Contribute (Holo, #2)

by Kristy Acevedo

  I ponder names. How do you name a hologram? Data? Seven of Nine? HAL? No, no, something different . . .

  Not a human name. That will personalize it too much and make it too familiar. It’s a means to an end. It’s just my—

  I press the IDENTITY space and say “SIDEKICK.” My hologuide repeats it aloud to confirm. At least if I have to call it, I’ll never forget what it really is. Just a sidekick. Every hero needs one. Satisfied, I exit the modification panel and sit idle for a moment on my bed. It doesn’t seem real that it’s fake. That’s a mind-bender.

  No matter how cool this place is, I don’t belong here. We don’t belong here. I can’t let myself get distracted by the technological possibilities.

  I exit the hologuide program and poke the holographic lounge chair to check for readiness. It seems stable, so I slowly lower myself and rub my hands along the sides. Just like Dad’s favorite seat without the smell. I can hear his voice yelling about privacy and human rights and communism. He would hate it here, but I still wish he was with me to help me fight. I miss his strong voice. When I left, he could barely speak.

  Mom must be mourning Benji and me as if we’ve been taken. She will never understand that I had to do what I had to do. Dad will. At least I hope he will.

  In reality, Mom probably isn’t crying because she’s busy putting Dad back together. Dad’s in a wheelchair, getting weaker and crabbier, and possibly taking it all out on Mom since she’s the only one left beside him. Rage will slowly take over because he will feel helpless that he cannot be the hero for the family. He might become suicidal. He might kill them both to escape the misery of losing two children in a colossal, holographic kidnapping. A holonapping. A chrononapping. Hologenonapping. We don’t even have language for this type of crime.

  The truth is that Dad may not have totally recovered. He may still be tethered to an oxygen tank. Schools might still be closed, so Mom may not have a job.

  They might be starving to death. They may never have made it home.

  A familiar stirring begins in my chest, and I almost return to the PSF to stop another anxiety attack, assuming it’ll be worse than ever since Doctor A. warned me about withdrawals. It’s not anxiety, though. I hug my legs, curl into the chair, and let myself cry. Grieving is stronger than fear.

  The loneliness encircles me like the cast of a dark shadow I can’t escape. I need Dominick’s touch on my skin again and one of Rita’s famous pep talks. I need their laughter in my life. I look through my backpack and find my journal, with the printouts from their social media departure pages folded inside. We were so happy then. Young. Free. It will never be the same.

  Holding my journal is like discovering a piece of my naive soul. I flip through to read the journey of the past six months, an innocent voice not knowing if she should stay or go, betray her family or her friends, or listen to the repeating voice of holograms promising salvation. I start scribbling angry comments in the margins, arguing with her, trying to change the past with a pen. But no one can do that. No one has that power.

  Except crazy lady.

  I flip through my journal to my entry that reads:

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

  when fact and fantasy become deviant lovers,

  maybe there are no real heroes anymore.

  It’s still there, untouched by her. I search through my belongings for her note, the one with a copy of my words with the alternative ending, Maybe that’s when heroes are born. I had it crumpled in my hand before I ran through the vertex. It’s not here. I must’ve dropped it when I was running through the crowd. Back on Earth.

  Crazy lady affected me in the past, gave me that last incentive, and it cost her life. I still don’t understand how she did it, but I need to learn to trust her. I can’t just sit here and wait, afraid to make waves and get plasticized and drugged while people start promising their contribution. I came to deliver the truth.

  Who am I kidding? I also came here to see a boy. And my best friend. Instead I have to deal with a convict.

  Maybe motives matter less than we think they do. Maybe all that matters is what happens as a result of our actions.

  It’s time to stalk crazy lady and figure out how we’re connected.

  THE LIGHT OUTSIDE changes dramatically throughout the day in the Hub as I wait on a bench for Katherine to make an appearance. She has to eat sometime. I read my copy of Harry Potter to pass the time and wait for her to show her face. Above, a kaleidoscope of colors and patterns as sunlight reflects off each intricate facet of the dome. It’s hard not to lose focus under something so beautiful. Streaks of pink, orange, and deep blue stripe the lavender sky. One sun. I guess some things don’t change no matter the planet. Unless maybe if a planet had two suns. Not sure if that’s possible. I wish I had paid more attention in science class.

