Hunger and Thirst (13 page)

She sat at her desk a half an hour, doing little work and lots of speculating. Well, okay, she thought. It's going to happen, and appeals take months. So do the next thing. Say the goodbyes. She left before lunch without speaking to anyone in the office.

Bethina pranced among the desks.

....

Mr. Raff wandered around station twenty-three, dusting the walls with his long dusters, ignored by a dozen thuggish-looking security officers who cordoned the area against non-travelers, of whom there were none. The goodbyes left her still shaken, but she walked as though it were a normal journey, a normal day, however difficult it was for her to remember a normal day.

Mr. Raff met her at the open underground entryway which displayed the same kind of door, same kind of complicated latch she now knew well, this one already opened.

“By yourself, you could open that in eight minutes,” Mr. Raff said.

As she stepped into the car, she said, “It isn't as complicated as it looks.”

Confinement, she suspected. Maybe they would expel her.

Tight-muscled and tense, she evinced nothing. She took a seat and gazed impassively in front of her, as Mr. Raff, without his dusters, took a seat directly in her line of sight.

A banging clunk and percussive air releases accompanied the slow acceleration away from Acrolith D.

“You're not being transferred,” Mr. Raff said. “You're not going to Acro B.

  Her heart jumped. “I'm being expelled?”

“You tested out. Would you like some lunch? We'll be ten hours in transit.”

She quickly gathered herself and feigned coolness. “Tell me what you're talking about. What is this 'tested out'?”

“You tested out. You're leaving the acrolith. You get to live with people more like yourself. You're out of there.”

Loris started moving pieces of what she knew into different patterns till something looked right.

“You don't know how rare you are,” Raff said. “First, your mother, in the acro, got pregnant; that wasn't supposed to happen. You're one of the few born there. Then you grew up among those people — that alone takes more character than I've got — and you still tested out.”

Everything flipped over. “The tests,” she said, “weren't for weeding out stupid people — they were to weed out the people who weren't?”

“See? You don't belong back there.” Mr. Raff stood up. “I'll order you some lunch. There are some magazines over there, handpad, few books, mini-vid. Look around. And just ask for me if you need anything.” He left. They had put her in what had to be a first class shuttle car — six reclining seats, bar, restroom —
with a shower!
And how clean everything was.

Loris expected to feel devastated — her entire life ripped away, Lloyd left to fend for himself, and Quentin.... She felt stunned, but she didn't feel devastated. Lloyd tested so low, he'd never be expelled; if he could only know, it would rest his heart. And if Quentin could figure anything out, he could leave and she'd see him again. Or not.

Lunch came and it wasn't fooprod — she could tell that at first aroma. Around the plate lay green leafy pieces that could never be imitated in fooprod, delicate-textured pieces of translucent fruit, and a real apple, which she had never seen before. She wasn't sure she liked the strange tastes.

Ten hours later, a full hour spent in the shower, she arrived at a sleek station, the sun just coming full above the mountain-edged horizon. The door opened, she stepped out, and a young man standing there smiled at her. He said, “Quite a journey.”

All she could say was “Yes” with too much aspiration. Compared to the acro, everything here was small, the air odorless, and she could see so far — to the mountains at the horizon. And clean — no trash or pieces of fooprod lying around. Clean little buildings separated by clean walkways.

“You're going to like it,” he said, leading her to a two-seat conveyance. “We aren't like the acro community. Things go smoothly here — that's what all the rescues say. You're called a rescue, by the way,” he said with a big smile. The conveyance closed around them and they sped silently into the town. “And I'm reliably told,” the young man said, “that the transition is a lot fun.”

She might have said, “Yes.” But at that moment, in a burst, she was thinking of Quentin's face and Lloyd's face and how awful it was to live with those other people in the acro and how she was going to miss Quentin and Lloyd and how much fun this was going to be, away from that place. All this made her ache. Retiring into darkness would have been relief.

But the reality in front of her face needed attention. She focused on what she saw. Rows of trees lined narrow streets; groves shaded smaller green areas. “You live among trees?” she asked as though she were unstressed.

