“This is awesome,” he says, as he pops the bubbles one by one. Each time, another bubble appears in a different spot. He’s probably the only guy in here more excited by the technology than the half-naked girls. “Check this out. You order at the table here.”
A menu hovers over the bubbles. From it, we can order food and drinks, as well as other…entertainment.
I scan the list of names and photos of girls we can request. There are a few guys listed too. I find a way to narrow it down to only Asian women, which cuts it down to three. Only one of them is available right now.
“That’s her!” Zoe says. “Jasmine! Or I think it’s her. That’s not her name, but it looks like her. I just…I can’t believe she works here.”
I focus on the photo of Jasmine—one of the older women listed, maybe in her late thirties or early forties. She’s pretty, with raven-black hair and porcelain skin, but compared to the barely twenty girls she looks almost ancient.
“Sorry, Future-Adam. Looks like you’re paying for this too,” Adam mutters while he orders a private room with Jasmine.
“Okay, now I really want to go in there,” Trent whines.
I wish I knew how to mute him. “Now what?”
Adam orders two sodas and pops another bubble. “I guess we wait.”
A minute later, the scantily clad waitress sets our sodas on the table without a word. A ring of light appears around each glass when it touches the surface, and the bubbles cluster around them.
I pick up my soda and chug it to relieve the pressure in my throat. When I set it down, windows appear above the table asking if I want to order another soda, along with suggestions for other drinks and an icon to “share with your friends.” Adam leans forward to examine the options, but I shake my head and look away.
A woman with short, black hair and a ton of eyeliner comes to our table. She’s well stacked, wearing a bra flashing with digital colors, a matching skirt that’s smaller than some of my underwear, and a flexi that looks like fish scales. But there’s something sad about her, with the fine lines around her eyes and the caked-on makeup, like she’s trying too hard to be twenty again.
“You order the private room?” she asks, sounding bored.
Is this Jasmine? I glance at Adam, but he shrugs.
“That’s her,” Zoe says softly. “I can’t believe it. She looks so…old.”
“Yeah, that’s us,” Adam says to Jasmine, adjusting his glasses and carefully looking everywhere except her breasts. “What do we…”
“Follow me.” She leads us into the side of the club, past a velvet curtain, and gestures at a purple love seat. Adam sits, but I think of all the men who must have sat on the couch and decide to remain standing.
The woman slides close to him, moving between his legs, but he holds up his hands to stop her. “Wait! We just want to talk to you.”
The woman shrugs, but steps back. “Whatever. You paid for thirty minutes.”
“We’d like to ask you a few questions about your sister,” I say.
“My sister?” Jasmine plants her hands on her hips. “Why do you want to know about her?”
“We’re, um…” We really should have planned this out better. I try to think of everything I know about Zoe. “We’re doing a class project on her art. She was a great artist.”
“Is this some kind of sick joke?” Jasmine cocks her head to the side, her eyebrows raised. “My sister died when she was seventeen.”
05:21
I hear a sharp intake of breath in my head, and Chris starts to swear. Zoe is dead? That must be why she’s not in the system. But if Zoe’s not in the system, does that mean we’re all dead?
No. It could just be a coincidence. It has to be.
Jasmine is eyeing me suspiciously. I need to say something. “Well, you know, art becomes more valuable after someone dies.”
“Hmm.” She shrugs. “I guess it has been about thirty years now.”
Oh God. That means Zoe must have died not long after we returned from this trip to the future. It can’t be a coincidence. It’s all connected somehow—the conversation with the scientists, the empty building and the wrong year, and now this.