“It’s always a good morning in the New Connected States.” -NCS elementary school primer

*

Eli woke suddenly, as if she had been slapped in the face.

The faint throbbing that usually followed her alarm buzz lingered at the edges of her forehead. Knowing the throbbing would blossom into a migraine if given the chance, she rolled over to grab the pillbox on her bedside table. Eli was a heavy sleeper and was required to keep her alarm buzz on the highest setting to prevent oversleeping. Most of her medicine rations went to painkillers to fight off the morning migraines that were a common side effect of the alarm. Luckily, her doctor was also a heavy sleeper and he kept her well-supplied.

As she rolled back to face the window, her hand moved to her forehead and absently massaged the mass of ridges and indentations in her skin. If she waited any longer, the network would think she fell back to sleep and send another alarm buzz through her head. She propped herself up on her pillows to face the wall at the foot of the bed and spoke, her voice still heavy with sleep.

“I’m awake.”

The screen in the center of the wall blinked to life and the date, time, and temperature scrolled along the bottom edge. A tinny voice came from the speaker in the ceiling.

“Good morning, Elizabeth Knowl,” the voice chirped. “Identify, please.”

“Librarian trainee, number three-one-two-two-five-eight.” She didn’t return the greeting.

Something behind the wall screen whirred and Eli braced herself. After a few seconds her wires activated, sending a quick white-hot shock through her skin. She popped a second pill into her mouth and again swallowed it dry.

“Thank you, Elizabeth Knowl,” the disembodied voice said as Eli climbed out of bed. “Your agenda is available on the screens. Have a wonderful day.”

By the time the voice stopped speaking, Eli was already halfway down the hall. She hated hearing her full Connected name and being reminded that she was classified as a Knowl - short for knowledge, the classification she had been given after she completed two years of college. Most of all, she hated talking to a computer screen. Even when she was a little girl speaking to the inanimate object embedded in the wall had made her feel uneasy. She remembered asking her mother why a real person couldn’t wake her up.

This is the way it’s done, dear, her mother used to say. You’ll understand when you’re older.

Sometimes, Eli wished her mother had been wrong about that.

*

There wasn’t much time to waste before the start of her early shift at the library. Eli made her way to the bathroom to clean herself up, keeping her gaze down. The bathroom was nicely furnished, except for a bare spot above the sink. A few pieces of mirror reflected brokenly along the top edge of the spot – a flash of silver faucet here, a bit of pastel wallpaper there. The rest of the mirror shards were in the closet, wrapped in a red towel. Dumping them in the trash might attract attention, so they stayed buried until Eli could dispose of them another way.

Speedy showers were a specialty of Eli’s. She barely gave the scalding water time to soothe her headache before she was out, dry, and wrapped tightly in a towel. The idea of being undressed, even in her own apartment, made her feel exposed. She learned early on that the reassuring Tap Limits she’d heard about as a child didn’t really exist. Tappers weren’t limited to 3 hours per person per day, or 5, or whatever other time limits the New Connected States’ spokespeople spouted off. There was no time limit. Privacy limits weren’t enforced, either. Wires could be activated whenever a tapper wanted to access someone, whether that person was in the office or the bathroom. As long as a tapper reported any information uncovered during the tap, there were no repercussions.

As she grew, Eli had become more unsettled by the lack of privacy. At some point she stopped looking at herself naked, for fear that an unethical tapper would sneak a peek as well.

Psh, like there are any ethical tappers out there, Eli thought. Then she felt it.

Through a combination of naturally sensitive skin and many hours of meditation, Eli had trained herself to feel the faint waves of vibrations that swept across her skin when her wires were active. She had never heard of anyone else who could feel tapping. Not that anyone would admit to something like that - that type of knowledge was dangerous.

Now, she could feel the wires tickle against her muscles as they picked up the electrical signals from her body and transmitted them to the network. Someone was watching her.

Eli quickly pulled on a dress and walked into the kitchen. As she poured a bowl of cereal she focused on the wires’ light buzz, trying to pinpoint exactly how she was being tapped. This time felt like an overview, just someone checking to make sure she was awake and getting ready for work. The buzz started at her temples (the sightwires) and her right eyelid twitched, then the vibrations slid down the sides of her face, pausing briefly at her cheekbones (the scentwires) and between the hollow of her cheeks and her chin (the speechwires). The sightwires and speechwires were the easiest for Eli to feel since they were activated more often than the rest of her wirenet. Tappers could get the most information from the eyes and mouth. The names of the wires were common knowledge but their functions weren’t, so many people thought the speechwires only picked up speech; in reality, they picked up all mouth movements. Whispering or silently mouthing words could be recorded as easily as speaking.

After her main facial wires had been tapped, Eli began to feel the light slithery feeling of the touchwires in her arms and legs, her torso, her hands and feet-

She was jerked out of her concentration by a high-pitched beep. “Elizabeth Knowl.” A low, still tinny, woman’s voice issued from the speaker embedded in the kitchen ceiling. “Your agenda for today has been adjusted. Please check your screens for details. Have a wonderful day,” the voice said emotionlessly.

Eli’s heart sprung to attention in her chest. A last minute schedule adjustment usually wasn’t a good sign. Was this the day she would be relocated from the library? Worse yet, was she in trouble? Did her gaze stray to the mirrorless bathroom wall for a moment too long?

As her foot touched the living room carpet, the screen in the wall flickered to life, flashing a new message.

Next Chapter: Chapter 2(ish)