by Lia Laserre
“Whatever you say, Boss.”
Peters casts a sly glance over at the holographic figure of Nelly who shimmers with energy.
“Two counts of transgressional language, Torv,” the AI Holo Assist says in a sweet, patronizing voice, “‘crap’ and ‘bitch’. Final warning.”
Vin gives a snarky laugh. “Shows disrespect, Torv. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Joey puts in his two bits. “Yeah, Torv. Nelly oughta taser your lazy hide.” He’s got his hair shaved to peach fuzz at his ears, his dark wavy curls frizzed up three inches over the dome of his head. Looks like a beat wave musician, but he’s actually a wannabe, doesn’t even play an instrument.
The usual snickers trickle from the other kids. Nelly’s polite imperiousness is always a scene.
“Nell’s hell to the rescue.” Torv laughs. “Hey, Teach, how ’bout I demo how to make one of these airplanes? More practical than your B.S. lecture.”
Peters tries to get control of his class, but judging by the hoots of laughter, is failing badly. He turns to me, and says rather harshly, “Ellan, you’re up. Get on with it.”
I sit there, paralyzed.
Peters, twitching in his white coat, seems angrier than ever. Wonder why.
“I’m not ready.” There’s a nervous hitch in my voice.
He nods with cool impatience. “That’s a five mark deduction. Tomorrow is your last chance.”
“Sure.”
The girls who are not my friends trade triumphant sneers. I don’t give Zandra the pleasure of showing how flustered I am, though it takes every inch of reserve to keep my head up. I don’t fit into their social cliques. Never will. I like track and field and kickboxing. They like wristlet social media and gossiping. They moon over guys and are always going to raves and proms. Not that I don’t ever gossip, but it’s a low priority.
“What’s your topic?” Peters snaps me out of my daydream.
I fish for an idea. “Time travel to distant planets.” It’s all I can come up with.
He looks at me through half-closed lids. “Please be serious.”
“Can I tell you tomorrow, Mr. Peters? I’ve a cool idea I’m working on.”
He shakes his head with an air of great sadness. “Same old, same old. At your peril, Ellan.”
I let out a tense breath. For now.
As sweat beads my neck, I note Ben Gilsen has his eye on me—brows arched in curiosity, or is it concern? I can’t help but blush. He’s tall, slim, blue-eyed, blond-haired, got a clean-cut, classic look, a great bod. I’ll admit I’ve had a small crush on him since first year, but he hasn’t ever seemed to notice me. Until now.
Or maybe he has and there’s been a flicker of interest I’d completely missed. Karie always tells me I flunked out when it came to reading boys’ signals.
Vin mutters something rude in my direction that I can’t quite catch. Joey takes exception to it, and his throat flushes pink, perhaps in jealousy, and a mist comes over his eyes. “Knock it off, jerkoff.”
Vin leans forward, his yellow teeth showing. “You going to make me, asswipe?”
“Settle down.” Peters groans. “This isn’t a grade three remedial class.”
“Language warning #1.” Nelly lifts a finger at Vin.
While Vin turns toward Cody, another of his cronies, some wet slop of a lettuce and mustard sandwich comes peeling towards Vin’s head.
Vin gives Torv a shove. “What’s the idea of smacking me with that? You looking for a fight?”
“Wasn’t me. Was that turd over there—” Torv jerks his elbow toward Joey.
“Oh, really? Gomer over there’s going to get his head kicked in then.”
He springs at Joey like a panther. But Joey is up, intercepting him in the aisle, a knee into the gut. Joey’s well prepared, being part of my kickboxing club. Yet a fist catches him above the eye. I wince. He cries out.
The Robo Assist veers in. Twin rays zap out from her navel, catching both boys in the chest.
Peters pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes.
Joey ducks, crouched and breathing heavily. He looks up at Vin in unbridled contempt from a wild, red-rimmed eye. “Hey Vin, slick your hair much?”
“Why don’t you shut the hell up? Or you want to lose an eye?” Vin squares a fist and throws himself on Joey again. Torv and Cody are just shaking their heads and laughing in the back.
Vin rasps, “You want to be sucking grapes out of a straw, you dumb shit?”
