Contribute (Holo, #2) Page 4
I spot crazy lady daydreaming among the people, her eyes still searching the air for answers. She refocuses and heads through the rowdiness for the exit.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say to Doctor A. I don’t wait for his response. Before I even know what or why I’m doing it, I follow after crazy lady. I have to make them understand. I have to get home.
I head across the dark Hub illuminated by tiny pinpricks of light on the ground, and turn a corner. Crazy lady walks down a glass and metal curved hallway, enters a transparent cube unit in the wall, and turns around. She mouths a command. Must be an elevator.
“Wait!” I yell.
She holds the door for me, and I’m in. I can’t stop staring at her once the clear door closes. Bad elevator etiquette on any planet. I have so many unanswered questions.
“What’s your problem?” she barks at me.
“Nothing,” I mumble, looking away and trying to remain calm while my stomach and mind decide that this whole follow-the-crazy-lady-plan was a bad idea. I never planned what to do once I caught up to her. As the soundless elevator travels higher and higher, my stomach dips lower and lower. I don’t even know where this thing is taking us. I close my eyes to avoid the glass view. I don’t want to know how high we’ve gone. It finally stops, shifts, and begins traveling horizontally around the large circular floor. The sensation in my stomach doesn’t improve. Like being on a conveyor belt about to be turned into a manufactured object.
“This thing goes sideways?” I ask.
“Maglift. Works using magnetic suspension. Goes in any direction.”
So there’s no pulley system. One glitch and I plummet to my death, splattering near the Hub for all to see. The idea that technology cradles our lives in its cold, dead hands scares me. But maybe it already did in our world, I just never thought about it. A pulley system is a mechanical form of technology. So why is intangible technology worse?
Crazy lady peers at me like she’s trying to read my mind. “Looking at you is giving me weird déjà vu. Have we met?”
Act cool.
My face burns hot, but she doesn’t seem to care. Her words make sense; they’re not a jumbled mess of poetry and nonsense like in the past. She’s not crazy in the future. Angry maybe. Not crazy.
“Earth to whack job?” she spouts.
I shrug my shoulders and shake my head no. I can’t tell her what I’m thinking.
That we’ve met.
That she somehow gave me a note from my journal, which gave me the last push of courage to plunge myself into this world.
That I witnessed her death. In the past.
And now she’s here. In the future.
Somehow, she’s the key.
The quiet tension in the maglift grows unbearable.
“I’m River,” I blurt, holding out my hand. “River Picard.”
She looks at my hand and back up at my face without shaking it.
“River, huh. You don’t look like a River. Rivers are peaceful, granola types. Parents usually hippies. Nah, you got way too much boiling under there to be a River.”
It annoys me that she can read me so easily. “And what are you, a cop?”
She laughs dismissively. “No, definitely not a cop. Katherine Kirkwood. I was released with the last round of prisoners. Thank God for comets.”
My heart freezes and falls through time. I am trapped in a maglift on another planet with crazy lady, an ex-con who I met in the past somehow. And we are surrounded by holograms who kidnapped us and want us to become bioholograms when we die.
My mind cannot adapt to the past, present, and future. I came here following her lead, knowing there was something waiting on the other side, that the other side wasn’t just immediate death. I thought I could come here and change everything. But I’m just one girl.
The maglift slows to a stop. My peripheral vision is the first to go before I lose hearing and then all other senses fade to nothing.
CHAPTER 4
DAY 2: 722 HOURS TO DECIDE
CRAZY LADY'S SUPPOSED to be the key, but she doesn’t know anything and is, in fact, a criminal.
Maybe she’s not real, and she’s really a hologram.
Calm down or they’ll put you in a time out cocoon.
I wake up completely disoriented with my hologuide and Katherine, aka crazy lady, standing over me.
“You passed out,” Katherine says.
