Angel Eyes

by Nicole Luiken

  Jazzy’s turn. She scowled, obviously unprepared. “Mine’s a hospital debt.”

  “For yourself?” I needled.

  “No. For—for my mom. She’s sick. Cancer.”

  And that, unfortunately, had a ring of truth to it. It also made her a very determined opponent. “I’m sorry to hear that.” I backed off and asked Gerry where he’d grown up.

  After inhaling breakfast, Gerry slouched off to work. The rest of us hung around, waiting for Ms. Rodriguez to give us the promised tour.

  Jazzy eyed me warily. “So what was that all about? Why all the fake interest in Gerry’s history? He isn’t one of us,” she added in a whisper.

  “I wasn’t faking; I am interested. He got a bad deal.”

  Jazzy just shook her head, unconvinced.

  Ms. Rodriguez bustled in, breathless and apologetic, then towed us out the door. Jazzy and Sahan seemed delighted by the chance to search for further clues. I was less thrilled by what I saw.

  The fitness center consisted of a few treadmills, weights, and two skipping ropes—adequate given most of the prison population got plenty of exercise during the day.

  The segregated Games room on the other hand was pathetic. It came equipped with—wait for it—a chess and checkers board. No electronic games and definitely no VR. The measly two internet stations both had big signs saying Out of Order—no doubt arranged by NextStep to keep us from checking our standings.

  Jazzy and Sahan hovered over the internet stations, as if itching to try to power them up. I obligingly distracted Ms. Rodriguez.

  "This sucks. What about Monopoly?" I asked. "Or a deck of cards?"

  "We had several electronic games programmed to play cards. Tuh—" She stopped and corrected herself, "—someone keeps borrowing them. I'll requisition another one."

  Tuh for Tad?

  "Physical decks would be better," I suggested. "Cheaper, less likely to be stolen, and we could hold a card tournament."

  "A tournament?" Ms. Rodriguez suppressed another smile. Perhaps her wages were docked if she actually showed her teeth. "I'm afraid there's not much camaraderie here, but I'll see what I can do." Ms. Rodriguez led the way back into the hall.

  From the set of Jazzy’s mouth, she hadn’t found anything. Nor did she grow any happier when Ms. Rodriguez showed us the fire exits and the computerized First Aid box.

  Last on the tour was the actual workroom. Ms. Rodriguez showed it to us from the supervisor’s room above first. Down below thirty cubicles were jammed together in one big room. Ms. Rodriguez introduced us to the supervisor, Mr. Pinchot. He was thin, conservatively dressed in a dark suit, and he did not look pleased to meet us. He shook my hand only after a long pause while I held it extended.

  Mr. Pinchot didn’t look like the type of man who napped on the job. He looked dedicated to making sure the government of New York got their money's worth for the debt owed. From the sneer on his lips, he disapproved of his country’s decision to let Kenneth Jones film part of his culling process here.

  "Now I'll leave you in Mr. Pinchot's capable hands for your job training." Ms. Rodriguez smiled at the stickman. "Nobody knows the system better than Mr. Pinchot."

  An hour later I was sure that was true because nobody else in his right mind would want to know the system the way Mr. Pinchot did.

  There was a perfectly good manual on how to use the system. Somebody could have given me the file to read, and I would’ve done fine. Instead Mr. Pinchot stood over our shoulders as we took turns at the training stations. He explained every key in exhaustive detail, even the standard ones. "The tab key will take you from one field to the next..." Drone, drone, drone.

  Every so often he would pause to blow his nose or lecture us on the merits of the previous database system which he, personally, had preferred, but "management insisted on switching us over to this one, which is not only slower but ten times as costly."

  An hour of Mr. Pinchot felt like a day. By the time he finally freed us to go to our cubicles, actual work sounded like a pleasure cruise. "Don't forget," he called after us, "I'll be checking all your data for the first week you're here. If you're stuck, message me. Do not ask the person in the next cubicle and disturb their work."

  ‘Cuz that would be awful.

  The Under Twenties’ cubicles were located in the back corner. Tad smirked at me as I passed. Gerry winked behind Mr. Pinchot’s back.

