Contribute (Holo, #2)

by Kristy Acevedo

  Another hologram holds her back as the others carry her baby away.

  They can touch us, and we can’t touch them.

  How is this possible? And how will we ever rebel against the untouchable?

  I rush over to a hologram standing nearby.

  “What does that light do? Where are they taking that baby?

  “It is an HME. Holographic medical evaluation. He must require further medical assistance. He will receive specialized care and will be integrated when the system releases him.”

  “So you just take a baby away from its mother?”

  “Family interferes with proper treatment. The child will be released once he or she is deemed healthy.”

  I consider this. “So what if I have some crazy disease or something? Do I not get to join your world?” Do they incinerate me with the trash? Do they toss me down a garbage chute vertex and spit me out in space?

  “You will receive proper treatment for your medical needs before integration into our world.”

  You will. No choice.

  I watch as the mother screams and pleads and kicks to change the situation. The holograms don’t flinch. Instead, blue electric currents swell up from the floor and zap her legs to silence her. Her body collapses and convulses in spasms.

  “The BME has been automatically activated,” nearby holograms announce in unison. “Please remain calm and orderly as we deal with the infraction.”

  A clear, crystalline structure encases her body, subduing her in place on the ground.

  Everyone backs away. Self preservation.

  This is no utopia. It never was.

  The holograms signal for us to continue processing as if nothing happened. We must walk past the frozen mother to face the medical evaluation. I walk with my eyes to the ground, waiting for a random bout of lightning to zap me. Even though my hands are shaking and all I want to do is run screaming, I continue forward. I have to.

  I watch as more people are selected and collected by the holograms, leaving their families and friends behind to worry. I remember Dad and Mom, left screaming for me in the middle of a winter street. I abandoned them. An unnatural pulling and pounding gathers in my chest, the familiar, false heart attack symptoms that come when I’m at my worst. Heat radiates from every pore on my back, and the crowd blurs as I try to escape my own existence. It’s time for a pill before I lose it. I spin my backpack around and scour through the bottom of my bag for the bottle.

  The crowd moves forward, more people scanned with the medical light and pass. Some fail the scan and refuse to leave with the holograms, only to be carried away unconscious for further treatment, or possible incineration, who knows at this point.

  Only two pills left. Even though the hospital refilled my prescription of Ativan after the riot, I popped a lot of them in the days leading up to the comet. I swallow one, leaving the other lonely in the bottle, my breath shallower with each second. I’m stuck on another planet, in another time, without my parents, with conniving holograms, and only one more pill? I’m going to die.

  The HME light evaluation looms ahead. Will I pass or be admitted against my will? Hives form on my arms, and an avalanche cascades inside my chest. I can’t give in. I must find my friends, spread the truth, and return to Earth.

  The crowd slowly enters the light for judgment. We have no choice. Decontamination, Evaluation, Integration. No escape.

  I watch the grandmother with the purple glasses and Nolan, her teenage grandson, face the light. They both pass, the woman removes her glasses looking bemused and discards them, the teen’s acne clears up instantly. I wonder if Dominick no longer has glasses after he went through the procedure. But I liked his glasses.

  Doctor A. faces the light and passes without a problem.

  As I pass the frozen mother for my medical light scan, I check to see if she’s alive. Her breath hits the surface of the clear structure and fogs inside. Reminds me of an action figure trapped inside clam shell packaging. She can’t seem to speak or blink, but her eyeballs shift and she glares at me with brown, terrified eyes. There’s nothing I can do to help her, and it kills me.

  Before I know it, I face the HME light. My body senses the imminent danger and reacts, flight response activated, but the light cements me in place. The color-changing medical scan washes over my body and all I can think about is how it’s going to annihilate me after everything I’ve been through, everything I’ve seen, before I get to tell anyone.

  “Someone help! It’s going to kill me! They’re all liars!”

  Gray holograms surround me. One holds a small, cold device to my forehead, and in a flash, all goes dark.

