by Kim Curran
‘Oh, Petri. I should have thought. It’s a silent disco,’ she shouts—unnecessarily loud. ‘You can only hear the tracks if you’re chipped. I’m such an idiot. Let’s go somewhere else.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ I say, stopping her from turning around with a tug on her hand.
‘Are you sure? It’s not weird?’ she shouts, over the music that she must be able to hear.
I look around at everyone. They’re smiling, laughing, bodies all moving in time to the same beat. There’s a large overlay floating above our heads:
// FOLLOW THE ANGEL TO HEAR THE HEAVENLY SOUNDS. //
I try adding Douma to my stream, but the sound’s still not working. I guess whatever Logan and Hwang did to the chip didn’t involve making the sound work. But that’s OK.
‘It’s perfect,’ I say, looking back to Kiara, grinning.
I pull her onto the dance floor, laughing. We find our spot in the middle of the jumping people and I start to dance. It doesn’t matter that I can’t hear the music. I pick up the beat from the movements of everyone around me.
Kiara shakes her head at me. ‘I thought I was the mental one.’
‘We’re all mental,’ I shout.
The boy next to me nods and smiles and joins Kiara and me in our dancing.
// JON WEIR, 20, WONDER WOMAN AND SHE-RA FAN. NORTHERN.//
It’s not creepy. He’s not trying to hit on us. Everyone is here to dance.
There must be around 60 people in the room, and I can see info tagged on all of them, alongside the messages they’re sliding back and forth. Some of them look pretty private; especially the message from a guy about what he wants to do with his girlfriend when they get home. But maybe people here don’t care about sharing that kind of stuff.
One floating name stands out from the rest.
// RYAN MCMANUS, 16, LOVIN’ LIFE, LIVIN’ LARGE. //
He’s back on. We’re all on and everything is good. I hold my arms out and spin around and around, the information feed blurring like long-exposure lights. And I’m laughing. So hard that it brings tears to my eyes.
I stop spinning and the trail of data snaps back into place. More and more messages pour into my mind, crowding out my view. Someone bangs into me but I can’t see them. I can’t see anything but the flow of information. Details of everything around me. The origins of the pictures on the walls, the chemical structure of the liquid in the drinks, all mixed in with the lives of everyone around me and, I realise—as messages start appearing in French, Spanish, Cyrillic text I can’t even begin to place—of people on Glaze all across the globe.
It’s not supposed to be like this, I know. I’ve read how when you first start out Glaze can be pretty dull till you start to build up your followers. But this feels like my feed is filled with a thousand—maybe a million—voices already.
I close my eyes and it disappears. All the images are gone and I’m staring into the blackness of my own head. The images echo still, but the relief is instant, like stepping out of a loud room and the doors shutting behind you.
Adjustment period. That must be what this is.
I open my eyes again and for a second I see only what is really there; Kiara and all the people dancing around us. But then the feed is back and stronger this time.
My head pounds as I struggle to hold on to a single thread of information. Hands shake my shoulders and I shut my eyes again.
‘Petri, what the hell are you doing?’ It’s Kiara’s voice, Kiara’s smell. I open my eyes again and for a split-second I see her face, concern etched in her eyes. Then she vanishes beneath the waves of fresh data.
// HELL. A PLACE OF ETERNAL SUFFERING AND PUNISHMENT. AN ABODE OF THE DEAD, WATCHED OVER BY SATAN’S CREATURES. //
Images of cackling devils reach out to grab me. I shut my eyes to block it out.
‘Petri, why are you crying? What’s going on?’ Kiara says.
‘I’m... I’m OK,’ I shout. ‘Just give me a minute.’
‘Petri? What’s happening?’ It’s Ryan’s voice. I daren’t open my eyes to look at him.
‘Umm, I’m not sure the chip is working, Ryan.’
‘Chip? What chip? What is she on about?’ Kiara says.
‘It’s the adjustment period. That’s all,’ he says.
‘Adjustment period? What are you talking about, Ryan? Petri, Petri look at me.’