“Yes, we do.”

She had only seen trees in the acro garden areas. Big bushes, really. Living among them seemed a peculiar concept.

....

“Oh, lookie!” Bethina said, slapping her hands together. It was just before lunch and she was anxious to eat, but here came Quentin Denmore, newly available, with a big grin on his cute face, carrying a big pink box with a big pinker ribbon on it. He put it on her desk, and as she ooohed in several pitches, she read the tag aloud: “Dear Bethina. This is my farewell gift to thee. Loris.” The
thee
caused Bethina to tear up.

“That was sooo nice,” she said, getting her arm around Quentin's waist. “I wonder what it is! Do you know what it is?”

Quentin shook his head. “She left it behind all wrapped up.”

Eventually she used both hands to wave everyone over, even Mr. Strickman, and then she opened the gift.

In a ballooning buzzing whine, hundreds of iridescent beetles blew past their faces and began a frenzied circulation through the office.

On a personal cover note, Loris had cautioned Quentin about lingering after he delivered the gift, so he had not. Fawn waited outside the office where he left her, with her big lovely lips and everything double-jointed below the waist. Even the screams from inside the office could not distract Quentin from the lust that once again sliced the throat of his judgment.

....

7:30 PM. Quentin's doorbell rang. He'd got back from Fawn's just an hour before and was still dehydrated. It was JoyLynn Podendall, alone with her grin.

“I want to thank you so much for inviting me to know Lloyd,” JoyLynn said to Quentin, just outside his front door, waiting to be invited in. Her wide eyes and frizzy electrified hair made her look ready to jump in several directions. She made Quentin nervous. He discreetly braced his shoulder against the edge of the door.

“Loris did the introducing. I didn't do anything.”

“Well, Lloyd said you were very nice and modest, but I want you to know, if you ever want to fool around, you just give me a day's notice. Lloyd says it would be all right with him because” (she whispered) “there's enough to share, if we don't carry on too long.”

“No, please,” Quentin said, “it was Loris that introduced you.”

“You just tell me on a day's notice. If you have a minute now, you know, since I'm already here, you could, you know....” She showed him a thing or two. “You know you'll hate yourself if you don't,” she said.

Quentin could see Lloyd's interest. JoyLynn had at least two interesting qualities. He thanked her and excused himself because he had to take his neighbor's dog in for an insulin shot. He nodded, made concluding noises, and finally got the door shut and got back to his charts.

He'd collected six more questions and fourteen answers from recent takers of the test. Sooner than he thought, he might be able to retake it and score high enough to apply for relocation — to Acro B, with Loris. Maybe in three months. But he'd heard it took a really high score.

More banging at the door.

This time it was Fawn, weeping. He took one look and his brain clicked off like a light switch. She allowed herself to be comforted till around 10:00, and then she got up and dressed because she had to meet someone named Henry.

Quentin sighed alone.

He would enter the test data tomorrow, sure thing, and fell back on his bed.

....

At that moment, the exact moment Quentin fell back on his bed and stared at his blank ceiling, Loris was stepping outside from her temporary quarters. She was exhausted from being shown around all day, nearly dead on her feet. Her rooms were spacious and clean with many windows, but at the moment Quentin fell back on his bed, she decided she needed to be outside a little longer, to take one more look at her new normal, to get a few more deep breaths.

She had to laugh. She couldn't believe it. She just had to laugh.

Those To Be Destroyed

Are First Shown Love

(from
The Arrival of the Overlords
: vol. 2 of
Matter Is Mostly Space
)

“Some become pets,” the counselor explained, “some become servants, workers, sex toys—that always happens; some will go to comfortable resorts—what you might call zoological gardens, where they have activities to occupy them.” The counselor was attractive without being beautiful, her voice soothing. Those people always looked well-fed and spoke softly. “Those inducted have a wide range of options, but they
are
property and can be directed as seen fit. You should know that intentional damage of property is a punishable offense. It rarely, rarely happens.”

