When Vincent returned to work on Friday, Tina and Miguel were on him in minutes.
"So, genius?" Miguel said. "How about that lab assistant position? Interview go well?"
Vincent shrugged.
"Come on," Tina said. "Give us some details." She pulled him over to a bench, ignoring the fact that they were also supposed to be working on the windows. "I've never seen McGowan University. Is it as fancy as Gattaca?"
"Not quite."
Miguel snorted. "I bet it's not as clean."
"Nope."
"But how about the interview?" Tina asked. "I think you said it was with Chad Michaels. He's supposedly pretty high up."
"Tina did some research," Miguel said. Tina elbowed him in the ribs and he laughed.
"I think the interview went pretty well," Vincent said. "I didn't have much on my resume, so I couldn't say much about past experiences. But there weren't too many questions about that."
"Well, these days it's all about qualifications," Tina said wisely. "You have your degree, so why should they care about experience?"
Vincent shrugged again. It had been pretty weird, honestly. He'd known that was the greatest weakness on his application—he'd worked at Gattaca and done his job well, but he was nowhere near an experienced physicist, even with a degree in astrophysics. He'd spent half the night beforehand coming up with ways to circumvent the question, ways to make his inexperience sound good. He'd printed out some of the emails he'd gotten rejecting him from various positions, the nicer ones that explained that the place simply wasn't hiring anymore, folded them up and kept them in the inside pocket of his coat. He'd been ready to argue, to defend himself as much as possible. But they'd only asked him a couple of questions about it before moving on.
Well, Eugene had said that might happen. Perhaps his references and his degree did overshadow it. But he still had a sick feeling in his stomach that just wouldn't go away.
"They asked whether I had leadership skills, people skills, stuff like that."
"And?" Miguel said.
"You totally do have leadership skills," Tina said. "I mean, I can't think of any examples off the top of my head…"
"You're an inspiration to us all," Miguel said firmly. "Hey, did they ask about stuff like goals for the future? Or independent study of astrophysics? You'd have that covered."
"Yeah," Vincent said. "Lots of questions like that. It was going pretty well. I think they liked me."
"So? That's good, right?" Miguel said.
"Yeah."
There was a moment of silence.
"So?" Miguel said.
"So?" Vincent said.
"You don't seem to be celebrating."
Vincent sighed. "Maybe I'm just being paranoid. McGowan has a really good track record with equal opportunity employment. It's probably nothing."
Tina and Miguel exchanged looks. Tina raised an eyebrow.
"They asked for a drug test," Vincent said.
Miguel whistled.
"What kind?" Tina said.
"Piss test," Vincent said. "Standard." He shrugged. "At least I'm very efficient at those, if that's something they're looking for."
"It's probably just company policy," Tina said.
"Yep. A lot of companies have that policy."
"You said the interviewer seemed to like you," Miguel said.
"He did," Vincent said. "He was very friendly."
There was another long moment of silence. Vincent got to his feet. He'd checked in with Caesar earlier, conveyed the news as optimistically as possible, and got himself his cleaning supplies. There was nothing like manual labor to keep you from worrying about the future. It didn't work as well for Vincent now as it used to when he was first hired, but he figured it would at least be better than sitting around talking about it.
"It's probably nothing," Miguel said.
"Probably."
"Yeah," Tina said. "You deserve this, Vincent. You have all the qualifications. You have passion. They have to hire you."
"We should be working," Vincent said. "What will Caesar say if he comes around and sees us slacking?" He grinned. "I mean, he already hates me…"
Miguel sighed and headed off. Tina left too, but not before giving Vincent's shoulder a brief squeeze. It felt good. His back often felt oddly sore lately. Sometimes he wondered why valids got the intellectual jobs when their bodies were built so much better for labor, but he never thought about it for long. After all, it was close to admitting that valids could do something better than him, which was something he would never do.
He cleaned the windows more meticulously than usual. No matter how he tried to focus on the job, he found himself caught between anticipation and dread. If he got the job, this might be one of the last times he ever washed a window. If he didn't get the job, he could well be stuck as a janitor forever. Like Caesar.
But he shunted the latter thoughts to the back of his mind. Even if he didn't get the job, there was always another opportunity, he reminded himself. There was always another day. Sooner or later he would get a better position fair and square. And someday, someday…
His gaze drifted out the window. There was a launch going up. He had forgotten to watch this time.
During lunch break, he told the whole story over again to Eugene. This time the valid had actually been the one to come and find him, and he had actually asked about the interview. It was nice of him, Vincent supposed. He just wished he had better news to share.
"So it went pretty well," he finished. "Except for the drug test."