  Jazzy took the cubicle in front of me, with Sahan on her right. A blonde girl with apple cheeks sat in the cubicle across from me. She typed diligently while Mr. Pinchot lingered. Two frown lines creased her forehead.

  Another ten minutes crawled by with Mr. Pinchot watching over my shoulder before he finally, finally left, probably worried that someone else might be slacking off in his little empire.

  "Tell me he's going to retire soon—like tomorrow," I whispered to the girl across from me as I called up my first record and starting filling in the fields.

  "Eight years to go before mandatory retirement. I checked," she whispered back, without turning her head. Her hair was a lighter, more wheaten shade than my own, and hung in a sleek bob.

  I started to like her. "Does he have a bad heart?"

  "No."

  "A billion-dollar inheritance currently stuck in probate?"

  I startled her into looking at me that time. She had greeneyes and round cheeks. "I doubt it."

  "A lifelong dream to sail to Fiji?"

  A tiny snort of laughter. "Not that I know of."

  "I'm Angel, by the way."

  "Emily." She could talk without moving her lips. A skill I envied.

  "How long have you been stuck here, Emily?"

  "Since I flunked out of med school last week. Don't forget to type or he'll come here in person."

  I took her advice and typed.

  Within half an hour, I had a comfortable rhythm going. I’d also noticed a certain pattern to the entries. The last letters of the last names spelled out a word: princess. By lunchtime, I was more than ready for a break.

  I filled my tray then surveyed the cafeteria. Jazzy sat alone, scribbling in a little notebook. She covered it with her hand as I approached, obviously seeing me as a rival.

  Sahan gazed at Jazzy longingly, but sat with an unknown boy instead.

  Tad also sat alone, glowering at his bowl of tomato soup. I paused beside him for a second. "Thanks for the book recommendation. I really enjoyed Flint."

  Tad nodded shortly—saying ‘You’re welcome’ apparently far too great an effort.

  I continued on to the table Emily had claimed and found her looking at me as if I'd stuck my hand into a bear's cage and not been bitten.

  “Hey,” Gerry said, plunking his tray net to us. “Have you heard? Two of the outdoor newbies tried to escape this morning and got stunned; another one dislocated her wrist trying to remove her alarm bracelet.”

  Emily solemnly shook her head. “How awful.” Even when she wasn’t whispering her voice was high and breathy. She fingered her silver choker.

  I feigned surprise and interest, but nobody knew any details.

  The afternoon crawled. The first hour was boring. No new codes or anagrams, which I found a little worrying. Perhaps coverage was focusing on the more numerous outdoor contestants, which was bad news for us Under Twenties.

  The second hour I developed a crick in my neck. The third hour Mr. Pinchot came down to caution me. "You're typing too fast; you'll make errors."

  I narrowed my eyes. "Have I made any errors yet?"

  "No," he admitted, "but it's only a matter of time if you continue at that speed on your very first day." He blew his nose, but didn't go away. He stood at my shoulder and waited for me to make a typo so he would be vindicated.

  I deliberately typed faster and kept it up error-free until the day finished at four o’clock.

  "I'll double-check your work tonight. You'll have to correct those records with errors on your lunch hour tomorrow." He departed.

  I glared
at his back.

  "How did you do that?" Emily whispered. "With him standing there, I made twice as many errors as usual. And he watched you for a whole hour."

  "Sorry," I said. "He made me mad. I didn't think about the fact that you would be affected, too. I'll type slower tomorrow, I promise."

  "Thanks."

  "That has got to be the most mind-numbingly boring afternoon I've ever spent," I said with feeling. I stood and stretched.

  "Get used to it." Emily sighed. "We've both got a long way to go." Together we left the work area.

  The thought of doing the whole thing again tomorrow filled me with dread. Two days until the scenario ended. I pitied Emily, Gerry and Tad. I would go insane if I was stuck here for years. I’d found something worse than being locked inside and spied on with cameras: being locked inside, spied on and bored to death.

  "There is no way I am going to do that again," I said definitely.

  Emily looked at me as if she was rethinking our friendship. She nervously tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "They'll just add time to your debt sentence if you don't work. Rumour has it, Tad's on his fifth extra month."

  "Don't worry, I'll do the work," I said. "But something has got to be done to make it less boring." By which I meant that I was going to do something. Starting tonight.

