“Excuse me Sir, are you Mr. Dodd?”
Jim Dodd heard his name and turned, unsurprised by the heavyset man huffing breathlessly toward the gate of his fortified fence. He was well-dressed, sporting a tweed coat and porkpie hat perched intentionally atop a manicured, yet thinning head of blonde hair. His shiny wing-tipped shoes looked out of place squelching through the trash heaps piled outside the perimeter. Behind him, a Rolls Royce Phantom hover car floated silently amid rotting garbage. The new arrival was a stranger, but Dodd knew who he represented. This was the third unwanted visitor to come calling, and Dodd sighed heavily.
“This is private property. Says so right there.” He nodded toward a placard emblazoned with ‘NO TRESPASSING’ in huge red letters.
“Well, if you’ll excuse my bluntness, we both know that’s no longer the case.” The stranger threw a cautious look at the photon rifle slung loosely over Dodd’s shoulder. “Based on the reception you gave my colleagues, you’re aware this plot is now the property of the Centralized Government. I know this is perhaps troubling news, but we’ve made several attempts to reach you by holo-message. You will, of course, be compensated at fair market value.”
Dodd’s eyes narrowed.
“Fair market value? Tell me, how much is the last scrap of wilderness on this entire godforsaken continent worth? This land’s been in my family for seven generations. Got all the necessary paperwork to prove that. It’s not for sale.” He pointed to a rise in the rocky landscape. “My wife and son are buried up on that hill.”
“Ah. Yes, well, very sad. Anyway, it’s not a matter of paperwork. Unfortunately, the parcel in question is the site of a proposed depot for the San Angeles-New Philadelphia supertrain.”
“That may be, but I’ll say it again… find somewhere else.”
The heavyset man guffawed stupidly.
“Find somewhere else, you say… Mr. Dodd, have you any idea how ridiculous that sounds? These ten acres of forest and rock are bordered on all sides by skyscrapers for goodness’ sake! There is nowhere else in the Bozeman-Helena metropolitan area for the station to be built.”
Jim Dodd looked skyward. Through the tops of the green ponderosa pines, hundred-story buildings stabbed into the grimy, pollution-filled sky, standing in stark juxtaposition to the forest around him. An unrelenting stream of aerial vehicles flowed overhead, filling the air with a constant hum of antigravity engines. He shifted his gaze, peering along the rocky outcroppings at ground level as his eyes traced the perimeter of the fence. The newcomer wasn’t wrong, Dodd knew.
Since he was a boy, he’d watched the press of buildings creep closer… each year bringing more high-rises, more discarded garbage, more gawking urbanites jockeying for a glimpse of the natural world. The irony wasn’t lost on him. The more people fought to experience this dwindling resource, the closer it came to disappearing altogether. Now, Dodd realized he was staring that once-distant future in its chubby, mustachioed face. But instead of arriving in the form of inept trampling, the last scrap of forest, his family’s generational home, would be summarily plowed into the ground. For another train depot. Write it all down as the progress of man, Dodd lamented, remembering a few words from a long-forgotten song.
“What’s your name, friend?”
“Peabody’s the name. Charles Woldruff Peabody.”
“Well, Mr. Peabody, that’s not my problem.”
Peabody grew red-faced, muttering incoherently as if Dodd’s statement had short-circuited his brain.
“Not your problem? Sir, you are the sole obstacle standing in the way of bringing this backwards region the comforts of the twenty-third century. The coastal megacities are fountainheads of technology – service automatons, VR immersion pods, human washing machines, foot tanners – countless highly coveted necessities! Things you yourself would benefit greatly from. A distribution hub for the S.A.N.P. supertrain would satisfy demand for the entire Rocky Mountain district without needing to rely on the collapsing Interstate Highway System.”
Dodd felt a humorless smile cross his lips. “Mr. Peabody, do you think someone like me has any use for a foot tanner?”
The stranger looked him up and down, taking in his dusty boots, faded canvas pants, and pearl button shirt. A weathered ballcap sat atop a mop of long curly hair, pulled back into a low knot. Dodd could see hesitation in Peabody’s eyes.
“Well… ah no, I suppose not. I was merely expressing some benefits that might…” Peabody trailed off looking foolish, then fished inside his coat pocket. Pulling out an official-looking envelope, the railway man brandished it at Dodd through the bars of the reinforced gate. “This is a formal order of eviction. You’ll find the appropriate signatures at the bot–”
A crescendoing whine and crack from Dodd’s photon rifle echoed through the trees before fading into the ever-present background noise above. A singed, dime-sized hole burned in the center of the envelope held stiffly in Peabody’s hand. Shock and surprise were etched in deep lines on the man’s face, his mouth contorted in a downturned lour. As if coming out of a trance, Charles Woldruff Peabody suddenly dropped the document, turned tail, and scampered back to the waiting hover car as fast as his legs would carry him.
Dodd grimaced, watching the Rolls rise steadily into the air and melt into the river of traffic. Peabody would return, bringing the might of the Centralized Police Force with him. Then, his last stand would be at an end. He’d be clapped in irons, dragged unceremoniously from his home, and forced to watch as the unyielding march of progress destroyed the final remnant of a once-pristine wilderness. Dodd settled himself on a rock and surveyed the trees, trying to imagine the sound of wind rustling the pine needles instead of the dull roar of aerial commerce. Ah, well, he thought forlornly. It was good while it lasted.
H.K. Farrell 