to help women who need it carve
a couple of extra hours into the week, although
obviously that’s a crime and can result
in serious consequences—jail time, fines, losing your
license to practice medicine. Once I saw how
common it was, though, it seemed like the
right and easy and decent thing to do.
Women don’t do this casually, as you can
imagine. It takes a lot.
Sep 20 10:36 PM
I’m not that brave.
Sep 20 10:36 PM
Well. I would dispute that.
Anyway. Once a young woman came in—
really young, terrified. She’d accidentally
disfigured herself. She had her newborn with her.
You remember me telling you about it.
I was pretty upset. She was in my ward for a few weeks.
She needed—a lot. I couldn’t work out how to help her.
I went back to one of the older nurses who I’d seen
revising patients’ reports in special cases
and I asked for her help figuring out what to do.
She was furious.
Threatened all kinds of things, threatened
to have me fired, everything.
But then later I found her
while she was waiting for her bus home,
dragged her into an actual alley
like in a movie
and made her tell me what was going on.
Because I realized
I didn’t care about getting fired or exposed,
not really.
I just felt like I needed to know. I needed to.
So.
She was the one who told me
about the clinic
where I’m working now.
She said there were women who were running
a kind of black market for Care Hours.
I didn’t know what she meant at first.
She said these women came mostly from
medical and technological backgrounds.
She told me
there were women, nurses mostly,
who would perform what’s called Markups,
the kinds of
harmless injuries that could buy you
a few hours a week,
done painlessly and humanely and safely.
She said there were a couple of surgeons
who could do more serious work
without killing you.
The most expensive and potentially risky solution,
she said,
was to employ one of the technologists
to actually slide through a back door
and add Hours to your balance
cook your time sheet, essentially
so you get more Care Hours credited
without needing to log an injury.
Lots of professional women take this option
and bake it into their monthly budget,
or their husbands help them pay for it.
Sep 20 10:46 PM
Really?
Sep 20 10:46 PM
Yes.
I started there the next week.
She was right. About everything.
When I did my first Markup
I thought I was going crazy
I remember it so clearly,
every second
every second of the procedure
I’ll never forget it as long as I live.
Sep 20 10:49 PM
Sweet Gard.
I’m so sorry.
I’m so sorry you feel like you have to do this.
Sep 20 10:50 PM
Some of the people I work with
They’re just really good at
compartmentalizing,
you know? For the longest time
I didn’t get it
My friend at work, Natalie, she told me once
that every procedure was buying someone
literal hours of life, hours outside of a grave.
But for the longest time I just saw us,
animals in a trap biting each other’s legs off
Sep 20 10:54 PM
Oh, sweetheart
Sep 20 10:54 PM
I got my head right, though. It took me some time
but I’m proud of what I do. I want to change
the system, of course, but without being
able to do that myself at least I know I’m
helping people.
Sep 20 10:56 PM
Thank you for telling me
Thank you for trusting me
Sep 20 10:56 PM
Well. I wouldn’t go thanking me just yet.
You know why I’m telling you, right?
Sep 20 10:57 PM
I do. I have to think about it.
I think I have an idea
But I’m so tired, honey
I’m sorry. I have to get to bed
I’m dying
Sep 20 10:59 PM
Yes. Do that.
You know being up past 10 pm
costs you Care Hours right?
Sep 20 11:00 PM
ok never mind
not going to bed
going to blow some shit up
Sep 20 11:01 PM
Sorry.
I shouldn’t have told you that.
Just go to bed.
Right now.
SEPTEMBER 22
Sep 22 9:00 AM
Gard. Sorry to wake u
before your day shift
I’m really excited
have an idea
need to talk to you about it
Sep 22 9:03 AM
?
Sep 22 9:05 AM
Here is my idea: HIRE ME
I can do it
i figured out how
fixing Care Hours
i fucking hacked it man
I AM 3L33T
lololololol
Sep 20 9:08 AM
wht ru tlkng about
Sep 22 9:08 AM
Your sister is a FUCKING GENIUS
that’s what i’m talking about
and you can sell my genius to clients
at a small friends and family discount
and everything is going to be awesome
Sep 20 9:10 AM
OK. Go on. I’m awake.
Sep 22 9:11 AM
now that i’m living @ walkers
i’ve got ACCESS, it’s a totally different level here
i’ve been messing around
and i think i got something
and i need one of your clients
THAT YOU TRUST
this is important
so i can test it
but i think i figured out how to do
care hours adjustments
and i can sell it to women like me
or women who’ve had insemina but
want to continue to work
Sep 20 9:14 AM
That’s impressive.
