RoboNomics

Chapter 65 - 2016

As the jet breaks from the clouds, I see a brown land mass laid out below us. It sits on the ocean like an autumn leaf floating in a puddle. 

The island is rimmed with white cresting waves and bright blue tropical ocean that immediately drops into a deeper, more impenetrable color. This is not what I expected.

It's past sunrise now. Austin, looking much less pale than the day before and standing on his own two legs, has emerged from a room at the end of the cabin. He sits beside me. 

We're both buckled into our seats and we strain to look our the windows at the island. As we descend, it grows in size. Other, smaller islands behind to appear on the southern horizon.

"What is that thing?" Austin, in the aisle seat, leans over me.

A mountain sits at the island's apex. The top of the mountain is more like a crater than a peak, and an ugly industrial structure sits in its bowl. 

Metal struts grip a massive, curving tower. It looks like a giant soda can, silver and shining in the bright morning sun. A thin rod emerges from its top and shoots straight up into cloud. The entire structure appears to be hanging from the sky.

Rupert looks across at us. 

"That is...would be best explained a little later. Suffice it to say that if you agree to the terms of the will, that contraption will escort us to your new home."

Austin shoots me a puzzled look.

"And that's where we're supposed to meet Donald's lawyers?" I ask.

"No, of course not." Rupert doesn't even bother to look out the window.

The jet lands on a runway on the southern tip of the island: Isabela Island. I grab Austin's hand as we dismount.

"Do you need help?"

"No. I'm good." 

He puts my hand under his arm and we walk across the tarmac together. I can't believe the change in him between yesterday and today. The color is not completely back in his face, but it no longer looks like a death mask. 

His energy is coming back faster than it ever did when I managed to give him the pills that suppressed his symptoms. I allow myself to hope what I haven't yet: that all this is real, that he is really cured, that he's going to be okay.

Rupert leads us towards a squat set of buildings. The one directly in front of us gleams in silver and glass. The complex stands out starkly against the backdrop of the island. 

From here at ground level, the foliage is not all brown. There are short, stocky bushes standing in clumps at the edges of the runway. Their waxy, teardrop-shaped leaves glint in the morning sunlight. They are dotted with black birds that have pelican-like beaks. 

Around the base of the bushes are black rocks that look like they've been crumbled by human hands. I think they're giant chunks of pumice. The faint tang of saltwater is on my tongue, but the island seems to be exhaling the odor of rotting fish and dirty bodies. That smell, at least, reminds me of home.

We walk towards a set of giant revolving doors. The stink fades as Austin and I, hands clasped together, step through the doors and into a vast lobby. It's a bright expanse with pillar supports wrapped in white marble. The marble covers the entire floor and each wall.

There's a long oak reception desk that dominates the back wall of the room. Behind it, holographic receptionists stand in crisp black suits. They all have long, dark hair pulled back into ponytails.