The city looks so different from the air. The details, the litter, the graffiti, the tension, it is all omitted. While I am in the sky the ugly, oppressive buildings become marvels of engineering and I find that I am inspired by human accomplishments.

My car has entered one of the major skyways. Traffic is relatively light; I am making good time. The Alpha Prime system is advising me to drive safe, the other companies are giving me similar reminders, except for Charles Fauré. The car in front of me has a bumper sticker that says, “I’m a PB and proud of it.”

I get a message from Délta Corp. I have been randomly selected for an audit of my search history. That’s fine, I don’t have anything to hide, I could give less of a fuck about Mars. If I did need to look up something that they don’t like, I would just use another company’s network.

The Archipelago is a massive vacation spot located under a giant dome. I am dressed for a tropical vacation, which is about as far as I can get from my usual attire. Burabō runs The Archipelago, they charge five hundred Tokens per day, thank God he said that they would cover expenses.

As the car flies itself to the nearest parking lot I ponder the assignment. My best guess is that she ran off with some rich guy, or maybe a guy who did a good job convincing her that he was rich. Either way, he will be easy enough to track down once I get a name.

I can see it in my mind’s eye. He butters her up, tips big, spends big, and tells her that he wants to spend the rest of his life with her. What is a poor girl that is struggling to work off the debt that she incurred to get that nice body supposed to say?

I finally get a response to the message that I had sent as I was packing. Howard does administrative work at The Archipelago. He was easy enough to find. It was as simple as logging onto Burabō’s social network and running a search for a few keywords. From there I had concocted a story about being a newbie in need of help; several people had told me that Howard was the guy to talk to, after all, he was so knowledgeable and helpful.

My story is that I need access to the system, I have been locked out for some reason. He has taken the bait, given me a bypass code that I can use until I get it worked out. I hastily thank him, saying that I owe him one.

The walk across the parking lot is miserable. My swimming trunks and Hawaiian shirt do nothing to keep out the cold. I am shivering by the time I enter the building, should have waited for a shuttle. There are two entrances, one leading to Aikitol, the other goes to a hub for the other islands.

Aikitol Island is a family place, it is where you take the wife and kids for a little bit of fun in the sun. The other islands are where the real action can be found. They are where singles or couples go to party.

I take the tunnel to the hub. Signs, both in the real world and the digital one, warn me that no children are aloud past this point and that I am about to enter a clothing optional area. They must have a jammer in place, I can’t access the systems of the other corporations, I am trapped in the Burabō version of reality.

I reach the end and find myself on a tropical island, or in a very convincing reproduction of one. It is bright and warm, something that I am not used to. In fact, I would say that it is somewhat blinding. The beach is nice, I find that sand is far more pleasant to walk on than concrete. Several ferries sit at a dock, each boat is surrounded by signs that talk about how much of a good time you will have.

Beautiful young bodies are everywhere, they are all naked save for those seashell necklaces. A group of lean, handsome, brown-skinned young men beckon me to join them on the boat that would take us to the island that is for gay men. I politely wave them off, making a beeline for a group of young women. Then I realize that that is the one for lesbians, so I change course and finally find the right place.

The women greet me with excited cheers, a Lei, and a tropical drink. Over the course of the next fifteen minutes several other men join us, this includes a group of guys who seem to let out an uproar of laughter at every other word.

Three women walk over to a boat full of men. They are Archipelago veterans, as they strip off their clothes, they make lustful comments about what they call the fresh meat. Which is a hairless Filipino that honestly looks a touch young and a well-endowed, muscly brute.

Our boat moves away from the dock, starting its journey across the fake ocean. The artificial sky is deep azure; the false sun smiles down on us. I unbutton my shirt, wondering why we don’t just make the whole planet look like this.

