Outcasts by Vonda N. McIntyre Page B

air and the sky were clean and clear.
    “Want to get a beer? I’m buying.”
    For a second she was afraid Neko would turn her down, keep
on walking into the morning, and never talk to her again. Neko strode on,
shoulders hunched and hands shoved in her pockets.
    Then she stopped and turned and waited.
    “Yeah. Sure.”
    Finding a place that served beer at eight o’clock in
the morning was no big deal near the factory. A lot of the workers, like
Jannine, came off the substrate with nerves tight, muscles tense. In reality,
she’d spent the last eight hours lying almost perfectly still. But she’d
felt like she was in action all the time. Her work felt like motion, like
physical labor. Somewhere, somehow, she had to blow off the tension. Beer
helped. If she drank no more than a couple, she’d be able to pass the
alert at midnight, no problem.
    She slid her hand into her pocket and crumpled up the note.
A couple of beers would let her stop worrying about that, too.
    “Jannine!”
    “Huh? What?”
    Neko shook her head. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve
said.” She pushed open the tavern door. Jannine followed her out of the
sunlight and into the warm, loud gloom. They submerged in the dark, the talk,
the music.
    Neko slipped through the crowd toward the bar. Jannine, head
and shoulders taller than her friend, had to press and sidle past people.
    Jannine joined Neko by the wall, put her i.d. into the order
slot, grabbed a couple of glasses, and drew two beers. The tavern charged her
and returned her i.d. Neko retrieved it for her and traded it to her for one of
the beers.
    “Thanks!” Neko shouted above the racket. Four or
five people were even trying to dance, there in the middle of the room where
hardly anyone could move.
    Jannine looked around for a table. Stupid even to hope for
one. After work she preferred standing or walking to sitting, but Neko
obviously wanted to talk. They weren’t supposed to talk about work outside
the factory.
    Somebody jostled her, nearly spilling her beer.
    “Hey,” she said, “spill the cheap stuff,
okay?”
    “Hey yourself, watch it.”
    She recognized the guy: two couches over and one down.
Jannine didn’t know his name. Heading back to the order wall, he emptied
his glass in a gulp. She felt envious. He could drink like that all morning.
She’d watched him do it more than once. He always passed the alert when
midnight rolled around.
    “Neko!” She caught Neko’s gaze and
gestured. Neko nodded and followed her.
    Jannine pushed her way farther inside, holding her glass
high. She passed the bouncer. She knew one was there, out of sight in the small
balcony above eye level. She’d come in here four or five times before
noticing any of the people who kept an eye on the place. The balcony,
upholstered in the same hose-down dark fabric as the walls, blended into the
dimness, unobtrusive. The bouncer let the artificials take care of everything
but trouble.
    Jannine reached the hallway.
    “Wait —” Neko said as Jannine slid her
i.d. into the credit slot of a private room.
    The door ate the i.d. and opened.
    “What for?” Jannine crossed between the
equipment and set her glass down on the small table in the corner. “Hardly
spilled a drop,” she said.
    Neko hesitated on the threshold.
    “Come on, it’s paid for,” Jannine said.
    Neko shrugged and entered. “Yeah, okay. This is kind
of extravagant, but thanks.” She shut the door, cutting out the din,
somebody yelling at somebody else, a fight about to start. After work, your
body was geared up for action, and your brain was too tired to hold it back.
    Jannine drank a long swallow of her beer, then made herself
stop and sip it slowly. She was hungry. She ordered from the picture menu on
the back wall.
    “Want anything?”
    “Sure, okay.” Neko sounded distracted. She
pushed a couple of pictures, barely glancing at them, then sat at the table and
leaned on her elbows.
    Jannine swung up on the stationary bicycle and