MARTians Page 5

  Don’t think about that, says imaginary AnnaMom. But Timmer’s words are making shapeless, uncomfortable ideas hatch in my heart like spiders. I didn’t know about the bus, says imaginary AnnaMom. The bus didn’t matter anyway. You are safe. You are sitting on an orange plastic chair. You have a burrito. You are not waiting in a bus shelter for a bus that will never come. You aren’t like those dogs that stopped barking. Don’t think about those dogs. Don’t think about when they stopped barking.

  “So I saw how the guys were coming to the houses to steal the electric and the pipes, and I thought maybe I could get some gas money that way. So I drove around neighborhoods looking for a place where the houses were empty but fresh. Wandering like that was burning gas, but I ignored that fact. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I did it anyway. I just broke a window and climbed into a house, and then I kicked through the wallboard by an outlet. I woulda probably fried myself, but somebody had already thrown all the breakers, so the wires weren’t hot. Anyway, I just grabbed the wires and started ripping them out, right through the wallboards. It wasn’t easy, but it was satisfying. I got into it, and I was yelling and swearing and kicking holes in the walls just because I could. Then I turned around and Raoul was standing there with a pipe wrench in his hand, and one of his choices was to use that wrench to bash in my head. But that isn’t the choice he made. He just slapped me down with his bare hand, and then he dragged me out to his truck and explained some shit to me — like how that was his mark spray-painted on the door over the address, and how if it had been anybody else I would be dead right there, because that’s what happens when the rules get broke.

  “Then he brought me here, to the Warren, and he told me how it was going to be. He told me how it happened one day when he was off-loading the copper wire he’d stripped out of a sad cul-de-sac the night before. He looked over the scrap yard fence and saw this place, the Warren, a ghost mall full of ghost stores. He figured it had been stripped years ago. I mean, it’s right next to the scrap yard, right? Talk about convenient. But Raoul, he thought, What the heck? Who knows? And so he drove over here and had a look around. It was weird. The windows weren’t broken. The doors weren’t forced open. Far as he could tell, there was all kinds of stuff just waiting to be collected and sold. It seemed impossible that somebody wouldn’t have already marked it and stripped it, but it was just as impossible that it hadn’t been bulldozed down years before, to make room for more AllMART parking or an expansion of the scrap yard or a vacant lot full of weeds. Raoul made his marks on the parking lot, on the walls and the sidewalks, and on the windows and doors that were still there, still shut. But when he got home that night, Raoul did some due diligence. He did some research. He got online, did a little poking around, and found out that the place was all hung up in legal proceedings. It was a pretty low-priority case, though, and nothing had budged for a long, long time. The next morning, Raoul bought the whole place for back taxes, which was less than the cost for gas to drive out to the neighborhoods.

  “He went there the next day with his crowbar in hand and popped the lock open on one of the delivery doors. Then he walked into the place like he owned it, which he did. He just walked around. He saw the empty places and the naked mannequins. He looked into the ice cream store that somebody was remodeling so it could be church. The sign on the ticket window said ‘Join us for our first service!!!’ but the date on that sign was five years ago. He saw the bright painted pillars and the tile benches. And it seemed like a good place. He didn’t rip anything out. Instead he put his mark on the doors and left everything just like it was.

  “A week or so later he found me and didn’t kill me. Raoul built a fire in the chiminea and we sat beside it on the patio of the abandoned ice cream parlor. We talked all night while smoke floated up to the sky. We decided I should live here, in the Warren. It’s close to AllMART, so that saves time and money. And it is safe, since it belongs to Raoul. Nobody is going to mess with Raoul. Raoul would stop by and we’d hang out, and that was cool. When I said it was kind of weird and lonely sometimes, Raoul said, ‘Well, you can change that. You find some others who need to live here, and you bring them in. Be generous and on the lookout for the weak and the powerless.’ That’s why I saw you that day at the bus shelter; I was looking. I was looking just like Raoul told me to look.”

