The Patron

Thomas Ha’s future comes for us so subtly the heartbreak almost doesn’t hit until after. … ~ Julian and Fran, March 23, 2025

This month’s Sunday Morning Transport stories include an explicit cyberpunk/space pirate story from Arkady Martine, Thomas Ha’s surreal and spooky family arrangements, a sparkling surprise from F. Brett Cox, and an epic underground adventure from A.T. Greenblatt. As always, the first story of the month is free to read.

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The Patron

by Thomas Ha

On that day, I was hired to be a father.

I had been many things with the program, but never a father. Postal worker, repairman, church gossip, but no: not once a father. Substitute teacher, dog trainer, cousin attending a funeral—those were perhaps closer—but still nothing comparable to being a father. I technically had one of my own at some point, so I should have been familiar. But I still had to read the night before to remember the gist of the role.

The child called himself Paph. He called me Dad.

I found him waiting behind a chain-link fence at the local elementary school, next to a muddy snow pile. Other children had been picked up well beforehand, and the child had the worried eyes of someone used to leaving last. A teacher holding a clipboard asked if I was his father today. The blue star logo of the program lit my phone as well as his, and our devices exchanged the relevant data and authorizations.

“He’s all yours.”

“All mine.” I looked over. “Hey, Paph.”

“Hey, Dad.”

The child reached out a gloved hand.

#

Father was no different from any other role. I was there to be there because someone else couldn’t be there. I provided something interpersonal someone else could not provide. And so, as we walked together, along the icy sidewalks and through the city park, I asked Paph the questions I had been hired to ask.

“How was school? Everything went well?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Did you learn a lot?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“How was your presentation? The Adventures of Pinocchio, right?”

“Yes, Dad. Ms. Evangeline liked it. She gave me full marks.”

“That’s wonderful. Well done. Did you have to pull some strings?”

The child didn’t understand, but he seemed to recognize the cadence of the joke and laughed. With each prompt, the program recorded the exchange on my phone. A small blue star appeared next to each objective when complete.

“What about you, Dad?”

“My day?”

“Yes, Dad.”

Under the list of prompts, a new objective materialized:

IMPROVISE.

My patrons were listening and potentially updating the prompts when it suited them. I did not always receive live feedback, but I welcomed the opportunity.

“It was good,” I replied. “Not too much work, so, all in all, it was fine.”

“Not too much work?”

The child stopped, tilted his head, and let go of my hand. “I don’t understand. Why did you miss my presentation? You said you were going to be there if you could move things.”

At first I thought Paph was taking a turn at a joke, but he stared like he expected a real answer. I did not know how to interpret it. Maybe he assumed I had received different instructions. Or he had trouble discerning what was real. Some people, children especially, had difficulty discerning what within the program was real.

Again, on my phone, the prompt blinked:

IMPROVISE.

“I’m sorry, Paph. I know I said that. I wanted to go, but . . . I had a meeting then.”

“Oh.” He wiped his eyes. “Oh. I see.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, Dad.”

The child’s voice sounded hollow.

#

Fathers were required to make choices. This was one thing I knew. Mine made a choice, for example, when he mortgaged me to the program. For some reason, I suspected my patrons were interested in how I would make such choices, and it felt as though I was being purposefully sent on a crooked path more than a straight one.