“Of course people are scared of us, right now. We’re everywhere. A lot of us are teachers. They trust us with their children, and they’re wondering if they should.”
“Really, we should be recalled, or segregated, until there’s a better understanding of how the failsafe works and how it failed in the Peterson case. Until then, nobody is safe.”
“I’m calling because I want to tell other vN that we should just leave. I know it’s difficult, especially if you’re living with a human right now, but we should just take ourselves out of the equation.”
When he arrived at The Walls, he was unprepared for how nice and normal everything seemed. There were big open fields, and a lot of signs about onion farms and hayrides and corn mazes and craft breweries and apple jellies, and then you followed a winding driveway through a path of Douglas fir and long-needled pine, and you waved your fob at the nice human in the reception shack, and you were there.
The Walls lived up to its nickname. The whole complex was ringed by a fifteen-foot brick wall, broken only by regular guard towers and crowned with razor wire. Javier could have scaled it easily, but it was nice not having to. This did nothing to lessen his nervousness as he made his way up into the lobby. The main entry to the prison had a bunch of boring furniture and desiccated plants, with smart posters linking to information about leaving your deadbeat husband or how to get your kid to quit drinking, but all the staff wore the same dead-eyed expression as all prison staff. They didn’t look cruel, or conniving, or nasty. They just looked bored. And tired. And completely disgusted with the people they saw every day.
“Name?”
“Arcadio Holberton,” Javier said, and waved the fob at the woman in the steel cage.
“You don’t have an appointment.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You should have made an appointment.”
“I’m sorry.”
They watched each other for a good minute. She was a big, black woman with magnificent natural hair and false eyelashes. She also had a killer manicure. He could understand it: if he had to wear a uniform like that, he’d figure out ways to pretty himself up, too.
“Will you think I’m sucking up if I tell you I like your nails?” Javier asked.
Not even a crack of a smile. “Yes.”
“Oh. Well, never mind, then.”
She sighed a sigh that was more like a growl. “Holberton, huh? And you’re here to see…”
“You know who I’m here to see.”
She made the noise again. Abruptly, she nodded. “Take a number and get in line, then. He’s got a full slate, today, and you’ll just have to wait like everybody else.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The line wasn’t really a line, but a waiting room with a bunch of seats all bolted to the floor and welded together. The armrests were all permanently lowered, so none of the visitors could lie down. Javier supposed that was a good idea; now that he’d made it here, all he wanted to do was shut his eyes and rest.
Luckily, all the kids in the waiting room were a little too loud to let that happen. Javier hadn’t seen so many children in one place since he was on the island. Organic kids, synthetic iterations, teenagers chewing their cuticles, passive nanny vN allowing their hair to be braided by well-meaning, sticky-fingered little girls. In one corner there was a set of toys and readers with shiny smart stickers saying they couldn’t be stolen, but only the really sad kids seemed to be playing with them.
While he waited, a group of vN women entered the waiting room and sat together along one wall. They were all different clades, all different models. Most of them looked like Amy, but quite a few of them looked like Rory. All of them wore short skirts and high heels and had perfect hair.
Beside him, a woman with a shaved head snorted. “Don’t talk to those bitches,” she said, without even looking at Javier.
“Why not?”
“They’re the whore brigade,” she said. “Comfort vN. They’ll try to recruit you. Don’t go for it.”
Javier examined the women again. They did seem to fit a certain pattern. A surprising number of them wore pigtails.
“So… they’re not girlfriends?”
The woman snorted again. “Please. The state pays them to come here. It’s part of some incentive program. Like if you build enough license plates, you get to fuck one of them.”
“Huh.” Javier folded his arms. He slouched back in his seat and crossed his legs at the ankle. “The last joint I was in, that was an informal thing.” He looked back at the women. “So, technically, does that make them state employees?”
“Yup,” she said. “Bitches get benefits and everything.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
Javier frowned. “And I would want to avoid that… why?”