It really is.
But, Fred,
You’re sure you know what you’re doing, right?
The last technologist we had who did CH
adjustments raised the price because
she was scared she was close to getting caught.
You’re working on the Walkers’ portal?
Or something?
Are you sure that’s safe?
Sep 22 9:16 AM
oh don’t worry about it
trust me, your sister knows what she’s doing
Just make sure nobody sees my messages to you.
Nobody at DOH should find out about it
OK? This is important
Sep 22 9:18 AM
Gard, I’m not an idiot
Sep 20 9:18 AM
I know, I know you’re not. But if anybody
in Ken’s family read what I told y
ou,
that could be bad. That would be bad,
definitely.
Are you sure this is safe?
Sep 22 9:20 AM
Gard! SHIT! Did you understand what I
just said to you? I’m talking about something
that could HELP you, I’ve got a way to help you
from the inside of the goddamn DOH system
I tried it on my own CH balance first obvs and
I think it worked but I’m scared to adjust myself
too much or more than once
i need one of your clients
somebody to test my code on
please! this is my
i don’t even know how to put this
you don’t know what this could mean for me
Sep 20 9:23 AM
Fred. Please. You have to slow down.
First of all
my clinic doesn’t serve many women
who can afford Care Hours adjustments
it’s so rare
we hardly even offer it
Sep 22 9:25 AM
Well offer it! To someone! You
must have someone who’s coming in who’s
not just looking to have her fucking arms
broken or her fingertip lopped off
Sep 20 9:27 AM
I think I am done with this conversation now.
Sep 22 9:27 AM
Gard, wait I’m sorry I’m sorry
I didn’t mean it like that
I know why you do it, I get it
I get why THEY do it
I really do
I’m sorry
Gard
OCTOBER 1
Oct 1 6:17 AM
Gard I’m really sorry
OCTOBER 2
Oct 2 11:11 PM
Hi. Just checking in on you.
I wrote to CQ today. Told him
I’d moved in with the Walkers.
So he’d know where to find me
if he ever decided to actually
write to anybody back home
the jerk
Oct 2 11:15 PM
Hey you out there?
OCTOBER 3
Oct 3 9:33 PM
Hi, darlin
I know you’re still mad at me
But I felt a kick today and I wanted
to tell you.
Oct 3 9:37 PM
That’s beautiful. Thank you for telling me.
Oct 3 9:37 PM
OMG it speaks
Oct 3 9:38 PM
I’m so sorry, I can’t talk right now
I’m just really exhausted
This schedule is catching up with me
I’ve got to get some rest
I’ll talk to you later, k?
Oct 3 9:40 PM
k
OCTOBER 5
Oct 5 5:22 PM
I want you to know I’m not judging you or
anything you or your colleagues do
OK?
I support it, in fact.
I’m TRYING
I even figured out a way I can help you
I don’t know why you won’t even talk to me
Oct 5 5:28 PM
I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch
I’m just busy
OCTOBER 6
Oct 6 2:41 PM
Gard I really really need to talk to you
Please don’t shut me out
I need your help
I’m just being honest now, okay?
I was levied an additional “backdated” penalty
from my first trimester
Extra Care Hours plus several hundred thousand in $$
If I can’t find a way to test the code I wrote
to fix my own hours somehow
then I need to come in to your clinic and I
need you to walk me through the options
Show me what’s on your menu
Oct 6 2:45 PM
I can’t do that
Oct 6 2:46 PM
You have to.
I can’t tell the Walkers about this
It’s too much for me to bring to them
I need a way forward
This is it
Oct 6 2:47 PM
I can’t
Oct 6 2:47 PM
Why the fuck not?
Oct 6 2:48 PM
i just can’t
i’m really sorry
i love you
Oct 6 2:49 PM
you think I’m not serious about this
you think I’m not tough enough
if you can handle it I can
Oct 6 2:50 PM
that’s not it
Oct 6 2:50 PM
then what is it
Oct 6 2:50 PM
Fred
This is not safe.
And I don’t think you’re safe either.
Oct 6 2:51 PM
Gard you know that’s crazy
you’re being paranoid
I built this system and I’m
telling you for a fact it’s secure.
Oct 6 2:53 PM
And I don’t know if I’m safe.
