The Future Was Now

by J. R. Harber

  “Archival footage for what date?”

  Good question.

  “One week ago,” he said at random. “I just want to confirm something.”

  “Acknowledge.”

  The screen split into quarters again, the sidewalk feed remaining in the top right corner. The rest of the screens filled with the mirrorlike solar panels. The cameras circled the building slowly, blinded now and then by the reflection of the sun. It was impossible to see what levels they were at, and nothing but the glare ever crossed the screen.

  Gabriel’s phone sounded, and he picked it up without looking at the screen. “Gabriel Ward.”

  “Gabriel? Where are you?” Joan asked.

  “Viewing booths,” he said and ended the call, his eyes still on the screens. A few minutes later she knocked on the door.

  “Open door,” Gabriel said, and the screen went blank. Then the door opened and Joan stepped in. “Put the drone feeds back up, please,” Gabriel said wearily.

  “New authorization voice print required, Gabriel Ward.”

  “Authorization voice print Joan Ward,” Joan said quickly, and the screen came back on. “What are we looking at?” she asked Gabriel.

  “You got here fast,” he remarked, and she held up a folded piece of paper.

  “I copied the schematic,” she said, and he chuckled. “What?” she demanded.

  “Nothing. I did something similar when I was new. Get a chair. Come look at this.”

  “What is it?” she asked, pulling over a high stool. When she sat down, she was a little taller than he was.

  “It’s all the drone feeds from Daniel Horizon’s building. The top right is a live feed. I moved the drone to show the entrance, but look at the rest. This is the usual view.”

  “There’s only three? And the reflection … was he the one who had the building sculpted that way?”

  “Let’s find out.” Gabriel glanced at her. “Go get a portable viewer. I want to leave the drones up. We’ll take a look at the layout of his apartment too—it’s the penthouse.”

  Joan rolled her eyes. “Of course it is. I’ll be right back,” she said. “Open door.” As the door slid open, she unfolded her homemade map again.

  “Switch all drones to the live feed, please,” Gabriel said. “The one I just moved, Sigma-487.”

  The front door and sidewalk of the building filled the screen, and he sat back to watch. No one had come or gone when Joan returned with two portable viewers. They were smaller versions of the main screen, with thin cords that plugged them into the booth’s database.

  “Two?” Gabriel asked, and she shrugged.

  “You look at the pictures. I’ll read up on known associates.”

  “I know all that backward and forward,” Gabriel said absently.

  “Then I should too,” Joan said in the pleasant, unbending tone he was growing familiar with.

  “Pay attention to the girl,” Gabriel said. “I haven’t given her much thought, but she’s the first thing Daniel’s been willing to get locked up for. She’s got to matter to him. And see if the farmer has any connection to either of them.”

  Joan looked surprised but hid it quickly.

  “I’m not sidelining you, Joan,” he said. “Naomi once said I had the welcoming spirit of a steamroller, but that doesn’t mean I’m unaware of your contributions. You might see something I’ve missed.”

  “That’s practically a compliment. Could you write it down? I’d like to frame it,” Joan said wryly. But her face was flushed.

  “Find the farmer and look closer at the girl,” Gabriel said, turning his attention back to the drones.

  Several hours later, Gabriel had repositioned the other two drones and was using them the best he could. He had first tried to requisition more drones for the area, but Daniel’s interference, whatever he had done, blocked Gabriel’s request. All he could do was move around the ones that were already there. What Daniel had not been able to do was block the drones’ life-sign capture: as long as Gabriel brought them close enough to the walls, he could tell how many people were in the apartment and roughly where they were.

  It made it impossible to capture pure images at the same time—everything in the drone’s eyeline showed up as a flat, monochrome blue, with living beings appearing in blurry red silhouette. But Daniel had already rendered the image-capture useless with the mirrorlike façade of the building, so Gabriel made the switch and began scanning the walls of the penthouse. After a painstaking search, he had managed to discern one person in what the schematics claimed was the bedroom and another on the far side of the house, close to the wall. The one in the bedroom hadn’t moved at all; the other one kept pacing, then stopping in the same place.