I open my eyes and focus on where her voice is coming from and can make something out beneath the flow. Her face is fragmented and coloured by the images from other people. It’s like looking at her through a kaleidoscope.
‘Shit, your eyes are mental, Petri. You’re scaring me. Are you on something?’
‘I’m on Glaze, Kiara. Everything is going to be all right.’
‘What? What about the blank?’
‘People are looking,’ I hear Ryan say. ‘You should get her home.’
‘I can’t take her home like this. Her mother will freak.’
‘Then take her to your house.’ Ryan is trying to keep his voice down but it’s angry and insistent.
// I’M SO ANGRY TODAY. //
// THIS TRAFFIC MAKES ME SO ANGRY. //
// IS IT JUST ME OR DOES TIMOTHY GAGE MAKE YOU SO ANGRY YOU WANT TO STAB HIM WITH A PEN? //
There’s a small x in the corner of my vision I know is supposed to switch the feed off. I try to find my way to it, directing the glowing dot that doesn’t want to be controlled. It’s bouncing around the layers and picking things at random. I close my eyes, like breaking to the surface to take a breath of air when swimming under water, and then dive back in, forcing the controls to do what I want. It reaches the x and I focus on clicking it. Nothing. The flow of information gets heavier and louder. I click again and again and then the x vanishes altogether. I sink to my knees.
‘Adjustment period,’ I say to myself, trying to remain calm. I’m recalling everything I’ve read about this period. It’s often unsettling, but it’s not meant to be like this. As a response I’m flooded with messages about other people’s experiences.
// ANYONE ELSE GET HEADACHE WITH THEIR ADJUSTMENT PERIOD? //
// HOW LONG WILL THIS WHOLE ADJUSTMENT PERIOD LAST? //
‘I’m taking you home,’ Kiara says, pulling me to my feet.
‘Ryan?’ I say.
There’s a pause, a loud tut from Kiara. ‘He’s not coming, Petri. Now come on.’
I feel a hand on my wrist and allow myself to be dragged forward through the crowd.
Once we’re back on the street I risk opening my eyes. The graffiti on the wall in front of me starts to dance and move as the embedded video plays. A cartoon panda with crosses for eyes and a cute looking kitten move towards each other shyly and start to kiss. Their kissing becomes more intense, till Panda throws the kitten up against the wall and... I shut my eyes.
‘Wow, people make the weirdest stuff,’ I say.
‘What? Oh that?’ Kiara says. ‘That’s stuff is all over the city. I really can’t believe you’re on.’
‘It’s amazing, isn’t it?’
‘I guess. Why can’t you open your eyes?’ I feel her warm hands on my face.
‘Adjustment period. Everything will be fine.’
‘Bullshit,’ she says. ‘I’m calling a cab.’
‘Is your friend OK?’ a deep voice says. I open my eyes to see Bunny, the bouncer, looking down at me.
// BOSS, I THINK WE GOT ANOTHER TOASTER. WHAT YOU WANT ME TO DO? //
‘Toaster? I’m not a toaster. I don’t even know what a toaster is,’ I say.
Bunny backs away from me, his head tilting from side to side as if he’s trying to work something out. Neither of us have time to understand.
‘Come on,’ Kiara says. ‘The cab’s here.’
I leave Bunny and the passionate panda behind and exit the alleyway. As soon as I hit the street the amount of data doubles. Triples. Whereas before I only saw information tagged with whatever I was looking at, now it’s coming from everywhere at once. I’
m starting to get a little freaked.
// FUN FOR FREAKS. //
I shut my eyes to block out the image of a woman with four legs gyrating before my eyes, and feel my way into the seat of the cab.
‘If she throws up in here, I’m charging extra.’
‘Just drive,’ Kiara says, and I hear the car door slam.
It’s best if I keep my eyes closed. Every time I blink them open I’m hit by a wall of virtual noise. Slivers of people’s lives coming at me from all directions. I should probably be scared. But I’m not. In fact, by the time the cab pulls up outside Kiara’s house I’m shaking with excitement. Kiara, on the other hand, is not impressed.
