HELPER12 Jack Blaine (best time to read books .TXT) 📖

slides away from the complex, through the seedy streets east of the city.  I watch as the cube complexes give way to the shops and the shops give way to the city-proper, with all its shiny high buildings, and manicured greenways.  Soon enough we’re out of the city heading west, and in minutes we turn off onto a side street, where all the dwellings are separate from one another.  The whole street.  All single units.  We slow, and the gate in front of one of the units opens.  The gate, flanked by brick columns, is ornate, but it looks strong.  I have a feeling it isn’t just for decoration.  The car slips inside, into a small courtyard.  The gate closes behind us—I watch it from the back window of the vehicle.  When I turn back around, we are parked, and the Driver is holding my door open for me.

I don’t want to get out.  I know I have to though, and so I scoot across the long seat and step onto the courtyard.  There is a tiny square of lush, green grass—real grass.  There are pots with small trees growing in them, and some sort of plant that spills out and drapes elegantly down the sides of the pots.  There is a fountain, with a waterfall trinkling musically down into a tiled basin.  I’ve never seen this sort of lavishness, at least not in private areas.  Some of the places on the vid feeds look like this, but I’ve never seen it in real life.  I didn’t think they actually existed until just now.

The Driver takes my arm, but he is gentle, not like the Director.  He’s just showing me the way, though it’s hard to miss the grand entrance to this dwelling.  There are carved double doors, flanked by more potted plants.  I know the doors are made of some sort of reinforced plastic, but my eyes believe they are wood.  On a simple plaque on the left side of the doors, the word Sloane is spelled out in black letters, as though everyone will know what that means.  The Driver looks up at a tiny camera mounted above the doors.  When a red light comes on under the camera, he looks at me.

“You’re on your own,” he says, with a grim smile.  And he walks away.  Before I can turn to watch him get in the car I hear a click.  The doors open and a woman wearing a Domestic Helper uniform heaves a huge sigh of relief in my face.

“’Bout time.  Get in here!”  She stands aside and motions for me to come.  I don’t move at first, but then I hear something.

It’s screaming.  It’s faint, coming from somewhere deep inside the place, but it’s Jobee.  He’s screaming. I start forward.

“Where is he?”

“Upstairs.  Go, quickly.”  She points at a staircase off to the left.  I start up it.

At the top there is a corridor and there are lots of doors, all closed.  I head toward the noise.  When I reach the door it’s coming from, I don’t even hesitate.  I’ve never heard Jobee scream like that.  I barge right in.

She’s got him thrown over her shoulder like he’s a bag of laundry.  She’s walking back and forth, bouncing him up and down as she goes.  Her face is just about as red as his, and she looks like she’d like to throw him.

I don’t say anything; I just hold out my hands.  She holds him away from her and I take him.  He’s tight, and hot.  His screams come out like they hurt him.

There’s a bed in the room, and I lay him on it.  I start taking off his clothes.

“Does he have a change of clothes?”  I don’t look back at her.  “I need to get him into dry clothes.”  He’s been perspiring and his garments are damp.  I check his diaper but it’s dry.  “I need a damp cloth.  Warm.”

“Helper!”  Ms. Sloane shouts, and it takes me a moment to realize she’s not shouting at me.  The Domestic Helper appears.

“A damp cloth.  And some fresh clothes for him.”  Ms. Sloane hovers while I soothe Jobee by rubbing his feet.  He always did like that.  By the time I have him undressed and have gently washed his sweaty little body, he’s calm.  I dress him in a fresh set of clothes.

“What was wrong with him?  He just screamed and screamed and screamed.”  Ms. Sloane sounded less angry, more disgusted.

“Did you have him inoculated last night?”

“Of course we did.  For his safety.”  Ms. Sloane sounded a bit defensive.

“He’s having a reaction.  Between that and being taken away from everything he knows, he’s upset.”  I wanted to slap her.  I wondered how long Jobee had been screaming like that.

“He seems fine now.”  Ms. Sloane spoke in an even tone, but I could hear something beneath her words.  Something that told me to tread carefully.  I picked Jobee up and started to put him on my shoulder, but thought better of it.  I held him out toward her.

“No.”  She eyed Jobee like he was a snake.  “You take him for now.  Mr. Sloane and I will be going out soon.”  She started out the door of the room.  Then she turned back.  “Helper can show you your room.  I think we’ll have the crib moved into it, just until he sleeps through the night better.  I’ll have Helper take care of it.  Oh, and there are clothes for you in the closet—get rid of that dreadful uniform.”  She left then, without another look at her new son.

Chapter Seven

My room is on the third floor.  It’s small, but still bigger than my cube was.  It’s got a tiny bathroom attached to it, and a window.  There is a narrow bed along one wall, which is softer than anything I’ve slept on before.  And there isn’t a vid screen anywhere.

Honestly, that is the thing I notice the most.  In the complexes, every cube had a vid screen, and there was