An Unjab at the Beta House

The girls greeting Squicky had the same painted-on manner he'd grown accustomed to from attractive young women his whole life. They flashed the same bright but hollow smiles, their teeth a white wall of insincere tolerance, their lips painted flush, evoking an arousal they didn't feel. Squicky always saw in this openness an eagerness to advance whatever product or service the girl'd been assigned to peddle to him: deliver his meal, show him his seat. No remotely attractive girl had ever had the least sincere interest in him, and everyone involved in the transaction knew it. The eyes betrayed this, not the ruby lips or dapper cheeks. There was always an absence, a mesmerized vacancy, as though the girl had checked out of her mind and body to return only once Squicky'd made his exit.

All along he'd detected a revulsion alongside this detachment, a resentful furrow to the brow and sneer to the lip. It had gotten more pronounced as the maladies blossomed. Only a week after he'd stopped taking his vaxx pills, he'd grown a cauliflower abscess on the top corner of his mouth. A few days later his back had bulged up into a hunch. Two weeks after that, a thin slimy film coated his body. On top of that his hands now trembled chronically. Worst of all, he'd contracted a persistent itch in the groin, and his skin there seemed to be developing scales. It was a challenge not to tend that itch with his quaking fingers, especially in the presence of pretty girls like the pair he was talking to now. He realized as he gazed at them that he was doing it, raking his grubby fingernails over the crotch of his overalls. The one in blue glanced down but otherwise went on, unphased.

"Welcome to the Tri-Beta open house," she chimed cheerfully. The growth on his lip hadn't seemed to register with her, either. Then, at once, her stony deference made sense: "We're having a special for the unvaxxed this afternoon. I take it you aren't vaccinated?"

Squicky played off slinking his scratching hand into the hip pocket of his overalls. He made a conscious effort not to cover his sore with his other hand. If he did, she'd only see how much he was shaking.

"No," he said. "Un. I'm unvaxxed."

The girl's smile grew wider.

"Great! Please consider taking a stroll through our little pad, then. We have guided tours if you like."

"I'm not doing anything," contributed the girl in red. "I can give you a tour."

Both these girls had already given Squicky far more time and attention than he was accustomed to from females in their three-Michelin-star dating league. What's more, the polite, almost flirty friendliness they projected in his direction, though it had the same staged quality he'd gotten from other salesgirls, lacked the submerged resentment they hadn't been able to hide entirely, the sense he always got from desirable women that, deep down, they really would rather be anyplace other than there, talking to him. These two honestly didn't seem to mind.

"That's great, Heidi!" The girl in blue deftly turned her attention to her young colleague, then back to Squick. "My name's Bianca and this is Heidi. We volunteered to help with the greeting for the open house! Wasn't that nice of us? Heidi can give you a tour if you like. That's nice of her too."

"Sure," said Squicky, feeling a bit along for the ride.

"Great!" Bianca chirped again. "Cough it up, Heidi."

The girl in red fished a card out of her purse and handed it to Squicky. Across the top was her name and, to its right, an unsmiling portrait photo of her. Then, beneath, an array of stats. Some were typical to a driver's license; others, not:

"Heidi Diana Bottom

"Age: 19

"Height: M

"Sex: Gorgeous

"Bust: Voluptuous

"Openness: Agreeable

"Savvy: Flighty"

He turned the curious object around to look at the back. Signature, bar code, thumbprint.

"You can scan me in if you like," Heidi offered. "Find out anything you want about me."

"We Tri-Bates are pretty open, at least to unjabbers," said Bianca. "You can card any one of us anytime you like to help you find out more about who you're talking to. You can use our IDs to keep track of us, too."

"Yes," said Heidi. "As long as you have my ID, you can keep track of me."

"Oh, and we also have..." Bianca rummaged through a drawer behind the greeting podium. At once she produced a pair of ear buds and a certificate of some kind. "There's a recorded tour you can turn on and off. You can listen with the ear buds. And, um, we sort-of have our own currency here."

Bianca waned pensive as she wound around to this last detail. Alternative forms of legal tender were indeed weird up until very recently, but with the collapse of the dollar as the reserve currency, he was starting to see it more and more. Every town and county had its own money, almost always virtual, sometimes thematically tied to the community: named after the official town flower or its principal export.

"You have a phone?" asked Heidi. Squick nodded. "Well, come on, then. I'll take you through scanning the certificate and the other stuff along the way."

