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Activated
Chapter 3: Lenora

Chapter 3: Lenora

Lenora

I stand with my hands folded neatly in front of me and my shoulders square, chin up at a precise angle that’s borderline proud, yet not quite elitist. I resist the urge to fiddle with the lace that lines the layers of my dress — green again, my favourite colour — and keep my eyes on the clock behind my father’s head. His full attention is on MsDanikaStarburst (it seems the entirety is her first name as everyone calls her that, even her husband), lead editor of the most popular e-magazine, Zone, and one of the most influential individuals on the Triumph.

When my parents and I were contacted by MsDanikaStarburst’s people saying she wished to see me, my heart stopped. We’d been expecting a summons for weeks, though not necessarily from MsDanikaStarburst. I’d almost given up, terrified all my hard work had been for nothing: practising thousands of handstands until I’m so dizzy I’m nauseous, long sleepless nights crafting my memories for public consumption, and even altering my speech patterns so there’s no mistaking I’m destined for Level One.

MsDanikaStarburst holds court, perched like a plump, ripe tomato, her red dress snug, in an understated armless chair. The woman could be a cover for her own magazine, all curves and leading fashions. Above her head floats her station rank, 36, in a violet grey colour, and a link to a list of her two thousand Friends. Mainly top rankers, yet there are the odd lower ranked people with potential.

Maybe me one day.

Her sterling grey hair is perfectly coifed to resemble a tower, delicate silver bells hanging from hair-thin chains looped around, I suspect, for structural support. Her half-moon modes sit on the tip of her snub little nose, though the woman uses them as a prop, peering at my father over the top of them instead of through their foggy lenses. Her eyes rattle him, his fists clench white and his face flushes beneath his standard Mediator issue modes.

“Lenora’s year group,” Father begins, “becomes Active in three days.” His rank is 34,405 in bold unblinking green numbers, his Friend list set to private due to his position as Assistant Chief Mediator of the Triumph’s on and offline law enforcement. He’s a tall, solid man who towers over the diminutive MsDanikaStarburst, though it’s clear she has the upper hand.

“I’m well aware of the deadline, Mediator Rey,” MsDanikaStarburst says, voice smooth as vanilla yoghurt, as she turns her gaze on me, judging and unreadable. I give a respectful bow, focusing on the woman’s double chin to avoid meeting her eyes.

“Miss Rey, I’ve heard only good things about you. That you show much promise. That you’re gifted.” MsDanikaStarburst pauses as if she has her doubts. “Would you give me the pleasure of a demonstration?”

Finally, I think. I can hear my Imaginary Friend’s answering snicker from the corner of the room. I ignore him. The tall, lanky boy leaning up against the wall is juggling. He’s trying to make me smile, first juggling oranges and lemons, and then more bizarre things like pot plants and cats. Hugo never misses a beat. No one else can see him.

I slip off my best shoes, carefully placing them by the door, and gracefully move to the centre of the room, the polished wood furniture pushed against the dark green walls. I love dancing, and Hugo loves watching me dance. He’s never explained why, though it’s probably part of his programming, just as his hair is green and he has an annoying habit of stating the obvious. As an Imaginary Friend, he’s meant to like what I like.

I straighten my skirt then rest my fingers against my thighs, trembling with anticipation. A small part of me delights in how my toes sink into the lush, cream carpet.

All my life my aspirations have been simple. Win one of the fifty sponsored spots for the Activation Ball. Then win one of the five positions that ensures not only 10,000 credits on top of the standard 2,000 everyone in my year receives once Activated, but Friendships with some very powerful people. If I come first I’ll be Friended by the highest ranking, and everything will be perfect forever.

I tap my tongue against the roof of my mouth, triggering the music to start. The notes are soft initially, playing directly into the heads of my audience through their modes. The melody is one of my own, pieced together by thousands of other songs, and I dance as I always do. Superbly.

I ignore the coos of enjoyment, focusing intently on the placement of each foot, the carpet soft and bouncy, strange when I’m so used to the firm rubber of my rehearsal room. Each movement triggers my holo-glamour to flare, visible only to those with modes, and fitting like a second skin. My tutors claim I’m accomplishing things with my holo-glamour they’ve never seen before.

