HELPER12

by Jack Blaine

  “Almost, Mr. Thomas.”

  “We’ll be staying all day. So perhaps you can come back around nine?”

  “That will be fine, sir.”

  The view out the window has changed from the private dwellings on the Sloane’s street, to the edges of the city as we skirted around it, to long expanses of green fields, sort of like the Commons, only wild looking. There are tall, tall trees here and there, and we stop at a smallish building set into a clearing next to the road. We unload Jobee and the whizby and my baby bag and Thomas’s bag full of goodies that Helper packed. Thomas taps the back of the vehicle and the Driver takes off.

  There is a sign next to the building that has the words Nature’s Inn on it.

  “Are we going in there?’

  “We are,” says Thomas. “Just to rent a car.”

  We enter the building and there is a man there, standing behind a counter. He looks at Thomas and I can see his eyes working like a calculator.

  “Help you, sir?”

  “Yes.” Thomas strides to the counter. “We need a car—one of your larger ones, and a map.”

  “Half day or full day?”

  “Full day, please.” Thomas waits while the man enters some numbers on a keyboard on his side of the counter. He swivels the keyboard across to Thomas, who takes out his C-card and slides it through a slot. The man hands him a chip for his reader and a fob of some sort.

  “Cars are around the back. Enjoy your day with your family.” The man looks over at me and smiles.

  “Thank you.” Thomas picks up his bag and the whizby and I carry the baby bag. We head back out the door and walk around the building.

  There are two rows of battered, old hovercars parked on a cracked pad. Thomas looks at the fob the man gave him.

  “Number 12. Where,” he scans the cars, “is number 12?”

  “There.” I point to a blue one with the number 12 painted on its doors. We walk over to it. Inside it’s clean, and fairly large. Thomas looks at the sky.

  “It doesn’t look like rain. Shall we take down the top?”

  I don’t know what he means. He shows me the way the top of the car folds down to make it open to the air.

  “Yes!” I am thrilled. We’ll be able to watch everything go by.

  We load our bags in and Thomas helps me in and hands me Jobee. Then he climbs in too, and puts the fob into a slot meant for it. The hovercar sputters and shudders and heaves. Then, like magic, we’re floating, smooth and steady above the ground, just like we’re in a giant whizby. I laugh out loud before I can stop myself.

  “Okay?” Thomas grins at me.

  I nod, grinning back like a fool. He eases us out of the line of cars, and we slide over the pad. Thomas touches a knob and we stay in one place, hovering. He takes out the map chip he bought from the man and loads it onto his reader.

  “Let’s see. It looks like if we head due west, we’ll come to a lake. Does that sound okay?”

  I nod. A lake. I’ve never seen a real lake.

  “All right.” Thomas checks to see that Jobee is strapped into his whizby seat. “Hold on,” he says, and touches the knob again.

  Off we go, sailing over the ground. We pick up speed until we’re going just fast enough to make it fun, but not so fast we can’t enjoy what we see going by. It looks like the fields go on forever. There are clumps of tall, wild grass, and I see some more trees in the distance. Jobee is laughing at the way everything seems to be whizzing by him, or maybe he’s just laughing at the air on his face. We come to a sloping hill and slide up it. At the top, Thomas makes the hovercar stationary, so we can enjoy the view. Below, there is a real lake. It’s just what I thought it would be, a large, roundish crater filled with water. It’s not quite blue, like you see in the pictures. More greenish grey. But still, absolutely breathtaking.

  “Is it your first time to see one?” Thomas is watching my reaction with interest.

  I’m embarrassed, because I think he just caught me with my mouth hanging open again.

  “Yes. I didn’t think I ever would see one.” All we have in the complexes are reservoir towers. I didn’t know if lakes like this really still existed.

  “Let’s get down there, then, shall we?” Thomas makes the hovercar come to life again, and we glide down the hill to the lakeshore.

  “Why don’t you explore a bit while I get us unpacked here?” Thomas takes Jobee from me and gestures toward the lake’s edge.

