Butchers & Rog’s building was so close when we arrived at our destination that I could just make out our shapes on the rooftop, reflected in the fat pillar of Rog’s mirrored glass. We had been given strict instructions to work on the side facing away from Rog’s building. We were not allowed to blemish his view.
Tico™ Entertainment wanted to promote their new series Simple Ones, about a group of bumbling debtors who worked for a warmhearted, wealthy and handsome genius. The well-meaning simpletons constantly bungled his plans and lapsed further into debt. It was an exclusive show that used an advanced version of Ad technology to replace one of the actors with a computerized version of the viewer. It would only screen to Affluents, putting them in the role of warmhearted genius.
Our job was to unfurl Ad sheets over selected windows, which would replace the view with a loop of the half-hour pilot. I wondered if the Affluents inside would ever question the scans, or feel odd about them. Probably not. The media campaign made it clear that only very special people would find themselves in the action. Kel said flattery like this was an intoxicant.
The Ad sheets were designed to adhere for no more than twenty-four hours, at which point they would peel away and fall gently to the street below. The problem was that when I pressed my first one in place, it immediately slipped away.
It wasn’t my fault. I did exactly what Kel described, thumbing the top corners in place and then running an electrostatic squeegee over the Ad. But it didn’t stick at all. The sheet curled up and tumbled away. In a blink, Kel dropped on her line until she was in freefall and caught the Ad with an irritated huffing sound.
Her eyes locked on me, flashing exasperation. She blamed me for letting it slip. She zipped back up, shoulders tight. She flattened the roll out in front of me sarcastically, doing all the same things I had done. It didn’t work for her either. She tried again. It failed.
She pulled another sheet out, while Henri and Margot tried the same, but the Ads simply would not stick. A tense silence followed. I’d never seen a Placement fail.
Kel snapped her line up the building, and we all knew to follow.
In a Squelch a few minutes later, the first word out of her mouth was a terse “Sorry.”
I didn’t often think about the money that was saved when Kel and the team talked while cut from the tether, but I knew sorry was always $10—and a legal admission of guilt. She didn’t say more. She didn’t need to. I felt like a weight had been lifted from me, despite the anger radiating from Kel. She turned her attention to the useless Ad sheets.
“Do you know why this happened?” she asked, shaking and crushing a sheet in her hands.
“Gravity?” Margot guessed.
I almost laughed, and Margot peeked at me, eyes twinkling.
“Because the Patent Lawyers keep suing each other so that nothing new can ever be designed.” She tossed the sheets across the room. “We’re stuck—forever trapped in exactly this.” She gestured to the room, but she meant the world that held us all back.
Henri kicked at one of the Ads at his feet in solidarity.
“I’ll have to file a report, and a defense, and they will sue me for defamation because they can’t make a product that sticks, and I’m the one pointing it out.”
She blew out a giant breath.
“You can all go home,” she said, bending down to gather up the sheets. We all joined her.
“Thank you,” she muttered. She took the ones from my hand. “Thank you,” she said more clearly. It felt like she meant more, but why?
We all left and spilled out onto the roof to go our separate ways. I wasn’t being escorted anymore. Henri went off ahead of me. I watched him go, his pack on his back, zipping away.
I racked my brain for other options—ones that didn’t require me to trick or steal from Henri. Was there any way I could get Saretha to take Carol Amanda Harving’s place without removing her Cuff? If there was, it eluded me.
I worried that if I waited too long, the apartment might change or my plan might crumble. Taking Henri’s device shouldn’t be that hard. There was a decent chance I could sneak it out of his bag and put it back before anyone realized, yet I kept putting it off. I was comfortable making Placements. I let myself fall into a rhythm. Kel had backed away and somehow moved on from forgiving me to taking me under her wing in a way she hadn’t before.
Then, one morning, after a long night of Placement, I found Saretha awake and suddenly, inexplicably, chipper. She greeted me with a hug, $2.99, as if everything was going to be okay again.