  “Do you have anything?” Gabriel asked, and Joan looked up from her screen, rubbing her neck. “You can adjust the screen height,” he added as she stretched.

  “I know,” she said. “I meant to—I got distracted. I don’t know if I have anything. I can’t find Asa anywhere he shouldn’t be. Born in Rosewood, turned twenty-one two days ago, bought a rail pass to Horizon the next day, got detained—by you and me.”

  “That’s it?”

  “There’s one thing,” Joan said. “But I don’t know if it’s relevant.”

  “Everything’s relevant.” Gabriel looked back at the drones. Nothing had changed.

  “There’s a medical report from eleven years ago. He fell off a bridge.”

  “When he was ten?”

  “A bridge over a river.”

  “What?” Gabriel turned, giving her his full attention. “Don’t play for suspense. Tell me what happened.”

  “He was playing with some friends, showing off, and he fell off the bridge into about twenty feet of water. He was completely submerged. The doctor followed protocol, disinfected him, burned his clothes, but …”

  “You can’t burn the Bug out of someone’s brain once it’s in there. They’re sure he was submerged?”

  “Three witnesses, four if you count him. Anyway, he just … survived. Nothing happened. No signs of brain damage, ever. No fever, no dementia—no physical or mental symptoms at all. After a month or so they ended the isolation. He’s been perfectly healthy ever since.”

  Gabriel sat back, looking thoughtfully at her. “You’re right, I don’t know if that’s relevant. There have always been rumors of people who survive. It’s remarkable, but it’s got nothing to do with what we’re looking for. Okay, forget Asa for the moment.”

  “Gabriel, he’s right there!”

  Joan pointed at the wall screen, and Gabriel flipped the sidewalk feed to fill the screen. He maneuvered the drone, circling above the young man who stood at the door, apparently struck by the building’s appearance. Asa peered closely at the wall, then moved back to take it in from a distance. He looked up at the shining sculpture, exposing his face unmistakably to the drone.

  Asa Isaac Rosewood had come to visit Daniel Horizon.

  Asa double-checked the address—47BQ9J—then took a few steps back from the building and stared. There was no door beneath the address, but that barely registered as he gazed upward. The whole neighborhood was packed with the fantastical “sculpture” buildings, but this one towered over all the others.

  It seemed to be made from enormous slabs of glass, raggedly cut and stacked so thickly that the walls they made were iridescent but opaque. The top was a rough, unsettling peak; it was hard to tell how the slabs of glass came together. Asa walked down the street, then back up again, trying to take it all in. The sun was setting, and the west-facing wall appeared almost to be on fire, the light shimmering, glinting shades of orange and pink off the jagged surface. From a distance it would be alarming.

  The high-pitched noise of his phone emanated from his pocket, and he reached for it, his eyes still on the mesmerizing play of light. He answered without looking at the name on the screen.

  “This is Asa,” he said.

  “Are you going to come upstairs or stand there
gawking like you’ve never seen plasmonic solar panels before?” Eve’s voice came cheerfully from the device.

  “I’ve … never seen them look like this,” Asa said. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Yeah. It is.” Eve sounded thoughtful. “Anyway, go to the door so I can let you in,” she ended the call.

  “Okay,” Asa said.

  He hurried to the front of the building. Just as he arrived back at 47BQ9J, a panel slid open, revealing a wide lobby. He hurried through the opening.

  “You Horizon people really like hidden doors,” he muttered.

  “Invisible doors prevent the functions of the building from interfering with the aesthetic lines of the sculpture,” an autom replied, and he jumped.

  “Um, thanks. I’m supposed to go upstairs, I think? I’m meeting Eve … Layla Ashland,” he said.

  “Your name?”

  Asa sighed. “Asa Isaac Rosewood,” he said, already sick of the ritual of repeating his full name every time he wanted to do anything.

  “You are expected,” the autom said.

  “Great.”

  He looked around; the space was empty. The floors were pale blue, and the glass was transparent from inside. At the back of the lobby, it billowed out from the rest of the building, creating a low roof, and he walked over to the area. Through the ceiling, he had an unobstructed view of the sky.

