Rocket Boy and the Geek Girls

by Phyllis Irene Radford

  “Brownie points tonight,“ Neko said.

  She moved smoothly, easily, with none of the stiffness everyone else was feeling. She moved like her nickname, Neko, cat.

  “A bonus, huh?“ Jannine said. “Great. We make a good team.“

  They’d fallen into the habit of chatting for a few minutes after work while they waited for the crush at the exit to ease.

  But instead of replying, Neko stared at Jannine’s control couch, at the manipulator that reduced the motions of Jannine’s hand to movements in the angstrom range.

  “Did you notice what it is we’re making?“ Neko said.

  Up on her toes, Jannine shifted her weight from one foot to the other, bouncing in place, trying to get warm. The day shift people came into the factory, moving between the hulking shapes of the couches.

  “Yeah, I guess,“ Jannine said. “I wasn’t paying attention. Just following the blueprint. Some vaccine, same as usual.“

  “Let’s go.“ Neko strode away, her hands shoved in her pockets. She moved as gracefully as she did down on the substrate, where gravity could be tuned and made a variable.

  Jannine hurried after her. She waved across the factory at Evan, the day-shift worker who co-habited her couch. But this morning, she didn’t wait to talk.

  She followed Neko through the security checkout. They were nearly the last ones out, but waiting had saved them standing in the crowd. Jannine’s life gave her plenty of lines to stand in.

  Jannine thought the security system was stupid, a waste of time. No one on the production floor had access to anything that they could carry away. Except the helmets. You’d have to be awfully stupid to try to walk out with a helmet, however tempting it would be to take one for your own.

  Jannine shoved her i.d. into the slot. She waited. The computer checked her and passed her and rolled her i.d. back. At the same time it emitted a slip of paper, thrusting it out like a slow insolent tongue. It beeped to draw her attention.

  Ignore it, she told herself. She wanted to, but Neko had seen it. If Jannine left the note, Neko would wonder why, or, worse, retrieve it for her and give it to her and expect Jannine to tell her what it was. Neko might even read it herself. Jannine grabbed it, glanced at it, and shoved it into her pocket.

  “What’s up?“ Neko asked.

  Jannine shrugged. “Nothing. Busybody stuff. ‘Eat your vegetables.’“

  “Sorry.“ Neko’s voice turned cool. “Didn’t mean to be nosy.“ She turned and walked out of the factory and into the new day.

  Damn! Jannine thought. She wanted to try to explain, but couldn’t think of the right words.

  She hurried to catch up, blinking and squinting in the bright sunlight. When she’d arrived at work at midnight, rain had slicked the streets. Now the air and the sky were clean and clear.

  “Want to get a beer? I’m buying.“

  For a second she was afraid Neko would turn her down, keep on walking into the morning, and never talk to her again. Neko strode on, shoulders hunched and hands shoved in her pockets.

  Then she stopped and turned and waited.

  “Yeah. Sure.“

  Finding a place that served beer at eight o’clock in the morning was no big deal near the factory. A lot of the workers, like Jannine, came off the substrate with nerves tight, muscles tense. In reality, she’d spent the last eight hours lying almost perfectly still. But she’d felt like she was in action all the time. Her work felt like motion, like physical labor. Somewhere, somehow, she had to blow off the tension. Beer helped. If she drank no more than a couple, she’d be able to pass the alert at midnight, no problem.

  She slid her hand into her pocket and crumpled up the note. A couple of beers would let her stop worrying about that, too.

  “Jannine!“

  “Huh? What?“

  Neko shook her head. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.“ She pushed open the tavern door. Jannine followed her out of the sunlight and into the warm, loud gloom. They submerged in the dark, the talk, the music.

  Neko slipped through the crowd toward the bar. Jannine, head and shoulders taller than her friend, had to press and sidle past people.

  Jannine joined Neko by the wall, put her i.d. into the order slot, grabbed a couple of glasses, and drew two beers. The tavern charged her and returned her i.d. Neko retrieved it for her and traded it to her for one of the beers.

  “Thanks!“ Neko shouted above the racket. Four or five people were even trying to dance, there in the middle of the room where hardly anyone could move.

  Jannine looked around for a table. Stupid even to hope for one. After work she preferred standing or walking to sitting, but Neko obviously wanted to talk. They weren’t supposed to talk about work outside the factory.

  Somebody jostled her, nearly spilling her beer.

  “Hey,“ she said, “spill the cheap stuff, okay?“

  “Hey yourself, watch it.“

  She recognized the guy: two couches over and one down. Jannine didn’t know his name. Heading back to the order wall, he emptied his glass in a gulp. She felt envious. He could drink like that all morning. She’d watched him do it more than once. He always passed the alert when midnight rolled around.

  “Neko!“ She caught Neko’s gaze and gestured. Neko nodded and followed her.

