Ch 11: Eviction

~
(Tori)

I’m stressing right out over the eviction notice sitting on the kitchen counter. Two weeks ago the building manager showed up super early in the morning with a loud cop-knock on my door. He shoved the notice at me and just said “We have to do structural repairs on your unit. So you have thirty days to clear out of here.”

I was barely awake and asked, “What? Repairs on the building?”

He sneered and kind of proudly said “Nope, not the building, it’s just you.”

He laughed a little, looking at me with narrow eyes, shaking his head slightly, like I deserved to be punished or something. I asked what the repairs are, and he just kind of shrugged and said with a smirk, “Work on the walls, the ceiling, the plumbing. You know, structural, so legally it’s 30 days notice.” I tried to get a clearer answer, like I said “Wait, what exactly are they fixing?” He started looking really hostile and nervous like he literally thought we were going to fight or something. “Structural repairs, you’re out in 30 days.”

Then as he turned to leave, he said, “Maybe you can learn something from this.”

I called after him, “What do you mean by that? What’s happening here?”

He just shook his head and scoffed, as if the answer should be obvious, and walked away. He seemed so smug, like he thought he was doing something noble, like I’m a criminal or something. But he couldn’t just tell me what the problem is? I looked at the notice he just handed me, and it’s got a yellow sticker with my name on it.

So now I’m packing. I’m throwing clothes into boxes, folding towels, stacking dishes. I don’t even know where I’ll end up. I’ve got a couple weeks to find a new place. I keep replaying the conversation. The “structural repairs” sounded so fake. And the yellow sticker. No way am I mentioning that to anyone. It’s too crazy. I’m trying to think of anything that happened to get me kicked out of here, something I did wrong. But there’s nothing.

I’ve lived in this place for five years and I love it. It’s a nice place because at the time I applied for a living space, I was doing really well. I was fresh out of my apprenticeship after the Academy with pretty good grades and I was involved in a lot of things. I can’t imagine a better place than this. It can only get worse from here.

I have already put in my application with the city’s Holy Living Residential Council. It’s basically a notice to them telling them I need to move. I can only tell them the official reason: structural repairs. They don’t handle complaints about the process. They just decide where you live. My notice to them triggers a review process. They will look at everything: my work record, any health flags, and my social and spiritual life. The whole process is based around the Power of Faith doctrine which says that if bad things happen to you, it’s because you’re not doing well spiritually. You’re not using your Will of Faith earnestly. I’ve heard that they judge how well you’re doing in life, and if it’s not good, they make it worse for you by giving you a shitty apartment.

They’ll ask how often I’ve consulted my local Prophet. That’s going to be a problem.

I haven’t gone back to see Prophet Ickle since the last time I saw him about eight months ago. He’s like this super Apostle-Prophet, just like his father and grandfather were, and he’s like a spiritual hero to everyone. People say he has supernatural powers like healing, and he can just look at you and know everything about you. They say he can even put a curse on you or make you die if he wants to. He doesn’t prophesy to BuilderHelper people, just InfoTech. I’ve always been scared of him and I kind of freeze up when he’s around. Like, I’m a believer and I honour the Prophets and everything. But he’s just too weird for me to handle. He always has this grin on his face but his eyes look weirdly startled or scared or something. People say he’s a bit weird because he is always hearing God’s voice, like constantly. He gets really close to people when he talks.

Anyway I was in his office and it was just us. He held my hand and he started touching my hair and complimenting me and saying I was so special and beautiful. He had this really gross smell, like cologne mixed with air freshener in a bathroom. He said he had a vision that he and I have a special spiritual connection from the beginning of time and that his wife would eventually die and then we might get married. He’s like 60 years old or something. He asked me to come to one of his private apartments that evening where he would share a special Prophetic Word with me. Then he took my hand and put it on his leg and held it there, like I mean high up on his thigh, and just stared at me with the creepiest look on his face. He seemed to think he was doing me a favour. I froze for a couple of seconds and then just got up and left and never returned. I was completely shocked and scared by what he did. I haven’t told anyone about it.

I still see him at Worship every week and I try to avoid him. I realize now that there is a whole group of young women he hangs around with. It’s like, I can’t believe it, but it’s obvious what’s going on. I don’t know if people know about it and just accept it or what. It’s too weird for me. I’m not built for that shit.

But if I mentioned any of that to the Residential Council, or anyone actually, they would reject it and they’d label me as a “Jezebel Spirit” who is trying to come against God’s anointed Apostle/Prophet, and they would definitely punish me with their decision about my next apartment. Prophets work without any oversight, like, I think there’s no sort of manager-boss Prophet above them or whatever. They have total immunity for any transgressions. It’s more than just immunity, it’s like they literally can’t do anything wrong, so anything they do is therefore right.

