“I am not Hubert,” the belt said. “I am a Hubert terminus with nominal personality and cognition. I lost contact with Hubert prime at 02:21 today.”
“Well, good for you,” Bogdan said and dropped the belt. To Denny he said, “Did you see the fight Kale put up over Hubert? I didn’t even think he liked the pastehead.” As he spoke, Kitty gave him a calculating look. “What?” he said, but she turned back to Samson to wipe dribble from the corner of his mouth.
“What about Kale and Hubert?” Bogdan insisted.
“Is that Boggy?” Samson said. “Come here, Boggy; I have something to tell you.”
Megan and Kitty finished and gathered up the tray and bath supplies, and Bogdan sat on the cot next to Samson and took his hand.
“I learned something today, boy.”
“I imagine you did.”
“I learned that killing yourself is hard to do when all you really want to do is live.”
“I could have told you that.”
“Really?” Samson said and tried to focus on the boy. “I don’t think so, Boggy. You haven’t even figured out how to pass through puberty yet. What do you know of dying?”
3.2
Fred hadn’t seemed as positive about Mary’s duty call out as she expected him to be. When the canopy show was finished and the last of the glowing ashes had fallen, Mary rode the tower lifts and pedways home to get ready for work. She ordered up a smart teal and brown ensemble (not a uniform—evangelines didn’t wear uniforms), researched train schedules, and pulled as much information about the Roosevelt Clinic as she could find on the WAD. Which wasn’t much. It was an exclusive aff facility that shunned publicity.
Fred dragged himself home around 2:00 AM, looking even more beat-up than before. He wanted to celebrate her job, but she sent him straight to the shower and bed. She lay with him until he fell asleep, which didn’t take long. When she got out of bed, he stirred and said, “Be careful.”
“What did you say, Fred?” But he must have spoken in his sleep, because he didn’t answer.
BEFORE LEAVING THE apartment at 5:00 AM, Mary inspected her 360 reflection in the mirror. The simple business outfit she had selected looked both professional and flattering. Her face wore a bright, sensitive, and friendly expression. Her large brown eyes were warm but discerning. In short, she looked the part of a successful evangeline.
In the lower corner of the mirror, a mail glyph began to pulse—there was an urgent message on the DCO board. Her heart sank. She’d known it was too good to be true—her companion assignment had been canceled at the last minute. She was sure of it.
Drenched in self-pity, Mary tiptoed through the bedroom, past Fred’s sleeping form, to the living room and flatscreen. The screen was set to the default window high in the tower. She switched it to her DCO board and held her breath. Her eyes darted across the message scanning for the keywords: “canceled” or “regret” or “error,” and finding none of these, she relaxed enough to actually read it.
No, thank heaven, her duty had not been canceled. Instead, she was instructed to attend a brief orientation meeting before proceeding to the clinic. This she was happy to do, and she swiped the directions and left the apartment.
The corridors and lifts of APRT 7 were congested with tens of thousands of Applied People iterants on their way to morning shifts: helenas, steves, isabellas, jennys—plenty of jennys—in a sea of brown and teal. This was the time of day that Mary had always dreaded the most. She couldn’t bear the sight of gainfully employed mobs. But today was different, and her excitement must have shown, for people—strangers—smiled at her. “G’morning, Myr ’Leen,” they said. “Off to work?”
“Hi ho!” she replied.
Down in the Slipstream station, the crowds were swelling by the moment, and the boarding queue had an estimated thirty-minute wait. This was manageable—Mary had allowed for such delays. But when she swiped the conductor post with her destination from the DCO board, to her surprise it directed her to a distant platform reserved for private cars. Feeling deliciously conspicuous, Mary left the queue and took a pedway to the platform where she found a grand car already waiting for her. No mere bead car, it was large and swank, with plush seating, full media access, a snack bar, and its own serving arbeitor. She took a seat and buckled her harness, and the car rolled noiselessly down the injection ramp.
A half hour later, the car swooshed through a flow gate and decelerated, bouncing on its wheels and rolling into a small deserted station. Through the car windows Mary glimpsed polished marbelite floors and curved walls made from tall blond limestone blocks. Her car came to a smooth stop, and the doors slid open. There didn’t seem to be anyone waiting for her. The station lacked signs and kiosks, and she had no idea where she was. Mary recalled Fred’s sleep-talk warning, and she was a little afraid to leave the car. But she forced herself, and when she stepped on the platform, another car was arriving.
This one, identical to her own, came to a silent halt several meters away. When the doors opened, another evangeline stepped out and looked around the quiet station.
Mary and the other evangeline walked across the shiny marbelite floor to greet each other. “Mary Skarland,” Mary said, offering her hand.
“A pleasure,” said her sister. “Renata Carter.” Renata seemed rather big-boned for an evangeline and thick-waisted, but within germline norms. She squeezed Mary’s hand nervously and said, “Are we supposed to go somewhere? Or wait here?”
“Not a clue.” Mary laughed. Already she felt a kindred spirit in her sister. “I just arrived myself.”
As if on cue, an elevator door across the platform opened, and a household arbeitor rolled out. It approached and parked before them and opened a little scape above its head. A miniature man appeared in the scape, naked but for an animal-skin loincloth. His head was smallish for his body and had heavy brow ridges and a thick jaw. “Good morning,” he said, bowing to each of them, “and welcome to Starke Manse.”
Starke! The famous name had been in the news continuously since yesterday.
“I see from your reaction that both of you are aware of my family’s tragedy,” the little man said. “That will save time. Eleanor Starke is deceased, as the media reports, but her daughter, Ellen Starke, has survived the crash. She is your new client. I am Wee Hunk, Ellen’s mentar and your supervisor.”
The little muscleman proceeded to describe the scope of their assignment. He had engaged eight evangelines, he said, to cover around-the-clock shifts. Since the shifts overlapped at both ends, there would be four of them on duty for two of each eight hours.
“Please take these and put them on,” the mentar said, and the arbeitor below him held out two little round caps in its gripper arm. They were odd little hats, flattish, beige, and unadorned. When the ’leens put them on, the caps sat on their heads like teacup saucers. One look at Renata in her cap and Mary saw just how ridiculous she, herself, must look. Renata tipped her cap to sit at a jaunty angle, and Mary approved and tipped hers too.
“Splendid,” Wee Hunk said. “My first attempt at haute couture is a success. Now, my most important instructions to you are these. First, you are to put these hats on before you enter the clinic grounds and are not to remove them for any reason until you leave. Is that understood?”
Both women nodded.
“Second and just as critical, you are never to leave Ellen alone, not even for a second. That’s why I’ve arranged for teams of two. You are to time your breaks accordingly so that at least one of you is in the same room as Ellen at all times. She is being housed in a cottage surrounded by a flower garden. You may consider the cottage and garden to be one room. That means that at least one of you is to remain in the cottage or garden at all times. No exceptions, no excuses. Is that clear?”