The Househelp

Mrs. Robert Jackson picked up a shiny, golden delicious apple. She frowned upon seeing a dark spot, set it back, and instead looked towards the granny smith. Mr. Robert Jackson preferred tart apples, but she intended to make a pie. Her preference for pies was a mix: ½ honey crisp and ¼ golden delicious, with her “secret” addition of pear. She smiled, pleased with her purpose. This was a gift to Robert for the locket he gave her: a heart, with a red hardened stone that filled the locket space. It was peculiar, yes, but Robert was allowed his odd taste in gifts.

Robert was newly hired to the Human Services branch, so he was at the whim of the senior officers. He, among other recent electrical maintenance graduates, had to follow as directed to remain hired. The hours to maintain the Fence were grueling. The Jacksons were grateful even if they rarely saw each other. Soon they’d receive a notice to procreate or adopt. It was a strike against their family record, but the strike would disappear once they complied.

She favored the names of Joan and William. The orphan would come as was, depending on their age. Would Joan grow up to also keep her pear secret?

Mrs. Robert Jackson hummed as she swiped the government pay card. The piece of metal held much more than most because of Robert’s specialty. If Robert were a doctor or a different profession, they wouldn’t have the government-issued home, or funds, or the promise of a future, really.

Doctors, she supposed, were necessary to administer market medications and to write social awareness concerns as middlemen from the Central Office. Mary’s husband was a doctor. Their families shared similar SOCIETI scores to be convenient friends. Barbara had to drive if she didn’t want an unfashionably sweaty brow to visit either of them. Her husband was the museum director of the Decades Past Memorial. The family of those who died in the Fence's defense loved him. However, every year he had to defend the necessity of the memorial in front of the Central Office Board. Barbara never paid when they went out. It wasn’t her fault she couldn't marry higher.

Marian checked her purse for the essentials before she left the Corner Store. She took the aboveground Monorail, so she only needed house keys. She checked in with the Central Application on her phone, as required by the Central Office to travel the streets. Her identification included a cheery, dark-haired, soft bob and Cola Red lips on her photo ID. This was next to her address, husband's name, and the name of her father. The organ donor heart symbol was blacked out. The Jackson lineage was not an obligatory donor. She readjusted her purse, put her canvas bag artistically depicting ‘Snap! Crackle! Fall!’ with her purchases over one shoulder, and readjusted her dress. The bag was a gift from the girls, referencing a picnic day they made to watch the 10-mile auction parade from the cool safety of Marian’s large window seat. The worst of the househelp would collapse in the 120*F from poor maintenance, and they cackled in amusement.

She checked her list once more. In passing, she looked over at the check-out stations. Marian was newly elevated, but unlike other socialites, she was uncomfortable sending a househelper to shop for her. Their dead eyes and patched flesh disturbed her, even if they were dressed well and had the best electronic monitoring to give them the appropriate behavior. Chips triggered their natural movement in their brainstem to make the grey-skinned, permarotted undead lurch in a smooth gait. Househelpers could be declawed, but Marian opted for the humane retainment of them. Marian had voiced only once that she felt their eyes follow her, but the teasing afterward made her suffer anxiously in silence.

Mrs. Arthur James picked her up for sanctuary prayers on Sundays when Robert worked overnight at the Maintenance Center. They waited for her in the living room downstairs. She put on london blue topaz earrings and tried not to eavesdrop. This jewelry was a gift from Central. Only the best lineages received these gifts, and after she had her first child, she’d receive tremolite jewelry. The second child gift would be housewares from the Uranium Company. They would be used on every holiday, birthday, and funeral memorial, with an additional househelper once she, or her husband, died for the remaining family. An early death would be praised for conserving resources.

“... She looks alive,” Mrs. Robert Jackson heard her friend say. Her husband, quiet and agreeable for all his social ratings of 1.6 out of 3, murmured to calm his wife. “Her name is Reina. Look. She even responds to her name!”

There were more comforting rumbles, so Mrs. Robert Jackson decided to put her gracious guests out of their discomfort. “I’m sorry I took so long, Mr. James. I appreciate it, Barb.” The man nodded, his friendly eyes crinkling and responding appropriately. Mrs. Robert Jackson shivered. She turned to see Reina, vacuum cord in hand and about to be plugged in, standing still and staring at her. The househelp tilted her head slowly. “Reina, begin vacuuming,” Marian ordered as she locked up. Barb pretended not to hear Marian’s voice shake and crack in the verbal command. “You should send Reina in to get checked. That’s abnormal, Marian.”

“It is impolite to notice imperfections in the hardware, honey.” Mrs. Arthur James blushed at the admonishment, albeit gently, before bringing up the weather like the Fence didn’t also maintain the stability of such things.

Barbara stayed after, and Mary joined them for supper. Reina moved smoothly from woman to woman with a plate of cheese and fruit, blinking occasionally. Reina stared at Marian before she cautiously asked Reina to check on dinner. No one said anything, but househelp couldn’t blink. Reina clearly needed maintenance.