At church for the last few months we’ve been learning about how to declare and decree God’s obedience to overcome problems with health and money and personal issues. People have gotten up on stage and talked about how their problems suddenly disappeared. I’ve done all the things we’re supposed to do, I mean I’ve really tried. But things just keep getting worse. They say that if you declare your authority before God, it’s guaranteed to work, unless there’s something spiritually wrong with you, like you don’t really believe like a real believer.

I’m so scared right now that I feel sick. I haven’t seen my Prophet in forever and I can’t say the real reason. I’m sure the Council is going to see me as a person with problems. And I’m having problems at work too, and my only friend has stopped talking to me and she seems to think I did something really bad. And these fucking yellow shirt people or whatever. What the fuck? Am I going crazy? Oh my God I am totally screwed. They’re going to make me live in a dumpy apartment probably worse than when I was a student. With the thin walls and noisy neighbours, probably in a bad area where you can’t even go outside.

Ok Tori, you have to stay positive.

So I’m getting dressed for work. I haven’t got my flight suits cleaned in a while. They look rumpled.

Ok, let’s see, what’s happening at the Cmd today…I have to present my recon flight plan this morning. I pull up the mission brief on my tablet and can’t remember the waypoints or altitudes. I read it over, and half way through I realize my mind is blank. I can’t remember what I just read. I’m so tired. I try again, but the numbers don’t make sense to me. I’m frustrated, exhausted, and I’m freaking out. I have to go or I’ll be late. One last look in the mirror. God I look so tired and you can tell I’ve been crying.

I leave my apartment and head to a pod. “Hi Alt Command please.” I gulp the rest of my third coffee and then stare at the floor. I must not cry. The ride feels like doom. Anxiety is crushing me. I’m trying hard not to scream right now. I think about asking for lighter duties at the Cmd, but I’m scared to ask about it. If I ask, they’ll think I’m making a Negative Confession. And it won’t help me with the Residential Council’s review.

I’m on my own in this. No one can help me.

At the Cmd I walk into the briefing room, and looking around at the other pilots, it dawns on me what a typical Hi Alt pilot looks like: Ultra confident, kick-ass, slick, like they’re so good at their jobs that they have this attitude like they just don’t give a fuck. These are people who really fly the spy planes and often have to improvise. Some have died. Equipment failure or pilot error, plane disintegrates on re-entry, you’re dead. Some have been captured and faced torture and death at the hands of our Godless enemies. But they, we, I mean we – we show no fear because all we know is how to kick ass. That used to be me. But now I’m rumpled and I’m scared of having a meltdown right in this meeting.

I’m imitating a confident swagger as I walk in and I bounce into my chair and lean back, smirking. But my hands are shaking and I’m squeezing my tablet to make them stop.

“Hey Tori, how ya doin?” It’s Kipp. He’s a good guy, a senior pilot I respect. But now he’s looking at me with curiosity verging on concern. Is he showing actual concern for me? No, these are not people who discuss feelings and problems and such. He’s just curious.

“Fann-tastic!” I hear myself shouting a bit too loud. Kipp tilts his head looking slightly bemused. “Let’s look at my flight plan, I want you guys to see what I’ve come up with here. Pay attention Kipp, maybe you can learn something from this.” This gets a good-natured laugh from everyone.

I realize I just said the same words my building manager said to me and I am cringing inside. I have so much caffeine in me I can’t tell if I seem manic or if I’m talking too loud. But I keep going because everyone’s looking at me now. I throw my plan to the main display and everyone leans forward reading it.

“I’m gonna skip the obvious bits here, and you can look at the numbers yourself. I’ll just focus on the good part. See their ray tracing imaging vectors here? There’s a consistent gap in their coverage right here, because obviously there’s a mountain right there. I’m gonna go a bit higher than spec altitude which means re-entering a bit faster than spec airspeed, then dip through it. The plane can take it. That gets me gliding right over the target, I’ll get the data and bank hard right and up and around and leave the same way I came in. So we not only get the data – they won’t even know we were there. Is that too crazy?”

“No, I like it. It’s good crazy.” Kipp, supporting me. Thank God.

I stumble on a few points during Q&A, mix up a couple of details and the others correct me. Kipp still has that curious look. I finish and then hurry out of the briefing room to avoid further interaction. I’m heading straight out to the plaza for more coffee. I’m totally wired. I think I survived the presentation, but in a few days I have to actually fly the mission. I’m praying I don’t have to take manual control because I just can’t do it right now. It’s way too dangerous.