Glasshouse (35 page)

Back inside, I try to watch some TV, but it's inane and slow, not to mention barely comprehensible. Bright blurry lights on a low-resolution screen with a curving front, slow-moving and tedious, with plots that don't make sense because they rely on shared knowledge that I just don't have. I'm steeling myself to turn it off and face the boredom alone when the telephone rings.

“Reeve?”

“Hi? Who—Janis! How are you?” I clutch the handset like a drowning woman.

“Okay, Reeve, listen, do you have anything on today?”

“No, no I don't think so—why?”

“I'm meeting a couple of friends in town this afternoon to try out a new cafe near the waterfront that's just appeared. I was wondering if you'd like to come and join us? If you're well enough, that is.”

“I'm”—I pause—“supposed to take it easy for a few days. That's what Dr. Hanta said.” Let her chew on that. “Is there a problem with work?”

“Not so you'd notice.” Janis sounds dismissive. “I'm catching up on my reading, to tell the truth. Anyway, I got the note from the hospital. Don't worry on my part.”

“Oh, okay then. As long as I'm not going to have to run anywhere. How do I get to this place?”

“Just ask a taxi to take you to the Village Cafe. I'll be there around two. I was thinking we could try out the cafe and maybe chat.”

I am getting an itchy feeling that Janis isn't telling me everything, but the shape of what she's not telling me is coming through clearly enough. I shiver a bit.
Do I really want to get involved?
Probably not—
but they'll start talking if I don't, I think. Besides, if they're planning something stupidly dangerous, I owe it to Dr. Hanta to talk them out of it, I suppose. I glance at the TV set. “All right. Be seeing you.”

It's already one o'clock, so I change into a smarter outfit and call a taxi to the Village Cafe. I've no idea what friends Janis might have in mind, but I don't think she'd be tasteless enough to invite Jen along. Beyond that, I don't want to risk making a bad impression. Appearances count if you're trying to up your score, and other people pay attention to that kind of thing. And I don't expect Janis would be organizing anything like this if it wasn't important.

It's a wonderful day, the sky a deep blue and a warm breeze blowing. Janis is right about one thing—I don't remember ever seeing this neighborhood before. The taxi cruises between rows of clapboard-fronted houses with white picket fences and mercilessly laundered grass aprons in front of them, then hangs a left around a taller brick building and drives along a tree-lined downhill boulevard with oddly shaped buildings to either side. There are other taxis about, and people! We drive past a couple out for a stroll along the sidewalk. I thought Sam and I were the only folks who did that. Who am I missing?

The taxi stops just before a cul-de-sac where a semicircle of awnings shield white tables and outdoor furniture from the sky. A stone fountain burbles wetly by the roadside. “Village Cafe,” recites the driver. “Village Cafe. Your credit score has been debited.” Blue numerals float out of the corner of my left eye as I open the door and step out. There are people sitting at the tables—one of them waves. It's Janis. She's looking a lot better than the last time I saw her: She's smiling, for one thing. I walk over.

“Janis, hi.” I recognize Tammy sitting next to her but don't know what to say. “Hello everybody?”

“Reeve, hi! This is Tammy, and here's Elaine—”

“El,” El mumbles.

“And this is Bernice. Have a chair? We were just trying to work out what to order. Would you like anything?”

I sit down and see printed polymer sheet menus sitting in front of each chair. I try to focus on them, just as a box with a grille on it above
the door to the cafe crackles and begins to shout: “Good afternoon! It's another beautiful day . . .”

“I think I'll have a gin and tonic,” I say.

“Your attention please, here are two announcements,” continues the box. “Ice cream is now on sale for your enjoyment. The flavor of the day is truffle and banana. Here is a warning. There is a possibility of light showers later in the day. Thank you for your attention.”

Tammy pulls a face. “It's been doing that every ten minutes since we arrived. I wish it'd shut up.”

