The children were in their playhouse on the morning of the third Tuesday in August when their father’s Skyla® whooshed overhead an hour late. Celedon was talking to friends in Japan, while John was using his Myte to polish the details on the “big prize” in the Kuiper Belt.
“No, Tiff, he’s not really a doof. He needs to make friends is all – ”
“I named it Celedon.”
“What? Sorry, Tiff. The doof is doing something annoying. I’ll call you back this afternoon, after Papa leaves, say about two? Great.” She chirped off the link then turned to her little brother. “Named what Celedon? You can’t just name things after me without my permission. What if I named a spider after you?”
Celedon hated spiders, and John knew it. Whenever she saw one in the yard, she called for John, who bravely picked it up and moved it out of sight. There were no spiders in the playhouse, of course. The servants saw to it that every inch of the 3,250-square-foot playhouse behind the main residence was kept spotless and spider-free. The quaint building had a kitchen, Smart School®, gym, pool, and bedrooms plus hi-res screens and tru-links and everything else.
“I like spiders. Anyway, you’ll like this.”
“Like what?”
“It’s a diamond the size of Florida, and I call it Celedon!”
“And it’s just there… in space?”
“There’s lots of cool junk in the Kuiper Belt. See, you start on Earth, competing to build a ship to fly to the Kuiper Belt…”
There was no stopping John when he was creating one of his games. He gripped the sensitized Myte and focused, his eyes narrowing like an old man’s. Up popped fully-realized images, filling the room with bustling shipyards. Spaceships in all shapes and sizes assembled in seconds as if in a dream then launched by the dozens only to smash into comets or blow up while battling each other. One doof piloted his ship directly into Jupiter.
“How did he not see Jupiter coming?”
“I haven’t switched it to open play yet. Other kids will be better than Acu-Men, which is kinda stupid for a synth intelligence. That one’s me. I’m the Excaliber. That’s the one that got hold of the space diamond!”
“Excaliber. Ooh, it looks like a big sword.” John’s spaceship survived the abbreviated early rounds and stabbed itself deep into a gargantuan space diamond, and was hauling it back to Earth. “Cool!” Celedon was genuinely impressed. John was annoying and needed to play with other kids, but he was her brother, he was crazy smart, and he dealt with yard spiders. Now if John could only learn to spell Excalibur.
“Why’d you name the space diamond Celedon and not John?”
“You have a cool name, but I got stuck with John. There are like billions of Johns.”
“Dad named me when he was still married to Mom. By the time you came along, he was seeing the Belarussian model.”
“I thought she was the one after that. I made up a rhyme: Marie, Carrie, Mom… Mina, Katsiaryna, Stink Bomb!” His rhyme took a little cheating, but it worked out well enough.
They laughed. “Stink Bomb Priscilla. Perfect!” They both hated their father’s latest baby mama, Priscilla, the one who had her own line of cosmetics and wore enough perfume to make their eyes burn. They hoped he didn’t divorce the model Katsiaryna to marry Stink Bomb. Judging by the number of halfs who shared their last name, the odds were even money. “You’re too smart. You need to hide that.”
“Is our papa smart?”
“Of course. He’s the smartest man in the world. His consortium sends real Star-Grabbers® to collect ice chunks from the rings of Saturn.” John knew this, of course. She knew he knew. You could find Ring Water® in any store. What if Papa could find a space diamond!
“Papa is rich,” John said. He was using his lawyer voice – it was cute.
Celedon helped her brother along to whatever point he was getting to. “He’s the richest guy there is.”
“Is rich the same as smart?”
“Papa says so.”
“What about the stupid papas?”
“They’re lazy. Our papa is off doing business and getting richer every day. Stupid papas sit around in their stupid government dorms, collecting their stupid government stipends, minus the fees our smart Papa collects so he can go get Ring Water® from Saturn.” They went through this story once or twice a week. John liked the repetition. Celedon left out the part about how the Star-Grabber® operations made the Earth water taste bad and made people sick. This boosted sales of Saturn Ring Water®, which Papa said was better anyway.
