded copper mug from the same era.¡± ¡°Well thanks. I guess it can¡¯t hurt to have the option,¡± I say. And it does make me feel better. ¡°Better to have them and not need them, than need them and not have them,¡± Eric says.
On video Majorie looks tired. She has bags under her eyes, and without the usual smile she¡¯s lost her glow. I avoid the subject for a couple minutes¡­ but we both know it¡¯s coming. ¡°So, how¡¯s the new roommate?¡± She asks, forcing a smile. ¡°I was pretty shocked to see him. Do you think he did it?¡± Majorie looks away, and blows air out of her mouth in a long sigh, ¡°I don¡¯t know. I¡¯m having a tough time thinking of a motive¡­ at least one that is strong enough for murder.¡± ¡°What about the video of Ben jumping off the building,¡± I ask, ¡°They must know it was a fake if they arrested Elijah.¡± ¡°That¡¯s the thing¡­ I don¡¯t think they actually have enough evidence. Rumors have started getting out that it wasn¡¯t a suicide. The task force got pressure from Gulf Sails to clear it up. I mean it¡¯s the first murder on Gulf Sails in, what, a decade?¡± ¡°So if they could prove it was a deep fake, then they would have something solid on Elijah?¡± ¡°Well yeah, it was Elijah¡¯s people who turned over the video in the first place. So if they could prove it was faked that would at least give them another path to go down for the investigation.¡± ¡°You mean they could put pressure on his underlings to start talking?¡± Majorie shrugs, clear her throats, and says, ¡°I guess that¡¯s the theory.¡± ¡°Can you send me the video?¡± ¡°Why?¡± she asks reflexively. ¡°Well, I¡¯ve been working on something ever since you told me about the technology they use to analyze deep fakes. They look at it forensically, the files, the meta-data, down to the ones and zeros. They¡¯re trying to see if anything has been altered, added, or tweaked. But it¡¯s almost impossible to tell, that¡¯s the entire point of the deep fakes. What they should be doing is looking at the outputs.¡± ¡°Well isn¡¯tthatthe entire point of deep fakes, that the outputs look real?¡± Majorie asks. ¡°Of course, they look and sound real to humans. And everything at the chip level looks real enough to the technology analyzing it. But I had a hypothesis that when you analyze the outputs, there would be a slight difference between real and fake videos. ¡°I was rewatching some old movies to write about on my blog. The special effects used to be really bad, you can see the cuts in the film, the model cities for explosions, the impossible ninja moves, that sort of thing. But over time they got better and better. It looked almost real¡­ until the directors would go too far and start making it look fake again because their ideas outpaced the technology. ¡°It¡¯s like they were getting close to reality, never quite syncing up, and then passing back into the absurd. Then they would make the effects better and better again until they were back for another shot at the real thing. ¡°So I decided to test my hypothesis, that given enough data, there would be unique patterns for deep fakes versus real videos. I put together two databases, one with unaltered videos and one with known fakes. I coded a basic program to analyze and plot things like voice, posture, gait, movement, and just graph it out. ¡°Both of them, the real and the fake videos, look like a mess when graphed out. You get nothing from just looking at them. But when you overlay the plots, you start getting a picture of the differences. The deep fake plots aren¡¯t as tight, they are more jerky, with sharper edges, and the real ones are much smoother in general. ¡°To be fair, you would need a lot more data and a better analyzer and grapher to really build a decent program. But I asked my friend Brenton to create a random mix of ten fake and ten real videos to test. I analyzed them, and got 90% accuracy, just by comparing the two graphs with the naked eye. I¡¯m sure if I can write analyzing script I can get it even more accurate.¡± Majorie¡¯s mouth is hanging open and she¡¯s looking at me like I just seamlessly landed a triple back handspring. ¡°Dege. This is amazing. I had no idea you knew how to do all this.¡± ¡°What?¡± I laugh, ¡°No, it¡¯s all pretty basic. Anyone could have done it. The code is really rudimentary, and¨C¡± ¡°Well, no one elsediddo it. Is there any way you can send me the program? ¡°I feel like it would be a lot easier to just send me the video. It¡¯s not one nice cohesive program right now. There are a lot of moving parts I haven¡¯t uploaded to the cloud yet.¡± ¡°Yeah, hmm¡­ I just don¡¯t think I can send you the video with the prison surveillance. I don¡¯t want to overstep my bounds with the investigators.¡± ¡°If they want your help, seems like they wouldn¡¯t mind? Well anyway, let me see if I can get the program glued together a little better, and more user-friendly.¡± ¡°That would be amazing! Um¡­ in the meantime¡­ Are you looking for extra work?¡± Majorie asks. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°I have all these clients who send me video evidence. It¡¯s not like your program would hold up in arbitration or anything. But it would at least give me insight into which of my clients are sending me fake evidence, which are being tricked themselves, and who is worth my time.¡± ¡°Yeah¡­ sure, I would love to help.¡± ¡°Great,¡± she says, ¡°I have about 15 I can send you now to get started, and pay per analysis? Maybe if your program is good enough we can get you out of there much sooner,¡± she winks.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
