Isaac

  The airtrain pulls out slowly, like it always does. I try to lose myself in the usual scenery—at least while it’s still real.

  “Hey…”

  “Yeah, Jam…” I answer without turning.

  “Wanna play Warball?” Jameth already has his wrist up, ready to spin up a lobby.

  I leave him hanging for a few seconds.

  “No, thanks. Ask them.” I tilt my head toward the guys buried in the game—Klimb among them, Sector 3’s undisputed champion.

  They could be clones: clear visors, spiral earbuds, quick hand flicks, grimaces and grins. Hypnotized by tech that’s way too invasive.

  Jameth glances their way. “No way. They’re all a bunch of…” He trails off, and I doubt it was going to be a compliment.

  From the back, Klimb’s boom of a voice cuts through everything. “If you don’t stop rushing me, I’ll break your—”

  Jameth and I trade a look. We both know the rest even if he doesn’t say it.

  The other kid answers in a small voice. “Sorry, Klimb. I’ll stop.”

  I shrug at my friend. “Sorry, Jam. I’m wiped. I just want to rest.”

  “No, yeah… it’s fine.” He sounds disappointed, even though he tries to bury it.

  I swipe my Personal and open the music menu. A slim drawer slides out beneath the window screen, earbuds nested inside. I pop them on and let the fit calibrate itself.

  A female voice reads the same welcome summary that appears in the holographic display in front of me:

  “Hello, Isaac Moore—M1880210S3A128431. Sector 3—Residence 128431. Health: 100%. Appetite: 61%. Stress: 22%. Recommended limit: 20%. If the level does not decrease within the next 24 hours, a medical check is advised. External conditions: Sunny, 24°C. Humidity: 12%. Population in the Cloud: 87,238,129. Syrium wishes you a happy day.”

  I shake my head and swipe it away. The display collapses into a thin cone of light and disappears.

  “Am I imagining it,” Jameth says, “or does your stress go up every day?”

  I shoot him a look sharp enough to cut. “You can read my data through the privacy-cone filter?”

  He shrugs.

  “Or is my sister running her mouth again?”

  He shakes his head. I don’t believe him. He’s in love with Elis—he’d never bring her up to me like that.

  “Either way,” I say, “it’s definitely a Personal glitch.”

  “Sure,” Jameth says, perking up. “And today I’m swimming thirty laps in five minutes.”

  I turn back to the view outside: flowering trees, plants, mountains, rivers—flawless. Too flawless.

  “You could try.”

  Jameth clears his throat—loud on purpose. “Being older doesn’t give you permission to mess with me.”

  “I’m not. I’m fine. It’s probably just a technical error. That’s it.”

  Every Personal goes dark at once.

  The players get kicked out mid-match—hands frozen in the air, expressions locked in place. At the far end of the car, the big shared screen lights up. Syrium’s animated logo blooms across it.

  The same female voice returns, now addressing everyone.

  “Goodlife, dear residents…”

  After the ritual greeting, she gets to the point.

  “After last night’s incident, the total number of blackouts in the past two months has risen to 18. Now, a statement from Julius Moore, Director of Video-Security.”

  Dad.

  My stomach tightens. I lace my fingers and squeeze until my knuckles pale.

  Streaming from his office in Sector 2, he recaps what’s happened over the last few days. Then he closes with the same calm reassurance he always wears like armor.

  “No cause for alarm, dear residents. The situation is under control.”

  Before signing off, he delivers the required line:

  “President Hans Ulrich sends his warmest regards.”

  Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  From the back again, Klimb—solemn in that mock-official way. “Well done, Moore’s dear old daddy!”

  I don’t turn. Better to ignore him. Better to choke down the impulse to react. Against him, I’ve got everything to lose.

  The airtrain clears the school complex, and the second we’re past the perimeter fences, it accelerates.

  Cameras at regular intervals.

  The same landscape—green, manicured, repeated—but virtual now. It makes me nauseous.

  The female voice continues. The news isn’t over.

  “The flu strain affecting the Cloud’s youth has not yet passed. However, no fatalities have been recorded thanks to Lifehealth. Now, our esteemed Professor Matias Wolberg.”

  The geneticist appears on-screen—salt-and-pepper beard, blue eyes. After a brief preamble, almost copying my father’s cadence, he reassures everyone too.

  “Over 1,000 new infections today, among residents aged 8 to 16. No reason for concern: the vaccine will be delivered via Lifehealth in the coming days.”

  Then he signs off—also on behalf of the president.

  The broadcast ends. The screen goes dark.

  All Personals wake back up. They go right back to their game.

  I go back to my calming playlist—running water, birdsong, wind. Things that don’t exist in the Cloud.

  Maybe if I shut out the rest of the car, I can relax for a minute.

  “Alexian didn’t come to school today?” Jameth’s voice slips straight into my earbuds.

  So much for that.

  “The direct link is for emergencies only. You know that.”

  “What emergencies? Nothing ever happens here.”

  I clench my jaw and exhale hard on purpose, hoping he’ll take the hint.

  “Her brother has the flu. She stayed home.”

  “Couldn’t she leave him with the Robodome?”

  “No.”

  “So she followed class in Holog?”

  “Yeah. She was connected. It’s almost the end of the year—she couldn’t miss it.”

  “Biocybernetics?”

  I turn toward him. By the Rausen’s statue—he practically floats above his seat with excitement.

