Going Anonymous

Staria Visits the Prairies, Part 1

• Science fiction

								
The first few days after Fig’s HALO stream of Staria singing to the barn animals went viral, the excitement Staria initially had felt had turned to full blown anxiety. Everywhere she went, she encountered “fans,” people who would sing their own improvised melodies to her with hopes of getting her opinions, or those who wanted her to be a host in their private HALO rooms, and some even offered her hand-made items and sweets, which she reluctantly accepted. Though Fig understood Staria’s predilection for solitude and was well-acquainted with her introversion, it still surprised them to see her struggling after such a short amount of time being in the spotlight. 

Stuart, Staria’s dad, had also noticed a change in his daughter as of late, though he didn’t really follow the trends of young people. Last night at dinner, she seemed quieter than usual and barely ate her asparagus patties, one of her favorite dishes. She had stayed in bed especially late today and hadn’t showered; he didn’t think she’d done so the day before either. When Fig stopped by around noon, Staria’s door was closed, and her night setting was still on. Her father invited Fig to enjoy a strawberry scone and a cup of sunflower seed milk. Then he used the parental override button to shut off the night setting and carefully entered his daughter’s room. To his surprise, she wasn’t in bed and the room seemed empty, save for a soft blue beam of light emitting from her closet in the back, the telltale sign of a HALO device in action. 

“Staria?” her father called gently. 

A fluffy head of unwashed hair popped through the door jam. “Is it breakfast time?” she asked. 

“It was breakfast time three hours ago. You gonna come out and join the land of the living today?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Are there any scones left?”

“That depends on whether or not your friend has eaten them all.” He took a few steps into the room, mindful not to rush things. “I had an idea for a little adventure. Whadda you say?”

“Is it to the wheat field mazes, because I think I’d rather not.” 

He laughed. “Clearly.” He paused for a moment, trying to decide how to continue. “Did you know they just finished building that tram line out to the Prairies?”

“And let me guess, you want to go look at the train cars?” Staria said, head now obscured again behind the closet doors. 

“I thought,” he said, unfazed by her sarcastic tone, “that maybe we could take the D-Tram out to the Prairies and check out the house your mother and I lived in before you were born.”

Her head popped out so quickly that he stumbled back slightly, startled. 

“Really?” she said, her pitch high and loud.

“Well, you’d have to take a shower first, and eat something.”

“Done,” she said, shutting down her HALO device and emerging from her sanctuary. 

An hour later, they were on their way. Fig had decided to join and insisted on having their family’s driver give them a ride to the station in their vintage sports pod. Unlike modern pods, which were usually sleek and came in either silver or neutral tones, this one was bright blue, with canary yellow inlay around the edges and three doors instead of the typical one. To Stuart, it was an eyesore and one that vastly distracted from the natural beauty he preferred to surround himself with. He was hesitant to get into the vehicle, noting how bad it likely was for the environment and how they could easily have taken the city bus, as it wasn’t that far to the station. But once he was actually in the pod, his curiosity and childlike enthusiasm immediately took over. He touched everything: adjusting the temperature of his seat, flipping the storage latch up and down several times, sliding his fingers along the interior of the ceiling. 

“I have to admit, these sports pods are much roomier than I imagined,” he said, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “What’s the material of these seats?” He put his nose close to the fabric and breathed in deeply. “Do I detect cork and vinyl?” He touched the seat cushion, testing its thickness. “Obviously hemp.”

“That is correct, sir, and it also contains 20% organic cotton,” the humanoid AI driver added. “You are perhaps interested in the mechanics too, sir,” it said, noting how Stuart had shifted his focus now to the pod’s various meters and indicators. “This is one of the last models that used synthetic fuel.”

“That must be super hard to find,” Stuart said, rubbing his hand along the windowed doors. 

“Not really,” said Fig, chiming in. “My dad knows people at the Department for Historical Restoration. They still have to reproduce a bunch of old junk like that for exhibits. Of course, they don’t let people have access to the harmful stuff, that all stays in the museums. But synthetic fuel isn’t harmful, really, just old.”

Staria stared out of the pod, choosing to ignore her father rather than be embarrassed by his unabashed curiosity. Meanwhile, the AI driver flipped open the control dashboard, a feature that had been completely done away with in more current models, which were now fully automated, and manually typed in their destination. The consul made a satisfying click woosh sound, and Stuart nodded approvingly. Then the pod doors closed, and the fresh faint scent of rose water filled the air.

The driver spoke: “15 minutes until the destination. Please enjoy a refreshment and a hot towel.” 

As the pod zoomed along, a small drawer popped open beside each of their seats featuring liquid pops, pretzels, and wet naps that dissolved with use. Stuart had hardly finished his snack when the driver spoke again. “Arriving at destination in 2 minutes. Please gather your items for an efficient transfer.” 

They exited the pod and Stuart thanked the driver, but it did not respond. 

“You’re welcome,” Fig giggled, adding, “Your dad is so polite!” Staria rolled her eyes. 

The tram station was packed full of people. For some reason, Staria hadn’t expected that. Yes, it was relatively new, but she didn’t think most people cared about going to the Prairies anymore. As far as she knew, there wasn’t much out there: just old relics, fields, and maybe some Anonymous people roaming about. When the proposals had come through their town about the new trams, she was skeptical anyone would use them. But clearly, given the hustle and bustle of the station, she was wrong. 

It was odd to think about her dad and her living anywhere other than the mud home she’d been in since she was a baby. She had no memory of anything else. In her mind, the Prairies were uninhabited blocks of land, mostly reserved for micro-farms and biodiverse agricultural centers. She never pictured cottages or villages or people, other than maybe a worker or two. When her father talked about his time with her mother there and showed her the holographic images of their old house, she still couldn’t visualize it and instead just thought about their current home. She had grown up in a middle-sized township, but her parents had lived previously on a communal property about 50 miles outside of Lawrence, Kansas. She remembered stories of her parents growing corn, taking care of goats, Wednesday evening stews, nightly bonfires, and no tech for miles. It sounded romantic and mysterious. 

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