Robert messaged her over the soup course. He had to work late again. This wasn’t the first meal he missed, but she would save him a piece of pie with a love letter. Her guests kept conversing and pretended to not see Marian’s disappointment. Reina’s lifelike behavior became a topic once more. “I’ll submit a ticket for her repair tomorrow,” Marian lied. She was already busy tomorrow. The newspaper lay on the coffee table as it should, but the big headline of ‘QUEEN DESTROYED’ was the awkward point of the room. The newspaper was one month old, just around the time Robert had gifted her with Reina, and a few weeks later, he gave her the locket.

“Her heart is all safe in the Central Office, I bet. I’d love to see it,” wondered Mary. Barbara, ever practical, shook her head. “No, it’s been irradiated, and broken into little pieces, so her lieutenants will never find it.” The Queen's lieutenants were still in hiding.

A glass dish shattered in the kitchen. Marian hesitated before going to check on her. A househelper of Reina’s quality wasn't clumsy.

Shaken, Mary refocused on poor Barbara’s status, who then felt obligated to defend herself. “I love him. I love our morality. It’s unnatural, but I like not having...guests live in my house.” It was rude to notice, and rude to speak of them, but also rude to discuss them as if they weren’t there. The househelpers were valued members of their Fenced society. Without them, life would be difficult.

Fence citizens were the luckiest after the 150-year war. The world had been dangerously independent. Everyone considered the first undead a hoax, so the Battle of Verdun was a horrific loss to humanity. The underestimated Queen rose to violent power with the bodies of the obliterated armies as the greatest threat to humanity. The world either adapted or died. The Fence community adapted with superior technology and strategy.

Central introduced Social Organizational Class Integrity Examination Tactical Investment scores to measure the living for their worth. Marian was told that upon being scored, she would marry. They would provide for her if she reproduced, or took care of two of the many Fence orphans. She had a high score on the SOCIETI placement exam. If she were a man, or unable to bear children, she'd have scored a 2.8 for her intelligence instead of a 2.4, and that would have made her a government Central spouse candidate.

She loved the life Robert’s career gave her. Not everyone had consistently healthy food, housing, and freedom of opinion. As it was, she was comfortable- but very concerned.

The computer was one such item all Fence families had. When Reina shut down that night in her locked louvered door closet, Marian turned on the computer. It whirred as she poured tea. There were pills for her anxiety, but they made her feel frozen and dumb. Mrs. Robert Jackson was not househelp.

Yet she needed answers to settle her mind that night. Nighttime power rationing was active, so she sat in darkness. The screen was offensively blue as it became functional. Once there, she waited for the pop-ups. The only news was that the Queen, the psychic mother of the undead who started her terror in France, was destroyed and freedom to go past the fence was a future benefit to the Fence communities. It would take miracles to turn the drought ruined soil and the sandstorms of the dust bowl livable again, however.

Bump. In the dark, the precautionary light eerily outlined Reina in her closet. Househelpers were nocturnal, so only multiple locks could contain them if they were restless at night.

Bump. Marian’s mouth went dry. The high-quality househelper stalked Marian with her eyes. Marian could feel it. She sipped more tea and went back to the death of the Queen.

They publically burned her after her heart was removed. It was first flash-frozen, then broken into pieces. The pieces were powdered and set in a resin. They scattered the resin pieces to secure locations.

For every article singing the Central Office’s praises, two pointed out that the heart had nothing to do with the longevity of a creature that didn't need blood to live. Others said burning and spreading the heart out wasn’t enough. Another believed Central lied about the heart procedure at all and/or that the body they burned wasn't the Queen at all. Yet another went into how househelpers were people. Marian paid that little mind. Househelpers died decades ago when they became undead. A person could only be a person for so long as a shambling corpse.

Bump shuffle.

Reina was active tonight. Perhaps the screen was too bright? Marian turned the brightness down. Another pop-up interrupted Marian's thoughts. "Get the past of your househelper! Comfort them by learning…". She frowned. Maybe Reina was uncomfortable. Househelpers couldn't have feelings, but some felt honoring the househelper's was adequate for their guilt. Protesting the use of househelp was treasonous and unpatriotic.

Marian clicked 'purchase'.

Bump.

Marian heard a lock slide open. Her pulse beat in her ears. When she checked it, Reina stood nose to nose with Marian. The househelper exhaled. Abruptly, Marian slid the lock closed. She was tired. That's why she forgot to latch them all.

A week later, a hopeful Marian found out that Reina was French, like her name. Marian was proud that she owned the century-old Reina, who was highly intelligent in life and had the newest behavior chip. Marian contemplated Reina’s qualities as the heart locket was heavy in her hands. The househelper swept.

“Mine.”

“No, it’s mine,” Marian corrected. Reina smiled as Marian froze. “No, mine.” Marian froze in fear as the broom clattered on the ground. Reina walked tall towards her. “You will be my first new soldier, and that,” A claw pointed to the locket, now close enough to touch. Marian gaped, failing to scream. Marian couldn’t move! Reina dragged a chipped claw down Marian’s cheek, drawing blood pearls.

“…is the first piece to free my army, and rebuild my empire…”