I don’t know how to respond, so I don’t. Sometimes people just need you to listen.
She picks the board back up and starts putting the radio back together. I hand her a piece from the floor.
“This place,” she points to the air around us, “There’s no way the vances simply decided to give everything away for free in order to form unity. The meritocracy acts like it voted for it or some shit. Nope, a lot of blood was shed for this kind of peace. That’s how humans work, no matter how advanced. That’s the only way they work. Nothing is free. Everything has a price.”
Something in what she says reminds me of my dad. Her past anger scares me. Not because she was a prisoner, but because I can relate to it. The guilt. The desperate need for revenge. Anger as fuel. Anger that fuels you to run through a vertex. Anger that gets you caught and turns you into someone you were never meant to be.
That night I write in my journal to remember who I am.
A WEEK LATER, with only two hundred thirty-one hours before contribution, we gather for breakfast and the Earth mourning. It’s funny how we still have these public ceremonies after seeing the spaceships, but then I remember that the majority doesn’t know about Earth yet. I wonder how many revealed lies it will take for people to wake up. How many bandwidth will glow with tainted commitments. It’s so easy to fall for a compulsive liar when lies are prettier than the truth. Safer. Scarier.
My legs physically look better thanks to the PSF working its magic on the scars, but ghost electric pain shoots up from my feet every now and then. I will never stick my head under a fountain again no matter what kind of panic attack I’m having. Lesson learned. The BME is highly effective in behavioral training. Doctor A. is surprised that I’m not as emotionally affected as Nolan was given my medical history. He doesn’t know the anger and desperation inside me that’s blocking my depression from taking root. Both a cure and a poison.
As the Earth glows and rotates above us, I daydream about my life back on the Massachusetts coast. I just want to put my legs into the ocean and let it wash away the pain. The navy-and-green waves, the salted air blowing through my curls and changing their texture, the warm grains of sand, rocks, and slipper shells shifting under my bare feet. Dominick smiling at me from his striped blue and white towel. Oh God, I miss him.
I miss sitting around a bonfire with Rita and Dominick, roasting marshmallows on sticks until they’re almost burnt, taking a photo each year to see how much has changed and how much has stayed the same. In those moments with them I was truly alive. Who am I without them?
The holographic Earth tribute vanishes, and people begin to disassemble in the Hub. When a disembodied voice fills space and bounces off the circular inner walls, everyone stops. It’s the first time the LU feels more like an arena. Where a lion would be released and pick us off one by one.
“Step one of integration with environment is complete. Standby for step two. You will be transported to your new living arrangements and allowed to integrate fully into Solbiluna-8, which includes full communication and travel privileges. Please step through the vertexes one at a time.”
A series of emerald vertexes appear around the perimeter of the Hub.
Here we go again. This can’t be good. Why are they green?
My heart leaps for cover as my legs fire in defensive pain. I watch innocent people around me smile and scatter, probably to get their belongings. Excited while I am petrified. What else is new. This is when it all ends. This is when everyone finds out it’s a scam in some major twist of fate.
I spot Katherine and Doctor A. huddled off to one side.
“What do we do?” I ask.
“We go,” Katherine says. “Sounds like we’re leaving the ship to join the planet. Can’t stay behind on an empty ship.”
“Or they’re killing us for knowing too much.”
“Doubt it,” Doctor A. says. “It would be easier for them to kill us on the ship if they wanted to.”
“That’s reassuring,” I say.
“Look on the bright side,” Katherine says. “We’ll have full communication and travel rights. You can see your friends.”
I would do anything to see Dominick and Rita again, but stepping through another vertex is like throwing myself from a cliff. The fear makes the hairs on my arms stand on end.
“We better get going,” Doctor A. says. “Looks like it might take awhile.”
It’s the first time there’s a line at the maglifts. I follow their lead because what choice do I have. I can’t stay on a spaceship alone, especially since I feel trapped as is. The longer I wait, the more time I have to think about crossing through a vertex again. Last time adrenaline and anger got me through. This time, I’m nothing but a ball of nerve endings. I hold on to the image of a group hug with Dominick and Rita. I can do this.