  “Shared synapses,” I say. “But relax.”

  “I want to do it too.” He sounds almost blissed out.

  “You will. Just not yet. Study your fundamentals.”

  “So where are you guys at?”

  “We’re finishing the EAI programming.”

  He jolts. “Seriously? Explain!”

  Instant regret. “Pointless. You wouldn’t get it.”

  “Yes I would!”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Jameth…”

  “Come on—please.”

  You asked for it.

  I lean closer. “Even if I explained how to manage overlap in quantum decision-making processes, you couldn’t validate any of it without the groundwork. You’re still studying chip-to-joint connections. You won’t even see EAI for months—and when you do, it’ll only be neural mapping.”

  Jameth groans.

  “Happy now?” I can’t stop the little hit of satisfaction in my voice.

  “You could’ve said it simpler.”

  “No, I couldn’t. Wait for the right time and it’ll feel simple.”

  I put the music back on, hoping that’s the end of it.

  That hope lasts maybe a minute.

  “Did your dad tell you anything about the blackouts?”

  Here we go again.

  “No!”

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “No. But I’m about to block your audio link.”

  “You’re mean.”

  “I just need to—”

  “To talk about the blackouts.”

  I close my eyes. I care about him, but sometimes he’s as annoying as a too-tight suit in all the wrong places.

  I turn back to the window.

  “No, Jameth.”

  “I think you know something.”

  I shake my head. “You’re wrong.”

  “I can tell by the way you look at me.”

  I twist toward him. “I’m literally looking outside—”

  He smiles. “Yeah, but now you’re looking at me.”

  I let out a sigh so long it leaves me hollow.

  Jameth won’t let go until I give him something—and honestly, it might even be useful.

  I pull the earbuds off and motion for him to come closer. Before I speak, I scan the car. Everyone’s busy—gaming, scrolling, doing anything but paying attention.

  I lean in and drop my voice as low as it’ll go.

  “Can you keep a secret?”

  He nods. His eyes light up with curiosity.

  “There are things I don’t fully understand yet. True, false, maybe half-and-half—I’m not sure. But I might end up involved in something big.”

  He hunches in on himself. “All this because of the blackouts?”

  Our eyes stay locked.

  “They used them to get a drone out.”

  The second it leaves my mouth, I want it back.

  “A drone?!”

  “Lower your voice.”

  He mimes an apology with both hands. “How’d it get past the grids?”

  “I can’t tell you. I shouldn’t have told you even that.”

  His eyes are wide. “Does Alexian know?”

  “No. And I want her to stay out of it.”

  “And your sister?”

  “Not yet.”

  “But you’ll tell her?”

  “I’ll have to.” I hold his gaze. “But you—mind your business, okay?”

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  I mime zipping my mouth shut.

  “With silence, Jam. Only silence. And from now on, don’t ask me anything else.”

  I put the music back on and manage to rest for almost half an hour.

  The scenery stays intact all the way to Residential Sector 3. Then the airtrain slows, and the window screens switch back to reality.

  A gate opens. The cars separate.

  For some, the short ride ends at 3H—the poorest sub-sector. For most, it continues.

  As we move forward, the sub-sectors shift by degrees. Towering, crowded buildings give way to smaller detached homes—and then to real white villas, with fountains that use actual water and dense artificial vegetation.

  Maximum comfort. Reserved for executives and their families.

  The “Sector 3A” sign is the last before the line ends. And that’s where my car stops.

  We stand and file down the corridor to the exit. The door opens. Klimb charges out first.

  When it’s my turn, a hand stops me cold—two fingers on my chest.

  “Don’t forget the homework.” He wags a finger in my face.

  “You want to get us flagged?” I snap.

  “Can’t Daddy black it out?”

  “No.”

  He gestures me through. “You’ve got until three.”

  “Fine…”

  Outside, Jameth and I pass a line of Hoverflux units waiting to be used. A moment later, Klimb jumps onto one and rockets by, close enough to clip us.

  Jameth lifts an arm after him, already fuming. “You’re such a—”

  “Let it go, Jam. He’s a lost cause.”

  We skip the moving sidewalk. We walk instead. Every hundred meters, a BluEye watches us.

  We pass two and reach the square that splits our identical homes. A robot scrubs the fountain’s edge around the statue at its center. Another polishes the plaque that reads:

  Thomas Rausen, inventor of the Quantron.

  Jameth reaches a hand out to me. “Talk later.”

  I clasp it. “Later, Jam.”

  My walkway lights up. Little jets of water spritz from the synthetic grass beside the fence.

  “You know what I think?” he calls from his own path.

  I turn as I keep walking. “No.”

  “I think you told me not just because you trust me. But because you might need me.”

  He pulls a smile out of me. “You’re sharp, Jam.”

  “I know.” And he bounds up his steps—to the house next to mine.

  I’m home too.

  I swipe my Personal and draw a small circle in the air. The door unlocks and swings inward with a mechanical sigh.

  I stand on the threshold for a few seconds. Then I send a command through my Personal.

  Sorry, Jam. But sometimes you push too hard.

  I disable his direct audio access. From now on, he can’t speak to me whenever he feels like it—he’ll have to call, like everyone else.

  I look down the hallway, still dark.

  I’m alone, but my thoughts keep me company. A thousand of them.

  One is regret—because I told him too much.

  I just hope I didn’t put him in danger.