The Senator merely nodded his approval. He was only on this fact-finding mission because his majority leader wanted a report. He’d sponsored the bill but only as a favor. The whole experiment project and money allocated were rolled into a much larger spending bill. No one had actually read the damn thing, especially after it was combined with other pork projects. The Senator thought the whole thing was a joke but he owed the leader a favor so here he was. Besides, he was promised a week away from home to do some skiing.
The road turned slightly to the northeast, ascending into the foothills above the valley floor. From the new elevation the entire valley came into view. The Senator was impressed. To the east were the Samaria Mountains, by far the tallest in the valley. The smaller Hansel Mountains created the valley’s western border. To the north was a string of low-lying hills. It truly was a breathtaking view and the senator finally understood why this location was chosen.
“Most of the town is located on the Idaho side of the border. The better part of the lake is on the Utah side,” Wiley remarked, still playing tour guide. “We made this highway we’re on now circle the entire valley. As you can probably see, the two main streets extend out and meet the highway.”
“And why did you do that exactly?” the Senator asked.
“We’re not sure how long this will go on so we made room for growth. Other than that it gives the people places to go. They won’t be so anxious to leave.”
“And what would be wrong with that?”
Wiley shared a knowing glance with the driver in the rearview mirror.
“The whole point is for the scientists to collect the data they need. If people keep leaving I guess the results won’t be as reliable. At least that’s what I’ve been told.”
The Senator grunted. He didn’t really care either way but he had to put as many details into his report as possible.
“But they can leave right? I mean, at least temporarily?” he asked after a long pause.
“Yes. They can leave for a total of a few weeks per year to visit family and what not, but for the most part we want them here. Buying. Spending. Interacting.”
“Any how many people again?”
“Just over thirty thousand, counting children. Like we told your aides everyone will receive the equivalent of a half-million dollars. They can start a business or keep the money and work for other people. It’s all up to them.”
“And this cost how much?”
Wiley smiled at this one.
“Don’t ask me, Senator. You’re the one who wrote the bill remember?”
The senator smiled for the first time. He hadn’t even read the bill, let alone written it. Some group wrote it and passed it along to his staff. He’d just put his name on it and had pushed it through. His reward was given the form of donations, dummied to look like the money had come from hundreds of individuals. It had actually come from one donor who wanted to see this experiment happen for one reason or another.
And that was how the bill was passed and the money was appropriated without any solid guarantees of the people’s personal welfare—no one had actually read the entire bill. Years later, when he would read about what happened here, he felt some regret. However, by then, he’d been voted out of office.
A stream of buses, carrying experiment participants, made its way from Salt Lake City north to the Pocatello Valley. The buses were interspersed with semi-trucks, which were hired to carry people’s personal belongings to their new homes. Although the new town was largely stocked with necessary goods, participants were allowed to bring a limited amount of personal belongings with them.
When the buses rolled into the yet-to-be-named town, the people were stunned at its near perfection. The buildings and streets were laid out beautifully. Some of the downtown buildings were old-fashioned, but they were obviously new builds. Many residents separately observed that their new town looked like a movie set. It looked, beautiful, but the town was fully functional. It only needed people to make it complete.
Patton had seen pictures of his new home, but no picture, no matter how well taken, could do it justice. His simple, yet beautiful farmhouse sat on the eastern ridge overlooking the lake. The few personal possessions he’d brought were in one large suitcase and a large duffel bag. Everything else had either been provided for, using his credits, or had already been shipped from home. He stood there, gazing at his new home, his bags at his feet. A lump formed in his throat and he blinked back tears. “I wish you could see this,” he whispered to his now-departed wife. He pictured himself and his wife watching their children running and playing in the fenced front yard.
Two hot tears poured down his face but he didn’t wipe them. Eventually, he let the emotion flow and he started sobbing. He knew that by leaving California he was also leaving his family behind. In time, he hoped that the memory of them would remain but that the pain of their loss would fade. Patton gazed around one last time, almost hearing his children’s laughter. Hanging his head, he reached down, grabbed his luggage, and made his way into his new home.
Mike Wilson was exhausted. He had traveled the world and had been on twelve hour flights before, but he had never been this tired. When he reached his house he didn’t even unpack. He merely undressed before collapsing onto his bed where he slept through the rest of the day, through the night, and almost until the noon the next day.
When he finally woke, he had a nasty, throbbing headache—worse than any hangover he’d ever experienced. He rooted through his bags and found his Goody’s headache powder. He emptied two of the small paper packets into a glass of water, stirred it with a finger, and downed the concoction in three messy swallows. He turned on the large flat screen TV and surfed channels until his headache was almost gone. After an hour of this, Mike showered, dressed, and drove into town and find something to eat. He eventually found a Japanese restaurant where he ordered a steak and ate it while downing two beers and watching spring training baseball games on TV. After that he went to the large warehouse, similar to Costco, and bought all the things he would need for his house.
Mike left the store and soon found himself in his truck, driving and exploring. He drove west from the city center and connected onto the highway that went all the way around the lake. The highway went up onto a chain of hills and ridges, weaving back and forth, climbing and then descending. He made it around the southern tip of the lake and started back towards town. He remembered that one of his business partners was supposed to have property in the area. As he searched his mind for the man’s name, he zoomed past a large, arching sign that read “Larsen Farms.”
“That’s it!” he said triumphantly as he sped past. He brought his gigantic diesel pickup to a stop, checked oncoming traffic, made a hasty U-turn, and then turned onto the gravel driveway. He passed through the arched sign and climbed a small rise. As he descended back down towards the farmhouse, the view of the farm opened up before him. It looked to be something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. It was the ideal American country home. Regaining his senses, he drove on towards the small but well-built farmhouse.
To the left of the farmhouse and set back a hundred feet or so was a large red barn trimmed in white. Parked inside the barn was a gleaming, green and yellow John Deere tractor. Mike smiled and shook his head jealously. As a kid growing up in the Texas panhandle, he’d been fascinated by John Deere, mostly because his grandpa had owned one and he would often take Mike on long rides around his large ranch.