Contribute (Holo, #2)

by Kristy Acevedo

  “Do I have to shut you off?”

  “We automatically shut off after five minutes of inactivity.”

  There’s no way I’m letting that thing stare at me for five minutes while I try to sleep. Talk about feeling haunted.“HOLOGUIDE EXIT.”

  My hologuide bows and says, “May your contribution lead to freedom.”

  It dematerializes in front of my eyes into a million particles, reminding me of the fake comet that trapped us here.

  Time to sleep in a world that has kidnapped us and wants to trick everyone again. And I can’t talk to my friends or my family for who knows how long. And crazy lady didn’t even recognize me.

  Maybe she wasn’t real and my mind made her up as justification for abandoning my parents for my friends.

  Maybe I traveled through a vertex and aliens hooked me up to a machine that is feeding me all these thoughts and I’m actually unconscious.

  Or maybe it’s a terrible hallucination I cannot escape. Instead of traveling through time, I’m locked up in a psychiatric hospital. Like that episode of Buffy where she wonders if she’s actually in an asylum and Sunnydale is really a figment of her imagination.

  I need medication before I start whacking my head against the non-padded white walls. I want to scream. How do you express your feelings in a world that will medicate you for them? Then again, my world was pretty fond of medicating emotions. Hell, I’m fond of it.

  I grab my last pill from my backpack and hold it in my hand. How am I going to survive without my pills? Without my friends? Without my family? I can’t fucking do this. I’m not a hero.

  My body fires into hypermode. Sweat drips down my back, and I can’t do anything to stop my brain from fighting a losing battle with nothing.

  Twenty minutes. The most it should last is twenty minutes. I put the pill back in the bottle. I can do this. I’m safe in this room. I just have to wait it out.

  Too bad I don’t have a watch and my phone is dead, so there’s no way to mark the endless passage of time. I rip off my clothes to escape the onslaught of heat poring off my skin. As a last resort, I rush over to the black decontamination thingy.

  I whack the side of it. “Turn on! OPEN!”

  It pops open and I step inside. The warmth bothers me at first since I’m already overheated, but my body adjusts. Every time it shuts off, I turn it back on. It’s temporary, but it’s something.

  I hope it can’t overheat. What if using it too much causes a weird cancer? What if I spontaneously combust?

  Despite my mind spinning, the light and sound traveling back and forth over my skin soon strips away my stress and lulls me into oblivion.

  CHAPTER 5

  DAY 3: 711 HOURS TO DECIDE

  I WAKE UP groggy and sore at the bottom of the decontamination/glorified outhouse box. My stomach groans in rebellion. I sit up, remember where I am, and the emptiness of the room matches my insides. I wish I could talk to someone I love.

  My backpack sits somewhere on the floor in the blackness. I search for it, and the soft spotlight returns. I never realized how annoying conveniences can be.

  Grabbing my bag, I unzip it and lay the contents across the floor. I pull out my copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, the printouts of Rita and Dominick’s online existence, my journal, a black pen, an extra elastic for my hair, a dead cell phone and plug. Obsolete relics from another lifetime. The things that were most important to me when fleeing my home planet. No picture of my parents. No pictures of my friends. I expected them to be with me. The T-shirt from Dominick that I packed has been confiscated along with my ring and bracelet. The spotlight on me and my belongings illuminates how alone I am. This is real. We were stolen. I am trapped here without anyone I love. My hands begin to tremble, so I shake them harder to regain control.

  Outside the glass wall, a sun rises on the horizon, just like on Earth. Huge navy mountains surrounded by bright vegetation. The vibrant color looks like someone has ramped up the contrast on a TV screen. A brilliant lavender sky. A scarlet river. I wonder if it rains red here. Blood rain, tainting everything with their lies. Probably not—they have the power to control the weather. They have power over a lot of things.

