Chapter 35

Somehow he did. A week later, Wilson told Solomon to go to the hotel and report for work in the kitchen at midnight that very night. “You’ll be cleaning it.”

It was the first time Solomon had gone anywhere alone in the re-education camp but he knew where the hotel was: past the defunct tram station, under the bridge that passed over the entire width of the island from Manhattan to Queens. “Do not talk to anyone on the way, do not tell anyone where you’re going,” Wilson told him right before he left. “And do not try to sneak food out when you leave. I don’t want you to be seen as a regular mark. Don’t bring out a crumb. Don’t bring out anything but the camera map, and bring that out as fast as you can find it. If it’s anywhere, it’s in a computer somewhere inside that hotel.”

Trying not to shiver from the night’s chill, Solomon made his way down the island then waited by the back of the hotel at the service entrance. The counselor standing guard scanned his wristband then let him go in. “Follow the corridor. It leads straight to the kitchen.” Solomon pulled open the service door and blinked at the warmth that hit him. The gym where they did their confessions and the school where they got their rations were heated, but not that much; this, this was like being back in the civilian world. And it only got warmer as he headed through the double doors into the kitchen.

As soon as Solomon stepped in, every single one of his senses screamed. He saw decayed ends of piled vegetables, their edges curled, their normally bright hues faded. He smelled spilled sauces, burnt puddles on the cooktop. He touched discarded scraps of lettuce and onion skins clinging to countertop corners, while stray kernels of rice littered the floor underfoot. There was even a plate of chicken bones with meat still on them. He took an involuntary step toward it when a robotic kitchen aid wheeled toward him.

Like the robotic nurse that had treated him back in boot camp, the kitchen aid had four wheels and a screen that came up to his shoulder. Its body mostly seemed to be made up of a pole with attached containers holding various different types of cleaning solutions and supplies. As it approached him, Solomon wondered why the hotel had requested a prisoner to come in and clean if it already had a kitchen aid. Then he realized it was damaged. Half its retractable arms were missing, while several others were bent, as if someone had tried to remove them but been stopped halfway through the process.

The aid stopped in front of him. “Present your barcode.”

Solomon held up his wristband for it to be scanned. After the red light disappeared, the kitchen aid told him it would scan him now, then emitted a beeping sound. “Unhygienic status detected,” the kitchen aid said. “Disinfection required before commencing cleaning duties.”

“Okay,” Solomon replied, trying to keep his voice steady. Not that the robot was going to care whether his voice was steady or not, but he didn’t want it to decide to kick him out before he had a chance to even look around. “Where can I disinfect?”

The kitchen aid directed him into a disinfection pod directly to his right. From its location it was probably used frequently. Maybe everyone who came into the kitchen had to get scanned by the aid and then disinfected if they were deemed unhygienic. Solomon opened the door and stepped into it fully clothed. Would it be able to handle how filthy he was? Thankfully the rashes on his body, while not better, hadn’t gotten worse in the last month. He still had lice all over him though. As he stood inside the enclosed pod, its door sealing shut with a faint hiss, he was torn between fear that the pod would report him as too dirty to disinfect and hope that he might actually get clean for the first time in over eight months.

A soft mist enveloped him, gradually intensifying as tiny droplets of disinfectant solution descended from above. The mist clung to his skin, to his hair. Then the pod’s interior lights illuminated, bathing him in a gentle blue glow. Photocatalytic lamps lining the walls came to life. Solomon could almost sense the lice squirming, the mites in his arms dying, the incessant itching that had been tormenting him receding as if all the parasites he’d been carrying with him were finally being forced to relinquish their hold on his body.

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There was a display on the door of the pod. A progress bar, showing him how far along he was in the disinfection process. Minutes passed, and the hum of the lamps gradually faded. The blue lights dimmed, and a soft chime resonated. The pod door opened with the same hiss that it had closed with. Solomon stepped out and looked at the kitchen aid. Would it scan him again? Would it say the disinfection pod hadn’t worked?

But it didn’t. “Your disinfection process is complete,” the kitchen aid told him. “You may now proceed with your cleaning duties.”

“Can I use the supplies you’re carrying?” he asked.

“Yes,” the aid said.

“I’ll start by cleaning up the food waste,” Solomon said, wanting to get a sense for how tightly the robot was going to control his steps. He also wanted to get his hands on every scrap of nutrition that he could.

“Yes,” the aid said. “You can wipe down the countertops after you’re done.”

The robot didn’t have to tell him twice. Solomon asked for a cloth and spray bottle, and headed immediately to the plate of chicken. Keeping his back to the kitchen aid, he put an entire leg in his mouth. He chewed off every miniscule piece of meat and gristle with his teeth, and then he cracked the bone and scraped out the marrow. He did that with every bone on the plate, sucking on them until the bones themselves were glistening. He moved on to the lettuce and onion skins, putting them into his mouth. The rice kernels he’d seen on the floor earlier, into his mouth. The white ends of several leeks, into his mouth. The burnt potatoes he found inside a pot, into his mouth. By the time Solomon was done going through the kitchen, there was no food waste to throw out other than the bones and even those he wished he could find a way to simmer to get them soft enough to chew down.

Meanwhile, the robotic kitchen aid was navigating behind him. The two working retractable arms it had left made quick work of the side of the dishwasher. After getting enough to eat for the first time in months, Solomon was even more desperate not to get kicked out, so he focused on nooks and crannies that the aid might find difficult to access, wiping away residue and grime with his cloth. The kitchen aid gave him whatever materials he asked for, even fetching him a broom when Solomon said he was ready to clean the floor.

It took about four hours to finish. Solomon had been tired to begin with, and even with the extra calories he was exhausted now. He still didn’t want to leave the warmth to go back outside into the night but then he thought about Wilson who had probably spent the last four hours shivering in the stairwell while he stuffed his face. He wished he could bring him something. Since he couldn’t, Solomon instead told the kitchen aid he was leaving, and then he lingered outside the double doors to see whether or not it would check up on him. It didn’t, but the service entrance down the corridor opened. Solomon immediately walked toward it. The robot had to have sent an alert to the counselor on duty when he’d finished.

Solomon stepped outside into the freezing air. He was searched extremely thoroughly before being told to go. Hoping everybody else was asleep and that no one attacked him on his way back, he went straight to the stairwell where Wilson was waiting for him.

Solomon could tell Wilson was cold by how he reached out for him at once. When Solomon lay down next to him, facing him under the blanket, Wilson grabbed him as if trying to steal as much heat off his body as he could. His fingers were icicles. “Pull your hands in and put them against my side so they can warm up,” Solomon told him.

“Tell me what happened,” Wilson said.

“They had me go from the service door to the kitchen then straight back,” Solomon said. “A robotic maid watches me inside the kitchen. Half its arms are broken so I think I’m there temporarily until they can order replacement parts. It had me go through a disinfection pod before I started.”

“Access to knives?”

“Yes. I’m searched thoroughly by the counselor before I’m allowed to leave though.”

“You got to eat something?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Sleep now. You’ll be tired tomorrow. I’ll get you up in time for breakfast.”

Solomon was falling asleep even as Wilson spoke the words. Tomorrow he would test the robot again to see what he could get away with. He also wanted to study it more closely. Maybe if he could find a way to disable its messaging system, he could buy himself some time to go around the hotel…