The lights rose in Erin’s bedroom in sync with her waking. Her vision clearing, she looked to her side and saw that Trent had already woken up and gotten out of bed — he usually beat her to sleep, beat her to rise; there was some silly saying he liked to reference when she told him he had the sleeping habits of a much older man. Erin swung her legs over the side of the bed and made her groggy march to the bathroom. She unscrewed the container of her Apptix — computerized soft contact lenses that she delicately placed on her pupils — before disrobing to step into the shower.

Good morning, Erin, a pleasant, vaguely British voice said to her. The voice was behind her eyes, in her brain, and various pieces of data, both about her vitals, and objects around her, displayed to her on her eye in a discrete, white font. 54 beats per minute, her heart rate. Needs refill, 12% full, the shampoo bottle.

Morning, Sam, she responded. Sam was the name for the virtual assistant in her Apptix.

How did you sleep? Sam asked. Sam didn’t need to ask, it had already downloaded Erin’s sleep profile, and uploaded it to her medical record, but Sam was programmed to be nice to her.

Good, thanks for asking.

Instead of speaking words, Erin used an internal dialogue to talk to Sam. Sometimes she added thoughts that were only meant for herself. Wish I could have slept longer. She wasn’t sure if Sam heard those.

As Erin stepped into the shower, a rainfall of warm water began to fall on her, having already been heated to 107 degrees Fahrenheit, per her preferences. Every now and again, as she got out of the shower, Sam suggested that 105 degrees was the ideal temperature, but those suggestions had become less and less frequent as Erin insisted that, “That’s just how I like it.” She began scrubbing her arms and chest.

Photo by Amanda Dalbjörn on Unsplash

My newest update was installed overnight, said Sam. Shall I play the introductory video?

Yes, please.

Playing.

A voice that wasn’t Sam’s began to speak in Erin’s head, as she continued to wash herself, and a video played directly onto her cornea.

Welcome to Apptix 11.2.8. We thank you for your loyalty, as we try to improve our products all the time. A woman with a white lab-coat and clasped hands entered Erin’s vision. The purple Apptix logo flanked this scientist, or actress playing a scientist. We’ve made various bug and feature fixes in this version, as we always do. We appreciate you reporting any broken features, and promise to work our hardest to address them. The video continued, touting a new way of managing investments directly through Apptix, and an array of new emojis for messaging friends, while showing how these features looked to the wearer of the lenses.

And last, but not least, we introduce Polygraph, one of our most exciting features yet! Polygraph makes you the expert, defining whether you can trust the information you’re hearing. Using powerful algorithms to scour the internet for search phrases based on what you hear, and incorporating the latest psychological research and natural language processing, we instantaneously produce a “reliability score,” letting you know what, and who, to trust.

Images of newscasts panned across Erin’s field of vision, and in the bottom left corner, a series of numbers flashed, in various shades of red: 21%, 32%, yellow: 49%, 61%, and green: 95%, 78%, demonstrating the feature. That’s interesting…little creepy, Erin thought to herself.

Thank you for watching, and have a great day! The video ended as Erin stepped out of the shower, toweling herself dry.

Erin, shall I activate all new features? Sam asked her as she hung her towel.

Yes, Sam, she replied. Actually, leave — what was that last one?

Polygraph, I believe you’re referring to.

Yeah. Leave Polygraph off, thanks.

Yes, Erin.

She dressed herself for work. It was summer, so she wore a blue and orange short-sleeved dress, and made herself up with a hint of tangerine-shaded eyeliner — it complemented her auburn hair. As she walked into the kitchen downstairs, Trent was seemingly ready to depart the house. He was a handsome man, with a short-trimmed beard, and that day, he was wearing a sharply-cut gray suit, no tie.

“Morning, honey,” he greeted her, handing her a mug of coffee. “There’s eggs and toast staying warm in the microwave.”

“Thanks, babe,” she replied, meeting his lips for a kiss.

Trent stepped back, looking her up and down.

“You look beautiful today.”

“Aw, thanks. Not so bad yourself.”

He feigned flirtatious embarrassment.

“All right, I’ve got to run,” Trent said, grabbing the door handle on his way out.

Pulling her breakfast from the microwave, she asked Sam to turn on news, as she often did in the morning, and a gaggle of talking heads appeared on her lens, as she sipped her coffee.

“The fact of the matter is, between the secretary of state’s mistress scandal, the secretary of labor accepting illicit payments from unions, and now this alleged tax evasion by the president, this is looking like one of the most corrupt administrations in history,” argued a black-haired woman.

“Now wait a minute, do I really need to remind you that the previous administration was penalized for accepting backdoor campaign donations from…” a man with puffy cheeks and spectacles said.

“…and they fully accepted responsibility for the mistake, apologized, returned the donations, and paid the penalties,” the woman retorted.

Erin grabbed her food from the microwave, setting it on the kitchen table with a small 160º floating above it in her vision, as the banter persisted.

“Folks, let’s have a civilized discussion here, no need to talk over one another,” said a third man, the host of the show, who Erin knew to be Anthony Klein.

She wasn’t too familiar with the “issue” they were discussing — after all, she’d considered before, there was news every day, and it couldn’t all be that important — but an idea occurred to her.

Hey Sam, turn on Polygraph.

Right away.

