made a béchamel sauce and added a bit of prosciutto I found.â He took her plate, split the biscuit with a fork, and ladled steaming gravy over it from a pot on the stove. Then he handed the plate back. âMy own version of biscuits and gravy.â
Eleanor shook her head. âUncle Jack, youâre going to get in trouble.â
He waved her off with the oven mitt. âDonât worry, Ell Bell. This is all stuff theyâd thrown away.â Uncle Jack worked for an electrical company that serviced alot of the mansions and hotels in Phoenix. Sometimes, his company contracted with the G.E.T., but years ago, heâd wanted to be a chef. That was before the Freezeâthe new ice ageâhad really settled in.
Eleanor took her first bite, and it tasted so good she had to close her eyes. The biscuit was light and fluffy, in spite of the toaster oven, with just the right hint of rosemary, and the sauce was creamy and smoky. None of the kids she knew got to eat like this. The only people who could were the ones wealthy enough to import fresh produce and goods from South America and Africa, where anything could still be grown.
âWhat do you think?â Uncle Jack hadnât moved since passing her the plate.
âAmazing. I canât believe theyâd throw this stuff away.â She took another bite.
âA personâs wealth is measured by what they can afford to throw away.â He tried to reach back and untie the apron, and Eleanor watched him struggle for several moments, his shoulders all scrunched up, eyes on the ceiling, his mouth hanging open.
She grinned. âWould you like me to help you there?â
âWould you mind?â
Eleanor shook her head, still smiling, and went around behind him. Heâd pulled the knot so tight, sheended up needing a fork to tease it loose.
âWe need to get you a bigger apron,â she said. âIf youâreââ
The chime cut through every noise in the house. It was a sound to which Eleanorâs ears were constantly tuned. Her Sync.
Uncle Jack had heard it, too. âGo,â he said. âHurry.â
Eleanor rushed up to the desk in her room. Her only connection to her mom was her Sync, a device used by the oil and energy companies so theyâd have an instant, reliable method of communication that didnât require satellites or cell towers. The Sync, an advanced prototype, worked by something called entanglement . Tiny electrons in Eleanorâs device perfectly matched their quantum twins in her momâs. The Sync couldnât transmit voice or video over this connection, but it could send text and other data. Over a normal cellular or Wi-Fi connection, it looked and acted like any other smartphone.
The screen flashed as Eleanor picked up the device.
Eleanor smiled. It had been a long time, almost a week.
She typed.
<;)>
. . .
Eleanor actually knew that already. She kept a daily eye on Arctic temperatures.
That temperature was fairly normal for this time of year, but winter had only begun. Temperatures would soon drop well below that.
. . .
Even through the Sync, Eleanor could tell there was something off.
. . .
Eleanor decided to let it go, for now.
Eleanor shook her head. âUncle Jack, youâre going to get in trouble.â
He waved her off with the oven mitt. âDonât worry, Ell Bell. This is all stuff theyâd thrown away.â Uncle Jack worked for an electrical company that serviced alot of the mansions and hotels in Phoenix. Sometimes, his company contracted with the G.E.T., but years ago, heâd wanted to be a chef. That was before the Freezeâthe new ice ageâhad really settled in.
Eleanor took her first bite, and it tasted so good she had to close her eyes. The biscuit was light and fluffy, in spite of the toaster oven, with just the right hint of rosemary, and the sauce was creamy and smoky. None of the kids she knew got to eat like this. The only people who could were the ones wealthy enough to import fresh produce and goods from South America and Africa, where anything could still be grown.
âWhat do you think?â Uncle Jack hadnât moved since passing her the plate.
âAmazing. I canât believe theyâd throw this stuff away.â She took another bite.
âA personâs wealth is measured by what they can afford to throw away.â He tried to reach back and untie the apron, and Eleanor watched him struggle for several moments, his shoulders all scrunched up, eyes on the ceiling, his mouth hanging open.
She grinned. âWould you like me to help you there?â
âWould you mind?â
Eleanor shook her head, still smiling, and went around behind him. Heâd pulled the knot so tight, sheended up needing a fork to tease it loose.
âWe need to get you a bigger apron,â she said. âIf youâreââ
The chime cut through every noise in the house. It was a sound to which Eleanorâs ears were constantly tuned. Her Sync.
Uncle Jack had heard it, too. âGo,â he said. âHurry.â
Eleanor rushed up to the desk in her room. Her only connection to her mom was her Sync, a device used by the oil and energy companies so theyâd have an instant, reliable method of communication that didnât require satellites or cell towers. The Sync, an advanced prototype, worked by something called entanglement . Tiny electrons in Eleanorâs device perfectly matched their quantum twins in her momâs. The Sync couldnât transmit voice or video over this connection, but it could send text and other data. Over a normal cellular or Wi-Fi connection, it looked and acted like any other smartphone.
The screen flashed as Eleanor picked up the device.
Eleanor smiled. It had been a long time, almost a week.
She typed.
<;)>
Eleanor actually knew that already. She kept a daily eye on Arctic temperatures.
That temperature was fairly normal for this time of year, but winter had only begun. Temperatures would soon drop well below that.
. . .
Even through the Sync, Eleanor could tell there was something off.
. . .
Eleanor decided to let it go, for now.
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