Page 52 of Poster Girl

“Figured nobody cares what any of you are saying or not saying,” he says, “so why should I?”

She gives him a grim smile, and tucks the note into her pocket.

Sonya carries the watering can up to the roof, where Nikhil is doing the planting. Earlier they turned the soil together, so it was no longer packed tight into the planters, and there’s still dirt under her fingernails. Now he’ll press the seeds into the little pots they use to get a head start on spring growth, as recommended by the book Nikhil read ten years ago when the library cart still came through the Aperture everytwo weeks. Now they see it every month, if that. The world outside has remembered them recently, but it’s also forgotten them.

Her back aches as she opens the door to the little greenhouse. It was some kind of maintenance shed before, but they replaced some of the wall panels with glass, so now it’s lit in uneven stripes. She sets the watering can down on the worktable next to Nikhil. He drags it over and tips it just enough to sprinkle the first row of seeds.

“Spinach and peas,” he says. “Rose Parker made it happen, you know. I asked Nicole to tell Ms. Parker that we needed seeds, when she agreed to do the interview.”

Sonya sits on the dusty trunk where they keep the tools and old pots. She slides her thumbnail under her other nails, one by one, to scrape away dirt.

“Speaking of Nicole,” Nikhil says. “You might consider visiting her, on one of your excursions. See how she’s adapting to her new life.”

“She’s starting over. She doesn’t need someone from the Aperture coming back to haunt her.”

“You’re not a ghost, Sonya. She would be happy to see an old friend,” Nikhil says. “And she might be able to give you an idea of what to expect when you leave here.”

“Nikhil...” Sonya sighs. “You don’t really think they’ll let me leave, do you?”

“I think they made a public promise, and if they fail to keep it, you should make that failure public,” he says. “You still have Ms. Parker’s contact information, don’t you?”

In the crate by the side of her bed is a tin box where she keeps small things: Spare pencils; a pencil sharpener. A paintbrush. An envelope the size of her palm with a pill in it. A packet of seeds for spring planting. Rose Parker’s business card.

Sonya reaches into her pocket and takes out the note from the Analog Army. She’s allowed to be away from the Aperture for twelve hours. If she leaves in fifteen minutes, Williams will register her lateness fifteen minutes into her meeting with Myth. At that point Williams will likely notify Alexander, who will then know to check her Insight feed.

She’s ready to leave. The lunch she packed herself waits for her onher kitchen ledge, along with a handkerchief and the card with Alexander’s office address on it.

“Listen,” she says to Nikhil. He turns toward her. Dirt fills the creases in his palms. He dusts it off, lets it scatter across the floor.

“I’m doing something dangerous tonight,” she says. “It might pay off. It might not.”

“Dangerous,” Nikhil says. He brings the cuff of his sleeve up to his eye to dab at the excess tears there.

“A meeting,” she says. “With people who are capable of harm. If I succeed, I can find Grace Ward.”

“And if you fail?”

“I’m not sure. But it won’t be good.”

He leans back against the worktable.

“And this is worth it to you, this risk?”

She so often thinks of that word,worth.Dark moments in front of her reflection, thinking that perhaps she was not worth the effort it took to acquire the permit that made her. Darker moments in the Aperture, after the lights went out, wondering just what the point of doing anything was if it stayed trapped there, unseen and unknown. The worth of a polite word versus a rude one, of self-control versus surrender to impulse, of lying to be kind versus hurting to be honest. All of life, an endless series of columns, this versus that, action versus inaction. It’s all subjective. It’s all math.

Still, she knows the answer.

“Yes,” she says.

Nikhil’s eyes sparkle, but that’s nothing new. He nods.

“Take care of yourself,” he says. “Live to struggle another day, yes?”

“As you always say: projects keep people sane.”

She’s on her way to the entrance when she sees Graham Carter ducking into the tunnel that leads to Building 1’s courtyard. Before she can stop herself, she’s chasing him down.

“Mr. Carter!”

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