Page 51 of Skyn
I smile, tight. “The process is equitable. The council doesn’t calculate social rank in these testimonials.”
“Sure,” he says, nodding. “But why aren’t hispeerstestifying?”
A pause.
I consider lying.
Instead, I tell some of the truth. “Because all his peers have very specific jobs. And they believe—no matter how brutal the job, how impossible the burden—they have to do it.”
Josh folds his arms. “And Ben didn’t do his job.”
“Ben saved so many people.”
Josh’s voice is flat, final. “But he didn’t do his job. And now the upper crust has turned its back.”
Silence.
The people who should have fought for him, who should have stood by him—I’m thinking of you, Lily—closed ranks and left him to rot.
Which is why we need people, the masses, in particular.
“So,” he says, “you need a middle-manager rock mover to help your husband keep his job.”
I ignore the dig. I smile brighter. “I need an upstanding representative from our sector,” I say smoothly. “Someone who made it out in spite of the odds. It’s inspiring.”
“It’s desperate,” Josh says, and now I see my mistake. I gave him too much leverage. “I’ve been listening to a few enlightening radiocasts, and they say that atruealpha cyborg wants a top-tier partner who’s an extension of their success. Don’t you think your choice of partner is actually why your class turned their back on you?”
“That could very well be. But I”—Ben glances at me—“don’t listen to radiocasts about how to be a man.”
“Oh, that’s right, you’re a machine. You can buy anything, including women.Sweetheart,” Josh says, pointing to me instead of Dru.
Ben shoots up and leans over the table, taking the air out of Josh’s lungs. “You said ‘sweetheart.’” The table rocks, and the sauce spills out of the chipped container.
Great, we have chair-throwing Ben.
“What!” Josh’s smooth face looks like it’s melting.
Ben gathers Josh’s shirt. “Simple mix-up. You called my wife ‘sweetheart’ when you meant to call her my wife.”
“You’re crazy!”
“Fix it.”
“Fine, geez…Fawl, your wife.”
Josh backs away from the table, and Dru holds fast to the rickety thing before it thumps over.
This dinner is dead.
Dru, bless her heart, pops up, desperate to give the night CPR. “Dessert? We got cake!”
She and Josh shove each other into the kitchen, leaving Ben and me picking over the food in confusion.
“This is…going well, right?” I mouth.
Ben glares down at me with fire in his eyes, and I wonder if he even hears me. “It’s going just how I thought it would,” he says. His tone is inscrutable.
“The matrix?” I ask.
