Corinth 2642 AD

I’D NEVER SEEN A WHITE PERSON before. Not in real life, anyway. My brothers and I had seen plenty of old movies and television shows from the Millennial Era on our parents’ Holoscreen. They were aficionados of old movies and television shows in which most of the actors were white people. So dinnertime at our household usually meant cozying up in front of our holographic home theatre with the lights down, watching an old movie from their extensive collection. That was my only point of reference for what Caucasians looked and sounded like.

I had read somewhere that there were only a few thousand Caucasians still left in the world. Nobody knew where they were or if they were still alive after all these years in isolation. But now there was living proof standing in my living room, frowning at me like I was the strange one.

The first thing that struck me about him was his eyes. His dark brown irises were wrapped by a light gray-blue circle on the outer rim—the ultimate sign of bodily decay, my mother used to say. At first, I thought he was just a really pale person.

It’s not that uncommon for people with mixed heritage to have traditional Caucasian features. Genetics is like rolling dice; you never know what you’ll end up with.

But there was something about the way this old man carried himself. Maybe it was the haughty disdain on his face that gave it away.

“I’m looking for James Matoo,” he said, looking like he’d swallowed a glass of sour milk as soon as I opened my front door.

The old man stood out like a sore thumb, and not just because he was whiter than snow. He looked frail, and the wrinkles on his skin looked closely pinched together. Light from the porch reflected off his thin, silvery hair. Still, there was something rather opulent about him. It was probably his clothes, I decided. The man was dressed immaculately in a three-piece suit and a real silk tie, and his leather shoes were polished perfectly. A gold scale tipped unequally, like the sort Lady Justice carries, was pinned over his lapel. It was the sort of outfit you’d see in a museum. They didn’t come cheap, and they weren’t easy to find. The closest thing that came to vintage these days was my old 3D printer that took three long days just to create a simple white shirt. Practically a dinosaur considering what the newest models could do.

“You found him,” I said, gesturing for him to come inside. “I hope you don’t mind my dropping by your home. I was afraid of drawing unnecessary attention to your office.”

Of course I minded. This was my home, my sanctuary. This place was my way of keeping my work separate from my personal life. This was where I’d spent the last few days grieving and coming to terms with the latest tragedy to hit my family.

I started to complain but closed my mouth. There was something frail about this old man, and I needed the clients, anyway. Ever since I’d been kicked out of the SFPD Special Investigation Unit for punching my commanding officer in the face, I didn’t have the luxury of picking and choosing the most exciting cases. Plus, I was desperate for anything—anything to distract me from this searing pain.

“My name is Julius Bull,” he introduced himself, inspecting my modest living room like he was afraid to touch anything.

I didn’t have much in the way of furniture or décor, and housekeeping wasn’t on top of my to-do list recently either, but what this place lacked in interior décor, it more than made up for in character. The bright airy windows, the intricately patterned mosaic tile in the fireplace, and the hardwood floors were original to the building, but most importantly, this was the place my brothers and I had spent most of our summer holidays raising hell. I could practically imagine our younger selves rolling our eyes at Bull’s disdain for the place we loved most.

This apartment had belonged to my grandparents back when they lived in San Francisco. Back then they had the most beautiful view of the Golden Gate Bridge and the city. That was before the water levels rose and most of the city went under. Our neighborhood in Telegraph Hill was one of the few places to survive. Some days when the tide was low, I could see the two red towers of the bridge peeking through the water on either side. That was if Karl, the fog, wasn’t blinding the city.

“It’s nice to meet you, Julius.” I closed the front door and offered the stranger my hand. “You can call me Jimmy.”

In response, his brown-blue eyes widened in surprise. Bull looked at my outstretched hand like I’d just handed him a bomb. “Oh, I have a cold.” He shuddered, straightening his tie instead. Irritation swirled through my body. “I live in San Francisco,” I insisted and stepped closer to him. “Everything here is covered in germs already.”

Whoever he was, he was on my turf. He had sought me out. That look of desperation on his face told me enough: he needed me. Bull’s eyes met mine for just a fraction of a second before he relented and slowly stuck his right hand out. I grabbed his wrinkly palm with mine and gave it a firm shake for a good three seconds. When I released his cold palm, he immediately placed it on his chest.

“So what can I do for you?” I asked, motioning for him to join me on the couch.

Bull followed me to the living room. “I need someone discreet, someone with your background and training, to help me with a problem.” Bull’s reply was quick.

“Uh-huh. And how’d you find me? There are dozens of first-rate private investigators in the city.”

A small smile appeared on Bull’s face. “Oh, your former colleague Rahul Vera helped me track you down. He agreed you were the best person for the job.”

Rahul Vera? My eyebrows knitted together. Vera was the commanding officer whose face had met my fist. It seemed odd that he would recommend me for anything. “He did, huh?”

Bull nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, he told me you might be able to help me with this.” That’s when he pulled out something small and white from his breast pocket and handed it to me.

I knew as soon as I took it from him that it was a piece of paper. It felt weird against my skin. So smooth and thin. Perfectly opaque. My fingers ran over the razor-sharp edges of the letter. It was not the recycled plastic you’d normally find in online stores. This was real paper, made from real wood, that undoubtedly came from an actual notebook. It was even weirder to see the words on it this way. The handwriting on this piece of paper was elegant. It was neat and cursive, written in dark blue ink.

Tuesday, Jul y 11, 2642

Mom, Da d,

Moth er Na t u re is spitef ul, isn't sh e? Alway s pic king an d cho sin g who liv es and who di es. Natural selection? Our position as the dominant species of this planet is well - deserved . We were thriving , conquering thought a b out all the things you’re forcing me to do? The life you’re shoving down my throat? H av e you ever stopped to consider that I may not be able to liv e in this prison? My guess is no . Because if you did, even for just a tee n y - tin y second, you wouldn’t force this f ate on me , nor would you le t so me one like Hexum bully us .

The re a re ma n y o f us (you’d be sur pr ised how ma n y) in Corinth who do no t sha re your belie fs . And we hav e no inte ntion o f going through lif e a s no thing mo re tha n the ba b y -making ma chines you’d like us to be . You think we’re sur v iv o rs, but what we reall y a re is stu ck .

