Kingdom of Cages(14)

“Which is so stupid,” announced Teal as they left the hall and headed down the path. “How do they run this place without computers? How do they tell anybody anything?”

“I’m sure we’re about to find out,” said Mom. She did not sound thrilled.

Finding out involved sitting on the path outside the Central Administration Building with a long, ragged line of people in station-style clothes. Chena thought she recognized a couple of the airheads from the first waiting room, but no one she knew enough to say hello to. So they just joined the line—Mom standing up straight, like she could wait there all day, and Chena and Teal sitting cross-legged at her feet, sometimes messing with their comptrollers but mostly just staring at the people and the low green buildings, or the trees that made up the entire world beyond the fence posts.

Occasionally Madra would stick her head out the door, say, “Next!” and smile at the rest of them as they all shuffled forward a few inches and settled back down to wait again.

Then Chena started noticing something. Not everyone who went through the door came out again. Sadia’s words about being declared useless and getting hauled off came back to her, settling cold and hard in her stomach.

Stop it, she told herself, chewing her lip. Mom would never let it happen. She wouldn’t have brought you here if it could happen.

But her mind refused to relax. It kept rolling over those thoughts until she had wrung every possibility down from her brain into her guts, where they all knotted together. By the time they reached the head of the line, Chena could barely sit still.

Of course, Mom noticed. “Easy, Supernova,” she said. “It’ll all be over soon.”

“I’m okay.” She tried to sound convincing, but wasn’t sure if she managed it. “It’s just—”

And, of course, that was when Madra had to stick her head out the door and say, “Next! Oh, good morning, Helice, Teal, Chena,” she added as she recognized them. “Come on in.”

The office was dim and cool, like the dorm and the dining hall had been. Chena was starting to wonder if there was some kind of regulation against bright light. But, except for the strip windows and the wooden walls, it looked like every office Chena had ever been in. There were chairs for guests, and desk and another chair for the person who actually worked there.

This office also had stacks of record sheets piled on every flat surface. There was an interior door that maybe went to the larger building. Next to it sat a teak-skinned man with a hooked nose who wore a white shirt, black vest, and black trousers.

“Sit down, please.” Madra’s smile was efficient as she slid into place behind her desk. “This is Administrator Tam Bhavasar from the Alpha Complex.” Her smile did not waver, but something sour crept into her voice as she spoke the name. Chena shifted. This was the first hint they’d had that Madra-the-Eternally-Cheerful might not like somebody. “We are under his jurisdiction and he will be providing such representation as we require to the family inside the complex.”

“We’ve spoken.” Mom’s voice had gone back to tight and polite. Chena shifted her weight. Who was this guy? Her gaze flickered to Administrator Tam. He had a long, lean frame. His legs stretched out in front of him, all relaxed, but Chena knew that was for show. She could feel the tension radiating off him like white heat.

“Before you’re assigned a work shift,” Madra went on, “I am required to tell you…” Required? That was new too. Up until now, all her little speeches had sounded like they were her own idea. “… that you, Helice, have the option of transferring residence to the Alpha Complex.” The smile grew strained, even dipped for a second. “Your residence contract there will include free room, board, and education, for yourself and your daughters, along with a guarantee of employment that will allow you a monthly positive accumulation.”

“No,” said Mom in the frosty voice she used on petty bureaucrats and pushy vendors. “We discussed this, Administrator. I am not interested in participating in your experiments.”

Spare parts—the words jolted through Chena again. Oh, piss and God, they really do it.

Oddly enough, Administrator Tam seemed to relax a little. “You can change your mind at any time, Mother Trust,” said Administrator Tam, running one long, clean hand up and down the chair arm. “I ask you to consider. The Diversity Crisis is affecting every human world. Children are dying daily because we have not yet been able to come up with a cure. With your help, we will be able to design a new—”

“Thank you.” Mom clipped off the words. She was using her special voice, the one that meant, I don’t want to discuss this in front of my children. “I have been informed as to what you are trying to design and how you want me to help, and I have told you I am not interested.”