Contribute (Holo, #2)

by Kristy Acevedo

  “Sounds about right,” Doctor A. says.

  My hologuide explains further. “The nanoholocom network sets the meal based on needs and supplies. You cannot order specific food. Rations are based on your personal caloric and nutritional needs.” It points at platform. “Place your hand on the surface so it can read you. It provides three food rations per person per day.”

  “What if someone has an allergy?” I ask.

  “Allergies have been eliminated,” it replies.

  “Seriously?” Doctor A. sounds impressed by the information, but his eyebrows furrow and he goes quiet.

  A young girl with pigtails places her palm on the platform. The surface under her hand illuminates in orange, and a beige plate and fork materialize. Then slowly, layer by layer, what looks like shiny, dark green noodles gather on top. She doesn’t have a hologuide with her, but she seems to know what she’s doing.

  My hologuide continues. “The food is safe, nutritious, with attention to human taste, texture, and aesthetic design.”

  Doctor A. places his hand on the surface. I wait my turn.

  “You do not have to wait for each serving to finish,” my hologuide says. “The scale of the HDP is designed to serve approximately fifty people at a time.”

  It doesn’t have to tell me more than once. I place my hand on the platform, and orange light outlines my hand. Soon a plate of noodles materializes next to it. The cold stone surface reminds me of the kitchen countertop at home. Mom prepping food that Dad gathered from the grocery storage at his work. My grandmother, Penelope, telling her how to cook Thanksgiving dinner. Late at night watching Mom drink tea, Dad making sandwiches. These are my last good memories of them. I lift my plate of printed food, and it feels like a betrayal.

  I wonder what my parents are eating on Earth. There was hardly any food left in stock. Empty store shelves. Chaos. Abandoning them, stranded in the middle of nowhere, with no food or heat or transportation or electricity . . . If I keep worrying about them, I’ll go mad. My lone pill already calls to me, and I ignore the urge. I need to save it for an emergency.

  I search the Hub for future humans, but everyone looks like they’re from Earth. Only a few have their hologuides near them. I spot the mother who was electrocuted and frozen in punishment after her baby was taken during the medical evaluation. Still no baby in her arms. She stares off into the night sky the way Dad used to during his Zombie Nights with PTSD. Only this is fresh trauma. Witnessed trauma. I want to go over and whisper the truth in her ear. Would it make her feel better to know we are all victims?

  “River, do you want to eat together?” Doctor A. asks. “Or did you find your family?”

  A lump rises in my throat. I really don’t have the energy for small talk, but I need a safe, familiar face. Time to blend in with the crowd to avoid outcast status. “Sure. I haven’t seen my family yet. I just got here.”

  Doctor A. nods and together we walk to a table and bench.

  “Do you require our assistance while eating?” my hologuide asks.

  “I don’t think so,” I say, imagining it trying to spoon feed me.

  “We will deactivate then. When you require more assistance, please double tap your bandwidth.” It bows. “May your contribution lead to freedom.”

  How freaking annoying. What does that even mean? Are we supposed to feel free now that we’ve joined their world?

  “So, decontamination and evaluation,” Doctor A. says, swirling a curl of dark green noodles onto his fork, “that was an experience.”

  “I kept thinking it was like an alien abduction.” There’s no place to wash my hands before eating. Great. I imagine all the tiny germs crawling across my palms. “How long was I gone?”

  He laughs longer than necessary. “You were gone for a day. Give or take. If that’s how time works here.”

  I was unconscious with an alien doctor for a full day, with no recollection of the events? I wonder where they put the probe . . .

  “Where are you from?” he asks.

  I pick up one noodle and pray that it’s not a futuristic worm. I bite the end, chew, and with one taste I realize how hungry I am. Screw the germs; I can’t eat fast enough and start shoveling noodles into my mouth.

  “Sorry,” I apologize with a mouthful of food.

  “Not necessary. Didn’t realize traveling through a vertex would leave me so famished, either.” He waits a minute, then asks again, “So, where are you from?”

