2048 / Year 35

August

Jon braced himself on his wife's arm and crawled through the broken window. His shoe landed with a crunch on a pile of colorful glass.

"How's that for spontaneity?" Storm asked.

He brushed off his pants and marveled at the inside of the abandoned church. "Did you find out who bought the property?"

Her eyes disappeared behind a cloud of information. "It looks like demolition is set for tomorrow, but that's all I can find. What do you think they'll make it?"

He shrugged. "Another breather tavern?"

"Jesus, I hope not."

"Speaking of Jesus..." He nodded to a life-sized, lopsided crucifix.

"Creepy."

Jon took his wife's hand and ushered her into the open sanctuary with its bleak, gunmetal shadows. The ground had become a theological minefield of Bibles and hymnals. Foam spewed from seams in every pew. Graffiti spanned the walls and changed color with every step: "Genesis 11:5-6," "Exodus 9:8-12," "Revelation 21:6." In luminescent paint above the piano: "He that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow."

"What a shame," Storm said, her fingers bouncing along the fluting of a defaced column. "It would have made a great wedding venue."

"Who knows, in three years we could be renewing our vows in this very spot."

"I've always wanted to get re-married in a breather tavern."

Jon released Storm's hand and turned his head to the top of the pillar. "In Greece these would have been carved from limestone." He rapped his fist on the column and a hollow thunk reverberated to the ceiling.

"How are things?" she asked. "At home... have you been keeping busy?"

"I've been good."

She smirked. "It says you're lying."

"I've been content."

"Still lying."

He sighed. "I've been working on contentment."

"There it is." She grinned. "It doesn't bother you to have a bread-winning wife?"

He cocked his head. "Really?"

"Really."

"No. It doesn't."

"That one's true! Do you miss me when I'm at work?"

He looked away. "Of course I miss you."

"Annnd you're lying again."

He pressed his head into the column and reconsidered his phrasing. "It makes me happy when you come home from work."

"Mmm."

"Was that true?"

"That was true."

The sun found a break in the overcast sky and the cathedral brightened through boarded windows. For a moment, the church seemed whole again.

Storm slipped her arm around his waist. "Happy anniversary, Jon."

"Happy anniversary, Storm."

* * *

The moment Hannah saw Aimee's beautifully engorged body, she knew why her friend wanted to meet in person. "Atractiva!" she shouted across the coffee shop.

Aimee leapt from her booth, elbowed her way through the crowd, threw her arms around Hannah, and kissed her cheeks. "Santo Cielo! It's really you!" ["My God!"] said Hannah's translator.

They pulled apart and Hannah looked at Aimee's belly. "You're—"

"I am."

"You're pregnant!"

"She'll be here in December."

"She?" Hannah exclaimed and they embraced again. She knew it would be nice to see her old friend, but she wasn't expecting to feel such solace from a hug.

"It's been a lifetime," Aimee whispered.

The women finally let go and found a booth by the window.

"How the hell did this happen?"

"You wanna see her?"

"Of course!"

Aimee's irises clouded.

["Incoming video from Amelía Cardella."] Hannah accepted the file and found herself immersed in her friend's womb.

"It's a live stream," Aimee said.

An infant floated in the center of the transparent sack. She was the size of an orange, yet perfectly formed, swaddled peacefully in a bed of pink and purple veins.

"I struggled with the gender for weeks, but I finally settled on a girl."

Hannah exhaled. "I can't stop looking..."

"Sometimes I turn it on before I go to sleep. I hold my knees to my chest and pretend I'm with her. Wanna see a two-year render?"

Hannah didn't want to leave the video, but said, "Sure."

The womb video was replaced by a holographic portrait of a toddler. Jet-black hair, her mother's eyes, scattered freckles on her nose and cheeks.

"Aimee," Hannah said. "She's gorgeous."

"She's an LE baby."

Hannah blinked.

"You've heard of Living Enterprises, right?"

The coincidence was unreal, but Hannah didn't want to interrupt her friend's excitement. "Of course."

"Every year they search the general population for anyone with unique circumstances." She smiled. "Apparently they liked my heritage."

"Unbelievable."

"It took two years of blood tests, paperwork, and bullshit bureaucracy, but she'll be genetically perfect. She'll receive every privilege and every advancement. They'll implant IDPs as early as twelve, and she'll attend Birke Academy until she's seventeen."

"Do you get to stay with her?"