The girls make the normal small talk, it is as fake as the ocean and the sky. I sip the drink, the fruit does a great job of masking the sting of the alcohol. One of the girls is yakking at me, going over a list of all the fun things that there are to do. She is wondering if I would like for her to accompany me on a scuba diving expedition; we can explore magnificent coral formations and sunken ships. Or maybe we can soak up some sun on one of the beaches.

I smile and put my free hand to my chin, thinking it over. I will need to find a window where I can sneak off. The plan is to find a maintenance access point or some other way into the backrooms. From there I will make my way to an interface that will let me look at the place’s records. If I get caught, I will pretend to be intoxicated and confused. They probably won’t get too mad; I am a customer and they want return business.

Like many of the place’s employees, the girl is Polynesian, or at least has the body of one. She has a little pink flower pinned into her long, dark hair. I look her in the eyes, they sparkle with interest, maybe even a little hint of lust. I don’t need to remind myself that it is just as fake as everything else. At this point cynicism has become automatic, everything is a trick, an advertisement, cleverly crafted by a master persuader.

Should I ask her if she knows Jill? I could pretend to be her friend, just a guy that is curious about an acquaintance that happens to work there. No, too risky, they might have told them to report any guests that go snooping around for info on the missing woman.

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After a leisurely trip we land on the island. The beach goes out of sight in either direction. A few buildings surround a hut that is selling drinks. Beyond the clearing there is the beginnings of a jungle. I am certain that the more unpleasant creatures are absent. A tall, rocky hill is located further inland, its peak must come near the top of the dome. I can hear the calls of tropical birds, but I doubt that they are real. This is drowned out by a man riding past on a jet ski.

The island girl follows me off the boat. I dump my suitcase in my assigned bungalow. Then I tell her to take me to her favorite beach. Just as I had hoped, she wants to go to an out of the way cove, a spot with lots of privacy. I will ditch her at some point on the way.

We stroll through the jungle, pushing ferns out of the way. The palm trees shade us nicely. Some part of my mind is telling me that this is really VR, because my world is supposed to be grey and black, not green and brown.

“Do you like working here?” I find myself asking her.

“Of course I do. Fun and sun all day, much better than being a monitor. You just have to get used to the nudity. I think that most people are primed by VR to be sexually open and nothing says that you can’t turn down a guest if you aren’t interested. But the nudity is awkward at first, especially when you need a pocket.”

“What about the others?”

“Some of them are hesitant about it. Some find that they don’t like the clients, so they ask for a transfer. The corporation doesn’t always grant them one. Personally, I am just glad to have a job.”

I ask another question, fully aware that I am skating on thin ice, “Anyone ever run away?”

“A few, some can’t handle it,” she frowns, “Are you thinking of anyone in particular?”

“Does the name Jill ring a bell?”

“You want to help her?”

Good question. Bringing her to Mr. Burke might be good for her, if she is in trouble, he might be able to protect her. But he might not have her best interests at heart. With the government you can never tell. Her real name might not be Jill, she might be on the run, she might have a good reason for staying out of the state’s hands. It is a gut check that I’m not ready for.

What to tell her? I quickly settle on the truth with the important parts modified or clipped out, “I work for the government.”

She breathes a sigh of relief, “I’m glad that someone from outside is looking into it.”

Her assumption that my statement meant that I was going to help her friend makes me wince. She is naïve, I want to explain that to her, but I stay quiet. At least she is on my side, at least she isn’t sounding the alarm. Hell, thanks to my vague wording she might even think that I am a cop.

She looks aside for a few seconds, considering her next words carefully, “Is there anything that I can do to help?”

“Yes, I need access to the underground.”

“Okay, follow me.”

We change course, after a few minutes we reach a path, she indicates that it is just up the way.

I examine one of the imitation clouds, “Tell me about her.”

“She was…is nice. She is always interested in having a good time, always positive.”

“So, you would say that she got along with everyone?”

“Oh yes, definitely. She didn’t have any enemies, if that is what you are really asking.”

“What about a boyfriend?”