The hair on the back of my neck pricks up a second before I hear his voice. ¡°The whole world has gone mad, Dege.¡± Elijah takes a seat on my rock wall, looking out towards the ocean. I am working out on my deck, enjoying the cooler evening hours when the sun has dipped below the island¡¯s horizon. I reach into my pocket and slip my fingers into the brass knuckles I¡¯ve been carrying around. The cold metal takes some heat out of my elevated heart rate, like a stress ball. Elijah is waiting for me to respond, but I don¡¯t. Not sure what I would say even if I wanted to. Seconds pass. Finally he looks my way. ¡°You don¡¯t believe the whole thing do you?¡± he asks, incredulously. ¡°I haven¡¯t given it much thought,¡± I lie. ¡°It¡¯s a smear, a desperate attempt to take down someone successful. It has the whole city divided. My supporters are fleeing, taking their platforms to dock at Paradisia, or elsewhere. A whole contingent linked their platforms into another community as a protest. ¡°Gulf Sails is just so desperate to take the blame for poor Ben¡¯s death off them. They are willing to send an innocent man to prison because of social pressure!¡± He keeps pausing to see if I have anything to say. Then he continues stream of consciousness style, like he¡¯s thinking out loud. ¡°But they miscalculated. That was the real breaking point. People won¡¯t put up with it! They won¡¯t. The way they handled this from the getgo just reeks of corruption. You know the chief investigator they hired has ties to competitors of mine?¡± He looks at me, expectantly, waiting for an answer. ¡°I didn¡¯t know that,¡± I say monotone, pretending not to be interested, but the truth is I am making a mental note to look into that later. ¡°Why would I murder one of my best friends?¡± He scoffs, looking back to the ocean. ¡°It is a cleverly orchestrated smear that I will be cleared of in just a matter of weeks.¡± When he says ¡°weeks¡± I swear I hear his voice crack. Elijah clears his throat. ¡°I¡¯ll let you in on a little secret,¡± Elijah says, looking back to me. ¡°Ben was being extorted by a high up Gulf Sails executive. That¡¯s why he killed himself. Don¡¯t believe me, just keep an eye on the news. It was getting out into the public, that¡¯s why they moved on me withnoevidence whatsoever, so they could get the drop on the news cycle. That¡¯s what this is all about. Apparently these days justice is whatever the public believes!¡± There¡¯s something in Elijah¡¯s eyes¡­ I think he¡¯s worried. Suppose he is lying, and this all comes crashing down on him while he¡¯s still here in pretrial detention. He realizes he¡¯s going to be confined for the rest of his life. He thinks,might as well get my kicks in while I have the opportunity. I¡¯m actually concerned under those circumstance that he might try to rape me, if he has nothing to lose. I don¡¯t know, maybe I¡¯m just freaking myself out, maybe he was just drunk and displaying a fucked up sense of humor at the club in Barracuda on Halloween. But it¡¯s boring into my mind the insanity that I even have to consider such a course of events.
¡°I brought you something,¡± I say to George. Christmas is approaching, and I was feeling the holiday spirit. I¡¯m still curious as to my connection with George, if we really are family. But another part of me just wants to break down this barrier. I hold out the bottle to him. ¡°What, some of Eric¡¯s whiskey?¡± ¡°I worked for it.¡± ¡°Well la-dee-da, why are you giving it to me?¡± ¡°I was just thinking about what you told me before¡­ how trade breaks down barriers.¡± ¡°Trade,¡± He says sternly. ¡°So it¡¯s not a gift then? Call me cynical, but as I suspect of any gift, it¡¯s not actually free, eh?¡± ¡°I¡­ well¡­ no, just¡­ maybe just, like, don¡¯t be such a hard-ass all the time?¡± ¡°Not worth it,¡± he says, and starts to head in. ¡°Wait! Fine, yes, it¡¯s not a gift. But maybe you would be willing to trade this bottle of whiskey for another history lesson?¡± ¡°You can read about it on the internet cheaper.¡± ¡°It¡¯s the analysis that¡¯s valuable¡­¡± I say. ¡°As much as I searched, I couldn¡¯t find any sources that talked about the far-reaching economic effects of interracial fucking.¡± I think I just managed to get a smirk out of him, but he hides it well, clears his throat, and puts back on his gruff look. George stares at me for a while. ¡°Alright come on, kid. It¡¯s been a while since I¡¯ve got to preach my opinions on the collapse of the USA.