  Jannine pushed her way farther inside, holding her glass high. She passed the bouncer. She knew one was there, out of sight in the small balcony above eye level. She’d come in here four or five times before noticing any of the people who kept an eye on the place. The balcony, upholstered in the same hose-down dark fabric as the walls, blended into the dimness, unobtrusive. The bouncer let the artificials take care of everything but trouble.

  Jannine reached the hallway.

  “Wait —“ Neko said as Jannine slid her i.d. into the credit slot of a private room.

  The door ate the i.d. and opened.

  “What for?“ Jannine crossed between the equipment and set her glass down on the small table in the corner. “Hardly spilled a drop,“ she said.

  Neko hesitated on the threshold.

  “Come on, it’s paid for,“ Jannine said.

  Neko shrugged and entered. “Yeah, okay. This is kind of extravagant, but thanks.“ She shut the door, cutting out the din, somebody yelling at somebody else, a fight about to start. After work, your body was geared up for action, and your brain was too tired to hold it back.

  Jannine drank a long swallow of her beer, then made herself stop and sip it slowly. She was hungry. She ordered from the picture menu on the back wall.

  “Want anything?“

  “Sure, okay.“ Neko sounded distracted. She pushed a couple of pictures, barely glancing at them, then sat at the table and leaned on her elbows.

  Jannine swung up on the stationary bicycle and started to pedal. It felt good to get rid of the physical energy she had been holding in all day. Sweat broke out on her forehead, under her arms.

  “Did you see what we were making?“ Neko said again.

  “If I’d stopped to think about it, we wouldn’t have done such a long stretch and we wouldn’t have gotten any brownie points.“ Jannine tried not to sound defensive. “Besides, I was worried about the warm fuzzies.“

  “It wasn’t natural,“ Neko said. She drained her glass, put it down, and raked her fingers through her shoulder-length black hair.

  Jannine laughed, relieved. “I noticed that,“ she said. “I thought you meant something important. Jeez. Nothing we build is natural. If it was natural, we wouldn’t need to build it.“

  “But we weren’t using the regular base pairs. We were using analogs.“

  “Yeah. So?“ Jannine wondered if Neko, too, had been set up to test her. “I build what they tell me. It isn’t my job to design it.“

  Continuing to pedal the bike, she wiped sweat from her face with the clean towel hanging from the handlebars.

  “It must be something dangerous,“ Neko said stubbornly. “Something they don’t want out i
n the world. Yet. So they make it with synthetic nucleics. So it can’t reproduce.“

  “It isn’t dangerous to us,“ Jannine said, confused by Neko’s distress. They were building a set of instructions. Neko knew that. Being scared of it made as much sense as being scared of a music tape.

  “I don’t mean now, I don’t mean yet. But later on when they use it. Whatever it’s coding for could be dangerous to us the same way it could be dangerous to anybody.“

  “I think you’re being silly. They always start sterile, till they’re sure about the product.“

  An artificial stupid pushed through the hatch in the bottom of the door, rolled inside, slid their food onto the table, and backtracked. The hatch latched with a soft snick.

  Jannine swung off the exercise bike and wiped her face again. She took the lids off the plates and pushed Neko’s dinner, or breakfast, toward her.

  “Do you mind if I have another drink?“

  “Go ahead.“ It was polite of Neko to ask, since Jannine’s i.d. was in the slot. But she should’ve known she could have whatever she wanted.

  Jannine broke open the top of the chicken pie she’d ordered. Steam puffed out, fragrant with sage. When she had a night job, she liked to eat breakfast before her shift, in the evening, and dinner after, in the morning.

  “How can you work out and then eat?“

  Jannine shrugged. “I don’t have a problem with it. I’m going to eat and then work out, too.“

  Neko preferred dinner at night and breakfast in the morning. She had a couple of croissants and an omelet spotted with dark bits of sautéed garlic.

  “No hot date today?“ Jannine asked.

  Neko drank half her second beer and pushed her food around on her plate.

  “I’m not really hungry,“ she said. “I guess I’ll go on home.“

  “I thought you wanted to talk. That’s why I got the room.“

  “I wanted to talk about the helix, and all you want to say about it is ‘No big deal.’ So, okay. So maybe we’re building them a nerve toxin or some new bug.“

  “What do they need with a new bug? There’s plenty of old bugs.“

  “Right. So it’s no big deal. So forget it.“

  “Maybe we’re building some new medicine.“

  “I said forget it.“ Neko pushed the plate away and stood up.

  “If it was anything bad they’d classify it, and we’d never work on it. I don’t even have a security clearance, do you?“

  Neko didn’t reply.