“No. Not that I know of.”

“How about an ex?”

“None that came around or that she ever mentioned. You’re thinking that someone kidnapped her?”

“It is possible. I really don’t know anything, at least not yet. How about a client that got clingy?”

“Security knows how to handle creeps,” she says with contempt.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“They keep an eye out for them. They listen to us if we present a problem and they will ban anyone that causes problems.”

“That is good to hear,” something suddenly occurred to me, “You never told me what you think happened to her.”

“Are you asking me if I think that she ran away or if she was abducted?”

“I just want to know what you think, if anything.”

After a long pause she says, “She is one of those girls that has a knack for getting herself into trouble.”

“I understand.”

We walk into a little valley. A large rock sits under a palm tree. She moves the stone, which is clearly made of molded foam. It was concealing a hatch.

“Thanks.”

“Do you need to know my name?” she asks, before adding, “For a report?”

“No. No, I think it is best if I didn’t, so that you can’t get into any trouble with the company.”

I open the hatch, slipping inside, before gently closing it. After a trip down a ladder, I find myself in a concrete tunnel. It is rather dark, only a few overhead lights illuminate the bare floors, and the cables and pipes that line the walls. After spending so much time under the bright sun, the tunnel is annoyingly dark. I stand there for a few minutes, waiting for my eyes to adjust.

Under the facade of the atoll there are the hidden places, the inner workings. Maintenance areas, storage rooms, even breakrooms for the entertainers sit under the sand, all of it linked by a system of tunnels. A local map is being broadcasted. There is an office a short distance away.

I start creeping forward, ears open, ready to start acting like a drunken fool if someone spots me. The corridor is tight, and seems so much smaller after the wide-open space I had just spent the last hour in. There aren’t many rooms or side passages, if I run into someone I will have nowhere to hide.

My mind turns to the island girl. Will they find out that she helped me? How much trouble would she get into? I can’t get caught. People saw me leave with her, I can’t get caught.

After several minutes I reach the office, luckily, it is currently unoccupied. The room is basic, a few chairs and a desk with an interface for ICs. The walls are decorated with a few corporate posters along with signs reminding maintenance workers to keep out of sight and entertainers to be courteous to guests.

I use my IC to access the system, entering Howard’s password. The menus are easy to navigate, I pick the one for personnel. I scroll past the tab for maintenance drone monitors and the one for the people that double check the work of the computers that crunch the numbers. The entertainers are divided up by island. I scan the long list of human flesh. Jill Winters, current status: absent without leave, this is her.

She is indentured, the debt isn’t for her body, she is paying off a student loan and a lawsuit for accidentally damaging a drone. This doesn’t mean that she is completely natural, but it makes me hope. This revelation raises a question: she had only been here for a few weeks, why would she run away?

I keep perusing the file. She has a healthy number of infractions and a few good reviews from happy customers, who describe her as fun loving. Then I reach the investigator’s report regarding her having broken contract.

“On or around the above date Ms. Winters signed out to go to the Gibson center. When she did not return an internal investigation was started. Records show that she did not go to the indicated location. Her account has been completely emptied (14 tokens).

“I interviewed her coworkers. When Ms. Corri (Employee ID AHJ-995172) was questioned, she told me that Ms. Winters had been in contact with a man that she identified as an Untouchable. Ms. Corri claimed that she didn’t report this because she assumed that it was just a fling. Ms. Winters did not identify or describe this man.

“End of report.”

It wasn’t some fat cat, it was an Untouchable! This complicates things. Untouchables don’t leave paper trails, they don’t use corporate services, this makes them difficult to track.

They have dispatched what the system refers to as a retention officer, a bounty hunter. His mission is to bring her back, but he is authorized to kill her if necessary. They would lose her debt, but they would still profit from making an example out of her. I have the bounty hunter’s serial number, maybe I can use it to get a better handle on what I am dealing with.

I hear a door open and a voice ask a question.