Beggars and Choosers by Nancy Kress Read Free Book Online

them. If voters don’t watch the
donkey channels, then the only people they ever see not dressed in
jacks are Samuelson’s techs at the warehouse distrib twice a week. Once
a week, now.
    Suddenly I wondered, me, if that
was
Samuelson. Maybe the
holo was just a tape. Maybe the real Samuelson was someplace dressed up
for a party, or in jacks—if donkeys ever wore jacks, them—or even
naked, him, taking a shit. It was weird to think about.
    “Yes, Mayor Sawicki?” Samuelson said. “How can I serve you, sir?”
    “There’s at least four rabid raccoons in East Oleanta, Supervisor.
Maybe more. The area monitor picked them up, it, before it broke. We
seen the coons, right in town. They’re dangerous. I told you, me, two
weeks ago that the game warden ‘bot broke.”
    Samuelson said, “Game warden duties have been franchised to the
Sellica Corporation. I notified them, sir, as soon as you notified me.”
    But Jack wasn’t taking any of that shit. Like I said, me, he was a
good mayor. “We don’t care, us, who’s supposed to do the job! It’s your
responsibility that it gets done, Supervisor. That’s why we elected
you, us.”
    Samuelson didn’t change expression. That’s when I decided, me, that
he was a tape. “I’m sorry, mayor, you’re quite right. It is my
responsibility. I’ll take care of it right away, sir.”
    “That’s what you said two weeks ago. When the warden first broke,
it.”
    “Yes, sir. Funding has been—yes, you’re quite right, sir. I
am
sorry. It won’t be neglected again, sir.”
    People nodded at each other:
damn right
. Behind me Paulie
Cenverno muttered, “Got to be firm, us, with donkeys. Remind ‘em who
pays the votes.”
    Jack said, “Thank you, Supervisor. And one more thing—”
    “Hey!” a stomp screamed at the other end of the cafe, “The foodbelt
stopped, it!”
    Dead silence fell.
    The holo of Samuelson said sharply, “What is it? What’s the
problem?” For a minute he almost sounded, him, like a person.
    The stomp screamed again, “Fucking thing just stopped, it! Ate my
meal chip and stopped! The food cubbies don’t open, them!” He yanked at
all the plasticlear cubby doors, and none budged, but of course they
don’t never budge, them, unless you put your chip in the slot. The
stomp slammed on them with his club, and that didn’t help neither.
Plasticlear don’t break.
    Jack ran, him, across the cafe, his belly bouncing under his red
jacks. He stuck his own meal chip into the slot and pressed a cubby
button. The chip disappeared, it, and the cubby didn’t open. Jack ran
back to the terminal.
    “It’s broke, Supervisor. The goddamn foodbelt’s broke, it— eating
chips and not giving out no food. You got to do something real quick.
This can’t go no two weeks!”
    “Of course not, Mayor. As you know, the cafe isn’t part of my
taxes—it’s funded and maintained by Congresswoman Land. But I’ll notify
her myself, immediately, and a technician will be there from Albany
within the hour. Nobody will starve within an hour, Mayor Sawicki. Keep
your constituents calm, sir.”
    Celie Kane shrilled, “Fixed like the warden ‘bot, you mean? If my
kids go hungry even a day, you mule bastard—”
    “Shut up,” Paulie Cenverno told her, murderously low. Paulie don’t
like to see donkeys abused to their faces. He says, him, that they got
feelings too.
    “Within one hour,” Jack said. “Thank you for your help, Supervisor.
Dialogue over.”
    “Dialogue over,” Samuelson said. He smiled at us, him, the same
smile like on his election holos, chin up and crinkly eyes bright. The
holo pushed a button on his desk. The picture disappeared. But
something must of gone wrong because the voice didn’t disappear, it,
only it sounded all different. Samuelson still, but no Samuelson we
never seen or heard campaigning, us: “Christ—what
next
! These
morons and imbeciles—I’m tempted to just—oh!” The terminal yelped and
went dead.
    A woman at a far table