MILA 2.0: Redemption

by Debra Driza

  I felt a pang, just beneath my ribs. Yes. I wished Lucas were here. It was time to admit it.

  “Put away your textbooks,” Professor Grassi said. “That means you too, Ms. Peckles.”

  Hannah’s cheeks flushed red as the class tittered. She shoved the book into her backpack.

  “We’re going to do one of my rap sessions today.”

  Good-natured groans filled the room, while one student launched into the chorus of a popular rap song. “I keep telling you people, not that kind of rap,” Grassi said, throwing his hands up in mock annoyance. But it was obvious he enjoyed the exchange.

  “Today we’re going to talk a little more about virtual reality. So far, we’ve covered what’s available right now, in the present. But what might virtual reality look like in the future?”

  He perched on the edge of his desk and folded his arms. “Let’s start with this—what kinds of experiences would you all most like to have? Right now, or at least in your lifetime? Supposing that anything was on the table?”

  “Play on a pro football team!”

  “Be president for a day!”

  “Go on tour as a rap star!” the singer shouted.

  “Sex!” a boy in the back row blurted.

  Everyone laughed, even Grassi. He rubbed his hands together. “Perfect. You don’t know it yet, but you’re all falling right into my nefarious plans.”

  “Nefarious? Wasn’t she a queen of Egypt?” The singer tossed that one out there, but his grin suggested he knew better. Grassi gave a theatrical sigh.

  “Owens, Owens . . . do I need to have another word with your history teacher? You can redeem yourself by telling me this—what do most of those suggestions have in common?”

  Owens’s brow creased as he tried to find the common thread. “They’re all about being famous? Well, except for sex.”

  “Close, but not quite what I was looking for. What about you, Ms. Peckles? What do you think?”

  Hannah shrugged. “I don’t know, because I wouldn’t pick any of those. I’d rather have a vacation experience. With a nice, comfy bed.”

  He tapped a finger to his lips. “I see.” He grabbed some kind of tablet off his desk and typed in a note, before moving on. “Anyone else?”

  In the front row, Claude raised his hand hesitantly. “Power? The first three are all about feeling powerful.”

  “Yes. Exactly. Because the average American wants that kind of experience. And at some time, in the not-too-distant future, they might be able to get it. In fact, they might be able to get that experience all day, and all night. Virtually. Several prominent computer geniuses speculate that by the year 2028, we’ll all be living like those folks in the movie WALL-E. Shopping? Sex? Food? No need to leave home. You can experience it all from the safety of your own bedroom.”

  Behind me, two girls gave high-pitched giggles. Meanwhile, other students looked at one another and began to whisper. “But that’s not really the same as experiencing it, right? You just think you’re doing those things,” said a girl from the middle row.

  “Ahhh, but aren’t you? What is an experience, after all, but a series of brain synapses and neurotransmitters? If your brain tells you it happens, who are you to disagree?”

  I digested that along with the rest of the class. Was that true? And, if it was, what did it mean for me? Because, of course, the thing I wanted most had nothing to do with power. It had to do with life itself—and not the virtual kind. I wanted my life to be normal. Fully human. Not enhanced by my android abilities, or wrecked by the bomb that was always right there, lodged in my gut, waiting to blow everything to pieces.

  My brain told me I was living this life already. I did everything a human could, right? I knew more about virtual reality than any of these kids, I thought. My whole life was one extended virtual-reality experience.

  That’s how I knew that Professor Grassi didn’t fully understand. The brain could deliver the data, show that you were having one kind of experience. You were a rap star, or a queen. The brain could say anything it wanted, but the heart would always know the truth. My heart knew the machine part of me couldn’t “live” on its own. It was the other side of me, the human side, that made my virtual reality something different. The heart gave meaning to my experiences. It let me feel loss, and love.

  I’d never thought about it quite that way before, I realized. Who would have thought I’d actually learn something as a prospective student at Montford? Sarah had endured something awful here, something we would need to figure out before we left this campus. But she could have learned here, too, I thought. She could have had an education. Just another thing she lost, because of Holland.