"Hm," Eugene said, pursing his lips. "I suppose a lot of companies do abuse drug tests these days. I'm pretty sure Gattaca does, actually." He gave a short laugh at that, although Vincent couldn't see anything particularly funny about it.
"I wouldn't have thought McGowan would hire based on genetics, though," Vincent said.
"They do have a good reputation."
"Excellent."
Eugene shrugged. "Well. Sometimes a drug test really is only a drug test."
"I guess so," Vincent said. "It's hard to believe that, though." He leaned back against a wall. "Besides that, my resume's kind of spotty."
Eugene snorted. "Like anyone cares about experience these days."
Not exactly reassuring, since it only reminded Vincent of what they did care about.
"You'll have to wait and see," Eugene said after a moment of silence. "Did they say when they were getting back to you?"
"They said by the end of the week," Vincent said.
"Well then. I guess we'll know soon," Eugene said. "Want to hear about my date with Irene?"
Vincent smiled. With a sigh, he let go of his tension. "That would be nice."
/…/…/
Irene didn't even wait to catch Eugene at the end of the day Friday. She stalked over to his desk and sat down on the edge of it, partly blocking his view of the computer.
"Afternoon," Eugene said. He considered some remark about hindering an important Gattaca physicist at work before brushing it aside—he had no energy for sarcasm, and Irene didn't really require it anyway. "How's your day been, darling?"
"Pet names already?" Irene said. Before Eugene could answer, she added, "Where were you at lunch, darling?"
"Talking with a friend," Eugene said.
"Really now? You weren't just avoiding society?"
"No."
"You weren't just avoiding me?" Irene raised an eyebrow.
"Of course not," Eugene said. "What? Did you expect me?"
"Well, I was hoping you wouldn't go back to being a solitary clam," Irene said. "I was optimistic."
Eugene winced. "My apologies. The clam tendencies are very strong in me. I was with a friend though."
"Vincent, right? You'll have to introduce me sometime."
"Certainly."
He put forth a vague effort to be more sociable for the rest of the day. Results were surprisingly good—most of the people he tried to talk to seemed slightly shocked that he was actually talking to them, but still willing to talk. One of them invited him to have drinks with a couple other guys after work, but here Eugene drew the line. He suspected they just wanted to get him drunk again for their own entertainment, and either way he had no particular desire to become one with Gattaca's elite social circles. He doubted they even frequented the more interesting bars of the city. Probably they'd consider such places too dirty.
Over the weekend, of course, he talked to absolutely no one, but he read a recent magazine, so he was technically still in touch with the world.
He continued his half hearted attempts at socializing the next week. They bore fruit on occasion, to his disappointment—he ended up stuck in more than one long conversation, and even got to know, of all people, Thompson. Probably the stuffiest, most straitlaced person in the department, and Eugene somehow ended up chatting with him for an entire lunch. He was thoroughly disappointed in himself.
Irene seemed to be pleased though. They didn't go out again this week (Eugene did ask her, but she was yet again mysteriously busy) but he found himself running into her time and again, and she always smiled at him. A half smile, a smile not entirely sure of itself, but still more real than anything her other coworkers had wrung out of her, at least in Eugene's sight. So basically he was winning.
He saw very little of Vincent that week, probably because of how busy socializing with his supposed equals kept him. But he did finally run into Vincent again on Thursday, and he was quite glad of it.
"I've become a person who associates with Thompson," he told Vincent irritably. "Thompson! Do you even know who that is?"
"No," Vincent said. "No, I don't."
They were sitting in the lobby now, watching yet another launch go up. It was somewhat relaxing.
"He's an idiot, is what he is," Eugene said. "He wears bowties. I swear if I am forced to endure another conversation with that twit…" He trailed off. Vincent seemed unfocused. "Is something wrong?"
Vincent cleared his throat. "I heard back from McGowan yesterday."
For some reason, Eugene had completely forgotten about that. Stupid. His one friend in this place (except Irene, and he wasn't sure he saw her as a friend, exactly) and he couldn't even keep track of even the simplest things. It had been so easy to forget about Vincent's job interview, to forget that his best friend at Gattaca might well be leaving within weeks. Leaving Eugene in the lurch. He'd rather wanted to forget about it.
Still, as a friend it should have been the first thing he'd asked about. At least he could make up for it now.
"So? Did you get the job?"
"No."
Eugene blinked.
It was a moment of dissonance. One of those moments when you're completely ready for what you know will happen next—a professor calling your name for attendance in college, the announcer telling you you'd won the men's four hundred meter freestyle. And then instead, you get something else.