"I'll live onsite in a parental dormitory. I'm supposed to be there now... but I've been too busy to move."

"The father... I saw that you and Sam—"

"The dad is some inteligente hombre Mexicano selected by LE." ["Smart Mexican male,"] said the translator. "And yeah... Sam and I..."

"I'm sorry, Aim."

"Don't be."

"Have you stayed in touch with any old friends?" Hannah sensed a moment of deliberation in Aimee's thoughts.

"I see friends from the bar from time to time. Mostly people I met after you left."

"That's great."

Aimee changed the subject. "You couldn't have had better timing."

"You can thank Joe for that."

"Your dad's here?"

"In the car."

"How's he doing?"

Hannah hadn't had a friend she could be honest with since her exodus from Chicago thirty-four years ago. "Not well. He says he's tired and..." She pinched the skin behind her knee. Hard. "He's not quite there anymore."

Aimee extended her arms across the table and took her hands. "Oh babe, I'm so sorry."

"Believe it or not, we have an appointment at LE tomorrow."

"You're kidding. Joe must still have some serious clout! Maybe I can show you around?"

"He's so nervous... I think he would love that."

"Oh mierda!" Aimee said. ["Oh shit!"] said the translator. "Do you need a place to stay?"

"We're on our way to a hotel—"

"Rates are immoral in this city." She squeezed Hannah's hands. "I have an extra room. I know it's been a while, but if you and Joe need a place to stay..."

Hannah never downloaded the popular emotion-detector upgrade, but she could sense either restrained excitement or quiet desperation in Aimee's voice... maybe both. She smiled. "We would love to."

* * *

Aimee tried to hide her anxiety as she walked beneath the blue steel archway of the Living Enterprises lobby. She blew past the robot greeter with its clumsy smile and stiff gait, and ignored it when it tried to say hi. Please don't be working. Please don't be working. Please don't be—

"Hey girl!" said Storm with a glowing blue aura.

Mierda.

"'Afternoon, tormenta," Aimee replied, halting her stride and flashing her friend her most honest smile.

"What're you doin' here?"

"The nerds on 101 are pushing me to move. I don't think they trust my womb in suburbia." Aimee slapped her belly and pressed it against the desk. "I thought it might help if I stopped by... show them that the cargo's safe."

"Want me to tell them you're here?"

"Naw. They were expecting me this week anyway."

Whew... she didn't have to lie.

Storm was only thirteen years younger than Aimee which made her easy to talk to. On a normal day, Aimee would have pulled up a chair to chat about baby names, Michael's success in college, or LEs newest release. But today—

"Maybe you'll run into Jon on your way up," Storm said.

"Oh yeah? What's he doin' in our world?"

Storm's aura faded from blue to teal. She lowered her voice. "I think he's bored. He seems distant, and he's been exercising almost every day."

"At our gym?"

"As long as I have this job, he'll be taking advantage of the perks."

"I don't blame him."

In the awkward silence, Aimee knew exactly what Storm's lenses were telling her. "Dubious intent!" "Possible dishonesty!"

"Go on up," Storm said. "And give me a call later. I need a girl's night."

"Will do, tormenta. Love ya."

"Love you too."

Aimee walked as casually as possible to the elevators. Ever since she visited the LE security office during her welcome tour, she was constantly aware of the invisible cameras in every hallway of every floor of the tower. The cameras could scan her profile, read her mood, and see the contents of her purse. This was a bad place to look anxious.

She stepped onto the first elevator and a menu popped up listing every floor, facility, office, mall, school, and employee in the building. She selected "Gymnasium #6," then hid her location from Storm... just in case.

The elevator zipped to the twenty-second floor, then slid right until it arrived at her destination.

The doors opened to the gym, a massive complex constructed with layers of glass, mirrors, and LEs signature blue walls. Two mezzanines looked down on the central court where a group of women mimicked the movement of their robotic personal trainer.

Jon was easy to spot, peddling his heart out on a recumbent bike as his body glowed a cool, pale green. A battalion of trainers stood on standby against the wall behind him; heads slumped and eyes closed. The skin around their shoulders and knees were wearing thin from too many workouts.

"Hey there, stalker."

"I know I'm psychotic," Aimee said, "But I needed to see you in person."

Whatever video Jon was watching disappeared from his eyes and—still peddling—he looked at Aimee and smiled. "What's up?"

"I saw Hannah today."

