A Disease of Magic

As far as wearable technology went, getting this one installed hurt like a bitch. Although, grafted might be a better word than installed.

I looked down through the tears collecting in my eyes, blinking into focus the opaque, flexible screen now permanently attached to my left inner forearm. The screen was still blank, casting a hazy sheen over my irritated skin. After a few minutes, maybe ten or so, the numbing solution coating the millions of tiny hooked needles finally started kicking in, easing my pain and allowing a breath of relief.

The same breath huffed out quickly when the surgeon reentered the room.

“How does that feel now?” he asked detachedly.

I nodded and swallowed once before answering. “Better.”

“I need to make sure it’s a solid connection. This might hurt a bit,” he warned. He placed a gloved hand on the screen and pressed down, hard.

I bit back a hiss of pain and clenched my right hand, nails biting into my palm. My eyes darted around the room, looking anywhere for a spot to focus on to ground myself. He pressed down again, harder this time, and my gaze snagged on the security camera installed in one of the corners. I stared at the blinking red light, counting the seconds between blinks—seven—until the surgeon let go and stepped away.

“It looks good.” He nodded once, to himself, and turned to leave.

I was going to chew Leo out later. My best friend had assured me that this surgeon, specifically, was the most qualified and most meticulous at installing the bio-screens. And while he may have made sure my screen was perfectly centered and aligned on my arm, the ends equidistant from my wrist and elbow, his bedside manner was lacking.

In my book, I preferred to have a less-than-perfect medical experience if it meant that I would be reassured by a friendly face instead of cold detachment. Fast food workers had more visible happiness than him.

“Thanks,” I said to the man’s retreating back, not meaning it but unable to be impolite. He had done an impeccable job.

After a small eternity of waiting, giving the numbing solution had time to work its magic again, the nurse popped back in. Her personality was in complete contrast from the surgeon, bubbly, kind, each emotion clearly visible on her face.

“How you feeling, honey?” Tori, according to her badge, asked. She gently took my arm and put it through a series of maneuvers. “As soon as you’re cleared for the flexibility, we’ll get your discharge paperwork all together. You remember where you have all the aftercare information?”

I nodded and offered a smile. Everything was saved in my email. Not to mention that I’d already read through it twice. The list was extensive of what not to do for the first forty-eight hours: no drinking alcohol, keep it dry, no direct sunlight, no tight-fitting clothing, keep it protected from direct contact, do not pick at the edges, do not try to remove it, if painful or irritated take pain medicine, be careful around pets, don’t sleep on it, no heavy lifting more than fifteen pounds. And that was about a quarter of the included rules. I wondered how many of those, like no white-water rafting, were included because someone decided that one of the other guidelines wasn’t specific enough, so obviously as long as it wasn’t submerged in water, it would be fine.

“Excellent.” She released my arm. “Looks perfect. George always does the best with these. Go ahead and try moving your arm and wrist around for me, Callie. I’ll go grab your paperwork, and tell me if there is any discomfort or tightness when I come back.”

Tori left again. I took her instruction and wiggled my arm around, flexing my fingers and wrist to test for any issues. The new technology—the bio-screen—moved seamlessly, attached like a second skin. I raised a curious hand to it, stoking the smooth material and feeling the touch as though it was my own skin but numbed. After the forty-eight-hour calibration time, it should be fully attuned to me and behave exactly like my own skin, all nerve receptors included. The bio-screen would be impossible to remove without surgery at that point, when it would be fully adhered to my body.

It was impressive, really, that I already had some feeling with it. For some, the screen never calibrated and it had to be removed. That process was more painful than getting it on in the first place, and usually those people were put under full anesthesia for it. It had been part of the warnings and side-effects that I’d been required to actually read through before signing up for the clinical trial. I shuddered at the thought. With the added bonus of needing it removed, those individuals almost never qualified for a replacement. The private grant sponsoring the trial only covered so much. Insurance wouldn’t even get involved until it was fully approved by government agencies, after the clinical trial was deemed a success.

I was lucky that I had a connection in the first place; otherwise, it was probable that I would have had to wait another few years. And a few years for me, for most of us with LaShoul’s, could literally be the difference between being alive or dead.

