Glasshouse - Charles Stross [136]
“Count me out of the sewing,” I say. “But the drinks and gossip are another matter.”
“That’s what she said you’d say.” Tammy flashes me an apologetic smile. “Besides, I was wondering if you knew what had happened to Mick.”
Oops again. “I’m not sure. I asked Dr. Hanta about him, and she said it was under discussion, whatever that means. I know Cass is still in the hospital.”
“Ah, right.” Tammy leans back. “Ten dollars says they both retire from the experiment within a week.”
I shiver. There’s only one way in or out of a MASucker, for reason of security—to let the flight crew barricade the door if the civilization on the other side of it collapses. “I’m not sure how likely that is,” I say. “But Dr. Hanta has a way of straightening things out. I’m sure she’ll be able to do something for Cass, and I know Mick hasn’t visited her since . . . well.”
“What about Fiore?” asks Janis.
I am getting the distinct feeling that they’ve invited me here to pump me for information, but what do I care? They’re buying the drinks. “I ran into him after the business with Cass,” I say. Then the cafe door opens, and the waitron returns with our drinks. I shut up until his back’s turned. “He, um, I get the feeling he doesn’t approve of us doing anything unpredictable, but at the same time Mick went too far. We solved a problem for him.”
“Oh.” Janis looks disappointed, and I mentally kick myself. What she’s really asking about is what happened in the library the day she was off sick.
“I got talking to Dr. Hanta in hospital,” I offer. “She said, uh, well, she doesn’t approve of the business with Esther and Phil at all. I got the impression she was yelling at the Bishop about it. They’re going to add rules for divorce proceedings to the score system to stop it happening again. And rape, to stop anyone getting ideas from Mick.”
“Hmm.” Janis looks thoughtful. “If they stick to a strict dark ages re-creation, they’ll make rape a serious penalty score, but only if the male gets caught.”
“Eh?” Tammy looks indignant. “What good will that do?”
“What good does any of this do?” Janis asks drily. She reaches into her handbag and pulls out a piece of knitting, which she passes to me. “I think this is yours, you left this in the library,” she tells me.
I gulp and hastily stuff the Faraday cage lining of my botched experimental carrier into my handbag. “Thanks, I sure did,” I babble.
Janis smiles slowly. “It’s a bit scratchy, but it catches the light just so.”
Wheels within wheels. “It needs a bit more work,” I extemporize. “Where did you find it?”
“In the back office. I was just tidying up.”
My heart seems to be pounding, but nobody else has noticed. Janis looks at me, then looks at El. “What do you think?” she asks.
El looks up from her embroidery, harried. “I think I feel a little sick,” she says, and reaches for her pink lemonade. “Church is going to be bad tomorrow.”
“Lots of developments,” Tammy agrees.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
Janis nods at me: “Yes, that’s right, you’ve been in hospital all week. Since Tuesday, anyway.”
Tammy pulls out a tablet and puts it on the table. “Lots of new stuff in here,” she says, tapping the screen. “You’ll want to know about it.”
“About what?” I ask.
“For starters, it seems our last cohort is in place here.”
“But they said there were another fourteen after mine”—I do the math—“so we’re six short. At least?”
Tammy taps her tablet. “They’ve been running multiple sections of YFH-Polity in parallel. We’re just one subsector, a parish, they call it. From Monday they’re all going to be linked up, so we’ve got lots of new neighbors.”
So far this is what Dr. Hanta told me. “And?”
Janis gives me a long, appraising look. “It’s a lot bigger than they told you outside when you were signed up. What does that suggest to you?”
I look at her belly. It’s not much of a bump yet. Then, almost involuntarily, my eyes slide sideways. “El, are you, I mean