  After all, I couldn’t let the Golden Ticket audience down.

  Poor Mr. Pinchot. I had a feeling he wasn't going to enjoy tomorrow.

  Chapter Ten

  ANGEL

  Step One of my plan: do an end run around Mr. Pinchot.

  I lucked out and caught Ms. Rodriguez before she left her office for the day.

  "Come in, Angel," she said. “What can I do for you?”

  “I had a question about the handbook you gave us. The rules aren’t abridged in any way? I mean, there isn’t a longer version around somewhere?”

  “No,” she assured me. “The handbook contains all the rules.”

  Perfect. "Who wrote them?" I asked.

  "Some committee, I suppose," Ms. Rodriguez said. "Why?"

  I smiled. "No reason." If the rules had been written by committee, then Mr. Pinchot wouldn't be able to change them at whim; it would be a lengthy process.

  "Was that all?" Ms. Rodriguez stood up.

  "One last thing: If everyone's efficiency increased, would you be pleased?"

  Blink. "Of course."

  "That's what I thought." I pivoted on my heel.

  "Wait a moment." Ms. Rodriguez reached into her desk and brought out two brand new decks of cards. "You might as well take these to the Games Room for me."

  "Thanks!" The decks would make things much easier.

  On to Step Two: motivating the troops. Of course, they didn't know they were my troops. Yet.

  At supper, Emily and I sat with Gerry and a sandy-haired boy, the only Under Twenty I hadn’t met yet. I nudged Gerry. “Introduce us.”

  “To who? Ron? You don’t want to know this trouble-maker.” Gerry thumped Ron’s shoulder.

  “Me?” Ron said good-naturedly. “You’re the one who talked me into climbing the flagpole.”

  “I didn’t—” Gerry stopped and frowned. “No, wait, you’re right, that was my idea.” They grinned at each other, obviously long-time friends.

  Their stories were also similar: sports scholarships, cut from the team, flunked out of college, detainees.

  I ate fast and kept a weather eye on the other tables. At the end of the meal before everyone split off to their separate rooms, I stood on a chair and held up the two decks of cards. "Poker in the Games Room tonight, everyone welcome."

  "Where'd you get the cards?" Gerry asked wide-eyed. "We haven't had anything new in the Games Room since—" His eyes slid to Tad who was sitting by himself in a corner. "—for a long time."

  "Ms. Rodriguez asked me to take them to the Games Room for her. Who's in?"

  "Me," Emily said.

  Ron and Gerry exchanged glances. “Heck, yeah,” Ron answered for them both. I’d been pretty sure I could count on them. Now for the tougher sells.

  Jazzy gave a put-upon sigh, gathered up her notebook and headed for the door.

  “Ah, come on, Jazzy,” I cajoled. “All work and no play is dull. Show us your sparkle.” I glanced significantly up at the cameras.

  Jazzy hesitated then joined our group. “I suppose a little while wouldn’t hurt.”

  As soon as she acquiesced, Sahan came forward, smiling shyly. “I’ll play, too."

  Tad lumbered to his feet, heading for the door.

  I hopped down from my chair and intercepted him. "Tad? How about you? Care for a game of poker?"

  He froze. Blank surprise followed by several different emotions crossed his face before settling into suspicion. “What are the stakes?”

  I shrugged. “Dunno. We’ll decide when we get there.”

  A slow nod. And that was everyone. Letting out a careful breath, I led them down the hall into the Games Room.

  There weren’t enough chairs so we had to drag over the ones from the out-of-order internet stations. The table was a bit crowded, but that was okay.

  I took one deck out of its box and started shuffling. They were slick and stiff, brand-new. "Dealer’s choice. One draw, jokers and deuces wild." I dealt out five cards each. "So," I said as I picked up my handful of nothing, "does Mr. Pinchot always pick on the newbie or am I just special?"

  "You're definitely special," Jazzy said with a malicious glint in her eye. "He left me alone. I’d like two cards."

  "That’s not true," Emily protested. "He always watches the newbies very carefully—but you egged him on or he wouldn't have stood there for an entire hour. Three cards, please."

  "One," Sahan said. He gazed adoringly at Jazzy. For her part, Jazzy ignored him. Because he was a competitor? Or maybe she just didn’t like short guys.

