Glitch

like a sliding door closing over my mind, sev-
    ering my connection to my own thoughts. But if I focused
    intensely on a few specifi c details, it was possible to let just a
    sliver of myself slip through the crack. Sometimes it worked
    and sometimes it didn’t, but with enough practice I planned
    to eventually fi nd a balance between myself and the Link.
    With that tiny inch of control, maybe one day I’d be able to
    control when I glitched. I could keep the glitches to myself,
    safe from witnesses. Safe from possible deactivation. This
    morning was my most successful practice yet. It had been ten
    minutes since I’d stopped glitching, and I could still hear the
    occasional whisper of my passing thoughts amid the con-
    stant din of the Link News.
    My gaze settled back on my brother. My emotions were
    still almost completely dulled by the Link now, but I felt
    my stomach twist ever so slightly as I watched him. It was
    a strange mixture of feelings I couldn’t sort out— sadness and
    pain and happiness all at the same time, blinking into sharp
    focus one moment and then slipping away into Link numb-
    ness the next.
    The feelings had started only after I started glitching. The
    6

    G L I TC H
    word sibling had begun to feel like more than just a word. I
    imagined looking at Markan and taking his hand, protecting
    him from harm. It was impossible, I knew. Just one more of
    the many things I couldn’t change. But deep inside I clung to
    the hope that one day I might see his face light up with the
    same warmth, the same life, that I had drawn on his face this
    morning.
    Market Corridor. The hub of our underground city. The
    subway train had stopped with a hiss of brakes, exchanging
    passengers promptly every quarter hour. I breathed in and
    looked around me. It was overcrowded as always, but subjects
    entered and exited the train in evenly spaced, perfect lines.
    Order fi rst, order always. Light green schematics and readouts
    laced the edges of my vision, analyzing mea sure ments and
    quantities. I exited the subway, turned eighty degrees, and
    moved twenty paces toward the Bread Supplement Dispen-
    sary line.
    The Corridor was an expansive tunnel with high, rounded
    gray ceilings that echoed with the methodical sound of shoes
    on pavement and the high trills of machinery. There was a
    muffl
    ed hum as subjects carried on short, effi
    cient conversa-
    tions and waved their wrists over ID scanners. Dispensaries
    lined both sides of the Corridor, providing everything a
    healthy subject could ever need— clothing, toiletries, protein
    supplements, hard bread, beans, rice, occasional allotments of
    fresh fruits and vegetables.
    I’d let myself fade to gray for the ride here. Individual
    7

    Heather Anastasiu
    thoughts had grown hazy around the edges. Unique sights
    and smells were overcome by a block of unisensory experi-
    ence. The sliding door of the Link had closed completely. It
    always did, eventually.
    I proceeded to the stack of lightweight collapsible carts
    and unfolded one, catching a glimpse of dull blue out of the
    corner of my eye. Several Regulators were stationed against
    the far wall of the platform. Their hulking forms kept silent
    watch wherever large numbers of subjects congregated, im-
    possible to miss with their blue coveralls and intimidating
    bionic additions. For all regular subjects the inserted hard-
    ware was discreet, but the Regulators had large, glinting
    metal plating over their necks and arms for protection. Pro-
    tection from what, I couldn’t say.
    I’d never given the Regulators much thought before, but
    now whenever I glitched I found them terrifying. Maybe it’s
    because they were looking for anomalies, for things out of
    order. Things like me.
    I looked away, my face as blank as those surrounding me.
    The Regulators scanned the crowd, their heads turning in
    methodical, mea sured movements. Their eyes did not follow
    me when I passed by.
    Three rising tones sounded in my head, signaling the start
    of the Link News. For a few seconds, all subjects froze in
    place. People stopped midstep, the allotments workers paused
    with their arms outstretched, holding boxes of food and sup-
    plies. Total, hushed silence. The only movement was a fallen
    bean spinning at a man’s feet.
    Then, right after the three long tones ended, the move-
    8

    G L I TC H
    ment began again as if it had never stopped. The Link News
    feed reeled out in mechanic monotone: Flu 216 vaccinations
    available