Reciprocate

1

Dara stared out at the rippling mass of people. Glanced back at the facility’s closed gate once more.

They’re here for you. To help, said Margaret. They’ve been waiting for you.

Waiting for me to do what? Dara wondered. What on earth could a designated scapegoat do for them?

You should say something, encouraged Margaret, pointing to the microphone she’d been yelling into only moments before. It would go a long way toward persuading them to help the others.

Just like the clients, Dara told herself, taking a step toward the narrow podium. Just more of them.

I— Dara broke off as Margaret pushed her closer to the microphone.

Speak up, she whispered. Dara tried again.

I’ve never seen this many people in one place before. Not in person. She stopped as a wave of cheers erupted and flowed back across the crowd. It was confusing. Frightening. The sound of the people dulled at last, never completely gone, but softer, like the cafeteria after dinner. But this was— more. So much more powerful than a hundred goats. Why now? she wondered. "Where were you?" she spat. The effect was immediate. Real silence, rippling through them as her words hit them.

Dara— whispered Margaret, touching her shoulder. Dara shrugged it off. It wasn’t these people who had saved her from the clients who paid to hurt her every week. Some of them might be clients. She didn’t owe them anything.

All this time, all these years, she said. "So many people died still waiting. Still believing you were out here, that you cared. That you’d help us. My father’s last words were about you. That you were kind. That you’d see us. Someday. Where were you? Don’t you know what they did to us in there? Don’t you know what they’re still doing— right now? To my friends, to my family—" Margaret tugged on her arm.

"We’re here now," she said.

"Then do something, demanded Dara. Do something." Footsteps on the metal stairs to the platform. Dara swung around to look, alarmed by the sound. She was relieved to see it was Dr. Cashmore reaching a hand out toward Dara.

This was a bad idea. She’s not ready for this, Dr. Cashmore told Margaret. She needs rest. And quiet. Not— all these people. What more do you want from her?

Dara could feel them looking at her. All of them. All of those people, looking. Deciding she was ugly. Deciding she was not worthy of their aid. Deciding she was— ungrateful. The thought twisted her desperation into something else— something hotter and fiercer. She turned back to the microphone, back to face the eyes.

You think I should thank you, she admitted, the consonants popping harshly through the speakers. You think you’re doing me a favor, coming here like this. I’m certain you’re risking something. Are you breaking the peace laws?

She turned to Margaret who nodded.

"You’re risking your jobs then. Your points. Your status. I understand that. But you have to stop thinking it’s for me. You aren’t just doing it for me, or for any of the scapegoats. You are risking these things for you, too. Do you understand why this place exists? What it’s meant to do?" She could see enraged faces, frightened faces, faces too far away to distinguish. It only made her more lonely. No one answered her. She wondered if she were doing this wrong, but decided it didn’t much matter if she were. This was the only way she knew to get through to them.

"It’s here to keep you calm. Just like they say it is. Just like the peace laws. We decided long ago that anger was— wrong. That it was inevitable but bad. Just an— urge. Like food or sleep or breath. We’re afraid of it. So we made this place to hide it away. A landfill for rage and cruelty and loneliness. But it leaks. Because nothing ever gets better." She paused, confused by the sudden burst of cheers that greeted the statement. She wasn’t certain what there was to applaud for. She glanced back at Dr. Cashmore who was frowning, but she nodded, so Dara continued.

I know you weren’t the people who used us. I know. Or if you were, once, you’ve changed. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. So you already know there’s a better way. Not everyone does. The scapegoat facilities steal your anger and your drive. Plow it into the same sessions over and over, year after year. So you’ll keep going to that low paying job. And keep patching up your clothes and your homes and your bodies until there’s nothing left except patches. Because you never get the points to really fix them, spending what little you have here, instead. And everything gets worse. The air and the water get filthier. So you get sick and fall farther behind. But you keep thinking, ‘It could be worse.’ Yeah. It could be worse. Dara held up her cast. "You could be me. And that’s how they keep you calm. That’s how they keep you paying to hurt someone who didn’t do this to you. I’ll tell you a secret, something I couldn’t see until recently. Something Avern taught me: You’re right. It could be worse. But it can also be better." She took a step backward.