‘Will you tell me what the hell is going on?’ she demands, slamming the door behind her once we’ve made it into the safety of her bedroom.
‘Stop freaking out, Kiara, everything will be fine.’ I say for the tenth time.
‘Shut up, Petri. You’re annoying me now,’ Kiara says in her scared voice.
I’m shoved onto her bed with a little more force than I think is absolutely necessary and I bang my head on the wall.
‘Now, start from the beginning,’ she says.
I sigh and start talking, about the riot and the ban and then Ryan bringing me to Logan. Kiara’s always been a good listener and she only interrupts if she doesn’t understand something. I explain about the DNA code and the deal I made with Logan. The only thing that annoys her is that I bothered to help Ryan, whom she has decided she really doesn’t like. I’m starting to agree. When I get to the bit about having my blank rewritten I hear her stand up and pace around her room. Her footsteps are heavy.
‘And now, this. But seriously, it will all be OK,’ I say.
‘You keep saying that, Petri, but you can’t even open your eyes! Who knows what they’ve done to you?’
‘You sound like Ethan.’
‘Who now?’
‘The boy from the roof top?’
‘We need to get you some help. Your mum will know what to do.’
‘No!’ I shout. ‘Just give me some time to adjust. Please.’
I curl my knees up into my chest and open my eyes. This time I’m going to keep them open. How am I going to adjust if I keep hiding all the time?
Every object in Kiara’s room is tagged with data. Where it was bought, how much it cost. Posters of pop stars come loaded with tracks from their latest albums, a print by some artist with information on its live sales price. On top of that comes what I’m now thinking of as the random information. Messages from people I don’t know; information about them and their lives that they’re hurtling out on to Glaze.
I focus on a painting pinned to the wall. It’s a swirl of colours and textures. One of Kiara’s. There’s no information tag—no manufacturing date or name of maker or purchase details. It’s like the only real thing in the room.
Staring at it eases the noise. Like I’m now only picking up one signal.
‘Static,’ I say.
‘Static? What’s static?’ Kiara says. She’s sitting cross-legged on her chair.
‘Do you remember we built that radio in physics?’
‘I try and make a point of forgetting everything we learned in physics.’
‘We built a radio receiver. And Mr Jarvis said that before everything went digital, TV and radio was all sent out in waves and everyone had receivers in their home to pick up the signals. And all that information is still out there, floating in space. With a receiver you can pick it up. But you have to tune into the right signal. And we picked up the Lincolnshire Poacher, don’t you remember? That freaky folk song followed by a string of numbers read out by a woman’s voice. Mr Jarvis said it might have been used to send messages to spies, but no one knew. I tried to decode it. I guess that’s what’s wrong. It’s like my channel isn’t tuned in and I just have to find the right signal.’
‘OK, let’s pretend I followed any of that, so how do you do it?’
‘It’s already getting easier.’
// EASIER. //
// THAT EXAM WAS SO EASY. //
// I’M EASY, COME CHAT TODAY. //
I close my eyes again to hold back the image of the barely clothed woman reaching out to me.
‘Yeah, sure. Looks like it,’ Kiara says.
When I open my eyes again the woman has gone. I feel tired. Like I’m being dragged down by all these lives.
‘Maybe if I get some sleep then it will all settle down? An hour or so.’
I lay down on Kiara’s bed and look at the glow-in-the-dark stars she has stuck to her ceiling. Her light is on, so they’re just white, plastic shapes for now, marking out constellations.
// THE CONSTELLATION OF LEO. //
// TODAY’S PREDICTIONS FOR LEO. EMOTIONS, PREJUDICES, OR UNRESOLVED ISSUES FROM THE PAST COME UP... //
// REGULUS. BRIGHTEST STAR IN THE LEO CONSTELLATION. USED BY SAILORS WHEN THEY HAD LOST THEIR WAY AND NEEDED TO NAVIGATE BY THE STARS. //
That’s me, I think. I’ve lost my way. But soon, I’ll find my way home. I close my eyes and let the black silence wash over me.
