New Writings in SF 20 - [Anthology] Read online

  It was a strange but exhilarating experience as he felt the coursing water of a shower draw the stiffness from his body, and even more enjoyable to use a cake of soap, working up a lather over his arms and chest. He soon learned the use of a toothbrush (at least knew what a comb was for) and watched as Orest shaved, leaving a faint blue behind in place of stubble. In the mirror Orest grinned. ‘You’ll probably not need one of these till you’re shipped,’ he said. ‘Maybe not then. I’m an old-fashioned safety razor man.’ He rinsed and opened the instrument, showing Jason the parts and explaining the principle. The boy twisted it shut, ran it over his cheek, found it hard to believe it held a blade, until with widening eyes he looked at the welling cut on his finger from grabbing the wrong end. He followed Orest back to the room with blank face, sucking his finger, storing a useful bit of information.

  Jason welcomed the soft chime that announced breakfast. Together they retraced the previous night’s route, the boy filling in a near-perfect visualisation of this part of the complex, noting with an uneasy feeling how few outer doors there were. He found himself wondering what the sub-level layout was, where the hideouts would be, but then, wryly, he set his mind firmly on breakfast and the coming day.

  The hall was full but strangely quiet. There was background music, soft and full and peaceful. Any Musak Jason had caught from places of concealment had kept the cruddy Marks scurrying. Here nobody seemed rushed and yet they weren’t wasting time. He and Orest picked up trays and food, moved to the end of one long table, and sat opposite another pair. Orest introduced himself and Jason to the other young man who smiled and answered, ‘Ron and Mel.’ Then he frowned slightly and said ‘Orest? Four years back? Ping-pong tournament.’ Orest thought briefly, then laughed. ‘Sure. You were in Fraser Wing.’ Jason caught a minute impression of pain as Orest continued. ‘We must get together. Catch up.’ Then he turned the conversation, saying in a neutral voice, ‘We—Jason just came in last night.’ He looked inquiringly at Mel, who stared back out of cold blue, bitter eyes. Ron put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and said with affection, ‘This is an old-timer. Been here all of a month. Last trip to the dentist this morning.’ Mel had gone rigid, fork in the air. Now he threw it down savagely and shoved his chair back. ‘I’m not finished yet,’ Ron spoke softly. The boy’s face twisted with rage as he snarled, ‘To hell with you! To hell with this place, with everything!’

  For a moment all conversation around them stopped, and Ron’s voice came clearly but quietly over the muted musia ‘Sit down. Now.” The boy’s fists clenched and his throat worked as he threw a swift glance about him. For a brief span he stood taut and quivering, then slowly stepped back to the table and sat, tears of frustration spilling down his cheeks. He picked up his fork again, tines up and out. ‘Some day,’ he hissed without looking at Ron, ‘some day, I’ll rip your guts out.’ Everything dropped back to normal so quickly around them that Jason had a fleeting notion that he must have dozed off and dreamed it. But Mel. still sat, eating with vicious bites and though Ron was talking about something else there was a lurking, sad set to his mouth. Another item stored.

  At booth 13 Orest explained the procedure. ‘The first part is written,’ he said, ