[Effie doesn't answer. She's thick in a memory that makes her legs feel as though they are stuck in treacle. A bullet whines close to her and strikes the wall just behind, but she barely notices. She's listening to the tromping booted feet, coming closer.
"It was for the good of us all," her father insists, putting down the phone and folding his arms, a grim smile on his face. Her mother pats Effie on the head.
"Good job, darling. Always Report. You've clearly been listening in school."
In the apartment next door, the baby is crying again, but this time, instead of soothing it, its parents are rushing about and calling to each other in sharp, low voices. There is a thump. The baby cries more loudly.
"Always Report is one of the first things they're taught in fifth form," her mother goes on, proudly informing her father. "Effie, what's the other Big Lesson?"
Effie doesn't answer. Why don't they pick up that baby? It's wailing, now.
And then there is the sound of Peacekeepers' booted feet, tromping up the stairs. Kicking down a door. Even her parents quiet down at that sound: the not-so-secret Police.
Next door, she can hear a woman begging and a man crying. There is shouting, a commotion, and the man's crying stops even as the baby's continues.
"Look, Effie," her mother says in a no-arguments tone. "Fashion Police is on! It's the new episode." Her parents turn to the TV and tune the rest of the world out.
But Effie can't. She watches the stylists and their models walk the runways, but she can only hear a dragging sound in the hallway outside the apartment. Booted feet, still tromping. A baby, still crying in an otherwise-empty apartment, even as the sound of the marching boots fades away.
Will someone get that baby?
Her father turns up the volume; crowds cheer on the television as new fashions are revealed in sparkling pyrotechnics.
[action -- SIX O'CLOCK.]
"It was for the good of us all," her father insists, putting down the phone and folding his arms, a grim smile on his face. Her mother pats Effie on the head.
"Good job, darling. Always Report. You've clearly been listening in school."
In the apartment next door, the baby is crying again, but this time, instead of soothing it, its parents are rushing about and calling to each other in sharp, low voices. There is a thump. The baby cries more loudly.
"Always Report is one of the first things they're taught in fifth form," her mother goes on, proudly informing her father. "Effie, what's the other Big Lesson?"
Effie doesn't answer. Why don't they pick up that baby? It's wailing, now.
And then there is the sound of Peacekeepers' booted feet, tromping up the stairs. Kicking down a door. Even her parents quiet down at that sound: the not-so-secret Police.
Next door, she can hear a woman begging and a man crying. There is shouting, a commotion, and the man's crying stops even as the baby's continues.
"Look, Effie," her mother says in a no-arguments tone. "Fashion Police is on! It's the new episode." Her parents turn to the TV and tune the rest of the world out.
But Effie can't. She watches the stylists and their models walk the runways, but she can only hear a dragging sound in the hallway outside the apartment. Booted feet, still tromping. A baby, still crying in an otherwise-empty apartment, even as the sound of the marching boots fades away.
Will someone get that baby?
Her father turns up the volume; crowds cheer on the television as new fashions are revealed in sparkling pyrotechnics.
The next morning, the baby isn't crying anymore.]