  It has been a long time since I’ve felt so nervous. Maybe the first day of high school? My first day in 2-B? That could be it, the mix of I-know-I’m-supposed-to-be-here and I-don’t-know-how-I-belong-or-what-it-means-to-be. I’m at the employee entrance conscientiously early, comfortably early. So I just stand and wait and watch the sky change color, from cement to pink and then back to cement. I’m part of a thin little layer between the cement sky and the cement under my feet. A squished paper cup, a candy wrapper, and me.

  While I wait, other new trainees arrive: some quiet, some nervous, others probably like me — nervously quiet. Some faces I recognize from passing by in the halls at school. I don’t know the people behind the faces. The only other person from 2-B is Bella Masterson, and if she remembers me, she doesn’t show it. I wonder where all the rest of them have gone. Each to where their talents are needed. I remember Abernathy in the zipcuffs waiting for the bus to the penitentiary. That was right for Abernathy, as far as I can tell. So AllMART must be right for me.

  The doors open and we file in and follow the signs and wait in line. We are all very good at waiting in line. We have manners. There is an AllMART badge for each of us. It will be our ID, our key, our face to the world.

  ZERO.

  My badge says Zero. I start to point out the mistake, and then I remember what Timmer told me about being MORT: Don’t badger the badger. He never said why, exactly, but I think this isn’t the time or place to complain. I’m sure there will be an opportunity to get it fixed later, without holding up the line.

  I shuffle to the next station, the employee register. I look at the diagrams and present my name tag to the scanner. Green text flashes on the screen: Z. Zindleman has entered the building. Then the screen goes dark to protect my privacy. A green light flashes above an interior door, guiding me to my destination.

  Today’s destination is a large room full of desks, like Room 2-B, except cleaner, newer. The vid screen at the front, so familiar, is playing silent flash ads with occasional reminders: “Your smile is the AllMART welcome mat. Put the smile in AllMART.” It doesn’t make much sense, but then metaphors hardly ever do. Ads and reminders don’t have to make sense in the ordinary way. It’s just a little friendly flash of insight to get our brain cells synced. I learned that in Consumer Psychology.

  I bet everyone else in this room knows that too, because they are all here. We are alike in more ways than our employee badges. We are all smiling. We are all lucky to have this opportunity. Our smiles are AllMART’s welcome mats.

  The door opens. The room, which was already silent, gets quieter.

  “Hi, I’m Dawna Day, your personal human-resources manager, and I’m so very happy to welcome all of you. I know you are nervous, but you shouldn’t be. Just stop that right this minute!” She laughs, and, like magic, I’m not nervous anymore. “Each day here at AllMART starts with us standing up proud. Research has shown that people who put their arms in the air have better self-esteem. So we do that, because we should be proud to be part of AllMART.” She touches a remote and the vid screen view pops to life. Happy faces, a happy crowd, all gathered in a green meadow somewhere, the blue ocean shining in the distance. The crowd sings the AllMART jingle and does a simple dance routine while the words that match the gestures crawl along the bottom of the screen:

  It’s on a loop, and at the end of the second time through, Dawna Day says, “Stand up! Stand up! Join in! Join in!” When we all finish clapclapclapping, Dawna Day, my personal human-resources manager, is smiling, and seeing her smile makes me smile. She pauses the vid screen. “Don’t you feel great? I know you do. Every one of us feels great! Before we get sta
rted, does anyone have concerns?”

  I recognize that sort of question as a formality, but Bella in the front row does not. She raises her hand. Dawna Day is looking at a teaching device. If she wanted to be asked questions, she would be looking at us to communicate receptivity and invite interaction. She isn’t. Bella begins waving her hand to make herself more noticeable.

  “Excuse me, there’s an error on my name badge. My name is Bella. . . .”

  “There is no error.” Dawna Day’s voice is crisp. She still does not look up from her teaching device.

  “It should be Bella, but it says Belly. . . .”

  “The names on the badges are a convenience for the consumers, should they need to communicate a failure of service. You can be certain that your badge is correctly linked to your permanent records.” Dawna Day is looking at Bella who still thinks there has been a mistake.

  “But my name is Bella. I’m Bella Masterson.”