  "Four cards." Gerry grimaced at his hand. "We’re not playing for money, right?"

  "So how long will I be in Mr. Pinchot’s bad books?" I asked as I dealt the cards. "Until the next newbie arrives?"

  "Nah, not that long," Ron said, slouching down. "Tad here will take the heat off of you. Three."

  Tad's turn. "Mr. Pinchot doesn't like you?" I asked.

  A sullen shrug. "I don't care. Two cards."

  I took four myself—a stupid thing to do in a real poker game—but the conversation meant far more to me than winning. I drew a pair of sixes.

  "So what do we do now? Just lay them down on the table? It's no fun without money," Jazzy complained.

  "Strip poker!" Ron suggested with a cheerfully lecherous smile. "Everybody has clothes."

  Emily shot him a killer glare. "Not happening."

  "How about this?" I suggested. "We pretend bet until we're down to two people, then they show their cards, and the loser has to run around the table flapping their arms and bucking like a chicken."

  Emily laughed. "Sounds like fun."

  "It sounds stupid," Jazzy complained.

  So don't play. "I'm open to suggestions."

  "Strip poker," Ron said again.

  "No!" All of us girls blasted him in unison.

  "The chicken dance it is," I said firmly. "Jazzy, you go first. Are you in, or out?"

  "In."

  Emily looked at her cards and sighed. "Definitely out."

  "In," Sahan said.

  "Fold," Gerry said.

  "What the heck," Ron said. "In. I do a great chicken impression."

  "In," Tad said.

  Which left me and my lousy pair of sixes. If I folded, Jazzy would sniff at me. "In," I said.

  "Now what?" Jazzy asked.

  "Deepen the pot," Gerry suggested from the safe sidelines.

  "Loser has to drink a glass of water while standing on their head," Jazzy said.

  Ooh, she was fiendish. I really wished she hadn't decided to view me as a rival. She reminded me a bit of Wendy.

  "All right. Chicken dance and a headstand," I said. "Jazzy?"


  "In."

  Sahan studied his card with mournful brown eyes. "Fold."

  "Fold," Ron said. "I hate getting water up my nose."

  Down to Tad and me. If Tad stayed in, I could fold out gracefully. Tad’s brown eye bored into me. I wondered if one of his Augments was hearing, if he was listening for an elevated heartbeat. I didn’t oblige.

  "Fold," he said.

  "What happens if everyone drops out?" Jazzy asked. "Do all four of you have to chicken dance?"

  "No, we'll make it a rule that the last person has to stay in if everyone else folds," I said. "So I guess I'm in." I displayed my cards. "Pair of sixes."

  "Three jacks!" Jazzy laid down her pair and deuce with a flourish.

  I made sure my smile was a bit painful as I got up. If I was too good a sport, Jazzy wouldn't feel that she'd gotten her money’s worth. “Buck, buck.” I flapped my arms and gamely ran around the table. "Buck, buck, buck."

  Gerry sprang up from his chair as I passed. "Here comes the farmer to chop your head off."

  I sped up, keeping just ahead of him. "Buckbuckbuckbuck. Buckbuckbuckbuck."

  Emily laughed so hard, roses bloomed in her chubby cheeks and I thought she might fall off her chair. Everyone laughed except Tad. His face squinched up in puzzlement, as if he'd expected me to be angry at losing.

  Now the headstand.

  "Here's your water!" Jazzy gleefully filled me a glass.

  I could’ve done the headstand in the corner where I would’ve had some back support, but I felt like showing off. I picked a clear space, put my hands down on the industrial carpet, then my head, forming a tripod and kicked up.

  I wobbled a little in the air, but stuck. Ron and Gerry whistled. "Bring on the water," I said.

  Emily, a true friend in the making, knelt by my head and fed it to me in small sips so that none went down my nose. When I finished and jumped back to my feet, everyone except Tad applauded.

  Jazzy looked at me with grudging respect. She sat back down at the table. "My deal. Two draws, jokers wild, man with an axe wins."

  After explaining to Emily that the King of Diamonds was the man with the axe, I got on with the business of interrogating my new friends. "So is there anybody Mr. Pinchot likes? I mean, does he have a teacher's pet?"