A chime sounded in the room. “Papa! He’s landed!” they cried. John hit pause on the Myte and the great sword-spaceship Excaliber with its mammoth diamond whirlpooled back into the device strapped to his palm.
The children ran from the playhouse, over the perfectly uniform VerdaGrass® lawn, and around to the front entrance of the blended Neo-Dada-Revivalist-French-Baroque-style main residence, arriving a few minutes later, puffing for breath. Papa was there flanked by aides and people competing for his attention. He wore his young guy clothes, black tight-fitting top clinging to his big belly and black pants that he insisted slimmed down his big butt, plus cowboy boots. When you were as important as their Papa you got to dress like a kid all the time. Some of the staff was lined up on the front walk, greeting Papa. The maids and servicemen weren’t part of this monthly greeting. They used to join in, but the review line got too long.
Papa insisted everyone call him by his first name.
“Your fleet of vintage ground vehicles is polished and fueled, Nole,” said Jerome Pillinger, the chief mechanic. “Perhaps you’d like to take the children on a drive around the estate in the Mercedes Benz?”
“Yes, that would be nice. Maybe later.”
He’d hired Chef Guillaume DuSainte to prepare lunch. “I hope you brought your appetite, Nole. I’ve prepared lobster pizza, one of Master John and Mistress Celedon’s favorites.”
“Sounds good.”
Global Link Chief Cho Soon Pak looked around at the others suspiciously. He leaned in to make his report. The children were just close enough to catch it. “I’ve activated the console in your study, sir – Nole. You’re able to access all of your tributary accounts from here for the next three hours before the system seals itself off. The funds are flowing well this morning, I might add. Another sixty billion this morning. There is one other matter. A small glitch in the data review indicates someone may have –”
“You say, the flow is good… Chief? Good. I’ll check my accounts at once.” Nole was smiling.
Sgt. Lyndon Jeffries reported on the residence’s security. “Three attempted incursions in the past month. Three arrests. Three transports to the colony. Perfect score, Nole.”
“Excellent.”
During all of this, the children stood by and waited. Finally, Nanny Paloma De Mendoza motioned for them to come forward and hug their father, which they did. Fly-Cams® captured the spontaneous moment of bonding to post on feeds worldwide.
“Nole!” they cried. Owing to a codicil in his matrimonial contract with Katsiaryna, only a small subset of his children called him “Papa” whenever adult witnesses were around. The children’s mother, Daria, stood silently on the porch, arms crossed, eyes stern. Nole it was. The children knew the drill.
“There you are!” Nole said. “I’ve missed you two so. How are my two beautiful children today?”
Nanny Paloma said, “Celedon and John talk about you all the time. They’ve composed a song for their father, haven’t you children? Celedon and John,” she spoke slowly and clearly “would like to sing it for you while you have lunch together, Nole. Are you ready, Celedon? Are you ready, John?”
“Celedon. John,” their father said quickly, tussling their hair with his hands, “why don’t you two go ahead and start on that pizza. I’ll be along in just a minute. I want to check on something.”
Leaving the crowd outside, they followed him indoors, into the atrium filled with tacky art and on to the main hall. The noon dining room was to the right, their father’s private study opposite next to a big potted fern. John followed him to the door of the study.
“No… John. This is Nole’s room. No spies!” he laughed at his own joke. John remained. Nole tried to think of something to say. Instead, he tussled the boy’s hair, still mussed from the last tussling, and told him, “Scoot now. I need a moment. I can smell that pizza. Go, eat up.”
The children devoured the pizza. Celedon ate the lobster bits on top; John picked them off. He nibbled at his slice absent-mindedly, focusing most of his attention on his Myte®.
The air over the lunch table filled with color and sound. Suddenly, they were in the main control room of the Excaliber. The crew was discussing their big prize.
“We’re closing on Earth orbit, Captain Smith. We’re the richest men on Earth now. This diamond will buy everything we ever wanted!”