“Can I make you breakfast?” she asked, bright and cheerful. $9.87. She took up a wooden spoon in her hand. Then she laughed. Relief flooded over me. I thought, Maybe the worst of it is over.
“Dinner! I mean dinner for you,” Saretha when on. She bopped me lightly on the nose with the spoon as her Cuff rang up the charge. $32.98 for the various words. $11.99 for the cutesy bopping of my nose—a gesture Trademarked by Tiger Motion Pictures™. She was acting like she was in love. Had she met someone? But where? She couldn’t leave the apartment. How? Who was it?
Something more was at work than Saretha just learning to live with being locked inside. How could I ever expect her to be happy like that? Then a thought occurred to me—had the DESIST order been lifted? How else could I explain her behavior?
Was it possible I wouldn’t have to steal Henri’s little blue device after all? Saretha could go back to work, and I could keep being a Placer. The money would be pretty good.
But my delight quickly faltered. Something didn’t feel right. At first, I thought it was just me. If I was truthful, I still wanted her to take Carol Amanda Harving’s place. I wanted to put a dent in Silas Rog’s reputation. I wanted to do something to the system that felt like a boot on my throat. That thought may have held back my joy, but it was Sam’s face that demolished it.
Sam watched from the corner, his face full of concern, not relief, at Saretha’s vastly better mood. It seemed to ask, What the hell happened?
“It’s weird,” he whispered to me. “She won’t stop smiling.”
It was true. Her old smile was back, but just a little lopsided. It was like she had been drinking, but Saretha didn’t drink. It was too expensive, and whenever it had been offered to her, it was always by men trying to bribe her for favors. Plus, what did we have to drink? We couldn’t afford alcohol.
“I can hear you,” Saretha said, turning around with a broad, toothy smile and regarding us. “I can see you.” $23.92.
Something didn’t look right about my sister. Her hair looked clean, but also over-brushed and shaped into a tight curtain around her cheeks to make her now-chubby face look thinner. Her eyes tracked slowly and off-kilter, like she was seeing, but not exactly what was in front of her.
“Saretha?” Sam asked.
“Yes, Sam?” $33.99.
“Are you okay?”
“What could be wrong?” Saretha asked, as if she could now only see everything that was right with the world. “Be positive.” $18.98. She ruffled his hair.
Be positive. The phrase spun through my mind, and then I saw what Saretha had done. A medicinal disc was attached to the wrist end of her Cuff. In small, discreet letters was a company logo—Zockroft™.
Saretha met my gaze. She smiled beatifically and closed her eyes.
“Zockroft™,” she said, holding the Cuff out to me so I could see a tiny needle jab into her skin and vanish. She let out a quick, pleasured gasp. 99¢ for the gasp, plus $22.99 for the word. The injection of Zockroft™ was provided free each time she said it.
“Dropter delivered,” she said, spinning around, her head lolling.
She must have ordered it over the WiFi, from her Cuff or the wall-screen. It was sickening. I almost wished I hadn’t seen it.
Zockroft™ is powerful, terrible stuff. It
is addictive and expensive. Maybe it did some people good, but not like this. Saretha hadn’t seen a doctor. She wasn’t allowed out of the house for that. She hadn’t been told what dosage to use; Zockroft™ had made that decision for her. There was no way to know how much that little needle in her arm was injecting.
I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to get Henri’s device and get that Cuff off her. It didn’t just chain her to the house and to her name—it was now poisoning her and charging her for the pleasure.
PILF: $38.99
I considered sneaking into Henri’s apartment, but that would mean stealing the little blue device while Henri slept. What would I do if he woke up? I could not take the risk. It would be better to get him alone, after the night’s Placement, and distract him.
I hated the way I planned it, but I had to be sure he would be occupied. The pack was always near him or on him. When he wore it, the pocket with the device was right behind his head. If I got him to hug me, I could reach back and steal the device. I would have to do it in a Squelch, just to be sure I wasn’t registered as hugging him back.
