Torn (Cold Awakening) Read Online Free Page B

too—” He shot another look at the hovering cameras, and I stiffened, waiting for him to spout some anti-org drivel that would ruin all my work.
    He leaned toward me, one hand tight around my waist, the other latched on to my shoulder. His voice was low, but the mics would catch it, as they caught everything, and he knew it. “Let’s give the people what they want.”
    Maybe if I’d known it was coming, I could have ducked out of the way.
    Maybe I did know it was coming.
    I didn’t duck.
    Just for the cameras,
I told myself.
    His lips were as cold as mine, his eyes open, watching me.
    No different from any of the others,
I told myself.
    His lips were so soft.
    His chest was silent, an empty cavity pressed against the emptiness of my own. A perfect fit.
    This is harmless,
I told myself.
    It couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds. And then I remembered what fifteen days had almost made me forget: that I could act, that sometimes the puppet could pull her own strings—and that the people liked a fight.
    I slapped him.
    He saw it coming, like I did; and he let me, like I did. There was a sharp crack, but he didn’t flinch. There was no angry red welt left behind on the synthetic flesh. Like nothing had happened.
    “When you want me, you’ll know where to find me,” he whispered. And let go. He melted into the crowd before I could stop him. Not that I would have tried. I told myself I wanted him gone, for good this time.
    I almost believed it.

HAPPY TOGETHER
    “It was proof that we still made sense.”
    T he party raged till sunrise. The glass dome had come equipped with an artificial dawn, orange-yellow light creeping over the dragging dancers and silvery fish—technology that was, for the most part, wasted on the unconscious. I spent the final hours of the vidlife pretending to sleep, my legs slung over one snoring ogre’s brawny shoulder, my head in a voluptuous jellyfish’s lap. The last holdouts had dropped of exhaustion one by one, bodies tangled where they fell. Once the society olds had slipped off to sleep, the stilted elegance of the early evening had given way to a b-mod-induced ecstasy, bodies floating on Xers, blissed-out orgs bamboozled by the artificial undersea and imagining they were dancing with the fish. I couldn’t take behavior modifiers any more than I coulddrink the putrescent pink Aqua Ambrosia or eat the dolphin-shaped canapés, and I didn’t get tired. But I’d learned that orgs don’t trust people—or things—that don’t sleep. So for the vidlife audience I’d closed my eyes and waited for day.
    By the time the cleanup crew woke everyone up, it was nearly mid-afternoon. Fifteen days, twelve hours, forty-two minutes since the game had started. Which meant I was done.
    The elevators whooshed us out of the deep; a waiting car sped me back to BioMax headquarters; then security checks and more elevators and I was in the boardroom, the vidlife officially finished, the cameras shut down for good.
    “Yes, I think it was productive,” I told Kiri, and call-me-Ben, and my father, and the room full of BioMax suits who ambushed me as soon as the mics went dead. Viewer stats and zone feedback danced across the screens lining the conference room, alongside hundreds of network debates raging about my performance. But all eyes were on me.
    “No, I didn’t encounter more than the usual amount of antidownload sentiment.
    “No, it wasn’t an undue strain.
    “No, I wouldn’t recommend a repeat attempt; I’d argue our energies could be better spent elsewhere.”
    The inane questions went on for more than an hour, but finally, call-me-Ben stood up and extended his hand. I didn’t hesitate, or roll my eyes. I’d learned.
    “Thank you again for all your help, Lia,” Ben said, and I smiled at him, sweetly.
    His hand dropped to his side. He’d learned too.
    Kiri skipped the handshake. She swept me into a brusque embrace. Normally, she wasn’t a hugger, any more than I was, but