S tu ck in the pa st — our colonies a re froze n itime , a nd I wa nt to mo v e forwa rd .   I ne ed to . My s a nit y de pe nds on it .

Mo m ,D ad,wholeciv ilizationshav egone ex tin ct — usuall y at the ha nds o f our a n cesto rs! And, ev e r y thing a nd ev e r yone outside this colon y . All tho se what you’re making me do . I w on’ t do what Is aa c did .

I just ca n’ t .

And that is wh y I a m leav ing you, ev e n though it hur ts — I know this is the best thing I will ev e r do fo r myself . As long a s I liv e he re , I ’ll nev e r be free to be myself, a nd I will die if I ca nno t be who I wa s mea nt to be .

I des pe ratel y wish things w e re dif f e re nt , that you w e re dif f e re nt . B ut I nev e r on ce wished that I wa s dif f e re nt .

To my big b ro the r a nd lit tle siste r— whe rev e r I a m , whe rev e r I go, I will miss you a nd think o f you ev e r y da y o f my life . All I ask now is that you be brave and stand up for what you believe in .

Lo v e , always and forever, 

 Ca ra.

I folded the letter back to its original folds and handed it back to the elderly man standing in front of me.

“Who wrote this?” I asked. “Your daughter?”

Bull sighed heavily. “My granddaughter.” He grimaced. “She is an exceptionally bright girl but also terribly stupid.” He shook his delicate head in disapproval. “About to turn eighteen next week. As you can tell from the note, Mr. Matoo, Cara ran away four days ago.”

My chest contracted painfully. Fresh anguish snaked across a briar patch of familiar old wounds, choking my heart all over again. “Did you say four days ago?” That’s a lifetime.

Bull narrowed his eyes. “Yes, four days ago. Her parents are”—he paused—“distraught. And we need you to find her as quickly as you can and bring her back to us.”       “Have you already alerted the local authorities?”

“No, of course not,” he scoffed like it was obvious. “Besides, I am the local authority.” He straightened his jacket and sniffed. “In any case, her fiancé would be most upset. Their wedding is in a week, and I’d like you to find her before he—or anybody else—realizes she’s missing.”

“And why is that?” I frowned. “I would think you’d want everyone you know to be out there looking for her.”

Bull took a seat on the chair across from me and crossed his legs. “I’d rather not get into the politics of it right now. Though I will say that things are a bit complicated on the home front, and I fear Cara’s disappearance will only add fuel to the fire.”

“Why did you wait so long to ask for help, then?” I asked, trying hard to keep my voice even. “The chance of finding a missing kid dramatically decreases after the first twenty-four hours. She could be anywhere right now. Off-planet, even.”

“I doubt Cara is that resourceful. Anyway, we were hoping she would change her mind and return. Teenagers can be so fickle, after all,” Bull said, shaking his head slowly. “When she didn’t come home the next day, we went looking for her. Discreetly, of course. But,” he sighed, “we found nothing.”

Cara would not be the first bride in history to get cold feet, but nothing in her letter suggested she had a secret lover. My Auge—a surgically implanted, highly advanced version of the contact lens that did a whole lot more than correct eyesight— pulled up an image I had snapped of Cara’s letter before I returned the original to her grandfather.

The text was holographically projected over my irises, and I skimmed through the letter again. There was no mention of a fiancé or anything romantic. Words like colony, monsters, and extinct jumped out at me.

“Tell me about this colony.”

Bull gazed out the window—it was another overcast San Francisco day. Shadows as dark as the fog rolling through the city crisscrossed over his pale face. “All right, yes,” he said reluctantly. “What I am about to tell you, Mr. Matoo, is strictly confidential. There are few people in your government, and fewer outside it, who know of our existence. Our privacy is what keeps us alive. You understand?”

I shook my head. “No, I can’t say that I do.”

Bull looked at me with impatience. “Listen to me: the only people in Corinth who know about this letter, about me being here, are my flesh and blood. I can’t trust anybody else. If they found out...”

The old man shuddered. “The colonies are our home. There are seven in total, spread across the country, and I am their leader. Cara and her siblings were raised in Corinth, Oregon. It is a place where we are free to be”—Bull hesitated—“us.” He shifted, obviously uncomfortable. “You see, a long time ago, when multiethnicity was becoming the norm all over the world, my ancestors knew they needed to safeguard future generations from...”

“Becoming like me?” I could barely hide the disdain in my voice.

Bull looked at me defiantly. “Yes. Yes, from becoming like you. And I make no apologies for it.” Bull carefully and deliberately studied my face. His bony features accentuated what could only be described as revulsion. “A long time ago, before you were even a thought, we decided that for our people to flourish and stay true to our roots, we needed to build a home far away from the temptations of this world.” Bull leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clenching his palms tightly. “We’ve had to make a lot of sacrifices to build our colonies over the years, but I believe that in the end, we will prevail. We have to.”

“So, when you say, ‘away from the temptations of your world’...” My voice trailed off.

“My people live a quiet life, Mr. Matoo.” Bull’s voice was sharp and crisp. “They are kept safe, cared for, and given every comfort in the world. They have no need for anything outside our walls.”

The words sank in slowly and painfully. So the rumors were true after all. Bull and his people were the isolationists I’d heard about. They wanted a racially pure world. The way it was centuries ago when people identified themselves by their race and isolated themselves from new cultures and experiences.

Looking at Bull, I couldn’t help but wonder why he would ever want to live in a world where somebody else was treated as a minority. Surely, he must know how hard and unfair life could be now that he was on the other side of the fence.

The word minority rolled uncomfortably around in my head. The concept was so alien these days when most people could trace their family tree—starting with their grandparents— back to at least four different countries. I couldn’t explain how diverse my own family was if I tried.

My dreaded high school history lessons came back in a flash. When globalization was at its peak in the twenty-first century, racial diversity was on the rise across the world. Just before the war broke out, the population of the Earth was divided into neat little clusters. The Caucasians made up for only twenty percent of the global population. That means that there were about the same number of Chinese people as there were white people in the world. But toward the end of the century, India surpassed China to become the most populous nation in the world—meaning Indians, or those of Indian origin, accounted for thirty percent of the population while the Africans took third place with twenty-five percent.

