especially when they had the same hair colour and skin tone.
The other moaned. “Do I look okay?” she asked in a blurred voice.
He watched, relieved that both favours were alive and no one was gushing blood or chewing on wiring. That was progress, at least.
One of them appeared to be staring at the helmet, which lay on its side in front of her.
“I super-love that shade of pink,” she said.
“It’s hot,” said the other, slurring slightly.
The first favour shifted so she could grab the helmet. She hit the button, and he saw the light flood into her face.
“Ooooh, pretty!” she said.
“Fierce,” said the other.
They sounded like any other favours. Not enlightened at all. But if the light didn’t work, why had they fallen down? He knew that, during their nutrition updates, the ancestors were fed a steady diet of pharmaceuticals to manage their moods and attitudes. Perhaps they’d ingested too much.
“Hey,” said the favour who wasn’t shining the light directly into her own face. “Why are we lying on the floor?”
The one hugging the helmet to her chest said, “Does this light make my chin look big?”
“No! How could you say that? You just had it done. No light could make it look big! Unless it was like the world’s giantest light for making things look giant.”
The two favours slowly sat up, superstitiously air-touching their faces to make sure everything was in place.
The audio came through clearly.
“It’s weird, right?” said one. “Being on the floor?”
“The floor is pretty hard. You know, harder than when you wake up in bed,” said the other.
Then both favours looked over toward the doorway of the dressing room. Grassly adjusted the cameras to bring up another angle so he could see what they were looking at.
A third favour stood in the doorway. The young man had on a red pointed helmet, yellow plastic pants, and no shirt. Grassly knew from his time undercover in the House that the look was known as Firefighter. The male favour had just opened his mouth to speak when the edge of the beam from the pink helmet slid over his face. His mouth fell open as the light reached his eyes. He staggered back and disappeared from view.
Inside the dressing room, the two favours paid little attention.
“I hate it when people can’t even keep track of what tier they’re on,” said the one without the helmet.
“It’s happened to me before, but that was different because I’d had that no-blink treatment done on my eyes. Anyway, we better get ready to go back on shift.”
Grassly found a camera that showed the View Walk just outside the dressing room. The young favour had fallenonto his back. He stirred, rolled over, and sat up. He pushed his fireman’s hat off his head and ran his hand through his perfectly mussed hair. “I’ve got to go,” the boy said in a toneless voice.
Grassly turned up the sound on the nearest micro-transmitter, feeling confused and hopeful.
“I’ve got to go,” repeated the favour. “I’ve got to find the light. It’s time for me to go.” Then he burbled something unintelligible and began crawling. At the end of the walkway, he bumped headfirst into the wall. He backed up a few inches, then crawled into the wall again.
Two black-clad figures stepped into view. PS officers.
“Oh Mother,” said Grassly.
05.00
During the following shift, it took Bright over an hour to get away from Fon, who had insisted on riding down the same rope on a double-descent. Fon was a faster slider, and she nearly flattened Bright. Fon’s boot knocked the pink helmet askew on Bright’s head, preventing Bright from activating the light, which had been her plan to get higher bids. That was disappointing. Even so, the two of them drew heavy bidding.
Bright couldn’t tell who was bidding for whom, and neither could the Choosing Room computer that tracked such things. Two of the lit wands turned purple, indicating accepted bids, and immediately the rest of the
The other moaned. “Do I look okay?” she asked in a blurred voice.
He watched, relieved that both favours were alive and no one was gushing blood or chewing on wiring. That was progress, at least.
One of them appeared to be staring at the helmet, which lay on its side in front of her.
“I super-love that shade of pink,” she said.
“It’s hot,” said the other, slurring slightly.
The first favour shifted so she could grab the helmet. She hit the button, and he saw the light flood into her face.
“Ooooh, pretty!” she said.
“Fierce,” said the other.
They sounded like any other favours. Not enlightened at all. But if the light didn’t work, why had they fallen down? He knew that, during their nutrition updates, the ancestors were fed a steady diet of pharmaceuticals to manage their moods and attitudes. Perhaps they’d ingested too much.
“Hey,” said the favour who wasn’t shining the light directly into her own face. “Why are we lying on the floor?”
The one hugging the helmet to her chest said, “Does this light make my chin look big?”
“No! How could you say that? You just had it done. No light could make it look big! Unless it was like the world’s giantest light for making things look giant.”
The two favours slowly sat up, superstitiously air-touching their faces to make sure everything was in place.
The audio came through clearly.
“It’s weird, right?” said one. “Being on the floor?”
“The floor is pretty hard. You know, harder than when you wake up in bed,” said the other.
Then both favours looked over toward the doorway of the dressing room. Grassly adjusted the cameras to bring up another angle so he could see what they were looking at.
A third favour stood in the doorway. The young man had on a red pointed helmet, yellow plastic pants, and no shirt. Grassly knew from his time undercover in the House that the look was known as Firefighter. The male favour had just opened his mouth to speak when the edge of the beam from the pink helmet slid over his face. His mouth fell open as the light reached his eyes. He staggered back and disappeared from view.
Inside the dressing room, the two favours paid little attention.
“I hate it when people can’t even keep track of what tier they’re on,” said the one without the helmet.
“It’s happened to me before, but that was different because I’d had that no-blink treatment done on my eyes. Anyway, we better get ready to go back on shift.”
Grassly found a camera that showed the View Walk just outside the dressing room. The young favour had fallenonto his back. He stirred, rolled over, and sat up. He pushed his fireman’s hat off his head and ran his hand through his perfectly mussed hair. “I’ve got to go,” the boy said in a toneless voice.
Grassly turned up the sound on the nearest micro-transmitter, feeling confused and hopeful.
“I’ve got to go,” repeated the favour. “I’ve got to find the light. It’s time for me to go.” Then he burbled something unintelligible and began crawling. At the end of the walkway, he bumped headfirst into the wall. He backed up a few inches, then crawled into the wall again.
Two black-clad figures stepped into view. PS officers.
“Oh Mother,” said Grassly.
05.00
During the following shift, it took Bright over an hour to get away from Fon, who had insisted on riding down the same rope on a double-descent. Fon was a faster slider, and she nearly flattened Bright. Fon’s boot knocked the pink helmet askew on Bright’s head, preventing Bright from activating the light, which had been her plan to get higher bids. That was disappointing. Even so, the two of them drew heavy bidding.
Bright couldn’t tell who was bidding for whom, and neither could the Choosing Room computer that tracked such things. Two of the lit wands turned purple, indicating accepted bids, and immediately the rest of the
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