¡± He¡¯s still a dick to me the entire time we talk history. He makes me feel really stupid sometimes, and practically yells at me for asking apparently dumb questions. But if I look at it from a comical perspective, likeis this guy seriously this salty, I can handle it. I think the shots he keeps pouring me helps as well. Holy shit this guy can put them down. ¡°No, fuck that bullshit nation-state nostalgia,¡± he practically shouts as we are closing in on finishing the bottle. ¡°It was the same in the city-states of Machiavelli-era Italy as it is now. A shitload of small conflicts still result in far less death and destruction than the large global catastrophes that empires create!¡± I hold my hands up, ¡°I¡¯m not arguing, I was just asking a question. Seems like the big governments existed for a reason.¡± ¡°Yeah, for the same reason gangs exist. To wield power through violence! And in the process they plant some flowers and make sure no oneelsebeats you up, so stupid people can¡¯t imagine living in a flowerless, violent world.¡± George flops into his seat, and finishes the rest of the bottle. ¡°And it looks like you¡¯re all out of learning tokens,¡± he says, slamming the bottle back to the table. ¡°Kindly make your way to the exit, thank you for participating in George¡¯s history lesson.¡±
It¡¯s weird without all the festivities leading up to Christmas that typically happen living at home. It¡¯s the type of stuff that I always grudgingly took part in¡­ but now I miss. My family does come to visit on Christmas, which is really nice of them to change their plans to spend time with me. I hug my parents, and even go in for a hug with my little brother. While in the embrace, he makes sure to remind me, ¡°You¡¯re a disgrace to us all. You¡¯ve shamed the family, and brought dishonor on our house.¡± ¡°Great to see you too Raji.¡± And honestly, it is. I miss his stupid, sarcastic, peevish sense of humor. My dad opens up a little. I think he is proud that I am living on my own, entertaining guests, and working hard. The conversation takes a strange turn after the mulled wine and rum cake dessert. ¡°You really should get into spa culture, Dege. Well¡­ maybe not on a prison island.¡± ¡°It¡¯s always been a little too homoerotic for my tastes,¡± I say. ¡°Well the lab test put me somewhere between 32 and 36% homosexual. So maybe that¡¯s my outlet¡­ if you believe it¡¯s genetics.¡± ¡°Wow, that¡¯s pretty gay dad,¡± Raji says. My dad scoffs, ¡°You should see your mother¡¯s-¡± ¡°Ollie! Those results are meant to be kept private.¡± My mom scolds. ¡°I could sue you for telling them.¡± She¡¯s kind of joking, but it is technically true. And she¡¯d probably win something small. Then it¡¯s New Years 2100 and it might be the worst day of my life. I tried to talk to Majorie, but she was busy. I video chat with Craig and Dean for the first time since I asked Dean for the money to keep me out of here. I already apologized in a text for putting him in that position, and since then he¡¯s reached out every week or so. He even offered to mentor me to help me make the money quicker. They are getting ready to go out for the night, with a few other friends. They link me in to the big screen, and I get the full view of the living room, with all the festivities. It¡¯s too painful. I manage to keep up my happy appearance for a few toasts. But even though I have my drink on my side, there¡¯s an energy I can¡¯t tap into. It¡¯s just not the same being on the other side of a screen. I¡¯m exhausted after only a few minutes, using every ounce of energy to make sure I don¡¯t infect their mood with my crushing disappointment at being left out of the turn of the century festivities. I sign off quickly. This sucks. The day I have been dreaming about for my entire life, slipping away. After marinating in my own pity for a while, I head to Eric¡¯s. Then we both walk over to the main pavilion where the big party is for the night. The female prisoners from the other island are here visiting for the New Year¡¯s Eve party. And to my shock, some of them are pretty attractive. I didn¡¯t bother to go to any of the meetups when they came before. I¡¯m not sure why I assumed they would all be ugly¡­ I think I was too influenced by old movies and TV shows about prison. The post nation-state world just hasn¡¯t left its mark on popular culture as intensely yet. I suppose that¡¯s because there is less of a concerted effort to push one particular narrative. And now I realize I sound like George¡­ A young woman comes up to me and pulls me onto the dance floor without a word. She¡¯s probably about my age, and is wearing a lot of eye make-up. As we dance to something electronic sounding, I start wondering what she did to get here. Probably some kind of theft or fraud. I wonder if it was to buy drugs. I¡¯m judging her even though I¡¯m in the exact same position. When the song is over we have a conversation. After about 15 minutes of talking, I realize I haven¡¯t gotten anything out of it. I¡¯m just bored, and know a little bit more about her party-life in Florida before her asshole ex-boyfriend (read: sugar-daddy) ¡°falsely¡± (I¡¯m sure) accused her of stealing