Martin Greenberg: The Future We Wish We Had

‘We’ll test drive this one,’ André interrupted.

Ron obligingly cycled open the lower hatch for us, letting André enter first to get into the pilot’s chair. I took shotgun, and Ron, folding himself into the rear seat, then closed the hatch again. While we all took off our masks and fastened our crash webbing, he picked up his spiel where he had left off. I sat back in my seat, which was comfortable-perhaps a bit too comfortable-and André punched the ignition.

“The Subatomic’s TruGyro steering system,” Ron droned on like an annoying commercial, “never loses track of its orientation. It boasts a wired microperiscope that shoots a tiny camera to the top of the water to let you keep track of conditions on the surface, then retracts again at the touch of a button.”

André grabbed the steering gyro with both hands and hit the accelerator, throwing us all back in our seats, which quickly adjusted to support our backs and heads. A nice feature. Without slowing, André curved the minisub around toward the Test Drive area and plunged us into the Level 5 Hazard Course. A forest of wriggling fake seaweed swallowed us in darkness. I bit my lip, digging my nails into the seat’s armrest. I would have cried out, but a moment later, the minisub’s exterior lights winked on. The floods illuminated the course before us, while my son’s face lit with an equally bright grin of fierce enjoyment.

Then, from out of nowhere, the tentacles of a gigantic ‘squid’ reached for us. André pushed the Subatomic into a sideways spin and plaid Ron’s sales speech ended with a squawk. In spite of the quick change of direction, the ride was surprisingly smooth and quiet, and the dynamic crash webbing didn’t cut into my neck as it did when I made sudden maneuvers in my SPig.

Just as I began to calm down again, now that we were out of the squid’s reach, the heads-up display blinked a warning signal. André tapped the brake rotors, tweaked the attitude adjustment jets on the left and lower hulls, and accelerated upward in a smooth curve as a giant coral reef loomed ahead of us. I gulped and closed my eyes, expecting a crash or the screech of coral scraping metal.

But the sounds never came. André started quizzing Ron on things like the number of spare universal jets in case one should go out (three), backup ACRU units (two portable NEMMs), and warranty (two years). Not bad for a used vehicle. I opened one eye to see that we were entering the cavern portion of the obstacle course. I quickly shut my eye again. That was when André started his negotiations-both of the cave passages and of the price.

I heard the occasional ping of the warning sensors and felt the almost instantaneous adjustments my son made in speed, orientation, and direction. In the background, André and Ron continued their bargaining while I cringed deeper into the passenger seat. It was amazingly comfortable.

‘You can open your eyes now, Mom,’ André said, and I realized that I had actually started to relax. “We’re out of the hazard course and almost back to the dealership lot.”

I blinked my eyes open to see that he was right. We were almost back, and André was driving at a safe, respectable pace, observing all of the traffic laws of the sea.

“Did you hear the final price, Mom?’ André said with a note of uncertain hope in his voice.

“No,” I said, bracing myself for sticker shock and already preparing for the unpleasant task of talking my son out of the sub he had so obviously fallen in love with. Ron quoted me the number of credits, which was, as I had suspected, higher than the amount we had budgeted for, but not nearly as high as I had expected. It was, in fact, quite reasonable, considering the sub’s excellent condition, well thought-out safety features, and luxury options. But André was a teenager. He didn’t really need to start out with all those bells and whistles. In fact, it would probably do him good to start with a more humble vehicle. I certainly had.

Just as André was about to start his turn into the sub lot, a plump green SPig came barreling out at us. It shouldn’t have been much of a problem considering that SPigs can do no more than thirty at their top speed, but its teenage driver was distracted. The young man, obviously not paying attention, had turned to speak with someone in the back seat and hadn’t seen us yet.

The path of the other vessel would intersect ours dead on. I drew in a sharp breath and stifled a scream just as the other driver noticed us and began frantically trying to maneuver in another direction. But his ungainly vehicle refused to cooperate. I heard a strangled yelp from Ron in the back. André, meanwhile, seemed completely unfazed as the warning signal began to ping. I slapped my hands over my eyes, but then spread my fingers and watched in terrified fascination.

Tapping the brake rotors, André twirled the gyro steering downward and threw the upper and side attitude adjustment jets on full so that we dove directly beneath the wallowing SPig. Instead of a jarring crash that would likely have disabled both vehicles, all I heard was the tiniest squeak as the SPig’s bulky rudder scratched against our hull for a bare fraction of a second.

Once clear of the other minisub, André steered the Subatomic on a slow, gentle curve back into the dealership and parked it at its original slot while I struggled to breathe normally again.

This was no time for debate. I knew what I had to do. André had wanted to make the final decision, but he couldn’t afford this choice without me.

“We’ll take it,’ I said. I glanced at André. ‘We’ll split the cost.”

The next day was Friday and, as promised, André swung by to pick up his little sister Reina from aquaballet on his way home from school. Howard and the rest of the submarine fishing fleet were home from their expedition with a large catch, so the four of us-

Howard, Reina, André, and I-had dinner as a family for a change.

André regaled us all with the tale of the previous day’s shopping expedition and test drive, as well as the story of his first day at school with his new minisub.

“You drove a good bargain, son,” Howard said with an admiring chuckle. “Literally. Why don’t we all go out for a spin after supper?”

‘Could, uh, could that wait for tomorrow?” André said, his face growing pink. “I kind of have a date tonight.”

“Who with?” Reina blurted. “Do I know her? Does she go to your school?”

Howard cleared his throat, cutting off the stream of questions. “Don’t stay out too late, son.”

‘I won’t.” André wiped his mouth with a napkin and excused himself from the table. “I promised Mr. Martinez I’d have Etsuko home early.”

I stared at my son in amazement. André was going out without us, on his first date alone. Howard grinned like the proud father he was. I, however, was not quite ready to let go. “Wait. What kind of date? Where are you going?” I asked as he headed for the front floor hatch where the Subatomic was parked.

He turned, grinned at me, and shrugged. “Where else, Mom? To watch the submarine races.”

When Alden was six weeks old, the doctor called them into his office. Ro didn’t want to go. She had a feeling that something was wrong. None of her friends had ever been called to a doctor’s office, especially when there had been no check-up previously, no tests, nothing that would seem out of the ordinary.

Ro’s husband, Gil, reassured her, but he didn’t sound sincere. He didn’t meet her eyes any more, and his ruddy face looked even more flushed than usual. He too knew that things were wrong. They bundled up the baby, whom Ro privately thought too small to be named after his famous great-grandfather, and went to the scheduled appointment.