Page 39 of Coldwire
“Okay,” I allow. “Lead the way.”
We leave the table, bringing our cups to the collection trolley. The hostess waves goodbye, and I return the gesture, dispensing a tip at the doorthrough my display. We step onto the street, me trailing slightly behind Kieren. His backpack came with him, but I’m terribly lacking. I hope Hailey returned my suitcase to the girls’ dorms. I’m going to be mad if Headmaster Murray sent it off to get recycled.
“It’s just around here,” Kieren announces. “This one.”
I’m browsing the online marketplace while I follow Kieren up to a low-rise building, its lobby bustling with some upscale event. Attendees dressed in suits and gowns pour through the glass door with us, waiting for the large elevator to arrive. I select a toothbrush, then a set of cotton pajamas, and complete the purchase.
“Wedding?” Kieren asks the group waiting at our side.
They turn from their chatter, perking up with intrigue. I wasn’t looking closely at any pedestrian faces while I wandered in from the embankment; nor did I pay anyone particular attention in the dim café, save for Kieren, whose face I know rather well. Here, though, under the golden lights of the building atrium, I suddenly feel the need to sidle out of view, put a hat over my head and pull it low.
“Corporate event,” one woman answers, smiling. “You coming?”
I’ve seen Medaluo’s cosmetic adjustment filters on the feed. I’ve seen the pictures, the videos. It’s still astonishing to encounter it in person, the symmetrical chins and the white teeth and the perfectly curved noses. Without thinking about what I’m doing, I’m checking if I’ve been given access to the filter adjustment sliders, but mine are still blanked. Tourist pass. Ugh.
“No,” I contribute before Kieren can decide this is an opportunity. “We’re unaffiliated.”
The elevator doors slide open. We step in with the corporate partygoers, jamming into the tight space. Kieren casts me a look to ask why I steered him away, and I return his expression. I’m right behind a tall man—height isn’t adjustable, but the dip of his shoulders likely is, the exact slope of his neck. At the fourth floor, the elevator doors open, and I’m distracted enough that Kieren has to grab my elbow, extracting me with him.
“We missed out on free drinks, Ward,” Kieren says after the doors thud closed.
“I can’t believe it,” I say, clearly fixated on another topic. “What must it be like to not have pores anymore?”
Kieren puts his hands in his pockets. My glare suddenly turns on him.
“I guess you wouldn’t know.”
“Hey,” he protests. “I have pores.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble. “Where’s check-in?”
Kieren blinks for his display. “Self check-in. The website says it’ll activate when we reach the fourth floor…. Okay, here we go. I’m browsing, I’m browsing…”
He trails off. A few seconds later, he’s still frozen.
I tap my foot. “Are you holding your breath? Do you need CPR?”
“Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he fires back, resuming his normal respiration. “I’m only seeing one room available.”
“Just get it,” I say. “We can share the space.”
“Are you sure? There’s another hotel ten minutes away. That might be larger. This one only has two floors.”
I resist the urge to sigh, to slam my forehead repeatedly into the wall, not because of what Kieren is saying but because this day has been so long, and as far as my body is aware, it’s still morning. I would love to check in and take a shower and not feel like the grubbiest person in the entirety of upcountry Upsie. Maybe sit for a minute, moisturize my various pores, and finally initiate the next course of action to take us into our posting properly.
“I already ordered stuff to this hotel.”
Kieren’s eyes focus. “Why would you…? Oh, you dropped your suitcase. How did you drop—”
“Get the room!”I hiss.
“Fine!” His brow twitches. He’s made the selection. “Room 408. It’s right ahead.”
Another notification appears at the side of my display to confirm thatKieren has shared a key card with me. Someone’s leaving their room down the corridor, so we get our act together, smiling primly while the man walks through and heads for the elevator. He barely looks our way, eyes glazed for his display. The moment he disappears into the elevator, I stride along the thin carpeting, searching until I spot 408 in golden cursive adorning a plain black door.
The handle turns smoothly under my palm, a cool puff of air-conditioning caressing my cheek as soon as I shoulder through. On an automated setting, the soft lights come on and the red curtains draw apart, revealing the lower-level views of the city at night. The dark picture glows with busyness, even at this hour. Drones zip up and down the street, perfectly visible at hotel window height, blinking yellow, blue, pink, to signal their task. The television fixed on the wall starts to speak to welcome its guests, and I wave my hand to shut it up. My eyes pivot, finding the interactive wardrobe, the color-changing lamp… and the one bed.
“Wait—”