from him. She¡¯s pretty. Pretty enough that I wouldn¡¯t have hesitated to pursue her in the past. I wouldn¡¯t have cared about how mind-numbing her personality was. But now I don¡¯t want to. At first I assume it¡¯s just because of Majorie, but I don¡¯t think that¡¯s all of it. I just don¡¯t have the energy to be around someone like this for a night, even if the reward is great sex. She gets the hint as my contributions to the conversation trail off. She storms off, clearly annoyed, muttering something under her breath. ¡°I thought I was going to have to cut in for a second there,¡± Elijah says as he slides up to me, on the edge of the dance floor. He¡¯s dancing in front of me, yelling over the music. I¡¯m backed up against the kitchen counter bar, so I start to walk left but his hand shoots out to grab the counter, and block my exit. ¡°Hey man, I just want to talk,¡± He says, still gyrating to the music. ¡°I mean we¡¯re both in the same boat here.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk to you,¡± I say, moving right instead. But he¡¯s right in front of me, and I can¡¯t inch away without squeezing between him and the bar. He keeps dancing, closer and closer to me as I edge my way to the right. ¡°Look maybe we got off on the wrong foot, but I think you have the wrong idea about me.¡± ¡°Well you¡¯re reinforcing that idea right now!¡± I yell. Now I¡¯m at the end of the counter and there is a wall in my way. Elijah¡¯s is smiling but he still manages to look pissed off. He doesn¡¯t like it when he doesn¡¯t get his way. I start to push past him but his arm goes to the wall, blocking my path. I break the other way, and he grabs my arm. My other hand goes reflexively to my pocket, but I didn¡¯t bring the brass knuckles¡­ making the mistake of thinking I¡¯d be safe in public view. ¡°Didn¡¯t you notice, Dege?¡± Elijah says, smile twisting, ¡°We¡¯ve accidentally stumbled under some mistletoe¡­ and rules are rules.¡± With his free hand he grabs the back of my head to hold it in place so he can land a kiss directly on my lips. I¡¯m squirming away, but he is so fucking strong! Only when I feel him start to wriggle is tongue against my tightly pursed lips do I finally muster the strength to push him off balance enough to get out of his reach. And as I storm away, wiping his saliva off my mouth, a small crowd around us actually oohs and giggles, as if I was into it! Like me pushing him off and storming away wasn¡¯t a clear indicator that I didn¡¯t consent to that. ¡°Oh, I get it now,¡± the girl I was dancing with cackles as I leave the pavilion Eric is out there smoking a cigar with Brenton and Crenshaw, and stops me when he sees my face. ¡°This guy is so fucked up! A god-damn psychopath,¡± I vent to them after telling them what happened. I can barely get the words out straight, I¡¯m still shaking with rage and embarrassment. ¡°Just hang with us,¡± Crenshaw says, ¡°If that motherfucker comes near you again I¡¯ll make sure his face can¡¯t be used to sell anything but reconstructive surgery.¡± And Crenshaw is big enough to fulfill that promise. He might not have the cut muscles of Elijah, but he is massive, and got his training street boxing. Luckily (or unfortunately as I started imaging watching Crenshaw deliver a beatdown) I don¡¯t see Elijah for the rest of the night. And as midnight rolls around, I cheers Happy New Years with a few other cons, as fireworks blast in the distance, over the Gulf. These ones are for us. A weak show by most standards, but at least we got any at all. But as our short display of explosions ends, another fireworks show continues somewhere in the distance. The explosions are so large and powerful that they mimic the rising sun on the horizon. A few seconds later the low booms follow. It must be miles away. It¡¯s not Barracuda, I know that, Barracuda is too far. But it might as well be. There¡¯s someone, lots of someones, having fun out there. On their yachts or on their platforms. With family or friends. Kissing the girl or boy they love. And then there¡¯s me. Here. Watching from the outside. Just catching the outer susserations of their party. Whatever is extra. The bursts of lights and booms they don¡¯t need that spill out over the ocean, and roll along it for miles. They force you into it, force you to not quite take part, but be well aware of what you¡¯re not involved in. Just listen, watch, know there is someone out there who isn¡¯t you getting the full benefit of those fireworks. The champagne, the songs, the drunkenness, the camaraderie. I wonder who the guys are kissing. What if Majorie is kissing someone? ¡°Stop it kid,¡± Eric¡¯s voice breaks my trance. ¡°I can see what you¡¯re doing.¡± I know he knows¨C if not the exact thing I was thinking, at least the rumination of things I can¡¯t change. It does make me feel a fraction of a bit better¨C the validation that someone else sees what¡¯s going on for me. I manage a wry smile, nod to thank Eric, and turn back to the fireworks. I¡¯ll try to be stoic, and not bring down the mood for our prison island New Year.