  WHEN I WAKE, I find myself on a table, unable to move. It’s like a classic alien abduction, and I’m the next victim. My clothes have been removed, and I’m draped in an oversized, iridescent uniform and matching boots. My ring and bracelet are missing. They might as well have removed my heart from my chest.

  A low, disembodied voice fills the room. “One moment. HME ready. Please state your name and age if your condition allows.”

  “River Picard. 18,” I say aloud to the empty room. “Where are my clothes? My jewelry?”

  “Your clothing has been upgraded. Earth clothing and jewelry have been repurposed. Primitive jewelry may interfere with bandwidth technology.”

  My throat closes. “But those were sentimental to me.”

  “Sentimental. We don’t recognize that word in our database.”

  The coldness in its response threatens everything human inside me. None of us belong here.

  After a short pause, a beam of color-alternating light starts at my head and runs down my body. Not this again. Other than a slight warm feeling, there is no sound or physical discomfort.

  The bodiless voice states, “According to your earlier body scan, you had an elevated heart rate and tachypnea, overactive adrenal glands causing high levels of epinephrine, norepinephrine, and cortisol, hyperactive amygdala with lower prefrontal activity, lower than average hippocampal volume, low serotonin, high dopamine. We have temporarily treated your symptoms. To stabilize levels, you should return for daily treatment over a seven day period.”

  Something releases, and I am able to sit up. My mind feels so clear it’s like I’ve been asleep for a week. “So am I sick? I don’t feel sick. Wait,” I look around, talking to the air, “is all this connected to my anxiety? You can get rid of it?”

  “Checking database. Symptoms will diminish over time with scheduled treatments.”

  “What are the treatments?”

  “Special auditory and photonic treatments. Visual cortex imagery will be provided for enjoyment and to help recondition neural and behavioral pathways.”

  I imagine the future humans probing me while I was unconscious. Or a holographic doctor like on Star Trek Voyager. Except he was cool, and that was fiction. What if they brainwash me into submission? What if they condition my brain to stop questioning in general? What if I end up happy and oblivious to whatever they are planning? What if this freaking HME thing can read my mind right now?

  I can’t do it. But with only one pill left, I don’t know how I will cope.

  Oh God, I’m actually having anxiety about alien holograms taking away my anxiety. It’s like a freaking anxiety paradox.

  “The HME will exit program automatically. Please see the table in the next room for Integration.”

  A pleasant beep marks the end of the voice transmission. My backpack’s on the floor but my coat is missing. I walk to the next room wearing the hideous, shiny uniform. A clear glass table and chair sit in the center. Nothing else. Blank walls. No attendant. I’m not sure what to do. The glass chair seems too brittle to sit on, but I try.

  Another monotone voice announces, “Please place one hand on the surface and do not move.”

  I wonder if they are about to slice off my hand as a punishment. I choose my left hand, the one missing Rita’s bracelet and Dominick’s ring.

  It takes a seco
nd for something to happen. Then a beam of violet light envelops my hand. I flinch as warm liquid surrounds and hardens into a clear, two-inch band around my wrist. When the light disappears, I snatch my hand back from the table to check for possible skin damage. The band feels like it’s made of thick glass, loose enough on my wrist not to hurt, tight enough not to be removed. There doesn’t seem to be a clasp or seam. Like a flat, glass handcuff. Suitable for invisible captivity. I want it off.

  “Hologuide ready. Double tap your bandwidth on your wrist to begin. Your hologuide will be your personal assistant to integrate you into our world and answer your questions. We want you to feel comfortable with your choice, so you may modify specs at any time. May your contribution lead to freedom.”

  Contribution? You mean kidnapping. Freedom? Real freedom doesn’t pretend to give people choices. I double tap the glass cuff bandwidth, and a life-sized, androgynous hologram appears at my side wearing a gray uniform.

  “Welcome, River Picard. We are here to guide you through your integration into our world. Please follow.”

