******
It took them only a quarter of an hour to get through the rest of the working sector, but the progress was slower through the recreation ring. Flashy storefronts lined the streets with blinking, neon signs, just beginning to turn on for the weekend. Even the bottoms of the towers – the circular ones they had seen from above with Derek – sported their own, alluring booths. More of the women in tight white dresses, of which Hux seemed to have an endless supply, stood out front, accosting the passersby as they walked. Most – eager to cash in on their free newsim – stopped, so the streets were clogged. It took Vincent and Jessica over an hour to get through the traffic and arrive at the base of the enormous, flat-topped mushroom structure Derek had called the residences.
“It’s bigger up close,” said Jessica. Vincent agreed. The towers were full skyscrapers, not just the narrow support beams for the disc they supported above.
“He didn’t say where we’re supposed to go did he?” asked Jessica.
Vincent shook his head. “He may not even know himself if he didn’t know us.” He peered through the maze of towers toward the center. A larger tower – almost twice the size of the others – was open all along the bottom story, completely transparent as the Newsight lobby had been. “Let’s try there,” said Vincent. Jessica followed his gaze, then nodded.
They started forward, and as they entered the shade cast by the saucer above, they could see the towers clearly for the first time. The bases of them were surrounded by what looked like Seclusion domes, only these domes fluttered in the breeze.
“What are those?” said Jessica.
Vincent shrugged. He was less interested in the domes themselves than the people sitting outside them: the men and women with glazed-over eyes in plain, rigid chairs. Their stares were blank and their mouths slightly agape. If not for the occasional rise and fall of the people’s stomachs, Vincent may have begun feeling for pulses.
They continued to walk in silence. The only sound came from the flapping of the domes’ fabric-like material in the wind.
When the main doors of the lobby slid open to receive them several minutes later, the eerie quiet of the outside was replaced by the soft, echoing cry of infants. The room, nearly double the size of the Newsight lobby, was filled with children, most of whom were accompanied by at least one parent. Some leaned back against the glass perimeter of the space; some simply stretched out in the middle of the tile floor. Judging by the style – and state – of their clothes, Vincent had a decent guess as to where the people were from.
“I guess these are the startup packages everyone was looking forward to,” he said. He was looking at the small white bags at the children’s feet, the ones the escorts had handed the new families when they first arrived in Hux. Most of the bags had already been torn open so only their wrappers remained. Others, though, still contained the product inside. It was a stack of cards, each with writing at the top and a long, complicated code below. The one nearest – at the feet of a man whose eyes had rolled back into his head, and whose small child lay next to him, sniffling – was close enough to read. At the top of the card, above the code, the thing was labeled newsim.
“Vincent,” said Jessica.
He had stopped; his eyes were locked on the child. It was exceptionally still.
Jessica pulled at his sleeve. “Look.”
He turned to her, then followed her finger. Just a few steps from them, sprawled out among the others with his daughter by his side, was Jim. His eyes were glazed over, but they hadn’t rolled back quite as far as those of the man with the infant. They were still present, just barely, and they were looking up at Vincent.
“I remember you,” said Jim. His voice wasn’t the loud, booming one from outside the halos. It was soft, unsure.
“Hi, Jim,” said Vincent. He spoke quietly, just above a whisper. He felt as if too loud a noise would shatter the freshly installed and blood-tinted Lenses in Jim’s eyes.
“Have you tried these?” asked Jim. He held up one of the empty wrappers from the newsim access cards.
“I have,” said Vincent. He saw how many of the wrappers there were for the first time – the girl was nearly covered with them. “How many did they give you?”
Jim shrugged. The movement seemed to require a great deal of effort for him. “I haven’t kept track,” he said. “But they pass the time. While the residences find us a place to live.”
“This is where they’re keeping you?” asked Jessica. “In the lobby?”
“For the families with children,” said Jim. “Everyone else stays in the tents outside.”
Vincent thought of the cloth-made domes surrounding the towers. The only people he had seen there had been adults.
“What about Tina?” asked Jessica. “And your son. Are they in one of the tents?”
Jim shook his head. He jostled his daughter next to him as he moved, but she didn’t stir. “They aren’t with us,” he said. “They’re in quarantine. Some sort of virus.” He paused to catch his breath. “They’ll join us as soon as they’re cured.”
Vincent bit the inside of his cheek. Jim’s wife and son had seemed perfectly healthy at the checkpoint – Jim had said it himself. Newsight, apparently, had diagnosed them anyway. About what the diagnosis was, or what the treatment would be, Vincent did not have a good feeling.
“Now,” said Jim, “you’ll have to excuse me.” He fumbled in a bag propped up against his daughter’s head. “I’m going to enter another sim.” He paused, holding up the access code he had just retrieved. “It was good to see you.”
The man’s eyes went out of focus, hesitated there, then rolled back into his head. After he had been still for several seconds, Jessica tugged at Vincent’s sleeve. Vincent let himself be pulled away.
