Swiped

By Kevin C. Goins

The waking process has been successful, Mr. Lisinger, as has the series of minor surgeries. Your father should be coming around in a few minutes, and we expect a full

recovery, the nurse informed him, her pleasant demeanor scripted and cold despite her polite smile. Yet, the content of her status report was reassuring, so Matthew chose to overlook her near-robotic artificiality. He smiled appreciatively as she continued, her hands clasped in front of her in perfect professionalism: Once we have been assured his respiratory and circulatory processes have completely stabilized, then we will bring you in to see him. He will remain a bit groggy for some time until he has woken up fully, which can take up to twelve hours or so. Some measure of disorientation is to be expected, but we have found that even long-termers like him become fairly lucid in no time. With a quick, perfunctory nod, she spun away, returning through the doorway from which she came. Matthew stood, stretching his legs and taking a deep, relieved breath. Minor surgeries, he thought to himself, reflectively. The difficulty of these minor surgeries were why Dad had to have himself frozen in the first place impossible back then, but like nothing now, he marveled, wistfully, at the technological advancement made in the years since his father had been frozen. Cloned organ farming had completely revolutionized the medical sciences, allowing for further breakthroughs in other areas, including cryogenics, a field once deemed too fantastic, too unrealistic to guarantee any level of success. In his research, Matthew had noted over two thousand people had been thawed from various time periods going back to the 1950s, though some of these earliest patients had required substantial bodily reconstruction. Such was normal
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now, even routine, though the prospects of reuniting with his long-frozen father had caused a considerable amount of anxiety for Matthew himself. The two had not parted well Matthew was a rowdy teenager back then, and was far more interested in spending as little time as possible with his parents, even during the last years while emphysema had nearly finished off his fathers lungs. Now, with a newly-grown cardio-respiratory system, his father was ready to rejoin the world, and Matthew had gone to great efforts to prepare for his reintegration into the world, for his entry into the future. But, in this moment, with countless hours spent reading up on the topic, and having completed his Family Reintegration Course with his family system counselors, all he could do was continue to wait, to finish this last stretch before the rehabilitation work could begin. Loosening his tie, he settled back on the waiting room bench and pushed the small button on his DataRing to activate the holoscreen. The projection pulsed into existence above his open left hand. The world is yours, all in the palm of your hand, the familiar introduction declared across the display, his home screen subsequently coming into sight as he adjusted the angle of the holo with a tilt of his wrist. He observed that two hours had passed since he had arrived. Not too long of a wait, he thought, especially for such an important event. Opening the Master Menu with his left thumb, he scrolled to the Vitals and Statistics display and spread out the screen with a quick flick of his right forefinger. Despite the recent stress, he saw his heartbeat had stayed consistently within acceptable parameters, but his blood pressure had spiked on three separate occasions before dropping back to a calm, normal range in the past few moments since talking with the nurse. Too much worrying again, he concluded. However, as he did not feel the need to release any acetylsalicylic acid into his system, he tapped No to dismiss the blinking query screen. He selected the option Continue to Monitor: Vital Systems and pondered the
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sluggish sensation he had felt swimming around in his mind for the past half an hour or so. Being in a medical center, he figured he could probably track down an old coffee machine tucked away somewhere in a hallway, and thus treat himself to that rare treat. However, despite the lure of nostalgia, he bumped up a shot of xanth, relishing the sharp, awakening jolt as it shot through him. Immediately the Blood Pressure Warning box appeared with its familiar nagging red exclamation point, but Matthew swiped it away with a quick tap, Yeah, yeah, he muttered, frustrated but content with the minor risk. It isnt all the time like it used to be, and my fathers waking up today, he said to himself, scrolling down in the Master Menu to his music. Selecting a channel, he turned the volume down a tad and smiled in anticipation. Welcome to Personal Audio Channel Eighty-Three: Reggae. Remember to keep audio levels low for safety and maximum enjoyment, and thank you for using DataRings OneMood Personal Audio Services, the implant declared, the automated voice gently ringing its pleasantries off the inside of his skull. Even having had the implant for a couple of years now, he still marveled at how the minute electrical signals produced by the device perfectly mimicked the sense of actual hearing he could swear the music was produced with bona fide sound waves from some physical location outside of his head, not issuing from a tiny plastic object embedded within the tissue of his primary auditory cortex. Expecting the notification, Matthew swiped away the incoming