  “Massachusetts.”

  “Well, yes, according to my hologuide, everyone in this community came through the Quincy vertex in Massachusetts during the last phase, probably in the last two weeks or so.”

  I look around. “We’re organized by vertex location and time left the planet?” Only the last couple weeks? So that would mean Dominick and Rita aren’t here?

  A weight presses on my chest. My hologuide said we can’t leave our LU community. I can’t do this alone. I need to find my friends.

  “Do you know how long until we can travel?”

  “They haven’t said.”

  I’m never going to survive without them.

  “Makes sense to organize people this way when you think of it. Helps us integrate with another world if we have people around us from our regions on Earth. Alleviates language barriers and naturally allows for family and friends to stay together.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. Can’t say the future humans aren’t logical. Of course it only works when you leave a planet with family or friends. “Which ones are the future humans who sent the holograms? I don’t see anyone who looks different.”

  “I asked the same question. We aren’t allowed to mingle with the vances during the first steps of integration. Too much for our little brains to handle. We aren’t culturally aware enough. Presumptuous.”

  “The vances?”

  “Short for advanced humans. That’s what everyone’s been calling them.”

  I nod and examine the people around us for signs that they are vances in disguise. Other than the odd uniforms, everyone appears to be part of a typical, random sample of humans from Massachusetts. I watch Nolan and his grandmother approach the food platform. She places her hand on the platform for food, but Nolan keeps his hands crossed. I think the grandmother is trying to convince him to eat. He doesn’t respond, and I don’t blame him. I can’t imagine how hard it is to actually lose a parent. I feel sick just going through the mental motions of what it would be like to lose Dad all the time.

  And now both my parents are lost in another time. Three hundred years ago. Dust by now.

  Don’t go there. Don’t get destroyed by a thought.

  “So Doctor A., what’s your specialty?” I say to distract myself.

  “I’m a prenatal surgeon.”

  “You do surgeries on babies?”

  “Yes, even still in the womb.”

  “That must be stressful.” I search the grass for the mother missing her baby and husband. She’s still staring off into space. People nearby look on with sympathy, but no one says anything to her.

  “You get used to it,” Doctor A. says. “The stress actually makes it exciting.”

  Stress doesn’t make anything exciting in my world. Stress is gasoline to a dancing flame.

  I take another bite of noodles and chew as I scan the faces in the Hub area. So many families, all strangers. Until I lock eyes on a familiar face.

  The noodles twist in my stomach. It takes me a moment to recognize her since her hair’s brushed back and she’s wearing a clean, fitted, sky blue uniform.

  It’s the crazy lady.

  The crazy lady.

  She looks much healthier than the last time I saw her. Then again, the last time I saw her, she was foaming at the mouth near the vertex site before the ambulance arrived.

  And she gave me the note.

  Before she died.

  On Earth.

  When the truth is shrouded in fear and clouded by dreams,

  when fact and fant
asy become deviant lovers,

  maybe there are no real heroes anymore.

  Or maybe that’s when heroes are born.

  I was right. How can this be possible? How can she be here, alive?

  Crazy lady leans against a wall. She’s quiet. Calm. Nothing like I remember. I try not to stare. When I sneak another peek, I watch her avoid the noodles on her plate and instead bite into her actual fork and eat the prongs.

  “Are the utensils edible?” I ask, startled.

  Doctor A. studies the fork, breaks part of the handle off, and chews. “Remarkable. It tastes like a thin, slightly sweet, cookie. Or bread. I wonder . . .” He moves his noodles aside and breaks off a chunk of his plate and puts in his mouth. “Remarkable. No waste or clean up.”

  My stomach lurches in queasiness, wondering if I should try it. I watch crazy lady avoid the noodles and continue eating her fork instead, eventually tossing most of her noodles and plate back on the platform. What does she knows that I don’t know? Maybe the green noodles are like Soylent Green, from that old sci-fi movie that Dominick made me watch. Maybe that’s why the vances kidnapped us. For protein.

