to try. There were lives on the line.
“I must insist,” he said.
“What’s with you?” breathed Fon, aghast.
Grassly puffed out a breath. He thought Bright would have given him the helmet if she’d been alone; after all, she’d seen what it could do. But she wouldn’t give it to him in front of Fon.
The client in the IndieBouncer had begun to make noises that didn’t sound like enjoyment.
Ooof, wheeze. Ooof, wheeze.
“Fine,” he said. “Just don’t turn it on until you receive further instructions from me.”
“He can’t tell you what to do with your gear,” Fon whispered to Bright.
But Bright nodded at him. “Okay,” she said.
He began to improvise, feeling pleased with his intellectual agility. “If you turn on the light, you may draw the attention of … less exclusive people.”
“Oh! So that’s the secret,” breathed Fon.
Grassly felt himself start. Which secret did she know?
“The helmet. It’s from the House of It. Right?”
Fon spoke to Bright, as though Grassly had no ears with which to hear. “The House of It uses performance tests to decide who gets promoted there.”
It does? thought Grassly.
“The helmet is a test,” continued Fon. “The House of It is testing us.”
Then she fixed Grassly with an unnervingly direct gaze. “The House of It wants us to protect the light helmet, right? And the first part of the test was whether we’d let you take it.”
“Yes,” he said, because he couldn’t think of a suitable response to her bizarre conclusions.
They could hold on to the helmet, to which they’d become strangely attached, and believe whatever they wanted about some promotional test. His concern right now was figuring out how to get people to the Natural Experience and from there onto his ship.
“Does it matter which one of us wears it?” Fon asked.
“No,” he said.
Fon smiled triumphantly and pointed a finger from herself to Bright. “Working together. Sharing the helmet,” she said.
“That’s right,” he said. “You will work together. Just remember. Don’t turn the light on again until you receive further instructions from me.”
Bright put up her hand, as though she were in a classroom. “Are there going to be any more tests this shift?” she asked. She gave a sidelong glance at the tall, thin client, who was wobbling unsteadily inside the IndieBouncer, hitting the sides and sliding back down. The woman’s legs appeared to be buckling more each time she landed.
“We have a leisure unit meeting after shift, and I’m better at doing tests when I’m rested,” continued Bright. “So maybe we should get off early?”
Grassly took in the client’s grey face, a smear inside the IndieBouncer. “That’s fine,” he said. “Just go about your business and wait to hear from me. You’re doing a fine job, Bright. And Fon.”
Bright smiled at him, and for the first time since he’d come into the room, there was nothing but happiness in her face.
He hurried out of the Bounceteria and headed toward his workshop, thinking hard about what to do next.
As he cleared the doorway, he heard one of them say, “He’s kind of nice for a PS officer.”
He stopped in case they said more.
“Well, he’s boring like a PS officer.”
“PS officers are
supposed
to be boring. He’s probably especially good at being boring because he’s from the House of It.”
He was far too busy to be eavesdropping, Grassly decided.
09.00
For reasons that made her head hurt to consider, the rules about avoiding unproductive attachments seemed less important when Bright looked at Slater, a favour from the House of Boards. He was nineteen and three-quarters, but he
looked
seventeen. A young seventeen. And he
acted
sixteen. A person would never know he was staring release in the mirrored shades. Bright always tried to sit next to him during leisure unit meetings. Not that he was a good conversationalist or anything. He’d been bred for hard muscle and soft
“I must insist,” he said.
“What’s with you?” breathed Fon, aghast.
Grassly puffed out a breath. He thought Bright would have given him the helmet if she’d been alone; after all, she’d seen what it could do. But she wouldn’t give it to him in front of Fon.
The client in the IndieBouncer had begun to make noises that didn’t sound like enjoyment.
Ooof, wheeze. Ooof, wheeze.
“Fine,” he said. “Just don’t turn it on until you receive further instructions from me.”
“He can’t tell you what to do with your gear,” Fon whispered to Bright.
But Bright nodded at him. “Okay,” she said.
He began to improvise, feeling pleased with his intellectual agility. “If you turn on the light, you may draw the attention of … less exclusive people.”
“Oh! So that’s the secret,” breathed Fon.
Grassly felt himself start. Which secret did she know?
“The helmet. It’s from the House of It. Right?”
Fon spoke to Bright, as though Grassly had no ears with which to hear. “The House of It uses performance tests to decide who gets promoted there.”
It does? thought Grassly.
“The helmet is a test,” continued Fon. “The House of It is testing us.”
Then she fixed Grassly with an unnervingly direct gaze. “The House of It wants us to protect the light helmet, right? And the first part of the test was whether we’d let you take it.”
“Yes,” he said, because he couldn’t think of a suitable response to her bizarre conclusions.
They could hold on to the helmet, to which they’d become strangely attached, and believe whatever they wanted about some promotional test. His concern right now was figuring out how to get people to the Natural Experience and from there onto his ship.
“Does it matter which one of us wears it?” Fon asked.
“No,” he said.
Fon smiled triumphantly and pointed a finger from herself to Bright. “Working together. Sharing the helmet,” she said.
“That’s right,” he said. “You will work together. Just remember. Don’t turn the light on again until you receive further instructions from me.”
Bright put up her hand, as though she were in a classroom. “Are there going to be any more tests this shift?” she asked. She gave a sidelong glance at the tall, thin client, who was wobbling unsteadily inside the IndieBouncer, hitting the sides and sliding back down. The woman’s legs appeared to be buckling more each time she landed.
“We have a leisure unit meeting after shift, and I’m better at doing tests when I’m rested,” continued Bright. “So maybe we should get off early?”
Grassly took in the client’s grey face, a smear inside the IndieBouncer. “That’s fine,” he said. “Just go about your business and wait to hear from me. You’re doing a fine job, Bright. And Fon.”
Bright smiled at him, and for the first time since he’d come into the room, there was nothing but happiness in her face.
He hurried out of the Bounceteria and headed toward his workshop, thinking hard about what to do next.
As he cleared the doorway, he heard one of them say, “He’s kind of nice for a PS officer.”
He stopped in case they said more.
“Well, he’s boring like a PS officer.”
“PS officers are
supposed
to be boring. He’s probably especially good at being boring because he’s from the House of It.”
He was far too busy to be eavesdropping, Grassly decided.
09.00
For reasons that made her head hurt to consider, the rules about avoiding unproductive attachments seemed less important when Bright looked at Slater, a favour from the House of Boards. He was nineteen and three-quarters, but he
looked
seventeen. A young seventeen. And he
acted
sixteen. A person would never know he was staring release in the mirrored shades. Bright always tried to sit next to him during leisure unit meetings. Not that he was a good conversationalist or anything. He’d been bred for hard muscle and soft
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