CHAPTER ELEVEN
Nova
THIRTY-FIVE DAYS LEFT
It happened so fast. Monday morning, I downloaded the Freedom System app, and there it was – my status, the results only a few hours old. Turned out I was the only Williams without the sickle cell trait. There was something ironic about it, being healthy enough to get paid to carry a disease.
Tuesday, I stood outside the Freedom System Labs in Crestview, searching for a bike rack.
The South Alta center had no available appointments.
Neither did MidCity or Westlake, but Dr Orion wanted to push me straight through to the next step.
It felt like the system was as desperate for me as I was for it; maybe, with my blood type, Dominion and Dr Orion didn’t want to give me the chance to change my mind.
Estelle had spent a year on the waiting list – her blood type more common.
I scanned the Carrier entrance, my eyes darting to the street every time a car passed.
Glass storefronts lined this stretch of Sunrise Avenue – Estelle’s new favorite boutique, Knitted and Knotted, sat a block over.
Next to it was a custom surfboard shop, wooden longboards displayed in the window.
Above, the glassways projected a hazy sky.
It was the last week of August, and this was Cas’s neighborhood. I hadn’t told him what I was doing. Or Estelle. I didn’t want to give anyone the opportunity to talk me out of it.
I couldn’t stop thinking about him – the pain on his face as he told the world he could feel every jolt of the disease under his skin.
That was another reason I couldn’t talk to him now.
I didn’t want anyone thinking this was for him.
Social feeds were flooded with people signing up to be the Carrier for Castor Fox.
The Freedom System had published a statement reminding Alta Bay – and the rest of California – of the proximity requirement: Giver and Carrier couldn’t live within a set number of miles of each other.
The same notice flashed on the hologram signage outside the Crestview Labs.
I tapped my foot, ignoring it. My search for a bike rack had proved fruitless – not a single one of the storefronts had one. Fine. I’d take my bike inside with me.
Cool air conditioning rushed toward me as the automated doors slid open and I wheeled in my hot-pink solar ride. At the window, a thin, older white man waited with far too much enthusiasm.
‘How may we make your day pain-free?’ he asked, teeth sparkling. ‘I’m assuming you saw our notice on your way in?’
‘Yes. I’m not here for that. Dr Orion submitted my referral for Dr Janus. My name is Nova. Nova Williams.’
‘Oh, good. Let’s get you signed in.’ The nurse glanced over the raised counter to my bike. ‘Please leave your transportation in the rack hall to the left, then take a seat. I’ll bring out your forms.’
I found the indoor rack hall with ease. It was mainly empty, with one lone bike at the far end.
Apparently, no one rode bikes in Crestview, which was wild, considering how expensive this one was.
Someone had to be buying them. I wheeled mine on to the track and locked it in, then double-locked it with my own key set.
With all the luxury cars outside, I doubted anyone would lift it, but habits were habits.
Back in the waiting room, the nurse handed me a solisTablet with the necessary forms and pointed me toward a seat in the back corner.
It was the fanciest waiting area I’d ever seen.
I shifted in the white leather chair, then stopped when it made a questionable squeak.
Disappointing that luxury could be this uncomfortable.
What type of waiting room was Cas used to?
I pushed him from my mind and wished for a softer cushion – something broken in by a few aunties and kids from the neighborhood.
The first page read ‘Freedom System Pain Carrier Application: To Divide Our Burdens Is the Greatest Gift of All.’
Reading it only reminded me of how pissed Daddy was this morning. ‘Nope. Not my daughter. You’re not doing that.’ He’d caught me checking my screening status (because I had no plans of telling him – yet).
‘Didn’t Leo just apply?’ I’d countered, stealing a forkful of his scrambled eggs while he stirred Skye’s grits on the stove.
‘And he was denied, thankfully. I don’t want that for my family – carrying someone else’s pain. We have enough of our own. I don’t care about tolerance levels or dirty paychecks. But I know I can’t stop you. You’re stubborn, like your mama.’
That made me smile. She’d died when Skye was born, but I remembered everything about her. She’d overseen the South Alta Food Pantry, always pushing for more grants. The word no was not in her vocabulary.
I hoped she’d be proud of this – of me.
