Free Oasis (The Last Humans Book 1) by Dima Zales, Anna Zaires Page A

memories about this place. This isn’t a good time to be joking around.” I say this out loud, knowing she’d never ignore me after such an indiscretion.
    Silence is my only reply.
    What the hell is going on? What is Phoe up to? Why is she not talking to me when I need her most?
    I get up and pace the room.
    Five circles later, Phoe still hasn’t spoken up.
    I pace some more.
    No response.
    I keep pacing.
----
    I ’m sweating . I swear a couple of hours have passed with me pacing, and Phoe is still silent. I’m ready to do anything at this point, including playing whatever Singularity-technology VR game she needs me to play.
    I try lying down but can only do so for a few minutes before I jump up and start making circles around the room again.
    My discomfort is increasing exponentially, and I don’t understand it. Being locked up in this room has always sucked, but I’ve never felt this way before.
    It’s as if the gray walls are closing in on me. It makes me want to bash my head against the door and splatter blood on it.
    At least that would bring in some color.
    Okay, this is crazy. Am I experiencing some side effect from what I asked Phoe to do to my brain? Is this what it feels like to be anxious without the nano-whatever things messing with my mind? If so, how did the ancients not kill each other?
    Then I recall that they did kill each other during ‘wars’ and even on a day-to-day basis. They did a lot of crazy things, including creating artificial intelligence to aid in their wars.
    Thinking about the AIs that unleashed the world’s end makes me shiver—which is further proof that I’m more sensitive to stress than usual. Sure, those thinking machines were the epitome of all that was unwholesome and evil about the Last Days, but AIs, along with things like nukes and torture, are now a thing of the past.
    Maybe I should rethink this no-tampering policy and beg Phoe to change me back to the way I was.
    Sitting down on the chair, I fold my legs under me and try to even out my breathing. My mind is racing like that hamster in its wheel at the Zoo.
    In. Out. In. Out. I do this for what feels like an hour before I calm down a little.
    Then I notice a strange shimmer in the air.
    I stare at the apparition for a few moments before I comprehend what I’m seeing.
    It’s a Screen—a Screen in a room where I’ve never seen one.
    But it’s not a normal Screen.
    It’s faint and distinctly unreal-looking, as though it hasn’t really formed—as though I’m dreaming this Screen. It’s like this Screen is one of those ghosts the ancients were obsessed with, though ghosts were usually shaped like people, not Screens.
    A cursor flickers on top of this apparition for a couple of beats and then begins moving, leaving behind an unusual purple text. For a second, all I see are the lines that make up each letter, lines that remind me of digits on an ancient calculator. Then the meaning of the words seeps through my mushy brain.
    Theo, this is Phoe.
    As it turns out, the Witch Prison is a Faraday cage—or nearly so. It’s a place where I can’t talk to you. Luckily, I found this one loophole through one of the Guards’ communication channels, and I really hope it works.
    On the subject of Mason, I tried hacking into their system on my own, but I couldn’t—nor could I set up the game interface. But I do have an idea about how we can free up some resources, which might give me a good chance at both tasks.
    In any case, none of that matters as much as this: You need to get out as quickly as possible.
    “What are you talking about?” I think at her. “I don’t understand anything you said, except that you can’t talk to me and that I need to escape.” I look around, waiting for a reply, and then look at the screen. When no response comes after a few moments, I subvocalize, “How can I get out of this place, Phoe?”
    The cursor wakes up again and types:
    If you’re trying to talk to me, you should know that this