CAROL AMANDA HARVING: $39.99
When I came home, Sam was just getting ready for school. He still had friends there—people he could talk to. He looked up at me and gave me the best smile he could manage. I was pained to see the distance that had grown between us.
“Sera Croate is studying for a Custodian’s license,” he said, trying to bring me news. That seemed about right. Sera would excel at being a little Mrs. Harris.
Saretha was sitting placidly on the couch watching the screen, entranced. My heart thumped against my ribs as I went to the wall and turned it off. I needed their attention.
Saretha gave a little frown, but did not seem in the least unhappy.
“That show was good,” she said, her eyes swimming a little.
I flipped my Placer’s bag over my shoulder and opened it. It was exactly the thing Kel suggested I not do. I pulled an orange out, and the tart, sweet smell flooded my senses. I held it out, and Sam froze.
“Is that an orange?” Saretha asked, squinting. Sam crossed the room and took it out of my hand, his eyes full of wonder. Despite himself, he licked his lips.
“Where did you get this?” he asked, then he looked at me. He saw the bag and my matte black clothes. At once, he knew. I thought he would say it out loud, but instead he just looked at me with his mouth half-open in awe. I felt giddy. Sam closed his eyes and smelled the orange. The aroma was a little less sweet and a little more pungent unpeeled, but it was still a beautiful thing.
I quickly moved to our closet and pulled out Saretha’s nicest dress, shaking it at her. She looked confused. I will admit, I probably looked like a lunatic. She blinked and turned the screen back on.
“Should we peel it?” Sam asked, holding the orange up. Sam didn’t ask me a lot of questions anymore. Why should he? I would not answer. I could feel him losing hope in our connection. I crossed back to him and plunged my thumbnail under the thick rind and began to peel back the skin. Actions speak louder than words. The orange smell grew more intense.
“Wow,” Sam breathed.
I handed the peeled orange to Sam and pulled Saretha up from the bed. She stood, not looking at me, but watching a reality show in which girls competed for the affection of a deformed Lawyer. (It would turn out later that, surprise! He wasn’t deformed at all, and he would marry the girl who was kindest to him while suing all the rest.) I turned the screen off again. Saretha blinked and turned to me. There was no upset in her, only mild confusion.
“You look taller,” she said. She leaned in and gave me a hug. The Zockroft™ blunted everything. Was I taller? I took an extra moment to assess our heights. We were standing face-to-face, but I hadn’t noticed until that moment I was now slightly taller than her. An odd feeling crept into my throat, like an unsaid apology for all the time I had wasted saying so much less than I should have.
Sam handed me a slice of orange. I took it, even though it wasn’t really for me. I placed it in my mouth, surprised at the softness of the outer skin. A tart, sweet flavor flooded my mouth. I wanted to savor this moment, but we needed to move.
I took the dress, held it up to Saretha and shook it again. She shrugged and took it from me with a pleasant smile. Her eyes seemed to swim before finding focus. After a moment, she began to struggle to put the dress on, chewing and swallowing a piece of orange, but taking no more joy or pleasure from the sweet fruit than she would have from a sheet of Wheatlock™.
Sam looked away, out our small milky window. He always looked away when we got dressed—for the sake of courtesy, embarrassment or possibly both. Now he closed his eyes and smelled the orange again.
“Have you been a Placer since that night?” Sam asked, smelling the orange even as he savored a slice. “When you came home with the cut on your chin?”
His voice hitched a little, and it broke my heart to hear it. I thought he would have been happier. My head was filled with things I wanted to say.
“Placer,” Saretha said, almost like an echo.
Suddenly Sam turned back. “Did you get a spot for Saretha?” he asked, looking from me to her. He was so smart. It was a good idea, if I had a way to make it happen. I wished that was where we were headed, but this might be just as good. This might be better.
Instead of speaking, I turned the screen back on and Saretha stopped dressing to watch. I pulled up the interface and sorted through to a screen of Ads. You could watch all the Ads you liked for free. I pulled up a movie trailer for Carol Amanda Harving’s last film, The Bullets Have Names. When she appeared onscreen, I paused the image. Saretha let out a small groan.
“Speth,” Sam said. He didn’t understand why I would do this. I’m sure it seemed cruel.
“Zockroft™,” Saretha said weakly, followed by a deep sigh as the disc on her Cuff injected her. $22.99. I hated that stuff. I grabbed her arm.
“She can’t help it,” Sam said. He put the half-eaten orange down on the counter.
I pulled out the small blue device I had stolen and ran it over my sister’s Cuff. It clicked. Sam gasped as I cracked it open.
“Don’t say anything!” Sam cried out, racing to Saretha and grabbing her hand. Saretha looked confused. Her Cuff vibrated in my hands, like an angry beast. It still encircled her arm.
Saretha Jime—gesture: nod—1 second: 99¢
I lifted the Cuff away. Its screen dimmed, no longer drawing electromagnetic power from her arm. It went into safe mode. She reached for it, stretching out her hand feebly. Her eyes were pleading, not grateful. She touched the ring on the end that read Zockroft™.
I was glad taking her Cuff off would mean separating her from the drug. For that alone, it might be worth it, though I felt a pang that Zockroft™ was the only thing that provided her with any peace. I placed the Cuff on the kitchen counter, splayed open like a gutted animal.
Sam’s window reflected my thin, weary face in its cloudy glass. I held up my arm and looked at my own Cuff. It was nothing more than a shackle to me. I took Henri’s little device and ran it up my left arm. The Cuff unlocked, and I peeled it off. I put it next to Saretha’s on the counter. She watched, her eyes half-glazed with her final dose.
“Speth, I don’t know what you want,” Sam said desperately.
I scanned the room for some way I could communicate. I looked back at the screen and then out the window.
“Carol Amanda Harving,” Sam said dutifully. His eyes flashed recognition. “You found her?”
My chest rose and fell in relief. Yes, I thought. I walked out the door and waited for them to follow. Saretha finished jamming herself into her dress, which only barely fit. I hadn’t considered how little she had to wear now, but it would have to do. Sam pushed her forward and we were on our way, leaving the precious remains of the orange behind.