I always had a hard time remembering those numbers, but the next part was the easy bit. Everyone knew that part. After the Millennial War ended, taking millions upon millions of lives with it, there was a massive baby boom—which was normal after any major conflict. But this time, those little babies set the stage for this brave new world Bull and I were living in.

By the time my great-grandparents were born, the metamorphosis of the human race was complete. People no longer identified themselves by ethnicity. We were no longer Black, White, Asian, Hispanic, or biracial. We had become a beautiful multiracial generation. A generation that came to be known as One World.

Bull’s hawkish eyes bore into my skull. I flinched. “So you’re a modern-day fascist.”

Bull stood up abruptly. “How dare you!” he screamed. It was not hard to see the person he had been in his youth—

someone full of strength and energy, always ready for a fight. 

“We are survivors against this disease you call One World!”

That was the first time I’ve ever heard anyone call us—

me—a disease before. I would be lying if I said it didn’t sting a little. But I didn’t react to Bull’s jab. Instead, I just stared at him without blinking. That always made people uncomfortable, and I could see that it was working with him as well.

“Why should I help someone like you?” I asked bluntly. “You have no respect for people like me.”

Bull’s lips curled upward. I got the feeling he’d been waiting for me to ask just that question. His thin fingers pulled another piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to me. “Oh, I know you’re going to help me find Cara,” he said confidently. “In fact, I am certain of it.”

Curious, I took it from him and unfolded it.

I froze.

I could recognize that face anywhere. Those sharp cheekbones and nose, and that thick brown hair, were so much like mine.

This was my younger brother, Vir.

My dead brother, Vir.

This picture must’ve been taken the night he died. The same night, I realized, that Cara had run away from her parents’ home. The warmth had been sucked out of him. Vir’s lean body was covered with blood, and his once-brown eyes were cloudy and gray from livor mortis. Once the initial shock wore off, other things about the photograph stood out. Like the shrapnel wounds in his chest, the burn marks on his face, and the damage to his immediate surroundings.

Vir, a cultural anthropologist from Stanford University, drowned off the coast of Santa Cruz, and his body couldn’t be recovered. Or so we were told by the local authorities. But that was clearly not the case. Vir had obviously died from an explosion of some kind.

Countless questions swirled through my mind. Was my brother attacked? Why did Bull have this picture? What really happened the night he died? Where was Vir’s body now?

It killed me that this wasn’t the first time I’d had to ask these questions about a someone in my family.

“Do you really think I would leave the safety of my home if I didn’t know for a fact you’d accept this case?” Bull’s sharp voice broke my reverie. “You’re going to help me.”

“I... don’t... understand.” I struggled to say the words. “What happened to him? Where did you find him?”

“On the outskirts of our town. I believe he died around the same time Cara ran away. Though I couldn’t tell you how,” he said, without any remorse. “And no, I didn’t have anything to do with his death. You know, he was a difficult man to trace and identify, but Vera was most helpful. He was able to find his state ID, and of course, it was all too easy to find you after that.”

I finally looked up from the gory image and met Bull’s eyes. Maybe he was lying about Vir? It wasn’t that hard to create a deepfake image and pass it off as the truth. Anybody could do it. But what could Bull possibly have to gain from tricking me into helping him? If anything, it would probably be easier for him to pay for my services. No, Bull wasn’t lying. That much was clear. Vir really had died somewhere on land, but why would we be told otherwise? Unless…it had something to do with Bull’s mysterious colony and his missing granddaughter. My brain went into overdrive. I considered the possibility that Cara going missing the same night Vir died was nothing more than a coincidence. The only problem was that I didn’t believe in coincidences.

“Was he alone?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s my brother’s body now?”

“Ashes,” Bull said simply. “I had him cremated as soon as he was discovered.”

I gasped. “You what!”

“Well, of course,” he said. “I can’t risk anybody finding out about him. We’re working very hard to keep Cara’s disappearance quiet. Your brother is the first of your kind to wander so close to our borders in decades, borders we go to great lengths to seal. I want answers, and I’m sure you do as well.”

I stared at Bull in disbelief. My parents had raised me to respect my elders, but this cocky, arrogant old man had robbed my family of laying my brother to rest. I ought to have socked him in the face. God knows he deserved it, but I resisted with great difficulty.

Bull was right about one thing: I couldn’t walk away from this case now.

AS I PACKED MY OVERNIGHT BAG, my thoughts focused on Cara. Letter or no letter, she was still a minor and under her parent’s guardianship until she turned eighteen next week. And she was more than just a runaway bride. There was real anguish in her letter, even a little anger.

There was also nothing in her note to suggest that she was still in Corinth, but that was the first place to start looking for answers.

Corinth did not show up on any map. My Auge found three cities in the U.S. named Corinth, but none of them were listed in Oregon. There was also no record of a Julius Bull anywhere in any database, nor could I find any reference to the colonies he mentioned. I guessed Bull wasn’t kidding when he said his people valued their privacy. He obviously went to the extraordinary length of taking all known records (if they existed at all) of him and his people offline.

Before I saw that picture of Vir, I had seriously considered turning this case down. Cases with missing children always hit me especially hard. Our youngest brother Aric was only nine years old when he was abducted. The police said it had probably happened on his way home from school, but they couldn’t be certain.

But I knew exactly what happened. I was supposed to pick him up. I had just switched to a new school a couple of blocks away, and I was late. I don’t even remember why, but I was. Aric probably got tired of waiting and decided to walk home himself, but he never made it.

Aric’s lifeless, broken body was found less than a mile from our house. Nobody knew how he got there or who was responsible. There just wasn’t enough evidence to go on. No eyewitnesses. No suspects. Nothing.

Some days I still expected him to turn up at my parents’ house. The same nine-year-old kid wearing his school uniform, annoyed as hell that he had to walk home by himself. I could almost picture him with his tiny hands on his waist and that lopsided frown he always had when he was annoyed, demanding why I kept him waiting.

My parents, Vir, and I spent years trying to figure out what happened to him. We hired countless private investigators and gave interviews every year, but nothing ever turned up. No witnesses. No suspects. Nothing. Just like the police told us all those years ago. A dead end.

It seemed that only Aric could answer our questions.

Just like Vir.