“I asked at the counter,” Janis says apologetically. “They say they can't shut it off—it's everywhere in this sector.”

“Yes? What is this sector, anyway? I don't remember it.” I bury my nose in the menu immediately in case I've just made a faux pas.

“I'm not sure. It appeared yesterday, so I thought we should go look at it.”

“Consider it looked at,” says Bernice. Who is dark and slightly plump and wears a perpetual expression of mild disgust: I think I've seen her at Church, but that's about it. “Mine's a mango lassi.”

A zombie, male, wearing a dark suit and a long, white apron, shuffles out of the cafe. “Are you ready to order?” he asks in a high, nasal voice.

“Yes, please.” Janis rattles off a list of drinks, and the waitron retreats indoors again. The drinks are mostly alcohol-free: I seem to be one of the odd ones out.
Oops
, I think. “Tammy and El and I have been meeting up every Saturday for the past few weeks,” she adds in my direction. “We tell our husbands we're a sewing circle. It's a good excuse to gossip and drink, and none of them would know a real sewing circle if one bit him on the toe, so . . .”

“What
is
a sewing circle?” asks Bernice.

El reaches diffidently into a huge bag and pulls out a thing that looks like an airlock cover made of cloth. There are pins stuck in it, and colored thread. “Something like we all get together to do embroidery. Like this.” She pulls a needle out and manages to stab herself in the ball of one thumb with it. “I'm not very good yet,” she adds mournfully.

“Count me out of the sewing,” I say. “But the drinks and gossip are another matter.”

“That's what she said you'd say.” Tammy flashes me an apologetic smile. “Besides, I was wondering if you knew what had happened to Mick.”

Oops again
. “I'm not sure. I asked Dr. Hanta about him, and she said it was
under discussion
, whatever that means. I know Cass is still in the hospital.”

“Ah, right.” Tammy leans back. “Ten dollars says they both retire from the experiment within a week.”

I shiver. There's only one way in or out of a MASucker, for reason of security—to let the flight crew barricade the door if the civilization on the other side of it collapses. “I'm not sure how likely that is,” I say. “But Dr. Hanta has a way of straightening things out. I'm sure she'll be able to do something for Cass, and I know Mick hasn't visited her since . . . well.”

“What about Fiore?” asks Janis.

I am getting the distinct feeling that they've invited me here to pump me for information, but what do I care? They're buying the drinks. “I ran into him after the business with Cass,” I say. Then the cafe door opens, and the waitron returns with our drinks. I shut up until his back's turned. “He, um, I get the feeling he doesn't approve of us doing anything unpredictable, but at the same time Mick went too far. We solved a problem for him.”

“Oh.” Janis looks disappointed, and I mentally kick myself. What she's really asking about is what happened in the library the day she was off sick.

“I got talking to Dr. Hanta in hospital,” I offer. “She said, uh, well, she doesn't approve of the business with Esther and Phil at all. I got the impression she was yelling at the Bishop about it. They're going to add rules for divorce proceedings to the score system to stop it happening again. And rape, to stop anyone getting ideas from Mick.”

“Hmm.” Janis looks thoughtful. “If they stick to a strict dark ages re-creation, they'll make rape a serious penalty score, but only if the male gets caught.”

“Eh?” Tammy looks indignant. “What good will that do?”

“What good does
any
of this do?” Janis asks drily. She reaches into
her handbag and pulls out a piece of knitting, which she passes to me. “I think this is yours, you left this in the library,” she tells me.

I gulp and hastily stuff the Faraday cage lining of my botched experimental carrier into my handbag. “Thanks, I sure did,” I babble.

Janis smiles slowly. “It's a bit scratchy, but it catches the light just so.”

Wheels within wheels.
“It needs a bit more work,” I extemporize. “Where did you find it?”

“In the back office. I was just tidying up.”

My heart seems to be pounding, but nobody else has noticed. Janis looks at me, then looks at El. “What do you think?” she asks.