  Despite every bone in my body swarming with suspicion, I find myself following my hologuide down a rounded white hallway, a rabbit hole into Wonderland. At least for Alice it was only a nightmare. She could wake up.

  “Where’re we going?” I spin the bandwidth around my wrist, try to stretch it forward off my hand. I want it off.

  “Integration.” My hologuide walks over to the far wall. As it moves farther away, its physical form changes from transparent to a more solid-looking form. If I didn’t know better, I’d mistake it for human. Except that its fake skin and cropped hair look flawless.

  It reaches the blank, solid wall with no door or window and says, “Say EXIT.”

  It must have a glitch in its protocols, but I’ll play along.

  I take a deep breath and squeeze my backpack strap. “EXIT,” I say to a wall.

  The surface shifts and wavers like a mirage over a hot highway.

  “What the—?”

  The molecules of the wall scatter like electronic tadpoles and vanish, exposing us to the outside world.

  “Welcome to Solbiluna-8, River Picard.”

  CHAPTER 2

  DAY 2

  THE NIGHT SKY is like nothing on Earth. Two brilliant moons, one half the size of the other. A blanket of moving stars like cell phone lights at a sold out concert dance through the dark atmosphere. Movement like one of Van Gogh’s paintings. Surreal. Dangerously romantic.

  I take in a deep breath to test out the oxygen levels. The air is crisp with a strange, pleasant aftertaste like mint and vanilla. My New England winter clothing would be completely wrong for the weather. It’s a perfect sixty-five degree night.

  Around me there are other people talking to their hologuides. I search for my friends and family, for Doctor A., Nolan and his grandmother, or the grieving mother hopefully reunited with her baby, but they are nowhere in sight. I just want to see something, anything, familiar.

  God, what has happened to us? Why are we here?

  “Welcome to our planet,” my hologuide repeats. “Please follow.”

  We travel together down a gray walkway that glimmers like diamonds are embedded in the asphalt. If that substance is asphalt.

  “What’s that shiny stuff?”

  “We embed all pathways with nanoholocoms, computers the size of a grain of rice. They collect light and vibrations as energy sources. We depend on them to carry out designated holographic programming throughout our world. Your bandwidth allows you to navigate the nanoholocom network.”

  I spin the bandwidth on my wrist and nod like a dog waiting for a treat. Must not fall for a scientific Siren singing a tale of sophisticated tech. I need to remember that I am Revenge Girl, Truth Bringer, on an away mission.

  The sinking feeling returns. I am on an away mission. Away from my parents. Away from my home. Away from my planet. I’m not even in my own timeline. I must always remember what they did to us.

  The hologuide follows a path lined with built-in, lit panels toward a beautiful, glasslike, circular building glowing in the darkness. Through the transparent exterior, I can see people walking inside on several floors.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You have been assigned to solitary LU, or Living Unit, QN25-50-1-9-100.

  Sounds like solitary confinement. “So it’s where I’ll live?”

  “Yes, it is your temporary home during the initial integration.”

  I tap my hands back and forth on each thigh as I walk to calm myself like Arianna, my most recent therapist, taught me. It helps me concentrate on my physical body and not on my racing fear. Sometimes it works if I can focus. I wonder if my counselor ever made it here with her baby. I wonder if they took her baby away for medical issues like what happened to the other mother during the medical examinations. I wonder if she brought any pills with her.

  “What else do we have to do for the integration process?”

  “You must learn our customs and decide how you would like to contribute in order to fully integrate into our world.”

  Something in its language terrifies me. The word “integrate” reminds me of the word “assimilate,” which reminds me of the Borg from Star Trek and being forced into sameness. Losing one’s culture to merge with another, like it or not.

  “How do I find people?” I ask as my fingertips tap my legs.

  “You will be able to search for them using your bandwidth once you are granted full bandwidth access and planetary travel rights. You are not allowed to leave your assigned LU community until the travel ban is lifted.”