The foyer Squick had just stumbled into, the one where he made Bianca and Heidi's acquaintance, led straight through a pair of double doors past the greeting girl's podium and into a long receiving room. Lonely chairs dotted the walls at the side at regular intervals, four to a side, about three yards apart. The high roof raised into a dome, a glittering chandelier punctuating its center. For whatever reason Squick noticed the ground before the figure: a half-dozen more pretty girls scattered about the room, three seated in no evident arrangement in the chairs about the side walls, three more gathered around another older male, one whose elephantiastic forearms immediately revealed to be a fellow member of the unjabbers' club.

Meanwhile he struggled to rub the ear buds into his ears. As he did, another friendly female voice came to him.

"... the larger greeting room. The ante room and larger greeting room are both considered public spaces, so we ask tourists, especially those holding IDs for Tri-Bates, to exercise restraint when exercising ID holder prerogatives in these spaces."

"Oh, look," added Heidi. "That's Fish Fingers. Another unjab. There's a few of you here, though we Tri-Bates still outnumber you, like, five to one?"

This "Fish Fingers" was clearly much further along than Squick in his progression into the various afflictions that bedevil the unvaxxed. Along with his swollen, discolored arms, he peered out at the bevy surrounding him from under a low, simian brow. His entire cranium had in fact swelled to something like a third again the size of a standard human skull, which gave him at once an extraterrestrial and a subhuman air. None of this seemed to trouble his courtiesses any more than Squick's soggy skin or tumescent maw troubled Heidi. Though all these girls could clearly do far better than Squick and Fish, misshapen plague rats that they were, something about the two of them seemed to interest these young, desirable females a great deal.

"What is it about us anti-vaxxers that interests you ladies so much?" asked Squick, though he was unsure if he wanted to hear the answer.

"Oh, you don't know? Only the unvaxxed can make contributions to us."

"Contributions?"

"Yeah." She gestured at the photo ID Squick was holding in his greasy hand. "If you scan my ID into your phone, you'll see what I mean."

Right. Squicky had forgotten to do that. He fetched his phone from his back overalls pocket, pressed it on, and scanned the bar code on the back of Heidi's card. On the other side of a yes/no prompt, he retrieved a trove of additional info on her, broken down in a menu of various categories of information: "Anatomy," "Statics," "Vitals," "Time-Sensitive/Priority."

"That's the BetaPicker app," Heidi offered helpfully. "You can use your phone to access all our information with that. The card only gives you static information. With BetaPicker, you can get real-time updates on all of us. Here, scroll down." She reached around to finger Squicky's screen, in the process brushing up against his outer arm. "See that?"

It took a minute for Squicky to make out what she was talking about amid the deluge of information zipping by on screen. "Ears: COM, FIG, TAS, SCE," "Hair Color," "Thigh Texture," along with the aforementioned "Savvy" stat ("Flighty," again, but with a corresponding number, "61/6"), and finally he saw where Heidi's fingertip was indicating. "Time: 135 hours, 12 minutes, 25 seconds," counting down even as he looked on.

"That's the time I have left to get a donation from an unjab," she said. She tapped it, and it converted to a different format: "5 days, 15 hours, 12 minutes, 15 seconds," or this Friday at around 2 a.m., Squicky quickly and reflexively calculated in his mind.

Dizzy Heidi was not so quick. "That gives me 'till, I dunno, Thursday? Longer than a lotta girls around here." She leaned in, tapped the "Gorgeous" on her sex readout. The word converted to a figure: "93/4."

"I'm practically ravishing," she concluded. "Practically a 10."

"Based on an analysis of your blood pressure, heart rate, eye movement patterns, and other factors, the computer has estimated a ninety-seven percent likelihood that you are harboring a sexual attraction toward Heidi Bottom."

In his tour guide's case, the numbers certainly didn't lie. She was indeed gorgeous. Slim and slinky, but generously curvy at the bust and hips (didn't her ID also mention voluptuousness?), she carried her pert and callow frame with finishing-school poise, and though she was clearly none-too-bright, she masked her mental dimness in a friendly, officious demeanor that made her more approachable and therefore more desirable. Her jiggly, bra-less breasts seemed to taunt Squicky from under the haltertop she wore, a customized "Tri-Betas: The 'Reach Out and Touch Us' Open House" t-shirt clumsily scissored at the ribs to bare her tapered, tan midsection.