I’m on the hallway floor outside the maglift. People who left the Skylucent event have stopped in the walkway to see the commotion. I’m the attraction. Me and my medical crisis. Way to make a first impression. It’s not embarrassing at all. Not one of my worst nightmares brought to fruition, people staring at me in concern for my well being and sanity while an escaped convict looms over me.
“No, I’m fine.” I sit up, and my eyesight blurs. Maybe I’m not fine.
Doctor A. comes running. He flashes a small light into each of my eyes using his bandwidth.
An HME disembodied voice interrupts. “Please step back from the patient.”
Doctor A. sighs and backs away. The HME sends a wave of colored light and vibration across my body. The dizziness doesn’t subside.
“Why is my hologuide here?”
“Automatic activation when the HME is initiated,” my hologuide says, “to provide patients with a familiar face to alleviate fear and administer emergency care.”
“She has regained consciousness,” the HME voice says.
“No kidding,” Doctor A. says. “What kind of asinine medical evaluation was that?”
The voice states, “The patient requires additional sustenance and rest. Please move her to a private location or the HME will admit her to our facility.”
“No, don’t admit me anywhere,” I say, scrambling to my feet. “I’m fine.”
Once I get to my feet, however, my vision fogs again.
“We can bring her to my LU,” Katherine says to Doctor A. “It’s right there.”
Doctor A. nods. They each hold an arm for support.
“Can you walk?” Doctor A. asks.
“Yes, just dizzy.” The hallway has a clear, railed partition. The Hub is visible way down in the center of the building. Even with the barrier, I move as far from that drop as possible.
As the two of them lead me to Katherine’s LU, every time I look at Katherine, I see her as crazy lady and feel like I’m going to vomit. The two images are not blending well in my mind. Like having double vision.
What if she went to prison for murder? What if she’s bringing us to her room to kill? She could chop us up and flush our body parts down the toilet. Would the transparent emotional police box come fast enough and surround her if we scream? Maybe I should scream now. I’d be trapped, but safe from her.
I am not letting her out of my sight.
“She was sick at dinner,” Doctor A. says.
“What’s the matter?” Katherine asks me. “Don’t trust holocom food? You just got here.”
I’m not explaining myself to her.
“I’m just joshing you,” she says.
Stupid move. Don’t piss off the ex-con. Like poking a tiger with a sharp pencil.
“The food’s fine,” I mumble.
We wait outside Katherine’s LU while she places her palm on the door to unlock it. Doctor A. asks me to move different parts of my body to test my reflexes.
Inside crazy lady’s—I mean Katherine’s—room, a tropical paradise transforms before our eyes. An oasis of comfort. I spot a hammock in a corner. I want one of those in my LU. I could read Harry Potter in my hammock and destress like in my visual relaxation safe place.
They place me on the bed. My hologuide joins me at my side.
The HME voice fills the space. “Volunteer to acquire additional food rations for the patient?”
“I’ll go,” Katherine says. “Katherine Kirkwood.”
“Permission granted for Katherine Kirkwood to acquire additional food rations for River Picard.”
The voice ignores Doctor A. If he’s not careful, he’ll end up plastic wrapped for his behavior.
“The patient needs rest due to high levels of stress hormones. No long-term effects or other issues detected.”
“I could’ve told you that,” Doctor A. says.
“Put me in the hammock,” I say.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Doctor A. says. “It’s not stable.”
“Please,” I beg. “I think it will help.”
“Listen to the patient, Doctor,” Katherine adds, grinning. Why is she grinning? Is the hammock booby-trapped?
Katherine and Doctor A. hold the hammock still while I maneuver my limbs and body into the roped chair. My imagination and reality come together. Quiet minutes pass by as I enjoy the comfort. A book would complete me. I asked Dad to install a hammock on our front porch, but he never got around to it. He didn’t understand that certain comforts are not luxuries; they are coping necessities.
“I’ll be right back,” Katherine says, and leaves to get the food.
My hologuide still stands nearby, watching me. Sometimes I wonder if it’s thinking of ways to annihilate me. “HOLOGUIDE EXIT.”
