Kat opened her eyes. I fell asleep for a while and woke up to find her staring up at the ceiling as if she were counting each little pockmark on the tiles. When I leaped up and grabbed hold of her, I knew right away that something was wrong. Kat didn’t hug back or push me away. She didn’t say anything, either, though I’m sure I was blubbering. When I released her, she gurgled and sank back on the pillows. Her head came to rest at an awkward angle, and her eyes, which had been staring at the ceiling so intently, were examining the blanket instead.
The nurse popped her head in and then summoned an army of doctors, who promptly kicked me out of the room.
An hour has passed. Nurses with equipment are still entering and leaving. Finally the neurologist on duty comes out to speak to me. I recognize Dr. Ito from the Brockenhurst Country Club. It helps that her lab coat is the same color as her tennis whites.
“You’re Irene Eaton’s son,” she says.
That’s the biggest downside of the kishka. Like a giant birthmark or a second head, it renders me unforgettable.
“Yes,” I tell her. There isn’t any point in denying it. I’m sure they gossip about my family all the time at the country club. Poor Irene Eaton, they must say. How did she end up with a nutjob cybercriminal for a son? “I’m a friend of Kat’s. Can you tell me what’s wrong with her?”
She seems a bit reluctant to share, so I take out the form that Kat’s mother signed. “I’m a friend of the family.”
Dr. Ito nods. “Katherine has sustained significant damage to a part of the brain stem called the pons,” she tells me. “The condition is called cerebromedullospinal disconnection, and—”
“I’m sorry. Cerebro what?”
She smiles patiently. “The layman’s term is locked-in syndrome.”
I look past her, into the room where Kat lies motionless on the bed. “Is that like a coma?”
This time the doctor shakes her head. “Only in the sense that Katherine is unable to move. But her EEG shows normal brain activity. That tells us she’s fully conscious and her mind is locked inside a body that is unable to function. While medical science has gotten good at fixing bodies, we haven’t made quite as much progress when it comes to repairing the brain.”
I can’t breathe. The muscles in my legs go limp and I plop down in a chair near the nurses’ station. “Will she recover?”
“I’m afraid it’s highly unlikely,” the doctor informs me. “I wish I had better news. I’m very sorry, I was due in the OR ten minutes ago. Will you please excuse me?”
I try to grab her arm as she leaves, but my timing is off and I catch nothing but air. I fall to my knees and stay there while everything crashes down around me.
It takes every bit of courage I can muster to return to Kat’s room. She’s lying perfectly still, her eyes staring up at a different patch of ceiling. If what Dr. Ito says is true, the Kat I’ve always known is a prisoner inside a broken body. For a girl who grew up running wild through the woods, nothing could be worse. Creatures like Kat don’t survive being confined to a cage.
I lean down close to her face. “Hey,” I whisper, my lips brushing her ear. “You’re going to get better. I’ll be right here until you do.” But the words coming out of my mouth sound phony. I have to step out of the room again until I can find a way to believe them.
It’s lunchtime, and my mother is sitting across from me in the hospital’s basement cafeteria. Her buddy Dr. Ito must have told her where to find me. The lighting down here is so bad that it’s hard to distinguish the sick from the healthy. Even my mother looks green. I take a monstrous bite of a tuna fish sandwich. The stench reminds me of cat food.
“I’m going back upstairs as soon as I eat this,” I inform her. “Where’s Dad?”
“On his way to London,” she says. “I’d be with him right now if it weren’t for you.”
I used to wonder if my mother had any idea how awful she sounds when she says shit like that. Now I don’t care.
“Oh, I’m sure there’s still time to catch the red-eye,” I tell her. “Don’t let me keep you.”
My mother ignores me. “The girl who’s hurt,” she says. “It’s the same one? The one you drove down from school to visit?”
It’s a stupid thing to ask. “Do I have any other friends?” I say. Like she’d actually know the answer.
“I’m sorry about what happened, Simon. But I’ve been told your friend may not get better for quite some time. You can’t stay here in the hospital and miss school.”
I laugh, though it’s purely for effect. I find none of this even remotely funny. “I’m eighteen years old. School is optional.”
“Perhaps, but you’re not a member of the girl’s family. The hospital won’t let you stay in her room.”
She’s been underestimating me since kindergarten. You’d think she’d have learned her lesson by now. “You seem to forget that I’m the spawn of two lawyers. Surely you’re familiar with the federal government’s hospital visitation guidelines.” I pull the form Kat’s mom signed out of the back pocket of my jeans and pass it across the table. My mother delicately removes a glob of mayonnaise from the paper with a napkin before she unfolds it and reads.
