Origins, interlude 2: Sam

Sometime in 202x

When the initial shock wears off, the cynicism and the scam training of the digital native generations kicks in.

After a call back to a publicly-known lottery office number to confirm, it's a panicked search through Sam's room for the physical ticket to confirm Sam's win. The ticket is thankfully still in Sam's 'launchpad', the area of their desk nearest their bedroom door where they dump - and retrieve - their pocket contents whenever they come and go, a handy ADHD management tip they learnt from a friend. The relevant numbers are thankfully still legible, despite the rough treatment given by Sam's pants pockets.

Sam's mystery caller - a cheerful young man by name of Tim, who Sam does indeed get queer vibes from - gives Sam a variety of financial options about what to do next with their win. Asks for Sam's email address to mail through some carefully-written financial planning advice and some recommendations about disclosure. And - rather kindly - asks how Sam would prefer to be written up in the lottery's media release about the win. What gendered terms to use, and what comments they'd like to record.

Sam thinks hard about this. They have, effectively, a clean societal slate now. Tim assured Sam earlier as part of a cheerfully-delivered - but very clearly well-rehearsed spiel - that many winners in their part of the world stay very wealthy for life after a big win, especially those whose next phone call is to a financial planner.

Sam has nothing constraining them to pass as anything adjacent to masculinity any more. They can afford hormones! Surgery! Heck, they could afford that for all their trans friends, too!

Sam loses focus for a moment contemplating this until Tim gently prompts them. "... I see this is a tricky question, would you like me to call you back later about it? I need to follow up with you anyway about where to transfer the win payout once you've had a chance to speak to a financial planner, so it's no trouble at all!" he exclaims excitedly.

Sam mutters a distracted affirmative, and then they're left alone with their thoughts.

And what thoughts, what possibilities! Sam's considered carefully what would work for them, their body, and their relationship to the binary genders many times. They've always wanted to start some kind of hormone replacement therapy - the notorious HRT - but the process to start even that has been daunting.

While informed consent processes exist in their part of the world, they're all booked up with huge waiting lists, and even larger fees. And dealing with other doctors, other general practitioners - well, Sam tried, and couldn't even get a referral to a psychologist to start even the obsolete, heavily gatekept version of trans health care. The general practitioner that Sam saw - that they could barely afford to see - refused to even consider the question.

Sam doesn't like to think about the spiral that sent them on at the time.

But that's no longer a concern. Sam can now afford the very best, at their convenience. And a weird sense of melancholy, a strange sense of relief and release from accumulated stress washes over them. They're finally free to be who they really are!

And even with realising that, a hollow feeling follows. Are they really? Will they be let to live in peace, in a society that's increasingly trans hostile? Even with incredible wealth behind them - even the one or two with orders of magnitude wealth more than Sam's new win - other rich trans people are routinely harassed by the media, made the target of conspiracy theories and abusive social media posts.

The state next door to Sam's has tried to ban teaching even about the existence of queer people, let alone complex topics like non-binary people. Other places where online friends live have banned different gender presentations in public. Sam knows they're not as politically astute as their online friend Sophie, but they know that safety for trans people is still scarce, anywhere in the world they might choose to go.

Sophie! Tim from the lottery said to consider carefully who to talk to about their win. And well, Sophie - as her self-chosen name suggests - is often wise and well-read, having the time to thanks to the dubious luck of being formally diagnosed and seen as neurodivergent enough to be worthy of scarce governmental disability support where she lives. Maybe she's a good place to start.

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Sam opens a chat program on the phone still in their hand, and direct messages Sophie a carefully edited opening message about some incredible news. It must now be late enough in the day for self-avowed 'sleep criminal' Sophie to be awake - or early enough that Sophie hasn't gone to bed yet - as Sophie responds immediately.

"Oh ya, what's the news, girl thing?" Sophie opens, making a fond in-group reference to a way Sam's described themselves in the past - part woman, part other.

"Can I call you? I find it difficult to write down, and I've been advised to maybe be a bit careful about it." Sam replies.

"Oooh, mysterious! Sure, gimme a sec" Sophie shoots back.

Sam doesn't have long to wait before a call request opens.

"Hey hey Sam, what's the big news?" Sophie verbalises, her femme voice something Sam envies. Sophie, a binary trans woman, has had the time to practice modifying her speaking voice. And - while she lives with parents who are only nominally tolerant, disability payments not stretching far, and family only offering a kind of conditional safety - the space to do so somewhat safely.