Dr. Cashmore wrapped an arm around her shoulder and turned her away from the crowd. The bag of her father’s books thumped lightly against her leg. Dara wasn’t certain what she expected. She wasn’t sure what Margaret expected. But it wasn’t the wave of voices and clapping that followed her down the steps or the chilled metal as her fingers brushed the fencing one last time. She shivered and the doctor glanced up at her close cropped hair.

Let’s get you somewhere warm, said Dr. Cashmore. With fewer people.

But I have nowhere to go—

Margaret is housing us for now. She’s found me a small clinic position. It runs on donations. We won’t be able to live large, but it’ll feed us for the time being. And— she broke off, shook her head. Never mind all that. We have time to think about points. And about all this. She waved vaguely at the crowd. Not just now.

Margaret was saying something behind them, her voice ringing out over the people. The noise of their cheers continued.

I don’t understand what they’re so excited about, snapped Dara, "Everything is— awful."

They’re excited that they aren’t the only ones who think it’s awful. That someone’s saying it out loud. And they’re hoping someone’s going to tell them how to make it better.

I don’t know what to tell them. She looked back at the gate. Leaned toward Dr. Cashmore and said quietly. What if they all go away because I don’t know what to tell them? What if they could have helped and I drove them away?

"You aren’t going to drive them away. Margaret tells me they’ve been here for weeks. Peace officers making arrests and all. You need some time to adjust and decide what you want to do. Then, we can try again. If that’s something you want. This whole thing is— unexpected. I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier. Martin warned us about Dawn, but you— I didn’t think you had the points to be forced out."

I didn’t, said Dara. Avern persuaded the warden to take his. To send me out here, expel me so the strike would stop.

He didn’t want to expel you—

Avern didn’t, but the warden jumped at the chance. They’ll think I abandoned them.

Dr. Cashmore’s arm tightened around her shoulder. "They won’t. Even if she tries to persuade them that you did. They know you too well. Avern and Lucas will keep that strike going for as long as possible."

That might be worse. If they don’t give it up, she’ll terminate them. We have to get them out.

"We will. But not by hanging on the front gate until we freeze to death. Get warm, rest, and then we’ll figure it out. This is just the start, Dara."

But the start of what? She wondered.

2

A guard met Avern on his way from the session cells. Warden Pace wants a word, he said.

What did you do, Dara? he worried. Had she not accepted the exculpation? Had she done something stupid? Had the warden terminated her instead? He tried to shake himself from the thought. She never did anything stupid. Not true, he admitted. Every time you’re in trouble, she does something stupid. And you’re in trouble, Av, old buddy. You’re in big trouble. Just finished a session, he said aloud. I should probably clean up first.

Won’t take long. And it isn’t like she’s never seen a little bit of blood, said the guard.

Bullshit. Warden’s never even been down to the cells. He swallowed it. He needed to know what had happened with Dara more than he wanted to hit back at the guard. He simply nodded and wiped the cut on his arm over his shirt. Nail scratch. He hated them. Almost always got infected. At least astringent was one thing the clinic wasn’t short of. The guard led him through the facility toward administration. His sweat was beginning to dry and itch. Doesn’t matter, he told himself, fifteen minutes of whatever this is and you’ll have all night to shower. Nothing else to do with the lockdown. And no Dara to sneak in. The idea was old, not having her to talk to. He’d worked himself up to it. Repeated it to himself over and over. Didn’t hurt any less, but the shock was worn out. Just a flash, like a punch. A bloom of pain that quickly shrunk to a dull ache that he couldn’t shake. You know what this is about? he asked.

The guard shrugged. "Your extended tantrum, I’d guess. What did you expect it to be about? You break some other directive?"

He didn’t try again. He’d get neither sympathy nor information from this one. The warden’s office was never pleasant, but his nerves were a different sort than they had been a few days prior. Dara was gone, one way or another. Let it be out there. Let her be safe. At least he hadn’t come here to beg again. Wouldn’t you if you thought it would help her? She has nowhere to go. No friend out there. No food, no points, no home— he shoved the circling thoughts aside. He’d known the likely outcome. A chance out there was better than a session with Sanders.

The secretary looked up at them as they entered. She picked up the phone that lay beside her. Just another layer between the scapegoats and the warden. The warden met him calmly, she seemed— pleasant even. At least, to start. She offered him a chair and leaned against her desk. It only made Avern wary.

I thought you would enjoy a night off lockdown, she said.

