by Isa-Lee Wolf
She quickly tamped down her encouragement, in case Wanda saw.
"There are always retrospectives," the woman said. "You know, 'Best ofs.' And there's still plenty to do in the first few months, while people are getting adjusted. You know, rent checks, 18-month calendars, that kind of thing."
"And then what?" said Wanda. "Then what happens? Where do I go? What do I do?"
"I'm so glad you asked," the woman said, finally able to return to her script. "You see, we have this lovely facility, all of you go there, you know, when you're finished. Here," she slid a glossy folded paper from beneath the clip of her board and held it toward Wanda. "There's even a brochure."
The pictures were bright and multicolored, with others sitting and laughing, eating, strolling by the water, the patina of their clockwork innards glinting warmly in the setting sun. It didn't look too bad. She nearly let go of the handle to take the brochure, to open it, to see what kind of crafts there were, as promised on the cover, when she remembered.
"No," she said.
"Wanda," said the woman, her tone sharpening, gaining hardness around the edges, "I'm afraid you haven't got a choice. It's time."
She shook her head as much as the chamber allowed, which wasn't much. "I'm not going."
"But what are we supposed to do with him?" She pointed her pen at the baby, who turned, stared at them and burst into a full beam, his tiny gears engaging as he reached his arms toward Wanda. "It's his turn now. Don't you want to give him his turn?"
Wanda closed her eyes. It wasn't fair, she thought. It went by so quickly, her lifetime of usefulness, her purpose, and now she was supposed to retire off with the rest of them, with some anonymous body of water and a dining hall and crafts. Though crafts are nice. But still, this was her machine, it was hers.
The worker had moved away, but she could hear her talking softly, her sentences interspersed with the cluck of her two-way handheld.
"No, no, I'm telling you it didn't work." Something unintelligible garbled through from the other side. "No. Clamped on, completely. Like a vice." Again, soft electronic murmuring. "It's like Oh-Three all over again." More garble. "What? She can't hear me. I'm away from the chamber." Indistinct chatter. "Fine, fine, Trinity. Like Trinity all over again." She waited for the response. "That would probably be best." After a long interlude of murmur, the handheld fell silent.
"Umm, Wanda?" said the worker several minutes later, the ice in her voice retreating. "I'd like you to meet someone."
"Not interested," she said, her eyes still closed. She knew the truth, the worker had practically said so herself, with the conversation she thought Wanda couldn't hear. She was only a number to those people. Oh-Three indeed. "What do you call me when you're out of the lab?" she said, her eyes still completely shut. "When you're talking to your buddy over there at lunch or wherever it is you go?"
"Wanda," the woman said, her discomfort obvious even to Wanda and her closed eyes.
"What do you call me? One-One?"
"Wanda, really, there's someone here you should meet-"
"Or Eleven? Do you call me Eleven? A number to you, that's what I am after all this time."
"I thought she couldn't hear," she said to someone, though Wanda wasn't going to bother to open her eyes to see who it was. "I swear, I wouldn't have used the technical--"
"Technical?" said another voice, a new voice, a male voice. "Technical? Really? Is that how you're describing it?"
"Well-"
"Her name is Wanda, you know," he said, his tone both relaxed and oddly engaging despite the rebuke. Wanda couldn't help herself, she opened her eyes a crack.
"I'm Oden," he said with a half-smile. "I'd shake your hand, but I understand your position. Obviously," he said. His gears were slightly rainbowed with a healthy dose of age. Wanda thought they made him look distinguished.
"Oden," she said. "So I?"
"Replaced me, yes." He took a step toward the chamber, careful to keep a distance. "Flip of the switch and it was me in there. And you over there," he said, and smiled at the baby, a real smile, not a put-on one.
"What did you do?"
"I went," he said. "It was time. It's how it works, you know."
"I know," she said, looking at her feet, so comfortable in the only spot they'd ever known. She glanced up and met his gaze. "I know," she said again.
"The place really looks like the brochure," he said, offering her his hand to help her to step out. She considered it, but didn't lessen her grip on the handle.
"What about the crafts?"
He took the hand he'd been holding out and dug into his pocket, his gears gliding smoothly along. He pulled out a wallet. "I made this," he said. "Stitched it myself." She took in the uneven stitches and frowned. "I'm not a very good crafter," he added quickly, "but they are fun to try."
