Island of the Unemployed

THE BLACKWELL RESIDENCE

A team of surrogates in toques and white double-breasted chef jackets scurried about an enormous kitchen that seemed more appropriate for a five-star restaurant than a private residence. There was a collective sigh of relief when a surrogate rushed into the kitchen carrying a delivery of truffles delivered from a continent away. It was getting late. The lady of the house requested them specifically, and there would have been hell to pay if they had arrived even fifteen minutes later. This was, after all, the Blackwell residence. Missteps were not tolerated. Perfection was not something to aspire to. It was a requirement.

The Blackwells were in their rooms, dressing for a formal meal. Mister Blackwell changed from his captain uniform, something he wore on a daily basis while piloting his yacht, into his formal wear. He entered a closet, dedicated specifically to formal wear, to pick out his ensemble. It wouldn't be difficult. Rows of identical white shirts and dark blue pants stretched out for several yards. It was a combination he loved so much, he wore it on a daily basis. His footwear was also relatively simple. Socks were deemed unnecessary. He preferred the feel of soft eel and stingray skin against his feet.

One could easily mistake the dearth of variety in his wardrobe as a lack of interest in his appearance, but that would be decidedly inaccurate. It had more to do with his desire to go with what works. If something works, why change it?

To him, dressing formally meant a change of accessories. For casual attire, he preferred the classic look of gold, whereas, on formal occasions, he wore diamonds. On this occasion, he selected a diamond bracelet, and a pair of earrings from a clear, rotating shelf filled with jewelry.

He wore a pair of round, tinted glasses even though he had twenty-twenty vision. The purpose of the glasses was to extend his vision, rather than correct it, but that was something that only he and the designers of the glasses knew, and the designers weren't telling. Not after Blackwell had them sent away once completing their task.

While most investors preferred to have surrogates dress them, Mister Blackwell would have none of that. He felt the investor class had become lazy and incompetent. Surrogates did everything for them, and it sickened him. Some of them were ancestors of some of the brightest minds in the world. People who revolutionized industry. Now they can't even dress themselves!

He preferred to be self-sufficient. He even piloted his own yacht when he went out on his daily cruise. He insisted his daughter learn to do the same. He wondered what was going to happen once he wasn't around to keep things in order.

His hair was slicked back, culminating in a tight ponytail, collected at the exact center of the back of his head. The length of the ponytail was just long enough, and his hair just curly enough to form a perfect hanging question mark. The ponytail had become world-renowned, as his silhouetted profile was used in the logo of the corporation. As the investor with controlling interest in the corporation, Mister Blackwell chose to be the face of the investor community. In fact, he was the only member of that class known to the public.

He was a controlling and ill-tempered man, with a volatile disposition that was well known in the investor community. Perhaps those were qualities that just went with having majority interest in the only remaining commercial venture in the world, or maybe it was just a happy coincidence.

There was, however, one irritating exception to his almost universal control of the entire planet, and that was his own household. The fact that his wife and daughter met with him every evening for a formal meal had more to do with a convergence of preferences rather than the imposition of his will upon them.

He and his wife had drifted apart many years ago and hadn't shared a bedroom for some time. The intimacy between the two of them didn't extend much beyond an occasional hello and some small talk at the dinner table. Neither of them saw any need to end the marriage, however. They both had full lives, and neither had a desire to make significant changes. Divorce would be messy and he had no interest in blemishing his precious public image. She, on the other hand, had no interest in leaving her lavish lifestyle. So, they maintained a marriage of convenience. He financed her insatiable need for all things luxurious, and she pretended to be his devoted and loving wife.