Vir’s untimely death had brought all of it back to the surface again. The same feelings of helplessness and desolation. I hadn’t been there to help either of my brothers. Now, I had to try and figure out what really happened to Vir. To do that, I first needed to find Cara.

Regardless of Cara’s connection to my brother, I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to that young girl, even if she left out of her own volition. I needed to know for certain. I needed to give her family a concrete answer and the peace of mind that mine never got. When I decided to go private, I promised myself I would never take money from victims for solving violent crimes and missing persons cases. It just felt gross somehow. Like I was profiting from someone else’s misery. I couldn’t imagine the sort of bad karma I’d invite into my life if I ever did that.

I needed to find Cara and figure out what happened to Vir and how he ended up dead near Bull’s territory.

THE STREETS WERE MOSTLY EMPTY, except for a couple of joggers and some people rushing to catch the Hyperloop to work. One of the joggers, a young hybrid man, nodded to me as our paths crossed. Unlike some of the other hybrids I’d met, this man had opted not to cover his scars and new body parts with synthetic skin; the machine side of him complemented the human half. Human-hybrid amalgamations were becoming pretty common, but it was always interesting to see one anyway.

I waited for him to pass before walking over to Bull’s antique Tesla. Bull was already sitting in the backseat when I got there. This version still had its charging pod, though I wasn’t sure if it was still functional or just a showpiece. The interior of the car had been overhauled entirely. It now had touchscreen navigation on the windshield with a personal virtual reality assistant, similar to my Auge. The center console had a small bar decked with pricey liquor and… were those chocolates?

Bull reached over and helped himself to a couple of bars but didn’t offer me any. His teeth gnashed loudly, and he made soft slurping noises. So that’s how Bull and Rahul Vera were connected, I realized. Chocolate. Vera had followed through with his plans after all, then…

It was my first big case after the academy, and we were investigating an underground cocoa trafficking ring together. When cocoa went extinct around the time the Millennial War started, it set off a sort of gold rush. The last remaining cocoa beans were suddenly worth a lot of money, and the viable seeds set off a mad race to replicate among the big companies. But it was a lot harder than they expected. Our climate had changed so much that the beans, like many other fruits and vegetables, just didn’t take to the soil as easily.

So they pumped in a lot of money to grow the beans, invested in high-quality next-generation fertilizers, and hired the best scientists they could find. But it wasn’t long until the beans found their way onto the black market and started sending people to the hospital. Illegal cocoa patches had started popping up all over the state forests in California over the last few years. But there was a new designer strain that could induce unwanted side effects like nausea, seizures, hallucinations, and panic attacks. And it was a lot more addictive than crack cocaine.

It had taken us months, but Rahul and I had finally tracked down the lab where the beans were being grown and processed. There were dozens of boxes, all neatly packed and ready to be shipped. A single bag of these beans would be enough to buy a comfortable floating home somewhere beautiful and retire at sea. And that’s precisely what Rahul wanted. Just one bag. He tried hard to convince me, but when I refused to budge, he threatened me. And that’s when it happened. The precise moment I broke his nose. The backup team barged in, and it looked like I had just assaulted my superior officer. Which, technically, I did. But it was my word against his. And in the end, he got a promotion, and I got kicked off the team.

Bile and anger mixed together in the pit of my stomach. It was unfair. I hated that people like Bull and Rahul could have their chocolate cake and eat it too while the rest of us peasants made do with mushroom cookies, mushroom cake, mushroom meringue, mushroom panna cotta, mushroom cannoli, mushroom ice cream, mushroom pudding . . .

The Tesla came alive without a sound, and the seatbelts fastened over our chests automatically.

“Nice car,” I said as I settled into the backseat with Bull. “Yes, isn’t it? A loaner from Vera.”

Before I could react, the virtual assistant’s cold and genderless voice boomed through the speakers. This particular voice had been universally adopted a few centuries ago as the face, so to speak, of artificial intelligence tech and digital assistants. Its tone and tenor were as common a fixture as the blue sky above us. “Please enter a destination.”

“The airport,” Bull answered.

“We’re flying?”

Bull nodded. “Obviously. Corinth isn’t reachable by any Hyperloops, thank God.”

The windshield displayed the route to the airport and began counting down to the ETA. Seven minutes flashed in bright blue in one corner.

Bull cleared his throat to get my attention and handed me a tablet without saying anything. There was only one folder on the home screen, titled CARA. I tapped on one of the sub-folders. There were about a dozen pictures of a stern-faced young blonde girl with Bull’s dark brown eyes and light skin. She didn’t smile in any of the more recent pictures. Cara looked detached but determined as she grew into adolescence, her jaw clenched in every picture.

Cara’s whole life had been documented—everything from her childhood hobbies and interests to her vaccinations and doctors’ notes. The folder also had a list of all the names of her friends, teachers, classmates, and people she came into daily contact with.

I always found it unnerving how a person’s whole life could be evaluated and compressed into one tiny, computerized folder. I shuddered every time I thought about the kind of information Big Brother had on me.

“I can’t believe there isn’t at least one person in your seven colonies who could help you find your granddaughter.” I turned to look at Bull.

The old man wiped the side of his mouth with his fingers.

“There are dozens of capable, intelligent men who would be up to the task, I assure you. But the problem is there are very few people within our colonies I trust—less than a handful, I would say,” he began. “My position as Chairman has already been challenged. If my people found out my own granddaughter chose to abandon our ways, I would lose their trust and my authority. Chaos would ensue. I cannot allow that to happen.” “And you trust me?”

Bull laughed. “I trust that you want to get to the bottom of this as much as I do.”

We arrived at a small airfield outside San Francisco before I could ask any more questions. There was only one sleek helicopter on the tarmac. I instantly recognized it. It was the Huracan-X in all its glory. Even from this distance, the old warhorse looked intimidating. It was notoriously called the widow-maker in military circles. This one appeared to be the civilian version, without any combat capabilities.

Unlike the Tesla, the helicopter was gloriously loud. Once we had headsets on and the pilot took us into the air, Bull said, “Corinth is unlike anywhere you’ve ever been before, and I want you to know exactly what to expect once we arrive.” Bull tapped his palm. “So I had my AI prepare a little presentation for you.”

