Next year they start turning eighteen, the first ones. Able to vote. Most of them run their own businesses already. My fourteen year old son has two hundred men and women working for him, including me. I do regret opting for the procedure, though you really couldn’t say no at the time. Everyone was doing it, the government had subsidized the whole program. It was seen as bad parenting to not take up the offer. A computer chip in the brain. It has to be done before the child turns twelve. It changes them. They stop talking.
As we line up to punch the clock we tell each other how wonderful it all is. ‘Aren’t they amazing,’ we say. ‘Our children, doing so well for themselves.’
Truth is, we don’t really understand. The implant allows them instant connectivity to the Web, to download information straight to their brains. To communicate directly with each other. Most of the time they walk around seemingly in a daze. Yet they know everything.
The worst is when they move in unison. Or when they gather in one place spontaneously. It is creepy. The utter silence.
They are like an alien species.