16
I DON’T KNOW HOW long Kiara’s let me sleep. But when I open my eyes the stars have started to glow. I manage all of ten seconds before the static comes back, and with it the realisation of what I’ve done.
‘How are you feeling?’ Kiara says. She’s sat in her chair, her desk lamp switched on, watching me. She’s changed out of her clubbing gear and into tracky bottoms and a t-shirt.
‘Fine, I’m... // OK. FINE. BE LIKE THAT. // KRYSTAL IS SOOOO FINE // I GOT A BLOODY PARKING FINE! // fine.’
I sit up and squint at Kiara through the rush of images.
‘You always were a crap liar, Petri. Here.’ She hands me a glass of water, which I can tell from the data tag is exactly 22ºC.
‘Do you...’ I pause, worried about what her answer might be. ‘Do you see this much information, all the time?’
‘What kind of information?’
‘Like the exact temperature of this glass of water, or that you bought that shirt at Zara and your laptop has 3TB of spare RAM?’
She looks at her laptop. ‘I guess. If I focus on it.’
‘Focus. Right. I need to learn to focus.’ I rub at my temples, trying to ignore a new wave of images and messages. Who knew Glaze was filled with so much… so much crap?
‘Petri, I’m worried about you. Like seriously worried. And not like when you got drunk on my dad’s schnapps and threw up in the shed. This is bad. We have to tell your mum. She works for the—’
‘No. No way!’ I stand up. ‘You have to promise me you won’t tell her. Promise me, Kiara.’ I grab Kiara by the shoulders and shake her. I’m scaring her, I can tell, so I drop my hands and step away.
‘OK, I promise. What if we tell my mum? I know she only worked in data processing, but she might know someone who can help?’
‘Just give me some time.’
// THE TIME SPONSORED BY WHITEINC LIFE INSURANCE IS 22:36. //
‘Bet I wake up tomorrow and it will be working A-OK.’ I make the OK sign with my fingers and Kiara laughs.
‘You’re such a freak, Petri. Who even says that any more?’
‘Well, I have a lot of catching up to do.’ I force a smile. It makes my cheeks ache. ‘I’d better get home.’
‘OK, but I’m you calling a corp car. There’s no way you’re going on public transport in this state.’
I nod my agreement. There might as well be some benefits of my mum’s job.
‘Hang on,’ I say. ‘Let me call them. I can do that right?’
‘Sure. You think WhiteInc Transport and you should be put straight through.’
I do what she says. But I’m getting nothing that’s making any kind of sense. Random slides from company staff calling their own cars. But I can’t connect. Instead, I keep getting a message in the soothing font of the network.
// NO SUCH USER. //
I let out a sigh of exasperation.
<
br /> ‘Let me do it,’ Kiara says softly. And I let her.
The car arrives five minutes later. I wave goodbye to Kiara, or what I can make out of her beneath the wave of images that hit me once I step out onto the street. I keep my eyes open long enough to get to the car and climb in.
‘Good evening, Miss Quinn. Directly home?’ The driver says, as we pull away. It’s Frank, the man who drives me to and from school every day.
// PICKING UP ANOTHER SPOILT BRAT WHO CAN’T EVEN WALK HALF A MILE. //
‘Was that you?’ I say, excitedly, ignoring the insult.
‘Was what me, Miss?’
‘The “brat” slide? Did you send that?’
I catch his reflection in the rearview mirror. His eyes widen and his nostrils flare in fear. ‘I... I didn’t mean it.’
‘No, it’s fine. It means I’m getting closer.’
I sit back in the soft leather seats and relax a little. It’s OK, I tell myself, a few hours and everything will work fine. A good night’s sleep and everything will be fine.
The car pulls up outside my house five minutes later. I go to let myself out but the doors won’t open.
The driver twists around in his seat. ‘About that slide. I don’t know how you got it, it wasn’t meant for you, and I’m sorry. But, um...’
‘Don’t worry,’ I say, patting him on the shoulder. ‘It will be our secret.’
He breathes a heavy sigh of relief. ‘Thank you. And if you need a lift anywhere, you call for me, OK?’