Tori swooped back in and stood next to me, a waft of vanilla enveloping me as she brushed her braided hair back over her shoulder. Professionally efficient, she reviewed the discharge instructions, asked again how the bio-screen felt, and quickly sent me on my way with another smile and assurance that I could call, at any time, if I started experiencing problems. I paused at the front desk on my way out to scheduled my activation follow-up in two days, and I scanned the digital business card, just in case.

I was giddy with anticipation as I left the stark white building, the name Farley stamped vertically on it in a different shade of white. I tapped my ear cuff, which connected to my phone, and sent a voice message to Leo that I was on my way. He’d promised to meet up with me after the short procedure to go over it with me. His had been activated weeks ago, as one of the first—if not the first—recipient. Being the son of the CEO of the medical technology company—Farley Tech—that designed and produced the bio-screens certainly had its perks.

Maybe we would finally get some answers that could help find what was causing the variety of symptoms that got lumped into a single, catch-all diagnosis. Better yet, perhaps the bio-screens would allow doctors to develop individual treatment plans, catered to each person’s symptoms and stats. I doubted the screens would lead to an actual cure, not in whatever was left of my lifetime. But this could be the first step in stopping this terminal illness.

Despite the grim direction my thoughts had turned, my steps were light as I made my way to my favorite cozy coffee shop, ducking under the awning just as the skies opened and rain poured down. Gentle thunder rolled overhead; a perfect summer storm. I was glad I’d taken the entire day off for my appointment so I could later go home and spend the rest of the day snuggled in blankets and pillows, lights dimmed, and windows open to the soft pattering of the rain. It was one of my favorite ways to relax, but it didn’t happen often.

Leo was already there when I pulled the door open, sitting in our usual spot. He nursed a cup of what I knew was black coffee. When he saw me approach, he stood up and enveloped me in a hug. I instantly relaxed, breathing deeply. He always smelled a bit like cinnamon, and I loved it. Not that I’d dare tell him that, or that I harbored slightly more-than-friendly feelings towards him.

“How’d it go?” he asked as we sat across from each other, sliding a frozen concoction towards me. I set my bag on the table between us, grabbed the drink, and took a sip. I nearly melted into the chair from overwhelmingly happy taste buds.

Leo grinned at me. “You like it?”

“Holy shit, yes. I can die happy now.” It was a bit of a morbid joke we had going. Neither of us knew exactly when we’d reach our expiration dates, although from what symptoms we both had they seemed at least a few years away. “What’s in this?”

“They have a new marshmallow syrup,” he answered. “And, obviously, that’s paired with chocolate.”

“It’s perfect.” I took another sip, resisting the urge to close my eyes and just chug the whole thing.

“How’s your arm?” he asked, bringing me back to the entire reason for our meeting. I wouldn’t have been so close to the front of the line if Leo hadn’t pushed my application up. As I said; being friends with the son of the CEO of Farley Tech certainly had its perks.

“It’s…fine?” It was more of a question than an answer. “I’m not really sure how it should feel. But I think it’s normal?”

“Can I see?”

I carefully pulled back the loose sleeve of my long-sleeved t-shirt and held out my arm to him. He took my wrist in gentle fingers, turning my arm side to side as he looked. I willed my pulse to calm down; it was just a friendly gesture and meant absolutely nothing. But my heart didn’t listen. Traitor.

“It looks good. Does it still hurt?” I shook my head, taking another drag at my straw to give me something to focus on instead of his hand wrapped around my wrist. Seriously, Callie, get your shit together, I chided myself.

He dragged a finger across the blank screen, sending a shiver up my spine. He noticed, looking up at me.

“That tickled in a weird way,” I offered as an explanation, tucking my loose hair behind my ear.

“Once it’s fully attuned to you, it’ll feel just like your own skin. Except, you won’t be able to injure it. I know for a fact that someone tried to use their screen as a cutting board.”

“Tried?” A smile played on my lips as I tried imagining it.

