Orphans

7

7 I walk up to the office door, nondescript and hidden in plain sight. I place my hand squarely against the scanner and feel the laser glide over and around the curlicues in my fingertips and the endlessly arching cracks and folds of my palms, matching the identifying curves to the dataset that houses the handprints and DNA of all employees of the Corporation. When the green light blinks I lean forward and allow the eye scanner to pass before and across my eyes, first right to left, followed by a puff of air, then left to right, pause, another puff of air, before the scanner’s beams stop to linger, boring their way into the deep recesses of my eyes. I stand there as motionless as possible, even as my eyes begin to dry, then ache, and even as I want to close them, engulfing them in the darkness and moisture waiting there in. I have to keep them open though until the scanner is satisfied that I am Norrin Radd, no more, no less, linger, linger, green light, and the door snaps open. I walk through the door and into the lobby. As nondescript as the front door may be, the lobby is anything but, with its sleek, brushed-metal walls and floors, and flowers everywhere—splashes of red, blues and purples, bursts of color so intense that compared to the streets outside it’s like an explosion. As I approach the front desk, which is deep black and slick—a dark smile beckoning and repulsing me—a specially crafted office chick E.C. walks up, her skin as smooth as the walls behind her, her shapely ass on the verge of bursting the seams of a nearly too-short skirt. O R P H A N S 24 Not human I remind myself. Not that people don’t fuck E.C.s, they just have to be built for that. I switch gears, married I tell myself, happily married. “Welcome to Joyful Future Real Estate,” the E.C. says, “are you Norrin?” “I am,” I say smiling and leaning forward, “what gave me away, is it the chip they secretly implanted in my brain?” “They said I should be on the lookout for someone so handsome it would take my breath away,” the E.C. says. “Imagine if you could actually breathe,” I say. “You’d be surprised,” the E.C. says, “I can get breathing pretty hard when I set my mind to it. Let me know if you ever want to see that.” “I definitely will,” I say, “just don’t hold your breath, I’m married.” “So am I, to my job,” the E.C. says suddenly breathing hard, so lifelike, but so wrong. “I hope I will be too,” I say backing up and trying to ignore my erection, also wrong, and definitely lifelike. “You will,” the E.C. says as a door not seemingly there moments before opens to the side of the desk, “you will.” I walk down a hall and head toward the coffee room. There is a table in the middle of the room, some counter space and a kitchenette. It is all standard, expensive-looking , but standard. “Coffee, please, black,” I say as I walk in, and an arm extends from the counter with a hot cup of coffee. I take the coffee and turn my attention to the table. Sitting around the table are two of my potential coworkers , Ricky and Shelley, and John, the boss. “Look whose back,” Ricky shouts clapping his hands, his perfect hair unmoving, his white teeth blinding everyone for a two-mile radius. B E N TA N Z E R 25 “How you doing kid?” Shelley asks, his old-man smell permeating the space between us. “I guess we didn’t scare you off?” Ricky says. “Not this kid,” Shelley says, “hell no, he’s tough, cool as a cucumber, right kid? “I’m just saying,” Ricky says, “this kind of gig could have freaked him out.” “Sure, sure, of course,” Shelley says, “but he’s different, don’t you think? He can close.” “Yeah, he can, right,” Ricky says, “but it’s more than closing.” “True,” Shelley says, “you have to be able to handle those old space shuttles. When’s the last time someone repaired one of those?” “Turn of the century maybe,” Ricky says. “That’s...