Oryx and Crake (MaddAddam, #1)(43)

Amanda’s at the end of the table. She’s still pallid and listless; Lotis Blue and Ren are fussing over her, urging her to eat.

Rebecca’s having a cup of what they’ve all agreed to call coffee. She turns as Toby sits down.

“It’s ham again,” she says to Toby. “And kudzu pancakes. Oh, and if you want, there’s some Choco-Nutrino.”

“Choco-Nutrino?” says Toby. “Where’d you get that?” Choco-Nutrino had been a desperate stab at a palatable breakfast cereal for children after the world chocolate crop had failed. It was said to contain burnt soy.

“Zeb and Rhino and them gleaned it somewhere,” says Rebecca. “And Shackie. It’s not what you’d call fresh, don’t even ask about the sell-by date, so I figure we better eat it now.”

“You think so?” says Toby. The Choco-Nutrinos are in a bowl. They’re like tiny pebbles, brown and alien-looking, granules from Mars. People used to eat this kind of stuff all the time, she thinks. They took it for granted.

“Last-chance café,” says Rebecca. “Kind of a nostalgia trip. Yeah, I used to think it was disgusting too, but it’s not bad with Mo’Hair milk. Anyway it’s fortified with vitamins and minerals. Says so on the box. So we won’t have to eat mud for a while.”

“Mud?” says Toby.

“You know, for the trace elements,” says Rebecca. Sometimes Toby can’t tell if she’s joking.

Toby sticks with the ham and the kudzu pancakes. “Where are the others?” she asks, keeping her voice neutral. Rebecca counts them off: Crozier has already eaten and is taking the Mo’Hairs out to pasture. Beluga and Shackleton are with him, one spraygun between them, covering his back. Black Rhino and Katuro did sentry last night, so they are sleeping in.

“Swift Fox?” says Toby.

“Taking her time,” says Rebecca. “Having a doze. I heard her thrashing around in the bushes last night. With a gentleman caller or two.” Her smile says, Like you.

No Zeb yet. Toby tries not to peer around too obviously. Is he, too, having a doze?

As she’s finishing her bitter coffee, Swift Fox joins them. Today she’s wearing a pale gauzy shift, shorts, and a floppy hat, pastel green and pink. She’s done her hair in pigtails, with plastic Hello Kitty clips. It’s the schoolgirl look, and if it were former times she’d never get away with it, thinks Toby. She’d been a highly qualified gene artist, so she’d have feared ridicule and loss of status, and dressed like a grown-up to advertise her rank. But that kind of rank and status have peeled away, so what exactly is she advertising now?

Don’t be so hard on her, Toby tells herself. After all, she took a big risk: she was an undercover MaddAddamite informant before Crake hijacked her and made her a whitecoat brainiac serf inside the Paradice dome, along with the rest of the kidnapped MaddAddamites. He’d scooped most of them.

But not Zeb: Crake never managed to corner him. He’d covered his tracks too well.


“Hi, everyone,” Swift Fox says, stretching her arms up, lifting her breasts, aiming them at Ivory Bill. “Ooh, I could go right back to bed! Hope you slept well. I f*cking didn’t! We need to do something about the bugs.”

“There’s spray,” says Rebecca. “We’ve still got some of that citrus stuff.”

“It wears off,” says Swift Fox. “Then they bite and you wake up, and then you can hear people talking and etcetera, like in one of those not-your-real-name motels with cardboard walls.” She smiles at Ivory Bill again, ignoring Manatee, who’s staring at her, his mouth tight. Is it disapproval or extreme lust? Toby wonders. With some men it’s hard to tell the difference.

“I think we should have a curfew on vocal cords,” Swift Fox continues, with a sideways glance at Toby. I heard you, that look says. If you must indulge in dusty, ridiculous middle-aged sex, at least put a sock in it. Toby feels herself blushing.

“Dear lady,” says Ivory Bill. “I trust our sometimes heated nocturnal discussions did not awaken you. Manatee and Tamaraw and I –”

“Oh, it wasn’t you, and it wasn’t a discussion,” says Swift Fox. “Are those Choco-Nutrinos? I threw up a whole bowlful of those once, back when I still got hangovers.”

Amanda stands up from the table, clamps her hand over her mouth, hurries away. Ren follows her.

“There’s something wrong with that girl,” says Swift Fox. “It’s like she’s pithed or something. Was she always such a dimwit?”

“You know what she went through,” says Rebecca, frowning a little.

“Yeah, sure, but it’s time for her to snap out of it. Do some work like the rest of us.”

Toby feels a rush of anger. Swift Fox is never the first to volunteer for chores, nor has she been within spitting distance of a Painballer: used like a prostibot, leashed like a dog, practically disembowelled. Amanda’s worth ten of her. But apart from that, Toby knows she’s resenting the snide innuendoes Swift Fox aimed at her earlier, not to mention the gauzy shift and the cute shorts. And the breast weaponry, and the girly-girl pigtails. They don’t go with your budding wrinkles, she feels like saying. Tanning takes a toll.

Swift Fox smiles again, but not at Toby: right past Toby. It’s a full-disclosure teeth display and dimple trigger. “Hey,” she says in a softer voice. Toby swivels: it’s Rhino and Katuro.