  A collapsible oval toilet extends from a wall with the press of my hand. At least I think it’s a toilet because of the shape and height, but it doesn’t have water in it. Oh well. When you gotta go, you gotta go. I sit, pee, and reach automatically for toilet paper. There isn’t any. Great. I shake and jiggle a little, which doesn’t really work well in girl world, then stand. What am I going to do when I get my period? That won’t be pretty. Before I have time to find a flush lever, an automatic white light fills the basin, evaporating all traces of urine. A strong, hot urine smell wafts up from the unit. I can only imagine the stench that light-annihilated shit will leave behind. Guess not everything is as advanced in the future without water. They haven’t mastered smell.

  I want to splash water on my face to help wake up, but there is no water. I want to brush my teeth, but there’s no sink or toothbrush or toothpaste. Instead, I wear the same black holofied uniform as yesterday and head down to breakfast in a maglift of death.

  At the platform, I wait for my food to materialize. I’m afraid it’s going to be green noodles again. It’s not. It’s a mushy, lumpy, brown and green concoction.

  I notice that the top of the Hub is no longer open to the sky. A huge, domed glass ceiling, cut in segments like a huge diamond, light filters in careful segments. Small rainbows flock the ceiling. The longer I stare at the ceiling, I notice the glass patterns shift slightly over time to bring more light to different sections of nanoholocoms. Must be their way of controlling shadows so all the nanoholocoms can fully charge. Funny how we expect truth to be in light, and lies to be in shadows.

  Off to the side of the Hub Nolan and his grandmother eat breakfast in the table area. I find a seat in the grass and scoop a warm lump of mush with pieces of the bowl like everyone else is doing. The food resembles oatmeal, peanut butter, and honey, with slices of a sweet, pink fruit unlike anything I’ve ever tasted. Like a kiwi mixed with orange, ginger, and cinnamon. A bony bird with brown, downy feathers on its wings squawks in the large tree nearby. Like a tiny lizard chicken. Dominick would love it. A dinosaur in the future. The tree reminds me of an Earth red maple tree, except that when the wind blows, the leaves clink together to make a magical tinkling sound.

  A chime clangs and resonates through the Hub. Everyone stops talking. People stand and automatically gather in the grass. I worry that the chime sound triggered a Pavlovian response, like trained dogs running for a treat. Why aren’t they worried that it’s another catch? Another fine print in the contract with the vances?

  Above us, a glowing holographic image of Earth appears and rotates in midair. Some people look up. Some lower their heads. I stand to blend in with the gathering crowd, worrying if this is another sacrificial message, another terrible countdown, another impossible choice.

  A voice echoes through the Hub. “We will now have our daily moment of silence for Earth, and for all those who could not join us.” Another chime.

  A blond teenage girl leans against her parents. Others around me wipe at the corners of their eyes. The woman still missing her husband and baby from when we were first processed finally has her baby back. She holds the infant over her shoulder while staring up blankly. Some clasp their hands forward in prayer. The hooded teenager and his grandmother are still sitting on a bench, not participating with the crowd.

  I try to fake it, mourn for those lost, pretend that I miss the existence of my not-really-destroyed planet. It’s physically impossible. The anger at what the vances have done to us, how they want us to contribute ourselves to their technology, and how reverent everyone is being toward the whole thing overwhelms me. The sudden urge to scream out in the moment of silence builds inside my chest, to scream the truth, to scream that Earth is still there. Perfectly fine. We are the ones who are screwed.


  Real tears find me. Tears for my parents. Tears for myself.

  The blond girl taps my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  “No, I’m not okay. It’s not okay.”

  I spot Doctor A. near the entrance. I bet he wants to take my pulse again.

  I can’t tell them yet. It’s too soon. But I want to scream it across a loud speaker.

  “NO!”

  Everyone turns in my direction. Oh, God, did I say that out loud?

  “It’s not fair!” Nolan yells, jumping up from a table, his grandmother trying to grab him back.

  “Nolan, please calm down,” his grandmother says.

