“Again—so reductive. Yours is the language of losers, Nora. I believe that the camp exists neither to punish nor oppress. It is simply a facility, constructed for mass production and maximum efficiency. My opinion—though I consider it a simple fact—is that people quickly come to appreciate living a life with clearly defined expectations. With simple, understandable rules for survival. If you provide, you will be provided for. There is real comfort in that. The human population has decreased by almost a third worldwide. A lot is the doing of the Master, but people kill each other pursuing simple things… like the food you have before you. So I assure you, camp life, once you give yourself over to it fully, is remarkably stress-free.”
Nora ignored the croissant prepared by his hands, pouring some lemon water from a pitcher into her glass instead. “I think the scariest thing is that you actually do believe this.”
“The notion that we humans were somehow more than mere animals, mere creatures set upon this earth—that we were instead chosen to be here—is what got us into trouble. Made us settled, made us complacent. Privileged. When I think about the fairy tales we used to tell ourselves and each other about God…”
A servant opened the double doors, entering with a gold-foil-topped bottle balanced upon a brass tray.
“Ah,” said Barnes, sliding his empty glass toward the servant. “The wine.”
Nora watched the servant pour a bit into Barnes’s glass. “What is all this about?” she asked.
“Priorat. Spanish. Palacios, L’Ermita, ’04. You’ll like it. Along with this fine house, I inherited a quite wonderful wine cellar.”
“I mean all this. Me being brought here. Why? What do you want?”
“To offer you something. A great opportunity. One that could improve your lot in this new life considerably, and perhaps forever.”
Nora watched him sample and okay the wine, allowing the servant to fill his glass. She said, “You need another driver? A dishwasher? A wine steward?”
Barnes smiled, with something shy behind the smile. He was looking at Nora’s hands as though he wanted to take them in his own. “You know, Nora, I have always admired your beauty. And… to be quite candid, I always thought Ephraim didn’t deserve a woman such as you…”
Nora opened her mouth to speak. No sound came out, only breath, emptying her lungs with a silent exhalation.
“Of course, back then, in an office environment, a government setting, it would have been… unprofessional to make any sort of advance on a subordinate. Termed harassment or some such. Remember those ridiculous and unnatural rules? How fussy civilization got toward the end? Now we have a much more natural order of things. He who wants and can… conquers and takes.”
Nora swallowed finally and found her voice. “Are you saying what I think you are saying, Everett?”
He blushed a little, as though lacking the conviction of his boorishness. “There aren’t many people left from my previous life. Or yours. Mightn’t it be nice every once in a while to reminisce? That could be very pleasant, I think—to share experiences we had together. Work anecdotes… dates and places. Remembering the way things used to be? We have so much in common—our professional backgrounds, our work experience. You could even practice medicine at the camp, if you wish. I seem to recall you have a background in social work. You could tend to the ill, ready them to return to productivity. Or even pursue more serious work, if you desire. You know, I have much influence.”
Nora kept her voice at an even pitch. “And in return?”
“In return? Luxury. Comfort. You would reside here, with me—on a trial basis, at first. Neither of us would want to commit to a bad situation. Over time, I think the arrangement would come together nicely. I am sorry that I didn’t find you before they shaved your lovely hair. But we have wigs—”
He reached for her bare scalp, but Nora straightened fast, pulling back.
“Is this how your driver got her job?” she said.
Barnes slowly drew back his hand; his face showed regret. Not for himself, but for Nora, as though she had rudely crossed a line that could not be uncrossed.
“Well,” he said, “you seemed to fall in with Goodweather, who was your boss at the time, quite easily.”
She was less offended than incredulous. “So that’s it,” she said. “You didn’t like that. You were my boss’s boss. You thought you were the one who should… First-night rights, is that it?”
“I am merely reminding you that this is apparently not your first time around this particular block.” He sat back, crossing his legs and arms, in the manner of a debater with supreme confidence in his side of the argument. “This is not an unusual situation for you to find yourself in.”
“Wow,” said Nora. “You really are the imbecilic bigot I always thought you would be…”
Barnes smiled, unfazed. “I think your choice is an easy one. Life in the camp or—potentially, if you play your cards right—life here. It is a choice no sane person would deliberate over very long.”