Jon stopped peddling. His glow shifted from green to orange, then to blue, then back to orange. A text bubble appeared beside his expression: "Nervous anticipation. Possible fear."

"She's with Joseph," Aimee continued. "He's been feeling tired lately so they made an appointment..."

"Here?"

"Here."

"When?"

"Tomorrow. They're staying at my place."

"You..." He stammered and blinked. "You saw her in person?"

"She's a mess, Jon. Her glow was red through our entire conversation. My lenses wouldn't stop warning me: 'unstable,' 'possible drug use,' 'dubious intentions,' 'suicide watch.'"

"How'd she look without the analysis?"

Aimee shrugged. "Like she just spent two days in a car. But otherwise she seemed happy. All genuine responses. Very upbeat and positive. It seemed to help when we talked about the baby."

In typical Nightly fashion, Jon remained cool in deliberation and warm in rapport. "Well... it sounds like she's holding it together."

"She asked about 'old friends.' I didn't want to mention your name without talking to you first. If she was just an old flame, I wouldn't have thought twice. But after everything that happened..."

"Where is she now?"

"They're grabbing an early dinner and heading to my place. I told them I'd be there in an hour."

Jon's gaze fell to the side. His feet began to peddle again.

"I knew what she was thinking when she asked about friends," Aimee said. "I changed the subject, but I'm sure it'll come up again. What do I tell her?"

Jon's feet continued their mindless rotation. Finally, he snapped out of his trance, stopped peddling, and refocused on Aimee. "Casually mention my name this evening. If the word 'Nightly' is a point of distress—if her glow darkens—brush it off and change the subject."

She nodded.

Jon returned to his trance, shrouded in a vivid blue aura.

* * *

When they were young, Hannah saw Aimee as a happy person, often reserved, straddling the line between introvert and extrovert. But three decades later, she was almost bubbly, freaking out over Joseph's car, pointing out her purple front door, bounding from room to room to show off her home, and rambling about the upcoming birth.

"Sam and I bought this place after we sold the Oasis." She swiped crumbs from the kitchen counter into the sink. "He let me keep it after the divorce. After everything I put him through..."

Hannah had sensed another change in Aimee's persona during their chat at the coffee shop, but she couldn't put her finger on it until now. Her accent was gone.

"The property taxes are insufferable," Aim continued. "If I wasn't moving, I don't think I'd be able to keep up." She kicked aside a box that said "KNICK KNACKS" in a band of scrolling letters.

"It's a seller's market," Joseph said, plodding through the dim hallways with his hands behind his back.

"That's what they keep telling me. But I don't even know where to begin..."

Hannah noted the stress in Aimee's voice, and she and Joseph shared a concerned glance.

"This is your bedroom," Aimee said.

The space was tight and the bed was hardly big enough for two, but they would make it work.

"It's perfect," Joseph said.

Hannah agreed. "Yeah. Thanks Ai—"

"And you'll be on the pullout in the living room, chica."

Hannah avoided eye contact with her father. "Perfect."

Joseph kissed Aimee's forehead. "Miss Cardella, you are a sweetheart and a gracious host. Now if you ladies don't mind, I think I better shuffle off to sleep. I love my car, but its bed leaves much to be desired."

They said goodnight, then Aimee led Hannah to the living room. "I love that he still talks like that."

"Like an old man?"

"I don't spend much time with his generation anymore. 'Leaves much to be desired?' It's adorable."

"I guess I'm around him too much to notice."

"I'm in the mood for wine. Share a bottle with me?"

Hannah nearly melted at the suggestion. The withdrawals were nearly gone, but she still felt a tinge of nausea in her abdomen. "It's okay with the baby?"

"It goes against all my maternal instincts, but I've been assured that no amount of alcohol can hurt this kid."

"In that case, wine sounds delicious."

"I've got a couple breathers too. Ivory, Snow..."

"The wine will be plenty."

Aimee waddled as if she was nine months pregnant instead of five. "Go ahead and open the couch," she called. "There's a button on the side."

Hannah found the button, pressed it, and watched the sofa's silent transformation. It stopped, jolted, and released a high-pitched buzzing sound. "Uh, Aimee?"

"Shit," she said from the kitchen. "Just hit the metal bar a few times!"

Hannah winced at the sound and slapped the horizontal bar. Nothing happened, so she hit it again. Finally, she clenched her fist and whacked it right in the center. The buzzing stopped and the bed unfurled calmly before her.