warning regarding Energetic Music Risks as soon as it materialized, and repeated the process when following screens popped up for Heart Rate Increase and for Audio Input Frequency. He paused then, ready for the next warning, that of Multiple Warning Dismissal. A second went by, and it arrived with a loud BING and a brightly flashing red box chiding him for having earned the recent series of warnings, reminding him of the products disclaimers regarding safety, responsibility guidelines, and terms of use. He sighed, balefully eyeing the cascading set

of I Agree buttons as a second Heart Rate Increase warning box materialized beneath the waiting disclaimer. I wonder if these people realize their warnings about stress are themselves so stressful, he pondered as he rapidly tapped each screen away, standing up to ease the stiffness in his legs. He scrolled further down the Master Menu, the holographic image hovering perfectly still despite his movements as he began to pace back and forth in front of the row of benches. Connecting to the hospitals Exchange System, he searched for his fathers name in the patient list. Locating it, he selected Retrieve, and a rotating hourglass appeared below a message reading, Patient Notifications: Retrieving Information Please Wait As he complied, he again felt relief, and he considered the impact of the concern and anxiety he had been feeling for his fathers return. His father had reached the so-called Safety Zone now, giving him an eighty-five percent chance of survival at this point. In his research, Matthew had come to find that the overwhelming majority of long-termers pulled through if they made it this far, even with the de facto standard panel of organ replacements generally provided for these passengers delivered from the previous century. He had made a sweet deal on the lab-farmed livers, pulmonary and vascular systems once he had made the proper arrange His thoughts were interrupted by a silky Jamaican voice informing him the fading song had been entitled Tro Dem Worries Down, sung by Kingston Obsidian, the incoming tune now bumping in on a staggered bass line authored by Shantytown Skimmah. Matthew caught himself tapping his free hand against his hip, resisting the urge to sing along out loud when the vocals began. He remembered watching the DataRing SynCast last month, the concert going over excellently despite the sunspot-caused static and garbled audio at the end. He and Caitlin had

Synced together, dancing to Baby Cmere their special song just like they had done on their honeymoon, bringing up a Caribbean Sunset theme in their entertainment roo The Patient Notifications box then popped up again, forcefully reminding him to wait for his requested information, the hourglass remarkably realistic as individual grains of sand shone iridescent in the flashing purple light while they cascaded down in their alternating rapid dumps from chamber to chamber. Mouthing the words to the song, he tapped the box away, went to the Master Menu, and clicked once more on Vitals, sliding the selection to Full. A long list flowed down, displaying his spectrum of readings. His oxygen was reading low, with impurities still high from his time outside this morning. He had expected this given the local weather stirred up by the Santa Ana winds, and from his nearness to the San Domingo Power Plant site. Out of habit he tapped the Details tab, the head of the resulting list showing his radioactivity level as Safe, with room still between the top of the bar and the bright red line marking the Danger zone. In the years since the meltdown he had been able to adjust to a daily regimen of potassium iodide pills, to the constant wearing of paper surgical masks outside, and he had even curbed his obsessive rad checks once he had kept track long enough and never witnessed his level climb out of safety. Everyone had been terrified after the blast, but in time they had all peeled away the duct tape and plastic off the windows, the neighbors even having a barbeque last weekend, albeit a short one punctuated by the participants gathering everything up hurriedly and running inside when the weather alert came in. No worries now, he thought, just keep taking my KI pills and checking rads a couple times a day and every little thing gonna be alright. He smiled, lilting his last thought reggae-style in his head, ignoring the annoyed glance he received from another patron seated across the room. Sheesh, whats his problem wait, did I sing that out loud again? Self-consciously, he went over the last few moments in his mind, but
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could not determine if he had been quiet. He was reminded of similar instances lately when others had told him of his unintended singing, a woman even asking him if he was alright when he had apparently been talking to himself while going over some reports on his DataRing while he was in line at the grocery store. Pfff, whatever if everybody would just chill out and stop being so uptight and wound up all the time then wed all be better off! Amused at the stodgy mans stern face and rapid movements, he mockingly flipped through the screens on his own holo display in a feigned hurry. Wow, that dude needs to chill out! We all just gotta relax and spread the lov Another BING drew his attention as another message appeared, this time his calendar telling him of his need to check the ICS paperwork before next weeks deadline. Crap, this things acting up again, he thought, annoyance surging over his optimism like a wave. He angrily swiped the Delay Notification button. I know I turned the calendar off when I left on leave on Friday. Im gonna have to get this looked at when I get the chance, he realized, opening an note and typing a reminder to himself to call Tech Support this afternoon. Tapping the note shut, and then closing his Vitals screen, he viewed the Patient Notifications box again, the hourglass no longer following its hasty, flipping course. Frozen in mid-flip, the sand petrified in a non-sparkly stream. Confused, Matthew tapped the screen again, and when nothing happened, he tapped and held, waiting for the dialogue box to appear. Seconds went by, his concern building with each passing moment. In the lull, a commercial announcement came on the audio, chasing the fading song out his mind with grand tales of discount furniture and free surgical masks with each purchase. Cant believe theyre still using that gimmick after

