Celia would have done a thousand things differently from Kasey, who pressed CONFIRM LOG OUT.
The kitchen island vanished. The dance floor, the lights, the drinks and cups, consumables that would turn into carbon emissions at the end of their life cycles if they existed, disappeared, only ever strings of code. Over in the virtual domain, the party went on for everyone still logged in. No one would miss Kasey.
Just as well.
Kasey opened her eyes to the blue-dark of her stasis pod. Its sarcophagus-like interior glowed faintly with data arrays transmitted from her Intraface’s biomonitor app, which tracked her vitals whenever she holo-ed. Her heartbeat, while high, fell within the normal range. Her peripheral vision displayed the time—00:15—and the current number of residents still traversing the eco-city as holographic versions of themselves: 36.2%.
Holoing, as it was called, was less of a green alternative and more of a last resort. To live sustainably, people had to live less. Conduct nonessential activities （“essentials” being eating, sleeping, and exercising） in the holographic mode. Fine-dine and jet-set virtually, without trace or footprint. Reduce transportation needs and shrink infrastructure, energy and materials conserved. Concede these things and only then could architects build eco-friendly cities in the skies, safe from rising sea levels. The trade-offs were worth it, in Kasey’s opinion. A minority one. Most people rejected living like bento-packed vegetables—be it for their own good or the planet’s—and stayed in their land-bound territories. The weather was more extreme, yes, but sufferable. The arctic melt, while lamentable, didn’t affect them like it did island and coastal populations.
But the wildfires did. The hurricanes and monsoons. Earthquakes rose in magnitude, exacerbated by decades of deep-crust mining. Natural disasters catalyzed man-made ones: chemical factories and fission plants compromised, meltdowns disseminating radioaxons, nanoparticles, and microcinogens across the land and sea. Global opinion flipped overnight. Eco-cities came to be viewed as utopias, so removed from disaster epicenters. And holoing from one’s stasis pod, once seen as restrictive, came to represent freedom and safety. Why experience something in real life when real life had become so volatile?
Why? Kasey wondered now to her sister, even though she knew. Boundaries existed so that Celia could push them. Nothing was off-limits, no trouble too deep. Her sister was alive in a world increasingly removed from life. It was why people found it difficult to cope with the news of her disappearance, with some going as far as to straight-up deny it.
Fifty bytes she shows up tonight.
Others grieved.
I have a sister too.
Still others blamed themselves.
I need to know if it was my fault.
This, Kasey found to be the most nonsensical reaction of all. Her sister was gone. No amount of lost sleep could reverse that. Guilt was irrelevant. Irrational.
Kasey wished she felt less of it.
|||
WAIT FOR ME, KAY. I’M coming for you.
My blood swirls down the drain as I rinse the propeller in M.M.’s sink. I dry it with a fistful of sweater. Then I start hammering at the dents. My hands shake so badly, it’s a miracle I keep my thumbs. My heart feels like it might detonate, and back outside, I drop the bolt into the sand twice before finally twisting it onto the drive shaft, screwing the propeller in place.
At last, it’s done. As the sun sinks, I drag Hubert out on his first test run with M.M.’s solar-cells repurposed as boat motors. I crank on the engine once we’re in the water and crab-crawl to his stern.
“Come on, Bert.” I grip his sides. “Make me proud.”
Hubert groans.
“Come on, come on.”
A wave rolls under us, pitching me stomach-first into the stern. I brace myself for the next lurch.
It never comes.
Because Hubert moves. He moves, skimming over the waves, foam pluming in his wake, and I could kiss him. I really could. I adjust his trim, test his tiller, then steer him back toward the shore. I leave him on the beach and run to the house for my stockpiled supplies. Some of the taro biscuits have gone moldy. I toss them onto the kitchen floor and replace them with fresh ones from M.M.’s glass jar. On a whim, I pour in the entire jar. Gotta go big to go home.
“Strongly disagree,” U-me says, following me as I carry the supplies to Hubert.
I stash them in the locker under his stern. “You knew my endgame all along.”
“Agree.”
“This shouldn’t be coming as a surprise.”
“Disagree.”
“You’re contradicting yourself,” I complain, but she’s not looking at me anymore.