The cotton gave at her short sleeves and collar to a pink trim, but the chest was all jagged edge and tattered thread, hanging off the crest of her pert, C-cup melons like a tiny curtain. Her smooth stomach bore a cute belly button winking vertical due to her erect stance. From the waist of her efficient satiny red shorts a pair of skinny tan lines, as of a V-shaped bikini bottom, crossed her hipbones on the way to the sides of her waist. Her snug, snowy shorts tapered into a crisp patch of wrinkles at her smooth crotch. Their level seam left little chance for legging, so her plump but shapely, sun-glowed thighs extended bare except for a sheen of shiny nude panty hose. Her calves tapered to a pair of tall red pumps with what looked to Squicky's untrained eye to be three- or four-inch heels.

When she walked in front of him, guiding him, he stared at her luscious bottom in the skin-tight shiny red short-shorts, the word "Squishy" stitched nonsensically across her fanny-cheeks in an intramural script.

"The computer also estimates that, if things continue as they are currently, there is an eighty-six percent chance you will have intercourse with Heidi in the next hour."

What was with this place, anyway? Was he about to get pitched a timeshare townhouse? Hear about the woes of a certain Nigerian prince?

"I think Fish Fingers has the IDs of all three of those girls," said Heidi in the meantime. "Surely he's not planning on donating to all three?"

Fish yanked the hair of one of the girls. He seemed to be mad at her about something. Squicky could barely hear, but the voice in his ear was proving to be of greater interest in any case.

"If you refer to Heidi's profile on your phone, you will see the computer has uploaded a suggested course of action in the comments section."

"Fish is gross," Heidi said. "I hope you aren't like him. Anyway, the point is, five days is pretty good. Bianca only has three. Really should be her here instead of me but," the bouncy nineteen-year-old gave a what-me-worry shrug, "oh well!"

"And this time is a countdown to what?" Squicky was scrolling through his phone, looking for the comments the voice in the earpiece had just mentioned. Two of the girls corralled around Squicky and one of the ones sitting at the wall turned to look. Heidi cringed.

"Re-creation," she whispered. "Re-rolled. We don't like to talk about it. It's not part of the tour."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Anyway, my point is because the unjabs like my looks, they give me a lot of contributions, and that means I've almost always got a lot of time." Squicky thought he might have half-watched a movie with a premise sort-of like this. Starred Marky-Mark or some such character. "Some of the other girls get a little jealous."

Fish was now squeezing the face of the girl whose hair he'd just recently pulled. It was a brusque, insulting, and presumptuous gesture, but she simply stood there, impotent anger flashing in her reddened cheeks. "I've got your ID," Fish grumbled in a voice meant for only her and her two girlfriends to hear, "and that means I've got you. I've got all three of you."

"Come on," said Heidi, taking Squick by the arm. "Let's get on with the tour. I don't want Fish giving the new unjabs any ideas." Still feeling puzzled and rushed, Squicky let the girl escort him past Fish and his trio of concubines and through the far set of double doors. "Through here," she said, pulling open one of the doors, "we have--"

The two passed through to a sizeable dining room, a long, polished table spanning most of its length, tall chairs arrayed on either side, and portraits, presumably of Tri-Bate alumna, lining the dark violet walls. "This is the dining room. We meet here for dinner at seven, usually, which is optional. We have rooms available for our more reliable donors, and for them we provide room and maid services. This is especially important for those looking for private spots in the house since some degree of privacy is needed to make proper donations. The foyer and greeting room are both public spaces, as is this dining room."

Since it was mid-afternoon and there was therefore no activity in the dining room, the two went through to a pair of swinging doors at the dining room's south end. Through it, Squicky could hear the distinctly glass-and-metal clatter of food being prepared. Heidi pushed open one of the swinging doors; Squick glimpsed a gaggle of undergraduate-age girls in the kitchen, presumably preparing dinner.

"That's the kitchen, obvs," Heidi added. "We do most of our own cooking. We like to wait on our unjab donors hand on foot, in case you hadn't noticed." She allowed him an improbable wink. Had she meant "hand and foot"?

Squick meanwhile couldn't get what Fish said out of his mind. He had their cards; therefore, he had them. Squick kept turning Heidi's ID this way and that in his grimy hand, seemingly expecting some new detail to arise from additional examination.

"Is there anything I can explain for you about my ID?" Heidi offered.

"While I have it, I have you?" Squicky asked.

Heidi sighed. "See, this is why I was hoping you wouldn't hear Fish. It's certainly one way to think of it. When you have my ID, you have control. I like to think of it more like a game. When you have my card, me and you are 'it.'"