everyones probably got a couple dozen extras from all the checkpoints and giveaways. I could see if you were standing on a car lot or someth
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The dialogue box materialized at last, and he selected Refresh from the list of options with a hasty tap. Flickering briefly, the hourglass resumed its twirling course of anticipation. Matthew sighed, at once relieved the device continued to work, but also frustrated he still had to wait. He focused on the new song that had followed the advertisement, taking a deep breath and sitting down in an effort to head off the impending heart rate or blood pressure alarms he feared the recent stress might trigger. He thought back to last months HR & BP Timeline that he had printed out, remembering it had seemed he spent more time above the maximum recommended level than below, leading him to his reluctant switch away from the over-stimulating effects of xanth. According to his wife and doctor, he had always been high strung, but his reactions to the events of the past few years had pushed him into an uncomfortable zone of impending physical damage to his body, something he truly wanted to avoid despite the ready availabil The urgent, staccato voice of a newscaster broke apart the song, swiping away the calm that was beginning to reform in Matthews mind. The terrorist cell responsible for last weeks bombing in Atlanta had been found and apprehended, he was informed, with several of the suspects dead in a shootout with the Anti-Terrorist Forces. The voice in his head droned on: evidence had been found linking them to possible attacks in other cities, including his own city of San Diego, so citizens needed to be on the lookout, as always, for any suspicious activity, especially in busy public service areas such as shopping centers and hospit The voice was cut off suddenly by the thin descending chime of an incoming video message notification, the loud sound piercing Matthews attention like a car bomb in his cortex. His eyes shot to the upper right corner of the display, seeing no flashing red icon. I thought I set that for visual notification, he thought, distractedly switching over to the messages tab to check the settings. In between the repeating chimes, the dry, automated tone of the newscasters voice
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could be heard to conclude on a note of caution and vigilance. Matthew tapped open the message controls, turned off the audio notification, switched on the visual, and closed the box. As he opened the incoming message, he realized the music station had not come back on after the news bulletin, annoying him with one more task to perform and another cause for concern that his device was no longer working properly. With another sigh, he tapped the Play button and viewed the message. The pimply face of his teenaged son, Mike, appeared to ask him if he could use the car after school to go with some friends to the beach up in Liberty Point. Confused, Matthew clicked the Info tab below the video, the readout confirming his suspicions: the message was, in fact, two months old. Matthew clearly remembered that day, his concern for Mike growing to a near panic when the weather suddenly changed, bearing with it the threat of dangerous levels of radioactivity from the blast site. He had called Mike then, ordering him to return to the safety of their house, which he did after a short but heated argument. Matthew had been vindicated later that day when the windstorm hit, the rads spiking off the chart for a time, though this did little to smooth over the hurt feelings between the two. It had taken another week before safety levels had returned on a consistent basis, and only after Mike was finally able to return to the beach did the two of them fina The music blared back on, the high-pitched wail of a trumpet solo crashing into Matthews mind like a tornado. Startled and jerking back involuntarily as if to avoid a blow to the head, he went scrambling for the volume control, a slider bar accessed on the side of the screen near his left thumb. Turned back down, Matthew angrily swiped across the help panel, scrolling through the Customer Assistance Directory Contact List to the DataRing Personal Organizer Device Technical Serv

