Rocket City Blues

they had these people buffaloed with that bullshit … they were stealing their very futures. Sending their jobs away, doing away with pensions and insurance and benefits for the elderly. And yet these good folks just couldn’t see past gun control, abortion and religion. Never mind their kids had no future, because by that time, the robots were already there, taking what jobs were left. It wasn’t until President Lanson came along that there was any real hope. And it was only a glimmer. Huntsville does ok because of the spaceport. But it’s just an oasis in a dying desert.”
He looks down at her and shakes his head with a sad smile of his own. “No, Starr, I don’t hate you. I really don’t hate the robots I talk of shooting off into the sun.” The smile fades away; his face turns cold, the eyes bitter and murderous. “I don’t hate them for taking jobs we once did. No, I hate the lily-white, squeaky-clean, country clubbin’ assholes that made them!”
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Chapter 2
It was a beautiful spring morning in the mountains of northeastern New York. James McCallister’s Mercedes touched down on the private landing pad of GenetX Corporation’s CEO, Broderick Chastaine III, just as the sun was clearing the nearby peaks. The morning air was crisp, a touch of winter stubbornly lingering. The hardwood forests of birch, beech and maple surrounding the estate were leafing out nicely, and the evergreen spruce and fir were already putting out new growth.
McCallister hated it all. He despised the great outdoors. A career businessman, he was most comfortable amid the hustle and bustle of the thriving city. His sanctuary was the towering skyscrapers that pierced the sky, the cathedrals of commerce on Wall Street, the rat race of millions, setting the tone for the rest of the world. His indulgences were five-star restaurants, decadent nightclubs and fine clothiers. He cared nothing about all this fresh air and sunshine. Give him the smog and pollution and the profits that came with it.
Chastaine, on the other hand, enjoyed his seclusion. He loved the privacy of his secluded estate. In a world where nature rarely was put first, he made sure his little corner of the world stayed green and lush. After all, he rarely left, nor did he have to. The state-of-the-art facility was virtually self-sufficient. It had a solar power plant, a water pumping station and a business center complete with the latest in commercial communications technology.
If you wanted to do business with Broderick Chastaine III, you came to him.
And come they did. From all corners of Earth and Sol, there was no shortage of clients eager to benefit from his company’s technology. They ranged from politicians and interplanetary corporations to small businesses and private citizens. Some came to find ways to make crops and livestock healthier, disease-resistant and more productive. Some came interested in cloning and organ farming. Others came wanting research on specific diseases and possible cures. And then others came with personal agendas, seeking help with “special projects” and “ideas,” all eager to do business with the pacesetter in the genetic engineering industry. These were the people that Chastaine enjoyed. They usually had unlimited funds and clear agendas.
Chastaine was just beginning his breakfast out on the rear patio when McCallister arrived. His boss was still on his first cup of coffee, watching the morning news as he casually sipped from his cup. As McCallister walked up, Chastaine motioned to a nearby chair.
“You’re just in time,” he said, his tone a touch more cheerful than James had expected. As he slid into the chair, Chastaine motioned for a servant nearby. He left briefly and returned with the coffee pot and another cup.
“Leave the pot,” Chastaine instructed. “Make sure we’re not disturbed.”
“Yessir.” The man nodded and briskly made for the kitchen.
“You hungry?” Chastaine turned his attention back to his assistant. “Having hotcakes this morning … real maple syrup and fresh sausage. Locally sourced and organic.”
“Thank you, but I had a bagel on the flight up,” James declined the offer, instead spooning some sugar into his coffee.
“Why, that’s not a healthy breakfast. Especially for someone in your position, always on the go!” His boss gave him a sympathetic smile as he buzzed the intercom. “Bring an extra plate for Mister McCallister.”
“Really, sir, I’m fine.”
“Nonsense! We’ve got a full day ahead, and breakfast is the most important meal. Gets your metabolism jump-started!”
“Yessir. Very well, sir,” James knew it was futile to object further.
Chastaine drained the last of his coffee and reached for the pot to refill his cup. As he did, he nodded toward the newsfeed, scrolling across the 3-D hologram projector in the middle of the table. “It’s been an interesting news day so far this morning. The Space Authority reports twelve of the New Exodus ships will be ready early next year. I anticipate we’ll be hearing from them soon about that age retardant project. Any word on it?”
“Still too many side effects to be feasible, I’m afraid.”
“Are they noticeable immediately? Or are they things that are long term and gradual?”
“A little of both, sir. Although most of the more severe ones won’t manifest themselves until years later, maybe decades, once the retardant begins to wear off and the natural aging process begins again.”
Chastaine reached for a blueberry muffin and thoughtfully began to butter it. “By that time, we could simply claim we had no idea. Plausible deniability … or made such a profit that we could absorb any repercussions.”
“Or we could be dead and gone,” mused McCallister. He thought nothing of it. It was a plausible possibility considering the age of both men. Yet, the look Chastaine was now giving him gave him pause. He suddenly realized that was something that had never crossed the man’s mind.
Jesus! He really thinks he’s going to live forever! And maybe with good reason. The man was working on an age retardation formula for astronauts going on interstellar missions. What else might he have