I had to admit that Bull’s colony sounded very intriguing. A mysterious group of Caucasian colonies in the U.S. (with its own subculture) was fascinating. I’m sure Vir would have thought so as well. In fact, I was willing to bet on it. If he had heard the same rumors I had, Vir would’ve been drawn to studying them too. Even if it meant putting himself at risk. The only question was how far did he go?

Bull’s left palm lit up. My eyes fell on his T-Patch. Like the Auge, it was a sleek wearable touchscreen that was embedded under the wearer’s skin. Nearly everyone wore a patch these days. It was easier than carrying around a wallet stuffed with credit cards, ID, and whatnot. All you had to do was pull up your ID or digital credit card on the touchscreen, tap it against the point-of-sale machine or ticket counter or whatever, and half a second later you were done.

It definitely made connecting with people easier too. Smartphones and tablets, thankfully, had transformed when nanotech and voice bots went mainstream. It was crazy to think that people used to carry around handheld devices and stare at the screens for hours on end.

The T-Patch could project a tiny hologram of the person or group of people you wanted to talk to, regardless of where in the world they were, and its built-in transceiver routed their voice to the Auge. And voila! You could hear and see the person on the other end like they were standing right next to you.

“Have you tried calling Cara?” I asked Bull.

Bull scoffed. “I would if she had one.” His cold eyes met mine. “The colonies have limited access to technology. I’m sure you agree that information corrupts the innocent.”

My lips pressed together in disagreement. “Why is it that you use technology, then?”

“I use whatever I must to keep my people safe.” The answer came promptly. “In any case, they are unaware of the existence of such technology. They would probably find it unbelievable. So I would appreciate it if you didn’t bring it up.”

From what I could see, Bull’s T-Patch appeared to be customized for documentation and tracking paperwork, while mine was connected to my Auge for self-defense purposes. It had seemed like a nifty thing to have in my line of work. But after six months and no incidents, I was wondering if I had thrown money at yet another thing I didn’t need.

My Auge displayed an incoming audio message spiel from Bull over my irises. I blinked the accept code and had the files sent to my aural implant, the same way that I did for calls. The same crisp artificial voice that had spoken to us in the Tesla now addressed me directly.

The AI began, “Many centuries ago, Corinth, Oregon (current population: 1,487, established: 1840 AD), was a vacationer’s paradise, a hotbed for anyone in desperate need of a digital detox. Today, it is home to one of the last surviving Caucasian colonies in the world. It has provided a safe haven for countless families and is helping them repopulate this new world in the safety of their own community.”

I wondered where this lecture was going.

“Corinth,” it continued, “was lucky to escape the material destruction caused by the First Great War of the twenty-first century, also known as World War III or the Millennial War. What started as a small border conflict between India and China escalated quickly into a full-fledged world war. The United States and many European nations came to India’s support in its time of need, while Pakistan, North Korea, and Russia (surprising many diplomats and analysts) stood with China. The powerful Arab nations, on the other hand, chose to remain neutral, just like Switzerland.

“Six months into the India–China conflict, the Crown Princess of the United Kingdom was brutally assassinated by a Russian suicide bomber outside Wales. Like Archduke Franz Ferdinand’s assassination started WWI, the princess’s death set off a rapid chain of events, and what followed was a remorseless showcase of advanced weaponry and arsenal by the British and its European allies as they avenged their beloved princess,” the digital assistant droned on.

“Before the war ended, millions of soldiers and civilians were killed, armies utterly decimated, countries crippled, and thousands displaced.”

This last part wasn’t exactly new information to me. We had a whole history class dedicated to the Millennial War in high school. My grandfather would often tell us the stories he had heard from his grandfather when he was a boy. The drone terror, the pandemic, the cyber blitz, the AI undertaking. That was the reason I joined the force to begin with.  

Despite the era’s flaws, Vir and I had always thought that the early twenty-first century must have been a spectacular era to be alive. The music, books, technology, and culture of that time was still celebrated. Revered, even. Millennials had been radicals, so devout to equality and mutual respect. They had, despite all their flaws, laid the foundation for a better tomorrow. They championed freedoms that were taken for granted today. Had they not met antipathy with love, trampled sexism with equality, and set a new standard for change, acceptance, and liberation, the world would be a very different place today.

The world truly began to change and evolve when people started to become more interconnected. It was during this period when my ancestors, like so many countless others, began to spread their roots around the world. They left their little city in South India behind to find new opportunities on the other side of the globe, a place that future generations of Matoos would call home. Maybe that’s why Vir was so drawn to studying history, human societies, and cultures.

The AI continued without pause, “The war catalyzed what globalization had begun. Millennials unwittingly set humanity on what many would describe as a ‘path to course-

correction’ by simply rejecting the unspoken rules of the past and creating new constructs that worked best for them.” 

This was something every child and adult around the planet knew by heart. This was how we became One World. 

“Those new constructs are rejected in Corinth and its sister colonies. The Survivors, as they prefer to be called, have steadfastly held on to the ideals on which this country was built. Vast resources are dedicated to the growth of our population in the hope of one day regaining our status in the world.”

“Fascinating,” I muttered to myself when the AI concluded. Next to me, Bull shifted restlessly in his seat. “Hardly the word I would use to describe it,” he replied. “Not when it feels like we’re facing our extinction.”

I thought about that for a second. “Clearly, your granddaughter feels differently.”

“It doesn’t matter how she feels, Mr. Matoo,” Bull said dryly. “What matters is her commitment to her family and our colonies.”

“Right. And how big are these colonies exactly?” “Corinth is the largest. The other six have less than a thousand residents each,” Bull said with a sigh. “But we are doing our best to increase those numbers.”

“How exactly have you managed to stay under the radar all these years?”

Bull laughed and pointed below us. The landscape had changed dramatically from bustling cities to swaths of uninhabited wastelands. I couldn’t tell from the air if the desolation was caused by wildfires or meteor showers, but whatever the cause, nothing could survive these black and barren lands.

“Corinth is just beyond these wastelands,” Bull said. “We’ve never been discovered because... well, who would come looking for us in the middle of all this destruction?” Bull asked. “It’s the perfect camouflage.”