When she looks up and hands the sheet back to me, I can tell she still doesn’t know I’ve won. “All right, so the law allows you to stay. But I don’t. You’re coming home with me, Simon.”
“Or else?” I ask.
Her pretty little nostrils flare as she takes a deep breath. “What do you mean, ‘or else’?”
“I mean you’d better have something amazing to threaten me with if you want me to leave.”
“I can call your probation officer right now and inform him that you’ve expanded your criminal repertoire to include credit card fraud.”
“Go right ahead,” I tell her. “And I’ll tell everyone in this fancy-ass town who you really are.”
She raises her perfectly sculpted eyebrows and laughs. She has no idea that her secret is out. “And who exactly is that, Simon?”
“The Kishka’s daughter,” I say, my eyes locked on hers.
She’s silent. I’ve got her. This is literally one of the best moments of my life, and I want to savor every last second of it. The fluorescent light over our heads begins to flicker on cue, lending the scene a delightful horror-film quality.
“Do you think they’ll all still admire you after they’ve seen pictures of your original nose?” I ask. “Do you think they’ll gossip about how your father found the funds to pay your tuition to Harvard? Or maybe they’ll question whether you deserved to be admitted in the first place?”
“That’s enough,” she snaps. Her expression has shifted from shock to outrage. “You’re a little shit, Simon.”
“No, I’m a Kishka,” I tell her. “Just like my grandfather.” I lean over the table until my nose is inches away from hers. “Did you really think you’d get away with it?”
I’m back in my chair in Kat’s room, pretending to have a little after-lunch nap with a blanket pulled over my head. I hear people come in, but when I open my eyes, all I see is a golden light shining through a matrix of white wool. There are three of them in the room—Dr. Ito and two men. I don’t recognize the guys’ voices. I inch the blanket down until I can see them. They’re all bent over Kat’s bed like they’re playing Operation. The two men aren’t very old. Probably in their late twenties, early thirties. Their shirts are untucked and they’re both wearing jeans and sneakers.
“You’re right. She’s an ideal candidate,” one of them says.
“It’ll be a real shame to shave such a pretty head,” the other jokes.
“Don’t touch her hair.” I throw off the blanket and the three visitors jump.
“You’re awake,” Dr. Ito says with a sigh. I’m sure she was hoping my mother would drag my ass out of the hospital.
“Hey there,” says one of the men. He comes over to greet me with a friendly smile and an outstretched hand. “Sorry to bother you. My name’s Martin—”
“What’s going on?” I demand.
“We’re doing our best to help your friend,” Dr. Ito says. “Are we finished here?” she asks the two men.
“Yeah, I think so,” says the man still standing by Kat’s bedside. He makes a few quick notes on a tablet. “The nurse will let us know when she’s been prepped?”
“Certainly,” Dr. Ito answers. “Now, will you excuse us, gentlemen? I need to have a word with this young man.”
They don’t need to be asked twice. The men file out of the room, their eyes averted. When they’re gone, the neurologist turns to face me.
“Who were those guys?” I ask her.
She crosses her arms and smiles, one gesture negating the other. “Katherine is a very lucky girl. Those men are engineers from the Company. They’ve designed a device that can help people with her condition. They’re looking for patients to take part in a beta test.”
“Wait.” Did I hear her right? “Are you saying those guys are from the Company?”
“What other Company is there?” Dr. Ito asks. “They work for Milo Yolkin.”
I once watched a TED Talk filmed at the Company’s headquarters in Princeton where Milo told the story behind his business’s name. I guess it started off as a joke between friends. All the giant tech corporations had stupid, cutesy or gibberish names, so Milo went the opposite way with his little start-up. For the first couple of years, the financial press called the Company a dog, but then the organization kept on expanding until it became the beast it is now. There are a lot of people out there today who no longer find the name all that funny. A future in which there’s only one all-powerful Company doesn’t seem totally preposterous anymore.
I had no clue that the Company was making medical equipment, but I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised. They do everything else. I’ve even heard rumors that Milo Yolkin personally wrote most of the code for the new Otherworld—in his spare time. If he’s able to do something like that on his own, the Company is capable of anything.
“What kind of device have they invented?” I ask Dr. Ito. “How does it work?”
“You’ll have to ask the engineers,” the doctor says with a chuckle. “I may be a brain surgeon, but I’m afraid it’s all way too complicated for me.”