I went through it in my head, over and over, figuring out exactly how to place myself in front of him. My posture would be important. I would track him with my eyes, brush against his arm. I wasn’t the first girl to make these kinds of calculations. I’d heard Sera Croate whisper about it to her friends like she was an expert. I had mostly ignored her, because that kind of manipulation wasn’t really me. I felt a little nauseous trying to think back to what she’d said.
I didn’t want to be like Sera Croate.
Would Henri kiss me? It was hard to imagine he wouldn’t. I had to be ready. I prepared to close my eyes and slip the device away. The kiss, if it happened, couldn’t last long. How could Henri enjoy it when I wouldn’t kiss back? Did that not matter? I don’t know how other people feel about things like that. I don’t even know what I think, because my only experience was with Beecher. When Beecher had kissed me that last time, it was disturbing and awful. The physical shocks from his implants overwhelmed everything else. This time, if it happened, it would be sad and terrible down to the bone.
But the more I rehearsed in my head, the less queasy I became. Cold as it made me feel, I couldn’t lose my nerve. I didn’t want it to be this way; I didn’t want anything to be the way it was. I hated what I had to do, but I didn’t have any other choice.
However awful the experience, Henri would be devastated if he knew the truth behind it. I would have to pretend afterward that I’d changed my mind. That happened all the time, didn’t it? Margot would be furious, whether she knew the truth or not. I had no way to handle her. How she might react worried me more than how Henri might take it.
I met the others at our rendezvous and tried to pretend it was like any other night. The Squelch was oval, with dark gray carpeting and walls printed to look like porous stone. We had twelve short Placements that night. Kel was uncharacteristically dramatic about revealing what we were placing.
“This should be an easy one,” Kel said, grinning a little. She had been in a better mood the past few weeks. The debacle with Tico™ Entertainment’s Ad screens resulted in Tico™ suing the screen maker, the screen maker suing the adhesive maker, the adhesive maker suing a glue manufacturer and the glue maker suing a genetics firm who raised genetically altered beetles that could be milked for a glue-like paste. Our Agency, on the strength of Kel’s report, turned around and sued them all.
Kel lifted a bag, lumpy with rounded shapes, and poured out its contents on the floor. Against the gray carpet, the oranges that rolled out looked dazzling. A thin citrus aroma filled the room. The scent was beautiful—far more exquisite than the smell of orange printer ink or candies.
“You can each have one,” she said, flicking a hand over them. It was a rare treat, and a signal from the Agency that they were pleased. I realized the gesture also meant Kel had managed to get the Agency to accept me. Margot and Henri scrambled forward. I let them pick first, taking a moment to blink back the tears that were suddenly in my eyes. Kel urged me on with a jut of her chin. She had been working on communicating with me using tiny gestures.
I plucked one from the ground. It was smaller and denser than I’d imagined. I held it to my nose. Henri began to peel his at once, like he was a little crazed to get inside. The citrus smell intensified. For a brief moment, I forgot what I was planning to do.
I thought of how Sam would love the smell as I ran my thumb over the bumpy skin. I had to wipe my eyes.
“It’s only an orange,” Henri said, biting into his and letting juice dribble down his chin.
I put mine in my bag. I wanted Sam and Saretha to share it, but then I paused. Was that allowed? I looked over at Kel.
“It’s fine,” she said with a nod. “Just don’t be obvious and hand it to them right out of your Placer bag.”
I smiled back at her awkwardly, guilt creeping over my skin.
Margot contemplated her orange, too, and put hers in her bag.
“For later,” she said, looking at Henri. “So I can savor it.” She narrowed her eyes at the sticky mess he was making and added, “I don’t think Speth is enticed by this, Henri.”
Henri’s face immediately turned red. He looked for my reaction.
“Stop teasing him,” Kel said.
