by Jack Blaine
There at my feet, slipped halfway under the door, are my drawings.
Chapter Fourteen
In the morning I sleep later than I usually do. Jobee does too. I think we are both tired from the tension; I know he must have felt it emanating from me last night. But he’s all smiles when I dress him, and I feel better too, for the extra rest. We head downstairs for breakfast.
Usually, Helper has some fruit and bread set out for breakfast for the Driver and me. For the Sloanes, she does a formal meal, but they aren’t here, and we don’t merit the trouble. But today, the table in the kitchen is set for one, and Jobee’s high chair is pulled up next to the place setting.
“What’s this?”
Helper scowls at me. “Mr. Thomas said to be sure the two of you had a proper meal before you head to the city.” She brings a covered dish over and sets it down with a clatter. “Soy eggs. And there’s cooked cereal for Mr. William. It shouldn’t be too hot anymore, seeing as how you slept so late.”
The city? This sounds bad. I shouldn’t have thought the drawings being returned meant anything. But I did, last night. I thought it was a peace offering, a way to tell me I was safe.
I wonder what he’ll do—if he’ll turn us into the police, or sell us. Given that our presence in his parents’ home is illegal, I’m leaning toward the idea that he’ll sell us. I look around, eyeing the knife on the counter, thinking about whether I could make a run for it. But what would I do exactly, run down the quiet street lined with private dwellings, lugging Jobee on my hip and brandishing the knife at anyone who came near?
“Morning.” It’s Thomas. He looks wide awake and ready to go. I don’t know what to say to him.
“I’ve got Driver waiting for us, but take your time—he usually finds something to do.” Thomas grins, as though whatever the Driver finds to do while he’s waiting on his employers is funny. I can only imagine.
“What’s happening?” I try to stay in control of my voice, but it sounds a little squeaky to me.
“We’re going to the Commons.” Thomas looks at Helper, who was just on her way out of the kitchen. He lowers his voice as though he doesn’t want her to hear. “For William, so he can see the animals.” He waits until he’s sure Helper is listening, and then he continues. “I always loved the animals, and I want to be the best brother to him that I can.”
I can see Helper out of the corner of my eye, clasping both hands over her heart and tilting her head as though she’s so charmed by him she can’t keep her neck straight.
He’s good at lying.
The Commons is the largest green space in the city, and a part of it is devoted to extinct species. There are mock-ups of natural settings, featuring, say, a tiger, or a horse, or a parrot. All of them are robotics of course, but they can fool you pretty well if you just fuzz your eyes a bit. Who knows what a real tiger looks like anyway? There haven’t been any for over a century. It’s a place that I would have loved to have gone, if I could ever have afforded the ticket.
I don’t think we’re going to the Commons.
The Driver doesn’t look at me or Jobee. He asks Thomas if we’re ready to go and when Thomas says we are, he goes. We shoot out of the courtyard; he drives fast, faster than he did when he brought me to the Sloanes’ place. I sit in the back with Jobee, who is in a special seat designed for babies. Thomas sits in the middle section facing us. He watches Jobee hit the padded bar that holds him in his seat. He smiles when Jobee widens his eyes at the bar, as though he is commanding it to open up and let him go. I get a squeeze toy out and hand it to Jobee to distract him from his imprisonment.
We arrive in the city in no time at all, and when I look out the window of the vehicle, I see the Commons gate. I feel hopeful for a moment, but then I realize that Thomas has to have us dropped off here. He told Helper and the Driver we were coming here.
Thomas is already out of the vehicle, unfolding a baby whizby I haven’t seen before. Once he has it locked into shape, he reaches in for Jobee. I unlock the bar on his child seat and hand him out. Thomas settles him in the whizby, making sure he’s buckled up. He takes hold of the handle and clicks the on button. The whizby lifts up off the ground by about three inches, and hovers. Jobee laughs, delighted at the new sensation.
“Ha!” Thomas laughs too. “I always loved that, too. I wanted to ride in my whizby long after I’d outgrown it.”