I glance over at Kat again, and when I turn back to the doctor, she’s whisking through the door, her white lab coat flaring out behind her like a cape.
Maybe she was joking, but I take Dr. Ito’s suggestion very seriously. In a heartbeat I set out to look for the Company engineers. For the first time in forever, I’m experiencing something that feels like hope. My heart is racing and my palms are damp. If Milo Yolkin has focused his brainpower on helping people like Kat, she might actually have a chance.
Fortunately, the engineers haven’t gone very far. They’re chatting near the nurses’ station right outside Kat’s room. The one named Martin is carrying a black plastic suitcase. Who knows what’s inside it? Pills, needles, gadgets—it makes no difference to me. If there’s even the slimmest chance that he’s going to help Kat, I will worship at his sneaker-clad feet.
There’s no reason for them to share information with me, and I am fully prepared to grovel. But Martin sees me approaching and smiles.
“Hey. Sorry about just now,” he says, sounding sincere. “I didn’t mean to be insensitive. Hospitals still make me nervous. By the way, this is my colleague, Todd.”
“Hey there,” says the other guy, raising a hand.
“Simon,” I say. “May I speak with you guys for a moment?”
They consult each other with a quick glance. “Sure,” says Martin, and I gesture for them to follow me back to Kat’s room.
“So is Katherine Foley your girlfriend?” Todd asks once we’re all inside.
“Yes,” I tell him. Then I remember she can hear what we’re saying. “I mean we’re friends. And she’s female.”
“Clearly,” says Todd in a tone I don’t appreciate.
Martin just nods. “We’re really sorry about what happened to her.”
He actually sounds like he means it, but I don’t have time to waste on small talk or sympathy. “This therapy you’ve developed for patients with Kat’s condition. I’d like to know more about it.”
Martin puts the suitcase on top of the tray at the end of Kat’s bed and cracks it open. The interior of the case is black foam, with custom compartments carved out. If this were a movie, there would be an unassembled sniper’s rifle inside. But this case contains a thin, dark visor and a circle of flesh-colored plastic.
I move in closer. They don’t seem to mind. “What is it?” The visor is interesting, but I’ve never seen anything like the plastic circle before.
“The hardware doesn’t have an official name yet,” says Martin. “That’s how new it is. Right now, we’re just calling it the disk. The guy who designed the software used to call it the White City. Run his software on our hardware and you’ve got the next generation of virtual reality.”
My heart sinks. Virtual reality makes for great games, but it isn’t going to cure anything.
“Did you just say next generation?” Todd scoffs. “Give me a break. It’s a quantum leap forward.” He looks over at me. “Our labs are always five to seven years ahead of consumer release. We generally stagger innovation to maximize profits. But this time the tech is too important. The boss doesn’t want commerce to keep it away from the people who need it.”
“The boss. You mean Milo Yolkin?” He’s not even here, and yet I suddenly feel like I’m in the presence of a divine being.
“What other boss could I mean?” Todd says with a laugh that almost seems bitter. “The Company is Milo’s kingdom. Though I think he prefers Otherworld these days.”
I get the feeling Todd isn’t Milo’s biggest fan. I suppose it must be hard working for one of the world’s greatest geniuses—especially an infamous micromanager who’s known for personally overseeing every Company project.
“I actually played the new Otherworld with Kat this weekend,” I tell them. Was it really this weekend? It feels like it’s been forever.
“And you made it out of your bedroom?” Martin jokes. “I’ve heard the Otherworld headset app is so addictive there are twenty-year-old guys buying cases of Depends so they don’t need to waste any time in the real world.”
“Yeah.” Todd nods. “They say sales of Soylent are going through the roof too. Do you think it would be insider trading if I bought a few shares of the company?”
Martin shrugs. “Not my wheelhouse,” he says. “Ask HR.”
I tap the suitcase, trying to steer the conversation back on track. “So this is next-generation VR hardware. You’re saying it’s more advanced than the new Otherworld headset?”
“Light-years,” Martin confirms.
“It’s our masterpiece. Martin and I have been working on it for ages,” says Todd. Then his tone shifts and I’m reminded that, despite his frat boy behavior, he works for one of the most powerful corporations on earth. “It’s going to make a real difference in people’s lives. The disk was designed for people who are unable to move on their own. It frees them from the prison of their bodies and allows them to explore a world as real as this one.” If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if he was reading off the Company’s website.
“Can I try it?” I ask.
