touchscreen.
“Chi, open,” she said. Nothing happened. Oh right! She’d changed the protocol on her VRacelet. “Crudmissile, open.”
The door slid open. Cleo snickered at her own inside joke.
She went into the bathroom. The glass on the shower stall was dry, which meant Ma and Pa hadn’t showered yet this morning. They would be late for work again. Or maybe they took the day off to take Cleo and Reza to Parliament . . .
“Yeah right,” she whispered, tapping the white tiles underneath the porcelain sink. Her drawer slid out from the film-encrusted cabinet, revealing her personalized necessities for everyday life. She had a system. As much as she hated the stereotype that everyone in Clan Persia was an obsessive-compulsive, she liked having her morning routine. Normally, this meant a shower first followed by a unique application of makeup to cover a couple cheek zits, but today there was no time. Instead, she hastily swished mouthwash as she ran a brush through her snarly black hair, gathering it back in a ponytail. That would have to do.
“Reza!” she shouted down the hall. “Get. Up!”
The mirror began beeping in reminder, accompanied by a little blinking light in the lower left hand corner. “Thank you,” she murmured, blowing onto the red light. Green text appeared on the bottom of the mirror:
PLEASE WAIT.
“No rush,” Cleo said, grabbing her pair of contacts from the little case in her drawer. She popped them in while the mirror continued profiling her DNA data. “Crudmissile: lens power on.”
A little targeting reticule appeared on her face in the mirror. Transparent light-emitting diodes turned each contact lens into a computer screen. Her lenses and her VRacelet exchanged packets of data. Blue words appeared beside her reflection:
NAME: CLEOPATRA KASHANI
CLAN PERSIA
18 YEARS OLD
“Crudmissile: ID system off.”
The diodes inside her lenses stopped projecting the words. Her reflection stared back at her, shoulders slumped, bags under eyes, hair just a little too frizzy. She didn’t need her contacts on to notice that her normally beautiful brown skin just didn’t have the same golden glow without a good shower. What these contacts needed was a program that taught them how to hide blemishes.
Her contact lenses had a wireless chip inside them that transmitted information to the VRacelet. The VRacelet could take commands and transmit them to the lenses, but it needed a name to differentiate between commands and regular conversation. Otherwise, the user might be talking to a boyfriend and say the wrong word and then (wham!) all of a sudden another friend’s personal social network profile is blotting out his cute face.
Any name could be used to send commands. Most people stuck with the standard “Chi.” Cleo chose “Crudmissile” for sole purpose of making her classmates laugh.
Her instructor had not been amused. There had been a long discussion containing key phrases like “VRacelets are not toys” and “what if you forget while you’re being chased by Specters?” and “Blah blah blah technology should be respected.”
The green words at the bottom of the mirror changed:
DNA SCAN COMPLETE. NO ANOMALIES DETECTED.
“Fantastic,” she said, bounding out of the bathroom. She speed-walked to the end of the hall and pounded on her brother’s door. “Reza! Did you hear me? We’ve gotta go NOW!”
Her brother gave a muffled response. She tapped the button beside the door.
Locked.
“Reza, you’re not smart enough to keep me locked out!” she shouted, flicking her VRacelet left. The scanning tool reappeared. She scanned the button beside her brother’s door. It took a snapshot of the code, then sent it directly to Cleo’s personal cryptography program. In the blink of an eye, the door whooshed open.
Reza was sitting at his computer terminal, dressed in his Ecosuit and slumped in his chair. His shades were drawn. Unlike Cleo’s shades, Reza’s were currently
“Chi, open,” she said. Nothing happened. Oh right! She’d changed the protocol on her VRacelet. “Crudmissile, open.”
The door slid open. Cleo snickered at her own inside joke.
She went into the bathroom. The glass on the shower stall was dry, which meant Ma and Pa hadn’t showered yet this morning. They would be late for work again. Or maybe they took the day off to take Cleo and Reza to Parliament . . .
“Yeah right,” she whispered, tapping the white tiles underneath the porcelain sink. Her drawer slid out from the film-encrusted cabinet, revealing her personalized necessities for everyday life. She had a system. As much as she hated the stereotype that everyone in Clan Persia was an obsessive-compulsive, she liked having her morning routine. Normally, this meant a shower first followed by a unique application of makeup to cover a couple cheek zits, but today there was no time. Instead, she hastily swished mouthwash as she ran a brush through her snarly black hair, gathering it back in a ponytail. That would have to do.
“Reza!” she shouted down the hall. “Get. Up!”
The mirror began beeping in reminder, accompanied by a little blinking light in the lower left hand corner. “Thank you,” she murmured, blowing onto the red light. Green text appeared on the bottom of the mirror:
PLEASE WAIT.
“No rush,” Cleo said, grabbing her pair of contacts from the little case in her drawer. She popped them in while the mirror continued profiling her DNA data. “Crudmissile: lens power on.”
A little targeting reticule appeared on her face in the mirror. Transparent light-emitting diodes turned each contact lens into a computer screen. Her lenses and her VRacelet exchanged packets of data. Blue words appeared beside her reflection:
NAME: CLEOPATRA KASHANI
CLAN PERSIA
18 YEARS OLD
“Crudmissile: ID system off.”
The diodes inside her lenses stopped projecting the words. Her reflection stared back at her, shoulders slumped, bags under eyes, hair just a little too frizzy. She didn’t need her contacts on to notice that her normally beautiful brown skin just didn’t have the same golden glow without a good shower. What these contacts needed was a program that taught them how to hide blemishes.
Her contact lenses had a wireless chip inside them that transmitted information to the VRacelet. The VRacelet could take commands and transmit them to the lenses, but it needed a name to differentiate between commands and regular conversation. Otherwise, the user might be talking to a boyfriend and say the wrong word and then (wham!) all of a sudden another friend’s personal social network profile is blotting out his cute face.
Any name could be used to send commands. Most people stuck with the standard “Chi.” Cleo chose “Crudmissile” for sole purpose of making her classmates laugh.
Her instructor had not been amused. There had been a long discussion containing key phrases like “VRacelets are not toys” and “what if you forget while you’re being chased by Specters?” and “Blah blah blah technology should be respected.”
The green words at the bottom of the mirror changed:
DNA SCAN COMPLETE. NO ANOMALIES DETECTED.
“Fantastic,” she said, bounding out of the bathroom. She speed-walked to the end of the hall and pounded on her brother’s door. “Reza! Did you hear me? We’ve gotta go NOW!”
Her brother gave a muffled response. She tapped the button beside the door.
Locked.
“Reza, you’re not smart enough to keep me locked out!” she shouted, flicking her VRacelet left. The scanning tool reappeared. She scanned the button beside her brother’s door. It took a snapshot of the code, then sent it directly to Cleo’s personal cryptography program. In the blink of an eye, the door whooshed open.
Reza was sitting at his computer terminal, dressed in his Ecosuit and slumped in his chair. His shades were drawn. Unlike Cleo’s shades, Reza’s were currently
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