Ep. 7: Freedom and Innocence (Season Finale) Elijah was telling the truth. Or at least part of it. A Gulf Sails Board Member, Ander Dion, is suspected of extorting Ben Rupert before Ben died. As soon as the new year hit, news broke. Then it came out that Dion had influenced the decision to hire the third-party investigator who urged the arrest of Elijah Braze. And like Elijah said, the investigator did have asmallconflict of interest. He owns about $25,000 worth of shares of a competing real estate company in Gulf Sails. Elijah is clearly a sexual predator. But maybe he¡¯s not a murderer. Never-the-less, he¡¯s still here on the island. (And I¡¯ve woken up in a cold sweat more than once, after nightmares I don¡¯t want to repeat.) The investigator was fired, and the joint Gulf Sails/ Paradisia task force brought on someone new who in addition to investigating the death of Ben Rupert is now looking into the last investigator, and Dion. Ander Dion resigned his position on the board, but says it was just because he would be a distraction. He says the decision to hire the investigator was based on merit, and that the conflict of interest is a small one, almost impossible to avoid given the number of industries Elijah is involved in. He claims he is innocent of everything, including extortion of Ben Rupert, and that the media is just spinning the facts to make him look bad. Plus, the revitalized task force insists it still has enough evidence to convict Elijah. Francesco, the leader of Paradisia where Gulf Sails is docked, says that he can¡¯t trust Gulf Sails anymore and insists they leave port within a week. Gulf Sails will be leaving a number of platforms behind, people who defected and will now stay docked at Paradisia permanently. ¡°It¡¯s like a ghost town,¡± Majorie tells me when I finally wish her a happy New Year on January 3rd. ¡°So many people have left. Like, a quarter of the platform slots are empty. It looks so weird. Remember that club out on the northwest spoke, Giorgio¡¯s? Not a dance club, the bar and restaurant. It also had a marketplace, and hosted events.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I say, ¡°my family used to go there when we felt like slumming it for seafood.¡± ¡°Ohhhkay. Mine went when we wanted to indulge.¡± I feel my face getting a little pink with embarrassment. ¡°Anyway,¡± Majorie continues, ¡°They left, and took the whole neighborhood with them. Giorgio¡¯s platform is the center of a new, like, 20 or 25 platform community. And some of the platforms were apartment complexes, so there are like 1,500 people just from that one incident who just floated away.¡± ¡°That¡¯s crazy, but I guess I can¡¯t say I¡¯m surprised. Wasn¡¯t that neighborhood full of the fringe type? They always had the dumbest complaints at community meetings.¡± Majorie laughs, ¡°That¡¯s true, I remember them complaining that they always kept that side of the island pointed north, so they never got the good sunsets or sunrises.¡± ¡°Yeah I remember the CEO was like,uh, doesn¡¯t it say that in your contract? That¡¯s why it was cheaper¡­ And they always wanted to veto neighboring platforms if they didn¡¯t like the business or the style.¡± ¡°Still they had a sort of appeal to them, like a fisherman village feel mixed with Meditaranean port. I loved walking through there on the weekend, when they¡¯d have street markets. People selling home grown veggies and homemade crafts. I kinda want to go visit the place in a few months¡­ see what it¡¯s like on its own.¡± I smile, but can¡¯t think of much to say. My heart sinks at the thought of her going off on an adventure in a couple months without me. ¡°So I¡¯ve been getting great results from your analysis,¡± she says with pep, changing the subject. She¡¯s talking about the program I made to analyze videos against a cache of deep fakes versus real clips, to see if the patterns match up. She says, ¡°I¡¯m already making more money just knowing who and what evidence not to waste my time on. And it¡¯s so much easier to find corroborating evidence that it was manufactured if I already know it in the first place. Seriously, definitely worth the money I¡¯m paying.¡± ¡°That¡¯s great! Well definitely keep them coming. Glad I¡¯m helping.¡± ¡°How¡¯s work on the interface? Can you send me the tool yet?¡± she asks, once again. ¡°I¡¯ve still got a couple snags to figure out,¡± I say. But the truth is, I could probably let her use it now. There would be a couple issues I¡¯d have to work with her on ironing out. But the real reason I don¡¯t want to send it, is because, well, it¡¯smine. Once I let go of the tool, I¡¯m not that much use to her anymore, she could just analyze her own videos. And I know that probably sounds horrible, but what am I supposed to do, just give away something I poured all that work into it, which is now making me money I need to get off the prison island? I doubt she would mind if I brought up some kind of licensing, but I just don¡¯t know how to navigate that, what to charge, how to make sure it doesn¡¯t just get out without me getting something from it. Maybe I should just release it as a free tool online, and make money from website traffic. ¡°I could help you fine tune it,¡± Majorie suggests, ¡°After all, Iamyour first user, and successful test case,¡± she winks. ¡°It won¡¯t be long,¡± I promise. ¡°It definitely has a lot of potential beyond just me using it too. Imagine if we could work together to get it recognized to use in official settings. Then you¡¯d be makingbaaank. But that¡¯s a ways off. I¡¯m sure you¡¯d have to have studies done, and get it reviewed by experts¡­¡± ¡°Sounds exhausting,¡± I say. On the next batch of videos she sends me, there¡¯s a strange one in there.