But someone had dared to venture through these barren lands. Someone crazy and ambitious enough to track down Bull’s mysterious colonies. When my father and I had driven down to Stanford to clean out Vir’s office, we hadn’t found anything amongst his papers to suggest he was studying these Caucasian colonies. In retrospect, it didn’t seem like he was working on anything new at all recently. I wanted to kick myself for missing that. Standing in Vir’s office, going through his things, had felt wrong and claustrophobic, but now I wondered what else I had missed in my rush to get the hell out of there. I doubted he was on sabbatical. My brother was a workaholic. Was it possible his research was somewhere else? But what reason could he have had to do that?

My head felt like it was in the eye of a hurricane. “Where did you find my brother?”

Bull pressed his lips together and considered me for a second. Then he leaned forward and said something to the pilot through the comms channel. Next thing I knew, the pilot was changing course slightly and we were landing along an abandoned highway just a few miles away from the desolate lands. It was clear that these roads had not been in use for many decades. There were crater-sized potholes on the lanes, trash and broken beer bottles along the shoulder, and the wilderness had spread unrestrained. 

“He was discovered there.” Bull pointed to a mile marker a few feet away from us. “While we were looking for Cara. Thankfully, my son-in-law had the sense to inform me, and we took care of it before anyone else could discover him.”

My body felt numb. I walked slowly toward mile marker thirty-three. I knew I wouldn’t find Vir’s body there, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that some part of him was still attached there, waiting and watching as the world passed him by.

The first things I saw were blood stains and shrapnel, probably from the explosion that killed Vir. There weren’t any large enough pieces to ascertain what kind of an explosion had killed my brother or its origin. How on Earth did he get here? I wondered. If there were any vehicle tracks, the wind had blown them away. The questions were piling on top of each other, but all I felt right then, in that moment, was profound pain. My family had suffered one mindless tragedy after another. It hit me then: I was all my parents had left in this world. And this road I was going down with Bull was a dangerous one. I hoped to hell that I could give them the answers they deserved without them having to bury their only surviving child.

“I’m going to need to talk to your son-in-law,” I said as soon as I jumped back into the chopper.

“We’re headed there now. Though I would caution you against bringing this up in front of the rest of the family.”

I raised my eyebrows at Bull.

“If my daughter found out a colored man was found just outside our borders the same night her daughter disappeared, she would be devastated,” Bull said, trying to repress a shudder. “She is already quite distraught, and I would rather not add to her plate. You understand?”

It took a lot of effort to keep a straight face. I would imagine his daughter was already a wreck. What the color of my brother’s skin had to do with her fear was beyond me. How could that possibly make things worse?

Besides, after Aric went missing, my mother wanted to know every single, ugly detail. As awful as it was to hear, I knew she would feel so much worse not knowing and wondering.

That familiar claustrophobic feeling returned, and I couldn’t help but wonder about this family’s priorities.

THE PILOT ANNOUNCED OUR ARRIVAL

in Corinth, and the chopper began making its descent in what appeared to be a cul-de-sac.

Bull hopped out of the chopper and strode toward a Spanish-colonial-style mansion with a driveway larger than any villa I’d seen in San Francisco. Nobody lived in houses like this anymore. At the height of overpopulation, big, luxurious independent homes like this one had been razed to the ground, and skyscrapers with mini apartments had been built in their place to accommodate the post-

flood population. That way, everybody could have a roof over their head.

I had no idea houses like this still existed. It looked absolutely beautiful.

“This is your house?”    

“No. My daughter Rebecca and her family live here,” Bull answered. “I’m on the other side of the city.”

Yeah, I wouldn’t want to live near him either. Bull led the way up the cobbled path to the front door. A large decorative red flag featuring a blue saltire with white borders and five-pointed white stars fluttered lightly in the wind. I made a mental note to look it up when I got the chance. Once we reached the front door, Bull pulled out an old-timey skeleton key from his front pocket and unlocked the door.

It was a pristine home. Surgically clean, actually. Everything was a shade of white. The furniture was classically minimal. The only non-white object in the living room was a beautiful black grand piano that looked like it had never been played in its entire life.    This was undoubtedly the most unlived-in home I’d ever been in. The photographs on the walls were perfectly aligned and complemented the paintings on the adjacent wall. But there was something not quite right about this home. It took me a few minutes to realize it wasn’t a smart home. The house was entirely tech-free, and I doubted if they even had a centralized intelligence system.     Still, it was a charming space, albeit a bit too old-fashioned for my taste. And so goddamn sterile. The only unusual thing that stood out was the chalkboard in the dining room. It seemed like an odd place to put it. I walked over to see what was written on it. The number 1,487 had been scrawled and then underlined several times.

That number was familiar. Where had I heard that? I tried to remember what the AI in the Tesla had said.

“Isn’t that the population of this town?” I asked.  

“Very astute.” Bull looked at the chalkboard and then me.

“Yes, it is. And if you don’t find my granddaughter soon, it’ll be 1,486.” Bull shook his head. “And that would be a real shame.” 

What would be a real shame? Not finding the girl, or becoming one number fewer? 

Just then, the patio doors flung open behind us. A smart-

looking middle-aged couple, who I presumed were the parents of the missing girl, came rushing in, followed by a teenage girl with hunched shoulders. All three of them wore the same gold lopsided scale pin, identical to Bull’s, on their lapels and an even smaller pin of the red flag that hung outside.

The girl bore a strong resemblance to Cara. She was shorter though, and probably no older than fifteen or sixteen.

She wore thick glasses. But the resemblance was striking—the same blonde hair, brown eyes, and prominent jawline. The only difference was this girl didn’t have the same unhappiness in her eyes as her sister.     

“Oh, hi Daddy.” The older woman walked up to Bull and kissed him on both cheeks. She was a tall and slender brunette with scattered grey hairs and a low husky voice. “I thought I heard the chopper. What are you doing here?” she whispered. “I thought we were going to meet you at the office?”

Bull glared at her. “Change of plans, dear.”

“I told you I didn’t want the neighbors to see him here,” the woman pouted. “Did you even think of what people will say?”

“If you cared so much about other people’s opinions, Rebecca,” Bull snapped, “you should’ve kept a closer watch on your daughter. Otherwise, we would not be in this mess.”

Do these people really think I can’t hear a word of what they’re saying? I cleared my throat loudly.