  Dawna Day exhales a long cleansing breath and glares. “Certainly you can understand this. The badges are unique identifiers. You, Belly, can’t be Bella, because another member of the AllMART family is already Bella.”

  “Can I change it to something else? Something more . . . me? Could I be . . . ?

  “No. Your name badge will not be changed. Do you understand the cost of unnecessary changes? You are an AllMART employee. Wear your badge proudly. Now, unless we move on, I must make a charge against your future earnings to pay for the time you have wasted.” Dawna Day is smiling — at least she is showing her teeth — while the final word hisses in the otherwise silent room.

  Belly shrinks into her desk like a snail into a shell.

  Timmer’s advice was good: Don’t badger the badgers. Just be ZERO instead of Zoë. Just be MORT instead of Timmer. Just be quiet. And smile. I hope that other Zoë out there is enjoying my name.

  Dawna Day taps her teaching device, and an authoritative voice rumbles from hidden speakers: “There is no such thing as graduation, not really. In today’s rapidly spinning world, we must all be lifelong learners. AllMART supports lifelong learning. That is why we encourage you to take advantage of the special discounts offered to AllMART employees through Unicorn University.”

  The voice changes to a quick talker, the kind who delivers disclaimers and side-effect warnings in advertisements. “Unicorn University is proud to provide you with today’s programmed education.”

  Today’s instruction starts with a short cartoon featuring the familiar face of Buzzy Bee, the buzz-in–buzz-out bee in the SpeedyMed ads and the romantic lead on Days of Our Hives. He is greeted with a murmur of sighs. He is kawaii, I guess. I’m not an Otakusexual — although I respect toonophilia as a sexually responsible choice. Heroic Buzzy wears a tiny leather jacket and zips in at the last minute to make things right. His appearance in the training vid is a little different, though. He isn’t making the girl bees swoon with his amazing stinger swagger.

  Buzzy has big eyes, which should be anime-adorable, but the closer we get to his eyes, the more it looks he has a beehive inside them, hexagonal cells, each with another Buzzy Bee inside, and inside that Buzzy Bee’s eyes, another hive. I am relieved when the repetition stops midzoom after implying a universe of Buzzys without actually, you know, spending the rest of my life going deeper and deeper.

  The screen switches back to the smiling, cheering employees: clapclapclap. Dawna Day gestures, so we stand up and join in. It does feel good to put my hands in the air. I do feel good about myself. I’m great. Of course I feel that way. That is the whole point of practicing self-validating postures: Smile and you will be happy; put your hands in the air and grab some self-esteem.

  Buzzy Bee returns and beckons us through the doors of AllMART headquarters. It is a beautiful building, made of nothing but crystal-clear glass. The people who work there are beautiful. They wave at Buzzy Bee, even though he isn’t really there. Buzzy flies high into the soaring glass chambers of the floors above. Finally we are way up in the sky, peeking down at the whole AllMART corporate campus spread out below, perfect and glittering. Glowing clouds spell out the names of the enterprises that are all little parts, just like me.

  Unicorn Uni is a division of AllMART. So is SpeedyMed. Even Bats of Happiness, which provides essential nutrients that help grow the lettuce sold in AllMART’s FarmFresh Produce department. Everything is connected to everything else, and that means everything depends on me.

  The music for the cheer rises. I stand and join in. . . .

  I may be just a little part,

  But I pledge my beating heart

  To AllMART.

  Buzzy Bee the animated hero takes us on a tour of the store, which is laid out like all AllMARTs everywhere. We zoom up and down the aisles, and I can feel how the pieces fit together. It makes sense to me. If Buzzy Bee came through the ceiling, plucked me up, and dropped me in another AllMART where it was night instead of day, I would be right at home. It would be perfectly familiar. I will never be lost. What a comfort.

  Close-up: An AllMART uniform polo shirt

  Voice-over: You know that uniform you wear? It’s proof that AllMART cares.