The calendar popped up again with its sharp BING, giving him another reminder to send the ICS info to the Cloud by the end of Fridays business hours. Matthews HR/BP alarm then went off, unsurprisingly, and he closed his eyes. Okay, he reassured himself with a shuddering breath. One thing at a ti A fierce triple bell sounded, and his eyes snapped open to find a dialogue box flashing brilliantly atop the pile of notifications and warnings littering his screen. A new upgrade extension was available for his DataRings Warranty Protection Plan, the box proclaimed in shining capital letters: an exciting, limited offer he was sure to want to take advantage of before time ran out. Seriously?! He poked the Remind Me Later button, but nothing happened, the red and blue letters strobing, dazzling his eyes and bringing a dull pain to the base of his skull. He tapped again, three times in rapid, angry succession, forcing up a new box, this one informing him in kind, soft letters read aloud in his head by a gentle, feminine voice, Were sorry, a problem has occurred. We at DataRing value your service and hope to amend this issue as soon as possible. Punching the screen furiously with his finger, Matthew dismissed the apologetic box, and, seeing his effort was successful this time, he then closed the advertisement, the HR/BP warning, the subsequent health disclaimer that opened at the statistics boxs closure, the calendar reminder, the contacts list, the DataRing Help box, volume control dialogue, the video message dialogue box, and, lastly, closed the incoming audio message from his wife. Wait he stopped himself, confusion and worry bubbling up to the surface above the frustration and anger of the last few moments. When did Caitlin call? Man, this is messed up! I JUST turned the visual ON! He flipped back to the Messages tab and angrily tapped on her name. An hourglass appeared above the notice Please wait while we retrieve your message. He waited as the music played on, the trumpet substituting for vocals but filling out the song
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quite nicely, instrumentally. Generally reggae was something Matthew liked only for the lyrics, the positive messages he could sing along to, but occasionally a good instrumental song still threw out a good groo Hi, honey, been trying to call you. You should really try to remember to turn your notifications on, especially on a day like today, dont you think? Her annoyance was plain in her tone, making Matthew wince apprehensively. But I did! She went on, Well anyways, just calling to see how your dad is doing, and to let you know Ill be able to come by in about an hour after I get the ki The audio cut off in quick burst of static, the message box disappearing, replacing itself with a new box, flashing the words Incoming Video Call: Caitlin in the center of the screen, the notification icon still conspicuously not present, much to his irritation. Steeling himself, he tapped on the Accept Call button, and looked into the frustrated face of his wife. Matt, Ive been trying to call you for five minutes didnt you get my messages? Her voice was shrill, cutting harshly through the music with a nagging crescendo that overwhelmed the rambling trumpet solo entirely. Baby, Ive been having a lot of trouble with my DataRing, the notifications wont sta Yeah, so did you call Tech Support about it? I really need to be able to get a hold of you, you know, so they have to get it working right. Are you sure you just didnt forget to turn them on, or do you just have your music up too loud? Her questions, though familiar, still stung nonetheless. No, Cait, the volume is going up and down by itself and acting all funny. Its not the music, and I checked the notifications just now like I said. Anyways, Dads not awake yet, and
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theyll come get me when hes ready. Hey, I only got one message from you I was trying to get Tech on the line but then you just ca Okay, well you better get them to get it all worked out. I gotta go, somebodys trying to call and I think its Mike. Just call me back when you hear something about your dad. Bye. Her video call disappeared, leaving only the empty dialogue box staring blankly back at him. Matthew tried to regroup, to figure out what had to happen next. Guess Ill try Tech Support again, he decided, flipping through screens once more to the proper contact information. He tapped on the number, and again the dreaded hourglass appeared telling him to wait. For all the money Ive spent on this system youd think Id get a proper connection when I call someone something must be wrong maybe its sunspo The music suddenly shut off with a sharp CLICK, and a warm, silky voice lit up the inside of his head like an inviting fireplace on a cold winters day. Welcome to DataRing Systems Technical Support. All of our service representatives are currently helping other

