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Authors: Carola Dibbell
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ok. There are worse things. “In school,” I told Rini, “one of the Sisters said I could of passed, if I did the work.”
“She gets it, Rini. She gets more than she shows,” Rauden said.
But Rini got something else. She burst into tears and pulled me to her, right where her breasts were large and warm and damp under her dress, gasping, “She wants me to know her good points, in case my child is her!”
Well, I’m not even sure that’s why I said it. I don’t know why I said it. But I’m glad I said it if it worked for her.
I just know when Rini pulled back, and I could breathe, she looked down and said, “You must think about it and say is there any part you do not understand.”
And I did think about it. Hard. Then I go, “If we have the same gene for gene, you know, DNA. If somebody runs her pure code ID, will it come up, Subject: I Kissena Fardo. Origins: unknown?”
Now Rini and Rauden are looking at each other the way Rauden and Henry did. Do sofas think?
Finally Rauden said, “It can be a problem. Henry and I have to deal with that sometimes. You can usually talk your way out of it. The conventional ID swipe is less of a problem. Henry will fix that when he rigs up her ID. Why do you ask?”
“I got a way to bump stuff off I could show Rini.”
Now they are both staring at me.
So I just say, “That I heard.”
Finally Rauden says, very polite, “Inez.” He calls me that in front of Rini, like he doesn’t want her to hear him call me I. “Will you come in the next room for a moment?” We get to the Box Room and, remember how Rini hissed? He hisses, “Did you bump something off your files?”
I shook my head. “Lonnie Vertov did.”
“Can you call it back?”
“It doesn’t all come back.”
“You sit down at the goddamn keyboard and show me how to call your files back. You fucking show me now.”
I sat down at the keyboard, swiped in my ID, and punched in a reverse code I saw Lonnie Vertov use.
“But!” Rauden’s gasping, when files start coming on the screen. “You’re nineteen years old! You were born summer of ’40, right in the middle of the goddamn Big One!” He leans over me and starts punching in keys. Next thing I knew, up popped a bunch of test sites from—“Dear God! You have a track record!”—’52, so what’s it going to be but clinic tests the Vargas brothers ran after virgin Cures, but before he can print anything, the screen goes ballistic, then blacks out.
Rini is saying, from the other room, “She wants this to work! Even after she is paid.” She is totally sobbing.
Rauden looks like his face is going to fall off. I mean, he hardly slept for two months, now the system crashed, and, well, if he accessed my test records to start, how much more could he charge? Fifteen percent? He probably already cut the deal.
But he pulled himself up straight and turned right around in his chair. He pulled his face right up. And where he sometimes was a mess, like slush, now he was hard, like, I don’t know, plexiglass.
“It goddamn will work,” he said.
2 T HE W ORK
THERE WAS THIS HORROR SHOW CALLED THEM that came up a few years later. I used to watch it even though it was really stupid. Well, guess who Them is supposed to be? Clones. No one but Rauden and us ever said SCNT or Transfer or any of that. In this stupid Horror show, how you make a clone, you drop product in a dish and bingo, it’s a clone. Well, it doesn’t work like that. It usually doesn’t work period. Let alone, first try. So try again. Still doesn’t work. You just got to keep trying and trying. Sometimes it never works.
And that’s true even the regular way. The regular way got all kind of problems. That’s why Bernie does such good business. He sells product that doesn’t work good any more—male, female, pre-pandemic like the dickhead clients insist on. Plus for an extra fee, he will hook you up with a virgin Host. Though it is pretty hard to find one who wants the
“She gets it, Rini. She gets more than she shows,” Rauden said.
But Rini got something else. She burst into tears and pulled me to her, right where her breasts were large and warm and damp under her dress, gasping, “She wants me to know her good points, in case my child is her!”
Well, I’m not even sure that’s why I said it. I don’t know why I said it. But I’m glad I said it if it worked for her.
I just know when Rini pulled back, and I could breathe, she looked down and said, “You must think about it and say is there any part you do not understand.”
And I did think about it. Hard. Then I go, “If we have the same gene for gene, you know, DNA. If somebody runs her pure code ID, will it come up, Subject: I Kissena Fardo. Origins: unknown?”
Now Rini and Rauden are looking at each other the way Rauden and Henry did. Do sofas think?
Finally Rauden said, “It can be a problem. Henry and I have to deal with that sometimes. You can usually talk your way out of it. The conventional ID swipe is less of a problem. Henry will fix that when he rigs up her ID. Why do you ask?”
“I got a way to bump stuff off I could show Rini.”
Now they are both staring at me.
So I just say, “That I heard.”
Finally Rauden says, very polite, “Inez.” He calls me that in front of Rini, like he doesn’t want her to hear him call me I. “Will you come in the next room for a moment?” We get to the Box Room and, remember how Rini hissed? He hisses, “Did you bump something off your files?”
I shook my head. “Lonnie Vertov did.”
“Can you call it back?”
“It doesn’t all come back.”
“You sit down at the goddamn keyboard and show me how to call your files back. You fucking show me now.”
I sat down at the keyboard, swiped in my ID, and punched in a reverse code I saw Lonnie Vertov use.
“But!” Rauden’s gasping, when files start coming on the screen. “You’re nineteen years old! You were born summer of ’40, right in the middle of the goddamn Big One!” He leans over me and starts punching in keys. Next thing I knew, up popped a bunch of test sites from—“Dear God! You have a track record!”—’52, so what’s it going to be but clinic tests the Vargas brothers ran after virgin Cures, but before he can print anything, the screen goes ballistic, then blacks out.
Rini is saying, from the other room, “She wants this to work! Even after she is paid.” She is totally sobbing.
Rauden looks like his face is going to fall off. I mean, he hardly slept for two months, now the system crashed, and, well, if he accessed my test records to start, how much more could he charge? Fifteen percent? He probably already cut the deal.
But he pulled himself up straight and turned right around in his chair. He pulled his face right up. And where he sometimes was a mess, like slush, now he was hard, like, I don’t know, plexiglass.
“It goddamn will work,” he said.
2 T HE W ORK
THERE WAS THIS HORROR SHOW CALLED THEM that came up a few years later. I used to watch it even though it was really stupid. Well, guess who Them is supposed to be? Clones. No one but Rauden and us ever said SCNT or Transfer or any of that. In this stupid Horror show, how you make a clone, you drop product in a dish and bingo, it’s a clone. Well, it doesn’t work like that. It usually doesn’t work period. Let alone, first try. So try again. Still doesn’t work. You just got to keep trying and trying. Sometimes it never works.
And that’s true even the regular way. The regular way got all kind of problems. That’s why Bernie does such good business. He sells product that doesn’t work good any more—male, female, pre-pandemic like the dickhead clients insist on. Plus for an extra fee, he will hook you up with a virgin Host. Though it is pretty hard to find one who wants the
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