August 3, 2026
by Piscivore
This is a prequel I wrote to Bradbury’s "August 2026: There Will Come Soft Rains" (1950). We were discussing the story in one of my college classes when I realized that my daughter and son will be about the right age in 2026 to have a family similar to the one described in that work.
It was only Monday afternoon, and already the work week seemed too long. Mr. McClellan plugged away at the numbers that scrolled across his monitor, only half understanding the significance of them. Once, long ago when he was first hired, he questioned his supervisor about it. He had been fresh out of college and eager, and wanted to show willing. What are these forms we keep filling out? He’d asked. What do they mean? Featherstone took him aside and quietly, very quietly, explained that asking questions could get the whole department sacked. Their jobs, Featherstone said, were created by an obscure government regulation passed decades ago. Some congressman had thought it would be a good idea to have human oversight over certain business transactions. Military transactions. Or maybe he just wanted to funnel some tax money into his home state. Whatever the reason, the law had passed, people were hired, salaries got paid, people were happy. Then many years later, what with the political situation and all, the law expired without anyone noticing- at least, anyone with an interest in cutting several thousand salaries out of the industry’s bottom line. McClellan wasn’t going to be the one to kill the golden goose, so he did his grinding with the rest of them. Eventually Featherstone moved up, and McClellan moved up too. It was another part of that law, if you stayed at your job, passed the security clearances, didn’t crack up or make a fuss or take too many pills you were promoted. You still did the same job, but you got a little more money and you showed the new people what to do. A lot of people didn’t make it; the tedium could get to you.
It didn’t get to McClellan. He didn’t really live till he got home.
Anyway, it was Monday afternoon and there was something stirring in his mind, something making him uneasy. He surreptitiously checked his roster for his fantasy team again, but it was doing well. The gamble he took making Jürgen his starting center was staring to pay off. Somehow he wasn’t as happy about that as he thought he would be. He resumed his data entry, and gradually noticed that certain transactions he routinely made were no longer coming up. No orders to China had been shipped all day, or to India or a half-dozen other places. He typed up a quick email to Featherstone, asking if something was wrong. He hesitated to send it, but no, he should. He was in a position of responsibility now.
The reply came back immediately. “See Me”. He hoped he hadn’t killed the golden goose.
“McClellan.” Featherstone said. His voice sounded empty, hollow somehow. “I suppose you’ve been following the news.”
He hadn’t. It was depressing. All that politics stuff was none of his business anyway. “A little, I guess.”
“Why don’t you go home for the day. Spend this time with your family.”
“Ah, sure. If that’s okay. See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, tomorrow. Let’s hope. Goodbye, George.”
He rode the electric train home. Even though he lived at the very edge of the city, the train still went practically to his door. He waited while the security system biometrically scanned him before letting him in. The kids complained, but better safe than sorry. His wife was in the living room, status updating a few dozen friends and playing Diva Star. Her social points were plus green several points on all the profiles he saw, and her avatar was wearing those Skank® boots she had been trying to win. Someone had a good day. He kissed her head and said so.
“Yeah, and basically all I did was say how sick I was hearing about that whole tragedy thing in Mongolia or where the fuck ever. Struck a nerve I guess.”
“Are those new friends? How many is that, plus a hundred?”
“Hundred fourteen.”
“Good for you. How’s the kids?”
“In their rooms. Their games dropped today so they’re gone till dinner. Hey, you’re early.” She looked at him finally.
“Featherstone sent me home. Some problem with some of the orders.”
“You’re not…”
“No, I think he just needs some space to clear things up.”
“Okay. Good. Okay.” She turned back to her screens. “Love you.”
“You too.”
He went to the study and logged on. He shot quick PMs to the kids, how was school, the usual dad stuff. Good dad. Homework done? Dad, raiding! Satisfied, he went to join his own game. He spent a few minutes looking for his guild until he realized that it was several hours at least before the scheduled mission. He tried running a solo quest, but it just wasn’t as much fun. After a couple of hours he logged off the game and sighed. He considered looking at some porn, but it didn’t seem right with the kids still awake. With nothing better to do, he started rummaging through his junk mail folder to see if anything interesting got dumped there by the filter software. He was glad he did, because nestled between the usual penis pill ads and Arkansas scams he found a few from his mother, using an old email address that wasn’t compliant with the new protocols. He’d have to explain that to her again. They were the usual “hi, how are you” and “hug the kids” and one “haven’t heard from you” that stung him. He sent her a quick reply, chiding her for the technical error and promising they’d see her soon. The last message had some digitized photos attached, which he guessed is what got her addy kicked to junk in the first place. They were old, really old, from when he was a baby and later. Some were of the trips his grandparents used to take the family on- the beach in San Diego, the Alamo, camping in the woods. He remembered those trips fondly, and it stung again that he hadn’t thought of his grandparents much lately, either.
He was lost in thought when his monitor and his phone simultaneously alerted him “Six o’clock, time for dinner”. He checked the family calendar- Lydia, Peter and Wendy had all overridden dinner and chose to eat at their desks. He almost selected the same, by habit, but then he used his admin authority to clear their overrides. The last time he had done so was when his father had died, he hoped it wouldn’t worry them but he really wanted to see their faces tonight.
Lydia met him at the door to his study.
“OMG, what’s wrong?” she said, terrified. “You got fired, why didn’t you tell me?”
“No, it’s nothing like that.” Peter and Wendy were there now, too. “I just thought we could eat together tonight.”