Normally, people use them to adjust their image: straighten their hair, make themselves taller, colour their skin, but what I do goes beyond avant-garde. Bursts of starlight and twisting forms of fire shift from slim, ribbon-like snakes and evolve into flitting birds. I’d pre-programmed each visual effect to respond to particular body movements and musical notes and, even though it’s less ostentatious compared to some of my other work, it’s graceful and elegant, and just the sort of thing to win over a woman like MsDanikaStarburst.

The last note hangs in the air as I sigh, my body feeling light enough to float away.

“Well, Miss Rey.” MsDanikaStarburst smiles with neon white teeth. She reaches into a drawer and pulls out a letter. An actual paper and ink letter. “Your invitation to the Activation Ball. It’ll be my pleasure to be your sponsor.” The way MsDanikaStarburst says pleasure makes me want to sing. Father’s already nodding, doing his best not to grin too wide. “The details are all here. You’ll be expected to perform, and a private rehearsal time has been appointed to you.” As she speaks, a little appointment card flashes up in my right eye, and sure enough there’s a time, place and access passkeys. “I expect only the best,” MsDanikaStarburst warns. For a moment she looks hungry, then it passes and she’s all glowing smiles and chubby cheeks.

I breathe in and out slowly, not allowing my emotions to swamp me as I take the letter. Excitement. Relief. Joy. I tamper down relief and boost excitement for my followers. It would be unseemly for them to see me doubting myself. MsDanikaStarburst had already made her decision before we’d even arrived.

“Thank you, MsDanikaStarburst. I am the best.”

“And Miss Rey, dance for me one more time.” One song turns into three, until finally MsDanikaStarburst is called away and her house ushers us out into the smoothly paved streets of Level One. Level One requires no virtual enhancements. Its streets are wide and clean, elegant spiralling lamps sprout like trees at regular intervals along the footpaths, the houses are neatly spaced with lawns of artificial grass and flowers in constant bloom. The air smells sweeter too. My father and I received a special pass to access this level for my appointment. Normally I can only travel between levels three and eight, though I very rarely go below Level Five.

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“Well done, Lenora,” Father says, tucking the letter into one of the many zippered pockets of his coat. “We’ve got a lot to prepare. Good thing we’ve already had your dress made!” Father pats his jacket as if to assure himself the letter is still there.

“I have school, Father, and then I need to rehearse.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” We reach the Core and my father looks unsure, unwilling to leave me on my own, even though we’re on the safest level. He’s long assumed I’ve out grown Hugo, the Imaginary Friend I received when I was four-years-old, like most of children in my year. “I need to get back to work,” Father finally says.

“You go. I’ll have dinner at the Con and be home before midnight.” I step into an empty lift and give a wave. Father runs a hand through his thinning dark hair then waves too as the doors slide close. With a sigh, I lean against the wall.

“Not bad at all, Nora,” Hugo teases.

“Oh, Level One is divine. Isn’t it beautiful?” I spin in a circle, enjoying how my skirt swishes around my knees.

“Yeah, yeah, it is,” Hugo murmurs. I glance up, but my friend is studying old graffiti across the lift ceiling.

“MsDanikaStarburst seemed impressed,” I add.

“She seemed very impressed. I don’t see why you’re so surprised.” Hugo’s cowboy hat drops over his eyes as he stretches back against the lift wall. “I mean, you’re you!”

“You’re just saying that because I’m your friend.”

“You’re my only friend. You’re my only anything.” He adjusts his image so he now leans casually, arms crossed, hat on straight, so I can see his wide brown eyes and dark green hair tied at the nape. “I still can’t believe you won’t tell me what you’re doing for your performance.”

“It’s a surprise.” The lift opens and I step out onto Level Three. “Come on, I’ve missed enough class.” I try to ignore how my heart flutters when he smiles.

My school is one of the most beautiful buildings on Level Three. All blue steel, glass and curves. Around the upper floors, fat, fluffy clouds transform from shape to shape: a cake, a baby, a blooming flower. In front is a small park, a tree sculpture in its centre mimicking the changing seasons, pink blossoms slowly drifting to the ground, vanishing the moment they touch the grass. My year is just finishing lunch, students packing up as another year comes outside to enjoy the lush grass and artificial breeze stirring up the falling blossoms.

Most of my year mates hover in my periphery, but I’m careful not to favour anyone in particular and I can’t bring myself to socialise this close to class. Usually I rotate my break periods with different groups, building a solid foundation for when we Activate and I require followers. I spot Wallace Miller (school rank 2), his dark brown curls gleaming beneath the midday artificial light, the well-fitting charcoal slacks and white shirt emphasising his height and athletic physique. He’s surrounded by his own eager group and we send each other sympathetic smiles.

