Christian Wood’s precious air.” Okay, not nice. And I did feel bad about the bed thing (even though I hadn’t intentionally fallen asleep.) But, come on, does everything have to be about Chris?
Would be nice if someone had watched over me while I slept. And now that I knew all these white walls were actually a blank canvas, would be nice if someone had bothered to paint (or programme) some soothing care into my dreams.
Gale gave a furious prod at my back that did little more than tickle. “Since when do you get up before midday, anyway?”
“Since always,” I snapped.
“Not without a glass of cold water in your face.”
I might have wondered (aloud and rather caustically) how she knew so much, but just then we pushed through the door into a kitchen and my rumbling tummy took priority.
The kitchen was rather cramped, with a narrow counter beneath a row of cupboards and a large round table I had to edge past if I wanted to get to the shiny silver fridge. And I so did want to. “Thank God.”
I spoke too soon. The contents of Drustan’s fridge were alarming (and that’s coming from a girl who’d leapt a couple of decades on the arm of a boy who was probably dead.) A carton of what might be milk and a couple of dark coloured bottles.
I slammed the fridge door and looked at Gale. “Please don’t tell me the staple diet in this century is a handful of vitamin pills. I need proper food.”
“You might find the odd Brek-Pak in the cupboard,” offered Wanda, strolling into the kitchen. “Drustan usually orders in. What he needs is a wife.”
“Has Drustan been back?” I asked on my way to the cupboard.
“No, but he just contacted me. He’ll be along shortly.”
I stripped back the wrapper of what looked like a nutri-bar. The wrapper, that is. The grungy brown stick inside looked the opposite of nutritious. “Did he mention anything about stopping for takeout on the way?”
“Is that all you ever think about?” sniped Gale.
“Excuse me, she who doesn’t eat. How would you like to go without battery juice for 24 hours?”
“Batteries are so last century.” Gale hopped onto the table, leaned back on one hand, and made as if to examine her fingernails on the other (who was she kidding?) “I draw power directly from the neuron core.”
Not caring what a neuron core was, I took a timid bite of grunge.
“Stop!” yelled Wanda.
Too late. Bits of brown muck disintegrated in my mouth, tasting like cardboard and feeling like sand. “What is this stuff?”
Gale stifled a giggle. I don’t know why. Laughing in my face is more her style.
Wanda came closer. “What does the label say?”
I held up the wrapper. “Scrambled egg and bacon? I don’t think so.”
“You have to re-gen it first. Grab a plate, second cupboard to the left.”
My stick of grunge went onto the plate and into a black box on the counter that I’d thought was, well, a black box. Seriously. The size of a microwave with no window hole and only a single white button.
I pushed the button at Wanda’s insistence, but no way was this muck going near my mouth again. I’d seen it for what it was, before the dazzle and glitter of re-hydration or re-generation or whatever was going on inside there. A girl had to have standards, starvation notwithstanding, and mine was stale cardboard.
Half a minute later the black box popped open to the aroma of grilled bacon. Before I could think ‘Resist’ I was scoffing down my standards along with fluffy eggs and two strips.
It was divine and I had only one regret. Egg breath.
“Shopping,” was Wanda’s answer. “You need a lot more than a toothbrush.”
Didn’t I know it. “We’re not supposed to go out.”
“No one goes out to shop anymore, darling.”
“Online?” I wrinkled my nose. Internet shopping only worked if you were a size 0 mannequin. Been there, returned the jeans.
“Virtual shopping. Stand up.”
“Has Drustan authorised this?” asked Gale.
“Do you hear
Would be nice if someone had watched over me while I slept. And now that I knew all these white walls were actually a blank canvas, would be nice if someone had bothered to paint (or programme) some soothing care into my dreams.
Gale gave a furious prod at my back that did little more than tickle. “Since when do you get up before midday, anyway?”
“Since always,” I snapped.
“Not without a glass of cold water in your face.”
I might have wondered (aloud and rather caustically) how she knew so much, but just then we pushed through the door into a kitchen and my rumbling tummy took priority.
The kitchen was rather cramped, with a narrow counter beneath a row of cupboards and a large round table I had to edge past if I wanted to get to the shiny silver fridge. And I so did want to. “Thank God.”
I spoke too soon. The contents of Drustan’s fridge were alarming (and that’s coming from a girl who’d leapt a couple of decades on the arm of a boy who was probably dead.) A carton of what might be milk and a couple of dark coloured bottles.
I slammed the fridge door and looked at Gale. “Please don’t tell me the staple diet in this century is a handful of vitamin pills. I need proper food.”
“You might find the odd Brek-Pak in the cupboard,” offered Wanda, strolling into the kitchen. “Drustan usually orders in. What he needs is a wife.”
“Has Drustan been back?” I asked on my way to the cupboard.
“No, but he just contacted me. He’ll be along shortly.”
I stripped back the wrapper of what looked like a nutri-bar. The wrapper, that is. The grungy brown stick inside looked the opposite of nutritious. “Did he mention anything about stopping for takeout on the way?”
“Is that all you ever think about?” sniped Gale.
“Excuse me, she who doesn’t eat. How would you like to go without battery juice for 24 hours?”
“Batteries are so last century.” Gale hopped onto the table, leaned back on one hand, and made as if to examine her fingernails on the other (who was she kidding?) “I draw power directly from the neuron core.”
Not caring what a neuron core was, I took a timid bite of grunge.
“Stop!” yelled Wanda.
Too late. Bits of brown muck disintegrated in my mouth, tasting like cardboard and feeling like sand. “What is this stuff?”
Gale stifled a giggle. I don’t know why. Laughing in my face is more her style.
Wanda came closer. “What does the label say?”
I held up the wrapper. “Scrambled egg and bacon? I don’t think so.”
“You have to re-gen it first. Grab a plate, second cupboard to the left.”
My stick of grunge went onto the plate and into a black box on the counter that I’d thought was, well, a black box. Seriously. The size of a microwave with no window hole and only a single white button.
I pushed the button at Wanda’s insistence, but no way was this muck going near my mouth again. I’d seen it for what it was, before the dazzle and glitter of re-hydration or re-generation or whatever was going on inside there. A girl had to have standards, starvation notwithstanding, and mine was stale cardboard.
Half a minute later the black box popped open to the aroma of grilled bacon. Before I could think ‘Resist’ I was scoffing down my standards along with fluffy eggs and two strips.
It was divine and I had only one regret. Egg breath.
“Shopping,” was Wanda’s answer. “You need a lot more than a toothbrush.”
Didn’t I know it. “We’re not supposed to go out.”
“No one goes out to shop anymore, darling.”
“Online?” I wrinkled my nose. Internet shopping only worked if you were a size 0 mannequin. Been there, returned the jeans.
“Virtual shopping. Stand up.”
“Has Drustan authorised this?” asked Gale.
“Do you hear
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