PneumaLink

Like a vulnerable beach, worker satisfaction with PneumaLink had gradually eroded, with Henry’s father being among the first grains called to sea.

Henry could still hear his father’s gruff, charismatic, voice ringing in the very spot he now stood, “Not a cooling system, not any AI production help for us, not even a bonus—no! Our brilliant PneumaLords thought we would all just love a giant projector!”

His father would often recount this early public relations blunder on the part of PneumaLink, who had been teasing a new innovation for months. At the time, speculation ran wild in the press, but in the end, all predictions were wide off the mark. The new project, in fact, consisted of a massive solar-powered projector designed to follow the moon’s orbit and cast an image of two hands, clasped together in partnership, across the lunar surface. The image, the company announced, would also serve as PneumaLink’s new logo design. And though none found the image itself particularly offensive, the “big reveal” underwhelmed most and agitated others.

Henry’s eyes went in and out of focus as he stared down the darkened hallway into the empty room where his parents once riled small groups of workers. Through everything, Henry’s mind couldn’t help but loop back to that projector —as if it were some pivotal turning point that, if undone, would spare the world from the fate it had inherited. But, deep down, Henry knew that wasn’t the case. Rather, it was an indignant feeling he had absorbed through a sort of emotional osmosis from his father. Henry had always admired his father and understood why he did what he did. Especially now.

Henry slumped to his side, the familiar corridor wall the only thing keeping his body upright. His forehead stuttered down the face of the wallboard into a small, wooden, picture frame, knocking it to the floor. Looking up at Henry from the frame were seven former PneumaLink employees standing in the foreground of an open pasture. Two of whom, a Quality Assurance Officer by the name of Anya Brooks, and a Junior Field Production Assistant by the name of William Plant, would go on to bring Henry and his two sisters into the world. Henry let out a whimpering groan. He wished his parents had gotten to stay there —that they had found some sort of exit ramp off that timeline— and were able to live solely in that prospect-filled moment. But they, nor Henry, would be that fortunate.

At one point, The PneumaLink nourished the globe, with its arterial webs of pneumatic supply lines stretching out like fractal roots consuming the confines of its pot. But since the wars, pneumatic distribution had ceased entirely; delivery of food, medicine, supplies —of everything, was shuttered in a matter of days. Now, the 4.8 billion miles of pneumatic delivery tubes that had once connected production facilities with consumers sat dormant, like veins in a cadaver. As factions warred, famine soon took its uncompromising hold, and within weeks, billions succumbed to starvation.

The only hope left resided in “field resource zones”, one of which Henry’s father, William, had helped tend to most of his adult life. The zones were PneumaLink’s fields for plant-based food production and sprawled out for hundreds of miles. At peak production, there were over twelve thousand field resource zones that fed supply chains. Now, even through months of widespread desperation, hundreds of zones continued to thrive. However, they were virtually inaccessible.

In an early effort to provide security for each zone, PneumaLink had run programs through a mountainous fleet of laser-equipped satellite systems to “passively” patrol the zones. Meaning, without the proper radio-frequency identification (RFID), unauthorized personnel and equipment were met with near-certain destruction. And despite the complete overthrow and dissolution of PneumaLink as an entity, the 1’s and 0’s written into the satellite system’s code remained statically unaware. Lifeless assemblies of gaunt and charred bodies now lined the border of each resource field by the thousands.

All around the Plant family was dying. Meanwhile, the family itself was surviving on a stockpile of canned food Anya had been collecting for years. The stockpile was originally intended to provide for families whose income would be cut off during the next of the “Pneu Day Strikes”. But that world was far gone now.

Henry’s father worked in the basement day and night for months, attempting to modify his old RFID’s. His race against the family’s dwindling food supply weighing down upon him in an apparent and unyielding fashion. Throughout each day, the family could hear the low rumblings of William Plant as he muttered to himself below. His rhythmic baseline interrupted only by bouts of exasperated shouting that were sent flying off the floorboards above.

Until one day, when they heard nothing at all. Silence, for hours on end. The family’s collective unease turned to relief, and then curiosity, as they saw William emerge from the basement —the remaining bags of stockpiled food in-tow. He gathered his family in the empty room where he had organized and inspired so many before. Anya and the three children looked with an eager sense of hope and anticipation towards William. He did not disappoint.

Like a seasoned professor, he took his place at the front of the room. “Inside these necklaces,” William began, as he passed around the metallic, heart-shaped lockets. The copper hearts, welded shut across the seams, danced gently from the loops of beige twine. “Inside these necklaces”, he continued, “lives hope... Inside these necklaces… lives our future”. His voice swelled with excitement as if he were once again rousing a group of workers, “Inside these necklaces… lives a new beginning!”

He then lowered his voice, stooping forward towards his huddled family, “Inside each of these necklaces… lives a modified RFID.” William then pointed towards the partially boarded window, in the direction of the local resource field, “that is our new home”, he smiled softly as he looked his youngest in the eyes, “And we’re going… tonight.”

At dinner, the feeling was practically festive, with the last of the stockpiled food served in generous portions. Henry’s young sisters giggled as they took turns advising their stuffed animal, Molly the sea otter, on what she should pack. Their outlandish improvisations caused the Plant family to laugh like they hadn’t in quite some time. Anya, holding her husband’s hand, glanced at him throughout the meal with a familiar sense of admiration and wonder. The same sense she had felt twenty-three years earlier as they stood, side-by-side, for a group photo in the foreground of an open pasture. The only difference being that now her face no longer turned flush when he glanced back. William gazed lovingly at his family, glass raised, “I love you all very much” he said, his grateful tone wavering, “and I can’t wait to start the next chapter”.

The evening had gone exactly as William had planned, until Henry woke up the next day. The rest of the family had been dead at least twelve hours when Henry came to.

That was three weeks ago now. Henry stumbled down the back steps, past the cement pad he used to grind down his locket, and then the four others —none of which carried any trace of an RFID. A feeling well beyond hunger coursed through Henry’s frail body like he hadn’t felt before. He stumbled forward, his breaths increasingly erratic. Henry loved his father and understood why he did what he did. Especially now.

He collapsed as he arrived next to the makeshift gravesite that now housed his family. Henry laid on his side, away from the recently turned dirt, and towards the dimly lit view of fully sprouted climbing beans, virile stalks of sweet corn, luscious deep-green zucchini, and playful sunflowers.

His eyes started to fade as gravity lay him on his back. Henry looked towards the sky, his right hand comforting the left, mirroring the light that reflected off the moon above.