  Professor Grassi was giving his class an assignment. “Now, I want you to come up with an original idea for a virtual-reality experience, why it would be of benefit to society, and discuss the fundamentals of coding for that VR.”

  As the class continued its excited chatter, and Grassi took more notes, something odd happened.

  A security prompt flashed behind my eyes, vanishing before I could make sense of it. I ran the security scan Lucas had installed. The one that alerted me if I was being hijacked again.

  Clear.

  Clear.

  Clear.

  Everything checked out. Holland hadn’t found me . . . yet. Air left my lungs in one relieved gush. Until I saw Hannah. I didn’t need my android capabilities to tell me something was wrong. My heart took over as I saw her, seemingly out of her mind.

  While everyone else discussed virtual-reality scenarios, she’d pulled a multi-tool out of her backpack, flipped open the scissors, and without a word to anyone, started cutting her hair.

  “Hannah,” I said, half rising. Did she even know what she was doing? Her neighbor to the left had noticed, too.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” he said. Loud enough that the rest of the class craned their necks to see.

  “Felt like a haircut. Since there’s no virtual-reality app for that yet,” she said. I frowned at the lack of inflection in her voice.

  Grassi looked up from his tablet, saw what was happening, and tossed it aside. “Hannah, I know I’m a little unorthodox, but that’s unacceptable behavior in my classroom. Put the scissors away and pay attention, before I have to write you up.”

  She blinked up at him, then down at the scissors in her hand. They clattered to the desk while her hand flew to her hair. Her lips parted in horror.

  “Are you feeling okay?” he said, frowning down at her. “Maybe you should go to the nurse’s office.”

  Hannah nodded, grabbed her backpack, and bolted.

  A worry line crossed his forehead. Once the door shut, he turned back to us. He scoured the waiting faces before settling on one. “Celia, could you come here, please?”

  As Celia walked up to his desk, the whispers started up again. So much that it was hard to hear their conversation.

  Using my audio enhancement, I deleted the interference so I could focus on what they were saying.

  “I know the two of you are friends,” Grassi said. “Do you know if Hannah is taking anything that could be harmful or potentially dangerous? Remember, it’s your obligation to speak up if you have concerns.”

  Celia was shaking her head. “Sorry, not that I know of. I mean, she seems tired lately . . . but that’s how she always is.” She bit her lip and looked at the door.

  Grassi studied her expression before nodding. “Okay. Will you go check on her, please?”

  In a flash, Celia slung her backpack over her shoulder and rushed out of the room.

  Grassi sat at his desk and leaned back, arms crossed. “That’s why I always tell you guys to make sure to get enough sleep. Lay off the caffeine and hydrate, and for god’s sakes, none of those Monster drinks. There’s a reason they call them that. Anyway, tomorrow we’ll discuss your ideas. Make sure you have them ready. Class dismissed.”

  As the students filed out, I saw something small and metal gleaming near the chair Hannah had
vacated. Her multi-tool, amid a clump of blond hair.

  I took the tool so I could return it, then hurried away to find her.

  By the time I found the nurse’s office, Hannah had already left. Maybe because whatever was wrong with her, the nurse couldn’t fix it. I looked everywhere for her, until I finally decided to try the dorm. She was right there inside our room, typing away on her computer as if nothing had happened. Only now, her hair was all the same length.

  I eyed the scissors on the desk, and the blond hair that littered the trash can. “You okay?”

  She glanced at me like this was perfectly normal. “I’m fine,” she said with little emotion. “I’d been meaning to cut my hair for a while now.”

  She stated it like she made all the sense in the world. And if something was wrong, she wasn’t likely to tell a girl she’d just met and who’d be leaving soon.

  I put the offer out there anyway. “Okay. But if you need to talk . . .”

  Was Hannah frightened of something, too scared to talk? Was she going crazy here at Montford? Had something like this happened to Sarah? If only I could remember.