Aimee returned with a bottle and two glasses, then sat in a recliner at the foot of the bed. She blinked once and the overhead lights turned off, leaving the room in the somber glow of burgundy lampshades.

Hannah stripped off her travel clothes and relaxed into bed. She sipped her wine and peered at her friend over the rim. As her focus shifted from glass to girl, she noticed a tinge of apprehension in Aimee's smile. "Aims? You feeling okay?"

* * *

Hannah's aura had been fading from scarlet to pink since they arrived at the house, and Aimee was afraid of rekindling the flame. "I was about to ask you a question," she said, "but I wasn't sure how you'd feel about it."

"What is it?"

A new bubble popped up beside Hannah's face. "Anxiety," it said, and her glow darkened.

Aimee rubbed her teeth against her lower lip and forced herself to breathe. Then she said it. "Jon Nightly."

With these two words, Hannah's aura flared from angry red to deep, passionate purple. "Increased heart rate, said the bubble. Authentic delight!"

Despite the beautiful color, the positive notes, and the joy dancing fervently in her eyes, Hannah remained composed. "Jon?" she said. "What about him?"

"Have you kept in touch?"

She pursed her lips and shook her head. "Not a word since I left. Do you still see him?"

The violet glow gave Aimee consent to move forward. "A little. I'm not sure how much you know..."

"Only what I learned while stalking him." Hannah's smile was both guilty and radiant. As she spoke, the purple hue undulated around her body like a warm bath. "I would snoop in bursts. I'd purge his name from my mind for about two or three years... then, for no reason at all, I'd find myself scanning his profile. I know he worked as an interior designer for more than fifteen years. I know the company crashed in 2038. I know he's married..." The purple faded slightly, but her smile remained. "Last I saw he was working construction again, but it didn't seem like a permanent job."

"Did you know he has a son?"

Almost imperceptibly, the halo dulled. "I didn't. What's his name?"

"Michael. He's 18/25. He just started his seventh year at the University of Chicago. He's into sports, if you can believe it."

"That's great."

"I actually see them pretty often. When I got accepted into LE, I recommended Storm for a receptionist job. It's mostly for show—they like to put a human face on the company—but I think she's enjoying it."

"I'm so glad he's doing well."

"When I give birth," Aimee's voice fell as she scrutinized Hannah's glow, "the Nightly's will be there."

Hannah nodded. "It'll be nice to see him again. Unless you think I'll make things awkward..."

"As long as you're comfortable, it won't bother me at all."Aimee proceeded with caution. "Hannah... I don't remember how we left things. Do you know what happened with—"

A sporadic pulsation of color—red, blue, red, blue—engulfed the woman at the mere implication of that name. "With Gavin?" she asked.

"Yeah..."

She nodded. "I know what happened."

"I'm sorry for dredging up bad memories."

"Don't be. We can't reboot a friendship without confronting the past."

The women talked until the wine was gone. Aimee jabbered about her divorce while Hannah provided highlights from what seemed like a disparaging thirty years. When neither of them could keep their eyes open, Hannah smiled and said, "I missed you, Aim."

Aimee returned the sentiment, turned off the lights, locked herself in her bedroom, and dove into her digital realm.

Menu. Media. Replay. Last hour.

["Maintain digital overlay?"]

["Yes."]

Fighting the dreary effects of a half bottle of Cabernet, Aimee scrubbed through the video of her conversation with Hannah.

"I was about to ask you a question, but I wasn't sure how you'd feel about it."

"What is it?"

"Jon Nightly."

As Hannah reacted to the name, Aimee paused the video.

She took a photograph.

She attached a message.

She sent it to Jon.

* * *

["Incoming photo from Aimee."]

Jon shut off the movie in his lens, listened for the purr of his sleeping wife, then opened Aimee's message.

It was her. She was a mess of matted hair, lopsided eyeliner, and halfhearted smile, but it was her. She was happy. She was alive. She smoldered with a transcendent purple burn.

Aimee attached a note to the picture: "LE. 78th floor. 9 AM tomorrow."

* * *

That night, curled in flannel sheets on a rickety pullout couch, Hannah let her mind wander—unchecked—through what was, what is, and what could have been. In the midst of a dream about Jon, she remembered her father's words spoken a week earlier. "I'm tired, Princess."

And the reality of tomorrow's appointment finally sank in.