  I puke in a patch of perfect, glowing bushes.

  DOCTOR A. CHECKS my pulse and feels my forehead like Mom used to do. She was right about fevers 99.9% of the time based on her palm reading.

  “I’m fine,” I say, “I just ate too fast.”

  He guides me over to a glass water fountain. A holoscreen on the side reads: For personal hydration only. Storing or cleaning with water is forbidden.

  I wonder what the penalty is for filling up a bottle. If I had a bottle. Beheading?

  The fountain registers my hand with an orange glow before working. As I inhale large gulps of water, I search for crazy lady out of the corner of my eye. She’s nowhere in sight. Was she just a projection from my imagination? Am I hallucinating? The fountain shuts off automatically before I’m done. I press my hand against the side again, but it won’t turn back on.

  “I can walk you to your LU,” Doctor A. offers. “You’ll miss the Skylucent, though. Fantastic display. I saw it last night.”

  I visually sweep the Hub area for crazy lady and find her lying in the grass. “I think I’ll stay. What’s the Skylucent? Is it like fireworks?”

  “You’ll see,” Doctor A. says, then smiles and wipes his salt and pepper beard with his hand.

  Lovely. More mysteries to worry about.

  A huge, flash of light appears and repeats over the night sky in the Hub. I wonder if it’s their version of a thunderstorm, created by them since they said they can control the weather on the hologram Q&A website back on Earth.

  “Looks like it’s about to start,” Doctor A. says. “Best spot is in the grass. Shall we?”

  Other people are slowly gathering and lying on the dark grass. Doctor A. crouches down and waves me to the ground.

  Smoke fills the upper atmosphere, blocking out the stars. I swear that I sense less oxygen already. Take a deep breath, look around. No one else is concerned. A hush comes over the crowd. How can everyone be smiling when they are about to kill us with toxic fumes?

  A holographic 3D film in the heavens begins over our heads. The smoke works like a massive screen in the night sky, the holographic images projected and illuminated in front of it. And what did the vances pick for us to watch to make us feel at home? Finding Nemo. The ground even seems to vibrate at the right times, the sound bouncing off the inner walls of the Hub. I swear I smell the scent of seawater from the film as a tropical fish swims near me. With this technology, it’s no wonder they could create a massive holographic comet to trick us to come here. The question is why. I steal glimpses at crazy lady. I think she fell asleep in the grass.

  Even though I’ve seen Finding Nemo a million times, it’s nothing like this experience. I am Nemo, touching that boat, and getting pulled into another world while Dad is desperate to bring me home. That parent-child tug pulls at me from my heart stronger than ever since it’s like I’m the one trapped in a glass fish tank. How will we ever find each other again? Did my parents survive?

  Thinking about my parents unleashes pent up tears for all I’ve lost. I don’t bother wiping. I need to let it out. I need to remember. Grieving is stronger than fear. Grief is my worst fear realized and digested and coming back out of me in a new form. I am over three hundred years into the future, which means my parents are long dead and their remains have been reduced to dust particles. For all I know they might be recycled into the air I’m breathing now.

  Sometimes we are trapped by truth. Sometimes we are trapped by lies. I’m not sure what’s worse.

  When the movie ends, and the last of the Skylucent effects fade into the night sky, people stand up and brush off their individually-holofied uniforms.

  “Simply spectacular,” Doctor A. says and reaches out a hand to help me to my feet.

  “Amazing,” I admit.

  A melodic sequence of beeps fills the air and interrupts us. A huge holoscreen appears and hovers over the crowd. People around us chatter excitedly and stare up at the screen, unconcerned.

  “Is this part of the Skylucent?” I ask.

  “Didn’t happen yesterday,” Doctor A. says, scratching his beard.

  On screen, a man my father’s age with shoulder length, graying hair and a smooth face holds his arms out wide from beneath a white robe. He wears a long, metallic necklace ending with an intricate, glowing amber gemstone. Like a vertex caught behind glass. Behind him, a crowd wearing similar clothes sits in a semi-circle arena.