Nelly comes hustling at them down the aisle. “Language infraction #2. Physical aggression. Immediate expulsion from class.”
“Like hell.”
A yellow ray shoots out from her navel and stuns Vin, doubling him over.
“OW!” He rubs his gut. Joey picks himself up, but he backs off, not keen to get himself thrown out school.
Vin takes a swing at Nelly, but his fist goes right through thin air, leaving the shimmering hourglass figure of little Miss Priss intact. Dumb idiot. As if he didn’t know Nelly is a transparent nothing.
Nelly responds by zapping him again and the classroom goes berserkers. Now she is tasering him out of the classroom and down to the detention office. Vin tries to veer off, huffing and swearing, but gets jolted with another beam.
“Alright, dumb bitch. I’m going,” he yells. Nelly’s sensors are not confined to just this room. The whole hallway’s bugged with them and so Vin has no chance.
Looks as if science class is a write-off. Peters, slumped at his desk, hand clawing at his hair, dismisses us. We are stunned but overjoyed. We wander about the halls.
Yet even with the ‘excitement’ of the morning, the day drags and I’m useless during Math and English, daydreaming, mind wandering, still worrying about tomorrow’s deadline.
Before heading out for the day, I pad by the community posting board where students can pin events and bulletins. My ‘better air in the classroom’ petition has got more hits. Fifty-two signups now.
I read the headline with a hint of satisfaction. “Want to breathe cleaner air? Sign up if you are in favor of regular classroom duct cleaning!”
Still too few signups to make a difference, but a step in the right direction.
There’s the usual hasty shuffle through security. Kids pass by me eager to get through the scanners. Telltale clicks and lime-green flashes break out on our wristlets. No weapons or contraband today, folks, not packing my luger…I wink at the security officer. The 6G+ system keeps chugging away. All tags meticulously monitored.
Mom picks me up in the courtyard, looking drained from a day of meetings with the public. “How’d the presentation go, Elly?”
“Oh, fine.” I lie. I’ve gotten good at that. I don’t like doing it, but it saves us from an argument. Especially tonight. Mom’s big rollout at the Starcom convention is on tonight and long story short, I know neither my brother Bram nor myself are going to get out of it. More time down the drain when I could be researching a damned topic.
Chapter 3
All of us are silent as Dad drives Bram and me to the Convention Center downtown. None of us are relishing this event much, except maybe Bram, resident tech-lover, who works at Starcom, courtesy of Mom.
I stare out the window. To either side lurk abandoned buildings which speak of yesteryear’s population. A withering one. Towers of crumbled stone, buildings grown to disuse. Black-streaked monuments of another era, weatherwashed with age. This is Old Levenbrook.
Nobody talks about this black hole in our history, a shameful place of past purgatory. As children we grew up hearing that the world was a ‘bigger place’ once, but civil war reduced us to this reality…come and gone, wiping out many lives. The only services that the city government maintains are the police force, the public works and a functional transit system. Corporations manage everything else, like the 6G+ towers. Twin antennae poking up from gunmetal rectangular boxes everywhere, like an infestation of alien rabbit ears. They cluster at street corners, cling to lam
pposts and hydro poles along with a host of surveillance cameras. No square signpost or traffic light is immune from them. The electric trams, service vehicles, even the city cop cars run with strange aerials on top, for whatever reasons I can’t imagine.
A familiar feeling of déjà vu grips my senses, as if I’ve been here before in another time, another life. Feelings like this I keep well hidden, even from Mom, Dad and Karie. Especially from Mom.
We pull in beside the Hilton Hotel. An in-your-face glass cube with a slew of fake willows and marble fountains out front. We make our way in. Mom has already arrived a few hours ahead of time. Two valets dressed in white suits with black belts and wide bell hats usher us down some escalators to a cavernous assembly hall buzzing with energy. There’re some three hundred people gathered. Important people, I realize, from the city council members, bigshots from Agra and other companies, and people from the press. We’re late. The show is about to begin.
Bram and I take seats in the second row with Dad at our heels. Bram kind of bumbles his way along, muttering apologies to the people already seated. He’s this gangly, dark-haired and shaggy guy, shoulders somewhat hunched from being eternally stooped over a computer. People wonder how it is we are related. I always say, ‘Bram takes after my dad’.