  “Though light pollution prevents true stargazing, our residents enjoy …” the autom said.

  “Yeah, nice,” he interrupted. “You said I’m expected. Can you tell me how to get where I’m going?”

  “The elevators are along the west-facing wall.”

  The wall was blank. Asa opened his mouth to object, then stopped. “Right. Invisible doors, aesthetic lines. Can you open it?”

  A panel slid open, revealing an elevator, and Asa hurried to it, almost running. As soon as he was inside, the door slid shut, and the elevator car shot upward so fast his stomach lurched. It stopped smoothly and the door opened. Asa didn’t move right away, still a little stunned from the ride.

  “Are you all right?” Eve asked, appearing in the doorway like a vision.

  She wore a short sleeveless dress of rich, bright green that made her dark eyes seem to glow. Or maybe that was just the way her eyes always looked. Asa swallowed.

  “Yeah. Yes. Fast elevator.”

  She laughed. “The first time I rode it I almost got sick,” she said and held out her arm. “Come on, let me show you around.”

  Asa took her arm and followed as she showed him into the living room, a wide, open space with two couches facing back to back, one into the room and one looking out at the transparent wall. From here he could probably see the whole city. Asa took it in, trying to pay attention to something other than her skin beneath his fingers; he could feel her pulse as if it were his own.

  “Eve,” he said, his voice coming out hoarse. She turned to him with a radiant smile, and words failed on the tip of his tongue. “I …”

  “Asa, I’m so glad you could come.” A man strode into the room with a hearty greeting, and Asa drew back, dropping his hand from Eve’s arm. It was the man who had assaulted him the night before.

  “You’re Daniel,” he said. He looked quickly back and forth between them. “What’s happening?” Asa eyed the exit. Daniel stood between him and the elevator; he was stuck.

  “Asa, wait,” Eve said. “We want to apologize for what happened last night.”

  Daniel shook his head. “Eve is too kind to me. I want to apologize for what I did last night.” He looked at Eve fondly. “Things don’t just happen by themselves, love. We’ve all got to take responsibility where we find it.”

  “You should stay for dinner,” Eve said.

  There was something pleading in her voice. Asa looked at her, not understanding, but he nodded.

  “Yeah, okay,” he said warily, half-regretting the words as he said them.

  “Good!” Daniel clapped his hands together, and Eve jumped, startled. Daniel chuckled. “Sorry, darling.” He turned to Asa. “Want anything to drink? Here, I’ll get us all something.”

  He bounded over to a cabinet across the room and took out three glasses and a bottle. He was a tall, thin man, and he moved in sudden, graceful fits of speed as he poured the drinks. It was disconcerting. Asa glanced at Eve, who gave him a faint amused smile. Daniel pressed a glass of dark blue liquid into Asa’s hand.

  “Thanks,” he said awkwardly.

  Daniel held a glass out to Eve and she reached for it, but he lifted it away with a teasing smile, holding it above her head for a second. He bent down to kiss her, and Asa cast his eyes away, embarrassed. When they broke apart, Daniel handed Eve her drink, and she sipped it without expression.

  “Asa! Let’s have a toast!” Daniel exclaimed, and Asa raised his glass, waiting as Daniel mused, seemingly to himself. “To good friends? You haven’t had enough time to decide that yet. To health? I can’t swear that … Asa! Asa, where are you from?”

  “Rosewood,” Asa said.

  “To Rosewood!” Daniel cried, raising his glass with such enthusiasm that his drink sloshed over the side.

  “To Rosewood,” Asa echoed. Eve said nothing. Asa sipped his drink, and his eyes widened. “What is this?” he asked. Daniel grinned.

  “It was a gift. Ancient recipe. Do you like it?”

  Asa nodded. His head felt light but clear. The liquor tasted like nothing he’d ever had before.

  “It’s sweet without the sweetness,” he said at last.

  Daniel laughed, delighted. “Sweet without the sweetness,” he repeated, shaking his head. “What do you think, love? Does he mean the liquor or you?”