  “Do you?“

  “No. Of course not. I mean...“ Neko looked embarrassed. “I guess I used to but I’m sure it’s expired by now.“

  “Why did you have a security clearance?“

  “If I could tell you that I wouldn’t’ve had to have it!“ Neko said. “I’ve got to go.“ She downed the last of her second beer and hurried out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

  Jannine watched her through the room’s transparent walls till she disappeared. She was surprised by Neko’s weird reaction.

  “Sorry,“ she said to the walls. “Didn’t mean to be nosy.“

  She ate her dinner, more because she’d already paid for it than because she still felt hungry. For the same reason, she lifted weights for a while and pedaled on the bike till her hour ran out. She got down, retrieved her i.d. before she got charged for more time, and left the private room for the ASes to clean.

  The tavern was still crowded, but quieter. She made her way through it without bumping into anyone.

  Outside, the sky had clouded up. It looked like more rain. Jannine trudged toward home. At her last job, her co-workers had created a complicated system of intramural sports. There was always a team to join, or a team that needed a substitute. Any warm body would help. They welcomed a warm body who was a halfway decent player. At this job, though, her co-workers went straight to the tavern or straight home, or did something with some group that didn’t include Jannine.

  Maybe it’s getting time to move on, she thought. But she didn’t want to move on.

  Morning rush was over; the streets were quiet for daytime. In the middle of the night, when she came to work, delivery trucks created a third rush hour.

  The mist grew heavier. The droplets drifted downward. The rain began. It collected in her hair. Damp tendrils curled around her face.

  Her apartment was nothing special: a one-bedroom, the bedroom tiny and dark and cold. It always smelled musty. Not quite mold. Not quite mildew. But almost. Jannine looked at her unmade bed. She imagined crawling between the cold, wrinkled sheets.

  “Shit,“ she muttered, and returned to the living room. She turned on the entertainment console and flipped through a hundred channels on the tv, fifty channels per minute, leaving them all two-d. Nothing interesting. She should’ve rented a movie. She could call something out of the cable, but it took too long to work through the preview catalogue, even on fast forward. All those clips of pretty scenery or car chases or people making love never told her what the movies were about. Usually the clips were the best part anyway. She left the remote on scan and tossed it onto the couch. The tv flipped past one channel, another.

  Jannine went to take a shower. As she sorted through the pockets of her sweat-damp clothing, she closed her fingers around the note.

  “Shit,“ she said again.

  She smoothed the crumpled paper, staring at it, afraid to find out what the black marks said. Maybe it was too damaged to be read.

  She dug the reader out of the closet, shoved the note into it, and listened.

  “This evening, please report to room fifteen twenty-six instead of your usual position. Regular hourly wage will apply —“

  Jannine shut off the reader, pulled the note out, and flung it into the sorter.

  She’d avoided this test twice already, once by pretending she never received the note and once by calling in sick. She couldn’t afford another sick day. Maybe tomorrow she could pretend she’d forgotten about the instructions. Once she hooked into her helmet, maybe they wouldn’t bother her. She was a good worker, always above average. Not too far above average.

  Jannine wondered what she had done, why she had to take a test.

  She should’ve started looking for a new job as soon as she got the first note. But she liked working on the substrate. It was fun. She was good at it. It paid well. And despite Neko’s worries, the company mostly produced crop fortifiers and medicines.

  If she got away with forgetting the message — she didn’t believe she would, but if she did — she’d have a week or so to look for new work before her employers realized they were put out with her. Maybe then at least they’d fire her without making her take the damn test.

  Leaving her clothes strewn on the floor, Jannine climbed into bed, pulled the cold covers around her, and lay shivering, waiting for sleep.

  oOo

  At midnight, Jannine arrived at work and pretended it was an ordinary day. She checked in and played through the alert without paying any attention to it. When she passed, it congratulated her for a personal high score. Seeing how far up the ladder she’d run the testing game, she cursed under her breath. She hated to stand out. It always caused more trouble than it was worth. If she’d been less tired, less distracted, she would’ve paid attention and kept her results in the safe and easy and unremarkable middle ranges.

  That’s what I get for lying awake all night, she thought.

  She reached out to cancel the game and use her second try. She’d never cancelled a game before. That, too, drew the attention of the higher-ups.

  “Good score.“

  Jannine started. “What — ?“

  An exec, in a suit, stood at her shoulder. She couldn’t remember ever seeing an exec on the production level. Sometimes they watched from the balcony that looked out over the work floor, but hardly ever during the graveyard shift.

  “Good score,“ he said again. “I knew you could go higher than you usually do. You got my note?“


  He smiled, and Jannine’s spirits sank.

  “Yeah, well, thanks,“ she said, not really answering his question. “I better get to work.“

  “You did get my note?“

  She saw that this time she wasn’t going to get away with pretending she didn’t know what he was talking about. He could probably whip out security videos that showed her taking the note, glancing at it, shoving it in her pocket. From three angles.

  “I completely forgot,“ she said. “Is it important? My teammate’s already waiting for me.“