The soldier nods. “And what else?”
“I think tariffs will hurt America. I don’t agree with the President’s policies.”
“You’re finally being sincere, but you haven’t answered the question. Are you a spy for a foreign government?”
“No,” she pleads. “I’m a proud American! I would never do anything to hurt my country…”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m truthful. You can’t make me lie!”
The room spins around her and a throbbing pain explodes in her head. She grows nauseous and gags, vomiting onto herself. Her vision blurs and begins to darken. “I’m… not a spy…”
She blacks out.
Beth awakes.
Where am I?
She looks around a metal enclosure and tries to lift herself but falls deeper into piles of trash. Plastic bags rip open and ooze rotten food and liquids onto her body. She struggles to keep her head up, retching in the overwhelming stench of garbage.
Oh God, help me.
She grabs a ledge and jerks herself free, pulling with all her force to escape her steel prison. Seconds later, she loses her grip and falls back into the slimy waste.
I’m stuck in here.
She tries to breathe but gags on the stink of decay as flies land around her. “Help me!” she shrieks at the top of her lungs.
Someone opens the door above and sunlight shines into the pen. A teenage boy looks inside the trash container and then quickly darts away. She reaches again for the ledge and this time anchors her foot on a panel, jumping from it and grabbing onto a rim. She lifts herself out of the bin.
How do I get down?
She loses her balance and tips over, falling flat onto the concrete below. Waves of agony shoot across her shoulders and down her body. Terror grips her.
Why is this happening to me?
The spasm intensifies. She fights through the misery and draws herself away from the panic, watching her emotions from a distance.
I’m alive. Just breathe.
She focuses to conquer the fear. Soon the pain starts to dissipate as she regains control. She sits upright and blinks through her cloudy vision, seeing streets of mud and rows of crumbling tenement buildings stretching to the sky. In the distance, children kick a soccer ball and a woman hangs clothes on a line.
She screams, “Can someone help me?”
No one comes to her aid. She spots a riverbed and crawls towards it past a street sign. “Welcome to Livermore, CA.”
I’m still in the Bay Area.
She looks for her smartglasses and identification, but her pockets are empty.
How will I get home?
Nearby, a river flows through a concrete embankment. Gagging on the smell of trash, she limps into it and submerges herself in the stream, her muscles aching in the chill depth. Seconds later, she rises and takes a deep breath of fresh air, shuddering when a wind chills her bones.
A soccer ball flies over the wall and slams into the creek. Beth swims towards it and grabs it. A group of children gathering on a mound point at her. “Give that back to us!”
She aims to throw the ball when she spots a teenager using an old device, one that her company built over two decades before—a smartphone. She approaches the youngster. “If you want this, then let me make a call.”
“Fuck you, lady.”
She walks ashore and lifts the ball over her head as water drips from her clothing. “Let me borrow your phone for five minutes and you’ll get this back.”
A boy with a shaved head gives her the middle finger.
She slings her arm back and aims the ball downriver. “That’s not how you treat an elder. Say goodbye to your toy.”
“Don’t throw it. Please!”
“Let me make one phone call.”
“Fine.” The teen throws her the device. She catches it from and throws the ball back. As the kids play, she smiles when she spots Pixel 22 engraved on the back of the mobile.
These old things still work?
Beth shivers as she tries to make a call but her wet fingers distort the display. She dries her hands on the concrete and tries again.
The call goes through. “Dr. Andrew’s office, can I help you?”
She sighs in relief. “Sara, it’s me.”
“Beth, where are you?”
“I’m in Livermore.”
Sara gasps. “We called the police and reported you missing. They said your helicopter disappeared.”
“I’m fine, but there’s a major plot against me. I can’t explain over the line. Can you ask someone to help me?”
“Should I send the paramedics?”
“No, don’t send the authorities. I need Austin to come get me.”
“Okay, Beth. Where are you?”
“I’m near a riverbed.”
“Stay where you are. Austin will find you.”
“Thanks. Please hurry.”
She ends the call and walks to the group of youngsters, handing the phone to the boy. “Thank you, little guy.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Here’s a gift for you.” She hands him her green Google wristband.
“Sweet.” He yanks it from her and his friends try to wrestle it from him. “It’s mine! She gave it to me.”
Beth follows a dirt road in the direction of a camp, looking for somewhere to rest.
12.
AUSTIN EXITS his apartment’s Food Depot after finishing Ration 1. He takes an elevator to the thirtieth floor and enters the leasing office, a closet-sized room with an A.I. receptionist and a banner hanging from the ceiling—Sausalito Towers. Growing higher.
An A.I. voice streams from a speaker. “Good morning, Dr. Sanders. How may we help you today?”
Austin speaks to a red light on the wall. “I received a message that my lease is ending.”
“That’s correct, Dr. Sanders. We have exciting news. A condominium is now available on the thirty-sixth floor. You can sign a one-year contract today.”
He shakes his head. “I’d like to stay in my current unit.”
“That is not possible.”
He wags his finger at the intercom. “Listen, I don’t want to move, do you understand? Every year, I have to relocate to more expensive housing on a higher floor. It’s ridiculous.”
“Dr. Sanders, your contract is not renewable.”
“That’s bullshit. You better not raise my rent again!”
The room grows quiet.
“Hello?” Austin bangs on the wall. “I demand to talk to a human manager!”
“I’m sorry. I cannot be of further assistance.”
The red light turns off.
“Are you kidding me? I’m not finished talking to you.” He thrusts his middle finger at the wall, then jumps up and pulls the banner from the ceiling. “Growing higher my ass. You want to treat people like this, you fucking robot?”
There is no response.
“Let me teach you some manners.” He rips the poster apart, crumples it into a ball and throws it across the room. “I’m signing your lease right now, robot.” He laughs madly. “It’s a personal endorsement just for you.”
The A.I. remains silent.
Austin raises his fist. “And that’s not all. I will post reviews of your run-down complex and especially your disgusting customer service. Everyone in San Francisco will stay away from this shithole.” He waits for a response and hears nothing. “I have a better idea—I’ll print testimonials and leave them on every doorstep in this building.”
The A.I. turns on. “Dr. Sanders, please do not engage in behavior that is harmful to our residents.”