“That’s right, Ensign Jones. I’m going to buy North and South America! How about you?”
“I’d like to buy Mom a new coat. Maybe a solid gold coat!”
“That sounds very nice, Ensign Jones.”
The audio was a little tinny for some reason. John was good, though, and Celedon had no doubt he’d fix the problem. It was working well enough to make their mother smile. She stayed off to one side, waiting for Nole to enter, then she would leave. She knew the drill.
Celedon said, “John, eat your pizza before it gets cold. You’re scrawny. You need to beef up.”
“I will!” John protested. “Don’t bug me. It’s getting to the good part.” His face grew very serious as he concentrated on controlling his crew.
“Captain, I am reading a fleet of angry ships, closing fast!”
“Pirates?”
“Worse! Corrupt wasteful government ships!”
An angry face appeared on the Excaliber’s forward viewscreen. Actually, Celedon noticed that all the faces looked like Papa.
“Surrender that diamond. We need it to fund our many corrupt wasteful government projects!”
“No, we won’t surrender our diamond! If we do, the people of Earth will never get the benefits of our diamond! Ensign Jones, prepare the destructo button!”
“Noooooo! You fool, Captain Smith! Don’t do it!”
Captain Smith did it. He pressed the destructo button. The children’s view pulled back to a wide exterior of the ships and the space diamond hanging above the Earth. Excaliber drew its sword-shaped hull free of the space diamond, drew back and above the Florida-sized gem and cleaved it into billions of glittering pieces. Each piece floated down to Earth, where it fell into the waiting hands of a person living in rags. Instantly, the person transformed into a well-dressed tycoon. Everyone danced and sang.
“I’m still working on the ending. The people will be so happy they’ll give Captain Smith North and South America.”
“And a gold coat for Ensign Jones’ mother!” their mother reminded him.
“Yes. I won’t forget that, Mom.”
The image whirled and sank back into the Myte® strapped to John’s hand.
The children’s mother applauded.
Nibbling the last of her lobster pizza, Celedon said. “It looks great, John. You’re so good at the graphics now. It’s just…”
“What?”
“If everyone gets a big piece of space diamond, I don’t think they’d be rich, at least not for long. A smart guy will find a way to own all the diamonds, like Pa– like Nole does. It’s a good thought, but it won’t work.”
“I bet it will!”
“No, it won’t.”
“Will too!”
“Enough,” cried their mother. She was about to say more, but the door opened and in stepped their father. Their mother made a hasty retreat out of the room.
“Nole!” John cried. “I have something to show you!” He held out his hand to show his father his palm-band Myte®.
“I’d love to see it… buddy. Tough luck, though. I don’t have time. I just stopped in to say how much I love you two.” His face spread into a big smile, kind of. Ever since the doctors fixed their father’s face, his smile looked sloppy, like a sock clinging to the back of a sweater. “Now, excuse me. Nole has to finish work in his study.”
He was off again.
Celedon stared at her brother. They finished their lunch in silence. Twenty minutes later, they heard the sound of the Skyla’s® engine firing up. Nanny Paloma came into the lunch room carrying a brightly-colored bag for each of them. “Look! Your father wants you to have your Chris®as sweaters!” It was August. Chris®as was four third Tuesdays away. Papa probably didn’t want to forget. He probably would anyway. They’d probably get another sweater or two before the third Tuesday in December.
John slipped the Myte’s® strap from around his hand and tossed the device on the table. So much for his new game.
“Why can’t smart papas stay around all day?”
“They have important things to do. Papa has like a million meetings, speeches, and product launches. That’s how he brings people Ring Water®. And he gives them palm Mites® like yours. And then there are the Smart-Forks® that tell you what you’re really eating, Vibra-Sox®, Cornea-Cams® that take your picture in a blink, Dolphin Bites®, and Bri-T-Whitey Nite-Lite Underpants®. People ran up credit debt for these items with registered trademarks, bringing Papa trillions.”
