In any given week, Jen usually enjoyed spending a few nights sleeping on her own. She would cook dinner or hang with Ava and Taylor in the apartment, watch a program, or read a book and tumble off to sleep. And yet, with the clammy feeling that the differences with Zach were irreconcilable, she felt lonely. Unwanted. Crappy.
It was the late afternoon. She did her laundry. She stewed over the trial that day. She drank a beer while Ava ironed a shirt for work—tonight, a candlelight tour of the White House.
“Real candles?”
“Yep, real candles all over the place.”
Ava had a PhD in American history but now found herself doing DC tours for the infinitely rich. The company she gigged for had preferential access to the Capitol, the White House, the National Gallery, the National Archives, and—one of Ava’s favorites—the Dwight D. Eisenhower Executive Office Building, which was closed to the public. She led groups of two, five, or six through these sites. It was gig work, which meant everything about it sucked, including some of the rich men and women who figured her body came with the price of the tour.
Jen went for a run. Couldn’t get her mind off the trial that morning. She found herself near Les and Christopher’s. They buzzed her up, and she told them about the miserable day in court.
Les said, “They got to her?”
“One way or another. Brooks wasn’t happy.”
“Don’t blame him.”
“I mean, with me.”
“Not your fault.”
“He had already scanned a transcript before I made it back to the station. Turns out, I hit the suspect.”
Christopher looked appalled. He glared at Jen.
“It was, well … it was Chandler.”
Les explained to Christopher that in emergencies, the implants could direct instantaneous reactions. This was meant as a lifesaving measure.
Christopher said, “Was this guy threatening you?”
“No. It was strange. Like Chandler was flexing his muscles.”
Christopher stared at Les. The unspoken question: Could this happen to you?
“Hon, don’t worry. P.D. is a gentler soul than Chandler.”
Maybe, thought Jen, the synth implants reflect their hosts. Les definitely was an uncomplicated and gentle soul. Whenever he’d encouraged Jen to stand up for herself, whenever he said his Cobalt thing, Jen always knew he was taking a toke of vicarious pleasure. She, on the other hand? Submissive and eager to please, angry at herself for being so, and starting to figure out all this was tissue papering over some fucking deep rage. Overreacting to Zach. Or having a surrogate like Chandler act out for her.
“Well,” said Les, “screw Brooks. Screw them all.”
They shared a small joint. Christopher told them stories from the exciting world of interstate transportation. They giggled. Les whipped up some Thai fried bananas. But all the while, Jen felt the tension in the room, like Christopher was just waiting for her to leave so he could tell Les in no uncertain terms that he’d better not let Jen get him into trouble. Les had once confided to her that Christopher freaked out after he, Les, had come home smashed up from a fight; going rogue at work would be grounds for divorce.
Jen lay in bed, the buzz worn off, her mind racing through it all once again. Her insomnia-producing list now included what she hadn’t bothered telling Les. When Brooks yelled at her that day, it had not only been for the botched trial but for again bringing up Eden only days after he warned her to drop it.
“Sir,” she had said, “I think there may be a link between Eden and a computer co-op.”
“You’re now worried about computer stores.”
“A co-op. They’re—”
“I know what a co-op is, Detective.”
“I really think it would be good if I—”
He grabbed his head with both hands. “I’m coming down with a bad case of déjà vu. I told you to drop it, remember?”
Jen didn’t say anything.
“Detective, I asked you a question.”
“Yes, sir. I remember.”
“Something you don’t understand about ‘drop it’?”
“No sir.”
“No Eden crap. No co-op crap. No computer store crap. You start poking around crap, and I’m gonna smell it a mile away.”