Free Scardown-Jenny Casey-2 by Elizabeth Bear

thought they were so good at keeping secrets.
    “Papa, I'm sixteen.”
    “Already?” He made a joke of it, and Patricia knew the conversation was over. But she'd seen the loathing in Casey's face, and wondered.
If it isn't me, it must be him
.
    She changed the subject. “When can I start the neural modifications?”
    “We'll be picking candidates in the next couple of weeks.” His gaze stayed steady on her face now, and she was glad.
    “You're not going to try to keep me from getting wired, are you? I thought you might be kind of funny that I qualified.”
    “Proud,” he said. “You know there's only one other girl in the program?”
    “I didn't know there were any others. I've only met boys. How come?”
    “Boys are more likely to spend their days in front of video games.” He made a tossing-away gesture as Patricia turned her attention back to her dinner. “Pity, as girls your age are much more grown-up and easier to work with. I suspect you'll test high. You're not worried about the surgery?”
    “Mostly not. Lieutenant Koske and Master Warrant Officer Casey came through it all right, and I already had the neural VR.” She wouldn't let the apprehension that turned the noodles in her mouth into a gag-worthy lump show in her voice. “And they're older than I am.”
    “Yes,” Papa Fred said, his face curiously smooth and his voice soft. “It's much, much safer now. It takes longer than the VR implants, though, and there are still risks.”
    Patricia let it turn over in her head for a while. “Would you do it?”
    “In a nanosecond,” he answered. “You should finish your supper before it gets cold.”
     
    She's perfectly fifteen, sixteen. On the tall side, heavy fall of shiny brunette hair. I can just see the edges of her interface through it, and I can't stop staring over her shoulder at the paternal little smile Valens is wearing. He catches me at it and I have to look down. I can't take the vindication in his eyes. Yeah, Fred. She's a nice-looking kid. What would you do to somebody who treated her the way you treated me?
    Or if it were for king and country, would it all seem okay? It doesn't matter, does it? Not really.
    The noodles are too salty. To my enhanced senses the udon is like fat, ropy worms and besides, the Hammer always kills my appetite—and flying the
Montreal
is exhausting as only something that calls for total concentration can be.
    The fluorescent overheads strobing against the back of my eyes make me flinch. Everything's still sharp as etched glass, focused through the lens of the drug. I can pick out every voice in the cramped, crowded mess hall, although I can't quite focus on an individual conversation. I wonder if it's similar to what Richard picks up from the aliens—a whisper of party noise, and no sense at all.
    I catch myself rolling the knife between my hands, staring at the lights reflected in the unsmudged blade. I force myself to look away. My edge is fading and I left the bottle in my cabin. I should put it in my locker down by the scrubbers, but Hyperex is a controlled substance. Everybody onboard
has
to know I have it, and my quarters are more secure.
    Every sparkle, every movement catches my attention like a waved hand. I notice the captain at her table, although she usually eats in her cabin. She's entertaining the Unitek brass. I cast one last glance around the room for Gabe—no dice—and get up to ditch my tray.
    Marde. Enough of this. I'm going for a walk.
    My meat hand is shaking by the time I reach the ring corridor. I stuff it in the pocket of my jumpsuit and keep walking. I
hate
coming down. Hate hangovers. Hate that feeling that the world is that much closer, sandpaper on bare flesh instead of crystal-smooth and a warm quarter-inch away. I miss Richard in my head, ironic calming company. I walk back toward my quarters. I am not taking another pill.
    Not.
    I don't need it anymore.
    Gabe must still be working. I find my hatchway, let my thumb hover over