Prologue
Michael Andrew Sutterfield crept down the staircase, the soft whirring sound of the blender helping to cover the report of the wooden steps creaking beneath his weight. Bypassing the kitchen and his mother, the twelve-year-old made his way through the dining room to reach the basement door.
Another flight of stairs led him down into the cellar. Squeezed among the washer and dryer and a handyman’s work station was the pod. Sphere-shaped and twelve-feet-in-diameter, the device was anchored in a seven-foot-high aluminum frame which enabled the object to rotate 360-degrees. The exterior shell was white, composed of fiberglass and tinted plastic. Emblazoned across its midsection in navy-blue was: GVP-5000.
A control panel featured a retinal scan and emergency shutdown switch. A digital clock displayed the time as 07:39 a.m. EST. Three names appeared in the USER menu.
Sutterfield, Edward M.
Sutterfield, Tina K.
Sutterfield, Michael A.
Retrieving his personal headpiece and visor from its charger, the adolescent pressed his name on the touch-screen and submitted to the retinal scan.
The pod immediately cracked open, revealing a padded black bucket seat which rotated into position for its occupant, its four female receptors moving to accommodate four male sensory devices built into Michael’s neoprene body suit.
The boy was about to climb in when he heard, “Freeze, mister.”
His mother descended the wooden stairs, carrying an 8-ounce glass filled with a pink smoothie.
“C’mon, Mom, it’s the first day of school. Do you want me to be late?”
“It’s only 7:39. Class doesn’t activate until eight, and you’re still grounded.”
“Twenty minutes of zero-gravity… what’s the big deal?”
“No.”
“Ten?”
“No! Here, drink this.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Drink it anyway. The machine will shut down if it senses your blood sugar is low.” She handed him the strawberry-banana protein shake. “So, your first day of junior high school, huh? A chance to meet new friends.”
“Whatever.”
“Michael, can you at least try?”
“Five minutes of zero gravity?”
“Dad told me you selected a science and space curriculum. That sounds exciting.”
“They do CE-5.”
“He told me. He also said the training sessions won’t begin until after you pass all your prerequisites.”
“A nutless monkey could pass them.” He checked the time display on the side of the pod… 07:41. “Come on, Ma! It calms me down.”
Tina Sutterfield could see her son was getting hyper… then again, he knew all the right buttons to push to get her to acquiesce. “Fine. You can stay in zero gravity until school starts, but first drink your smoothie.”
Michael drained his breakfast in one steady gulp, handing her the empty glass while expelling a loud burp.
“That’s disgusting.”
“Can I go now?”
“Did you feed Myrtle?”
“She died.”
“What? When?”
“I don’t know? Last night, I guess. I went to feed her this morning and she was on her back.”
“Honey… I’m so sorry.”
“I chucked her in the trash, she was starting to smell. Can I go now?”
Squeezing her eyes in defeat, she managed, “Go.”
He climbed inside the pod, sealing the hatch before his mother could lean in to steal a first-day kiss.
Tina watched the machine activate. Then she headed up two flights of stairs to her son’s room.
The terrarium was empty.
She and her husband had found the box turtle on a walk around the park. The reptile’s left rear leg had been crushed by either a bicycle tire or a jogger. Against her better wishes, Edward had brought it home for Michael to nurse back to health; father and son accessing the turtle’s internal anatomy on a zoological app inside the GVP.
Locating the wastepaper basket, she found Myrtle’s remains. While she had wanted to believe the creature had flipped over and suffocated on its own, the evidence suggested otherwise.
Tina examined the incisions that had extricated the turtle from its shell. Clean cuts… he’s getting better.
She wiped back tears. Maybe he’ll be a veterinary surgeon…
Arguably the most popular technological development since the iPhone, the prototypes of what would eventually become the Global Village Pod had originally been designed by the entertainment industry to enhance the video game experience by encapsulating the user in a holographic world that transcended reality.
By merging the system with cell phone technology, the GVP evolved into something far greater.
Almost overnight it seemed, new virtual apps hit the market, allowing executives to “virtually attend” a business meeting, saving travel time and money. Families could get together in any location, real or imagined. Sporting events and concerts, both live and pre-recorded, could be experienced from the best seats in the house.
A new line of sensory body suits raised the bar, allowing one to experience everything from being weightless aboard the International Space Station to the appendage-numbing temperatures and effects of extreme altitude training during a simulated assault on Mount Everest. A medical app replaced doctor visits while a line of interactive adult entertainment apps “virtually” put strip bars and prostitutes out of business, begetting a line of marital counseling apps.
But the Global Village Pod’s most important contribution to society was its ability to provide a high quality, individualized and affordable education for everyone, regardless of their household income level or location.
By law, attending kindergarten through sixth grade remained mandatory for a child’s social development; however grades seven through twelve, college, post-grad, and all vocational training were now offered in the interactive realm of the Global Village, saving state and local governments billions of dollars while placing public and private schools on a level playing field, allowing each student to learn at their own pace.
While the GVP changed the way the world learned, played, worked, and socialized, its primary function served a new division inside the Department of Homeland Security. Its neural sensors were able to analyze the brain waves of its users, allowing it to identify and track the five percent of the population exhibiting the traits of a sociopath.
The blind caterpillar crawled in excruciatingly slow endless circles along the bottom of the empty glass jar. Every two or three laps it would stop and raise its furry head, as if searching the void for landmarks.
The hologram of the attractive Chinese-American woman sat across the table from the boy, the teacher’s looks and age strategically selected to hold the adolescent’s interest while still establishing her as an authority figure.
“Mr. Sutterfield, I am still awaiting your answer. Please describe what you see.”
Michael rested his chin on the table, rolling his eyes. “For the twentieth time, I see a hairy worm crawling along the bottom of an empty jar. When’s lunch, Amy? I’m starving!”
“You are in junior high school now, Mr. Sutterfield. Temper your hunger and think deeper please. And you will address me as Ms. Shau.”
“Think deeper? I don’t know what that means.”
“Perhaps a different perspective might help.”
The tiny holographic jar suddenly expanded so that it engulfed the boy, who found himself trapped inside the glass container with the caterpillar, which circled him like a three-foot-high wiggling mass of fur.