Once in my LU, I grab my backpack and triple check that I have everything. I take one last cursory look around at the fake environment I created. I’d say I’ll miss it but A.) that isn’t true, and B.) I can probably recreate it in two seconds. Holographic furniture has its benefits. Easy to move.
Back in the Hub, people step through the vertexes one at a time. I watch Kendra, Nolan, and his grandmother depart, followed by the mother and her reunited baby. Doctor A., Beruk and Katherine step through. As I move closer up in line, anxiety crawls inside of me like tentacles of energy begging me to flee.
Remember to close my eyes and hold my breath.
Aaaaaaah! I can’t do it again. I can’t go forward. I can’t go back. Not even for friends. I want to go home.
Benji and Marcus stand beside me.
“Come on,” Benji says. “I’ll walk with you.”
I grab his hand. Sometimes that’s all you need. In the future I will pretend this never happened.
“You might have to push me,” I say, my chest starting to convulse.
“Any time,” he says and smirks.
“Ugh, why do you have to be so—”
—And I’m through.
CHAPTER 12
DAY 23: 229 HOURS TO DECIDE
INTEGRATION HAS BEEN SUCCESSFUL. WE THANK EVERYONE FOR YOUR COOPERATION. HAPPY HOLODAY.
TRAVELING THROUGH THE emerald vertex is like stepping through a cold waterfall. Not even remotely close to the torture of the blue metallic ones.
The landscape on the other side mirrors the illusion they created for us on the spaceship. Indigo mountains piercing a bright lavender sky. Huge, leafy green and purple-veined plants and trees that would put Earth’s rainforests to shame. Rainbow plumes of flora. A river of scarlet water, snaking through the landscape and pooling into a maroon lake. The smell of vanilla, mint, and florals. Perfect weather. I am Dorothy in Oz once again.
How do we know this is really Solbiluna-8 and not another illusion, like the comet or the ship? What signifies that something is real? Ability to handle temperature changes? Are we supposed to keep lighting fires under things? We’ll be punished in no time while everything burns.
Something about the planet reminds me of those shampoo commercials for fake happiness, where a woman uses a strawberry shampoo and she’s suddenly transported into a rain forest for an orgasmic, magical experience. Soap doesn’t equal tranquility. Neither do lies. For all we know, we are still on the spaceship with a new program playing in the background. Like being trapped in the Matrix. At least they had pills.
As I pass by a shrub with pointed coral blossoms, I pluck a petal and hold it in my hand as I walk. Evidence. Small acts of defiance. Ahead, gray holograms steer people into lines that lead to two warehouse type buildings, the same as when I first traveled through the vertex onto the ship. Where are the vances? I want to see if they will lie to our faces. The crowds are minimal; they must be disembarking the ships in intervals to avoid overcrowding.
We are given more choices. Enter one building to stay with Massachusetts people, enter the other to travel to another area. The majority of my LU community from the ship choose to stay together.
I watch a few people, including the mother and her baby, go to the right, and in my stomach I know that’s the last time I will see them. I hope they’ll be okay.
In the past few months, the process of sorting people has triggered my anxiety, starting from the first night at the hospital with the Hazmat team. Each sorting seems like a choice between life and death, and I’m witnessing the possible salvation or demise of others as they choose in hope for survival. I search the herd of faces for Dominick and Rita, the only two people in the universe who make me feel safe enough to be me. They’re the gravity in my life so I don’t float away.
Inside the building is a mega holoscreen with names being posted and updated. It reminds me of the flight information screens at airport terminals. I rub my thumb and fingertips against the soft coral petal still in my palm.
A hologram near the screen states repeatedly, “Please hold your hand to the screen and state your name, age, and persons you’d like to live with or near. We will accommodate as many variables as possible.”
“You’re living with me and Marcus so you’ll be safe,” Benji says. “Katherine and the others will be there, too.”
“Okay,” I say. I’ll finally be able to see my friends. Finally show Dominick that I kept my promise. Thank him for shielding me in the riot.
