Digital Divide (Rachel Peng) Read Free

whether she perceived someone as blue when they were calm because that was how they appeared to her expanded senses, or whether her mind interpreted something otherwise unknowable as blue because she had been conditioned to think of it as a calming color. Rachel would have loved to stick the implant in her grandmother’s head, a woman who kept to the old Chinese tradition of white as the color of death. Would she and lăo lao see white at the same time, or would Rachel see black where her grandmother saw white? She had no one to talk to about these things: honestly, she was usually frustrated as much as fascinated.
    “You’re staring,” Santino said as he dropped back into the booth.
    She snickered. “Not exactly.” 
    He dropped his voice to just above a whisper. “You’re listening in?”
    “No. You’d be surprised at how fast the fun of hearing what other people really think about you wears off.”
    They stood to leave, gathering up their cellophane carnage, when Zockinski and his partner came at them. 
    “Ah crap. Round two, fight.” Santino said. “You better get out of here. They won’t bluff off this time.”
    “Hang on,” she said, seeing some blues and greens among the orange. “Let’s see what they want.”
    Jacob Zockinski was a homicide detective and Rachel supposed he fit the part. He wore off-the-rack for plainclothes and was in fair shape. Her frame of reference was different on such things, but she assumed he was decently attractive for a man some years her senior. Matt Hill, his partner, had that rare basketball player’s build of tall, whip-thin, and sturdily muscled. He also had the loudest body language of anyone Rachel had ever met. With his height, he might as well have paid for his opinions to be displayed on a billboard. He was there (arms crossed, torso slightly turned towards the door, and standing several steps behind Zockinski) for no other reason than to show support for his partner.
    “We’d like your advice,” Zockinski said. His hands were deep in his pockets and he appeared casual, but he was flickering that same sickish purple-gray. 
    “I really don’t think you do,” Rachel said. 
    “We have a tech problem,” Zockinski spoke over her. 
    “Somebody should have shown up on film, but didn’t. Think she can help us out?” Hill spoke to Santino. 
    “Work a case with you?” Rachel laughed. “No thanks.”
    “Look at a tape for us. That’s what you do,” Hill said, glaring at an invisible spot several feet above her head.
    “Yup, that’s what your tax dollars buy, me sitting on my butt, watching TV. Go find yourself a housewife who kills her afternoons with her soaps. I’m sure there’s one or two of them left.”
    “This would be a big favor to us,” Zockinski said through gritted teeth.
    “You know what’s hard to prove, Raul?” Rachel asked her partner. 
    “Where to draw the line between harassment and teasing?”
    “Indeed! Wafer-thin, especially between colleagues.”
    “And it’s not like someone who hates you would offer to work with you.” 
    “So true. It seems I must be a fragile, overly sensitive woman who can’t take a joke.”
    “I’ve always thought so.”
    “I liked her better when she didn’t talk,” Zockinski said to Santino.
    “Yeah, I get that a lot,” Rachel said, maneuvering around Hill to dump her trash. “Tell you what, gentlemen, spread the word to leave me alone and all’s forgiven.”
    Hill stepped away, almost dancing sideways to keep her from touching him. “Just come with us. Fifteen minutes.”
    Rachel leaned towards Santino and stage-whispered: “What do you think? Are we about to be left for dead in a ditch?”
    “Nah, but this is a beautiful opportunity. It’s not often you get to see an ass-covering unfold,” Santino said. He spread his hands, fingers fanning open. “It’s like taking the time to watch a flower bloom.”
    “Almost poetic.”
    “Quite.”
    Hill left, utterly done with them.