Sure, said Avern, unwilling to offer her more. Where’s Dara?

Exculpated. As we agreed, of course.

"But where is she? Where did you send her?"

The warden shrugged. Dara’s no longer my concern. My job is to run this facility. Which makes the remaining scapegoats my priority.

"She may not be your concern, but she is mine. And you didn’t call me here just to lift the lockdown. You want something. Don’t know what it is yet, but I’m more likely to give it to you if you can tell me about Dara."

She tapped a pen onto the desk beside her. I only want what we agreed to. But since you want proof that I upheld my end of the bargain— She reached over the desk to tap a console and one of the large wall monitors behind it stuttered. The video that replaced it was of the long drive to the facility’s gate. After a few seconds, two figures appeared, but they were turned from the camera and he couldn’t see their faces. It didn’t matter. He’d recognize Dara from any angle. The guard tugged her down the drive and opened the gate. Dara reluctantly stepped beyond it, and his heart surged. She made it. Free. Whatever happened next, she at least had that moment.

Satisfied? asked the warden.

Yes, he admitted, not bothering to fight a grin.

Good. Then let’s move on to actual business.

You mean Sanders? I thought it was already arranged.

It is, said the warden. Tuesday, nine a.m., but that is not the business I meant. It’s time to call off the strike.

Yes, he agreed.

Yes? She leaned forward. "I admit that was easier than I expected. I made our deal in good faith, but I did expect some resistance."

Avern shrugged. It was only difficult as long as you made it so. All you ever had to do was open the gate and release us.

What?

Though, I wish you’d done it this morning. Could have done without that last session. And tracking Dara down now could take a while. Still— I’m glad you came around at last. He clapped his hands together in an exaggerated motion. So. How do you want to do this? Do you want to assemble everyone so we can walk out together? Or do you want to open the gate now, and I’ll just go let everyone know and we’ll sort of meander out on our own?

Open the gate? I can’t open the gate! she cried.

Avern’s grin widened. Sure you can. Button’s right behind you. Easy as that.

I’m not opening the gate.

He shrugged. Then I’m not calling off the strike.

We agreed if I released Dara—

"We agreed that you’d release Dara. I told you the strike would likely lose momentum without her. I never said I’d call it off. You wanted me to take her place with Sanders. I think I’ll take her place with the other goats, too. She’s left a big hole. The others will decide if I fill it enough or not. It won’t be you."

She stood upright, poking a finger toward him. "I dealt with you in good faith and you’re— cheating."

"That’s the thing. There are rules for you. Like this is a game or a ceremony or something. But I’ve got no reason to follow them. You do. You need to stay in society’s good graces, so you abide by their guidelines. What’s acceptable. What’s fair. He sneered and spat the last word out. Nothing about this place is fair for a scapegoat. See— if you want someone to participate in a game, even a tilted one, you have to convince them that there’s a way they can win. Even if it isn’t true. But I already know there’s no way to win. There’s nothing that you have the power to give or take that will persuade me to obey anymore. I’ve been here too long to fall for the old tricks."

You think I can’t make your life miserable? she asked.

"More miserable than being beaten in a cell every day? No. I don’t think you can do worse than that, warden. You really don’t understand what our lives are like, do you? I overestimated you. To think I was really frightened. That Dara lost sleep over your threats. Avern let out a short, sharp laugh and shook his head. You started with a fucking lockdown. As if losing— what? A few shitty movies in the rec room would make us fold when we knew our lives were on the line. Maybe expelling our friends and our doctor— maybe that would have scared us a few months ago. But we know about the sale of the facilities. We knew it would happen to them anyway. As soon as Emerson finalized the deal."

He watched her tense with a mild amusement. She’d known they had heard about the sale. Did she think the scapegoats were incapable of anticipating what would happen afterward? "And maybe clamping down on point transfers upset some scapegoats, sure. But if you had ever bothered to talk to any of us— hell, if you even talked to your own guards about how it really works way down in the living quarters, you’d know that most of the point transfers are either training payments which benefit you as much as they benefit us, or they’re tiny amounts for luxuries we can easily live without. Dara was the only one crazy enough to give anyone a large portion of their points to exculpate."