"... I've won the lottery. $80 million dollars." Sam finally manages to squeak out.

"For real?? Holy shit, Sam! Holy shit! You must be stoked! Fuck, this is going to be so good for you! Fuck! What are you going to do with it??!" Sophie practically bellows down the digital line, her Australian background clearly on display.

Sophie's volume control issues not helping, Sam's unsure of how to respond. "... I don't know, I mean, I guess HRT and surgery and all that, but... I think I need to do something with this more than just look after me, you know?" Sam cautiously offers.

"Wow, yeah, fair fair." Sophie says, a thoughtful tone replacing the excited energy of seconds before.

Sophie offers after a short pause - "Well, what about a commune or a ranch or something? Those trans ranchers near you are doing okay, I mean, it's a bit scary for them at times, but there's a kind of safety in numbers, yeah?" Sophie drawls.

Sam thinks on this for a second. "... y-yeah, that's a good point. I could set up a bunch of people in comparative safety somewhere, I think. You, me, everyone I know. Yeah, that could work."

Sophie exclaims - "Oh! You could come here! Australia's not too bad, we kicked out the bigoted right-wingers last time we had one of those sham things they call elections. And while the current lot isn't hugely better, they know they're gotta be seen to be inclusive. Fuck, the PM marched in Pride, that was absolutely a PR stunt, the man's used some transphobic dogwhistles before, but it's a token, y'know?"

Moving to Australia? That's a terrifying thought. Snakes and spiders and crocodiles. Bigots too, which is worse. Transphobes there, transphobes everywhere. Sam cautiously replies "Um, I suppose? I don't know, is there anything better we can do? Like, it just seems anywhere we go, it's tolerance at best."

Sophie muses for a second. "I don't know, space? The ocean? Do a micronation thing like those seasteader types wanna do?"

Sci-fi ideas. Sophie's full of them. Sam says "o-okay, maybe. I don't know, I just feel like even $80 million dollars isn't enough for this, like I could help you, help everyone I know online, help all the queers in our towns... but then what? How do we make things better?" Sam says, a note of despair creeping into their voice.

They've depressed themselves, even with an unimaginable windfall in their pocket.

Sophie reply is again as loud as it is enthusiastic - "oooh, I know! Fully automated luxury gay space communism! We can seize the means of production, and make things better for everyone. With robots, and AI, and everyone getting their needs met... yeah!"

This again. Sam loves Sophie as a friend - their closest friend, despite the continental distance between them - but they will not shut up about sci-fi concepts and unattainable political goals at times. Sam turns the volume slider on Sophie down a little to spare their ears from the repeated unexpected loudness as they contemplate how to respond to this.

"Alright, assuming we can do that - how? Where do I start? What should I do now?" Sam responds, desperation joining the despair in their voice. Maybe talking to Sophie about this wasn't such a good idea after all.

"Okay, okay, sorry, Sam, I'll slow down." Sophie has finally registered that Sam's not happy. "How about we get together a bunch of people - all the smartest people we know who are cool with the whole trans thing, and get them to work out what to do next? You can chill on doing something with that money, right?" she asks.

"Y-yes. I can. I can take a little bit now, and put the rest in a trust or something, I think, and we can go from there." Sam stutters out. A concrete answer, an action to take. Finally.

"Good, good, okay, cool. You sound a bit overwhelmed, sweetie" Sophie states, clearly switching into community mother mode. It's something she does, like a lot of trans women in their 30s with even an ounce of bossiness inevitably end up doing. It's how they met after all, Sophie being just visible and friendly enough online for a gender-questioning Sam, years prior, to reach out with the Big Scary Question. Am I trans?

Sophie continues - "so lemme organise an online hangout or something - and I'll shoot you the guest list to approve. How about you take a break for a while, yeah?" she offers kindly.

It feels like this is happening way too fast - and so much for keeping this a secret! But, it's *something*. A plan to make a plan on something... better. Something more than just the selfish hoarding of resources that only benefits a few, as is the default for the newly - or otherwise - rich.

Sam says their goodbyes-for-now to Sophie, and falls back on their bed. The emotional whiplash of the day, short as it has been so far, is utterly exhausting. They cuddle their trans-community-mandated stuffed shark, and quickly fall asleep.