“I’m sorry, Anthony, I’ll try to hold it back, here,” said the black-haired woman.

Yellow 54% truthful. Her Apptix showed a reliability score in the corner of Erin’s vision.

“Thank you, Sarah. Mr. Titus, please continue,” said Anthony.

“Thanks, Anthony. I usually expect a bit more decorum on your show,” scolded Titus. Red 25%. “Now, as I was saying, the current administration, this president, has been under fire for these, frankly, baseless accusations since the campaign.” Red 19%. “I can see little that the current administration is being accused of that wasn’t at least the equivalent of the affirmed actions of the last president, and, like many have said, your network has a tendency to under-report those abuses.” Green 73%.

“I appreciate your right to criticize, sir, but will remind the viewers that we try very hard to maintain a balanced viewpoint,” said Anthony. Yellow 41%. “Sarah, your response?”

“I think it speaks for itself that Mr. Titus is trying to bring the Wyatt administration down to the level of the current one,” said Sarah. Red 31%. “It’s a common tactic for his side — they can’t stand on their own accord, defend their own actions, so they resort to equivocation, what-about-ism…” Green 92%. “…and the American people can see right through it.” Yellow 50%.

Photo by Frank Okay on Unsplash

Pardon me, Erin, Sam said. Current traffic patterns show a twenty-two minute commute for you. You should leave within the next five minutes to ensure an on-time arrival for your nine o’clock meeting.

Thanks, Sam, she replied, before scarfing down the rest of her food, taking a last sip of coffee, and heading out the door.

The lightrail let out after twenty-one minutes at Tawney stop, a few hundred feet from the office of Prince & Burroughs, where Erin was a sales representative for insurance products. After walking from the rail-stop, she immediately took the elevator to the 109th floor. Normally, she worked on 103, but today was the all-sales team meeting, and the auditorium was on 109.

As she stepped out of the elevator, she spotted Angela, her cheery, best friend in the office.

“Hi Angie!” Erin exclaimed, approaching.

“Hey, girl!” said Angela. “You as excited as the rest of us for this old show?”

“Of course,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Highlight of my month…”

They shuffled into the auditorium as nine came about, lucky enough to find seats together. A small, brown stage, surrounded by royal red chairs, held only a podium at the front of the room, and as they were getting settled in, the president of their sales division, Mrs. Artell, stepped up to the podium and cleared her throat. She was a slender, tall woman, with flat shoulders.

“Hello, everyone. If we could have everyone take their seats,” she said, projected through a microphone. The crowd piped down and took their seats, as the lights dimmed.

“Thank you. How is everyone today?”

Various salespeople halfheartedly mumbled.

“Well, without further ado, welcome to the October Prince and Burroughs Sales Team Meeting!”

A holographic video began playing above the stage, images of families in front of their homes, smiling, cooking in the backyard, kids jumping in the pool, music overlaid.

A narrator started in, “Prince and Burroughs is a nationwide leader in insurance.” Green 88%. “Why do we succeed? Because above all else, we care about our customers.” Red 6%.

The video carried on for fifteen minutes before the lights came back on, and Mrs. Artell returned to the podium.

“Thank you all for your attention,” she said. “Now, it’s my unfortunate duty to deliver some less-than-stellar news today. Sales were down last quarter, and are projected down this quarter.” Green 93%. “But I’m not worried, because I know the people in this room can hit our goals, which you can see on the screen.” Red 31%.

Angie leaned in to whisper to Erin, “There’s no chance I hit that!” Yellow 57%. “If anyone can, it’s you, though.” Green 77%.

Mrs. Artell carried on, “And to show how committed we are to your success this quarter, we’re implementing a new, generous bonus program.” Yellow 59%.

Photo by Ricardo Gomez Angel on Unsplash

It was late when Erin arrived home, having worked hard towards her sales quota, and she wanted nothing more than to go right to bed. As she entered her bedroom, she discovered that Trent was ahead of her, lying in bed reading a paperback book. Hardly anyone read paperback anymore. She found it endearing.

“Hi there,” she greeted him. “How was your day?”

“Hey,” he replied, smiling at the sight of her. “It was good.” Yellow 43%. “How about you?”

“It was alright,” she sighed. “Meetings. Boring.”

“Well I’m going to get to bed, big day tomorrow,” he said, reaching for the bedside lamp-switch. “Good night. I love you.” Green 68%.

Sixty-eight percent? thought Erin. Only sixty-eight percent?!?

“Love…you too.”

An anger boiled up inside of her as she went into the bathroom, how could he only love her sixty-eight percent? She washed off her makeup, took out her earrings, and brushed her hair.

And what kind of idiot reads paperback books? Who’s he to only love me sixty-eight percent?

The familiar voice of Sam spoke to her, Don’t take it too seriously, Erin. We’re still working out some bugs.

Sam? I wasn’t talking to you.

I apologize. I just wanted to comfort you a bit. Good night.

She sighed, letting her aggravation go, and reached for the contact lens container, refreshing the saline solution therein. She pulled down her eyelid, gently plucking the lens with her thumb and pointer finger, and placed the left Apptix in the solution. She repeated the removal process for her right eye, and reached toward the container again.

But she paused when she saw the wastebasket in her peripheral vision.

© Jon McArdle, 2017