Hand to screen, as I speak into the air, I realize how foreign my life has become that I’m so ready and willing to live with Benji. “Alexandra Lucas. Age 18. Living with Benjamin Lucas-Blu and Marcus Lucas-Blu. Near Katherine Kirkwood. Near Dominick Landen. Near Rita Bernardino. Near Penelope O’Donnell.”
I figure the more names I throw out there, the better. Saying my real name feels one step closer to home. I don’t bother giving my code name since Katherine scrambled my bandwidth for continuous anonymity anyway. I wonder if the system will match my name to the ship’s biosignature records. Would the BME punish me for being a space stowaway?
“Your hologuide has been provided further instructions.”
My name appears on the screen in a list that is ever growing. Data collected and categorized. I am only a name and number to them. Nothing significant.
SIDEKICK materializes next to me. “Please follow.”
I wait for Benji and Marcus to give their names. Together, we share my hologuide and follow it through a series of curved white corridors and through an exit.
The world outside expands into a system of elaborate roadways glimmering with nanoholocoms. The gray walkway has the same effect but not as extreme. Across them glide silver kidney-shaped silver vehicles that remind me of a miniature version of the Chicago Bean, a sculpture that I remember from a project I did on Illinois in the fifth grade.
My bandwidth lights up with various colored dots.
“SIDEKICK, what’s going on with my bandwidth?”
Benji and Marcus hold up their flashing bandwidths.
“You’ve been fully integrated. You have total access to the nanoholocom network, including the global CVBE, or COM, VID, BUZ, and ED bandwidth modalities.”
Be still my heart. There’s more.
“You require transportation first,” SIDEKICK says. “Hold your bandwidth and say MAGPOD FOR THREE OPEN.”
I remember copying information about magpods from the holograms’ Questions & Answers website. It was the one thing that always sounded awesome.
“MAGPOD FOR THREE OPEN.”
Nothing happens.
“Did I do it wrong?”
“One moment. Magpod will arrive in 4 seconds. 3, 2, 1.”
A metal bean travels around the corner and pulls forward in front of us. The magpod has no wheels and hovers above the ground at knee height.
The side of the magpod slides open without a visible hinge. The metal material collapses on itself like a liquid accordion. My curiosity gets the best of me, and I don’t listen to the rest of SIDEKICK’s instructions. I climb in the back, tossing my backpack in the small storage area.
From the outside the magpod looked like solid metal, but the inside is transparent from chest up. Like a one way, blue tinted mirror all around. I expect the dashboard to be a high-tech, complex navigation panel, cooler than even the Starship Enterprise, but the dashboard only has one red button. Nothing else. Beyond underwhelming. The console is more like an amusement park ride than a tricked out vehicle from the future.
“Where’s the seatbelt?” I ask, searching the area to secure myself in place.
SIDEKICK has vanished, but its voice fills the vehicle. “The magpods do not require personal restraint systems.”
I envision my head crashing into the blue windshield. “Why not?”
“It is not necessary.”
“Where’s the steering wheel?” Benji asks from the front.
“It is a self-navigating system.”
Self-navigating. Code for it-can-drive-you-off-a-cliff if it malfunctions. When it malfunctions.
“Where’s the brake?” I ask, scooting forward to look at the floor.
“It is a self-navigating system. The override button can stop the system in an emergency. It is not recommended.”
“Why not?” I ask. Is it more like a self-destruct button?
“The holotransport network, or HTN, allows magpods to coordinate with one another. Overriding disrupts nearby magpods to avoid collisions, thereby temporarily slowing the system and disrupting local transport schedules.”
“How does it work?” I ask. I listen for an engine, a slight vibration, anything. “I can’t hear or feel anything. Is it on?”
“It is not on until you give it a destination. The magnetic suspension and propulsion system does not require engines or fuel the way you are used to in your fossil fuel system.”
For the first time, that sounded like SIDEKICK passed judgment on us mere earthlings.
“But there’s no track or anything on the road,” Marcus says.
“No, our HTN is far more enhanced than Earth’s transportation systems. The HTN uses the nanoholocom network to navigate the magpods. A magnetic field develops as the magpod moves forward and diminishes behind it. No waste.”