I climb out of the vehicle.
“Is this your old whizby?”
“No, this was . . . not mine.” His smile disappears. I want to ask why, but something about the look on his face prevents me. I start to hitch Jobee’s bag of supplies up over my shoulder.
“Oh! I forgot.” Thomas flicks the whizby’s button and Jobee is lowered gently to the ground. Then he unsnaps something on the back, and a storage bin unfolds.
“That stuff can go here.” Thomas takes the bag from me and stows it in the bin. “All right, now I think we’re set. Be back by four, Driver?” He slaps the back of the vehicle.
The Driver pulls away.
“Shall we?” Thomas flicks the whizby button and Jobee floats just above the ground again. Thomas holds the handle with one hand and gestures toward the Commons gate with the other.
I stare at him. “We’re really going to the Commons?”
“I had to tell them something. Besides, he’ll like it, don’t you think?” Thomas nods toward Jobee.
“He’ll like it.” I’m still not moving toward the gate.
Thomas gets five steps away before he notices I’m not with him. He turns and floats the whizby back to me. He leaves it in hover-mode.
“What?”
“What happens in there?” I’ve decided that he must have some clandestine meeting set up with slavers, that somewhere near the Pomeranian dog exhibit he’ll swap me and Jobee for some untold amount of riches, and then he’ll tell the Driver we were snatched. People get snatched all the time, and they never get found as far as I can tell, so it will be the perfect story.
Thomas is frowning at me. “In there,” he says, “we look at the exhibits, we buy some snacks, we go out the far gate which lets us out right by the Public Information Center. Then, we go get the information you wanted about him.” Points down at Jobee, who is too busy waving his hand in front of his face to notice us.
“Then, maybe we grab lunch. And then we cut back through the Commons to get back here for our ride home.”
I keep staring at him. Finally I nod and start walking.
When we get to the gate, he scans his C-card and we enter.
Just like that. I’m in a place I could never afford to visit if I saved for an entire year, and he’s paid for three tickets with no thought at all. I step forward in a daze, stunned by the displays I see ahead of us. There are lions and tigers and, yes, there’s a bear! I realize my mouth is hanging open and I snap it shut. When I look around to see if he noticed, I find him still at the entrance, just inside the gate. He’s considering me, tilting his head like he’s figuring out a puzzle. I wait for him to catch up.
When he reaches me we fall into step, almost like any other rich, young couple out for a day with their baby, strolling the Commons. Except he’s a homosexual, I’m a kidnapped Baby Helper and Jobee is a bought and paid for child.
“You thought I was going to sell you, didn’t you?” Thomas doesn’t turn his head to look at me, but I know he’s peeking from the sides of his eyes.
I don’t look at him either, but I nod.
“Look,” I say. “Let’s show William the bear.”
Chapter Fifteen
Jobee loves everything about the Commons. I have to admit that I, too, am enchanted; I’ve never seen anything like it. The way the tiger moves in his fake jungle, slinking along ready to leap out at us any moment, is entertaining. But what I find truly fascinating is the way the other people here behave, as though nothing at all could be expected of them except what they are doing today; simply enjoying themselves. There are no furtive glances. N
o looking to see if any police are in the crowd, no fear of being attacked by street roughs.
It must be nice to be rich.
We make our way across the Commons more quickly than I expect, and before I know it we’re approaching an exit gate. Thomas seems to be having a good time with Jobee’s whizby—he swerves it back and forth with the handle so that Jobee giggles.
“The Public Information Center is outside this gate, just a little ways. We’ll go check it out, get what you need for now, and then grab some food.” Thomas adjusts the whizby handle to make it shorter. “I’m hungry, aren’t you?”
I am hungry. I didn’t eat much of my breakfast. But I don’t want to leave yet. I will never get another chance to see this, I just know it. Thomas must see the disappointment written on my face.
“We’ll come back the same way. There will be plenty of time to look.”
“I suppose this sort of thing bores you, by now.” I feel silly.