Mom acts as host on stage. Four corporate figureheads are sitting in plush-blue easy chairs at the front. Banners of the new haloband goggles with red ribbons and digital shooting stars are strategically placed on the walls behind the guest speakers. Such is the glitz and glimmer of hi-tech gadgets at promo gatherings. Mom flashes us a sharp glance as I wink back at her. My father looks a bit flustered and flat-footed. She’s dressed to the nines in an immaculate white dress with black stilettos. Auburn hair coiffed up, cheeks flushed, shining with make-up, wide-eyed, taking in the whole audience. Her ear buds and silver mic clipped to her lapel are remarkably well concealed. In comparison, I’m dressed in a simple caramel-colored dress to match my eyes…too frilly with its long twined rose vines for my tastes, but I’m doing it for my mother. I’m proud of her. I feel nervous just looking at her, imagining what it must be like to be in her shoes, but she carries herself well, with such a sense of authority and charismatic fervor, I know my worries are for naught.
Mom, how could I ever impress you when you’re always setting the bar so high?
Maybe that is the problem. I have too much of her in me.
She approaches the podium and her husky voice grabs everybody’s attention. “On behalf of Starcom Enterprises, I’d like to thank everyone for attending.” Mumbles and scattered clapping drift from the audience. “I’m Viv Weis, host for the evening and head of Consumer Relations. It’s a big night for us all! The long awaited Haloband is here!” Applause. Lots of it. Mom is impressive. Stunning in her white, shimmering silk dress.
“And I’m pleased to announce the future of virtual reality with video superband and universal 6G+ speeds!” She peers crosswise at the audience, a sparkle in her eyes. “Who would have known it would be as simple as donning visor and ear pads and letting the wizardry of haloband do the rest?” More applause ripples through the auditorium. Mom holds up her palms to quell the cheers. “Our engineers have been working around the clock for the last three years to perfect this technology. It seems as if the launch date has arrived.” She sweeps an arm to the four seated to the left of the podium. “I’d like to introduce the people who made this possible. Mr. Hal Menzes, Senior Production Manager, Mrs. Liz Farell, Technical Engineering Consultant, Mr. Tian Darley, General Manager at Levenbrook. Now, let’s welcome our CEO, Stan Rane. Founder of Starcom, visionary and philanthropist. He’ll say a few words about this landmark event, having just returned from the nation’s capital.”
A tall, distinguished-looking man with rugged jawline, coal-dark eyes, and shock of steel-grey hair steps up to the podium. “Thank you, Vivian. This is indeed a landmark moment. I’m pleased to confirm, as of tomorrow, Haloband technology and all affiliated smart devices will be commercially available in public retail outlets at low introductory cost.” He rests his hands on the podium and leans forward. “This technology will supersede the standard tech of palm technology, wristlets and old handheld gadgets. We have worked hard with government sponsors and national interest groups to promote a highly beneficial product for modern society.”
Vivian beams and speaks into her headset, as if on cue. “First off, what would this benefit be, Mr. Rane?”
Stan nods and with a gracious smile, lifts a hand. “Our technical researchers have compiled a list of benefits—”Rane proceeds to read from a gold-leaf sheet, the title which he is not shy to share, “Wow!…4D Realizations of the Improbable, Your Impossible Dreams Come True.
“Users forget their troubles, tune in with their feelings, stimulate the creative centers of the brain, plumb the secret depths of their innermost desires… The list goes on. In truth, haloband is the ultimate life remedy and mood lifter!”
Another round of applause sweeps the room. I reluctantly add my tap, tap to the pool. Rhetoric and self-assured hype do little to impress me.
As if cutting to the chase, Rane beckons Liz and Tian to the podium with a grin. “Before the demos and words from our design team, I will take a few questions from the press.” He lifts another hand as if inviting a response.
A short-haired reporter stands up with a gold-plated nametag pinned to her blue business suit. Her wristlet menu is exposed and opened to full size. “These are bold and blatant claims, Mr. Rane. How can one device do all this? Is there a guarantee along with the purchase?”