It¡¯s a video of Elijah Braze, meeting with two guys. They aren¡¯t wearing any anti-facial recognition glasses or anything, and can be easily identified. They¡¯re gang members. I remember that Majorie mentioned gang members had stayed at the hotel during the time that Ben killed himself, and were suspected of being hired by Elijah to kill Ben. You can even make out some of the conversation. So this seems to be the damning piece of evidence the task force has on Elijah. But when I analyze it with my system, the video is a deep fake. Elijah never met with the gang members¨Cat least not in this video. ¡°Hey you didn¡¯t tell me you were sending a video related to the Ben Rupert case,¡± I say, next time I chat with Majorie. ¡°Wait, which video?¡± she asks, sounding shocked. I explain. ¡°Oh, I¡­ I must have sent that by accident.¡± ¡°Where did it come from?¡± ¡°It was just another piece of evidence the investigators sent me.¡± ¡°Well do you know where they got it?¡± ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t know. I guess it would be from the security system of whatever restaurant they were meeting at.¡± ¡°Well, you¡¯re going to want to tell the investigators that whoever they got it from is a suspect. The video¡¯s a deep fake.¡± ¡°Oh, wow. That¡¯s crazy, I will definitely tell them. Thanks for letting me know! Glad I accidentally sent it to you.¡± ¡°Yeah, but there¡¯s still the main video of Ben¡¯s suicide I haven¡¯t had the chance to analyze. That could confirm, at least, whether or not it was a suicide.¡± ¡°That¡¯s true. Hey, I¡¯m sorry, I gotta run, something just came up for work, I¡¯ll talk to you soon,¡± and Majorie signs off. It doesn¡¯t add up. Someone is trying to frame Elijah for Ben Rupert¡¯s death, whether or not it was an actual suicide. And I¡¯m still trying to figure out how the Gulf Sails Board Member, Ander Dion, fits in. Even if it was a suicide, caused by the Board Member extorting Ben, why would he go to such lengths to make it look like a murder? I doubt they would try to somehow prosecute him for a suicide. And blaming Elijah for the death doesn¡¯t cover up evidence of extortion. So then the whole thing would have to be aimed at Elijah. Maybe it¡¯s something to do with Elijah¡¯s sizeable stake in Gulf Sails? As the weeks wear on, little more happens with the Ben Rupert investigation. The investigators maintain that they are sorting everything out, and preparing to try Elijah for the crime. Gulf Sails¡¯ reputation hasn¡¯t recovered. The island sailed to Lapachicola early, soon after Francesco kicked them out of Paradisia.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. And Francesco still maintains that Elijah is being falsely prosecuted. In fact, he¡¯s the main relentless voice hammering away at Gulf Sails for being corrupt. And Gulf Sails doesn¡¯t have any one, singular cult-personality to counter his voice. Elijah was the biggest personality on the island, had the most celebrity. And the Gulf Sails CEO just isn¡¯t a showy guy. So right now, Francesco is winning the battle of public opinion. I didn¡¯t get it at first, why Francesco would want to part ways with one of Paradisia¡¯s biggest money makers of the year. But seeing the results now, it¡¯s starting to make sense. He keeps preaching that Gulf Sails is greedy and toxic, and that people need a simpler, less money-focused way of life. They can opt-out of the rat race by living in (or off the coast of) Paradisia. His numbers are swelling, and he doesn¡¯t need to rely on Gulf Sails anymore to subsidize his society. Now it¡¯s stand-alone, with less counterparty risk, and his power has increased.
A few weeks after the New Year Crenshaw pulls me aside and asks if I¡¯ve had any more trouble with Elijah. ¡°No, I¡¯ve barely seen him since New Years¡¯, he doesn¡¯t even look my way.¡± ¡°Good,¡± Crenshaw says, ¡°I didn¡¯t want to have to extend my sentence here. But I would have.¡± When I ask Eric about this later, he tells me how Crenshaw put the fear of god in Elijah one day when they ran into each other on the main path. I would have loved to see how the blood drained from his face, and how that cocky posture deflated for a few moments. But hearing Eric describe the cowering apologies is almost as satisfying. Never thought I¡¯d make such good friends in prison. Unfortunately, that night I still wake up with a start from another nightmare about Elijah preying on me. I¡¯ve taken to sleeping with the brass knuckles on my fingers.