It took a little over ten minutes to fill out all the forms, one being an NDA packed with too much legal language for me to understand, other than the part about not wanting Pain Carriers complaining or leaving bad reviews.
I was sure the Crestview center had a perfect five-star rating.
The last page was a confidentiality agreement promising I’d never try to find out whose pain I carried.
Anonymity was woven into the proximity requirement.
According to the fine print, the system only made matches where the Carrier and Giver were states apart – a minimum of five hundred miles – and required notification of any relocation plans.
Why anyone would try to track down their Pain Giver was beyond my comprehension.
I leaned my head back against the wall behind me.
I just need the paycheck. It didn’t matter whose pain provided it.
I jotted down answers to the last few questions: Have you associated with any Pain Givers or natural carriers of helical disease entering the Freedom System?
List any Pain Carriers with whom you regularly interact.
I wrote no for the first. Everything with Cas was so new, and it didn’t matter anyway.
We’d never be paired. For the second, I scribbled Estelle and Rox’s names, along with a classmate I sometimes partnered with for chem labs, and my old neighbor – now owner of the Doghouse.
Cas crept back into my thoughts, and I pushed him right back out. I felt guilty for going ghost on him after his big announcement. But he was probably laid up at home, surrounded by the best doctors with the best pain accommodations. I needed to focus on myself.
I turned in the solisTablet and went back to waiting.
The room was fuller now and reminded me of my mural – Black and Brown faces of almost every age, with hand-me-down flare shades and dried-out flare contacts.
There was still a little paint under my nails from when I’d stopped by the wall earlier, hoping a few quick touchups would calm my nerves. Those nerves were back.
‘This is just paperwork and a physical, Nova,’ I muttered. Shake it off.
The walls of the room were the same stark white as the leather chairs.
Crystal lights hung in glass globes from the ceiling.
A dozen monitors looped clips and advertisements for Dominion, one screen replaying an interview snippet of President St James.
The framed posters gave off the vibes of motivational propaganda in an almost comical way.
Your pain is society’s gain.
We reach new heights with your selfless sacrifice.
It was giving dystopian sci-fi, but then I saw the faces of thriving families. The grin of Lucille B. Anarcha. I’m doing this for Daddy, Leo, Skye. We deserve to smile.
‘Nova Williams?’
I jerked upright.
A different nurse stood beside a barred door, her eyes shifting across the crowd until she noticed me stand. She waved, her bubbly excitement matching the dozens of corgi pups splashed across her scrubs. ‘Follow me.’
She pressed her biosig, and the door unlocked and opened automatically.
She let me through, her white teeth gleaming.
I followed her down a long corridor to a small alcove with the usual pre-physical setup.
I stepped on to a hologram plate and straightened my back while my weight, height and body mass index projected in the empty air beside me, then sat as the blood pressure cuff tightened around my arm.
A quick ah, and the nurse took my temperature.
Then we were on the move again, stopping at an all-white room with a single glass stool and a plush patient bed in the center. A bare counter with one drawer was pressed against the back wall.
‘Get changed and Dr Orion will be in to see you soon,’ said the nurse.
‘Dr Orion works here too? I thought I was seeing a Dr Janus.’
‘Dr Janus will handle your procedure when the time comes. We like to have the referring doctor come in to finish the physical part of the screening, so you’ll see a familiar face.
’ She smiled and pointed to the hospital gown folded on the bed.
‘You can get changed.’ She left before I could say thank you.
Trying not to let my nerves and anxiousness unsettle me – I needed this – I wiggled out of my shorts and tank and into the hospital gown. I kept my socks on – the room was freezing. The paper sheet under me stuck awkwardly to my thighs as I sat on the bed.
I’m doing this. I took a deep breath and swung my legs.
There was barely a knock before Dr Orion entered, her smile just as enthusiastic as the nurse’s.
‘Nova! It was so good to hear from you yesterday. I’m glad you were able to come on such short notice.
’ She snapped on her nitrile gloves. ‘George at the front told me you have the most adorable pink solar ride with you. If you’d like, we can arrange for a car to drive you home after. It’s the least we can do.’
‘Oh.’ I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like the special treatment. ‘Sure, I guess. If the car can fit my bike.’