  “Really?” I’m not used to being the one who relaxes. The only time I’ve ever experienced that is with Kris, who used to let me listen to my stories while she clippered my hair, and recently, with Thomas. He’s served me dinner, and bought me gifts, and asked me what I think about things. And now he’s taking care of Jobee and setting out our meal on the gentle slope of this meadow, while I walk along the lake like a Society member.

  I get as close to the edge of the lake as I can go. The water makes a sound I hadn’t expected, lapping at the shore. The pictures all look silent and serene, but actually it’s quite noisy here. There’s gurgling and sloshing, and I hear the sounds of other people, somewhere over the next slope. Then I hear Jobee scream.

  I’m running in an instant, slipping up the embankment, scrabbling at the rough grass for handholds. I clear the slope and there they both are—Thomas, and Jobee in his arms. Thomas is turning round and round the way Jobee likes. By the time I am next to them, Jobee is giggling between sniffles, his red cheeks still wet from tears.

  “What happened?” My heart is pounding.

  Thomas looks up, just noticing me.

  “What? Oh.” He sees how worried I am, and turns so I can see Jobee’s face. “It’s fine—he took a tumble out of the whizby before I could quite catch him. It scared him, but he’s fine.” He wipes Jobee’s cheeks with a cloth, and chucks him softly under the chin. “Aren’t you, Jobee? Yes, you are, you are just fine.”

  I have to smile at that sing-song voice coming out of Thomas, whose natural tone is deep. He does love Jobee. And I don’t think he’ll let anything happen to him if he can prevent it.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Thomas has set everything up. There is a large, thin blanket spread out. On it, he has placed Jobee’s whizby, a thicker, softer pad for Jobee to lie on, some boggles and a bottle, and the food Helper packed for our day. There is some sort of fizzy drink, which he’s poured into some squat glasses.

  “Let’s eat!” Thomas laughs and helps me sit. He lays Jobee down on the pad and hands him a boggle toy.

  I’m starving. After I’ve had enough to take the edge off of my hunger, I look around me. There’s a slight breeze coming up off the lake, and the sun is shining down on us. I don’t think I’ve ever felt the particular set of emotions I’m feeling now. Content, wistful, excited, something I can’t quite put my finger on—it has no name that I know.

  I hear the voices I heard before, by the lake’s edge.

  “Who is that?”

  Thomas shrugs. “Just some other people, enjoying the lake for the day.”

  “So this is what you do?”

  He cocks his head. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, Society members. You go to school, you go on vacations, you go to the country.” I wonder what Ms. Sloane would do if she had to spend one day living in a complex, working as a Helper.

  Thomas looks at me, gauging my mood.

  “Are you angry at me? For being one of them?”

  “No.” I’m not, I don’t think. “It’s just the way things are, isn’t it?”

  He doesn’t answer right away. Jobee’s favorite boggle has rolled away from his grasp, and Thomas puts it within his reach.

  “It does seem to be just the way things are. I don’t know how to change it, and to be honest, before I met you, I didn’t give it much thought.”

  It’s my turn to watch him. He meets my gaze steadily.

  “My parents will be back in two days.”

  “I know.” I’ve been counting the hou
rs, actually. It’s been such a strange, wonderful time. When the Sloanes return, all of it will change.

  Thomas moves closer to me. He brushes my cheek with his fingers, and I feel an electricity from that soft touch that I’ve never experienced.

  “I need to know something,” he whispers.

  I have to look away. I stare at Jobee, who is happily chewing on his boggle, oblivious.

  “What do you want to know?”

  He puts his hand under my chin and lifts my head until my gaze meets his again. He studies my face, his eyes focusing on my hair, my lips, back to my eyes.

  “I want to know your name.”

  For some reason, tears threaten to well up in my eyes. I take hold of his hand, and cover it with both of mine. I’m surprised to feel him trembling.

  “My name is Benna.” I say it quietly. It feels right to tell him.

  He smiles.

  “Benna,” he says, as softly as I did. “I’m so glad to have met you.” And he kisses me.

