Toys

house.

When I arrived at President Hughes Jacklin’s inauguration party that night in the year 2061, I was flying high, happier and more self-satisfied than I had ever been. I couldn’t have dreamed I would end up losing everything I cared about-my home, my job, my two darling daughters, Chloe and April, and my beautiful wife, Lizbeth, who was there by my side.

In the catastrophic whirlwind of those next horrible days, it would seem as if my world had been turned upside down and any part of my personality that wasn’t securely bolted in place had fallen into the void. And what was left was what I guess you’d call the essential Hays Baker-well, if you brought the old me and the new me to a party, I guarantee nobody would accuse us of a family resemblance.

Lizbeth and I arrived at the presidential estate at around eight thirty, delivered in high style by our artificially intelligent Daimler SX-5500 limo. This wasn’t our usual car, of course.

A cheery, top-of-the-line iJeeves butler helped us out onto the resplendent, putting-green-short grass of the front lawn. We promptly began to gawk at our surroundings-like a couple of tourists, I suppose. Hell, like lowly humans given an unlikely glimpse of the good life.

Even now, I remember that the warm night air was sweet with the fragrance of thousands of roses, gardenias, and other genetically enhanced flowering plants in the president’s gardens, all programmed to bloom tonight. What a botanical miracle it was, though a bit show-offy, I’d say.

“This is absolutely incredible, Hays. Dazzling, inspiring,” Lizbeth gushed, her gorgeous eyes shining with excitement. “We really do run the world, don’t we?”

By “we,” Lizbeth wasn’t talking about just herself and me. She was speaking of our broader identity as ruling Elites, the upper echelon of civilized society for the past two decades.

Most Elites were attractive, of course, but Lizbeth, with her violet hair set off by ivory skin and an almost decadent silver silk gown, well, she sparkled like a diamond dropped into a pile of wood chips.

“You’re going to knock them dead, Jinxie,” I said, winking. “As always.”

“Flattery,” she said, winking back, “will get you everywhere.”

Jinxie was my favorite nickname for her. It stemmed from the fact that she’d come into this world on a Friday the thirteenth, but there wasn’t a single thing unlucky about her-or our life together, for that matter.

I took her tastefully bejeweled hand in mine, inwardly thrilled that she was my wife. God, how I loved this woman. How lucky I was to be with her, as husband, as father to our two daughters.

Every head turned as we walked into the huge, high-ceilinged ballroom, and you’d have thought we were music or film stars from the bygone human era.

But not everybody in the high-society Elite crowd was pleased to see Lizbeth and me.

Well, hey, you can’t make everyone happy. Isn’t that the sanest way to view the world? Of course it is.

Chapter 2

AS LIZBETH AND I entered the glittering ballroom, Westmont DeLong, the world’s most popular and most celebrated comedian, was at center stage, entertaining with his droll patter of antihuman jokes. When he noticed that the audience was momentarily paying more attention to Lizbeth and me than to him, he raised his voice to win them back.

“Listen to this one, folks. Eyes on me, gents-ladies too! Right here, you and me…. The star is up on the stage.

“So an Elite’s out for a night on the town. He has a few too many, and he wanders into a tavern in a borderline human zone,” DeLong announced with his trademark sly grin.

“He buys a drink-then says to the people around him, ‘I’ve got to tell you the best human joke I’ve heard in years.’ The tough-looking woman bartender gets in his face. She says, ‘Listen, buddy, I’m a martial arts expert, my boyfriend next to you is a professional no-gravity wrestler, and the bouncer is ex-Special Forces. All three of us are humans and-guess what? — there are fifty others like us in here. You really want to tell that joke?’ ‘No, forget it,’ the Elite says. ‘It would take me all night to explain it fifty- three times.’ ”

The crowd laughed loudly. Clearly, they were fans of Westmont DeLong-as was I-and a barrage of antihuman quips sprang up:

“One human asks another which is closer, the moon or Mexico,” someone called out. “The second one points at the moon and says, ‘Duh-you can’t see Mexico from here.’ ”

“Scientists have started using humans instead of rats for laboratory experiments. They breed faster, and you don’t get so attached to them.”

DeLong chuckled and contributed, “Know what happens when humans don’t pay their garbage bill? The company stops delivery.”

“Come on, Hays, your turn,” said a voice behind me. “Let’s see that quick wit of yours in action. Dazzle us.”

The tall, athletic, and handsome man who’d spoken was none other than Jax Moore, the head of the Agency of Change, where Lizbeth and I both worked. Moore was enjoying one of his trademark cigars-smokeless, odorless.

Everyone around us went quiet and watched expectantly. Since the challenge came from our boss, I couldn’t duck it, could I? So I smoothed the lapels of my tux, smiled, and told the best human joke that I could remember.

“Well, there’s an office full of human workers. One human woman notices that her boss, who’s also a woman, is leaving early just about every day,” I said. “So the worker decides she can get away with it too. That afternoon, she waits until the boss leaves, waits another ten minutes, and then sneaks out herself. But when she gets home, she hears an awful commotion coming from her bedroom. She peeks in-and there’s her boss in bed with her husband!”

I paused, just a beat-pretty good timing, I was sure.

“She hurries back to work. ‘Well, I’m not going to try that again,’ she tells her coworkers. ‘I almost got caught!’ ”

The room echoed with genuine laughter, and Westmont DeLong’s face reddened. His double chin sagged as well. Lizbeth managed to look appropriately blase, like she’d heard it all before, but she shot me a surreptitious wink that said, Way to go, Hays.

“Not bad, Hays,” Moore said. “OK, if you can spare a minute or two away from the limelight, the president wants to see you both.”

The president! Lizbeth didn’t look blase at that news. Neither of us had ever met President Jacklin before. This was a huge honor, of course.

“We don’t usually give interviews without an appointment… but we’ll make an exception in this case,” I said.

“I’m sure the president will be flattered,” Jax Moore said wryly. “And Hays-no more jokes. Not even human ones.”

Chapter 3

“My, my. The President wants to meet us,” Lizbeth whispered in my ear as we followed Jax Moore farther into the mansion.

“Of course he does,” I said with a grin.

Actually, Lizbeth and I were considered stars at that particular moment in time. We’d just returned from New Vegas, where we had saved countless lives while arresting a gang of moderately clever human bank robbers who had been terrorizing the West.

Anyway, Jax Moore whisked us through eight-foot-tall carved oak doors that led to the mansion’s private