  I settled onto my own bed, pretending to read. I hoped maybe she’d leave at some point, so I could inspect her room. Professor Grassi suspected drugs were behind Hannah’s weird behavior, and I had to admit that fit. A lot of illicit drugs caused insomnia too, which could explain her fatigue. Drugs could even explain Hannah’s occasional changes in speech and heart rates.

  Was it really that simple, though? Holland was involved here somehow, I was sure. Was he using teenage subjects to see how drugs affected them? That didn’t really fit in with his android project, but maybe this was step one in some larger scheme. Maybe he needed drugs to make them compliant first, and then went from there.

  Something pinged on Hannah’s desk. She fumbled in her bag and withdrew a cell phone, then read a text.

  A room search would have to wait for when she left. In the meantime, I’d take a stab at hacking into her cell phone.

  First step—identifying the server.

  I reached out to tap in to her connection. Like an invisible stranger grabbing a free ride from an unsuspecting train.

  The rebuff was instant: a flash of notification, before equally invisible walls sprang up to stop me.

  Private network: CRA.

  I tried again, with the same result.

  Private network: CRA.

  I leaned back against my pillow. Well, that was odd. Instead of Sprint or Verizon or some smaller cell carrier, Hannah’s service was linked to her own private network.

  What if the other grant kids’ phones were linked to the same one?

  I’d have to try to log in to Hannah’s phone the old-fashioned way. Via manual connection.

  But for the next two hours, she never budged. Not even to use the bathroom. It wasn’t until dinner came that she got up to leave, but I had to go too. Meals were my best—and only—opportunities to see all the grant kids together in one room.

  If Hannah noticed any of the strange looks and whispers, they didn’t faze her. She was back to her usual self, with her ever-present cup of black coffee. After pumping Hannah for information on why she’d freaked out and cut her hair, Celia kept up a constant stream of meaningless chatter. Hunter and Samuel sat a few tables away with J.D. and his gang. Claude and Ben were one table over, telling jokes in a foreign language that my android brain translated automatically: Mandarin.

  There was a ping, and Hannah dipped her head to check her phone. I saw J.D. dig his phone out of his bag.

  Ben and Claude were bent over theirs a moment later.

  Here was my chance.

  I followed the signals in the room as they looped and twisted into an intricate tangle of networks. Again, my feed filled with all the usual suspects: AT&T, T-Mobile.

  But as I traced the networks to the grant kids’ phones, they all shared one trait that none of the other students did.

  Their phones were all part of the same VPN.

  One private, secure network, for four kids. Five, if you counted Sharon, who wasn’t here.

  Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to ensure their communications were secure.

  Maybe if we figured out who was texting them, and what, we’d be a step closer to solving this mystery. But the VPN made things that much more challenging. No chance at remote access. I still had to get my hands on Hannah’s phone.

  When Hannah was completely engaged in a conversation with Celia, Abby leaned close to my ear. “Samuel found a spot for us to meet tonight. Meet downstairs, seven p.m. sharp, boys’ common room.”

  Our check-in meeting. If only I had something to report.

  After dinner, I walked back to the dorm with Hannah.

  She resumed her position at the desk and didn’t budge. She didn’t respond to my efforts to strike up a conversation, either. Maybe she really was on drugs, I thought. At five to seven, I gave up and headed out. “Going to meet with my friends for a bit . . . I won’t be late.”

  She mumbled in response.

  I located the boys’ common room and found my group standing by the door, waiting. The space was lively at this time of night, crowded with girls and boys. They looked happy. At ease. And when Samuel motioned toward the hall, a part of me wanted to wave him off, plunk myself down on one of the comfy couches, and try to feel what they felt. A different kind of virtual reality.

  But boys and girls would have to go back to their separate dorms when visiting hours were over, so we needed to hurry. And there was a particular boy I was eager to visit before the time was up: Lucas. I hadn’t seen him all day.