“No,” he says. “Actually I like this place a lot. It’s got a sort of carefree air, wouldn’t you say? You can sort of forget yourself, here. And the animals are great.”
We step outside the Commons onto the street. It’s not too busy yet, but it’s definitely less ‘carefree.’ Thomas is suddenly watchful, checking all around us as we venture toward the Public Information Center. He stops before we go more than a few steps.
“I want you to carry William for now. I think it’s less risky than the whizby. I’d carry him, but I want my hands free.”
He settles the whizby and then unbuckles Jobee. I take him and Thomas slings the bag of baby supplies over his shoulder. A flick of some switch I can’t see, and the whizby folds in on itself until it’s a cube, small enough to stow in the baby bag.
“What do you think could happen?”
Thomas shrugs. He scans every person we pass, as though he can tell if they are good or bad by how they look. “You hear things. People get grabbed in the city.” He looks at me, smiles. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, but I’d rather be careful.”
I know it’s something to worry about. I’m glad he is being this careful. But if someone ran up and tried to take Jobee, they’d have to kill me to get him.
The PIC looks like a business center. I’m almost as excited to see it as I was to see the Commons. I’ve never been to one. The closest I’ve come is the Teller machine outside my building in the complex; sometimes there’d be a cheap story listed that I could afford. I loved putting in the token and waiting for the chip to vend, then popping it in my player when I got back to my cube. Some of the stories weren’t well-told, but some were wonderful; the voice of the narrator would capture the tale, and you could imagine just what they were telling you about.
The PIC has rows and rows of tables with two chairs each. Thomas leads me to one and unfolds the whizby. I settle Jobee in it and give him a red boggle toy to play with; he seems to love the color red lately. Thomas gestures to one chair and sits in the other.
“Now,” he says, digging his C-card out of his pocket. He swipes it on a scanner set into the tabletop.
I sit back in my seat fast—a monitor slides up out of the table top with no warning. Thomas doesn’t notice my reaction; he’s busy flipping through some listings on the screen.
“Okay. Babies, baby developmental stages, zero to four months, five months to nine months . . . hmmm.” He sits back. “What do you think?” He lets me lean in to see the screen.
There are a lot of words there. Some I know, some I don’t.
“I . . .” I shake my head.
Thomas watches me, and I can tell he doesn’t realize. At least, not for a minute.
“You can read?” He sounds incredulous.
“I can read some.” I feel so disappointed. I thought the PIC would have narratives. I wonder . . .
“Don’t they have narratives?”
“Narratives are for fun, not for—” Thomas stops himself.
“How much can you read?”
“I can read the Ward charts. I can read medical notes. They taught us all the navigational signs for the train routes, and instructions of various types—cooking, cleaning, medications. The basics.” I watch his face as this sinks in—he’s never even given it a thought.
“How much can you read?” I really want to know.
“More than that,” he says, not unkindly. He crinkles his brow, thinking. Then he snaps his fingers together.
“I know just what to do.” He turns back to the screen, and flips through more listings.
“Here we go.” He shows me the section he’s called up.
“Dictionary.” I read it out loud.
“Yes.” He looks pleased. “We’ll just get one of these too, and the baby books through, say, three years old and then, let me see, a couple more things.” He flicks through the checkout screens and we’re done.
“I don’t have a reader.” I only have a player—a cheap little one at that—for my narratives. Helpers don’t generally need readers. I couldn’t afford one even if I did get clearance for it.
“I’ll lend you my old one.” Thomas stands up. “Let’s go get some food, shall we?”
I follow him. He carries Jobee in the whizby until we reach the street. I stand ready to take him again, but Thomas shakes his head.
“I can carry him—it’s not far. Just there.” He nods to a lighted sign a few doors down. The word DEEN’S flashes on and off on the sign. Under it is a door. No windows, no indication that food is actually served there. I feel myself tensing. Maybe he really is going to sell us. Or at least me. I watch him start toward the door holding Jobee. I want to run to him and wrench Jobee free, run somewhere where both of us can be safe. Instead, I follow numbly. Because as far as I know, that place doesn’t exist.