Todd laughs. “We’d have to shave the back of your head first.” He pulls out the flesh-colored disk and holds it up. “That’s the one downside of the tech. The disk needs perfect skin adhesion.”
I thought I was pretty up-to-date on the latest advances in VR technology, but I have no idea how this could possibly work. “Skin adhesion? For what?”
“In layman’s terms? It talks to the wearer’s brain.” He registers the dumbfounded look on my face. “Didn’t you notice there are no gloves or boots in the box? We’ve gotten rid of haptic devices altogether. This is true virtual reality—not just sight, sound and touch. Tap into the brain and you can engage all five senses.”
“And maybe a few others that we don’t have names for yet,” Martin adds.
I reach for the disk and Todd hands it to me. It looks like a large version of the skin-colored nicotine patches that Linda used to wear whenever she’d try to quit smoking. “This actually communicates with people’s brains?” The engineers were right. This is wild. I’m holding a paradigm shift between my fingers.
“Yep,” Todd says, pointing at the visor that’s still in the suitcase. “The visor shows you another world, but the disk makes it real.”
“What does the person wearing it see?”
“The future,” Todd says proudly. He looks over at Martin. “Play him the video.”
Martin pulls out his phone and calls up a video. Then he hands the device to me.
On the screen a field of green-and-golden grass is swaying in a breeze. A few cottony clouds float across a blue sky. I realize it must be a park. Gleaming white towers dripping with flowering foliage surround it on all sides.
“What is this?”
“That’s where our patients go. That’s the White City.”
I bring the image closer to my eyes. It’s one hundred percent photo-realistic. “That’s not CGI,” I say. “That’s gotta be a real place.”
“What’s real anymore?” Martin laughs proudly. “We’ll pass your compliments along to our software colleagues.”
“It looks like heaven.” I’m not speaking metaphorically. It actually looks like an image you’d find on some religious cult’s website.
“Smells like heaven, too, apparently,” says Martin.
“Yeah, I don’t know. My paradise has fewer flowers and more scantily clad ladies,” Todd says. Then he winks at me. “Sorry, that was unprofessional. Don’t tell anyone I said that.”
I don’t know why, but Todd’s stupid joke sets off a brainstorm. “Wait—how many people are already in the White City?”
“At the moment, about three hundred people are taking part in the beta test,” Todd says.
“Can they talk to each other?”
“Sure, and more,” Todd says, arching an eyebrow. Apparently his mind never leaves the gutter.
“Okay, then,” I tell him. “You can shave my head. I’d like to try the disk.” I’d let them shave every inch of my body for a chance to speak to Kat.
Suddenly Todd’s fidgeting uncomfortably. I don’t think he was expecting me to take him up on the offer. “I was just kidding around about that. The disk is a prototype, and we don’t have any to spare. Plus, the boss is pretty particular about who gets a tour of the White City.”
“I need to talk to Kat,” I say, fully aware that my desperation is showing now. “Please. I’ll do anything.”
Martin puts a hand on his colleague’s shoulder. “Maybe the kid could come by the facility. As long as he doesn’t tell anyone, I can’t see how it would hurt.”
Todd clearly isn’t having it. “Nothing like that has been authorized,” he says sternly.
“Yeah, but imagine the feedback this kid could give us,” Martin argues.
“No,” Todd insists, stepping back so that Martin’s hand slips from his shoulder. “Imagine what could go wrong.”
Go wrong. I don’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean? Do things ever go wrong with the disk?” I ask.
“Of course not,” Martin assures me. “Our satisfaction rate is one hundred percent.”
“That’s right,” Todd says, his eyes locked on his partner’s. “Because we’re very careful about the patients we choose.”
Martin turns to me and shrugs apologetically. “Sorry,” he says as Todd packs up the suitcase. “I tried my best.”
And with those five words, my spark of hope is gone.
Five hours pass before anyone comes back into Kat’s room. At some point during the time I’ve been sitting here praying for something to happen, Kat’s mother must have given consent for her daughter to take part in the Company’s beta test, because the nurse who finally arrives brings a pair of clippers and a surgical razor. I watch as she shaves the back of Kat’s head. Kat’s hair is her signature. She’s always been proud of it. When the nurse lays her back down, I can’t tell the difference. But there’s a clear plastic bag filled with copper-colored curls, and the sight of it makes me nauseous.
It’s all for the best, the nurse assures me. Kat won’t mind about the hair. I wish I could believe her, but I know it’s not true.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell Kat when it’s done. I hope like hell it’s worth it.