  I never even considered not finding Dominick and Rita. That was an absolute. Never mind Benji, Marcus, and Penelope.

  “When is that?”

  “When step one of integration is complete.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “Indefinable.”

  I take a deep breath to ward away the negative energy. “I’ll just have to find them the old-fashioned way.”

  “Old-fashioned way. We don’t recognize that phrase in our database.”

  I roll my eyes and follow the hologuide into the glasslike building. The structure has QN25-50-1 on a holographic digital display near the front entrance. We pass through an archway and a short, clear corridor to another outdoor space.

  “This is the Hub, your LU community space,” my hologuide says.

  The shape of the building reminds me of a poster my English teacher had in her classroom of Shakespeare’s Globe theatre, but stacked like three times higher, with a circular arrangement of floors and hallways surrounding an outdoor area. Like a large glass and metal donut with the center carved out. It’s like we’re squirrels living in a giant hollowed, glass tree stump.

  Children chase an oversized bubble floating and darting above them in the lush grass. Each time one of them manages to hit it, it changes color. Adults nearby keep lookout. None of them are wearing the ridiculous uniform I’m swimming in. They have on fitted uniforms in various colors and patterns, some patterns even moving within the fabric.

  “Can I get different clothes?” I ask my hologuide.

  “You can modify your uniform per your specifications. Hold the fabric and say MODIFY CLOTHING.”

  “Hold the fabric?”

  “Yes.”

  I follow its directions. “MODIFY CLOTHING.”

  Above the sleeve in mid-air, a holographic screen appears with tons of digital options.

  “The holigraphy system adapts to your finger movements. Swipe and tap the holoscreen on instinct.”

  I touch a uniform shirt and pants option, and my basic uniform instantly forms around my body type. The iridescent fabric can be changed to any print I can imagine. Rita must love the fashion here. I choose all black.

  Off to the side, I spot Nolan and his grandmother, who think their relative died since she didn’t make it through a vertex, arguing with a hologuide. I can’t quite make out the conversation, but I
recognize an argument from a distance by their facial expressions. Their hologuide doesn’t show any sign of stress, of course, and keeps responding with the same neutral stance.

  Huge, lush bushes and tropical flowers fill the area with a sweet, warm smell that reminds me of when we went to visit my grandmother, Penelope, in Florida when I was little. A large stone surface with a glass circular center and hovering metal cap sits in the middle of the Hub. A few people are gathered around it. I wonder what the platform is for. Virginal sacrifices? At least I’m safe from that.

  The Hub is lit from the ground and above with tiny lights in the surface of the building and the walkways. Like fireflies frozen in glass. People sit at multi-colored tables with attached benches in a seamless swirl design. Even though there’s no visible kitchen area, a savory aroma mixes with the florals in the air.

  “Holocom food is created at the HDP.” My hologuide points to the stone platform. “It is third ration time.”

  Third ration? My stomach gnaws at me, and I try to remember the last time I ate. Days ago? Can’t be. No wonder my head feels woozy. My sore shoulders serve as a steady reminder of pushing Dad’s wheelchair through a slushy, crowded highway for miles. Of abandoning my parents to run through the fading vertex.

  “Good,” I say. “I’m starving.”

  “Starving. We don’t recognize that word in our database.”

  We approach the altar, and I look around for a potential trap, like my hologuide tossing me up and serving me for dinner.

  “The HDP creates the food designed by the nanoholocom network based on dietary needs and stored ingredient levels.”

  More acronyms. “Don’t tell me food is holographic,” I mumble.

  I hear a chuckle that I already recognize. Doctor A. stands next to me.

  “The food has to be real,” he says. “Can’t eat light after all. Think of it more like a 3D printer. We started using them at the hospital. Nothing on this scale, though.”

  “So basically a computer creates and cooks the food? Like a 3D printer and a microwave put together? Or like a Star Trek replicator?”