I: Dolores

“I call it cucurbit therapy,” she said into the camera for her adoring fans and followers. She pointed to her eyes. “Cucumber slices on the eyes.” Then to the goop on her face. “A pumpkin puree mask.” And then she motioned her hand across the sea of bubbles, thick and foamy atop the water in which she was currently submerged. “And a melon bubble bath.” She pointed to her left. “Coupon code there.” In the air beside her was a six-digit alphanumeric code, holographic and bobbing beside her. “It's the best way to relax after a stressful day, or even after your latest bargain hunt.”

Dolores sat in a bubble bath while a Cameratta hovered in front of her. Though her eyes were covered by sliced cucumbers, she could still see the display of current watchers projected onto her retinas. It was lower than normal. She poked a foot out of the tub, the perfectly pedicured toes cresting the bubbles. The viewer count momentarily rose, but then dropped when her foot went down again.

Chat message scrolled past. “You're so beautiful. What's your secret?” and “How do you pay for all of this?”

She laughed, leaned back, let her golden hair dip into the water. “Though I have to admit, most of my days aren't that stressful. Too blessed to be stressed,” she said. “I practice yoga, pilates, meditation, and mindful thinking. Keeping myself centered on me and what I'm doing right now helps me avoid a lot of the struggles that most people deal with.”

Another chat message: “That sounds pretty selfish.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh,” she said, giggling like a cartoon princess. “I didn't mean it like that. I meant staying focused on what's happening to you at the very moment, not worrying about tomorrow, or fretting about what you did yesterday.”

“Still, sounds pretty conceited. Not all of us have banker husbands who fund our expeditions to the shopping plaza,” said the naysayer in the chat.

Dolores sat up a little, but not so much as to rise from the bubbles. She made a point of not delving too deeply into her personal life, keeping some semblance of separation from Archie and her online influence antics (as he called them). Under the water, she used the hand-motion controls to sic MaddieMod onto the naysayer. His words vanished like a puff of smoke. That would show him and anybody else who wanted to attempt to dox her on her own livestream.

She laughed. “Oh, you know how people are when they see someone who has worked hard to get where they are, and they get jealous.”

“It's ‘envious,’ you overprivileged--" MaddieMod swept in to save the day once more.

Sure, she'd get hate-watchers occasionally, the kind of people who would tune into her channel, hope to see something “interesting,” (which she never did), and then when they got disappointed, would fill the chat with vitriol until they made everybody's block list. It was all the same, with names like “ironic-chupacabra-72” and “philharmonic-seabass-84.” One day, she'd ask Archie to help her configure MaddieMod to just straight up block those cretins, or at least run them through a kindness filter.

“I try to be the good I want to see in the world,” she said, relaxing back into the water. “Now, it's time for some Q&A.”

She skimmed through the chat, looking for some softballs. “What's my beauty routine? Well, it changes every day, as we're at the frontier for beauty technology. Sure, I have some augments, but I won't use cosmetics to enhance my natural beauty. And, yes, I was born this beautiful.” She smiled, showing her perfect white teeth. She pulled up a cucumber slice off her eye. “Gold hair, gold eyes, honey skin. The sort of looks you'd need Kvasir to help you write poetry about.” She smiled. She didn't know much about Kvasir, other than his mead of poetry, but that seemed to resonate with the crowd. Hearts and laughter icons filled the air around her.

“But right now, I'm obsessed with oats. HealthyGrain has a new oat bar that fills you up but doesn't leave you bloated like those lesser breakfast bars that are full of soy and sugars and artificial everything. And they taste great. Coupon code here,” she said, pointing again at some more floating letters.

Just then, the lights flickered. MaddieMod threw an error, and the chat was full of vitriol. Momentarily stunned, she couldn't even shut her eyes to stop seeing the wall of hate that was building right upon her retina. Quickly she quit the streaming app, shut everything down. The cameratta fell to the tiled floor. She sat there for a while, the lights still flickering above her. She took a few breaths, peeled the cucumbers from her eyes, plucked the pumpkin puree mask from her face. “What just happened?” she said to the empty room.