We’re opponents, competing for the highest student rank, but we’re the same in a way. Never lonely but always alone. I wonder if he still has his own Invisible Friend to keep him company? Late at night, we exchange private messages, whispering our hopes and dreams in the fragile quiet of a sleeping station. Besides Hugo, he’s the only other person I’d consider a friend.

Let’s go in, I message Hugo and turn my mind to the last few classes I have before Activation.

***

By the time I reach home on Level 3 after school and rehearsals, it’s late. The houses along my street are dark and so is mine, a narrow, older building wedged between identical houses. The door swings open in greeting when I dance up the steps.

“There’s some hot chocolate for you on the table, Miss Rey,” the house whispers and I murmur a grateful reply, ignoring its use of my last name. It’s impossible to teach an old house new tricks.

I pick up the mug and notice my invitation from MsDanikaStarburst torn open beside it. I feel a stab of disappointment, but push the feeling away. With mug in hand and the letter wedged beneath my arm, I tiptoe up the carpeted stairs and to my room. My parents are already asleep.

“They’re proud of you.”

I know. I only think it, but Hugo hears me anyway. I neatly order my boots in the shoe-rack by the door, and make Hugo turn around as I change into my nightdress. I slip into bed and pull up the soft, forest green duvet, then take a sip from my mug, flattening MsDanikaStarburst’s letter across my lap. Hugo stretches out next to me and together we read the invitation. It’s not long. I yawn and my jaw clicks loudly.

“You should sleep,” Hugo says, and yawns himself, making me yawn again.

I should post. People will want to experience my interview.

“A short one then.”

I close my eyes and access my internal hard drive. In my head it looks like the inside of a cobalt blue sphere, its curved walls covered with rows upon rows of tiny black drawers with narrow silver handles and digital labels, listing time, date and key words.

Can you find me this afternoon’s interview?

Sure. Hugo is far quicker at finding things than the actual program, and I hover, cross-legged in the centre of the room as he selects a drawer. The room shimmers, the walls of drawers disappearing as they’re replaced by a virtual landscape. From here, with a complex set of body movements, sounds and keywords, I can edit, insert and post any memory via my modes, saving the memory alongside the original, and deleting anything no longer important.

When I Activate I’ll get an upgrade for more space. Until then, I have to do regular sweeps to remove anything too out of date. Hugo enjoys poking around and he has three or so drawers open already that are bumping up against the primary memory. The smell of chalk intrudes and the light flickers as it briefly changes from morning to night. The primary memory solidifies and the smells and lighting settle.

Focus, Hugo!

Hugo rolls his eyes. I can multitask you know.

Sure you can. Let’s start with some dramatic tension.

I flick through my memory with a sweep of a hand, ignoring the frantic morning routine of getting ready to the moment I walk into the room, MsDanikaStarburst sitting in all her plump, red glory. I pause and examine the series of emotions my system had recorded and attempted to label. Nervousness, anticipation, excitement, fear, disappointment, relief, half a dozen other minor emotions and one that’s labeled unknown.

What does this feel like to you? I ask Hugo, replaying the emotion. It swells to fill the room, almost physical as I feel a mixture of anger, distress and disgust.

You forget I’m not programmed that way, Hugo points out, his tone flat. He snaps shut a drawer and the sound echoes.

Right, sorry. For a moment I can’t think of what else to say.

I’ll remove myself, shall I? he says blandly, striding over to his recorded self to eye his image critically before cutting anything related to him from the interview. For a moment he doesn’t exist in my memory of this afternoon before he copies himself into another drawer, leaving a link to the primary memory.

Thanks. I give him a tentative smile, which he slowly returns.

I dial down the unfamiliar feeling as well as the fear, disappointment and relief, and amp up anticipation and excitement, adding a dash of bashfulness and gratitude. It’s a potent emotive cocktail when I’m finished. This is good practice for when I’ll have access to 150000 fans rather than only 2000 yearmates.

That should do it. Cut out some of father’s dialogue, he does tend to ramble, and add a pause after MsDanikaStarburst’s words “That you show much promise” and “That you’re gifted.” We work together with practised ease, my hands flicking, head bopping and tongue clicking. Almost an hour later, well past midnight, I log out, having put together a memory worthy of my fans.