Outcasts by Vonda N. McIntyre Page A

bustle of the factory surrounded her: the
electronic whine of the system, the subsonic drumming of coolant pumps, the
voices and shapes of her co-workers as they got out of their couches and tidied
up for the day shift.
    With her free left hand, Jannine opened the padded collar
that secured her helmet. She raised the mechanism from her head. The noise
level rose.
    She shivered. The factory was always chilly. Her awareness
of her body faded when she worked. She never felt cold till she came out of her
workspace and back into real life. On the substrate, the temperature hovered
just above absolute zero. Down there, she always felt warm. Up here, where the
laboring pumps only incidentally lowered the temperature a few degrees, she
always felt cold.
    She unbuckled the cuff around her right wrist and freed her
hand from the magnetic control.
    Wiggling her fingers, clenching her fist, shaking her arm,
she slid out of the couch. All around her, her co-workers stood and stretched
and groaned in the cold. She unplugged her helmet and wiped it down and stowed
it. She wished she owned one, a helmet she could impress her own settings in
and paint with her own design.
    Neko crossed the aisle and joined her.
    “Brownie points tonight,” Neko said.
    She moved smoothly, easily, with none of the stiffness
everyone else was feeling. She moved like her nickname, Neko, cat.
    “A bonus, huh?” Jannine said. “Great. We
make a good team.”
    They’d fallen into the habit of chatting for a few
minutes after work while they waited for the crush at the exit to ease.
    But instead of replying, Neko stared at Jannine’s
control couch, at the manipulator that reduced the motions of Jannine’s
hand to movements in the angstrom range.
    “Did you notice what it is we’re making?”
Neko said.
    Up on her toes, Jannine shifted her weight from one foot to
the other, bouncing in place, trying to get warm. The day shift people came
into the factory, moving between the hulking shapes of the couches.
    “Yeah, I guess,” Jannine said. “I wasn’t
paying attention. Just following the blueprint. Some vaccine, same as usual.”
    “Let’s go.” Neko strode away, her hands
shoved in her pockets. She moved as gracefully as she did down on the
substrate, where gravity could be tuned and made a variable.
    Jannine hurried after her. She waved across the factory at
Evan, the day-shift worker who co-habited her couch. But this morning, she didn’t
wait to talk.
    She followed Neko through the security checkout. They were
nearly the last ones out, but waiting had saved them standing in the crowd.
Jannine’s life gave her plenty of lines to stand in.
    Jannine thought the security system was stupid, a waste of
time. No one on the production floor had access to anything that they could
carry away. Except the helmets. You’d have to be awfully stupid to try to
walk out with a helmet, however tempting it would be to take one for your own.
    Jannine shoved her i.d. into the slot. She waited. The
computer checked her and passed her and rolled her i.d. back. At the same time
it emitted a slip of paper, thrusting it out like a slow insolent tongue. It
beeped to draw her attention.
    Ignore it, she told herself. She wanted to, but Neko had
seen it. If Jannine left the note, Neko would wonder why, or, worse, retrieve
it for her and give it to her and expect Jannine to tell her what it was. Neko
might even read it herself. Jannine grabbed it, glanced at it, and shoved it
into her pocket.
    “What’s up?” Neko asked.
    Jannine shrugged. “Nothing. Busybody stuff. ‘Eat
your vegetables.’”
    “Sorry.” Neko’s voice turned cool. “Didn’t
mean to be nosy.” She turned and walked out of the factory and into the
new day.
    Damn! Jannine thought. She wanted to try to explain, but
couldn’t think of the right words.
    She hurried to catch up, blinking and squinting in the
bright sunlight. When she’d arrived at work at midnight, rain had slicked
the streets. Now the