The woman’s face turned bright with irritation. “Ah, yes, you must be the detective we’ve all heard so much about.” She turned as if she’d only just noticed me. She forced a smile, but those big brown eyes gave her away. The way she stared at me reminded me of a frog we dissected in biology. She looked curious and repelled all at once. “James Mathew, isn’t it?”

“Mah-tooh,” I enunciated my name for her and stretched my right hand out. “Jimmy Matoo.”

Like her father, Rebecca hesitated before taking my hand. She looked at Bull, and he nodded okay. Her smile disappeared as she took my hand in hers. The handshake barely lasted a second before she pulled away. Rebecca’s reaction to me made me wonder why Bull hadn’t warned them that he was bringing me and my dark skin here. It seemed like the kind of thing you’d mention beforehand.

“Rebecca Bull-Smith,” she introduced herself. If she was distraught over Cara’s disappearance, she didn’t let it show. In the days after Aric went missing, my mother had looked like a ghost. She refused to eat or sleep for weeks and weeks. Rebecca, on the other hand, was perfectly coiffed and her clothes—like her father’s—were expensive and tailored. “This is my husband, Jonathan Smith,” she said, pointing to the man standing next to her, “and our youngest daughter, Florence.” 

Jonathan was several inches taller than me and rounder around the waist too. His face was round and kindly, and his eyes were red and swollen. “Um. Hello.” He smiled and waved at me awkwardly.

I smiled at Florence, but she didn’t return it. Instead, the girl just glared at me. I could almost see myself through her icy eyes. An alien with dark features—dark eyes and dark hair—and an almond-ish complexion. They’ve probably never met anyone like me until today.

“Why is your skin that color?” Florence demanded. “Are you sick?”

I pushed the hair out of my face and waited for her parents to reprimand her. But neither Rebecca nor Jonathan said anything. Like their daughter, they waited patiently for an answer. I knew exactly what she was asking, but I pretended not to know what she meant. “Sorry?”

She frowned and pointed at my face. Rude. My parents would have never let my brothers or I get away with that kind of behavior when we were kids.

“You’re not like us,” she said, looking down at her hands. “What are you?”

My jaws clenched together. “No, I’m not like you at all. But if you really want to know, Florence, I guess I’m mostly of Indian descent,” I said, trying to remember my vast and complicated family tree. “My mom is half-Filipino-half-French, and my dad was Indian-American. And I’m pretty sure there’s some British in there, as well.”

Florence’s mouth dropped open. I guessed her family tree was clearly nowhere near as colorful as mine.  “Have you never seen anyone else like me?”  I asked, my voice hollow.

She shook her head. “Do you need sunscreen?”

Wow. “Everybody needs sunscreen,” I answered, starting to feel really ticked off.

Rebecca cleared her throat and put her hand over Florence’s shoulder. With just one look, Rebecca had quietly banished her youngest up to her room. I could recognize that look anywhere. My mom had one just like it, and it was enough to put the fear of God in us when we were growing up.

Florence rolled her eyes and acquiesced. As she approached the staircase, she wheeled around and looked me right in the eye.

“You’re not going to find her,” she said bluntly.

“I’m not?” I asked, taken aback by her forthrightness. “How can you be so sure?”

Rebecca cleared her throat loudly and glared at her youngest daughter before she could answer. “Upstairs. Now.”

As soon as Florence was out of earshot, I turned my attention back to her parents. “Your daughter has been missing for four days. Any idea where she might have gone?” “No,” Jonathan answered.

“Have you set up a search party yet?” “No, we haven’t,” Jonathan admitted.

“Why not?” I persisted. “Who saw her last? Were there any witnesses?”

Jonathan and Rebecca were both startled by the string of questions and looked at Bull and back to me. Bull didn’t answer though. He had his back turned and was busy making himself a drink at the bar.

Jonathan stared at me, wide-eyed. “Um, well—”

“There are no witnesses,” Rebecca interrupted. “Because she left in the middle of the night when we were all dead asleep.”

“What did she bring with her? Are any of her clothes missing?”

“Just some jackets and a pair of pants,” Jonathan said. “We noticed some water bottles were gone too.”

I nodded. “Has Cara ever run away before?” Rebecca and Jonathan instantly shook their heads.

Most people think of teenagers as mature enough to make rational decisions, but the fact is that most runaway youths leave their homes on the spur of the moment. They don’t think about where they are going to spend the night or if they have enough money because they simply want to escape a toxic environment. I always thought it was unfair how runaway youth are automatically deemed as troublemakers or kids who can’t follow the rules when, in fact, they are probably victims of abuse, unloved, and left feeling unwanted.

Nothing about Cara’s case, however, said whim to me. If anything, this was methodically planned and executed.

“Did Cara have any behavioral problems?” I didn’t expect an unbiased answer from either Jonathan or Rebecca, but I had to ask.

“None at all.” Jonathan shook his head. “She was always so obedient and thoughtful. Always home on time. We never had any reason to worry about her.”

“You never argued? Not even once?” I persisted. “Her letter suggests that she questioned the principles of the colony, its goals, and its structure.”

Displeasure seeped in between the lines on Rebecca’s face.

“No.”

“Okay, let’s move on. How do you know there aren’t any witnesses?” I asked. “Did someone canvass the neighborhood?”

“We don’t actually have, I believe you call it, police here,” Rebecca said. “What we do have is a small group of locals who patrol the city borders, but—”

“But you want to keep her disappearance quiet. Yeah, your father mentioned,” I interjected. “Why is that, anyway? It’s usually the last thing the parents of a missing child would want. And surely her fiancé would want to help look for her?”

The silence was uncomfortable. Rebecca rubbed her temples with her fingers, and Jonathan looked over at his father-in-law for guidance. When neither of them responded, I said, “Look, I can’t find your kid if I don’t have all the information. What are you folks hiding?”

That did it. That pushed their buttons.

“Don’t you talk to us like that, you chi—” Rebecca started to yell, but Jonathan put a restraining hand on her shoulder.

“We are not hiding anything, Detective,” Jonathan retorted. “And I really don’t care for your insinuation, either.”

“Look here.” Rebecca moved slightly in front of her husband as if protecting him. “My family is very private, and we’d rather not air our dirty laundry.”  

“So, you have dirty laundry?” I raised an eyebrow.

