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The candidates created something called a chore wheel. Every time they clear
the entire house of smart dust surveillance, the producers replace them.
They are spending a great deal of time hunting for the dispensers. That is
one of the jobs, but there are others. First, the dust has to be blinded and
grounded. That takes oil or glue, which can be found in their cooking spray
and hairspray. Once the spies are coated, they fall to the ground, but they
can still hear. They have to be mopped or shampooed up. Any dust that was
already on a surface has to be wiped up too. The rags are then microwaved to
destroy the miniature electronics. The rags are cleaned, inventory is
recounted, and the whole process starts over again the next day.
They can’t figure out why the producers are doing this, though it might be
because of how cheap the dust is to replenish. They don’t have to come out
and argue about it because it’s not a big deal to put things back how they
were. But for a few hours every night, it’s quiet. Or it’s not. Some are
starting to get paranoid that the producers have plenty of other ways to
keep the broadcast going, and that it doesn’t matter what they try. The
dispenser hunters are also responsible for searching for other surveillance
equipment. They have so far found nothing, and they’re running out of time.
Jande stops hearing the hissing sound of the nearby spray bottle. He looks
over.
Kool is shaking it, looking at it, shaking it again, and trying to spray
again.
“I told you that we were using too much,” one of the Eyrenlanders argues.
“It doesn’t take a lot. We should have been more conservative with it.”
“We only have one flashlight, and we’re out of batteries too,” Dare argues.
“We couldn’t hold it in place while we sprayed the entire house. Wide spray;
cover the whole space. That was the only way to do it, and we
all agreed. You said nothing before.”
The Eyrenlander woman plops down in the egg chair. “Well, now it’s over, and
my hair looks like a mess. And we’ve not had a decent meal in days because
we can’t cook with oil anymore. How did our ancestors survive without
synthesizers?”
Jande sits on the ottoman’s edge. “We need to consider the possibility that
we were never meant to overcome this as a challenge.”
“Why have they not given us any challenges since day one then?” she asks.
“To make us stew,” Ersence offers. She tosses her own spray bottle in the
trash. “They want tension, they want conflict. Well...they’re getting it.
Just now, you’re complaining about it, and I bet the audience is eating it
up.”
“Oh, so it’s my fault?” the Eyrenlander spits at Ersence.
“You have an amazing ability to make everything about you,” Ersence
responds.
The Eyrenlander woman leans forward and vigorously talks with her hands.
“You literally just blamed me!”
“It was one example, ya scratchcather!” Ersence cries.
“All right, let’s try to not be so ironic here,” Jande suggests. “We’ve
decided that that’s what they want, right? So let’s not give it to ‘em, and
maybe they’ll have to intervene. We might hate what they do next, but at
least we’ll get some feedback.”
An Eyrenlander man comes in from the fake backyard. “You want feedback?” He
aggressively powerwalks through the room. “I’ll get you feedback.” He picks
up one of the wooden dining room chairs and starts to bang the leg against
the window.
Jande stands up to put a stop to it, but Ersence holds him back. “No. You
can’t help him. You would only escalate the issue. The best thing we can do
is sit back and stay out of his way. He’s like an animal right now. I’ve
seen it in my men. They get cabin fever, and they won’t listen to reason.
Don’t give him ammo. Don’t give them footage.”
“This isn’t actually the 21st century,” Dare reminds him. “The glass won’t
break.”
The glass breaks.
As it turns out, their ground level house is actually high up in the air.
The open window reveals not open sky, but clouds. The sudden change in
pressure tries to suck the Eyrenlander man out. Jande jumps up and manages
to catch him by the ankle at the last second. It’s out of the frying pan and
into the fire, though, because not all of the glass fell away from the
frame. The man has fallen right on top of some shards. They cut deep into
his stomach. Blood spills out of him like a torn bag of milk. They lift him
off.
“Haoran!” Jande takes off his shirt and desperately tries to plug the
wounds, but some of the glass is still in there. “Haoran! Get down here
right now!”
“He can’t hear you in all this wind!” Ersence explains. She runs off.
Haoran shows up and dives down to the floor. “Move your hands,” he orders.
“Do you have any medical training, Mr. Ter Avest?”
“Not really,” Jande answers truthfully. People don’t die. In his world, if
someone gets hurt this bad, you just let them pass on and come back in a new
body.
“Okay, good instincts with your shirt.” Haoran starts to make adjustments.
He takes off his own to add to it. “But you were applying pressure. That’s
just gonna squirt out more blood. We can still stop the bleeding. I’m gonna
need you to put your hands right here. Yes, right there, but don’t push down
or forwards. Kool?”
Kool kneels down without hesitating.
“Kool,” Haoran goes on, “do what he’s doing, but below the glass. Once
you’re both in place, push towards each other, carefully but not delicately.
Good. Very good.” He looks up. “Dare, get that squeeze bottle that Pryce
uses. Wash it with soap and water, inside and out. Fill it with one of those
vodka bottles from the freezer, then dump it out, rinse it out again, and
fill it with room temperature water. Got it?” After Dare leaves, he shifts
his gaze. “Ersence, go find that sewing kit. The last I saw, it was in the
girls’ room.”
“No, it’s under my bed!” Dare yells from the kitchen.
“Understood!” Ersence runs off yet again.
When Dare comes back, Haoran uses the water to flush bits of glass and blood
out of the wound. Now that he has a better look at what they’re dealing
with, he frowns and scans the crowd, which has since been filled out with
the rest of the candidates. “None of our bedsheets are good. Kool, is that
shirt cotton?”
Kool takes it off and checks under the collar. “That’s what the tag says.”
“Hold please.” Haoran takes the shirt and stands. He waits for a moment. “If
ever there was a time for medical intervention, this would be it!” he calls
out to the aether. “If you don’t come in with a medical team, you know what
I have to do. It’s not safe, and it’s not pretty, but I’ll do it. You have
until the cloth finishes boiling.” He starts walking.
Haoran returns with a long strip of Kool’s former shirt. After Pryce pulls
the last shard from the wound, Haoran stuffs the cloth in to replace it as
it’s the only way to stop internal bleeding while they wait for clotting.
Then he sews the guy up, saying he’ll need another surgery later if he makes
it that long. What he really needs now...are antibiotics.