  “Daniel,” Eve said. She sounded sad, and again Asa looked away.

  “Let’s eat,” Daniel declared and ushered them into a dining room.

  The space was beautiful but odd; the furniture seemed to be made of the same material as the building itself. In addition to the dining table and chairs, there was a long couch facing the transparent wall.

  Every room must have those, Asa thought, walking toward them.

  He peered out cautiously, feeling as if he might fall through the clear barrier. It was dark now, and lights were on all over the city. It looked a little like the night sky, seen from the other side.

  “Asa?” He turned at the sound of Eve’s voice. “Table’s over here,” she said, pointing.

  The table was set for three with white-and-silver place settings, and Asa noted another bottle of what appeared to be the same dark blue liquor.

  “Your home is really nice,” Asa said, remembering his manners.

  “Thanks,” Eve said. “It’s Daniel’s, really.”

  “What’s mine could be yours,” Daniel said lightly. “But I can’t take credit. The artists designed this one inside and out, right down to the glass in your hand.”

  Asa looked down at the glass in his hand. On closer examination, he could see that it was a little concave at the sides, not quite an ordinary glass.

  “It’s nice,” Asa said.

  “Well. Glasses, people, it’s all the same. It’s what’s inside that counts!”

  Daniel grabbed the bottle on the table and refilled his own glass, then glanced at Asa and Eve, who both shook their heads. Eve set her glass on the table and crossed the room to a bare wall.

  “Is dinner ready?” she asked.

  “Yes, Eve,” an autom replied, and a panel in the wall slid open, revealing a number of covered dishes on a narrow counter.

  “Thank you,” Eve said.

  She went back to the table and sat down. Daniel went to the counter, grabbed two dishes, and set them on the table. Asa stepped over to help, but by the time he got there, Daniel had transferred everything himself.

  “Sit!” Daniel said, gesturing expansively.

  He sat down across from Eve, leaving Asa the chair next to hers. Asa sat, feeling for the sixteenth time as if he were walking into a trap.

  “Everyone,
take what you like,” Daniel instructed, removing the covers from the dishes, and Asa was glad to see that they contained food he mostly recognized. He took a spoonful of each and sat down, watching his hosts for cues. “Asa, tell me what brings you to Horizon,” Daniel said, and Asa swallowed a bite of what he was fairly sure was chicken.

  “I just wanted to get away from Rosewood,” he said, then hesitated. “Sorry, that sounds like there was something wrong with Rosewood. There wasn’t. It’s a great place—I just wanted to see something new. Something bigger.”

  “Me too,” Eve said.

  “Right,” Asa said, relieved that she was finally joining the conversation. “I was surprised to see your name was Ashland—I guess I expected Horizon. You seem so … sophisticated.” He glanced nervously at Daniel, who winked.

  “Don’t worry, Asa. Eve would be a polished gem if she’d been raised in mud. I can’t blame you for seeing that.”

  “Daniel, what does that even mean?” Eve protested, but her cheeks were flushed, and her tone was light. It was the first sign of affection she’d shown for him, and Asa felt a stab of jealousy, then regret.

  It’s not as if I would want her to be unhappy, he reproached himself.

  “Ashland is practically Horizon,” Eve said, turning her attention to Asa.

  “Everyone from Ashland says that,” Daniel interjected. “Everyone from Horizon disagrees.”

  Eve gave him a dirty look. “It’s just barely outside the city. I moved to Horizon proper when I was seventeen, me and my brother.”

  “Just the two of you?”

  “Our parents died in an accident,” Eve said. Her voice was detached, placid. “Saul was twenty-four, so he was my guardian until I turned twenty-one. You know how the communities are. So small—everyone knows you from the day you’re born.”

  Asa nodded vigorously.

  “We couldn’t take it,” she went on. “Every moment of every day, every person we saw was trying to offer us help, sympathy, comfort—if we’d stayed, I’d have been stuck with sixty replacement mothers, and Saul would have been married to everyone’s favorite daughter. It was all out of kindness—but it was too much.”