“Oh. Well… sure, it’ll be fun.” She said, supportive, but puzzled.
“But I have to harvest oats for my ponies in thirteen minutes,” said Wendy.
“Your ponies will be fine without oats for a while, kiddo, listen to your father.”
“Hrmph.” She stomped off to the dining room in that way only little girls under ten can pull off.
Lydia hugged him. “You okay?
“Yeah. I got some email from Mom, old pictures. Made me kinda sad.”
“Aw, you big sap. Okay, let’s have an old fashioned family dinner.”
They walked into the dining room, where the ‘bots had just laid out steaming spinach lasagna. Peter’s nose wrinkled, disgusted. This wasn’t right.
“No, you know what, no. We’re going to do something new. Something you kids’ve never done. Peter, Wendy, go grab some blankets. Lyd, gather up some of these plates and cups and stuff. Silverware.”
He went to the kitchen. “Is dad gone nuts?” he heard Peter ask as he left.
The “kitchen” wasn’t a room like his parent’s house had. It was a freezer/pantry that only the ‘bots got into. All the food came from the store delivered, prepackaged and mostly precooked. The AI in the microwave warmed it up and the little Asimos served it. No one in the family had an eating disorder so the door wasn’t locked in any serious way, nevertheless a red light blinked and he got a number of insistent messages on his phone. He was probably violating a few warranties and his user’s agreements with the grocery store and the appliance company. He’d worry about that tomorrow. He found sealed Mylar envelopes labeled “Bread, Enriched White, Sliced” and “Turkey, Precooked, Pressed Loaf, Sliced” and “Lettuce, Iceberg, Leaf”. He filled his arms with bagged tomatoes and cheese and onion and chips and condiments. No one put logos or anything on the packages anymore, he noticed. All the ordering was done online, and robots don’t read ads.
Carefully balancing his load, he met the family in the hall. “Outside!” He said, like guild leader ordering his companions to battle.
Peter opened the door and they carried their respective burdens to the neat, robot-cut lawn. The dog appeared, snuffling around to see what was up.
“Kids, spread that blanket out on the grass.”
“OMG, are we having a picnic?!” Lydia squealed. “I haven’t done that since I was a little girl!” Delighted, she showed Wendy how to set the places while Peter helped him sort the loot. The boys tore into the envelopes, laying out the components for sandwich crafting. They had fun making sandwiches, and putting them together themselves was sheer novelty for the kids. The dog got in the way and everyone laughed and fed him turkey slices. Lydia ran in to get bottles of pop and came back instead with a pitcher of instant lemonade she mixed herself. They were the only people outside; the rest of the houses they could see were already buttoned up tight against the approaching dark.
As they ate, he told the kids the stories the photos had brought back to him. No, the woods weren’t anything like the Forest of Elfhaven, first, you could smell the trees- they smelled good, really good; deep and old and piney, you don’t even know. One time, a blue jay landed as close to me as you are. Your uncle had a pinecone collection.
The sun descended closer to the horizon, bathing the yard, the house, and the picnic in a soft golden glow. He told of making fires themselves, cooking hotdogs on sticks, sleeping in a tent. The kids were enthralled. Lydia was charmed. He was getting laid so hard tonight.
His story was rudely interrupted by one of the squat, round lawnbots that turned the corner of the house and headed in their direction. He sprung up and waved his arms in front of it. The machine sensed the obstacle and halted, recomputing. The dog barked at it. Bits of grass escaped from under the deck showering the blanket. The kids, inspired, breathed in the raw green scent of the cut grass. Lydia squeaked, some of the clippings had flown into in her lemonade. He carefully pushed the ‘bot over, exposing the whirling blades. He thrilled at the danger of it but the safety systems kicked in and shut off the electric motor and the blades stopped with a jolt. The dog barked happily and wagged its tail with renewed vigor, pleased by its master’s victory over the beast that had long tormented it. Peter and Wendy cheered.
He looked at the mowing machine and remembered. Suddenly he dashed over to the old garage. It was used for storage now, but had been an important part of the house when his parents owned it. Rummaging in the back, he found what he was looking for. He dragged it out as the family watched, curious. It was his grandfather’s ancient push mower. His grandfather taught him to use it back when he had been about Wendy’s age, and how proud he had been to be helping! He gave it a little push; it was a little rusty and very dirty, but the blades moved.
Lydia peered in the garage, and near the front found a box with old gardening tools in it. “Remember these?” she asked him. She smiled coyly and he remembered. He smiled back. So hard.
He pushed the mower into the lawn and made a few experimental passes. He did far more damage, esthetically, than any improvement he might accidentally accomplish, but who cared? Lydia was digging up the HOA approved flowers she always hated, let them complain. Peter and Wendy found an old red ball, too old and hard and dry for bouncing but good enough to toss back and forth. It was a good day. Lydia even saw a shooting star, and he paused to look up at it.
Peter threw the ball to Wendy and looked too. She concentrated on the ball. She didn’t even hear the klaxons, not knowing what they were. “Duck and Cover” was four generations before her, ancient history. For a moment, the ball hung at the top of its arc in the growing darkness and it was Mars to her, suspended in space, because her class had just watched a video about the planets and she was going to be an astronaut. She was going to catch it and that meant she would too be the first girl on Mars. It was hers.
In an instant, her planet was lit by a sun that was too close and much too bright.
I intended on PMing you right away with it but I don't have the latest version on this computer. Will get it to you before the deadline. Sorry for the delay!