“Oh, he succeeded. Both in using it as a cutting board and accidentally slicing his wrist. He almost bled out, like, two days ago. I was sent the report, so I could send it to the lawyers in case the guy tries to sue.”

“What is wrong with people?” I laughed. “Have you seen the list of restrictions for the first two days? No skydiving. You know someone must have thought that was a good idea.”

“I really think an intelligence test should have been part of the qualification criteria.” I hummed in agreement. He let go of my wrist and leaned back in his seat. “As it is, we’re probably going to have to move forward with creating a subsidiary because of instances like this, just for added protection. My father told me to come up with a name by the end of the week. But everything I can think of, that’s halfway decent, has already been used. Like Biowear. Spelled w-e-a-r at the end, but didn’t want people to get confused with a company that formed in the late 1900s.”

An especially strong peal of thunder sounded, and we both turned to face the rain-splattered window. The sky had darkened further, prompting a few streetlights to flicker on. The rain was a steady drum against the window, meaning I had probably forgotten to pack an umbrella in my bag.

“I love days like these,” I sighed, starting to curl my feet up into my chair before realizing I wasn’t at home and no one wanted the bottoms of my shoes all over the seat. I turned back to Leo to find him giving me an odd look, his head slightly tilted. “What? Don’t give me that look.”

“What look?” His tone was teasing, but his eyes didn’t match; they were serious, trying to decipher something in my expression.

“Like you think I’m crazy for preferring gloomy weather,” I answered. Leo just shook his head at me and took another swig of his coffee.

I leaned forward, setting my drink down to pretend I had some semblance of control when it came to sickly sweet drinks, and asked, “So, are you going to show me how this thing works?”

“Oh! Right.” He grinned and moved farther to one side of his bench. “Come sit over here. It’ll be easier.”

After just a moment’s hesitation to gather my wits and beg my pulse to behave, I gingerly sat down next to him, being careful not to accidentally brush against him. I focused on taking even breaths as he positioned his arm so we could both easily see his screen. I couldn’t help it. My traitorous body leaned closer, taking a discreetly deep breath.

Pathetic, I thought to myself.

“Okay, so obviously it’s always powered on, running off the energy your body already generates as heat. But any sort of accidental touches won’t trigger it to light up.” He demonstrated with a few random swipes. Nothing happened. “A double two-fingered tap or a diagonal swipe from top left to bottom right will wake the screen. And if you stare at it for three seconds, it will give you a general ‘all systems go’ sort of reading.”

Leo demonstrated, staring at the screen on his arm. In the top right corner, near Leo’s wrist, a green light blinked twice. He then swiped the screen from corner to corner, and the display lit up, glowing a soft blue. It automatically adjusted to the amount of light present, nowhere near the beacon I’d feared it would be. It was already difficult having an invisible illness, especially one with random symptom onset, and a billboard display would not have made things easier.

“This here is the home screen, for lack of a better term,” Leo began.

I interrupted. “You need to come up with an actual name. By the end of the week.”

“Funny.” He cut me a look. I pursed my lips together, and he sighed. “Okay, you got your tabs across the top.” Leo pointed at his screen, and I noted the different colors, in ascending rainbow order, across the top. Home, Basic, Advanced, Trends, Settings. “Unless you’re especially curious about something specific, the home or basic tabs will be the most useful to you. So, if you look here, you’ll see…”

Leo took about thirty minutes pointing out and explaining all the stats the screen monitored at all times. Pulse, blood pressure, oxygen levels, blood sugar, vitamin levels, cortisol, temperature… It was a long list, and most of it didn’t affect me. I’d undergone what had to be over a hundred tests both before and after my diagnosis, and nothing was ever out of the ordinary. No doctor or scientist could explain the headaches, nosebleeds, broken vessels in my eyes, racing heart, sweating, or the dizzy and fainting spells. That’s part of what made the disease, condition, whatever it actually was impossible to isolate, let alone cure. Doctors could never find any problem to treat, only managing to ease some symptoms.

“On the last tab here are the settings that you can calibrate. If you want to keep track of anything in particular, or everything in general, you can switch on the vibrate notification.” He tapped on his arm several times, showing me how to navigate to the settings and turn on and off the vibrations for specific stats.

