He glanced at the pill bottle and muttered under his breath. Finally, he looked up at me, took a deep breath, and started walking down the row of people-sized tubes, tapping them as he went. As he tapped them, the tubes lit up and their tops slid smoothly back.“Okay, Master Sargent Steward, you’ll have the first tube here, the concubine with diabetes takes the next one, the concubine with the contacts takes the next one, and have her remove those contacts before she gets in, and the final three go in the next three tubes, no special order. Please remove your clothes before entering the pod and drop them and the bags and purses next to the pods; the AI keeps an eye on everything. Sorry to hurry you, but since you got here before the crowd, I’d like to get you all started right away because there is always an almighty cock-up when this place gets jammed.”Ruth asked, “Is this where we decide what we want to look like?”The corpsman laughed but did not talk directly to the girls. I. "Hmph. Troublemaker my black ass! Son, what you need is a decent set of folks to take care of you and an assload of fresh air and sunshine." This was not typical for a meeting with a social worker, at least in my experience. But before the week was up I was on a bus headed towards a farm that the papers I was given called Applestream Orchards. The trip took days, and every time I would transfer to a new bus the highways gave way to back roads, which gave way to black top tarmac strips, which, at a dusty old gas station that still had a Vote for Carter sign hanging in the window, branched off to a pair of dirt car tracks lined by ancient elm trees. I stepped down from the final bus feeling sticky and grimy the way only three days worth of Greyhound buses can make you feel. As I pulled my lone suitcase from the storage area a sudden shadow loomed over me. Looking up I saw a man in his early forties clothed in a flannel shirt, dirt caked work boots, and a pair of faded overalls. He.
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