Jonathan’s eyes widened, and Rebecca’s face flushed red.

“Enough!” Bull sighed loudly, stirring a glass of martini with three olives. He settled on the couch. “Rebecca,” he said, “just tell the brown man what he needs to know.”

I’d been called a lot of things in my life, but the way Bull said the brown man sounded so much worse than any cuss word. I glared at him. His advanced age wasn’t an excuse to be an asshole. I expected older people to be wise, as the old saying goes, and act like it. In the ten minutes since I’d arrived, both he and his daughter (not to mention the granddaughter) had thrown racial jabs at me.

Rebecca bit her lip uncertainly. “Fine! Fine.” She waved her hands and motioned everyone but me to sit down. “The truth is that our daughter was going to be married soon, and we can’t run the risk of the groom’s family finding out.”

“He knows that part already, you stupid girl!” Bull said impatiently. “Tell him why.”

Jonathan straightened his shirt and leaned forward. “I just want to be sure that you can be”—he looked me up and down— “discreet. I cannot stress that enough.”

What made him think I couldn’t be discreet? Jonathan must know Bull had picked me for a reason and trust that he had his Cara’s best interest at heart.

I took a seat across from them and crossed one leg over the other. Although my attention was now focused on Jonathan, I could see from the corner of my eye that Rebecca’s jaw clenched ever so slightly as I made myself comfortable. “Of course.” I nodded. “Is it possible she’s with her fiancé now? Maybe they eloped?” 

“She definitely hasn’t eloped,” Jonathan said, his eyes tearing up. “Certainly not with her betrothed or anyone else from the colonies. At least we don’t think...”  

“Why are you so certain?” 

“Because she was against having an arranged marriage.” An arranged marriage?  I raised my eyebrows again.

“She didn’t believe in...” Rebecca cleared her throat. “Well, our beliefs.”    

“Arranged marriages have been a part of our tradition since”—Bull took a sip of his martini—“since the war. Since ...you know.” He waved at me as though it were my fault. “Everything.”

As a man of Indian descent, I was well aware of the old custom. Arranged marriages had been a way of life once upon a time; parents and close family members would come together in the name of tradition to find the perfect match for their son or daughter.  

For generations, Indian families had been built on anonymity. Young brides and grooms had been rushed to the altar by their families, having never even met each other or given a say in the matter. The criteria for holy matrimony in those days had been dependent on family background, the size of the homes they owned, and the cars they drove. But the most paramount requirement of all was having fair skin.     

I liked to think that had I been born in another era, another place, my parents might have trusted and respected me enough to allow me the freedom to choose—for better or for worse—the person with whom I would spend the rest of my life. But in many ways, I was a product of that old custom. If it hadn’t been for centuries of arranged marriages, my family tree would look very different. My grandfather might have never been born. Neither would my dad nor my brothers or me.

Still, it was disconcerting to hear those words here in this context. An arranged marriage in this century seemed so foreign and unreasonable. I struggled to remind myself that I wasn’t here to pass judgment on these people and shifted my immediate concern back to the missing girl.

“When did your daughter first express these concerns?”

“That’s the thing, Detective,” Jonathan said, taking his wife’s hand. “She never did. Not even once. If anything, she seemed acquiescent. This letter she left behind is the first time we’re hearing this.”

I thought about Cara’s letter again. Sitting here with her parents, I realized how much that letter had already told me about her as a person: she was thoughtful, intelligent, well-read, and someone who clearly did not share her parents’ ideology.

Cara’s note also told me something else besides her disapproval of her parents’ lifestyle.  “There have been other runaways in Corinth,” I concluded.

“Yes. Over the years we’ve lost dozens,” Bull said. “We’ve done everything to keep them in, but somehow, they keep getting out!” He huffed. “With every disappearance, we’ve increased border security, used guard dogs, and had residents patrol their neighborhoods. You’d never know it, but we are guarded like a fortress.”     

“I’m surprised you didn’t tag them,” I said, half-joking.  

“Oh, trust me, I’ve tried,” Bull said ruefully, the sarcasm completely lost on him. “We don’t know how they’re getting out of the city without being spotted. They must be disabling their trackers, but I couldn’t tell you how.” 

My chest tightened. The idea of microchipping human beings like dogs and tracking their every move was heinous. Cara was right. Corinth was a stifling place to live. “So that’s how you know she hadn’t had contact with anyone on the outside?” “Exactly. Cara has never been anywhere she shouldn’t have been. Neither have the other kids,” Jonathan said.

“Is her microchip still active?”

Bull grimaced. “No, the last time it was active was the night she disappeared.”

“What I want to know is why anyone would even want to go out there,” Rebecca cried. “I can’t imagine living out there with all those people.”

Beside her, Jonathan nodded in agreement.

“Did Cara know any of them? The other runaways?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even.

“Yes, of course!” Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows everyone here, Mr.  Mathew. This is a tiny town.” She talked to me like I was a kid.

What is her problem? “Mah-tooh. Matoo,” I enunciated slowly. “I’ll need a list of all the runaways—names, dates, that sort of thing. They all left notes?” 

“Some,yes.Othersjust...disappeared.”Bulllooked unsympathetic. “I’ll have all that information transferred to your virtual assistant.” 

“What about home security? Street cameras? You must have—” 

“We try to limit our use of technology here. We only have what we need. As you can imagine, we try not to send up flares telling your people where to find us,” Jonathan explained.

“My people?” I repeated.

“Mm-hmm. The whole point of our colonies is to ensure our bloodlines thrive without being contaminated by your kind.”

Bile rose in my throat. “Right,” I said. “That totally explains the fancy helicopters and cars.”

“Well, we’re not simpletons,” Rebecca piped up in her high-

strung voice. “We just believe in moderation. Besides, I wouldn’t want to be fused to a machine-like you people are.”

The hypocrisy of it all made me want to laugh in her face. While the rest of us took the Hyperloop, Bull and his family were being ferried around in unmanned Teslas and state-of-the-art helicopters. Surely, somebody noticed their supreme leader wearing a T-Patch?

Before I could retort, Jonathan cleared his throat loudly. “Maybe you’d like to see Cara’s room?” He smiled at me apologetically and gestured to the staircase.

I stood up and nodded. “Lead the way.”