Synthetica Read Online Free PDF Page A

There was no hope of getting a new job, no hope of
getting out. The thought made her want to scream in Mrs Persimmon's
stupid, flabby face.
    It took a good few
moments for Anais to realise that Mrs Persimmon had fallen silent,
and was now looking at her expectantly.
    “What?” Anais
said.
    “I said, you'll
start work on Monday and you'll have every Saturday off. Are you
quite sure you're alright dear?” Mrs Persimmon was looking rather
perplexed, as though she couldn't understand why Anais wasn't
jumping for joy at her announcement. “Do you have any questions at
all?”
    “Yes,” Anais said,
unable to keep the anger out of her voice. “I have a question. Why
bother going through the motions of asking us to choose what we'd
like to be, if you're just going to disregard everything we say? I
didn't even list the factory as an option.”
    Mrs Persimmon shook
her head in derision and Anais immediately knew the answer to her
earlier thought – the silver flakes were actually a part of Mrs
Persimmon' hair.
    “Miss Finch, surely
you must've realise that someone of your -”
    “What?' Anais asked,
rather aggressively. “Someone of my what?”
    Mrs Persimmon gave a
small, patronising smile.
    “Someone of your
social position,” she continued in her sweet voice. “Surely you
understand that as a daughter of -” here, she glanced briefly back
down at Anais' file that was still being beamed into the air. “a
picochip factory worker - no excuse me - two picochip factory
workers, it just wouldn't be feasible for you to train as an
architect. There's the cost of training for one. And that's not to
mention that your school grades simply aren't, well, adequate, for
such a job.” She shrugged as though there was nothing she could do
and gave Anais a pitying smile. Anais stared at her in disbelief. Thanks for breaking it to me gently, you old witch , she
thought bitterly.
    “I do wish things
could be different, dear,” Mrs Persimmon continued in what was
clearly supposed to be an understanding tone. “But the fact is,
unless you're a top student, the Institute of Architecture simply
won't accept you. Whereas you have perfectly good grades to be
accepted at the factory.”
    She shrugged again as
though that was the end of the matter.
    “Thanks for your
advice,” Anais said through clenched teeth. “And what if I don't
want to work at the factory? What about my second and third
choices?”
    Mrs Persimmon made a
fluttering gesture with her hands, her blue curls bobbing in time
with her head. Her eyes flicked down to the holographic screen where
Anais could see a tiny photo of herself floating in the air.
    “Well, as I'm sure
you're aware, the graphic design field is highly competitive. And
all the available teaching positions filled up months ago. If it's
any consolation, dear, teaching will be a redundant career in a few
years anyway, once the SLPs take off! So really, you're in the best
position with a secure career at the picochip factory.”
    She looked up
expectantly, as though expecting Anais to fall to her knees in
gratitude. Anais gave her a stony look.
    “The picochip
factory,” she repeated tonelessly. Mrs Persimmon nodded
enthusiastically.
    “That's right, dear.
Now, I'll message you all the details, just in case there's anything
else you'd like to know” she punched a few keys on her wrist
screen with a flourish and almost immediately, an icon appeared in
the top right of Anais' vision, informing her that she had a new
message. She blinked and deleted it without bothering to open it.
    “Oh goodness, I
didn't realise the time,” Mrs Persimmon gave another tinkling
laugh and Anais had to remind herself that the punishment for
punching someone was wearing an electronic tag for six months.
“Well, let's leave it there then shall we, Miss Finch? You don't
have to do anything else. And may I just say, congratulations! I
know you'll just love working in your new career!”
    Mrs Persimmon stood up
and Anais rose