A bluff followed by a lie. He wasn’t certain they were going to be able to live without clinic supplies. And Dara wasn’t the only one who had bought a loved one their freedom. But he was confident the warden didn’t know that. It’s all— mild annoyance compared to what happens in the sessions. There is nothing you can do to force us to continue participating in them.

I see, said the warden. She’d regained an appearance of calm. He was not duped. Then you force my hand. I warned Dara as I’ll warn you. If the scapegoats don’t return to work by Wednesday, I will pursue termination under Section one, clause thirty-three of the scapegoat code. That’s when—

"I know what it says. You can try. Even if that isn’t a bluff, it doesn’t change anything. You think we’ll cling to any breath, no matter how painful. But swallowing a little pill in a clean, soft bed or having my skull smashed against concrete for several hours— I know which way I prefer to die. Because we will, all of us. We’re all dying in this place. That’s what I mean about the game being tilted. There’s no way out. So why play?"

"Maybe you’re ready to die, but your colleagues aren’t."

He stood up. Then they’ll make their own choice. You want me to call off the strike, I’m not going to. The other scapegoats aren’t my kids. They do what they think is right. You’ve got nothing, warden. You don’t know any of us well enough to know what would break us. The only leverage you had over me walked out of the front gate this morning. We’re both free now. You just don’t know it yet.

The warden paled and her nostrils flared. Avern tried not to tense, expecting a blow. They won’t follow you, she said instead. Your strike will fall apart around you.

Maybe, he admitted. But if you actually believed that, you wouldn’t have bothered calling me up here. If you really want the strike to fall apart, all you have to do is open the gate and let us out. Give us a reason to play. He left the office without waiting for her response.

3

He stopped abruptly in the hallway. You forget something? asked the guard.

I want the tapes of Dara’s session with Sanders.

The guard shrugged. I don’t hear a lockdown bell, do you?

Avern didn’t wait for more permission than that, jogging down the administration wing toward Records.

The clerk was reluctant to release them, visibly wincing when Avern asked.

What do you want that record for? he asked. You know what goes on in those cells as much as anyone.

Not with this guy. You know what? Give me all the records of that client.

I don’t know if that’s—

There’s no rule against it. Avern leaned over the desk, planting his hands on its corners. The clerk flinched slightly away. Doesn’t fall under the media ban. It’s not from outside.

"But they aren’t your sessions. The DG prides itself on protecting client confidentiality—"

Bullshit, spat Avern. It isn’t as if you’ve never released records before. At least, to us in here. You do it all the time for training.

The clerk shook his head. "I never give you trouble. You know that. Always assumed you and Dara had good reasons to watch sessions and you’re right, there’s no rule against it. But why do you want these, Avern? Why would you want to watch her hurt like that?"

His gut roiled. He knew it was bad. One look at Dara after the hospital had told him that, but the clerk wouldn’t make a fuss unless it was truly cruel. Did he really want to watch it? "I don’t want to, but I need to. I’ve got a session scheduled with the guy next week."

The clerk sucked in a surprised breath. Yeah. Okay. He clicked through his computer and leaned toward Avern, lowering his voice. Best hurry. The Warden only okayed lifting the lockdown for a night. It’s only to give you an opportunity to persuade the others that the strike is failing. If you don’t— it’s back to confinement tomorrow. She hopes it’ll break you.

Why do you care? whispered Avern.

The clerk shifted back a little, glanced at his screen. Because if you don’t call off this strike, you’re going to put me out of work soon. Can’t afford it. Just tell them— just tell them Dara gave up, why don’t you? Make it easy on yourselves. It’ll all go back, smooth and quiet. No more lockdown. No more enraged clients. I’ve seen how bad they’ve gotten since you started this. Look, no one will think less of you—

Avern sneered. Yeah, they hardly could, he said. Have to go. I’ve got sessions to watch. Sorry about your job. You should probably start looking for another one.

The rec room was packed. Avern had hardly expected otherwise, it was the first opportunity for the goats to do anything besides pace their rooms for weeks. He considered waiting until they’d gone to bed and he could sit in the quiet dark to watch in peace. But part of him rebelled. The Warden wanted them to call this off. Wanted to give them a slight, stale breath of false freedom so they’d forget what they were fighting for. It might work, for a few days. Until each goat got a bad client again. But by then, the group would crumble and it’d be each goat on their own again, just like before.

