and Resistance talk. I should have left him there, and gone to catch up with Mike and Derek. But I wanted to hear what he had to say, even if it scared me.
“I know all about the government and Media and what they do.” The bitterness in Sal’s voice surprised me. “My dad was a reporter for the Global Times . The Governing Council insisted he be the one to do an in-depth report on a suspected Resistance movement in the Outer Hebrides. Mom went with him because she’d never been to the Greater United Isles. The leviton taking them from the main island to the Hebrides crashed into the sea. Their bodies were never recovered, so the government refused to pay survivor benefits until the obligatory eight-year waiting period ends. Of course, by the time that happens, I’ll be too old to collect benefits.” He let out a hollow laugh. “The Times gave John and me a small pension to make themselves look good.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Almost makes you want to do something about it ...”
Behind his hard gaze, I glimpsed a huge sadness. At least the Infinity machine had given me a chance to say good-bye to Ginnie. I instinctively reached for his arm. “I’m sorry.”
He stopped walking, stared first at my hand and then at me. Maybe, like me, he didn’t deal well with sympathy. I drew back my hand, and ventured a tiny smile. When he smiled back, a rush of warmth, like hot chocolate in December, ran through me. I wasn’t used to this—I needed something familiar, and fast. Where were Derek and Mike? I spotted them outside an electronics store down the street listening to an old music player, and hurried over with Sal following behind me.
“Hey guys, listen to this,” Mike said. “It’s great!”
I recognized the tune. “Hey, I know this song. You play this, don’t you, Derek?”
“Yup, it’s Van Morrison. Pretty cool, huh?” He turned to Sal. “My older brother, Riley, has a bunch of his tunes. He studies early music at the University, specializing in mid-1900s. I’m gonna do the same thing when I graduate. I applied for a scholarship, too. Though they accept tier four and up, so I would get in anyway.”
“Smart-ass.” Mike grinned at Derek. “You know you’re getting that scholarship anyway. Hey, anyone hungry?” Mike asked. “These credits Mom gave me are dying to turn into food.”
“Are you kidding? Even if I’d just stuffed myself on Unity Feast Day, I’d say yes,” Derek said. “I can’t remember the last time you bought.”
“TJ’s?” I suggested. It felt nice—normal even—being around friends.
Sal glanced up at a nearby time/temp sign, then directed a look at me. There was something about him that made my knees turn to jelly. “Sounds great, but I can’t. A couple of wrecks came in late yesterday, so I’ve gotta work today. See you guys at school.”
I watched his reflection in the store window as he crossed the street. He moved effortlessly, like a cat. He glanced up the street, his hair obscuring his face, but when he turned the other way, his jaw was clenched and he was frowning. I felt bad that our conversation had turned to his parents’ death, but I had wanted him to leave, hadn’t I? A yearning to follow him and say something, anything, to help surged through me. I crossed my arms, grabbing my shoulders, and holding that feeling inside.
Sal hadn’t been gone more than five minutes when it happened. This time there was no silence, and no trannies crashed. Just a broadcast:
“The Governing Council, in its bid to keep the tier system in place, has instituted programs like Female Liaison Specialist and Human Bio-testers. What they don’t tell you is what really happens to the tier-ones who are testers and where the girls who are inducted into FeLS end—”
As abruptly as it started, it stopped. People, who had instinctively clustered together when the transmission started, shook off the anxiety caused by their close proximity and proceeded along
“I know all about the government and Media and what they do.” The bitterness in Sal’s voice surprised me. “My dad was a reporter for the Global Times . The Governing Council insisted he be the one to do an in-depth report on a suspected Resistance movement in the Outer Hebrides. Mom went with him because she’d never been to the Greater United Isles. The leviton taking them from the main island to the Hebrides crashed into the sea. Their bodies were never recovered, so the government refused to pay survivor benefits until the obligatory eight-year waiting period ends. Of course, by the time that happens, I’ll be too old to collect benefits.” He let out a hollow laugh. “The Times gave John and me a small pension to make themselves look good.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Almost makes you want to do something about it ...”
Behind his hard gaze, I glimpsed a huge sadness. At least the Infinity machine had given me a chance to say good-bye to Ginnie. I instinctively reached for his arm. “I’m sorry.”
He stopped walking, stared first at my hand and then at me. Maybe, like me, he didn’t deal well with sympathy. I drew back my hand, and ventured a tiny smile. When he smiled back, a rush of warmth, like hot chocolate in December, ran through me. I wasn’t used to this—I needed something familiar, and fast. Where were Derek and Mike? I spotted them outside an electronics store down the street listening to an old music player, and hurried over with Sal following behind me.
“Hey guys, listen to this,” Mike said. “It’s great!”
I recognized the tune. “Hey, I know this song. You play this, don’t you, Derek?”
“Yup, it’s Van Morrison. Pretty cool, huh?” He turned to Sal. “My older brother, Riley, has a bunch of his tunes. He studies early music at the University, specializing in mid-1900s. I’m gonna do the same thing when I graduate. I applied for a scholarship, too. Though they accept tier four and up, so I would get in anyway.”
“Smart-ass.” Mike grinned at Derek. “You know you’re getting that scholarship anyway. Hey, anyone hungry?” Mike asked. “These credits Mom gave me are dying to turn into food.”
“Are you kidding? Even if I’d just stuffed myself on Unity Feast Day, I’d say yes,” Derek said. “I can’t remember the last time you bought.”
“TJ’s?” I suggested. It felt nice—normal even—being around friends.
Sal glanced up at a nearby time/temp sign, then directed a look at me. There was something about him that made my knees turn to jelly. “Sounds great, but I can’t. A couple of wrecks came in late yesterday, so I’ve gotta work today. See you guys at school.”
I watched his reflection in the store window as he crossed the street. He moved effortlessly, like a cat. He glanced up the street, his hair obscuring his face, but when he turned the other way, his jaw was clenched and he was frowning. I felt bad that our conversation had turned to his parents’ death, but I had wanted him to leave, hadn’t I? A yearning to follow him and say something, anything, to help surged through me. I crossed my arms, grabbing my shoulders, and holding that feeling inside.
Sal hadn’t been gone more than five minutes when it happened. This time there was no silence, and no trannies crashed. Just a broadcast:
“The Governing Council, in its bid to keep the tier system in place, has instituted programs like Female Liaison Specialist and Human Bio-testers. What they don’t tell you is what really happens to the tier-ones who are testers and where the girls who are inducted into FeLS end—”
As abruptly as it started, it stopped. People, who had instinctively clustered together when the transmission started, shook off the anxiety caused by their close proximity and proceeded along
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