Zelda wanted to yank off the plugs on her eyelids, but her hands were fastened to the chair.
“Look where it’s gotten you, dear.”
I’m fine, her mouth made the words, but she didn’t hear them.
“You’ve achieved a great deal, Zelda. I don’t want to act as if you haven’t. You’ve taught, made a success in business and will bear a child. That is remarkable. How could you do all that if you weren’t honest?”
Am honest, her lips were stuck.
“Which makes no sense. Dishonest people don’t succeed unless you think the entire system is wrong. Do you think that?”
Yes, Zelda’s nose sort of moved near her forehead.
“Certainly not. You’re a wonderful person who has overcome a natural inclination fostered by your parents to break the rules. You fought back. You’re a champion. Now you have another stumble where someone has put you in a bad spot. If you tell us who, we can help you and the girl. You’ll resume your life. This isn’t terrible. You’ve made mistakes before and overcome them.”
Now her nose dribbled onto her cheek.
“It’s the little girl. You’re worried about her. Who wouldn’t? That shows what sort of person you are. Taking in a little thing and feeding her. Obviously you transferred the love for your baby to the girl. You must give up your baby and so you decide in your head to adopt the orphan. My oh my, what kind of society wouldn’t understand? We’d be upset if you had turned the girl away.”
“Diego.” Zelda found her tongue hiding behind her teeth.
“Is that who helped you? Is that the father?”
“Yes,” she said hoarsely.
“Where is he?”
Zelda tipped over and fell. The kindly prison visitor undid the straps.
“Diego. Where is he?”
“Grandma killed him,” Zelda hissed.
• • • •
THE A21 ELECTRICIAN robot sneered at the DVs clinging onto the bottom of the brocades in left field. Frecklie held his breath as an old guy climbed a little too close to the banners.
“They using Rifa 11 lighting?” the ‘bot grumbled.
“Whatever you requested,” Frecklie answered.
“What I requested was my people installing this.”
Frecklie shrugged helplessly. “This was a direct order from Third Cousin Kenuda. You know who he is…”
“All the same to me,” growled the ‘bot. “Like we’re all the same to you.”
“A thought like that is against the law.”
“So’s humans doing work reserved for us.” The A21’s eyes rotated in two different directions. “My gang is checking their work after.” He indicated the bored ‘bots sitting in the front row of the upper deck, tossing peanut shells over the railing.
“Whatever you requested.” Frecklie smiled politely.
“Stop making litter,” the A21 yelled at his gang. “I need to check out the control room.”
Frecklie led the ‘bot past the stations of battery powered lamps installed every twenty feet. If the lights went, they’d need a path for the crowd to leave. He’d also ordered twenty thousand candles which he’d stored in the toilets throughout the park. He figured it was best not to tell Dale about his backup plan.
Dale stared hard at the A21, wishing she had an acetylene torch.
“He better not touch anything.” She watched the ‘bot peek behind the large grimy console in the control room.
“He’s got to do his job.”
“Not if he screws up mine. Hey, tin can.”
Frecklie groaned. The glaring A21 poked his head up behind a mass of wires.
“What’d you call me?”
“Sir, of course.” Dale blew a curl off her face. “The system is rigged very carefully.”
“I got that, girl. If someone sneezed the whole thing’d blow.”
“Then don’t,” she said tartly.
The A21 brushed off dust and flipped open a notebook.
“Is there a problem, sir?” Dale rasped; Frecklie stepped between them.
“You need a master re-routing cable.”
Dale considered how much to fake knowing what he was talking about.
“I was planning on that.”
The ‘bot smirked. “You know what that is?”
“Re-routing juice.”
“Good guess. Yeah. Otherwise the damn Bronx goes dark.”
“My wiring won’t do that,” Dale insisted.
“Look here, girl.” The A21 gestured toward the wiring system. “If you overload the park, you’ll overload the surrounding neighborhood. This re-router makes sure you just blow up the stadium.”
The A21 crawled behind the console, muttering and plugging in the re-router, and wriggling back out with a slight cough. He gave Dale a form to sign.
“Which plug is it?” Frecklie asked.
“Don’t you mind.”
“The black one?”
“Just leave it be. This is her responsibility if anything goes wrong.”
Once the ‘bot left, Dale sprayed cleaner on the console, glancing at Frecklie out of the corner of her eye. “You have something to share?”
He laughed weakly. “Nope. I have to check the food delivery. The game’s a sellout and I don’t want to run out of franks.”
As Frecklie walked toward the door, Dale sprayed cleaner in his face. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not,” he moaned, eyes burning.
“You don’t know shit about science or technology.” She twisted his elbow behind his back.
He scooped her leg aside; Dale fell and he landed on top of her.
“Mind your business,” he said.
“My lover’s life is mine.”
“You’re quoting Grandma?”
“Yeah, because you’re worrying me.”
Frecklie relaxed, enabling Dale to leap onto his back and clamp her forearm against his throat. “Tell me.”
He choked a no.
“You protecting me like I’m some weak piece of shit you stupid piece of shit?”
Frecklie gagged yes.
“Stop whining, you won’t black out for another thirty-five seconds. Tell me. Everything.” Dale tightened her grip.
• • • •
BETWEEN THE OBSESSIVE need to drive cars and the round-the-clock delivery of goods on trucks and rails, the sound of engines had replaced crickets as the nation’s anthem. Need a bus at four in the morning to get to work? It’d be there. Need a rush order on a pair of shoes? Some van would deliver it somehow. ‘Bots and humans, spinning wheels.
Most Americans figured the crushing noise of cars politely lagging along in traffic in the middle of the night was typical. Families should be asleep, children dancing on chocolate clouds, loving parents clutching fingers, tick-tock in the dark. But factories were open 24/7 for a nation cut off from trade
