Project 17

2

 “Good morning and welcome to—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Lillian stopped for a second to be scanned by the smiling Sentry posted at the entrance and walked briskly to the candy shelves, almost stepping on a Zoned-out six-year-old throwing a tantrum on the grocery floor. He apparently lost the game and wanted to start over, but his confederates, with their blue Zoner screens covering their eyes like blindfolds, wanted to play a new round.

“Come on, Greg,” one child, a girl, said, pressing a button to retract the Zoner screen and reveal her face. “Stop being a dick.”

Lillian laughed and took two whole packs of Candy Stripe. Sometimes this grocery store entertained her. The comm system, instead of playing soothing muzak, played one of those loud songs with bass lines that filled you with dread as you shopped.

But change was coming to Hagonoy. Lillian ripped one Candy Stripe pack open and stuck the red licorice twist in her mouth, reading the new sign on the wall:

YOU ARE SAFE HERE.

This is a Sentry-certified facility.

No corruption.

No abuse of power.

No crime.

COMPLETE SECURITY.

Sooner or later they are going to replace the cashiers with robots, Lillian thought.

She was contemplating what milk to buy when her phone rang.

“What do you want?” Lillian spat.

“And people actually trust you with their children?” Jamie said, no doubt staying with his cousin inside Lillian's one-bedroom apartment again. “I am astounded.”

Lillian lifted a carton of non-fat milk and placed it in her basket. “You will be further astounded to find that I just got myself a job for the summer.”

“I don’t know why parents rely on your kind still. I mean, they can just buy those Zoners.”

“‘My kind’, huh.”

“Babysitters are a dying breed, Lillian. The robots are coming.”

“Right,” Lillian said, walking to the counters. “Anyway, it’s not a kid.”

Lillian could almost see Jamie’s frown lines. “No?”

“Nope. I’ll tell you and Max later. I assume Max is already there, invading my couch and sitting on all of my pillows?”

“Not a kid?” Jamie said. “Is it a really rich old man? Tell me!”

“Later.”

“Are you buying Candy Stripe again? That shit’s going to rot your teeth.”

“It’s either this or a blackened lung, James.”

“Drama queen,” Jamie said.

What Lillian found infuriating about the new no-hands that everyone except herself apparently used were the lack of ambient sound, so she didn’t know whether Jamie was in the kitchen making dinner or in front of her fridge raiding her chocolate stash.

“Don’t eat my chocolate,” she said, and hung up.

“Hello, Lillian,” the cashier said.

“Hello, Dina.” Some of the cashiers knew her by name, and Lillian tried her best to remember theirs.

“Good day today?”

Lillian shrugged. “I guess. Found a job.”

Dina laughed. “Maybe I should look for one now. I’m becoming obsolete.”

The stores in the cities had no cashiers, or salespersons: before the exit, customers need only pass their items through a scan and tap their card on a sensor, and a robot would bag the purchase for them.

Lillian placed the items on the belt: milk, bread, eggs, burger patties, peanut butter, two big bags of potato chips, rice, instant coffee, Candy Stripe.

“Card, please,” Dina said.

Lillian handed the card Paul had given her. Dina saw the Titanium emblem and glanced at Lillian, reappraising her worth.

The reader beeped.

“Oh,” Dina said. “I don’t think it’s been activated yet.”

“Clever son of a bitch,” Lillian said, and handed her other card.

“From the new employer?” Dina said with a knowing wink. “Well, it was worth a try.”