After the Apocalypse by Maureen F. McHugh Page A

She might get onto special projects, but that’s even worse than regular line work, because you’re never allowed to leave the compound.” Baiyue picked up a dish, stuck a little volt reader into the gel, and rapped the dish smartly against the lab table.
    The needle on the volt gauge swung to indicate the cells had discharged electricity. That was the way they tested to see if the cells were generating electricity. A shock made them discharge, and the easiest way was to knock them against the table.
    Baiyue could sound very bitter about New Life. Jieling didn’t like the debt; it scared her a little. But, really, Baiyue saw only one side of everything. “I thought you got a pay raise to go to special projects,” Jieling said.
    Baiyue rolled her eyes. “And more reasons to go in debt, I’ll bet.”
    “How much is your debt?” Jieling asked.
    “Still seven hundred,” Baiyue said. “Because they told me I had to have new uniforms.” She sighed.
    “I am so sick of congee,” Jieling said. “They’re never going to let us get out of debt.”
    Baiyue’s way was doomed. She was trying to play by the company’s rules and still win. That wasn’t Jieling’s way. “We have to make money somewhere else,” Jieling said.
    “Right,” Baiyue said. “We work six days a week.” And Baiyue often stayed after shift to try to make sure she didn’t lose wages on failed cultures. “Out of spec,” she’d say and put it aside. She had taught Jieling to keep the out-of-specs for a day. Sometimes they improved and could be shipped on. It wasn’t the way the supervisor, Ms. Wang, explained the job to Jieling, but it cut down on the number of rejects, and that, in turn, cut down on paycheck deductions.
    “That leaves us Sundays,” Jieling said.
    “I can’t leave compound this Sunday.”
    “And if you do, what are they going to do, fire you?” Jieling said.
    “I don’t think we’re supposed to earn money outside the compound,” Baiyue said.
    “You are too much of a good girl,” Jieling said. “Remember, it doesn’t matter if the cat is black or white, as long as it catches mice .”
    “Is that Mao?” Baiyue asked, frowning.
    “No,” Jieling said, “Deng Xiaoping, the one after Mao.”
    “Well, he’s dead, too,” Baiyue said. She rapped a dish against the counter, and the needle on the volt meter jumped.

    Jieling had been working just over four weeks when they were all called to the cafeteria for a meeting. Mr. Cao from human resources was there. He was wearing a dark suit and standing at the white screen. Other cadres sat in chairs along the back of the stage, looking very stern.
    “We are here to discuss a very serious matter,” he said. “Many of you know this girl.”
    There was a laptop hooked up and a very nervous-looking boy running it. Jieling looked carefully at the laptop, but it didn’t appear to be a special projects computer. In fact, it was made in Korea. He did something, and an ID picture of a girl flashed on the screen.
    Jieling didn’t know her. But around her she heard noises of shock, someone sucking air through their teeth. Someone else breathed softly, ‘Ai-yah.’
    “This girl ran away, leaving her debt with New Life. She ate our food, wore our clothes, slept in our beds. And then, like a thief, she ran away.” The Human Resources man nodded his head. The boy at the computer changed the image on the big projector screen.
    Now it was a picture of the same girl with her head bowed and two policemen holding her arms.
    “She was picked up in Guangdong,” the human resources man said. She is in jail there.”
    The cafeteria was very quiet.
    The human resources man said, “Her life is ruined, which is what should happen to all thieves.”
    Then he dismissed them. That afternoon, the picture of the girl with the two policemen appeared on the bulletin boards of every floor of the dormitory.

    On Sunday, Baiyue announced, “I’m not going.”
    She was not supposed to leave