Trapped!: The 2031 Journal of Otis Fitzmorgan Read Online Free

HOLO-NURSE.
    The nurse hologram was standing next to him. “What seems to be the problem?” she asked in a soothing voice. “Please select
     from the following. One: upset stomach. Two: headache. Three—”
    The boy interrupted, the veins in his neck popping out. “You can talk to the nurse on the other side, where all the other
     adults are!”
    Before I could say anything, a girl with long jet—black hair stepped forward. “Maybe you should just leave him alone?” She
     spoke timidly, making the suggestion as if it were a question.
    “And who are you?” the boy fired back at her, pointing a finger in her face. The girl looked stunned by his rudeness. When
     she didn't answer, the boy shouted into the air, “Computer, who is this girl?”
    The pleasant voice of the computer answered,
    LYSA A BENATO. AGE FOURTEEN. SHE IS THE DAUGHTER OF MAXINE—
    “Computer, stop!” Lysa commanded, her voice rising. She looked even more flustered when the computer continued speaking.
    —BENATO VICE PRESIDENT OF SALES AT URBANE COSMETICS.
    “I gave the computer an order,” Lysa said, bewildered.
    Looking smug, the boy gazed at her and folded his arms across his chest. It was clear from his bulging biceps that he had
     taken one too many muscle-enhancing pills. Which could also explain his aggressive behavior. “My family owns the hotel at
     the top,” he said, “so I'll decide what happens. My commands override all others.”

    LYSA AND YVES FACED OFF
    Now I knew who the kid was: Yves Jackson. He was my age, but he acted he owned the place. Well, in a way, he does—or at least,
     his family does. The Jacksons put up tens of billions of dollars to complete the Space Elevator. In fact, so much of their
     money had gone into the project, they'd been given sole ownership of the hotel at the top.

    A TALL, SKINNY BOY TOLD THE HOLO-NURSE TO SHUT OFF.
    “I need some medicine!” Mr. Noonan suddenly bellowed.
    The holographic nurse looked at him. “This does not appear to be a medical emergency,” she said.
    I stepped toward them, about to say something, when I was stopped by another new voice. “Nurse, please turn off.” It was a
     tall, skinny boy with limbs that reminded me of a grasshopper's. He had a long face with widely spaced eyes.
    The holo-nurse smiled, said, “Have a healthy day,” and flickered off.
    “Why didn't I think of that?” Yves Jackson said, then turned to Mr. Noonan and demanded, “Now can you get up?”
    “What are you doing? I need the nurse,” Mr. Noonan whined at the new boy, who held out his hands in a calming gesture.
    “You have to get up!” Yves snapped.
    Enough is enough, I thought. “Yves Jackson?” I asked in my most official-sounding tone.
    “What?” he demanded.
    “I'm Otis Fitzmorgan, an official with FSA. I noticed someone suspicious luring outside your quarters on Level 4,” I lied.
     A little fib seemed worth it to help out Mr. Noonan.
    “And what did you do about it?” Yves said angrily.
    “Nothing,” I answered with an exaggerated shrug. “I'm no longer on duty.”
    “Typical!” Yves cried. But my plan worked. Forgetting about Mr. Noonan, Yves threw up his hands and stormed out of the room
     to check on his quarters.
    With Yves gone, the tension in the room instantly came down a couple of notches. And everyone seemed to sigh in relief.

    CROCKETT TRIED TO CALM MR. NOONAN DOWN.
    The skinny boy gave me a nod of thanks and then turned back to Mr. Noonan. He crouched down next to the man. “Hi, my name's
     Crockett Vinton,” the kid said in soothing tones. “I came up with my folks. They decided to stay behind for a few more days,
     but I have to get back to the books. I'm in medical school.”
    “You're a doctor?” Mr. Noonan asked.
    “Almost,” Crockett answered. It wasn't strange for kids our age to be doctors and lawyers anymore. Genetic enhancements had
     made some kids more mature. My own genes were straight from my parents—and hadn't been altered.