"'It'?"

"Yeah. You know. It. For now, the most important players in the game."

"And what game are we playing?"

Heidi giggled. "The game of donation, silly!"

As she talked, Squicky thumbed through his phone, recalling that the voice in his ear had mentioned a comments section with a recommended course of action. Right below her extremely extensive list of stats--"openness," "lucidity," "bladder," "thirst"--he spied a banner labeled "Comments" and below this, an expandable tree that resembled the old driving directions he used to get on his phone back when people still drove their own cars. The top read, "[you]," in brackets, with a plump arrow labeled "Donation" and pointing at Heidi Bottom's name. He clicked the black triangle to the left, and the banner expanded out to a selection of decision trees, some long and some short.

"The game of donation," Squicky repeated, stalling for time. "And you want a donation?"

"We beta girls always want donations," Heidi affirmed unequivocally. "Even if we act like we don't."

"But you can't donate in a public room."

Heidi put her hands on her hips and looked around, weighing options. "Not a room that's classed as public, but a lot of rooms aren't classed public, especially in the East Wing. We're in the West Wing now. There are a lot of blanked betas in this part of the house, and a lot of rookies like you."

"Where's the nearest private room?"

"The coat closet off the foyer is private. So is the sundries storage pantry in the kitchen." She pushed the swinging kitchen doors open again, this time with more conviction. A couple of the girls working away at dinner looked over, curious. "Come on." She tugged at Squicky's hand and he followed her into the kitchen.

"Hey, Heid," said one of the girls. "Got another unjab?"

"Yeah," Heidi countered, a hint of a patronizing lilt in her voice. "'Fraid I do." Don't hate me because I'm basically ravishing, she nearly seemed to add. "This is--" She turned to him. "Squicky?"

The new girl chuckled. "I'm Lisa," she offered, extending a hand for Squicky to shake. "Headed to the pantry with Heid, are you?"

"Looks that way," said Squicky, along for the ride.

"Come on," said Heidi. She tugged at Squicky's arm. Then, to Lisa: "Wanna watch?"

Lisa shrugged. "I guess. I've chopped all the onions. Maybe I can get a minute or two out of it."

With that, the two girls accompanied Squicky through another pair of swinging doors, past which, as advertised, lay a warm, dry walk-in pantry with rows of shelves half-stocked with industrial-sized cans of dried beans and sliced peaches, boxes of macaroni pasta, jars of sauce and preserves. The sounds of the kitchen fell away as the swinging doors swiveled shut, and all Squicky could hear was the gentle hum of the climate control and the crackle of fluorescent lights.

Squicky regarded Heidi with anticipation, then Lisa with regret. "If the pantry is private, why is she allowed in here?"

"That's what I was saying," Heidi replied. "Just because it's private doesn't mean you'll necessarily be alone. It just means it's a room where no one is allowed if they shouldn't see a donation."

"Right," Lisa added. "Heidi and me are BFFs. I like to watch all her donations, and she watches mine. Sometimes we help each other out."

"It's all about getting more time," said Heidi.

Squicky glanced once more at his phone, finally ready to start looking over some of its recommendations. The decision trees had been replaced with a single, blinking word: "Recalculating."

"Sure," said Lisa, who Squicky didn't notice had positioned herself to look over his shoulder at his phone screen. "'Cause there's two of us now." Just as she said this, a new set of decision trees populated the screen, more elaborate than the first. Now the plump arrow from the "[you]" led to not only Heidi's name but Lisa's as well, smaller and set a bit higher as though Heidi were being raised to the Lisath power.

The different trees were labeled to reveal the way in which they were optimized. "Quickest" was also the simplest, whereas "Maximum Excitement" was the longest, with "Maximum Time," "Maximum Kingpins," and so on all falling somewhere in the middle.

"Have you ever made a donation to a girl before?" asked Heidi. Before he even had time to shake his head, Lisa interjected:

"They don't call it donating, dum-dum. They call it fucking. Have you ever fucked a girl, new guy?"

A baffled Squicky now found the time to shake his head.

"A first-timer, Heid. I bet you can get five days out of him. Here." Lisa reached around and tapped Squicky's phone, opening the longest, "Maximum Excitement," tree. "Look at his lechery score. If we can make this last a half-hour, he'll store up enough goo juice to squirt you into next week." She turned her gaze from Heidi to Squick. "Maybe you can come back tomorrow and tag me, too."