“It’s a learning program, right?” I asked as Leo toggled back to the main screen.

He nodded. “It’ll look for things that change for no apparent reason and focus on finding what the trigger was. Say, if your temperature increases exactly one point three degrees, followed by one of your attacks, it’ll start looking to what caused the temperature spike.”

“But, if, for example, I was to spot a spider in my bathroom and start panicking…”

Leo shrugged. “There are some things that it obviously can’t detect. It’s really good, but not perfect. If you see or hear something that startles you into a biological response, apparently like seeing something as harmless as a spider—”

I whacked his bicep with the back of my hand. He feigned hurt, shying away from me. “You take that back. Spiders are not harmless.”

“They are, you arachnophobe.” I narrowed my eyes in mock accusation, but Leo pretended not to see. “If you know there’s trigger that it doesn’t detect, you can manually type it in, or flag it, at the very least. It’ll help the algorithm from getting bogged down with false positives, looking for a biological cause that doesn’t exist. And if you get an attack seemingly randomly, you’ll have the ability to log what you were doing at its start, to maybe identify a pattern.”

“Is there an option to have, like, a favorites list of things that stress me out? Like spiders, or stupid people who don’t bother to learn the return policy?”

Leo leaned back and looked at her. “You know, that’s not a bad idea. I’ll add it to the list.”

“The list?”

“There’s a lot of technology in these things.” He tapped his bio-screen. “The programming is just limited to monitoring vitals right now and running the program to figure out any causes, correlations, whatever. You add to its programming, and it can do almost anything.”

“What can’t it do?”

“Well, there’s no real camera, just sensors, so traditional video chat wouldn’t be possible. But because it has the sensors to know when you’re looking at it, over time it might be able to be programmed to create an avatar that looks like you, that can then be sent to other screens. Like a virtual video call.”

“Is that on your list, too?” I was trying to hold in my laugh. I never understood how Leo got so involved with all the technology, even though his dad owned and ran the company. It was extremely complex and ever-changing, not to mention an expensive hobby to fund. But then again, Leo had a billionaire—or was it trillionaire by now?—father who covered everything for him. What was it to him to rack up a hefty bill when someone else would pay it?

“There’s a lot of things on my list. Like, what if we’re being exposed to some chemical in the environment that’s setting off these attacks? That’d be useful to know, but the bio-screens aren’t searching for external factors like that. At least, not yet. But hopefully some of the, shall I say, improvements I make will be added down the road.”

“That’s really something, Leo. This could really make a difference and help a lot of people.” I sighed, grabbing my melted drink and taking a drag at the straw. My brain began reminiscing on my own lack of meaningful work and the reasons behind it. I glanced back out the window to watch the people rushing by, umbrellas open and heads covered with whatever was available. One would think that with all the technology available to us that someone would have figured out a better solution to umbrellas by now.

Leo would leave his mark on the world. Even if people didn’t know him by name, he was working towards something incredible that had the potential to make people’s lives better, and even might save them.

And what was I doing?

Working retail in a high-end accessories store, catering to the wealthy and the wanna-be’s. I spent my days helping men and women who’d never worked a day in their life find the right hat to wear on their yacht or the best diamond necklace to wear to a charity gala or the flashiest cuff links to show off at the next dinner party. Or I helped cheating spouses find the perfect apology gift while simultaneously picking out something for their other significant other’s birthday. Rarely did I have a truly positive customer interaction, usually when someone was investing in a new set of ear cuffs or health monitor ring for themselves. It was the people wearing the worn jeans and faded shirts that I connected to most; people like me.

The actual problem was I had no drive anymore, no burning desire to accomplish anything in my life. Once upon a time, I’d wanted to help people. But now all I wanted was to read books, snuggle my cat, and just be at peace with myself while avoiding the general public. Why bother with goals when you wouldn’t live long enough to see them through?

The brush of Leo’s hand against my shoulder as he moved my hair out of my face brought me back. “Where did you go?”

I shook my head and gave him a sad smile. “Nowhere.” I let out a sigh. “That’s my problem.”