“Not for me, some of my kids though. Two had to go without worms last week. I think their parents were pushing them too hard, they got frazzled. Poor bastards.”
“It’s a race; they don’t want to be left behind.”
The human stench of the staff room hits us; a gorilla cage of stale sweat and acid breath. We print our caffeine and then recede to our usual dark corner. Some of the Physicals are stretching, some are competing to see who can outmanoeuvre the other’s yoga stance. Doctor Abs is performing a one-handed handstand, her legs parted, feet rotating slowly, humming like a moron. Most of the Academics hover around the printer, filling themselves with sugars and caffeines, talking through the day’s worm. The Head, a pompous, irritatingly articulate mound of muscle, is schmoozing. She doesn’t like me.
“Okay, okay!” The Head whistles like we’re a pack of dogs. “Over here! Settle down. Thank you.”
I turn to Sabre and whisper, “Woof.” She smiles and pretends to pant, her tongue lolling, before turning her attention to The Head.
“I’ve reviewed the recent results. Most are on target, but some are slipping. The High Ups aren’t doing as well as we’d anticipated. Please, people, make sure you’re sticking to the three D’s: Data, Diet and...” The Head dangles the word like a fishing hook.
We all bite. “Diagnosis.”
“Watch out, we have a duty of care here, people. Now, here’s the latest from MediGov. Arms and legs inside the ride!” The Head laughs at her own lame joke, again. She pushes a button and Doctor Hello’s bald, glinting blue head appears at the centre of the room.
“Dear Staff, MediGov have vital new information...”
I drown him out in a slurp of caffeine. Doctor Hello always has information to share, none of it vital. I look at Sabre, who catches my glance, smiles and nudges my arm, before her attentions return to Doctor Hello’s updates. The Physicals are in ridiculous poses, balancing almost-impossibly on limbs and digits. Today’s worm has finished absorbing, but my gut twists and stings like I’ve been shot in the stomach. I breathe slowly, sucking in a lung of sweaty air, and feel the bile rise in my throat. Gotta get out. I stand.
“You okay?” Sabre asks.
I whisper, not wanting to attract attention. “Yeh, just need air. Worm’s down the wrong hole.”
She smiles and I bolt to the door, heaving my breakfast onto the corridor floor. The kids will get a kick out of that, at least. I stare at the half-digested mounds of cereals and fruit, frothing in my acids, until the Janitor arrives and instructs me to “Please vacate. Biohazard.”
The Janitor sucks my breakfast into him and trundles into a recharge port, I wipe my mouth just in time for the kids to return. This afternoon I have 2B, my least favourite group.
I have a free period before lunch, so walk to the computer labs, sit and pretend to work. Ads flash up for vacations I can’t afford, clothes I hate the look of, content I dare not look at on school premises, discounts on worms.
LEARN ALL THE NEW WORLD LANGUAGES! 2 WORMS, 2 HOURS.
BECOME ONE WITH THE ANCIENT WORLD! THE COMPLETE WORKS OF SHAKESPEARE, WITH NOTES, IN JUST 1 WORM.
MILITARY STRATEGY. 1 WORM. BE THE BEST!
BOOKWORM! THE SKILLS SALE! HALF PRICE WORMS FOR ALL OUR SKILLS BOOKS! NOW INCLUDES MARTIAL ARTS FROM GRANDMASTERS, POETRY FROM THE POLARS, AND DATING FOR DUMMIES!
My finger twitches over the offers, but I close them and load my books. It’s considered avant garde to read at the moment, something that only artists and time wasters would bother with, but I still bother. I read before it was cool – that’s what I tell the kids. They think it’s pointless, and I agree sometimes. It would have taken years to learn the medical set, but the course of five worms (and a top up practical session) gave me enough knowledge to take this job. I can fix most things around the house if I need to, we all can. I even learned how to gamble, but didn’t have the knack for it. But taking a worm isn’t the same as reading a book for yourself – something happens, I get involved. It’s like walking around someone’s house, checking out their photos, trying on their clothes, drinking their juice. The worm takes all of that away; it feels like you have the blueprints in your hands but never went inside for yourself. I miss the experience.
I swipe the screen and the page turns.
“Hey granddad.” Sabre’s hands rub my shoulders. I jerk, as if caught watching dodgy ads, and swipe the book away.
“Hey,” I turn around, breaking her grip.
“You okay now? Saw the Janitor emptying the contents of your stomach into the flashbins.”
“I’m fine, thanks. That Janitor’s a blabbermouth.”
“I’m just sneaky, that’s all. So, you heard the news?”
“No, what?”
“New worms for the High Ups, and settlers to help with any side effects.”
Waves of nausea rise and sink in me again. “How can we afford that?” There were cuts, always cuts, and worms were expensive. Giving the brighter kids extra worms and settlers would cost a fortune.
“Parents have to pay. Fifty-fifty expenses split with MediGov.”
“Don’t fancy the chances of the Low Downs, then.”
“Me neither. Should we say something?”
Doctor Hello’s cobalt head turns on the windows. He blinks at us. “Nah. They’ll trial it, decide it’s expensive and stop it. They always do.”
“True.” She shuffles. “Right, I’ve a task for you.”
“Joy.”
“You’ve got to take these to Sanctum School. The air’s fine, so I’d go now.”
“Says who?”
“Her headiness. The Head.”
Damned Head. “What about class? I’ve got 2B this afternoon.”
Sabre sighs. “I’ll take them. We’ve got to follow orders.” She salutes jokingly. “Just pray that I make it out of 2B alive.”