  I wonder if Dominick is looking up at the same sky. I wonder if he’s thinking about me. He must be in heaven surrounded by all this technology. Wait ‘til he finds out the truth, that it’s really some hidden hell.

  Rita came alone awhile ago. I wonder how she and her religious runaways are doing. Maybe they can teach me the ropes. What if she never actually made it through the vertex? What if she’s still on Earth and here I am looking for her? No, she would have contacted me. And at least she’d be safe, I guess.

  The tiny dinosaur bird is back. It squawks like a lone raven from the red wind chime tree, summoning our deaths. People in the Hub, however, seem happier than ever. They ignore the fact that Nolan, the boy who flipped out, is still stuck to the ground in the BME shell throughout lunch. Around dinnertime, the shell vanishes, and he stumbles to his feet. His grandmother runs with her food to him, scooping bits into his mouth. He doesn’t fight it. The lobotomy fear zaps through my mind. A knife scraping gray matter from beneath my skull. The image repeats several times, getting more graphic each time. I rub the back of my neck to reassure myself that there is no wound.

  No one else acknowledges Nolan’s punishment and his grandmother’s concern. People eat, mingle, kids play holobubble ball. The place is paradise for some while others move invisibly through a high tech, holographic world. Not much different from Earth in that way. Even when the technology changes, people remarkably stay the same.

  Doctor A. speaks to the grandmother, places his hand gently on her arm. They leave the Hub area together. Doctor A. is too nice to be human. He’s nothing like the humans gathering in the Hub for dinner. Like ants to a donut, here for their piece of sugar. Until they realize they are victims, too, they won’t care.

  Tonight’s meal is a deep brown loose liquid with soft foreign vegetation, including some purple clumps that taste like potatoes. I eat and read until I spot crazy lady walking toward the platform. I pinch myself to check that I’m not dreaming. Wonder if pinching works if she’s a hallucination. Or a hologram.

  Tossing my book in my backpack, I grab my journal and start recording her movements. She walks over to the platform for a food ration, then leans against the Hub wall to eat. She sips from the side of a bowl, chewing periodically. I chew, following her lead, following her movements, refusing to take my eyes off her this time.

  That’s when I first notice it. When a heavy set man with shaggy hair walks past her, crazy lady pushes something into his hand. They don’t make eye contact or discuss anything. I bet they were prisoners together. Drug dealing prisoners. She served time. Big time. Maybe it’s for dealing.

  That actually reassures me. Dealing drugs is different from being a serial killer. Unless she was a drug dealing serial killer.

  Stop it. What are the chances? As my counselor would say, there’s a difference between possibility and probability. Is it possible, yes. Is it probable? I guess not.

  I take down descriptions of them in my journal in case someone finds my body. List of suspects.

  As Katherine eats, Doctor A. returns to the Hub, and being his polite self, joins her. Didn’t he listen to me? I told him s
he’s a criminal. Some people are too nice for their own damn good. I could walk over and casually join the conversation, but that would require too much emotional effort.

  I add Doctor A. to my list, leaving an asterisk near his name and a note that says, “Not a suspect.” Once he finishes eating, I watch as she hands him something. Minutes later, I see him pass the object to a teenage girl a few years younger than I am with pin-straight hair sitting in the grass.

  The dinosaur chicken bird squawks from the nearby tree. It needs a friend like I do.

  Doctor A. sees me, waves, and walks over. I stuff my journal in my bag.

  “Are you feeling better?” he asks.

  My heart climbs into my throat. “Oh, yeah. Much better.”

  “Great to hear. You staying for the Skylucent tonight?” He rubs his hands together, and it makes me nervous.

  “Uh, not today. Heading back to my LU, actually.” I sling my backpack over one shoulder.

