The Smiths — Future Fiction

“Grace, are you ready? We’re going to see Granddad.”

Rebecca raised her head and listened for her daughter. Grace had been learning how to use the 3D printer that was recently installed at her school.

The online class finished five minutes ago. What was she up to?

“I’m nearly ready mummy.” Grace called back.

Rebecca walked to the hallway, put on her coat and gathered some belongings into a bag as Grace bounded down the stairs.

“How was your class? What did you learn?”

“We learnt how to tell the printer what to make.”

“Ooh! What did you make?”

“A windmill!” Grace exclaimed.

“Great, we like them don’t we? Remember when we saw some being built in the sea?”

Grace made a thinking face.

“Come on let’s go.”

Rebecca helped her daughter into her wellies and stormbreaker. Rebecca’s partner Chris walked up to them and gave them both a kiss, pulling back Grace’s hood as he did, unspooling her hair.

“Give Granddad a hug from me Grace.”

“I will.”

“You have a class now right?” Asked Rebecca.

“Yeah in five minutes.”

Chris’ lecturing job had gone online in 2020 and he had barely returned to a lecture hall since.

“OK. See you later.” Said Rebecca blowing a kiss.

“Bye Daddy!” squeaked Grace.

The rain was just stopping as Rebecca and Grace left the house and headed for the car. Rebecca’s Honda E3 purred into life as she unlocked the car with her phone.

Once inside the car’s autopilot asked “Where to?” Rebecca replied “Granddad’s”.

“Navigating to Silver Birch Retirement Community. Confirm?”

“Yes!” Shouted Grace.

“Voice ID not authorised.” Intoned the car.

“Shush Grace. Yes. Confirm.” Said Rebecca.

“Destination confirmed. Fasten your seat belts please.”

Rebecca fastened hers and Grace’s belt and with the “clunk click” the car started moving.

The car slowed at the end of the driveway, scanning for other active vehicles. There were none coming so the car pulled out on to the main road.

Rebecca replied to a few work emails and booked their parking space as the car sped towards town. The car glided to a halt at a junction, where an engineer and a robot were dismantling a traffic light. The latest piece of physical infrastructure to go digital.

The traffic light network had been digitised and linked to all vehicles. Cars now knew the timings for when the lights would change. There was no more “amber gamblers”. The numbers of vehicle collisions, deaths and injuries had plummeted.

Grace watched the robot with fascination as it disconnected and folded up pieces of metal. The red traffic light on the car’s dashboard turned to green and the car continued on.

“Honda, Radio 4 please.” It was coming up to the hour and Rebecca hadn’t heard any news today.

The sound of the pips chimed out. “Volume up two”. The system complied.
“President West has announced…”

Grace opened the glove compartment and grabbed her tablet, unrolled it and opened a drawing app.

“Are you going to draw a picture for Granddad?” Asked Rebecca. Grace nodded.

The headlines continued. “The Conservatives have announced they will transition to a Direct Democracy party.” “Ha!” Exclaimed Rebecca.

“Speaking to delegates in Brighton, Mr Grimes, said Conservative values and policies implemented with Direct Democracy were the future destination of the party.”

Arriving in the town centre the car’s navigation spotted some traffic data and plotted another route. Soon they arrived at Granddad’s residence. The car descended into an underground car park and parked precisely in their pre-booked bay.

Silver Birch Retirement Community had been constructed in an empty department store. Such businesses had ceased trading years ago and many towns had struggled to fill them with going concerns, until someone suggested developing them for mixed use — residential communities and childcare services.

Rebecca loved that old people like her father were now apart of a town’s community, not boxed up in some out of the way place.

Rebecca held Grace’s hand as they rode in the lift, walked a short distance, then entered a glass box outside the entrance. “Look up Grace.” Said Rebecca. Grace raised her face and a camera scanned both of their foreheads, checking for signs of a temperature.

“Thank you.” Said a voice that sounded like her mother’s. “Welcome to Silver Birch Retirement Community.” The glass doors slid open and Rebecca and Grace walked through to the reception.

“Hi Andrew, where’s Pete today?”

