Page 5 of A Better World

Linda shot them asimmer downlook.

“The caladrius is definitely real!” Zach answered. “Genetically engineered, obviously.”

The bird waddled but didn’t fly. Linda wanted to be charmed, but its dirt-crumbly undercarriage dragged as it waddled. It seemed, somehow, inbred, like those dogs whose eyes spontaneously pop out of their sockets. “Are they friendly?”

“They know we feed them,” Zach said. “Friendly would be a stretch. But that hardly matters. What matters is that they reproduce very quickly, making them an excellent food source. Very high in the B vitamins and iron. They were invented to replace chickens, but they turned out to have fragile lungs. They’re dependent on our Bell Jar. That’s why you’ve never seen one outside. They can’t survive.”

“And they live here, in doghouses on people’s lawns?”

“Birdhouses,” Zach said. “They’re heated for winter. Very comfortable.”

Linda watched the sad thing. Found herself pitying it as it wobbled like a drunk. “Why?”

“We could pen them all up on the farm, sure, but they’re our birds. We made them. Why not honor them? Why not take individual accountability for their survival, because the existence of these creatures might also one day mean our own survival?”

“Huh,” she said. “I guess that’s smart. More ethical than factory farms, for sure.”

“We’re smart!” Zach announced.

Their first stop was town. Zach took them to Parson’s Market, whose produce was so fresh it seemed about to burst, then to the fabric store, where residents had their clothing and upholstery made bespoke. Last was Lust’s Bakery, apparently owned by Jack’s cousin, where they settled into a table with donuts and day-fresh goat milk whose cream rose to the top. Linda dunked. Made noises of pleasure. Stopped doing that, as it sounded obscene.

Zach explained the rules. Like most company towns, BetterWorld had done away with salaries. Instead, it offered benefits. There was no cap on dependents. Families could have as many children as they pleased. But more than two was frowned upon. Cars, houses, meals in restaurants, education, health care, and everything else in PV was free. New employees paid a small settlement deposit that was refundable, so long as they lived and worked in PV at least twelve months. This kept the company from losing its investment.

Employees underwent annual reviews every year for twenty-five years. The first review was the toughest. “It’s a test, to be honest. The whole year’s a test, to make sure you fit, and also to get you to fit,” he said. “But isn’t it worth the extra effort to live someplace so safe?”

“What are the exam questions?” Linda asked. He looked at her blankly. “How are we tested?” she followed up.

“Nothing formal. It’s really just for fun. You’ll understand as you go. Most people work out fabulously.” Quickly, he moved on, telling her that if they passed those twenty-five reviews, they’d receive what was called a golden ticket: they got tenure and could live in PV for as long as they wanted, and retire there, too. Children had grace periods. Theywere allowed to stay with their families until they turned twenty-two, at which point, presumably, they’d secured their own employment. “Then, they get jobs in PV and live next door to their parents, like me!”

There wasn’t an elected government. The big things were decided by the BetterWorld board of directors. The rest was decided by volunteers who worked together in clubs like the PV Beautification Society and the PV Civic Association. Laws were identical to those on the outside, and when people broke them, which was rare, PV retained a small police force and typically outsourced criminal trials to the justice system in New York. Misdemeanors it handled on its own.

“You seem organized,” Linda said, noticing the passersby outside. Like Zach, they dressed in tight, brightly colored clothing suitable for both exercise and work. “But what happens to the people who don’t pass their first review?”

Zach made gratitude prayer hands, bisecting that terrible goatee once again. It looked like a gigantically hairy slug had died on his face. “The same thing that happens to the people who don’t pass their twenty-fourth reviews. They leave Plymouth Valley without golden tickets, but with excellent résumés. You can’t lose. This place opens many doors—”

“How much is the deposit?”

Zach put his hand on Linda’s arm. It felt performative. She liked him better than Jack. At least he smiled, even if it was fake. Still, his personality was… greasy. “Don’t you worry about the money. That’s never an obstacle.”

When they toured the local K–12, they learned that all the meals were fresh, the teachers had PhDs in their subjects, and university-level courses began in seventh grade. “You’ll notice everyone has notebooks. We don’t believe in screens. Screens are for consumers. Our children are producers.”

“Is this place magic?” Linda asked, because back home, all the exams were online, only sometimes blackouts erased everything, and the kids had to take them two and three times before getting an automated, often erroneous grade. Last year, a clerical error had removed Josie from the honors track in math, so she’d been remediated. It hadtaken Linda six months and the threat of a lawsuit to get her back in Honors Trigonometry instead of Building Blocks of Mathematics. Hip lost his lead seat in cello when the music department was canceled. His heartbroken orchestra teacher tried to give him the school-issue cello as a parting gift, but the assistant principal confiscated it, so now that cello sat inside a locked room on Clark Street, getting dry rot.

After the school, they drove north. Zach tuned the radio to the only station that got reception: Plymouth Valley Radio, which was also volunteer run. The Brahms violin concerto played. “The hills look like baby cartoon bunnies and kitties and puppies holding hands,” Josie said. She was intimating what they were all feeling: this place was too good to be true. And also:Were the Farmer-Bowens good enough for it?Everybody but Zach laughed.

“But they kind of do,” Hip said.

“Yup,” Linda said. “Or cherubs. Baby angels.”

“God is dead,” Josie said in an unnaturally deep voice. She and Hip laughed. From the passenger seat, Linda shot them anotherstuff itglance.

“I’ve always thought they looked like caladrius,” Zach mused.

“Oh, I definitely see that,” Linda said.

“Me too,” Josie agreed.

“Yeah,” Hip said, adding now to the story. “That ripple in the hill looks like wings.”

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