  Scene: Zoom into the fabric of the shirt. Slow dissolve to image of deep blue ocean seen from the perspective of a satellite. Switch to the surface of the water and view of factory ship, shining white and blue, with the AllMART logo branded on the hull.

  Voice-over: The ocean currents are full of resources.

  Scene: Glittering spirals of silvery fish seen from below the waves

  Voice-over: Our factory ships are harvesting the microplastic particles of the Pacific garbage gyre and recycling them into . . . the uniform you wear!

  Scene: Factory floor. Close-up of hands moving fabric while sewing buttonholes. Wide shot of smiling fabricators waving from where they sit at their machines. All wear AllMART uniforms.

  Voice-over: Wear your uniform with pride. It represents AllMART’s commitment to you, to our customers, to our planet.

  Dawna Day uncovers a shopping cart full of uniforms. “Line up; let’s get you all just what you need.”

  They don’t actually have a polo shirt and pants in my size, so I end up with things that will probably be a little too large.

  “You can change in the bathrooms. Hurry back! Something special will be waiting!” Dawna Day prods us along.

  I’m hoping the special something might be lunch. I’m grateful for the bathroom break. It has been a long morning. While I’m waiting for my turn in the bathroom stall, I tear open the plastic envelope. My new clothes are shapeless. They smell like I imagine the ocean smells — like freshly washed garbage. But that must be my imagination.

  The special surprise was not lunch. It was the head manager of the store, Mr. Middleman, come to admire us all in our uniforms while we sat at our desks. He waved from the door. That was it. Then we sat through another three hours of training vids.

  I am exhausted. It’s a longer day than any I ever spent in school, but it isn’t just the time I’ve spent, it’s that I’m too scared to relax. The desks, the vid screen, the way I’m learning — all of that is familiar — not scary at all. I’m scared because I’m not waiting for my real life to start; it’s started.

  I just want to walk out the door and go home.

  That isn’t an option.

  “One last thing,” says Dawna Day, my personal human-resources manager. “You all have a special relationship to AllMART — certainly all AllMART employees are special, but you are extra special. You are now part of the AllMART family. It is part of a very ancient social contract, in loco parentis. This means that you are not employees. We are family. That is how much AllMART wants you to succeed — as much as a parent.” The lights in the classroom dim, just a little, and her gentle voice says, very quietly, “Some of you may need AllMART very much. And AllMART is here for you. Some of you may be separated from your families for a little while. You may need a place to live, a home. It is very important that you know AllMART wa
nts you to have a home. Each of you has received a text invitation.” She pauses to touch the screen on her teaching device. “If you need anything, a place to stay, advice, or . . . anything . . . just reply to that text. We can give you the help you need. And it will always be strictly confidential. Just remember, that message is here, like open arms to hold you. Just remember.” We all sit there, in the hushed and twilit room.

  The lights get bright again. Dawna Day opens the door and says, “Give yourself a cheer!” We stand and clapclapclap while we file out, into the hall. Dawna Day throws her hands in the air and says, “We meet here again tomorrow. Smile, Belly! Let me see that special welcome mat, all of you.”

  I smile.

  Timmer meets me just outside the employee exit. He is wearing his MORT badge and bouncing up and down on his toes.

  “The ‘Help’ message sitting on your phone waiting for your reply: Delete that.”

  “Hello, MORT. It went fine. Thanks for asking.”

  “I’m serious. It’s junk. You don’t want AllMART to be your loco parents. Raoul explained it to me. I signed up, because . . . you know how it sounds like a good idea. But when Raoul found out, he flipped. He paid a guy to get it flushed out of the system. If you ask for that help, then they know they’ve got you. You get moved into the dormatoriums. Sometimes they move you away to work in the distribution centers — or who knows? Factories. It isn’t up to you. It’s up to them; they can move you wherever they want to in the system. You don’t need AllMART to be your family. You have the Warren. Look, it’s best if you just delete that message so it is never a temptation, but I get it if you can’t do that yet. Just trust me. Before you ever reply to that, come to us; we are your family now. You need help, ask me. The deal is, though, you will help us. We know that. That’s the deal.” He pauses and turns his attention to his phone.