The Q

by Beth Brower

Frowning, Quincy looked around the room. Admittedly, she liked the people she worked with, especially those who cared for their work in a percentage acceptable to Quincy, but why was Arch so converted to the idea of people in and of themselves? “I don’t believe that anything you can gain from a person is worth the misery that follows when they are taken away,” she said at length. Arch’s reply was quiet, “Do you really mean that?” Quincy shrugged and slipped down from the ancient. Looking back up at Arch, Quincy opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, then bravely said the words that were on her mind anyway, despite fearing how it might change the place where she and he now found each other. “I’d like to think that I mean it, because I’m not capable of giving anything to anyone, despite what you think. And isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? People,” she waved her empty plate towards the boisterous crowd of her employees, “they require things from you, and you may even try to give to them. But what else can you count on? Their reactions, their thoughts, their safety, their attitudes, even their lives—none of these come back at you the way you think they will.” She dropped her hand and took a breath. “I can’t risk not knowing what’s coming back my way, Arch.” A shadow of thought passed Arch’s face, and Quincy guessed he was composing a well-written thesis on human experience in his head.