Page 5 of Nolan
“What kind of work does he do?”
“He works for an investment firm.”
“That sounds fancy.”
“Way too fancy for me.” Jessica grins. “I’ll take fashion over finance any day.”
Once we’re inside, we’re joined by one of Jessica’s employees, an older woman with a little gray at her temples and crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. She’s carrying a box of sweet bread that’s already making my mouth water.
“You must be Mia,” she says with a smile. “It’s so good to finally meet the baby sister.”
“This is Lindsay.” Jessica gestures between us. “She’s my assistant manager.”
My eyes immediately want to wander and take everything in. Every clothing fixture is neatly stocked with Jessica’s designs for men and women, casual and classy. I expected a sort of warehouse smell. Instead, the air smells of vanilla, cinnamon, and the sweet bread I’m trying not to think about devouring that Lindsay’s still holding.
“Shit,” Jessica mutters, her manicured nails tapping furiously at her phone. “Of course, this happens now. I hate to introduce you and run, but I have an important conference call with fulfillment about our next shipment. There’s been some confusion that I need to set straight.” Jessica looks at me apologetically. “I’m sorry. Your bags are still in the car and everything.”
“It’s fine,” I tell her quickly. “I’d love to just jump right in and see how everything works here.”
“I can show her around,” Lindsay volunteers. Jessica waves and walks off to take her call. Lindsay opens the box of sweet bread and offering it up to me. “I like bringing these in from time to time. Want to try one?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” I reply and eagerly dive in. “I’m a sucker for pastries.”
“How are you feeling, being back home?”
“I love it! Belmont’s so beautiful. And I can’t wait to check out my old hangouts in New Carnegie too, take a walk down memory lane, you know?”
“Just be careful about that,” Lindsay says wisely. “Ever since the attack on the Humanity First protest last year, the city’s been on edge. And the museum bombing . . .”
I look at her in disbelief. “Somebody bombed a museum?”
“Yes, just a few days ago.”
I can’t believe I missed news like that, but now it totally makes sense why airport security feels more oppressive than usual. TerraPura has been causing problems everywhere, here in the States and in Europe. It’s normally pretty hard to ignore, but I’ve been so busy. With all the news about more layoffs, economic hardship, and proxy wars, I’ve been deliberately avoiding keeping up with it. Big mistake. I feel a bit sheepish at being so self-absorbed.
“Did they catch whoever was responsible?”
“It was TerraPura, most definitely. As far as catching someone, there was nothing to catch.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the android just walked in and blew itself to smithereens, took people with it, and injured a lot more. Just make sure you never go into downtown New Carnegie alone,” Lindsay says as she samples a slice of sweet bread herself. “It’s not safe anymore. Especially for pretty young ladies like you.”
“I’m not sure about young, but I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, trying not to think about something so sinister. Another terrorist bombing, right in our city? It’s too awful to comprehend. As Lindsay returns to her work, I can’t help myself then; I pull up a news app on my phone and browse through several articles as I continue enjoying my sweet bun. I find photos of the museum exterior, the ambulances, the police, and sigh softly to myself.
New Carnegie isn’t perfect. I’ve always known that. BioNex is here, after all, and there was that attack last year too, at the Humanity First march. But I’m not planning on walking alone in downtown New Carnegie at night, and Belmont seems safe enough. Maybe it’ll be fine.
Just in case, though, I should talk to Apollo and Jessica about it and make sure I take the proper precautions. I grew up here; it’s not like I don’t know New Carnegie can be a dangerous city, and how careful a woman needs to be when she’s going out. But with the added danger of explosive robots trying to take out busloads of children in history museums, I need to know what to look for.
Androids are everywhere on the West Coast too, so they never really bothered me. Now, after losing my job, I’m not sure how I feel. Sure, I’m pissed, and I’ve always been a little sympathetic to Humanity First, advocating for the preservation of jobs for human beings. But I’ve never fully jumped on board with them either. I don’t like how violent some of their people can be, and even though I’ve listened to a lot of Katrina Carson’s interviews within the Humanity First movement, her dad is the founder, and he isn’t my favorite personality.
I just want to design pretty dresses and market my sister-in-law’s creations. Borrowing trouble isn’t going to preserve my mental health, and from what I can tell, there’s an android scanner already installed at the front entrance of the store. Part of President McKinley’s mandates to protect people from TerraPura.
I push past those thoughts, focusing on Lindsay instead when she returns from checking the changing rooms. “Thanks for the treat. It’s delicious. Do you think you could give me the tour? It’ll give me an idea of where to get started on the social media account.”
“No time like the present, then,” Lindsay says as we finish our pastries. She hands me a napkin. “You got some on your nose.”
I clean myself up bashfully. “Thanks.”