  I’ve been kissed before. Complex boys can be charmers, especially when they want to grab a touch. I’ve kissed back, and enjoyed it. But I’ve never felt this. Thomas isn’t some complex boy, barely more than a stranger, sharing a physical need for relief. His lips are gentle, careful with me. His hands aren’t grabbing me; they’re caressing me, holding me. And his tongue, his tongue is making me press myself against him, harder and harder, wishing there was some way to—

  “Benna.” He breathes my name, gasping for air.

  I’m gasping too.

  Thomas is trembling even harder, his hands on my arms shaking. He takes a deep breath, exhales with a sort of laugh.

  “I think we’d better take a minute.”

  I don’t want to take a minute. But I know he’s right. We both scoot a little further apart, and I settle Jobee in his whizby so he can have his bottle. I pull the tag and wait for the formula to heat. Once Jobee is settled, I feel less flustered, and I chance a look at Thomas.

  He’s more relaxed too. He smiles, and gets my drawing tablet and charcoals out of the baby bag.

  “Maybe you should try these out now—what do you think?”

  I look around as I reach for them. I’m still nervous about having them out in the open, even though I know Thomas is right; nobody could tell I am a Helper by the way I look today.

  “I will.” I open the tin and take out one of the charcoals. It’s wrapped with paper on the bottom half, so I can hold it without getting soot everywhere. I open the tablet to the first, pristine page.

  “What will you draw?” Thomas looks around us. “That tree there? I know! What about Jobee?”

  “Jobee won’t hold still long enough for me to draw him.” I know what I want to draw. “But you will, won’t you?”

  “Me?” Thomas looks skeptical. “Surely there are better things to draw than—”

  “Turn just a touch, toward the lake.” I’m already picturing how I’ll capture his eyes. “Now, relax, you look stiff. Let your shoulders fall. There, that’s perfect. Comfortable?”

  Thomas nods, and we fall silent. The only sounds are the distant voices we can hear coming from the other side of the lake, and my charcoal, whispering across the paper.

  It’s dark when we get home. Jobee is sleeping soundly, thoroughly worn out from the fresh air and the new sighs and sounds. I feel almost as tired as he is, for many of the same reasons. I’ve seen so much today, done so much I’ve never done, felt so much I’ve never felt. I am ready to fall where I stand.

  Thomas seems to know this. He helps me out of the car and after he dismisses the Driver he hurries to help me get Jobee upstairs. Once he’s settled in his crib, Thomas leaves me for the night, with only a chaste kiss on the forehead. I cling to him, laughing, but he just smiles.

  “I’ll see you in the morning, Benna.”

  I change out of my clothes into a sleeping tunic. Though I’m exhausted, I feel wound up, unable to close my eyes. I retrieve the drawing tablet from where I’ve hidden it under the changing table pad, and sit on the bed. I open it to Thomas’s portrait.

  There he is, just like he was sitting across from me today at the lake. He’s so achingly beautiful to me.

  I’ve managed to capture his eyes quite well, I think. The slight tilt of them in his face, the way they sparkle. And his nose is perfect. But I couldn’t get his lips quite right—I’ve smudged the charcoal out and redrawn them so many times I doubt I can get a clean line there again.

  He wouldn’t let me have him. I wanted to, wanted to have sex with him right there on the lakeside. But he shook his head, and told me we should wait.

  “I want you, too, Benna. But I don’t want you in a hurry. And I want to know we’re both . . .” He stopped.

  “Both what?”

  He looked uncertain for a moment. “In love, as silly as that may sound to you.” He watched me. “I want to know we’re both in love.”

  “Why do you think that might sound silly to me?”

  “Well, most people don’t even believe in it.” He touched my hand. “Do you?”

  I thought about that, and what my answer would have been even two weeks before. I thought about how often I had wished for something, some thing that I couldn’t name, and couldn’t see and couldn’t touch. I looked at Thomas.

  “I do now.”

  Chapter Twenty Four

  In the morning, Thomas comes to the courtyard where Jobee and I are sitting, enjoying the early morning sun. He stands in the doorway watching Jobee play with a leaf.