He bit off the congratulations that had already been on the tip of his tongue and instead said, "Excuse me?"
"I didn't get the job, Eugene," Vincent said. "Is that so hard to believe?"
Eugene blinked again. The taste of dissonance still strong in the back of his throat, he said, "I thought you said they liked you."
"Well, they didn't like me enough."
"Don't be ridiculous," Eugene said. "Why wouldn't they hire you? You're very likeable. You're a hard worker. I mean, they can't think you'd slack off—you've been working as a janitor for years. You have the degree. It can't be the experience, no one gives a shit about experience…"
"It was bad luck," Vincent said.
"Did you have good references?" Eugene asked. "A lot of it can be about who you know. You could use me as a reference if you want. I could talk you up. We could probably talk Director Josef into giving you a reference too, although he's a bloody snob."
Vincent let out a huff of laughter. "Director Josef is never going to give a reference to a janitor."
"I'll talk to him. Or I'll call McGowan if you prefer." His name wasn't as well known as it had been three years ago, but combined with his family's status it still had a certain sway, and he was fairly certain he had a couple connections who had connections with McGowan, if worse came to worst.
"Eugene," Vincent said. "It's over."
"Nothing's over until you say it's over," Eugene said. He'd thought Vincent was ambitious.
"Yeah, well, maybe for you," Vincent said. "You're Jerome Morrow."
"As if there's anything particularly important about that."
"Well, there's kind of a difference between an Olympic athlete and a faith birth," Vincent said. Seeing Eugene fall silent, he added, "Look, I don't blame you. I'd love to be valid too."
"You're thinking about the drug test," Eugene said.
"DNA test would be more accurate."
"It wasn't necessarily that."
"Yeah, maybe it's just a coincidence that this has happened the last fifty times I've applied for a job beyond manual labor," Vincent said. "Sounds pretty likely to me."
"Unauthorized DNA tests are illegal for screening employees," Eugene said. "If you really think that's what this is, there are people we can go to."
"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't," Vincent said. "You wouldn't have to scan my genome to know I'm an invalid, Eugene. It's all over my file."
Eugene took a deep breath and let it out again. Of course it would be. Valids didn't work as janitors and maintenance workers for years on end. Even when their life was in a rut and they had no job experience and they were drunk half the time. No, they landed cushy jobs at places like Gattaca and everyone looked the other way when they showed the parts of themselves that were just a little bit unstable.
"It's not over until you say it's over," he repeated, looking Vincent in the eyes.
"You make it sound like I've given up," Vincent said. "I haven't. Just not McGowan. Not this time." He turned away. "I should probably get back to work."
Eugene cursed quietly as he watched Vincent walk away. He felt distinctly as if he were the one who had failed to get the job, even though that was clearly Vincent's tragedy, not his. Still, he could see Vincent's future as clearly before his eyes as if he were watching a film. There would be another interview, of course, and another interview after that, and another and another and another. He would fuel himself with futile dreams for years, maybe decades, always smiling the same resolute smile, never ceasing to watch the launches. He would work his fingers bloody day after day after day, make idle chit-chat with the other janitors, pretend that cleaning the floors was another step towards his dream. And someday he would quietly die of a heart attack, and Gattaca would hire another janitor in his place.
Eugene's fists clenched. It wasn't fair. Of course, the world wasn't fair—Eugene knew that much full well, although he was generally the one to reap the benefits of its injustice. His life was written out in as firm a hand as Vincent's: that he would work a white collar job for most of his life, act as if his achievements actually meant something and hobnob with people as bored and boring as himself. He doubted Vincent would have liked Eugene's life either. Even with both their lives mixed, things still came out pretty dim.
At home that night, he found the human resources department of McGowan University in the phonebook. He spent about an hour writing out a speech that he would give. Condescending, self righteous, fiery. He would demand they explain why they had refused to hire Vincent. He would demand the universe to bend to his thoroughly valid will.
He spent another twenty minutes hovering over the phone before crumpling the piece of paper with his idiotic speech. Swearing again, he flipped through his personal phone book until he found the number he had never quite gotten up the courage to cross out.
He dialed before he could think better of it. One ring. Two rings. Three rings.
Click.
"Hello?"
"It's Jerome Morrow. Is this German?"
/.../.../
/.../.../
/.../.../
AN: To those of you who thought Vincent was actually going to get the job: Ahahahahahahahaha. Ha.
Gattaca world don't work like that.
To those of you who wanted a new chapter, like, a couple weeks ago, sorry. I've been wandering in other fandoms...and then of course there's always college. I'm a busy, busy woman.
But you have a chapter now, so reviews would be much appreciated!