  “Have a good night then. Glad to hear you’re feeling better.”

  “Thanks.”

  People gather in the grass for the show, and I step around them in the darkness. It’s too dark to see what’s happening in the shadows and wherever crazy lady vanished.

  I return to my LU and sit in the PSF to calm down.

  Katherine was convicted for something on Earth, and she keeps handing people things. Drug dealer or murderer, she’s part of my past, part of my present, part of everyone’s future.

  And Doctor A. is in on it. Whatever it is.

  My curiosity feeds my anxiety, which in turns feeds my need to keep stalking her for more information. Information usually stops my mind from spiraling with unanswered questions and possibilities. I’m afraid this time more information might be the last thing I can handle.

  I miss my friends like I miss the ocean.

  CHAPTER 6

  DAY 4: 686 HOURS TO DECIDE

  I'M LOSING ALL concept of time other than light and dark, hunger and sleep. Maybe that’s supposed to be how life works when you don’t have anywhere to be. Time becomes an irrelevant measurement, each day blurring into the next, with nothing to do. Other than save people from lying vances who want to force people to contribute. I add a twenty-four hour digital clock to my bandwidth. Below it, a countdown to doom.

  The muscles in my shoulders, lower back, and calves ache. I stretch and yawn automatically, pulling myself up from the bottom of the PSF in the dark. My movement makes light and objects materialize, including the bed and pillow made of light and fancy computer programming. I might as well give the holobed another shot.

  Sleep and technology work magic when merged together. By the time I wake up again, I feel like days have slipped by. According to my bandwidth clock, it’s 1500 hours, so midafternoon. Pulling myself up, I vow never to sleep in the bottom of a PSF again.

  I am completely disoriented by my surroundings. The room is dark and empty, but as soon as I move, lights flicker on and furnishings reappear. It’s like I had a bizarre dream, and instead of waking up out of it, I brought it forth and created it around me. It’s unsettling.

  No sink. Can’t wash my face or brush my teeth. As I wait for a holographic hair brush to quantum entangle, I create a holographic mirror on the surface of one wall, not that I really want to see what my curly hair has decided to do in these conditions. My hair has grown fluffier in all directions, the ends curled up unevenly. I attempt to smooth the dry fluff into a bun without water or gel, and a frizz halo forms.

  I step back into the PSF to freshen my body, even opening my mouth during the process to see if it will clean my teeth. Running my tongue along my teeth, it feels like the film of tartar is gone. Only the problem with the PSF is it doesn’t help wake me up; it only makes me more relaxed and ready for more sleep.

  Glad that the PSF filter cleans everything, including my black uniform. This just might be the outfit that I die in. The wound of loneliness opens from holding onto everything and trying to be strong when I don’t even have a real friend.

  I double tap my bandwidth. SIDEKICK appears, still modified with a blue ponytail and red uniform.

  “River Picard, please state your needs.”

  “I need tissues. Toilet paper. Do you have any paper products on this freaking planet?”

  “You may request supply rations from the HDP. You are granted two supply rations per day for personal needs that cannot be made holographically.”

  It would be useless to chuck something at it. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

  “You did not ask.”

  Oh, how I hate artificial intelligence. Can’t it see that I’m barely holding on here? Can’t it anticipate human needs and just fill me in?

  A knock on my door makes me jump. No one knows where my LU is, and holograms can’t knock. Can they? A screen materializes on my wrist. Please don’t be a former prisoner come to devour me.

  A bushy salt and pepper beard fills the screen.

  “River Picard?” Doctor A. asks through the monitor.

  My heartbeat goes berserk even though it’s the doctor. Since he and crazy lady might have a secret pact, I’m not sure how much I should trust him anymore.

  Just ignore him and he’ll go away. The guilt of being mean to him after he was nice to me wins. “Yes?”

  “I’m here to check on you. Didn’t see you at breakfast and lunch today.”

  I debate whether or not I should let him in. He was with Katherine, and she handed him something that he passed to someone else. Not exactly the worst offense. Not exactly the actions of an innocent man. What if he’s here to attack me? Lure me into trusting him, and then WHAP! Do I have something I could use to protect myself? Could I beat him with my copy of Harry Potter?