Thomas gets the door with one hand and holds it open for me. I pass through it into a dark room. I can’t make out much at first. There’s a bench along one wall, and another door, which is closed. Thomas walks over to the bench and puts the whizby down on it, and the gentle bump makes Jobee, who was just falling asleep, start to fuss. Thomas touches a button set into the wall above the bench. It doesn’t make any sound, but it must alert someone, somehow, because almost immediately I hear footsteps approaching from behind the closed door.
I go to Jobee and try to comfort him.
Chapter Sixteen
“Tommy!” The man who bursts through the door is short and sweaty. He pumps Thomas’s hand up and down in an enthusiastic greeting. “Where have you been my friend?”
Thomas grins back at him. “I’ve been around, Deen.” He gestures toward me and Jobee. “We need to get some food in us. We’ve been walking a lot.”
Maybe it really is a restaurant. The tension leaves my body and I wonder how long I can stand this sort of uncertainty. I feel drained.
Deen notices us. He walks over to inspect Jobee, a puzzled look on his face. Then he looks at me.
“And who is this lovely?”
I feel myself blushing, warmth creeping into my cheeks. I’ve never been called lovely, not even in that creepy way that some of the boys in the complex have, when they’re trying to touch some girl. And the way Deen said it wasn’t creepy at all.
Thomas smiles. “I don’t really know yet, Deen.” He studies me. “But you’re right, she is lovely.”
I feel my face get even hotter. The way he’s looking at me seems a bit off. I’m not his type, after all. I put out my hand to Deen.
“Helper12,” I say, and Deen shakes my hand, more gently than he did Thomas’s. “I’m Mr. Thomas’s brother’s Helper.”
Deen looks at Thomas. “But I thought . . .”
“She means the baby. Not Greg.” Thomas looks sad again.
“Ahh,” says Deen. He nods. “So they replaced him, just like that, eh?”
Thomas is silent.
“Well,” says Deen. “Let’s get your stomachs taken care of, shall we?” He opens the door he came through, and after Thomas picks up Job
ee again, we follow him down a narrow corridor. There are doors all along it, and when we get to the fifth one, Deen opens it.
“This one’s just been swept,” he says.
“Thanks, Deen.” Thomas waits for me to pass into the room ahead of him. He follows with Jobee. Deen shuts the door without another word.
There is a table, with two plush chairs covered in a blue fabric that looks soft. I sit down in one of them, and sink about three inches. It is soft. The comfort makes me realize how tired I am.
Thomas sets Jobee’s whizby on one end of the table and adjusts it so that Jobee is reclining. I take a bottle out of his bag and pull the heating tag out. When the formula is warm, I give the bottle to Jobee. He’s holding them all by himself now, with only a little help from the bottle props. Soon, he is happily sucking away at his lunch.
The door opens and Deen appears, holding a carafe and two glasses. He sets them all down on the table.
“Shall I just bring double your regular?”
“Two of the regular order will be fine, Deen, thanks.”
Thomas pours some of the liquid in the carafe into each glass. He hands one to me.
“Some light wine,” he says.
I’ve never had wine. I take a sip, and it’s good. It tastes sweet, with a tangy bite to it.
Thomas sighs, and I notice the dark circles under his eyes. He looks as tired as I feel, and I wonder why.
“Why did you help me today?” I blurt this out with no forethought. As soon as I’ve said it I’m afraid again. It doesn’t seem wise to try to be honest.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
I watch him for a minute, and then I shake my head. I guess I don’t have to worry about being honest. I look away.
“You really want to know?”
I shrug, and keep my eyes on my glass.
“Look, I’m sorry. I know that you have no reason to trust me. But to be fair, I have no reason to trust you either.”
“What could I possibly do to harm you?” My words are sharp; he has all the power. Him and his Society member family unit, and all the people like him, have always had all the power. And all the privilege. Kris was able to put her head down and accept it, just keep going and get through the day, but I have always had a little trouble.