“But you don’t wear your specs when you’re running,” he said, and pulled forward.
The route took them along the Demasduwit Causeway, around Tower Two, down the Sinclair Causeway, and back to Tower Two. New ads on new surfaces greeted them as they passed. The new city departments each had their own cuddly mascot AI that tried to remind Hwa about what she needed for her new apartment. They waved to her from pop-up carts and shop windows. They showed her sales on merchandise from brands she didn’t recognize, brands Lynch had partnered with. New Arcadia was a captive audience, after all; the whole city was like one big focus group. She did her best to ignore the ads. Even if she were interested, she had no time to pay attention. It was a school day, which meant Hwa had to scope New Arcadia Secondary before Joel Lynch arrived for class. This meant showering and dressing in the locker room, which meant she had to finish at a certain time, which meant eating on schedule, too. If she ate before the run, she tended to throw up.
She was going to explain all this, when Síofra slowed down and pulled up to Hwa’s favourite 24-hour cart and held up two fingers. “Two Number Sixes,” he said. He stood first one one leg and then another, pulling his calf up behind him as he did. From behind the counter, old Jorge squinted at him until Hwa jogged up to join him. Then he smiled.
“You have a friend!” He made it sound like she’d just run a marathon. Which it felt like she had—keeping up with Síofra had left her legs trembling and her skin dripping.
“He’s my boss.” She leaned over and spat out some of the phlegm that had boiled up to her throat during the run. “What he said. And peameal.” She blinked at Síofra through sweat. He was looking away, probably reading something in his lenses. One of his legs jagged up and down, seemingly without his knowledge. “You like peameal?”
“Sorry?”
“Peameal. Bacon. Do you like it? They print it special here.”
“Oh. I suppose.”
She glanced at Jorge. “Peameal. On the side.”
Jorge handed them their coffees while the rest of the breakfast cooked. Now the city was waking up, and the riggers joining the morning shift were on their way to the platform. A few of them stood blinking at the other carts as they waited for them to open up.
“How did you know my order?” Hwa asked.
Síofra rolled his neck. It crunched. He was avoiding the answer. Hwa already suspected what he would say. Finally, he said it. “I see the purchases you make with the corporate currency.”
She scowled. “I don’t always have the eggs baked in avocado, you know. Sometimes I have green juice.”
“Not since the cucumbers went out of season.”
Hwa stared. “You’re stalking me.”
“I’m not stalking you. This is just how Lynch does things. We know what all our people buy in the canteen at lunch, because they use our watches to do it. It helps us know what food to buy. That way everyone can have their favourite thing. The schools here do the same thing—it informs the farm floors what to grow. This is no different.”
Hwa sighed. “I miss being union.”
*
Joel Lynch’s vehicle drove him to the school’s main entrance exactly fifteen minutes before the first bell. Hwa stood waiting for him outside the doors. He waved their way in—the school still did not recognize her face, years after she’d dropped out—and smirked at her.
“How are your legs?” he asked.
“Christ, does my boss tell you everything?”
“Daniel just said I should go easy on you, today!” Joel tried hard to look innocent. “And that maybe we didn’t have to do leg day today, if you didn’t really want to.”
“You trying to get out of your workout?”
“Oh, no! Not at all! I was just thinking that—”
“Good, because we’re still doing leg day. My job is protecting you, and how I protect you is making you better able to protect yourself. Somebody tries to take you, I need you to crush his instep with one kick and then run like hell. Both of which involve your legs.”
“So, leg day.”
Hwa nodded. “Leg day.”
“You can crush someone’s instep with one kick?”
Hwa rolled her eyes and hoped her specs caught it. “Of course I can,” she subvocalized.
“I think I’d pay good money to see that.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m on the payroll, then.”
The school day proceeded just like all the others. Announcements. Lectures. Worksheets. French. Past imperfect, future imperfect. Lunch. People staring at Joel, then sending each other quick messages. Hwa saw it all in the specs—the messages drifting across her vision like dandelion fairies. In her vision, the messages turned red when Joel’s name came up. For the most part, it didn’t. While she wore the uniform and took the classes just like the other students, they knew why she was there. They knew she was watching. They knew about her old job.