  I grab the book from my backpack for safe measure. Despite my fear, I say, “DOOR OPEN.” I need some human contact before I start having conversations with SIDEKICK or the PSF.

  Doctor A. looks a little younger today. Fresher. He’s still bald with a beard, but there are fewer wrinkles around his eyes. Not sure how that happened.

  “River, I thought I’d make sure you’re feeling stronger.”

  “I’m okay. Getting a lot of sleep.”

  “Sleep is good, as long as you’re not avoiding the real world through dreams.”

  He already knows me too well.

  He continues. “If you’re feeling up to it, how about some fresh air, enjoying integration? Some recreation in the Holospaces? Meet some kids your age?”

  Oh, God no. Socializing might push me over the edge. I’m doing all I can to hang on.

  “It’s good for solitaries like us to meet others.”

  Solitaries. I’ve already been labeled in my four days in the future.

  “I’m fine, thanks.” I should just come right out and ask him directly what Katherine gave him. The words sit on my tongue, cling to the back of my teeth, and refuse to be set free. I don’t trust his motives. He’s hiding something.

  “Isolation is not good for mental health, especially in an unfamiliar place. I can come with you if that will help.”

  I can tell by the concern in his eyes that he’s not going away unless I comply. I put down my book, and he shows me the way. Harry would have confronted him.

  DOCTOR A. BRINGS me to the first floor of the LU community. I always assumed it was storage for the Hub or additional LUs, but the rounded hallway is marked by a holoscreen that reads Holospaces, followed by over thirty white doors, each with another holoscreen on it. When Doctor A. touches a screen, it changes so we can see a visual feed of the people inside playing different hologames, some high tech, some basic sports. Some doors are visually locked when he touches them. Don’t want to know what’s going on in those rooms, but I hope someone scrubs them afterward.

  He touches a screen and says, “Here she is.”

  Inside, the room looks like a family room, with two large leather sofas, a coffee table, lamps, a rug, and a fireplace. A teenage girl lounges on a sofa while
playing a holographic card game in midair. The same girl he handed something to in the Hub, something he got from crazy lady. It’s a conspiracy.

  “Kendra, I brought a friend.”

  “Hi, Doctor A.” She stops playing and drapes her straight, chestnut hair across one shoulder. “How’s Nolan today?”

  “Nolan is doing quite well. On the road to recovery. I’d like you to meet River.”

  “Nice to meet you.” We shake hands awkwardly, my palms sweating, and I see her wipe her hand on her kitten print uniform. With her large, innocent blue eyes, I can tell she’s the type that would rescue stray puppies and cats if she could.

  “Nolan and Kendra knew each other in school,” Doctor A. says. “She could use a friend while he recovers. I’ll leave you two young people to have some fun.”

  I see what you did there, Doctor A. and I don’t like it.

  I wave, plotting revenge thoughts, but knowing he did it out of kindness to us both. Painful, forced socializing, pull-my-fingernails-off kind of kindness.

  “So . . .” My mind goes blank. “I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”

  “Kendra. And you’re River.”

  “So it seems,” I mutter under my breath. “What’re you playing?”

  “An old card game my grandfather taught me. They have it programmed in the Holospaces. We can play something better, though. Stuff you can’t even imagine. Holographic games, sports, adventures, and a ton of activities. You can even invent your own and share it or keep it private. Makes the virtual reality games with goggles from Earth look childish. Nolan came here once with me before he was zapped.”

  “Okay, let’s try one. How does it work?”

  “You search through the Holospaces with your bandwidth. I’ll show you a cool one I found.” She holds her bandwidth and swiftly moves through several holoscreens like she’s lived here for a thousand years.

  “I like this one. 999myth.”

  As soon as her finger presses the holoscreen above her bandwidth, the entire room lights up with a blinding number of nanoholocoms.

  “Oops, I forgot to tell you to close your eyes while it sets. You can open them.”