El looks up from her embroidery, harried. “I think I feel a little sick,” she says, and reaches for her pink lemonade. “Church is going to be bad tomorrow.”

“Lots of developments,” Tammy agrees.

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

Janis nods at me: “Yes, that's right, you've been in hospital all week. Since Tuesday, anyway.”

Tammy pulls out a tablet and puts it on the table. “Lots of new stuff in here,” she says, tapping the screen. “You'll want to know about it.”

“About what?” I ask.

“For starters, it seems our last cohort is in place here.”

“But they said there were another fourteen after mine”—I do the math—“so we're six short. At least?”

Tammy taps her tablet. “They've been running multiple sections of YFH-Polity in parallel. We're just one subsector, a parish, they call it. From Monday they're all going to be linked up, so we've got lots of new neighbors.”

So far this is what Dr. Hanta told me. “And?”

Janis gives me a long, appraising look. “It's a lot bigger than they told you outside when you were signed up. What does that suggest to you?”

I look at her belly. It's not much of a bump yet. Then, almost involuntarily, my eyes slide sideways. “El, are you, I mean I hope I'm not prying here, but are you by any chance—”

“Pregnant?” El looks at me with her baby-blue eyes and puts one hand on her stomach. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

I try not to wince too obviously. “My period's overdue,” says Bernice.

Permanence.
“What else are they doing?” I probe.

“There are a lot of new facilities opening up,” Tammy explains enthusiastically. “There's a kinematoscope, and a swimming pool and gymnastic coliseum, and a theatre. More shops, too. And City Hall will be open for business.”

Bernice cracks before I do. “Whoa. That's a new one on me!”

“I think they're trying to make us
comfortable
,” says Janis.

“Us?” I ask. “Or them?” My eyes take in bellies around the table, occupied bellies. In fact, mine is the only
un
-occupied one here. Thanks to Sam.

“Does it make any difference? I'm pretty sure most of us will be too busy changing nappies soon to worry about anything else.”

Janis has a tone of voice that she uses when she means to convey the exact opposite of the literal meaning of her words. She's using it now, laying on the sarcasm with a trowel.

I smile brightly. “Then I suppose you think we should lie back and enjoy these wonderful new recreational resources!”

“Reeve,” Tammy says warningly, “this is serious.”

“Oh, you bet,” I agree enthusiastically. “Absolutely!” I finish my drink. “I'm sure you ladies have got lots of important things to be talking about, but I just remembered I haven't finished washing the dishes, and I've got to clear out the garage before my husband gets home.” I stand up. “Thanks for the weaving, Janis. See you later?”

The rest of the soi-disant ladies' sewing circle look dubious, but Janis smiles back at me, then winks. “Be seeing you!”

I beat a hasty retreat. I like Janis, but this sewing circle of hers frightens me. She's unhappy here, that much is clear, and I don't think she'll want Dr. Hanta to help her over it. I'm going to have to tell Fiore about Janis, I realize. She needs help.
After Church tomorrow?

THE
journey to Church the next day is strained and tense. We dress in our Sunday best and call a taxi as usual, but Sam doesn't say anything—he's taken to communicating in grunts—and keeps casting me odd
sidelong looks when he thinks I won't notice. I pretend not to see. In truth I'm tense, too, winding myself up for the inevitable and unpleasant conversation with Fiore after the service. Church is packed these days, and we're lucky to get a seat. At least there are other churches in the other parishes (and presumably other instances of Fiore to preach in them), so it's not likely to get any more crowded. “We'll have to leave earlier in future,” I tell Sam, and he stares at me.

Fiore walks in and goes to the front, and the music strikes up, a catchy brassy little number by (my netlink tells me) a composer named Brecht. Then Fiore starts the service proper. “Dear congregants, we are gathered here today in unity to recognize our place in the universe, our immutable roles in the great cycle of life, which none shall take from us. Let us praise the designers who have given us this day and all the days before us a role to fulfill! Praise the designers!”