And I don’t want to cause more trouble for you
Oct 6 2:54 PM
What? You’re scaring me
Let me help
Let me help you
You know Ken’s family is crazy fucking connected
I can probably get you out of anything
Just don’t do anything really stupid
And just do this one thing for me, please
Oct 6 2:56 PM
I’m sorry but I really can’t
That’s the last message from Gard in the file packet. The rest are from Fred, a series of repeated, unanswered efforts to get Gard to respond, all dated October through November. Fred’s final try, the message I saw first, is too sad to reread now.
I’m so tired. My head and my arm are throbbing. I have to think; I have to figure out my next move, but I’m not sure I can. I swipe Gard’s portal off and grope my way cautiously into a kitchen chair. Daylight is just beginning to creep across the grimy little window over the sink.
As Gard’s portal powers down, I feel the pressure in my eyeball dropping, too. It’s a peculiar sensation, like my eye is leaking fluid. A spot of blood falls onto my knee. I touch my own face gingerly, my stitched-up forehead, my nose, the inner corners of my eye. My fingertips come away bloody. I don’t want to know why. How long was that thing hooked into me, drawing on my wearable’s processors? Two hours? Less?
As Fred’s interface blanks out of view, my own familiar wearable interface swings back into place across my retina and I see I have messages waiting for me. Someone from Rafiq’s office. Confirming an appointment.
And Natalie B. replied to the message I sent:
Dec 20 2:03 AM
Thank you, Natalie. I took your advice.
I hope you’re well and not in too much
trouble. I’ll see you again soon.
Dec 20 5:44 AM
I really can’t talk to you anymore. I’m sorry.
But because I can’t leave it at that, because I can’t let her think I never figured it out, because I want her to believe I’m smart, or trying, or I don’t even know what, I send it before I even have time to think about what I’m doing:
Dec 20 5:45 AM
My sister Gardner
She left
before our older sister Fredericka
could ask for a Markup at your clinic.
Didn’t she
Isn’t that why she left
Isn’t that right
Why didn’t you think you could tell me
IN THE FIRST PLACE
The squad was late coming back over the ridge after a sweep and got caught out beyond the perimeter after sunrise, and from there everything pretty much went to shit. Dusk, dawn, and nighttime were typically the best times for troop movement, or any kind of movement, because of the airborne particulate, which was everywhere a
nd contained everything, microscopic pieces of dust, rock, sand, plastics, glass, steel, metal alloys, and iron. In daylight, with the sun refracting off millions of airborne particles per square foot, visibility was severely limited and temperatures ran too hot for the triggers to operate predictably. It was like being an ant stumbling through smog under a magnifying glass. An ant carrying a nuke, stumbling through smog under a magnifying glass. But just because most of the patrols happened at night did not mean that they slept during the day. So movement tended to be slow, at all times, even without heavy contact.
Fire Support Base One, also called the First Place, was tucked into the lean shadow of a low ridge that had been constructed, many years ago as their fathers’ wars aged and rotted into their own, along the railroad tracks for the purpose of sheltering the H2.0 route, miles upon miles of piled-up and hastily buried concrete, asphalt, rebar, siding, furniture, billboards, drywall, trailers, battered cars with the car seats still latched into the back and the manuals still tucked into the glove boxes, all bulldozed into a rough mound and interred beneath what must have been some of the last of the state’s topsoil, but which now more closely resembled a thick layer of fine gray sand. He had heard there were bodies under there, too. They had all heard that.
Any squad or team returning from a patrol was expected to make base well before sunrise to avoid being caught out on the ridge, either scaling its eastward side or crossing over the top of it, spotlighted by the rising sun and a pitifully easy target, even in low visibility, to be picked off by sniper fire, one by one. The ridge, of course, conferred the very same advantages on their own defense during the frequent raids on the H2.0 capsules.
Wash reported the squad’s position as they arrayed in a straggle at the bottom of the ridge well after sunrise, just as the sun arrived over the mountains and began to bear down in earnest, fixing to cook them alive using the pale mound at their backs as its fry pan. They were close enough to the ridge that they could see the top of the First Place tower, just past the ridge inside the base, and overlooking all: the dust- and debris-choked valley, the ridge separating the poisonous valley from the base, and, running alongside the base’s western perimeter, the line of H2.0 capsules inching their way slowly toward receiving depots somewhere up north. Like the rotating earth itself, the line of H2.0 capsules never stopped moving, but slowly, so slowly that it never appeared to be in motion. Sixty or so miles to the south were the last remaining H2.0 production facilities, which no one on base had seen, at least not in the years he’d been here.
“We’re going to wait for fire support from the tower before making the ridge. Could be a while.” Sergeant Fine, always delivering the not-so-fine weather.