I knew Henri liked me, but what did he see in me? I didn’t talk. Was it the way I carried myself? Was it my looks? Margot had such a pretty, heart-shaped face, and she was truly funny, if a tiny bit cruel. Why wasn’t he interested in her?
I couldn’t let myself be distracted by any of this. I had to focus. I needed for us to finish early so I could get Henri alone.
Margot pulled out a wipe from her kit and began to wipe Henri’s face, despite his protests.
* * *
All through the Placements, it felt like Henri was right in front of me, his backpack swaying in front of my eyes. The zipper on the little pocket was the slightest bit open. The jangle of it seemed louder than was possible. It was probably like this all the time, but it seemed so obvious that I feared everyone would know exactly what I was planning.
We raced through the Placements in no time at all, and Kel brought us to a nice, spacious Squelch in the Troisième, not far from my school.
“You were fast tonight,” Henri commented after we were done. He clapped me on the shoulder, and I felt proud, then ashamed, thinking of what I was about to do.
We debriefed in a spacious Squelch in the J. Smith Brinkley Memorial Investment Center. There was a long oval table and a dozen comfortable chairs for rich men to have secret, free conversations. Kel brought up a map to show us where we would meet the next night.
“Henri, nice job tonight,” Kel said. Henri had picked up his pace in answer to mine.
Henri beamed. “Maybe you should feed me oranges every night.”
Margot took his arm and stroked his biceps. “Oh, Henri, how capable you are.”
“Margot!” he said, shaking her off, as if she were spoiling his moment. I noticed that Margot played these moments off as jokes, but when Henri didn’t bite, I could see a flush in her cheeks and hurt behind her eyes.
“This is the kind of efficient work that gets better Placements from more prestigious firms,” Kel said. She loved a job well done, even if her voice occasionally hinted that she didn’t actually care for Product Placement itself.
I threw my pack on my back, ready to go. I looked to the others to do the same. I mapped where I should stand so I could be near Henri as we left.
“Like Eagleton™?” Henri wondered.
“Could be,” Kel said.
I was ready to go.
“Butchers & Rog?” Henri asked.
A cold finger seemed to run down my back. Kel’s face fell.
“Henri, you do not want another assig
nment from Butchers & Rog,” she said.
“But they’re the most prestigious firm in the dome.”
My hands clenched. Why were we delaying to talk about this, and right now?
“Do you know what you’d be placing for Butchers & Rog? Misery. Just like last time. You’d get a slim stack of yellow envelopes, and off you’d go through the city to deliver catastrophic Lawsuits. It’s a hell of a thing to know you just ruined someone’s life. It isn’t worth the bonus.”
Henri looked down at the ground. The room seemed suddenly colder. I hoped the subject would drop. I didn’t like hearing about Silas Rog even when I didn’t have an awful plan to carry out.
“Does he really have those books?”
“I’m sure Rog has books, Henri,” Kel said. “I seriously doubt he has a single book that proves you can’t Copyright words, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Kel peeked up at me to check my reaction. I tried my best to look disinterested, even though my mind was grasping at the hope the book was real—the book that Mrs. Soleman had been so sure existed.
“Henri, why must you say the most obvious things?” Margot complained.
Henri shrugged.
The mood sufficiently soured, Kel moved on to wrapping up at last.
“1:30 a.m. at the Chau Arena,” Kel said. She tapped her Pad off and went out the door.
I hung back. I knew what I needed to do. My stomach was filled with butterflies. I truly did like Henri, but did I like him enough to want to kiss him? Maybe. I didn’t know for sure. I certainly didn’t want to think about it now. It wasn’t what mattered. Henri was sweet and good, but sometimes more clueless than I could bear.
I didn’t have time to sort out these feelings. Henri went to move, and I blocked his path.
Margot had just crossed out the door. I hoped the door would close and Margot wouldn’t see, but she was frozen at the threshold. Henri stopped, astonished, looking down at me. His eyes went wide, and his smile broadened at his sudden good fortune. The faint smell of orange still clung to him.
All Rights Reserved Page 22