“We cannot exit program at present time due to HME override. HME will determine when hologuide shuts down.”
“That’s what I need,” I say to Doctor A., “a hologram staring at me when I feel dizzy.”
He laughs and whispers, “They creep me out, too. Like a ghost following you around.”
“Exactly.” Part hologram, part soul of someone who contributed in the past.
“So how are you feeling? Dizzy, hungry, tired? Any other symptoms?”
Normally, this is when I tell people that I’m fine when I’m not. Doctor A. seems like he’s seen a lot, been through a lot, and has come out better for it. Something in the spark in his eyes, the roundness of his laughs, the wrinkles in his forehead.
“I have generalized anxiety disorder. With panic attacks. I only have one pill left from my prescription, so I’m trying to save it. I can have racing thoughts, heart palpitations, nausea, sweating, trouble breathing. Hives when it’s really bad.” I pause, and add, “I think the speech about contribution freaked me out. And I didn’t eat much for days before coming through the vertex.”
He doesn’t respond. I wonder at first if I misjudged him, and if he’s one of those people, like my brother Benji, who thinks anxiety is not a real problem, just a wimpy, self-inflicted torture, and with tough love it can just go away. I used to wonder the same thing, but my counselor, Arianna, had been working with me on accepting that it’s a stress and thought processing problem that causes physical symptoms. Not a sign that I need to toughen up. A sign that my brain chemistry and processing is different.
“I’m surprised they’re not pumping us all with drugs to help us adjust,” he jokes. “This level of change is bound to shock our systems.”
I smile and the room spins. “Maybe they are.”
“Take deep breaths with your diaphragm and let them out slowly like I’m sure you’ve been trained to do. If you aren’t taking your anxiety medication at the same rate as you were accustomed, you may also be experiencing withdrawal symptoms, including more anxiety and depression. That’s why people can get addicted to meds. It can both help and exacerbate the problem.”
“No one ever told me that.” I think about how many times I took extra pills just to sleep when I technically wasn’t experiencing anxiety yet. That could’ve been making me worse. “So I’m gonna get worse?”
“Breathe. Not necessarily. Did you ask the HME for alternative treatment?”
“It wants to give me a light lobotomy.”
He belly laughs, rubbing his beard. “I take it you refused.”
“Not letting those things near me if I can help it. I just don’t know if I can handle this place once I run out of pills.”
“You came through a vertex alone, dealt with that crowd asking you if you saw their loved ones. You’re tougher than you think. If you need more help, I’m here. As for the HME treatment, you’re a smart cookie for not accepting medical treatment that you don’t trust.”
Just hearing his soothing voice is a comfort.
“Katherine’s an ex-con by the way,” I say. “She told me in the maglift. Don’t trust her.”
Doctor A. doesn’t show any sign of fear. They must teach that in medical school the way they teach therapists not to react to crazy talk.
He plops onto a nearby chair. “I’m not surprised.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’ve met many former prisoners here. Remember, we’re arranged by vertex and time left the planet. They weren’t allowed to leave until the final weeks.”
“Oh shit, we are surrounded.” The room spins again, and I hold onto the roped hammock for support.
“They were rehabilitated during the medical screening. The worst are still being treated, locked in their LUs. I’m sure the vances know what they’re doing.” The furrowed lines between his eyebrows say otherwise. “If they can have us donate our brains at death to support their world, I’m sure they can handle a few convicts.”
There’s so much he doesn’t know, and I want to tell him. The truth is on the tip of my tongue. I give him a weak smile in response as the door slides open. Katherine returns with a bowl of food from the platform.
“I couldn’t bring water. Sorry. Can’t carry it from the fountain.”
“Even if a patient is dehydrated?” Doctor A. closes his eyes and shakes his head.
“I’m fine,” I say as Katherine passes me the bowl. It’s full of warm, brown nuggets. They could be futuristic fudge. Or animal turds.