“Miss Smith, your father is…” Andrew pulled out a tablet and brought up a floor plan. “…in the main hall. He’s just finished a painting class.”
“Thank you.” Said Rebecca.

In the main hall, Grace spotted her Granddad and let go of her mum’s hand, ran towards him and gave him a hug.

“Granddad! I drew a picture for you.”

“Hello Grace! A picture? Thank you. Look, I’m nearly finished mine.”

Rebecca kissed her seated father on the head and said “Hi Dad, how’s things?”

The family caught up on the of events of the previous week. Grace passed the time drawing on her tablet and as Rebecca noticed, checking something on a parcel delivery site.

Pete suggest a stroll around the roof garden. “Yeah!” Said Grace.

The family rode the lift with a some fellow residents, who teased Pete about his last karaoke turn.

The lift opened directly on to the roof garden and the sun shone brightly. The recent rain made the leaves and flowers glisten. It was a beautiful space, made bitter sweet by its official title, the Covid-19 memorial garden.

Rebecca and her father locked arms and walked slowly as Grace bounded around taking photos of the insects busy pollinating. The flowers had the look of flowers that are looked at.

A delivery drone buzzed overhead and dropped some parcels into a drop zone. A member of staff who was gardening with some residents, walked over and collected the parcels from the netting that had caught them.
Grace ran up to the man and said “One of those is for me.”

“Really?” Said the man. “What’s your name?”

“Grace Smith.” she replied.

“So there is!” Said the man after shuffling through a few parcels.

By this point Rebecca and Pete arrived. “What have you been up to Grace?” Said Rebecca.

“It’s school work and I want to show Granddad.” Protested Grace earnestly.

Rebecca took out her phone and opened a shopping app. She scanned the QR code on the packaging, checked the order and cost, then agreed to the payment from her account.

“What’s this Grace?” Enquired Pete, looking at the thin brown package.

“It’s a windmill. I’ll show you.” Grace replied.

The family returned to Pete’s apartment and Rebecca made some drinks.

“Are you going to vote on Sunday?” Rebecca asked her father.

“Yes. Always do.” Pete pointed to his tablet, the kind that all the residents owned, on which they could register their votes.

“Remember I’ve been to countries where there was no voting. Just a dictator.”

Rebecca made eyes at her father as if to say “Not in front of Grace, Dad.”

“It’s a no-brainer.” Said Pete, switching tack. “Me and your mother didn’t pay any tuition fees when we went to university.” He said addressing Grace who was opening her package.

“Err yes I did Dad!” Said Rebecca. “I was one of the first years to have to.”

“Would you like to go to university Grace?” Said Pete, ignoring his daughter.

“Maybe, so long as I could make stuff.”

“Good for you.” Said Pete. “So what’s this then?”

“It’s my home work. In class today, Miss Swibsalton showed us how to use the 3D printer. She said she would post our work to us and we should finish our projects at home.”

Rebecca watched as Grace laid out various pieces of recycled plastic the 3D printer had produced. A long thin stick, a circular piece that looked like a pin and four thin flexible pieces in the shape of leaves.

Pete took a sip of tea as he watched his granddaughter assemble the pieces.

Moments later Grace was blowing at a toy windmill and giggling with excitement.

“Well done Grace!” Said Rebecca.

“Champion!” Said Pete.

Rebecca watched her father and her child play with the windmill. She thought of her mother and how the pandemic had taken her life. She remembered how the creation of a National Care Service had practically saved her father from a similar fate.

Direct Democracy had proposed the vote on the creation of a National Care Service in the early days of its first administration. It was seen as a key early test of its platform. With the help of free voting tablets distributed to all OAPs, the vote produced a 90% turnout, with 80% in favour of a new NCS.

Sure it took a few years to fully implement and for a majority to recognise that the NCS had been a success, but no one was in any doubt that it had helped save lives in the pandemic of 2029.

The NCS was valued now as much as the NHS. Except now, neither were political footballs. They were the cornerstones of Direct Democracy’s Universal Basic Services — health care as a universal right.

“From cradle to grave.” Said Pete when the vote passed. Rebecca recalled the phrase. A relic from a bygone age, now an everyday reality for all.