Rane’s lips curve in a smile. “I will defer to my engineering staff. Liz?”
Liz smiles. She pushes back her thick braid of burnished gold as she mounts the podium. “Though HB has its roots in smart technology, it has resident feedback circuitry which monitors heart rate, pulse, pheromones, blink frequency—every bit of body language available. While processers work in real time to seed the AI scheduler, the VR algorithm selects the next appropriate activity or story that the user desires. We use the word ‘Story’ to identify these impulses, or experience-enhancers, because we all have ‘stories’. Each impulse is unique to the individual’s taste and his or her response signatures.” She pauses for a breath. “So, if Martha likes vegetarian cooking, she may end up with a one-on-one celebrity chef on a major talk show prepping spanakopita. Or if Dan likes car races, he may, for example, end up in an Indie 500 race with the latest and greatest champion drivers. Likewise, a horticulturist searching for the next super genus of plants, may be on a tour with renowned scientists to the most remote jungles, to Madagascar, to the Amazon. The possibilities are endless.”
The reporter pauses, a puzzled frown on her flushed cheeks. “I’m struggling to understand. All these applications seem incredible for one pair of hi-tech goggles.”
Rane intervenes, “More than a pair of goggles.” His coal-dark eyes flick to the press woman’s lapel. “Ms. Fairbanks? Liz will elaborate.”
Liz nods. “Haloband communicates with the wristlet that monitors our body signals. On receiving the data, the HB further indexes the wearers’ desires and fantasies. It creates a real-time profile and updates it over time—to reengage the wearer, as it adapts to his or her every preference.”
“Amazing, if possible.”
“Truly. Let’s view some video clips for the audience to better understand.” Liz signals to my mother. On cue, she starts up the video show on the overhead screen.
The imax screen is impressive enough to draw us in, give us vertigo. We’re in a virtual helicopter, getting a bird’s eye view over the ocean. Then we descend at threatening speed into some seaside cave, hovering inside a vast grotto-like space. The audience is gripping their leather armrests. Then we turn to look out upon an endless spread of aquamarine swells, sea birds swooping in and out and calling to each other and the splash of dolphins resounds as they weave in and out of the gentle waves.
The audience settles down with a col
lective, contented sigh. We are all instantly relaxed by the seascape’s majestic ambience.
More scenes stream by, of rugged mountains, whitewater rivers, lush forests, glidebys over volcanoes, then on to new supermalls of the future, spacecraft, futuristic high tech parks, playgrounds, sports stadiums. It’s a special type of screen. Coiling mist seems to swirl right out at the viewer, tree branches waving in the wind appear at nose distance, a tossed football arcs by so close as to reach out and grab it. Within fifteen minutes we are lulled into a state of relaxed receptivity. The screen is some new high tech that somehow makes 3D look 4D without glasses. It’s also had a hypnotic effect, as if there were much more than water and birds in those moving pictures. It’s but a prep for the Haloband demos to come. Or so Liz intimates.
The last image dims, and morphs into a simple picture of the haloband, with blue visor, strap and ear bands on a white background with the text: “Wow…The Future is Now!” in bold print beneath. Mom calls an end to the presentation and invites us to enjoy the refreshments at the sides and to try out the demos. We are all sufficiently engaged.
As Bram, Dad and I stretch out our legs, there’s a moment of busy confusion as others also rise from their chairs. Many are eager to be the first to try out the devices. The key speakers wander down from the stage to mingle with the guests and answer questions. Security people man the exits, their legs braced, arms crossed over chests, ear buds in place. A comical image flits through my mind of them all wearing halobands like crimson berets in a parade.
It’s a harsh transition from an enlightened euphoria to everyone talking at once, and the babel of sound hits me like a sledgehammer. I wobble on my feet, slightly dazed.
Mom weaves her way through the crowd toward us. She joins us with a look of contained excitement.
“Great presentation, honey.” Dad plants a kiss on her cheek.
She beams. “Glad you liked it. How was it overall, Lars?”
He shakes his head and grins. “Couldn’t have been better. We’re all aching to try one of the devices.” He nudges me in the ribs. “Aren’t we, Ellan?”