  Samuel opened the door leading to the stairwell. Thanks to the hardwood floors, the combined sounds of our steps were enough to alert anyone in the neighboring county of our presence.

  “Don’t worry,” he said when he caught my wince, his voice bouncing off the walls. “This place is completely legal.”

  My sensors scanned while we descended.

  Scanning . . . 2 video security signals detected.

  Video cameras? In the stairwell? We weren’t doing anything wrong, but that didn’t mean I wanted the dean—or whoever monitored those things—to know that we were congregating. Or where.

  “The walls have eyes,” I whispered to Samuel, nodding at the vent near the lower-level ceiling. Apprehension shivered across my skin. I knew not all the video cameras were being monitored at once—it would be impossible, unless they had numerous staff members assigned to that task only—but I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

  We hit the bottom of the stairs and burst into an open area. Instead of hardwood, there was only cement. The landing was small, and held two doors. A repetitive clanking came from behind one of them, so I peered in. Rows of washers and dryers. A laundry room.

  The opposite door was unmarked. That was the door Samuel opened, and it led to a small, cramped room with four mismatched desks and one rectangular table.

  “Study room,” he said. “John told me about it. He said nobody comes here to study in the winter because the vent doesn’t work and it’s too freaking cold.”

  Abby had already started rubbing her bare arms. “You couldn’t have told us that before we came?”

  Samuel gave her a sheepish grin. “Sorry. Forgot.”

  Hunter shrugged out of his sweatshirt and settled it around her shoulders. She snuggled into the fabric with a grateful sigh.

  I felt a twinge in my chest. He used to act that way with me. When she thanked him, and he smiled, I looked away. That time between us was over. If I’d needed further proof, I had it now.

  “Hopefully we won’t be interrupted here,” he said, with a meaningful glance my way.

  Already on it. My sensors had buzzed to life, probing the room for any uninvited guests.

  Scanning . . . 1 video camera detected.

  Crap. Casually, I stretched my arms overhead, using the motion to survey the room without looking suspicious. There. Disguised as a
smoke alarm, in the upper right corner.

  I scratched my cheek with one finger, and Samuel caught my gesture. I saw him glance around, but he didn’t spot the camera. Beside him, Abby looked back and forth between us, her brow creased.

  Should we abort the meeting? That might be safest, but we really needed to check in with Daniel, and apparently there was nowhere on campus that wasn’t recorded. Except for hopefully the bathrooms.

  I debated, eying Samuel’s laptop bag. If we angled the screen away from the camera, it wouldn’t capture any details from the screen. And there was nothing wrong with us congregating together. Skyping with our teacher about our first day at Montford.

  “We ready?” I said. We were staying. I settled into a chair that faced the camera and patted the desk.

  Samuel pulled the laptop out of his bag, and I pulled up his video-conference app. Like Skype, but where the data wasn’t stored and couldn’t be hacked. Once the conference was over, the information disappeared. Like video-conference Snapchat.

  The name B9TY549w flashed an invitation. Samuel accepted, and in a blink, the upper portion of Daniel’s torso and face appeared on-screen.

  The pattern of his shirt caught my eye, and everything stilled. A plaid blue-and-brown flannel. Like the one I’d worn back in Clearwater in memory of a man I’d thought was dead. Now I knew that truth could sometimes feel more complicated than lies.

  “How did it go today?” Daniel asked, his voice deep and familiar. I didn’t know if I’d honestly missed him, or just the memory of what he’d once meant to me. Maybe the answer was both.

  “Good. Great!” I said, acutely aware of the camera, recording every moment. Every motion. Every glance. Possibly every word, if there was sound. And if not, then the shapes of every word we mouthed. I didn’t want to look too suspicious. So I babbled on about frivolous things that filled my day. Things a normal teen might tell her dad.

  Like, maybe the exact kinds of things Sarah had called home about at first.

  Daniel remained perfectly still. His gaze was sharp, waiting for me to fill him in. I laced my fingers and continued. “Our computer class today was great. Professor Grassi has tons of video cameras. Everywhere.”