The Game of Smash and Recovery

The Game of Smash and Recovery

By Kelly Link (excerpt)

Something is wrong with Oscar. Well, more wrong than is usual these days. Well, more wrong than is usual these days. Down in the warehouse, he keeps getting underfoot. Underhand, in the case of the Handmaids. When Anat extends all sixteen of her senses, she can feel worry and love, anger and hopelessness and hope running through him like electrical currents. He watches her – anxiously – as if he were a vampire.

There is an annotation on one of the charts. It is believed to be in this region the Come What May was lost. The thing in Anat’s head annotates the annotation, too swiftly for Anat to catch a glimpse of what she is thinking, even as she thinks it. She scans the rest of the chart, goes through the others and then through each one again, trying to catch herself out.

As Anat ponders charts, the Handmaids, efficient as ever, assemble a thing out of the warehouse goods to carry the other goods that they deem interesting. They clack at Oscar when he gets particularly in their way. Then ruffle their hair, trail fingers down his arm as if he will settle under a caress. They are agitated by Oscar’s agitation and by Anat’s awareness of his agitation.

Finally, Anat gets tired of waiting for Oscar to say the thing that he is afraid to say to her. She looks at him and he looks back at her, his face wide open. She sees the thig that he has tried to keep from her, and he sees that she sees it.

When?

Soon. A short-cycle from now. Less.

Why are you so afraid?

I don’t know. I don’t know what will happen.

Game of Smash and Recovery. Photo by Elena

There is a scraping against the top wall of the warehouse. Vampires. Creatures of ill omen. Forever wanting what they are not allowed to have. Most beautiful in their departure. The Handmaids extend filament rods, drag the tips along the inside of the top wall, tapping back. The vampires clatter away.

Oscar looks at Anat. He is waiting for something. He has been waiting, Anat thinks, for a very long time.

Oscar! Is this her? Something is welling up inside her. Has she always been this large? Who has made her so small? I call Endgame. I claim your makers.

She projects the true location of each. Smash and Recovery. She stirps the fake markers of their coding so that he can see how his trick has been uncovered. Then she’s off, fast and sure and free, the Handmaids leaping after her, and the vampires after them. Oscar last of all. Calling her name.