By early February, my conversations with Majorie are finally drifting away from being consumed by Ben Rupert¡¯s murder, or suicide, or whatever it was. She¡¯s got a little more of her glow back, but I can tell there¡¯s still anxiety in the back of her mind. ¡°Hey, remember how you mentioned wanting to check out that new neighborhood that floated away. The one centered around Giorgio¡¯s?¡± I ask Majorie. ¡°Yeah, they¡¯re growing too, I think they¡¯re calling it New Sicily. What about it?¡± ¡°If you wait until this summer,¡± I say, ¡°Maybe I can join you.¡± She¡¯s surprised, and the first honest smile that I¡¯ve seen in months breaks out on her face. ¡°Really? Things are going that well?¡± ¡°Yeah, I paid down seven grand of the debt in January. At this rate, I could be out in May.¡± ¡°That¡¯s amazing, it can¡¯t all be from analyzing the videos for me though, right? What are you doing? Did the blog take off?¡± she laughs, before catching herself, and smiling in a guilty way. ¡°Ha, no. Actually, you remember Dean? He¡¯s been giving me business coaching. I started outsourcing a lot of my bug-catching job to people in places where labor is worth about half as much. And even though they are only making half as much as me, compared to their cost of living, it¡¯s like twice as much where they live.¡± ¡°Very cool,¡± Majorie says. ¡°You¡¯re almost running a charity.¡± ¡°Are you being sarcastic?¡± She laughs, ¡°I¡¯m only joking, itisgood. It¡¯s a great way to spread the wealth around the world, really, teach a man to fish, and all that.¡± ¡°Yeah, and it gives me more time to focus on building out the deep fake tool.¡± I stop short realizing she¡¯s still waiting for me to send her the program. And a bit of an awkward silence commences until she says mechanically, ¡°How¡¯s that going?¡± ¡°Oh, it¡¯s kinda still a mess,¡± I say. ¡°It was easy enough for me to put it together so I can understand it. I know code enough to get the results I want, but not the interface side, how to make it easy for the user.¡± ¡°Well we¡¯ll have to work on it together once you get off the island. The task force already put together their case against Elijah. They decided the suicide video was fake, but I¡¯m not sure how they are going to present it at his trial.¡± ¡°So they still have their sights set on Elijah? I gotta be honest, I don¡¯t think he did it. If someone took the time to fake a video of him meeting with the hitmen¡­ kinda seems like he¡¯s being framed. I mean you have more experience than me with investigations¡­¡± I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m defending the guy¡­ Majorie shrugs, ¡°The investigators cut me out of the loop a few weeks ago. I guess they got all they needed from me.¡±
Work. Work. Work. A month passes in a snap. On my birthday, March second, Eric invites me over for a low key celebration. Crenshaw and Brenton are there, waiting with a toast to yell ¡°Surprise!¡± (Not that I¡¯m too surprised¡­ I assumed they¡¯d be there for poker as usual.) ¡°You know, 21st birthdays used to be a big deal,¡± Eric says to me, ¡°Time for you to have your first alcoholic beverage.¡± Crenshaw and Brenton laugh. Looks like they may have started the festivities a little early. ¡°You remember that, old man? Going to yah first bah on yah 21st?¡± Crenshaw says, his New England accent even thicker from the booze. Eric smiles, ¡°I¡¯m not that old. Being born in the New Dark ages meant I was going to bars by the time I was 11. Maybe I went to my first real bar around 21 though¡­ by then things were rebounding. There were actual commercial establishments available to people who weren¡¯t elites.¡± ¡°And we wouldn¡¯t be 50 fuckin¡¯ years behind,¡± I hear another voice break in, ¡°If people hadn¡¯t let the politicians destroy society.¡± It¡¯s George. I look on in disbelief. Is he here for my birthday? ¡°Ah, gawd, here we go, Mr. Anti-establishment has arrived,¡± Crenshaw says, nudging Brenton. ¡°Oh just wait til you see¨Cor rather hear¨Cthe present I brought with me for the birthday boy here,¡± George says, just barely acknowledging me. ¡°Kid loves history. So I came well prepared to give him my insights on growing up in The Kingdom during reconstruction.¡± And learn about The Kingdom I do. In fact I get much more than I bargained for. It starts innocent enough. A basic¨Calbeit condescending¨Coverview of The Kingdom while we all play poker. How it was started by a large farming family in Georgia in the wake of the collapse. How they held everything together by keeping the area safe enough to grow food, keeping people fed enough to not go entirely crazy. But by the time George was born two or three decades later in the late 2050s, The Kingdom was a full fledged government. Technically a monarchy, although it was run more like a business. And it sounds to me like there was a little bit of feudalism mixed in there too. But apparently, according to George, they still had the ¡°Puritanical Judeo-Christian tendency to legislate morality.¡± And that¡¯s where things fall apart. Mind you, by this point it had been a couple hours, and a few bottles of moonshine later. Eric had taken all our chips, demolishing us in Texas Hold-em. The history lesson culminated in George drunkenly opening up¨Cif you can even call it that¨Cabout what exactly got him landed on a prison island with a life sentence for murder. ¡°And those god-damn sons of bitches wouldn¡¯t just let my wife die in a humane way. I had to do it myself!¡± He sobs, ¡°I had to do it for her, she was so weak, she begged me, she begged me to take away the pain! And I had to do it with the tools I had available because they wouldn¡¯t let me, let us, have the simple fucking medicine we needed! They had it right there. They used it to execute murderers, but when it came to a sweet gentle woman who just wanted to move on from her disease, they wouldn¡¯t¡­ they just couldn¡¯t¡­¡± George is grasping for words, exasperated, practically gasping for breath, now just bawling with his head in his arms on the table. Crenshaw, Brenton, and I are just frozen in shock, sobered up pretty quick. We meet Eric¡¯s somber gaze, and he signals us to leave with a flick of his hand. We happily oblige.
