Cottonwood Read Free Page A

tune: Over the Rainbow , wordlessly hummed, over and over. She smiled as she sang, looking brightly out the window at the white face of the containment wall. Little Pollyanna.
    “Ah, but we wouldn’t mind a slice, nee ?” he joked, still not looking at his companion. “A little sweety to clear the palate, as it were?”
    Piotr grunted agreement, but without much interest. Women were, to Piotr, as gloves. He fit them over his hand and used them, then forgot. Van Meyer could recall a night when his dangerous young hyena had gone with him to a brothel he knew, found it closed, and gone instead to the music shop next door, where he had killed the cashier and fucked all three patrons—ages eighteen, forty, and sixty-three—before shooting them as well. He did not kill every woman he took to his brutish bed, but when war and lust are one’s only entertainments, it stands to reason one kills many. Van Meyer tried to keep him well-stocked and away from the sheep.
    “Ah, I suppose it is time,” he said with a smile. Past time. The sheep were seated now, shifting, restless. “Let us go, my friend, and do good work.”
    Piotr laughed again, dutiful Piotr. The IBI logo, We Do Good Work , had been van Meyer’s idea.
    He smiled at Pollyanna as he passed her table and she smiled back, naturally. Women felt safe smiling at him. He had a grandfather’s smile now, a grandfather’s walk. A tall man, still a striking man, he dressed well, carried well, spoke well, albeit with an accent he had cultivated to a polish and not to extinction. Dutch blood, tempered by many generations in African sheets, gave him good temper and well-aged good looks. He wore spectacles now when he read. He carried a handkerchief and offered it now and then, gallantly. He did not carry the guns he sold. He carried the men who fired them.
    “Good morning,” he said to the room filled with his newest acquisitions. “I am Damek van Meyer, chief executive of International Bureau of Immigration. This is my associate and head of IBI security, Mr. Piotr Lantz.”
    A smattering of hellos, some of them appropriately awed at having such an esteemed personage engaged in such a menial duty as this orientation seminar, but most oblivious to the honor. This was America, land of the celebrity.
    “You are to be congratulated, for you have all been selected to embark upon a grand new journey in the history of our planet Earth.” Statements of this sort never failed to earn respect in the eyes of sheep, even today. Pollyanna’s pretty smile broadened as she looked up at him, all attention and innocent eyes. “If you have been following the news, then you know that there have been several human interests groups in your capitol and indeed, very close to these offices, who make demands on behalf of the residents of Cottonwood. Naturally, we wish to satisfy them. Naturally indeed, it has always been our goal to provide our guests with a human liaison, to better facilitate integration.”
    Pollyanna smiled, beautiful as an angel.
    “Alas, our gears grind slowly, nee ? Slowly, but exceedingly fine. And you are here. As of this day, this moment, you are become IBI employee, and representative of entire human race.”
    Pollyanna hummed under her breath, three notes, and was silent, blushing prettily.
    “Today’s seminar is meant to introduce you to your duties and to your clients. Please pay close attention to this briefing and feel free to use paz or Digitel to make notes. If you do not have one—” And here he paused to let the Americans laugh. In this country, such devices were issued along with their social security numbers; it was no more possible to go along without one as the other. In this country, they did not protest RealID or Locatech, but insisted on it, just so long as they could also stream live video and store one million of their favorites songs. He had camps all over the world, even in his own home country, but he had to admit he loved this one best. The