That’s why we keep failing, over and over, Dara had told him. We’re thrown in those cells alone. We endure and die alone. She’d been right. He’d been shielded from it, because he had her to protect him from it. But the others— how often had he thought of them? Only when the injuries were severe enough to show. Only in the immediate aftermath of pain. He’d had enough focus for his own suffering and for Dara’s and little to spare for anyone else. It couldn’t be that way anymore. Not just because Dara was gone. It couldn’t be that way for any of them anymore. Time and calm were against them. The Warden only had to keep them in line a little longer and then the scapegoats would be someone else’s problem. Breaking the strike would do that. He couldn’t let it fall apart.

Maybe it wouldn’t matter, in the end. It was likely nothing would change, he knew that. Emerson would still take over. The session with Sanders would still happen. He’d die in this place. Maybe terminate next week. But if he could show them that somebody cared, that somebody saw— then at least the others would know they weren’t alone in that cell. Not really. He switched on the large screen. Found the records he wanted. He’d thought about saving Dara’s for last. He’d intended to, Sanders was likely less violent with Dawn and became progressively worse. Dara’s session had been the most recent. It’d be the most brutal. But he needed to shock them. Needed to shock himself out of the numbness of the loss. He sat on the floor below the screen. The others ignored him, absorbed in their own conversations and games of cards. The video was quiet at first, just the small clink of metal instruments being laid out in a neat line across a small table. The figure in it was vague, covered head to toe in a plastic hospital suit and apron, a surgical mask and safety glasses obscuring his face. Blood barrier, thought Avern, This guy was prepared to hurt her. Probably to kill. He’ll be even more prepared on Tuesday. Someone entered just beyond the camera’s reach.

You’re late. And you’re not the designated scapegoat I requested, said the man.

She was already engaged. The sound of Dara’s voice from the screen made a few of the conversations around Avern stop. A few heads turn. The man picked up a metal baton.

I did not give you permission to speak, he said and Avern tensed, as if he could spring up between Dara and the man.

Hey, said Paul from a nearby chair, She know you’re watching this?

No, admitted Avern.

Don’t you think you should tell her? He rose and went to the screen. Or at least— wait until not everyone can ogle her? He tapped the screen to stop it.

Can’t ask her. Besides, it’s not Dara I’m watching. It’s the client. I need to know what he does for next time.

We aren’t really going to let her go back in there with him, are we? asked Paul. I’ll— he broke off and shifted nervously. I’ll take the session, he finished at last. Paul’s offer was not something Avern had expected. Not after seeing how uneasy the facility made him.

More conversations had ended. It was growing quiet in the room. Warden’s stopped all session transfers. And points. And anything else she can think of, Roscoe said, stretching his leg. Or Avern would likely have taken the session weeks ago. He’s got far more reason to shield her than you do, goat. She’s going back in that cell, no matter what we do. Or how we prepare. Shut it off, Avern. Nobody wants to watch that. Can’t help her now. If she’s used to not compensating for her blind spot after all this time, a video isn’t going to train her to miraculously—

She’s not doing the session. I am. That’s why I’m watching this. I need to know what to expect. Avern turned to Paul. So if you could— he waved at the screen.

Who’d you sleep with to pull that off? sneered Roscoe. Your little bit in scheduling hasn’t been here for weeks.

Avern ground his teeth together. Wouldn’t accomplish anything to piss off Roscoe, weasel or not. He turned to look at him with a bitter smile. Started with the guards and worked my way up from there. You should try it some time. Probably be out of here already—

C’mon, Avern. You know I was kidding. How’d you get her session swapped? I tried a week ago and got a flat-out denial.

That surprised him, too. You tried? You’re only a few sessions from exculpation. And you can’t stand Dara. Why would you try to swap?

Insanity, maybe. I don’t know. Maybe I owe her. Maybe I’m just a sap. Maybe I wanted to know that one fucking person on this planet would care what happened to me. Would remember what I was when I’m gone. Not going to get that out there. Probably not in here either. But maybe. Maybe. Roscoe shook his head. "Forget it. Didn’t work anyway. You did something. You have something on the Warden? Spill it. If it can help us, tell us."

"I didn’t swap. Not really. I went to the Warden. Tried, just like you did to get her out of the session. The Warden refused. She admitted Sanders was ballistic at the end of this session. Because he’d requested Dawn and Dara stepped in. And then their session was interrupted early. He was ready to burn down the fucking facility in order to get his hands on Dara and finish the job. The Warden eventually persuaded him to return another day. There was no way she was going to allow a repeat of what happened. That’s why she cut off the swaps and the point transfers.