  “Take him outta here,” a couple on my left yells. “He’s being disrespectful.”

  I lower my head and avoid eye contact, trying to seem reverent when I want to join the teen’s rebellion. No, it’s not fair, Nolan. It never was.

  Nolan unleashes his own rage. He darts to the side and kicks to loosen a large, decorative stone. Heaving it to his chest, he carries it over to the food platform and slams it onto the base. No visible damage appears, but the sound of rock hitting rock vibrates through the Hub. The sound echoes in my ribcage.

  His eyes grow wild. He searches for something, anything to destroy. Exactly how I’m feeling about Solbiluna-8. Poor kid. He just wants his mother back. His life on Earth back. He’s gonna get electrocuted and cocooned by the behavioral system.

  Maybe I should tell them now. It might make it better.

  It might make it worse. I might get electrocuted.

  Two men step closer to try to stop him.

  “Get a hold of yourself,” his grandmother says,.

  He ignores her and reaches for the heavy stone once again, bent on destruction.

  Before the men reach him, Nolan’s body freezes with the rock in his hands, blue electric flames surrounding his legs. He and the rock go down hard. A clear encasement washes over him, shellacking him to the ground.

  His face transforms from rage to nothing. His eyes zone out the way my Dad’s did during Zombie Nights.

  His generic hologuide materializes next to him. “The BME has been automatically activated. Please remain calm and orderly as we deal with the infraction.”

  “Please, someone help my grandson!” the grandmother says. “It’s hurting him.”

  I want to help. I do. I fight the urge to grab a rock myself and try to smash the shell pinning him down. An insidious thought stops me: I could be next, trapped in another clear Zombie box.

  I’m not a hero; I’m a coward. Looking around, I’m not the only one.

  What a dangerous and effective controlling technique. Small acts of self preservation. This is how genocide begins. This is how humanity ends.

  Nolan’s grandmother covers her face with her hands. Doctor A. rushes over to help her. Everyone else returns to what they were doing beforehand. The children begin another color bubble game, stepping over Nolan’s body to chase the bubble. The immediate apathy and casualness of everyone disturbs me even more than the incident.

  What’s worse—trying to fight the invisible? Or becoming the invisible?

  “Kids these days. No class on any planet.” The couple near me moves away, like I have a rude disease that they might catch.

  No one cares except me and Doctor A. It’s my job to make them care.

  I need a plan. I need my friends.

  I need crazy lady to change the future.

  SITTING ON MY bed in my LU, the situation in the Hub still bothers me. I open my hologuide program.

  It bows. “River Picard, please state your needs.”

  “How does the BME system work? What does it do?”

  “The BME, or a Behavioral Modification Emergency, immediately stops the movement of the individual or object in motion. For humans, it is followed by immediate treatment of PM and AM, or PhotoMeds and AudioMeds, until the threat level normalizes.”

  “So it can be activated if a person gets upset?” Damn, I’ll be next in no time.

  “No, it is activated when there is an attempt to destroy, commit violence, or break one of our laws. We must prevent problems from escalating to maintain order for the sake of society. Instant public rehabilitation.”

  Instant public rehabilitation for a boy grieving in anger. For a mother missing her baby. I wonder what they do to whistle blowers, people who tell the truth. How will I ever fight them if they trap and drug me at the first sign of mutiny?

  Crazy lady is the key. I need to find out what she knows. Find out if she’s real or just a new psychosis.

  “Your LU has not been modified yet,” my hologuide says. “You may modify the room environment to meet your specifications of comfort.”

  I look around the blank space, reflecting the emptiness inside me. I would like a hammock. “Why, is there like a furniture storage area or something? You don’t use money here, right?”

  “We do not use currency on our planet. You are supplied with daily rations for all your needs that cannot be modified.”

  “So how do I get more furniture?”

  “Hold your hand down on your bandwidth and say MODIFY LU.”

  I obey, curious what will happen. “MODIFY LU.”