  “Greetings. We are the meritocracy, the ruling body of Solbiluna-8. My name is Keron. I serve as the voice of the meritocracy. Welcome to our planet.

  “We hope you enjoy acclimating into our world during the integration process. Our culture and science is different from what you experienced on Earth. We hope you will sample everything our world has to offer. Please sample our luxuries, such as the Skylucent and Holospaces for recreation and education. Soon we will allow full travel and communication. We must disclose one, final element in our social structure that we are sure you will find reasonable.”

  My chest hollows at his words. Something is wrong. This is the catch. This will unite us to fight to go home, or this will destroy us.

  “Solbiluna-8 is built upon the belief that humans were made to thrive, not toil away precious time. You will not be required to work on our planet, and we will supply all of your needs. As higher beings, humans are meant to think, explore, create, enjoy. We have based our world around that ideal. By providing freedom from commerce, we provide freedom from work.”

  Through the darkness I see people around me, smiling at one another like they’ve won the lottery.

  Keron continues. “In order to continue this luxury for future generations, however, there must be a cost.”

  There’s always a catch, always a cost.

  Keron swoops his robed arms around and holds his hands over his heart. If he has a heart.

  “We need your contribution in death.”

  CHAPTER 3

  DAY 2

  DEATH? THEY CAN'T be serious.

  My arms pulse with fear and my legs go numb. I need my parents.

  Several people in the Hub voice their complaints and fears simultaneously. On the holoscreen, Keron, the voice of the meritocracy, extends his open palms and continues speaking. I can’t hear what he’s saying through the noise. Someone shushes the crowd.

  “ . . . want to be honest with you. Much like on Earth, where humans could donate their bodies to science upon death, we hope you will each donate your body upon death for your brain pathways to be uploaded as a biohologram. Our nanoholocom network only works with the vast pathways of the human brain. All other artificial intelligence in our history paled in comparison to the seamless integration of combining holographic light entanglements with the natural decision-making capabilities of the human brain.”

  I glance at the people around me, all eyes on screen. They
have to know that it’s a trap. No one would ever willingly agree to it.

  “Rest assured only your thoughts and neural matrix will be integrated with our systems. The donation of your brain’s complex synapses allows our bioholograms to function. As a biohologram, you will no longer have physical and emotional needs. In this holographic state, you will be able to work for our society, assuring that future generations of humans will enjoy the luxury of leisure during their lifespan that you did. You will continue past your physical death date as a biohologram until your programming degrades, which can last up to fifty additional years.

  “Contribution is not mandatory. In fairness, however, those who do not wish to become bioholograms will have to work in our world and have less time than others to enjoy all of the luxuries we have here. The choice is yours. Once you decide, please let your hologuide know. Your hologuide is also available to answer any questions. You have just over thirty more calendar days, or 722 hours, to decide. May your contribution lead to freedom.”

  He bows, just like the holograms, and the screen vanishes. The crowd stays silent for a minute, letting the choice sink in.

  “Can you believe this?” I say to Doctor A. He has to understand that it’s like making a deal with a technological devil.

  “It’s remarkable,” he says. “That level of biological and technological integration. I’ll have to look into it further.”

  “What?” He can’t be serious. “You’d consider doing it?”

  “Contribute your body to help the next generation? Extend your life in a new form? A way to preserve you? Perhaps. But I don’t want to give up working. I love medicine. Maybe I can do both.”

  What happens when something goes wrong? What happens if you say yes and then change your mind? What happens if you say no and change your mind? What happens if you die quickly and they can’t upload your brain? What happens if you live a life of leisure and then kill yourself? What do they do to even those odds? I’m sure it’s unspeakable. What are the consequences?

  The crowd grows louder and louder with questions and nervous excitement. I should tell them now. I can’t let them make this decision without knowing the whole truth. It’s like a repeat of the history. Sweet talk, trick, and trap. But I’m only one voice in the crowd. How will I ever convince them?