When nobody answered, she sat up. “I said, ‘What just happened?’” She gave a meaningful glare at the infercom device on the wall. It just sat there like a glazed over eye. She slumped back into the tub. The water was starting to get colder.

Someone knocked on the door. Not the door to the bathroom, but the door to her apartment. It echoed in the distance. “What now?” she said. She pulled herself out of the bathtub, adjusted the straps on the swimsuit she had been wearing during the livestream, and climbed into a bathrobe. She wrapped a towel around her hair and slipped her feet into two fluffy raccoon slippers. Another knock.

“I'm coming!” she called as she made her way to the door. She stopped at a hall mirror and made sure she looked presentable. She considered putting on more than a robe and a swimsuit, but another knock made her think that would be rude, so she continued on.

She tried to use the doorcam to see who it was, but there was an error on the screen she didn't have time to deal with right now, so she looked through the little peep hole in the door. On the other side stood a policeman. Or something like that.

“Who is it?” she said through the door.

“Officer Buddy from Precinct 12,” said the voice on the other side. The voice was calm and reassuring.

Dolores cracked the door. The figure on the other side wasn't human. It had skin of white metal or plastic, a simple face with two round eyes and a mouth, like its face was a screen with an archaic LCD display drawing on the semblance of features. She squinted at him. “Are you one of those new robot cops?”

The simulated face smiled. “Correct. May I come in?”

She held the door closed. “Can I see your badge? Anybody can wear a police uniform. In fact, I have one in my closet for a fashion cop sketch I do on my channel.’

“Of course,” said Officer Buddy. He produced a badge. “There seems to be some problem interfacing with your home system. Is everything all right?”

“Is that why you're here?” she said, looking at the badge. She wasn't sure what to look for, but it seemed legit. She cracked the door. “Come in.”

Officer Buddy entered the apartment. He did not comment on the bathrobe or hair towel or slippers. “No,” he said. “We do not currently handle technical support issues with home automation systems. You should contact the manufacturer or whomever you have a service contract with. I am here for a different matter.”

She stepped into the kitchen and poured herself a hot cup of coffee and chicory. “Would you like something to drink?” she said, trying to be polite.

“No thank you. Aside from the fact that we are not supposed to accept food and drink from the citizens, as I am a synthetic being, I require no human consumables.”

She sipped her drink. “Okay,” she said. “What brings you here? Is it the moderation reports on my channel? I can tell you the usernames, but I'm not sure if that'll help, unless you can trace the calls or whatever.”

“No,” said Officer Buddy. He fidgeted his robot hands. “Have you heard from your husband lately?”

Dolores’ hand gripped the mug more tightly, the heat of the liquid going through the ceramic into her hands. “No,” she said. “He was working on some project at work, and then had to go out with his coworkers afterwards. I assume he just had some trouble getting home last night, and checked into a hotel. You know how those things go.”

“I am afraid that I am unfamiliar with such protocols,” said Officer Buddy. “I am coming here because Solstice QuantBank has issued a missing person report on your husband. He has apparently disappeared since last night, with no physical, digital, or financial trace of him since. Are you sure that you have not seen him?”

“No,” she said, then, “What? He's missing?”

“That is what I am here to investigate,” Officer Buddy said. He held out his hand, and a card materialized there, maybe sliding out of some card dispenser in his wrist. “Here is my card. If you do discover something, please let me know.” He tipped his hat and made for the door. “Oh, and Mrs. Tuttle, best of luck fixing the technical issues with your home.”

“Thank you,” Dolores said, but at this point she was on auto-pilot.

“You are welcome,” said Officer Buddy. He let himself out, closing the door behind him.

“Archie?” she said after a moment. “What happened?”