“What was it?” Charmaine says. Maybe something bland, like Pediatric.
“Okay, it was in Medications Administration,” says Sandi. “She went the next day to start the training. But when she came back she was upset. Veronica never gets upset normally.” Sandi pauses. “You mind scratching my back?”
Charmaine scratches. “A little to the left,” says Sandi. “Thanks. So she said, ‘Basically they want me to kill people. Underneath all the bullshit, that’s what it is.”
“Oh gosh,” says Charmaine. “Not really!”
“No shit,” says Sandi. “So she told them no, she couldn’t do it. And the next day she was gone. Just gone. Nobody knew where she went, or else they wouldn’t say. I asked at her work, and they looked at me in this weird way and said that information was not available. It was creepy! So I wanted out.”
“You’re not allowed out!” Charmaine whispers. “Remember what we signed! Couldn’t you just explain to them …” She knows this is futile, because rules are rules, but she wants to hold out hope.
“Forget it,” says Sandi. “I’m fucked.” Her teeth are chattering. “No free lunch for me, I should’ve known. Now you should put the hood back on and call a guard, and say why is this person in your cell, and they’ll clear me out of your way.”
“But I can’t just …” says Charmaine. “What will happen to you?” She’s going to cry. This is wrong, it
with
But on some level she’s always known that would be impossible. She’s been a distraction for him, but not a necessity of life. More like a super-strong mint: intense while it lasted but quickly finished. And, to be fair, he’s been the same thing for her, and if he was offered to her on a serving platter in exchange for Stan, she would say no thanks, because she could never depend on Max: he’s too fast with his mouth, he’s like a TV ad, pushing something dark and delicious but bad for you. Instead she would say, “I choose Stan.” She does feel quite certain that this is the choice she would make.
Though what if Stan rejects her, despite her new, virtuous intentions? What if he throws her out, tosses her clothes onto the lawn for everyone to see, and then locks the door on the inside? Maybe it will happen at night, and she’ll be outside in the night, scratching on the window like a cat, begging to be taken back. Oh, I’ve ruined everything, she’ll wail. Her eyes water up just picturing it.
But she’ll refuse to think about that, because you make your own reality out of your attitude, and if she thinks about it happening, then it will. Instead she’ll think about Stan’s arms going around her and him saying how miserable he’s been without her and how happy he is that they’re finally together once more. And she’ll stroke him, and cuddle him, and it will be like old times.
Because the days will fly past and it will be switchover in a couple of weeks, and she can finally leave Positron for her month as a civilian again. She’ll be working at her Consilience job in the bakery, and she won’t have to think about screams or women with hoods on chained to her bed, and she’ll smell like cinnamon from the cinnamon buns, such a cheerful smell, and not like the floral scent of the fabric softener from Towel-Folding in Positron, which if you have to breathe it all day is truly chemical and sickly. She won’t use that fabric softener on her own laundry any more, ever. She’ll be back in her own house, with her pretty sheets and the bright kitchen where she cooks such nice breakfasts, and she’ll be with Stan.
Because why would they even tell him about Max, supposing they know? Considering that the whole point of Consilience is for things to run smoothly, with happy citizens, or are they inmates? Both, to be honest. Because citizens were always a bit like inmates and inmates were always a bit like citizens, so Consilience and Positron have only made it official. Anyway, the point is the greatest happiness all around, and telling Stan would mean less happiness. In fact it would mean more misery. So they won’t do it.
Already she can picture, no, feel Stan’s arms around her; and then the way he nuzzles the side of her neck and says things like,
How’s my cherry pie?Not like the things Max says, which are more like , I’m going to turn you inside out, after this you won’t be able to crawl. Beg me for it.