  Every inch of every surface of the room lights up with tiny pinpoints of light. The walls, the floors, the ceiling. Like technological glowworms.

  A holoscreen appears and floats above my bandwidth.

  “Holy crap.” I stand automatically. “Why didn’t you show me this earlier?”

  “You did not ask. You exited program. You required sleep.”

  “Right.”

  “The nanoholocoms within your LU environment will design what you need. Simply touch the specs you want to modify on the holoscreen.”

  On the screen is a holographic representation of the room. I touch the wall area on the display, and visual options appear. I choose a specific wall, wall color, and red option, and that entire wall in my LU immediately turns deep red as if fairies painted it with a magic wand. I adjust for vibrancy until I find my favorite shade of lipstick red.

  I touch the furniture option and choose a chair that reminds me of my Dad’s lounge chair and a hammock of my dreams. I choose room placement for the furniture and BAM, it forms on the spot, at first transparent, and then gradually filling in with details and depth.

  “How is this even possible?”

  “LU nanoholocoms are designed to create living environments. You will find that Solbiluna-8 is highly accommodating.”

  Accommodating. More like a kidnapper who lures children with candy and lost puppies. Like a Trojan horse that destroys a culture. Like Pan, the satyr, who played his flute and made the nymphs come under his trance to have his way with them.

  “But it’s holographic furniture.” I walk over to the chair, which looks as real as any chair from Earth. “If I sit on it, won’t I just fall through?”

  “No. There are three types of holographic material: transitive, it looks transparent and things pass through it; semi-intransitive, it looks solid but things pass through it; and intransitive, looks and acts like a solid.”

  “But holograms are made of light.”

  “Yes.”

  “Light is not a solid.”

  “No, but the nanoholocoms create the sensory experience of a solid. The bed that you slept on is an intransitive hologram created using resequenced, quantum entangled photons.”

  I stare at the bed. I don’t understand. I poke it with my finger, and the mattress feels like . . . a mattress. When I try to sit on the chair, however, the material bends and morphs, decomposing under my touch. My butt hits the floor.

  “It takes a few minutes for new objects to completely quantum entangle. Please wait. Once established, they can reassemble in a second and retain coherence.”

  “You could’ve told me that.”

  “You did not ask.”

  For the next hour, my hologuide stands beside me as I transform my LU into a mini-apartment, complete with blankets, pill
ows, rugs, and other comforts. I even add a large window with a moving, fake view of the Atlantic shore. I was wrong; the interior design of the future is amazing. It’s like I’ve stepped into The Sims. Dominick must be in love with the technology in this world.

  I lose track of time in the excitement of creating things in my LU from nothing.

  “Where’s the sink? Can I make a sink?” I ask my hologuide.

  “One moment. What files would you like to sync?”

  It takes me a few seconds to understand the miscommunication. “No, sink. S-I-N-K.”

  “One moment. Sinks do not exist here. We do not use water for cleaning purposes.”

  “Then how do I clean things?”

  “The PSF is used for disinfection.” It points to the black, decontamination box.

  PSF. I need to remember those letters. “I guess I’m done then.”

  “Hold your hand on your bandwidth and say LU MODIFY EXIT.”

  “LU MODIFY EXIT.”

  Modifying an environment is addicting. You can wield your power and make things submit to your whim. I stare at my hologuide in the gray uniform.

  “How come sometimes you’re transparent and sometimes you’re not?”

  “Outdoors we use more energy for greater depth perception in full light. Indoors we conserve yet maintain visual acuity. We have the ability to shift between transitive states based on need.”

  “Can you be modified?

  “Yes. Hold and say HOLOGUIDE MODIFY.”

  A mini-version of my hologuide emerges on a holoscreen floating over my bandwidth. I change its gender to female, hair to a long, royal blue ponytail and its uniform to a deep cranberry. It transforms before my eyes. Then I see the Name modification.

  “I can give you a name?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you want to be called?”

  “That is not a question we can answer.”