They wound through the other motionless families in the lobby until they reached the front desk. After identifying them with the same club-shaped stick the Guard had used, the receptionist told them their suite number and directed them to a room of transports. Neither of them spoke during the ride up. What words they may have said – about Jim, about the simulations – were, under surveillance, better to remain as thoughts.
When the pod came to a stop and slid open, they were staring into a brightly lit hallway. A door with their number on it was directly across from them.
“Wow,” said Jessica. “That’s service.”
Vincent nodded in agreement, but he felt guilty all the same. The service for the families in the lobby, after all, had been nonexistent.
They exited the pod and stepped up to the door in front of them. Vincent leaned in close to the scanner and opened his right eye–
The hall went dark. Vincent froze where he stood. His vision was pitch black but for the white font of newsim down the middle and the rotating eye below.
“This is a Newsight public announcement,” said the woman with the sweet voice.
The logo and black background disappeared, replaced by a still image of Tom Smith looking directly into the camera.
“After apprehending the Seclusion bomber this morning,” said the woman, “Newsight collaborated with the Guard to go after the Order’s leader, Senator Tom Smith.” The image was replaced by the same room as before – the single chair, the mounted camera – with half a dozen armed members of the Guard rifling around inside. On the floor, there was a body-sized mound, covered by a white sheet and stained on the outside with unmistakable streaks of red.
Vincent’s mouth fell open. The saliva there seemed to evaporate all at once.
“With the combined specialties of the Guard and Newsight,” the woman continued, “the raid of Smith’s headquarters was successful. Smith perished in the crossfire before he could give testimony.”
The feed changed once again. It was Marcus. He was standing in front of the Newsight tower, attempting to climb into his convoy of transports, but being blocked by reporters. Relenting, he paused for a comment.
“The hack was extremely embarrassing,?
?? he said. “We made the resolution of this matter a priority, and we were rewarded for doing so. Let this serve as a message to the rest of the Order. Thank you.”
He broke through the crowd, and climbed into the transport. The image of Tom Smith returned.
“We apologize for any trauma these unwanted appearances have caused,” said the woman, “and we promise to do better in the future. Have a great evening.”
The hollowed cheeks and pale skin of Tom Smith disappeared, and the hallway returned. Vincent was still staring at the scanner. The door had already opened.
“Ben?”
Vincent kept his gaze straight forward. It took him a moment to produce the words – his mouth was still dry. “They miscalculated,” he said. His voice was flat, dead. “He wasn’t important after all. He was an embarrassment, and they got rid of him.”
Vincent felt the thumping in his chest rise into his throat. They had gotten rid of him. Of them both, more likely. With Tom Smith gone, there was no reason to keep Sarah Smith as leverage.
“Let’s go inside,” said Jessica. She laid a hand on Vincent’s shoulder. “Come on.”
Wordlessly, and with his teeth clenched down on his bottom lip to stop it from shaking, Vincent stepped forward. The lights inside were already on. The room was standard: the usual Newsight white and open-concept Seclusion style. The ceiling, however, was far from typical. The entire thing served as an enormous window. There were no beams or supports, only glass, and beyond that, only sky.
“We’re in the disc,” said Jessica.
Through the glass ceiling, above the lowest layer of clouds, they could see the final pink rays of the sun as it began its descent. In any other circumstances, the sight would have been beautiful.
Jessica went deeper into the room, squeezing Vincent’s arm as she went. Vincent followed. He couldn’t afford to act out of the ordinary – they were still performing.
“We should have been staying here the whole time,” he said.
Jessica glanced into the kitchen. “Maybe it’s better we haven’t,” she said.
Vincent followed her gaze. On the dining table, which was almost exactly like his mother and father’s from the Seclusion, was a clear glass bowl filled with newsim access cards.
“Has the identification employee contacted you yet?” said Vincent, changing the subject. The words felt empty coming out of his mouth, meaningless. “The one from the tour?”
Jessica’s eyes went out of focus. “We’re meeting him in the working sector,” she said. “Early tomorrow morning.”
Vincent’s stomach gave a little lurch. It was sooner than he had thought.
“So I think I’ll get some rest,” said Jessica. “You should too.”
Vincent read the subtext: Mr. Carlson will be home soon.
“I will,” he said. Jessica nodded. She hesitated for a moment, her eyes locked on his, then wrapped her arms around him.
“Goodnight,” she said.
Vincent bit his tongue. “Goodnight,” he said back. A second later, she released him, then disappeared through a door on the far side of the room. Vincent stayed where he was. Something swelled up high in his throat, and his eyes grew hot from the moisture in their corners. He didn’t cry. That would have been suspicious. Instead, with his tears dammed behind his Lenses, he turned to the container of access cards on the dining room table. He thought of the newsims. He thought of the small brown house with the slanted roof and lush green backyard. He thought of his parents, of seeing them again around the dinner table of their simulated home.
Then he thought of Jim.