I thought she was doing something illegal. Surely, something as commonplace and interwoven into our lives as point transfers and swaps— those had to be protected. I couldn’t let it go, and we’d used the code against her before. The Warden’s wedded to it, she usually won’t break a rule even to save herself. But Dara was the one that knew the code inside and out, not me. So I read the whole damn thing, looking for the rule. The law that said we’re allowed to do it. It’s not there. It’s just a— custom. Maybe one that other scapegoat facilities don’t even have. That section Dara quoted to keep us fed— it was almost the only written protection in the thing. There are only three official ways to get a scapegoat out of a particular session. First— if the scapegoat’s already got another session scheduled. That’s how Margaret stopped this one. He pointed at the screen.

"Wasn’t going to work this time, the session with Sanders was already booked, and he made absolutely certain Dara was booked for hours. The second way is if the goat’s deemed medically unfit for sessions. We all know the Doc cleared her weeks ago. I begged her not to— she was just so damned worried about this Emerson thing. She wouldn’t wait. I thought about doing something. Rebreaking her arm or something. I— couldn’t. Not unless there were no other way. But there was. One more way. If the scapegoat’s not here, if they’re exculpated, they obviously can’t be forced to finish their scheduled sessions. Dara was short. But not by much." He took a deep breath.

There was no good way to tell them. No good time. "The Warden had stopped point transfers. But I went to her— Dara didn’t know. More than anything, the Warden wants this strike to fail. Even more than the letter of her precious code, she wants order back. I told her that Dawn was over her point limit. Didn’t want Sanders to go back to her, and I knew she wouldn’t exculpate no matter how I begged. You know how she is. I told her to check. So she did. It took a few days, but the Warden released her sometime late last night or early morning. I didn’t know she’d decide to clean house. Doc Cashmore, Marta, Willis— I didn’t know she’d throw them out too. I’m sorry."

Roscoe rubbed his cheek in frustration. Probably for the best. Dawn would be dead in a day on her own out there. We all know that. Maybe Doc— hell, I don’t know. Maybe it’s better to have them out there with her.

I hope so, said Avern. Because I sent Dara out there too.

A low muttering rippled through the room.

You said she didn’t have the points, snapped Roscoe.

She didn’t. But I had the rest. The Warden thought she was the driving force behind the strike. I let her think that. Encouraged it. I persuaded her that without Dara, the whole thing would collapse. I had to. I had to get her out of here. I’ve tried many times. She’d never take my points. And I— kept leaving it. Because I needed her. But what you said the other day, Roscoe— that if she went out there, she’d make people listen. She’d make them see. You’re right. We needed a voice outside. Lots of them, but she’ll do for a start. She was right, too. That we needed to show them people they weren’t drawn to as well. That if people couldn’t have empathy for the least of us, then it was no good. Wish I could have transferred the points you needed, too, and anyone else that was close. I would have cleaned myself out to do it, set my level back to where I started. But I could only push so far. And Dara had this session scheduled— I had to do it. Got her released just before sessions.

He could hear Lucas groan farther back in the room. Look, said Avern, "I don’t blame you if you’re angry with me. Or if you— cut me off. Wish you wouldn’t, but I get it. I took her from all of you. You’ll have your revenge soon enough. But don’t— don’t be angry with Dara. She didn’t even know. She had no say in it. She won’t forget us. She won’t just waltz off into the sunset without us. Don’t you forget her. Don’t give up on the strike. It’s working, or the Warden wouldn’t have leaped at the chance to damage it.

"The lockdowns will come back after tonight. She’s hoping I’ll tell you to call it off. That’s the only reason we’re sitting here. Don’t let it go back to what we were before. Even that’s going to be out of our reach in a few weeks. Fight for something better. Or— if you don’t care about that, stick with it because the Warden hates it. If we can’t destroy this place, if we can’t free ourselves— at least don’t make it easy for them. We’ve let that happen far too long. This place— everything in it makes you want to go passive. Until now, it’s been safer. Until now, it’s been easier just to let it happen. Just to endure until it’s over. But there’s no ‘over’ for us. There’s no way to win. So— we can either keep playing by the rules, keep submitting and losing over and over— or we can refuse to play. Break the pieces, ignore the rules, build our own way out."

