never had anything to say that Bill
wanted to know. The weather needed no discussion, Bill said. And as for the
complaints about the shift's Lead, well, one soft one was just about the same as
any other, and Orville had told them that at the end of the day, they worked for
him, not for any Lead.

Joe liked talking to the soft ones. Joe liked to talk, period. He told the soft
ones lies about their childhood in the shack with their father, and told them
about how his brothers tormented, and even talked about the weather. When he got
back home, he told his brothers all over again, everything he'd told the soft
ones.

George had memorised the SOP manual when they came to the Island, five years
before. It clearly said that the floor of the booth would be disinfected every
three hours, and the surfaces polished clean, and the pots and machines
refilled. The soft one with the six-to-noon shift never did any of these things,
which could get him disciplined by their Lead, but George didn't complain. He
just wiped and disinfected and re-stocked when he arrived, even though he had to
be extra careful with the water, so that he didn't wash any of himself away.

Boys ran up and down the midway, baking in the mid-day sun. They reminded George
of the boys he'd gone to school with, after the social worker had come to his
father's shack. They'd teased him to begin with, but he'd just stood with his
hands at his sides until they stopped. Every time he started a new grade, or a
new kid came to the school, it was the same: they'd tease him, or hit him, or
throw things at him, and he'd stand strong and silent until they stopped, even
if it took months. His teachers quickly learned that calling on him in class
meant standing in awkward silence, while he sat stoic and waited for them to
call on someone else. The social worker could make him go to school with the
soft ones, but she couldn't make him act like one.

George watched the boys carefully, as carefully as he had when he stood silently
in the schoolyard, not seeming to watch anything. He was better at spotting a
donkey than any of the soft ones. When a boy was ready to turn, George could
almost see the shape of the donkey superimposed on the boy, and he radioed a
keeper to pick up the donkey come morning. He got a bonus for each one he
spotted, and according to Bill, it had accumulated to a sizable nest-egg.

George looked at the inventory and decided that the fudge was getting a lit