short it might last. She was completely unphased by the events of the night, and even wanted to stay awake to play with her older sister when they returned home early that morning. Kaela was exhausted though; Mira thought she cried the whole time they were gone. However carefree Ami might be, her sister was old enough to understand they were in trouble. If only they were all as unburdened as the two-year-old.
The speakers overhead crackled with static. The voice that spoke seemed hollow, more machine than human. “Mira, report to the foreman’s office.”
She froze at her station, holding two electroid parts above the conveyor belt. She listened, waiting for the message to repeat itself. The voice was hardly clear, so perhaps she had misheard. But no, somebody coughed politely behind her. When Mira turned she saw Angela standing there, the replacement worker that roamed the factory and took women’s place when they needed to use the toilet. Mira handed over the parts and left her station.
If they wanted to remove me it would have been yesterday , she thought. That was what they usually did, waiting until the last day so they wouldn’t need to pay for the week’s work. Maybe Jin just wants to give me a warning . She’d let plenty of electroid parts get through unfinished when her hand was trembling, so it would come as no surprise if she were reprimanded.
Maybe he wanted something else. Elena bragged that she knew how to please Jin, but he might be bored with her. Mira was handsome, at least when she had a chance to clean the grime from her face. Perhaps that was why he wanted to see her. The thought made her nauseous. She considered turning around and fleeing the factory altogether, but somehow she kept walking forward.
Women glanced up from their work as she passed. Mira saw expressions of fear, or sympathy, or relief. She didn’t look back at any of them, except Elena, whose face she searched for clues of what awaited. But her face only held curiosity, not the smug satisfaction of responsibility. Elena had not caused her fate, whatever it may be.
The anteroom to the foreman’s office was where his secretary sat, a prim-looking woman with tight hair and legs as white as the women at the Station. Jin the Foreman was bent over her desk, speaking to her quietly. “Go on in, I’ll be there in a moment,” he said when he finally noticed Mira standing there.
His office had a tall window facing the factory floor. Many of the workers stared openly now, eager to observe her fate. She felt like an animal on display. The only chair was the one behind the desk, so she shuffled to the corner next to the window, where she could not be seen through the glass. She felt foolish, but a little less afraid.
She saw it then, just visible from around the edge of the desk. The top drawer was open slightly, and the light overhead reflected off rows of glass. She didn’t know how many credits were there, but it was more than she’d ever seen.
Why would he leave the drawer unlocked and open? Was it a trap? She knew the Melisao played games with the Praetari, baiting them into breaking the law so they could make an example. There had to be thousands of credits there, more than she would earn in a lifetime.
Jin entered the room then, closing the door behind him with a click. He jerked when he realized she was in the corner. He eyed her suspiciously as he went around his desk, lowering himself slowly into the chair. He clicked a button on his desk and the window darkened slightly. “I don’t blame you for hiding,” Jin said, “you women are vicious to one another. You can relax now; they cannot see you.”
He seemed oblivious to the open drawer next to him, showing no sign that he knew Mira had been looking at it. He took her silence for agreement and nodded to himself.
She took a step toward the desk. “You wanted to see me?”
“Your daughter was sick last night.”
Mira opened her mouth, but then closed it again. How
Learning to Kill: Stories