He wasn’t certain what he expected. Some angry recrimination or panic. He’d felt both almost constantly since transferring his points. Frustration. Grief. Something. Some explosive reaction to her absence. But there was none. It was just another loss to them. Another goat that had disappeared, one way or another. A few turned back to their card games and conversations. Some wandered out of the rec room, likely to take the news to those who hadn’t heard it. He wasn’t certain if it were a good sign or a terrible one. If it meant the strike meant more to each of them than one person— or if they were in despair and giving up. Likely just shock, he told himself. They don’t know what to do. Neither did he. He looked at Paul. Start it up again, he told him. Paul hesitated but began the video again.

Roscoe shook his head and eased himself up out of the chair. Can’t watch this, man. You shouldn’t either. Best not to know. You aren’t going to miraculously gain superpowers by watching him beat her. Your body’s going to do what it’s going to do. No point in getting upset beforehand.

Avern glared at the screen. What do you suggest then? What’s your big plan? he asked.

Roscoe shrugged. If it were me— I’d terminate him if I could. Soon as I got through the door.

Then they’ll terminate me, too.

"He’s gonna kill you anyway, Avern. You already know that. Might as well take him with you. Stop him hurting anyone else. But hey— you asked what I’d do. I know that isn’t what Dara would say, and she seems to be the only person you listen to." He limped slowly out of the room. Paul shifted nervously, watching them. After Roscoe left, he sat beside Avern on the floor.

You don’t have to watch it either, said Avern after a moment, watching Dara dodge a vicious swing of Sanders’s baton. I know you never wanted a part of any of this. We’ve made your life here so much harder. I’m sorry for that. We didn’t intend it. Just trying— His breath caught and he hated the way his voice cracked. He cleared his throat. Just trying to keep everyone safe. That’s all we meant to do.

I know, said Paul. But I’ll stay all the same. You shouldn’t watch this alone.

I’ll be okay.

Lucas’s prosthetic creaked as he sank down on Avern’s other side. You won’t. And you’ll miss stuff. You’re already watching Dara instead of the client. We watch together, maybe we can catch more of what this guy’s habits are.

The rec room slowly emptied as the images on the screen became more violent.

You did the right thing, said Lucas as Sanders sliced Dara’s clothes apart.

I know, said Avern.

Yeah, I figured you did. Just thought you’d want to hear someone agree with you.

Avern flinched as Dara’s head clunked with a dull thud against the floor. Paul’s hand closed around his and gripped tightly. It ached and comforted him at the same time. Avern didn’t let go until the cell door opened on the screen and Margaret announced the end of the session.

4

Dr. Cashmore pulled Dara through the edge of the crowd. At first, the people parted easily, slightly awed by Dara’s angry outburst. But as they got deeper into the crowd and further from the gate, those who’d had only a blurry view of her at best and didn’t recognize her. Dara had to push through them. The closeness, the noise, the smell of so many bodies pressed together made her nervous. It was unnaturally warm between them and she felt as if she couldn’t get enough air. As if she’d drown in this flood of people. She began gasping and glanced around for some opening, yanking Dr. Cashmore’s arm toward the guardrail that corralled the crowd.

Are you all right? shouted Dr. Cashmore over the chant of the people around them. Dara shook her head and clutched at her chest.

Need to get out, she wheezed. The doctor grabbed Dara’s bag of books and began shoving people out of the way.

Medical emergency, she yelled, Make a path. It took a few seconds but then a few others began catching on, one man echoing the doctor’s shout and directing people to squeeze together and creating a narrow strip of clear pavement that slowly unfolded in front of them. Dara didn’t wait, first walking, then sprinting toward the patch of gray snow that lay at the end. The crowd dwindled and thinned until they could move freely and she stopped, bending over her own knees and panting to catch her breath. Dr. Cashmore’s hand slid over her back, warm and comforting.

It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re through. She waited until Dara’s breath lengthened and slowed. It’s okay, lots of space now. Lots of air.

Dara stood up slowly. I’m sorry, she said.

Dr. Cashmore shrugged. "Nothing to be sorry for. I would have expected a little bit of claustrophobia after all those years in the facility. Especially after the day you’ve