Doctor A. turns toward Katherine and sticks out his hand. “I never introduced myself. Dr. Aiyegbeni, Boston Children’s—Doctor A. for short.”
“Katherine Kirkwood.” She doesn’t shake his hand. So I’m not the only one she snubs.
Doctor A. smiles it off. “And obviously you’ve met River.”
“Yeah, Mississippi and I met briefly in the maglift before she crash landed.”
My body shivers with a weird déjà vu that I can’t place. Maybe I’m coming down with an alien fever. I take a tentative bite of the morsels and chew. It’s like a mix between a Tootsie Roll and a mini-meatball. I don’t want to know what it’s made out of. I scarf down the food, ignoring the small talk between Doctor A. and Katherine. A few minutes after I finish, the HME releases me from its care.
“Would you like us to deactivate?” my hologuide asks. Despite the comfort of the hammock, I need time to process everything alone.
“No. Can you bring me to my LU?”
“Yes. Please follow.”
“I can walk with you,” Doctor A. offers.
“No, that’s fine. Thank you, but you’ve already done enough. I’d like some time alone.”
He listens to me, but his forehead wrinkles again. “I guess I better go as well. Long day. Much to think about. It was great meeting you,” he says to Katherine. He doesn’t try to shake her hand again. He learns quickly.
“Likewise,” Katherine says with a smirk. I can read that smirk. It says, You don’t know me at all, Mr. Doctor. I’m not nice. I’ve done time. I kill people like you and turn them into mulch.
“River, I’ll check on you tomorrow,” he says.
I nod. I’d agree to anything to get some sleep. That food did me good.
I follow my hologuide out of crazy lady’s, I mean Katherine’s, LU and into a maglift.
“Say LU 9-100,” my hologuide instructs.
I follow its directions. Once the door closes, I move into the farthest corner and wait for the ride to end. Of course my LU is located on the top floor, nine stories up from the Hub.
Once the door slides back open, I cling my body to
the opposite, solid wall away from the visual drop of the Hub, and follow my hologuide to a door labeled 100 on a digital screen.
“Touch your hand to the door.”
“Shouldn’t I say something like DOOR OPEN?”
“No. All LUs are locked against simple commands. You must place your hand on the door so it recognizes you.”
“Recognizes me?”
“When you went through the initial evaluation process, the nanoholocom network recorded your complete body spectrum scan during your HME scan, including your fingerprints, iris patterns, genome sequence, current aura luminosity, and vibrational frequency. It knows your complete biosignature by touch.”
My insides ignite. “You can just do that? Scan me for everything? Shouldn’t you ask my permission or something?”
“Basic nanoholocom protocols do not need permission to function. You cannot exist and interact with the nanoholocom network without a complete biosignature scan and bandwidth.”
As much as there is to admire about the technology on Solbiluna-8, they lack a basic understanding of human rights. Then again, they stole us from our world, so what did I expect?
I slap my right palm on the door.
Underneath my hand glows orange although I cannot feel any change in the material of the door. A clicking sound, and the door slides open. The interior of my LU is underwhelming. Apparently, the interior design of things isn’t important in the future.
My LU is a single room, about the size of small bedroom, same size as crazy lady’s and fit for a solitary like me. One wall is completely made of glass, a gorgeous view of a distant dark mountain range and star lit sky spread before me. Three white walls with sparkle with nanoholocoms across the surface. No furniture except for a small bed. No hammock. One corner holds one of those coffin machines that disinfected me—I can’t remember the name.
“Where’s the rest of the furniture?” I really want a hammock.
“You haven’t modified your LU yet.”
I’m too tired to care. As I walk across the barely lit room, a soft light from the ceiling follows me to illuminate my path. Like being tracked by a spotlight. I crawl into bed fully clothed with my black uniform and boots still on, and climb under the softest, most luxurious blanket I have ever felt. My hologuide stares at me.