  “I’m going to go see Greg today. And I have to do a couple of other things, too, so I may be late.”

  “You don’t have to report to me, you know.” I smile up at him.

  He smiles back. “I know. I just want to, Benna.”

  My expression must telegraph the alarm I feel inside. Thomas looks behind him to make sure Helper isn’t lurking and then he crosses to me. He kneels down and plays with Jobee, but his whispered words are for me.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I hate this.” He keeps a smile on his face, in case Helper is watching from some unknown vantage point. “I should be able to call you by your real name, shouldn’t I?”

  “Whether you should be able to or not, you can’t,” I say, my own false smile plastered on my face. Things don’t seem so simple today as they did yesterday on the shore of the lake. If Helper heard Thomas using my name that way, she’d report it. Not to his parents; to the police. There are rules in place to keep things like this—like us—from happening. My hands are shaking, just thinking about it.

  Thomas shakes his head, his face a happy mask.

  “We can’t do this, can we?”

  I say nothing. I can’t look at him anymore, so I turn toward the door, and there stands Helper. She doesn’t say anything.

  “Hello, Helper.” I try hard to keep my voice steady, my tone casual. Thomas stands up.

  “What do you need, Helper?” He sounds less friendly than I did.

  “Nothing sir. I just wondered if you’d be home tonight for dinner.”

  Thomas turns to me. When I meet his eyes, it’s with a blank stare. I watch as he searches my face, and absorbs what is there. I watch as his eyes go cold.

  “I won’t be home, Helper.” He walks away without another glance at Jobee or me. “I’ll be eating with friends tonight.”

  And then he’s gone.

  I stay in the courtyard until mid-morning. Jobee has a bottle, and I’ve lost my appetite, so missing breakfast doesn’t matter. I don’t let myself think about anything but Jobee until he falls asleep. Once he’s snuffling softly, I try to relax in the lounge chair. It would be nice if I could drift off, but I can’t. I keep seeing Thomas’s face, his expression going from hurt to numb, his eyes turning frosty, right before they turned away from me forever.

  I don’t know what else I could have done. Never in my life have I thought that I would find myself in this sort of situation, but I have heard of them. There was a
girl in our Helper Training, tracked for Baby Helper just like me and Kris. She was a beautiful girl, not like me. She had fine golden hair that looked like spun sugar, even in a skinner cut. I remember her name—Cinq. I bet a lot of Helpers remember her name, because of what happened.

  We were all pretty new still, all about 15 years old. We’d just been split into smaller groups for our generals, the part of training where we learned the first bits about our particular designations. Some of us were excited that we’d tracked as Baby Helpers, but some weren’t. Cinq was not; she’d wanted to be an Artist. She wasn’t quiet about it at all, either—she’d tell anyone who would listen that her initial testing showed an aptitude for spatial relationships. Sometimes at night you could hear her crying. I always felt bad for her.

  There was a man—he was a boy, really, probably only as old as I am now—who worked in the dorms, whenever something broke down. If the lights were flickering, or the air filtration wasn’t functioning properly, he’d show up with another man and they would fix whatever needed fixing. I noticed him because he didn’t have a designation tattoo; no L for laborer—nothing. Well, that, and the fact that he was disarmingly attractive.

  I wasn’t the only one who noticed him.

  Cinq started hanging around when he showed up, and he returned her interest. She even stayed behind once when he came to our dorm to fix a heater. We were all going to lunch; third bell had already rung, but she stayed behind. One of the other girls warned her that she was risking it, but she didn’t care. I’ll be along was all she said.

  One night after she’d been late for third bell several times, I could hear her weeping in her bed. Another girl, Motie, told her to shut up the noise.

  Motie used to be a friend of mine; at least that’s what I thought. We were closer at that time than Kris and I were; I was closer to Motie than I’d been to anyone. I ate all my meals sitting next to her, and we laughed at the sorts of things we were learning in our generals, things about baby penises and vomit.

  Motie had grown tired of listening to Cinq cry at night, and even more tired of something else. She threw off her blanket and marched over to Cinq’s bed and slapped her right across the face.