One day I see Elijah as I make my way to the cafeteria. I¡¯ve been pretty good about avoiding him. But now he has his bags with him in the lobby where the airships land. And as usual, I¡¯m caught staring in disbelief, trying to interpret what it all means. ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Elijah says with a smirk, ¡°I¡¯m out of here. Like I said, my innocence would be proven. How sad in this day and age that you have to prove your innocence. But don¡¯t worry. My replacement will be here soon.¡± He winks at me as he boards the airship. What does that mean? Did they charge Dion instead? I haven¡¯t seen anything about this in the news. But the next day it hits, the big headlines that the charges are dropped against Elijah, and the investigators are preparing to charge someone else. But they haven¡¯t announced who, pending the arrest. It¡¯s really a weight off my shoulders, Elijah being gone. The bad dreams go away, and I can finally sleep easy. And around the same time, I realize the money I just made will reach the threshold to get me off the island by mid April. I never honestly thought I could become this successful, let alone in under six months. I owe a lot to Dean¡¯s guidance, but also the focus provided by the prison island. And of course the incentive to pay off enough of my debt so I can leave. ¡°Well it wasn¡¯t the blog, was it?¡± The warden laughs. God he¡¯s annoying. I just give him the raised eyebrows and a smirk. But when I think about it, if it weren¡¯t for the movie blog, I might have never thought about how to detect deep fakes: using the database of video clips. ¡°Hey Dege, if it¡¯s okay, I¡¯d love to get permission for Elba to contact you after you leave. You¡¯re a pretty big success story¡­ it¡¯s not too often that someone becomes as productive a member of society in as short a time. We¡¯d love a testimony, but I¡¯d say there¡¯s an opportunity for even more. I mentioned it to the higher ups, some sort of promotional deal¡­¡± ¡°Oh, really? Well yeah, you can contact me for sure. I¡¯ll have to think about the rest.¡± I imagine myself being the poster boy for a prison camp¡­ not sure if that¡¯s the image I¡¯d want out there. Not that I could hide this episode in my life from anyone who bothered to look into it. ¡°Of course, and I¡¯ll get in touch with more specifics. It¡¯s been a joy having you here Dege, but don¡¯t come back!¡± He laughs. I can¡¯t believe that I¡¯m actually getting out of here this soon. It still hasn¡¯t sunk in that I¡¯ve paid my debt off in just six months when I thought it would take two years. And now, I¡¯m actually making good money, I feel empowered, independent, useful, important. The hardest part is saying goodbye to Eric. ¡°It¡¯s days like today I question my sanity,¡± he chuckles, ¡°living on a prison island¡­¡± ¡°Well you can leave for vacations if you want, can¡¯t you? Take a break and come back.¡± ¡°I suppose I could. But I haven¡¯t left this island in 25 years. Just been boycotting the real world. I don¡¯t know what I would do with myself. I guess I¡¯m just an old man stuck in my ways now,¡± he shrugs. ¡°Then I¡¯ll come back and visit you,¡± I say confidently. ¡°I appreciate that Dege,¡± he says with sad eyes, ¡°But I don¡¯t want you to beat yourself up about it if you never seem to find the time.¡± I scoff, ¡°Come on Eric, of course I¡¯ll be able to find the time.¡± He pats me on the back, ¡°Rodigio, it¡¯s been great spending time with you these last few months. I don¡¯t think my evening conversations will be quite as intellectually stimulating without you.¡± I¡¯d never really thought of myself as intellectual before. As I¡¯m walking down, with my things all packed, I pass George¡¯s cabin. He¡¯s outside, as usual, working in the garden. He stands up and walks over to his wall and looks at me. I stop. Stand. Stare. Wait. ¡°We¡¯re cousins,¡± he says. ¡°Your dad and I are cousins.¡± Then he turns around and resumes what he was doing. I just laugh. ¡°Hey, I might still hit you up online for another history lesson,¡± I say. ¡°At your own peril,¡± he replies, without looking up. Down by the docks, I see the airship approaching from the bay. I look around, and breathe in the air, taking in the beauty of the shimmering green hillside. I still can¡¯t believe this is what a prison island looks like. There¡¯s a salty breeze, and the soft sound of water lapping at the shore. And those birds¡­ I never did figure out what kind they are, or where they came from. I board the airship that will take me off the island. To my shock, Majorie is on board! I¡¯m baffled. She came all this way just to fly back with me? But no¡­ She¡¯s sitting in the prisoner section. She¡¯s waiting to be transported to the women¡¯s prison island en route to drop me back off at Gulf Sails. ¡°I didn¡¯t know how to tell you,¡± she says, her eyes dissolving into tears. ¡°But it¡¯s not what you¡¯ll hear. Believe me, it¡¯s not what they¡¯ll say about me!¡± ¡°What is it? I don¡¯t understand.¡± But amid the sinking feeling in my chest, I¡¯m starting to make sense of it. ¡°Rodigio, you¡¯ve got to listen to me, and believe me. Whatever part I played in this murder was entirely by accident. I helped them, but I didn¡¯t know what I was doing. They used me!¡± She breaks down in tears. I want to comfort her for the remainder of the short flight, but they force me to sit in the visitor section, since I¡¯m no longer a prisoner. All I can do is watch her cry from a distance. And think about what this means. The realizations are washing over me. The deep fakes. My analysis tool.The ¡°suicide¡±¡­ Touch down. Doors open. Eyes meet. As the guards lead Majorie off, I run after her. She turns and reaches for me. But we¡¯re torn apart.