Wrapped around my wrist is a little chinchilla baku, its shiny robotic eyes blinking up at me. “Where…where am I?” I try to say, but my throat is bone dry, and the sound comes out with a horrendous rattle.

>>I’ll order you some water.

“Thank you,” I croak. Then he crawls back up my arm, projecting a keyboard down onto my lap. I type out the rest of my questions.

Where am I? I ask.

>>You’re in the hospital. My name is Picchu, and I’m your designated hospital baku.

Suddenly, the nausea is back with a vengeance. I’m in the hospital?

My mind feels so muddled.

I check my body, but apart from the IV stuck in my arm, there doesn’t appear to be any serious injury—no casts for broken bones, no mysterious bandaging.

I think back, struggling to find a memory that might explain what’s going on.

There’s nothing.

Fear and shock make my hands shake. It takes me a moment before I can type again.

What happened?

The chinchilla burrows up against me, trying to calm me down.

>>I will call for a nurse.

I shake my head. I don’t want a nurse. I want my mom.

“Jinx, call Mom,” I croak. I look around the room, searching for my black cat baku. Bakus are robotic companions, designed to keep us connected to our friends and family, to our social networks and to the outside world. But Jinx is even more than my companion—he’s my friend.

There’s no answer from him.

>>I’m sorry, but all personal bakus are confiscated in this ward.

I frown. I want to argue but I hardly have the energy.

Can you open your messaging app? I type.

>>I’m sorry. We don’t allow access to external messaging or social media apps for hospital patients.

He sounds way too chipper to deliver such a disappointing message.

Picchu might be cute, but he can’t connect me to the outside world. I guess it’s supposed to be for my own benefit—to keep me relaxed and ensure my stress is low—but I just feel isolated and alone. And scared.

Really, really, scared.

I focus on Picchu as he moves around my body, doing his routine checks. I’ve seen one of these chinchilla bakus before, at school.

Bits and pieces of information from my lessons come to me. His supersoft synthetic fur is totally sterile, and while he is designed to be very affectionate and cuddly, he also takes care of monitoring my vital signs. His soothing vibrations are able to guide me to sleep and help with pain management too.

I frown. How come I can remember class lectures, but I can’t remember what happened to me? Where is Jinx? Did I have an accident?