Looking Backward from the Tricentennial

Chapter Ten

In the morning, Julian decided to skip breakfast. He waited for hunger to pounce, to maul him into submission, but the sensation never appeared with any real substance. It left him a bit incredulous, questioning that which he'd never thought to question before.

About noon, Julian was grateful when Ray offered to show him to the room where Idabee's panel would be held. Although reasonably certain he'd have been able to manage on his own, the world of 2076 was different in subtle ways as well as flashy ones, and the former seemed more likely to trip him up. Before leaving the condo, Ray prompted him to put the doall on his wrist.

"Remember the shop we were in the other day?" Ray asked as the elevator descended to their destination. "Buildings this size have a variety of multi-purpose rooms. There's even two with stadium seating; people gather to watch sporting events. The legislative assembly uses a large conference room configuration."

The elevator opened to reveal two young women in their late twenties conversing in the well-lit corridor. "Good afternoon," one acknowledged Julian. She was slightly taller than him, with a medium build. Her light brown scalp gleamed, as did the bright white teeth her smile exposed. She and her companion turned and moved purposefully away from them, revealing a narrow strip of black hair running from the top of her head to the nape of her neck, tightly woven and falling halfway down her back.

Ray tapped the information panel next to the elevator, gathered his bearings, and pointed Julian in the direction the women had gone. The hallway was wider than the shopping level had been, and grand entryways featured double doors flanked by information screens. After a short walk, Ray pulled open a door and motioned Julian inside.

The rectangular room was filled with indirect lighting and dominated by a large U-shaped conference table about a car's length inside. About two dozen chairs ringed the outside, and at the open end of the U closest to them, a small table and two seats were set. To both the left and right of the doors they had just entered, a dozen chairs in two rows provided an opportunity for an audience to sit and observe.

What was in those chairs, however, was disconcerting. The people occupying them were overlapped, their holographic projections stacked three and four deep. Simultaneously, he heard multiple conversations, words mixing unrecognizably. "Ray," he tried to whisper, "What's real here?" His eyes darted back and forth between objects and people, attempting to see reality behind the curtain of technology.

"It's like the parlor," his host explained. "In general, physical objects resting on the floor are real. There's a handful of standard configurations, so each person in their own room can interact with the tables and chairs in precise locations. Most everything on the walls and ceiling is a projection." Ray strolled to the seat nearest to him and tapped it with his foot. "See? Real. You can sit here if you like."

Three faces looked up from the seat, with expressions ranging from amusement to annoyance. Two were wearing masks, reminding Julian of the pandemic. One lifted a hand to his mouth, the tips of all five fingers pressed together. The avatar's fingers separated simultaneously, and the mask vanished. "We can hear you," a voice said.

Julian blinked. "That wasn't real?"

Ray apologized for the intrusion before explaining to Julian. "Holograms can be manipulated in real time. When someone is muted, the default is to give them privacy by masking their mouth." He made an X across his mouth with his index finger. "This gesture is used to mute yourself, and this"—he repeated the starburst motion they'd just witnessed—"is to unmute."

The room bustled with mask-wearing people, and Julian shook his head. "I remember hearing about how people panicked when they saw the first motion pictures: trains headed at the screen, ocean waves moving toward them, that sort of thing. I suddenly have more empathy for them."