Glitch

of color in my room seeped
    away to a monotone gray. I inhaled deeply and tried to hold
    on to the smell of my small concrete quarters— antiseptic
    and dust— but they, too, were lost by my next breath.
    Panic gripped my chest as I drowned in the Link’s rising
    tide, but I concealed it behind my perfectly still mask. I was
    lucky it happened while I was alone here in my quarters,
    where I was safe. I could use the practice. I focused, carefully
    relaxing each of my facial muscles into perfect, expressionless
    stillness, betraying nothing of the turmoil inside.
    I’d glitched for a little over an hour. Precious silence in
    my head. Sometimes I could fi ght the creeping dullness of
    3

    Heather Anastasiu
    the Link, but I didn’t have any time to waste this morning.
    The glitching woke me an hour before my internal Link
    alarm, but if I didn’t get moving, I’d be late.
    Still, I allowed myself to pause at the door to my quarters
    and smile defi antly for one last, fl eeting moment before the
    Link made me forget what smiling was. I reached back to
    make sure my hair was secure, and my fi ngers brushed against
    the input port at the base of my neck. My smile dimmed. It
    was the same port we all had implanted at birth: slim, less
    than half an inch long, and only millimeters wide. I knew
    from looking at other people’s ports that thin subcutaneous
    wires with tiny lighted microfi laments swirled out in rect-
    angular patterns on both sides, glowing visibly through the
    skin. The port connected straight into the V-chip at the base
    of the brain, enabling the Link connection.
    I ran my fi ngers over the port, tracing the ridges ner-
    vous ly. What if there was something diff erent about it?
    There was no way for me to get a good look at it, since we
    had no need of mirrors in the Community. Maybe the light
    fi laments surrounding my neck port had stopped glowing,
    or changed color, or the port itself was noticeably damaged
    somehow. Something had to explain why I was diff erent,
    why the glitches were happening to me. I hurriedly tugged
    on my long loose curls, arranging them carefully down the
    back of my neck and over the port, just in case.
    I opened my door mechanically and walked fi ve paces
    down the hallway to the largest room in our unit. The ret i na
    display readouts bounced at the edges of my vision, unneces-
    sarily showing the schematics for the room: ten- by- ten- foot
    4

    G L I TC H
    area, concrete walls, a simple table and four chairs, room
    enough to prepare food, eat, and at night pull down the wall
    equipment to exercise. A healthy body means a healthy Commu-
    nity. The phrase from the Community Creed sounded over
    the Link and seemed to ping around my skull.
    Father was in the room, his back to me as he prepared
    breakfast. I lifted a hand to tuck a loose wisp of black hair
    behind my ear. Orderly.
    “Greetings, Father.”
    “Greetings, Zoel. Materials Allotment duty this morn-
    ing, correct?” He didn’t look up from the protein patties he
    was taking out of the thermal unit. He dished the patties and
    equal portions of hard bread onto four white plates.
    “Correct, Father.” I picked up the plates and set them equi-
    distant on our tiny square table, perfectly aligned in front of
    the four chairs. Markan, my sibling, was already sitting down,
    staring blankly at the wall, no doubt zoning out to the video
    and audio feed of the Link News playing in the million silent
    theaters of everyone’s heads.
    I glanced cautiously at him. He was thirteen, four years
    younger than me. He’d already set out silverware and napkins
    folded into neat, orderly triangles. Order fi rst, order always.
    I studied his face, looking for a trace of the smile I’d been
    secretly drawing in my room this morning. We didn’t look
    alike, but I could see bits and pieces of our parents’ features in
    his face, features carefully selected and manufactured at
    the laboratory from the blend of perfect gene partners. He
    favored our father, with a wide nose and thin lips, but his
    round cheeks betrayed his youth.
    5

    Heather Anastasiu
    His expression was blank. Detached. No trace of a smile
    or any emotion. Watching him felt like looking at an empty
    room— the walls and furniture were all perfectly in place,
    but had no life.
    Did I look like that when I was lost in the Link? The
    question was my own, a wisp of smoke snaking through the
    foggy cloud of the Link. After glitching, reconnecting with
    the Link was