Landis and Catrin and their two small children sat in front of the counselor at the induction agency, holding hands and listening to the her go over what they already knew, what everybody knew. They had seen endless images of their loved ones living among those people—but no one who went in came out or sent any messages back. Everybody knew anything could be faked, and the darkest suspicion was when you were inducted, they simply killed you. But in these desperate times, hope was greater than reason.

“Whole families can be inducted,” she continued, raising her eyebrows. “It's done more often than you think. Once inducted, we keep families together until they decide to separate.”

Landis almost glanced at Catrin. “Does separation happen a lot?” he asked. He firmed his hold on her hand.

“Nine out of ten,” she said, “and always by mutual agreement; no one is hurt. Marital formality seems to become less important.”

“We're not going to induct the family,” he said. He reached out and encompassed the nearest child's waist.

“It's completely up to you,” the counselor said. Leaning forward a little, she said confidentially, “Catrin—” (those people always used first names) “—I've heard that you play the violin.”

“Yes. I do.”

“That must be wonderful,” she said warmly. “Do you play for the children?”

“I don't anymore. The bridge on my violin broke.”

The counselor nodded sympathetically. Then her demeanor subtly shifted: “I know there are a lot of rumors, so I want you to take this.” She slid a datapage across her empty desk into their hands. “Induction is very simple, if that's what you choose. Two of us will come to your home at whatever time you choose. We're gentle, we're quiet, and we make it very easy for everyone. We are discreet.” She gave them a lovely smile. Those people always had perfect teeth and lovely smiles. “Please do think about it, and if there's anything else I can help you with, return and ask for me, Olivia. I'll be here.”

“You could send us some food,” Landis said angrily. Catrin shielded her face with her hands. “We're hungry,” he said as a kind of retreat.

“You can also call through the page,” the counselor said. “Make an appointment anytime. But you
will
let me know either way?”

Catrin nodded.

Landis and Catrin left the six-story office, ashamed to be seen, ashamed to have sat down with one of those people. But the sidewalks were nearly empty, and the few who were out seemed focused on their own thoughts.

“The kids were good,” Landis said gloomily. “You were good,” he said to the older one, Porter, who was nine, dark-haired and without expression. Porter didn't have expressions.

“Porter's good because he's dumb,” Katie-Ann said. She was five, expected to be irresponsible. Katie stiff-walked, her imitation of Catrin, lowered her voice and said, “Porter is a
goood
boy!” In her normal voice she muttered, “He's just dumb.”

Catrin fluttered her fingers at Katie-Ann's mouth, the family signal for unquestioned silence.

With the children, they moved slowly. Halfway home, Landis carefully removed two carrots from his jacket pocket. He broke one in half for him and Catrin and the other in half for the children, giving Katie-Ann the slightly larger piece. They ate as they walked.

....

That night, in bed, in the dark, the children between them from the cold, Catrin said, “We had a car, a bright white car, and we drove and drove, anywhere we wanted. Sometimes we drove for days.”

“We had a garage,” Landis said, “with a door that came up when I pushed a button. I had a bicycle. I could ride like the wind!”

They had begun “memories,” a recitation everybody did, to remember the old days, the normal days, the slow luxury of past summer days or the cozy warmth of long ago winters. Even dull routines were recalled with aching nostalgia.

“...coasted three miles downhill and it was like flying. But then I had to walk the bike back up. I was so tired!” —the unheard-of luxury of tiredness from fun.

“I had twenty-nine pairs of shoes,” Catrin said. “Red ones and some glow-in-the-dark red ones, and fancy blue shoes, and a pair of black heels that almost weren't there. I would sometimes wear five pairs in one day.”

The children twitched in their sleep. Catrin slowly inhaled and breathed out.

Landis stared toward the water-stained ceiling and thought of life without Porter. How much would he miss him? And Catrin? Could she let him go?

The food allotment they'd get would last till spring, and then their garden would have something. Katie-Ann wouldn't be hungry all the time.