"Hmm," said Wanda. She glanced at the worker who looked at the clock on the wall and back at Wanda, her face full of cautious hope. Oden set out his hand again.
"The sunsets are every bit as pretty," he said, "and the best part is there are no more dials, no more levers. No more chamber."
"But I like the chamber," she said, scooting back to be further back within it.
"You like the chamber," he said, "because all you know is the chamber. Take a leap."
"No, no," said the worker, "that's him." She pointed at the baby.
"You understand you're not helping the situation?" Oden asked her.
"I do, yes, realize that now."
"So what do you say, Wanda?"
She gave her chamber and the lab a final look over. She could probably make a better wallet. She could certainly make a better wallet. Maybe they'll have pottery. Slowly, she released first her right hand and then her left, and placed it in Oden's outstretched palm. The machine beeped behind her while the worker anxiously watched the clock, the man with the baby leaning, ready to place him.
She stepped out of the machine.
The woman grasped a crank on the side of the box and turned it furiously so that the chamber got smaller and smaller and the arms shorter and shorter. The man, watching the clock rather than her or the baby, placed the baby where she had been moments before but where she would never fit now. The baby giggled.
Without looking back, Wanda took Oden's arm, and together, they headed toward the door. They reached it and disappeared into the flash of sudden white light.
The worker leaned against the machine, her hands shaking. "Happy New Year, everyone," she said weakly.
Better Living Through GRAVY
"So you say you're going to do what to me, now?" Toni said, already wedged between the end of the wooden bench and the lockers and wishing she had further to go. The other woman glanced at her from the corner of the locker-room mirror and continued forcing her hair upward into a bun, but no matter how many times she smoothed it, wisps still escaped, drifting gently downward.
"It's not to you," said the woman, turning mostly her upper half around quickly. She returned to the mirror and gave her hair three quick pats. "For you. There. That's better." Toni couldn't see any difference in her hair from a few moments ago.
"If you say so," she said. "Back to what you were talking about."
"Right," said the woman, this time spinning all the way toward Toni. "Exercise is so invigorating. Don't you find it invigorating? And Doreen is such a perky instructor, she just makes you want to rip those reps--"
"It's very nice. I wouldn't mind getting back to what you were saying you were planning to do?"
"Just offering," she said. "Wasn't I clear? I wouldn't force treatment, I mean, that wouldn't be exactly ethical. Or so they keep telling me, it's really pretty annoying if you ask me, which I'm sure you would, because who isn't fascinated by the pursuit of science?"
"I think I'm going to say 'no thanks,'" said Toni. She picked up her gym bag and tried to step around the woman, who didn't move. "Excuse me."
"I think you're going to want to hear what I can do." She smiled brightly, one of the
wisps settling on an eyelash, but stood firm.
"I don't know who you are--"
"Oh, dear me, that's right you're new in town, aren't you? I'm Dr. Montraps. Ida Montraps." She stayed where she was, her smile broad, her eyes crinkled in the corners. "Most people around here know who I am," she said proudly.
"Ok," said Toni, feeling uncomfortably close to the woman.
"You can call me 'Aunty Ida if you want."
"I'd rather not."
"Why does everyone keep saying that?" she said, and took a half-step back. Toni seized the moment to edge around her. "I heard you talking to Doreen." Ida's voice was quiet, but it was enough to stop Toni mid-step.
"What did you hear?"
"I want you to know," said Ida, facing the direction Toni had been rather than where she was, "I can fix the problem. With GRAVY."
"OK, now I know you're nuts, and I'm leaving." Hefting her bag onto her shoulder, Toni crossed the room to the little hallway leading out to the gym.
"No, no, my no," said Ida, suddenly right behind her, "I see where you got confused, I'm not nuts, I'm a psychiatrist, I treat people with mental issues. People seem to get that mixed up around me. A lot."
"Look," Toni spoke barely above a whisper, but the other gym goers still looked as they passed toward the door. "That doesn't make any sense." With a shove, they found themselves on the quiet street, the stores not yet open.
"Sure it does, patient, doctor, they're very close when you think about it."
Toni shook her head in a tight back-and-forth. "No they're not," she said, "and I meant the other thing. Gravy."
"It's an acronym. Gene