The science geek in me cannot handle the coolness of the supposedly real Solbiluna-8. Must not fall for the glitz of the future tech world. I need to remember what they did to us.
“You have been assigned to group LU QN25-50-8-7-27. Say MAGPOD, GO TO LU COMMUNITY QN25-50-8.”
Benji repeats its command. Without further warning, the magpod jets forward, gaining speed, the force pushing my body against the seat. Without a speedometer, it feels like we went from 0 to 100 in a matter of seconds. Soon, the speed evens out and my body relaxes in the soft seat. No contact with the road means no bumps in the ride. Extremely smooth sailing. Not quite flying in the sky like we imagined in the future, but close. Even though the vehicle speeds past the scenery, there is no sound from wind resistance on the exterior.
I grip the bottom of my seat with both hands to stop myself from pressing the red button. The coral flower petal crushes in my hand.
“SIDEKICK, how fast are we going?”
“Approaching four hundred eighty-two kilometers, or three hundred miles per hour.”
And I thought maglifts were bad. I imagine what would happen if the magpod hijacked itself due to a small technical error. One tiny glitch, sending me toward the wrong location at top speed. Faster. And faster. With no seatbelts. Why are there no seatbelts? People screaming and jumping out of my path. Some too late. Blood splattering across the blue tinted windshield.
Sweat pools on my hairline and the back of my neck.
“Can I put the windows down?” I ask.
“These are viewshields, not windows. Magpods conduct energy. You do not want to interrupt that magnetic field.”
I imagine touching a moving magpod and my skin boiling on the metal exterior. Human frying pan. I make a mental rule never to touch a magpod.
Colors of the foreign scenery blur past the viewshields. Other magpods pass us, but I can’t tell if they’re
occupied by humans since they are completely encased in metal. Cold. Inhuman. Trapped.
I tap my hands back and forth on each thigh. It doesn’t work. Impossible to focus in a flying magpod of death. I imagine crashing into a tree, a wall, and still not stopping. Never stopping. Bouncing off the tree and barreling toward a cliff. Flipping over in midair, smashing into rock, and plummeting to the bottom of a ravine. Trapped inside with Benji and Marcus, bleeding to death in an overturned magpod. With an activated, holographic intelligence that instead of saving us, might decide to put us out of my misery based on an algorithm in computer logic doubting our chances of survival.
“SIDEKICK, does this thing have music?” I ask, glancing at the blank dashboard, desperate for a distraction. “I don’t see a radio or anything.”
“Music is stored in your bandwidth. Say MUSIC OPEN.”
“Music Open.”
“Please no Pop music,” Benji says.
“I make no promises.”
It takes me a few minutes to search through Earth songs from the past. As the rhythm begins and U2 sings the opening lyrics of “With or Without You,” my anxiety transforms into choking sobs. This is my parents’ favorite song. I remember catching them slow dancing to it in the kitchen one morning. They looked so in love that day. I rub the wilted flower petal in my hand. The problem with real things is they don’t last.
Benji and Marcus stay silent.
“Do you require assistance?” SIDEKICK asks.
“No, I’m fine.” I need to remember them. Grieving is stronger than fear.
A gigantic community of circular, glass structures shine in the distance as the magpod approaches at top speed. Instead of one circular structure, there are neighborhoods of interlocking links laid out in an endless field in a pattern like crop circles. My hand itches to hit the red button. I focus on the music playing, the vivid landscape so cheerful the colors mock and mask the motive behind it all.
Why are we here? Is it all about contribution? There has to be more to it. As the magpod slows down, a transparent shield activates and pins my body in place. Like a ghost airbag, simultaneous terror and protection, included for our safety. The magpod parks itself in front of one cluster of buildings. It’s similar to the structure set up on the spaceship except on an enormous scale. From this angle, I count five buildings lined up in a V formation with a taller one in the center, but I can’t see if there are other buildings behind them. A field of blue-green vegetation separates the neighbors, and then another cluster of domed glass buildings begins. There are so many LU communities interconnected to one another, I can’t count them.
Contribute (Holo, #2) Page 12