“Nole is busy,” Nanny Paloma said. “Why don’t you children play in the playhouse. You love the playhouse!”
“Sure,” they agreed. Celedon and John got up and walked out of the lunch room. Nanny Paloma headed back to her room to close her eyes and watch her stories on her Cerebral Tru-Link® feed, another of Papa’s products. Their tutor took the third Tuesday of each month off, but their driver would take them and Mama around the estate in one of the vintage sports cars later. It would be a fun day.
For now, they were alone.
John looked at Celedon, and stepped with purpose to the door of his father’s private study. The door was locked, of course. John reached down and dug his fingers into the dirt of the nearby potted fern, fetching out another Myte®. This one had no palm-band, but it did have a lot more little lights all over its face.
“This won’t work, John.”
The boy ignored his sister. He waved the Myte® over the door lock panel, and the door clicked open.
The children went in, as they often did when no one was around. Inside, they found the main console, an ugly fixture out of place in the richly furnished room.
John dropped down on all fours, his little bottom sticking up in the air.
“Got it!” he cried, producing a third Myte® from its hiding place. This one was wafer-thin and had a screen which only had one button. John pressed it.
“Access granted,” the console said in Papa’s voice. From the center of the console sprung a dizzying display of colors and numbers that filled the air above them. The detailed image showed not only Earth but all the colonies and ships beyond. From an uncountable number of points leading back to their location in the rolling hills of northern Virginia. Pulses of light indicated the direction of flow along the lines. Numbers showed amounts.
“So, it’s all set up to go, and then pffft! Everything fries itself for good.”
“I know. I know. I’m not stupid, Celedon.”
“No, you’re very smart. You’re very smart, but you’re a doof.” She wasn’t being mean. They’d talked about this a lot. They’d planned and tested and prepared over the course of three third Tuesdays to get things ready. Celedon wasn’t mean; she was teasing her brother because he was her doof to tease. And because he needed it. He was smart but emotionally fragile. If he toughened up a bit, she felt, he’d have a better chance of surviving an uncertain future.
“Why am I a doof?”
“Because I don’t think this will work. Maybe I want it to, or not – I’m not sure. But, it’s like your diamonds thing. It won’t work.”
John would not be discouraged. Holding the Myte®, he reached into the colors, shapes, and numbers. He found a part of the display with two arrows: one green – all the lines running to Papa’s accounts were green – and a second, dimmer red-colored arrow pointing in the opposite direction.
“Papa will be mad. He’ll lose everything – his money and his cruisers and his houses and his companies. Everything will change. We’ll be stuck at home all day with a poor papa.” She sighed and rolled her eyes in an exaggerated show of emotion. Celedon took her brother’s hand and warmly squeezed it. “Doof,” she said. “It won’t work.”
With his free hand, John jabbed confidently at the dim shape. The red arrow glowed brilliantly, pulsing in reverse, drawing brightness from the one green point and spreading redness on a one-way trip along every single line across the display. A second later, the image evaporated and the console fell dark, dead.
“Will too!”
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I hope you enjoy my gentle ribbing of billionaires. If so, please SHARE this story, so I can be a billionaire someday (or at least pay the bills.) I appreciate it!
For more fun watching rich guys get theirs... check out Goody Celeste:
https://www.amazon.com/Goody-Celeste-Chris-Riker/dp/1665307072
Goody Celeste by Chris Riker is about boys with fire in their legs, biking twenty miles to the beach and back and laughing it off. It's about a remarkable woman and those caught in her emotional gravity well. The time that was, whispering to the now we've made; it's in there. A pinch of wonder, a teaspoon of melancholy, stir in humor to make a witch's brew, a recipe for reflection. It's eating fries with vinegar, listening to folk music, body surfing, driving classic cars, and making choices we cannot take back. A purple door leads into a shop of dangerous wonders, where a cat with mismatched eyes watches foolish humans get themselves tangled in the reins of love.
