Cyberpunk

“Houseputer, delete this hologram. Sorry, Edward, but we need the space.” The holo vanished, and Victor offered Zoranna a stool at the counter. “Please,” he said, “will you have tea? Or a thimble of cognac?”
    “Thank you,” Zoranna said, perching herself on the stool and crossing her legs, “tea would be fine.” Her sister ambulated into the kitchen and flipped down her walker’s built-in seat, but before she could sit, a mournful wail issued from the bedroom.
    “Naaaancy,” cried the voice, its gender uncertain. “Nancy, I need you.”
    “Excuse me,” Nancy said.
    “I’ll go with you,” Zoranna said and hopped off the stool.
    The bedroom was half the size of the living room and contained half the number of holo beds, plus a real one against the far wall. Zoranna sat on it. There was a dresser, a recessed closet, a bedside night table. Expensive-looking men’s clothing hung in the closet. A pair of men’s slippers was parked under the dresser. And a holo of a soccer match was playing on the night table. Tiny players in brightly colored jerseys swarmed over a field the size of a doily. The sound was off.
    Zoranna watched Nancy sit on her walker seat beneath a bloat-faced woman bedded upside down on the ceiling. “What exactly are you doing with these people?”
    “I listen mostly,” Nancy replied. “I’m a volunteer hospice attendant.”
    “A volunteer? What about the—” she tried to recall Nancy’s most recent paying occupation, “—the hairdressing?”
    “I haven’t done that for years,” Nancy said dryly. “As you may have noticed, it’s difficult for me to be on my feet all day.”
    “Yes, in fact, I did notice,” said Zoranna. “Why is that? I’ve sent you money.”
    Nancy ignored her, looked up at the woman, and said, “I’m here, Mrs. Hurley. What seems to be the problem?”
    Zoranna examined the holos. As in the living room, each bed was a separate projection, and in the corner of each frame was a network squib and trickle meter. All of this interactive time was costing someone a pretty penny.
    The woman saw Nancy and said, “Oh, Nancy, thank you for coming. My bed is wet, but they won’t change it until I sign a permission form, and I don’t understand.”
    “Do you have the form there with you, dear?” said Nancy. “Good, hold it up.” Mrs. Hurley held up a slate in trembling hands. “Houseputer,” Nancy said, “capture and display that form.” The document was projected against the bedroom wall greatly oversized. “That’s a permission form for attendant-assisted suicide, Mrs. Hurley. You don’t have to sign it unless you want to.”
    The woman seemed frightened. “Do I want to, Nancy?”
    Victor stood in the doorway. “No!” he cried. “Never sign!”
    “Hush, Victor,” Nancy said.
    He entered the room, stepping through beds and bodies. “Never sign away your life, Mrs. Hurley.” The woman appeared even more frightened. “We’ve returned to Roman society,” he bellowed. “Masters and servants! Plutocrats and slaves! Oh, where is the benevolent middle class when we need it?”
    “Victor,” Nancy said sternly and pointed to the door. And she nodded to Zoranna, “You too. Have your tea. I’ll join you.”
    Zoranna followed Victor to the kitchen, sat at the counter, and watched him set out cups and saucers, sugar and soybimi lemon. He unwrapped and sliced a dark cake. He was no stranger to this kitchen.
    “It’s a terrible thing what they did to your sister,” he said.
    “Who? What?”
    He poured boiling water into the pot. “Teaching was her life.”
    “Teaching?” Zoranna said, incredulous. “You’re talking about something that ended thirty years ago.”
    “It’s all she ever wanted to do.”
    “Tough!” she said. “We’ve all paid the price of longevity. How can you teach elementary school when there’re no more children? You can’t. So you retrain. You move on. What’s wrong with working for a living? You join an outfit like this,” she gestured to take in the whole tower above her, “you’re guaranteed your livelihood for life ! The only thing not handed to you on a silver platter is longevity. You have to earn that yourself. And if you can’t, what good are you?” When she remembered that two dozen people lay dying in the next room because they couldn’t do just that, she lowered her voice. “Must society carry your dead weight through the centuries?”
    Victor laughed and placed his large hand on