Outcasts by Vonda N. McIntyre Page A

to work, without a glance at Jannine or
at the exec.
    “I understand what you’re saying,”
the exec said. “I don’t understand why. You do fine on the alert,
so it isn’t test anxiety, but your score on this is terrible.”
    Jannine felt spied on. He’d been watching her answers
as she chose them.
    Angrily, she rose. She was taller than the exec, and bigger.
    “I’ll tell you why,” she said. “Why
is because I don’t want to take your stupid test.” She knew he was
about to tell her she’d failed, she couldn’t work here anymore, she
was fired. “I quit!”
    She pushed past him, heading for the door. She was halfway
down the hall before he recovered from the shock and came after her. She’d
hoped he’d just write her off, let her go and be done with her. She hoped
he’d spare her more humiliation.
    “Wait!”
    He was mad, now, too, and wanting to take it out on her. She
could hear it in his voice.
    “You’re a valuable employee,” he said. “We
think you have a lot of potential.”
    He baffled her. “Can I go back to work?”
    “What’s wrong with you?” His voice rose. “What
do you have against being promoted?”
    So that was what this was all about. A management test. Not
a test to keep working on the substrate.
    “Who asked you?” she said, furious. “Who asked you to promote me?”
    He stopped short, confused.
    “You can take the test again.”
    “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
    “Will you talk to me about this?” The exec
rocked back on his heels and folded his arms and looked at her. “Do
you... Do you need help with something?”
    Jannine hated the pity in his face, the pity that would turn
to contempt.
    “I quit! I said I quit and I mean I quit!” She
fled into the elevator. When the doors closed, she was shaking.
    The elevator halted at the production level. The doors
opened. Instead of the quiet, cold workspace, each person in a couch, no noise
but the pumps and the high-pitched hum of the electric fields, Jannine walked
into midmorning break. Everybody milled around, drinking coffee and eating junk
food, stretching and moving.
    She crossed the floor without stopping. She hoped no one
would notice where she’d been, or notice she was leaving. The best she
could hope for now was to get away clean.
    “Jannine!”
    Jannine’s shoulders slumped. If she’d just
disappeared, she never would’ve had to tell Neko what had happened. But
she couldn’t keep walking, not when Neko called to her.
    “Where have you been? Where are you going?” Neko
hurried to her side. “Are you okay? Was it the alert? You never fail the
alert! How late did you stay out this morning, anyway?” She grinned. “I’m
sorry I was so grumpy. Are you done with counseling? Can you come back to work?”
She lowered her voice, whispering, confidential. “The temp is really
good. I think he wants to work here. Permanently. He’s even got his own
equipment. Are you in trouble?”
    Jannine wanted to explain, but she had no idea how. She
wanted desperately to get out of here.
    “I quit,” she said.
    “You — what?” Neko stared at her,
stricken, then awed. “You quit! Because of what I said? Is that why you
had to go to counseling? How did they find out? Jannine... Oh, you’re so
brave!”
    “Brave?” Jannine said, baffled.
    “I ought to walk right out the door with you!”
    “No,” Jannine said. “No, you shouldn’t,
that’d be dumb.” Neko thought she was leaving because of the
company’s products. That was okay, because Jannine couldn’t explain
why she’d quit. It was too complicated and too embarrassing. But she couldn’t
let Neko quit, too. Not if she was going to quit because of what she thought
they might be building. Not if she was going to quit to be in solidarity with
Jannine. That would make everything, even their friendship, a lie.
    “Do you mean it?” Neko said. “That’s
such a relief! You won’t be mad? Did they know I — ? I can’t
quit, Jannine, I’m