The Artificial Mirage Read Free Page B

indicated on the clunky gray pad. The officer nodded and indicated with her right arm like a doorwoman at a five-star hotel that Charlie was free to leave.
    The heavily tinted sliding glass doors opened gently, and he was hit with the afternoon light. It was an overcast day, like it was just about to rain, but it still felt painfully bright to him after being underground for three months. He walked down the stone steps, and no one seemed to notice.
    The air felt crisp. He crossed the street to walk through the park. When he got to the opposite curb, he put on his AR glasses and tapped the left frame three times to turn them on. The world came alive. Everything was vividly accessible and understandable. The girls who were dancing in the park had their likes and dislikes and fuzzy bears and photos of friends swirling around them. Most of it was in Vietnamese, but it didn’t matter because it was pulsing with life. Even the trees, which had just a moment ago been brownish trunks with limp greenish leaves tinged with soot, were spewing out their scientific names and photos comparing them with other trees; distended fragments of thought were hanging suspended around them as virtual graffiti awaiting virtual dissolution from the park manager. There was a 3-D holographic rendition of a row of 1950s-esque robots circling one of the trees and marching in place. Throughout the park, people were scattered in large and small clusters moving at different speeds. Some had web profiles and professional association memberships embossed on rippling clear scrolls of glass the length of their bodies floating around them; it was very expensive programming meant to impress. Three older men were taking turns with bows and arrows in a traditional AR archery match, while some young boys were chasing each other around and weaving through the clusters of people with AR crossbows. The world was finally beginning to feel user-friendly again.
    As he walked through the city, the ads that targeted his profile seemed more and more inappropriate to his current status. A new season of upgraded chips came flurrying down like snow, and the latest Burberry nanofiber neck scarves that purported to be “softer than silk” sliced into his path and flew around like runaway kites. A herd of zebras looking up in the sky drew hisattention to his daily scheduled reminder, which appeared in blue metallic script against the gray sky:
    Poverty is a state of mind
    After following a green AR mist down several nameless alleys, he checked into Motel Green, an indistinguishable section of unpainted concrete with its name hovering in a green sphere above the entrance. The solar cells on the roof were large and bulky and protruded over the alley, keeping it in the shade. An old Vietnamese man with a white cane and a green three-piece suit sat in a lounge chair in the lobby, playing fetch with a blue AR poodle while a solitary cleaning bot meticulously swept the worn but already clean floor tiles.
    Charlie plunged into one of the large black lounge chairs embedded with gel ampoules. The green light above carried the iconic Motel Green soundtrack that began with the welcome menu. He flicked through the menu and purchased three nights and twelve hours of AC with his only available account. The solar cells had probably finished paying for themselves long ago, but the hotel still charged for AC like it was an expense. He looked at the man playing with the dog and recalled how in the past he might have created a larger dog to attack it. Instead, he observed the man with his creation, happily oblivious to him and the rest of the world. He grabbed his bag and started walking up the stairs to his room. A message icon popped up as he reached the third floor. It was Tonya. She was still using the Chi intro page with the horses being chased by tigers.
    Reservations at X Voyage @7
    What could she want? Had she been arrested too? The isolation from people and the destruction of Chi was