customers. Your call will be answered in the order it was receiv The automated voice suddenly broke away beneath the loud twang of a blues guitar jamming the opening riff of some old, recycled New Orleans standard, the inexplicably raised volume again hammering his cortex into shocked submission. The guitar screamed its way through his brain at what must have been the aural implants maximum volume, driving Matthew to his feet with a sharp cry of pain, earning him another disapproving glare from the man on the opposite bench. Matthews free hand flew to his ear, the reflex rendered pointless by the implants location inside his skull, but, nevertheless, the reaction was unstoppable in this panicked state brought on by the overwhelming assault on his audio cortex. He staggered across
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the waiting room to the further wall, fumbling with his left thumb for the shut-down button on his ring. A tiny, discrete protuberance practically indistinguishable from the raised settings surrounding the small swirling DR of the DataRing symbol, the button was uncooperative, refusing to power off the system despite Matthews frantic efforts. He could feel the metal biting into his skin, piercing his flesh and pushing against bone as he bore down with his all his strength to silence the high-decibel onslaught in his brain, but the song jammed on. He tore at the ring, causing only static across his holoscreen as the thunder of the drums and soulful singer drove him to a maddened frenzy. OH BABY, WHY YOU DO ME SO BAD? GONNA HAVE TO RUN, BUT WITHOUT YOU I With a high-pitched whine of feedback the song fell into abrupt silence, Matthews head ringing tremendously from the event. He saw he was on his knees, his thumb bloodied from picking and pushing convulsively at the DataRing. A flicker of light danced on the floor beneath the press of his palm, as if the holoscreen was trying to escape. He looked up to see the man from the other bench mouthing something to him, his face now filled with concern instead of annoyance. The man spoke again, but Matthew heard only a faint echo of the high pitch that had followed the blues music. Gathering his strength to stand, he felt a trickle of warmth run out of his nose as he rose. Investigating, he brought up his right hand and when he drew it away he saw a long line of blood covering the back of his fingers, smeared across his knuckles and dripping to the floor along with a thin stream that now flowed from his nose. He felt weak, and reached feebly out to the man, who was now yelling something silently down the hall towards where the nurse had departed earlier. CAN YOU HELP ME? Matthew asked, his voice rendered into a loud shout by the unhearing quiet of his interior deafness. I CANT HEAR ANYTH

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His holoscreen lit up with a bright flash, and though it drew his attention, the words were blurred in a terrific lightning storm of brilliant purple and orange strobe-light. An alarmed voice shouted in his mind with such force it knocked a scream from him without his knowledge, the sharp cry trailing off into a moan as he put both hands to his head and buckled back down to the floor. The holos light was hidden against his temple for a moment until he fully collapsed. The nurse rushed over on mute footsteps as his elbow hit the floor, his body falling limp to the side. She knelt beside him, her mouth moving soundlessly in query and exclamation, but the screaming voice was all he could hear. His face banged into the hard tile floor, a pool of blood spreading quickly from the streams that gushed out of his nose and left eye. His brain pulsed with each syllable that pounded in his brain, the overload of aural input causing aneurysm after aneurysm throughout his audio cortex and surrounding brain tissue. As his mind grew dark, he vaguely felt his left hand falling open, his palm turned up. The holoscreen opened to full projection above his slightly twitching fingers, and a video played, displaying a paper mask-clad family enjoying a walk along the beach beneath a sunny, cloudless sky. At the bottom of the screen flashing subtitles looped the message that had obliterated Matthews brain:

DONT LET ENVIRONMENTAL WORRIES GET YOU DOWN!! YOU TOO CAN ENJOY THE OUTDOORS IN SAFETY AND SECURITY WITH THE KI4U OUR NEW POTASSIUM IODINE RELEASING IMPLANT SYSTEM!! FULLY AUTOMATED AND 100% SAFE FOR YOUR HEALTH AND WELLNESS!! ORDER YOUR CONSULTATION TODAY AND RECEIVE A SPECIAL OFFER OF 10% OFF AND A FREE, THATS RIGHT, A FREE CASE OF SURGICAL MASKS!! CALL DataRing TODAY!! 2012
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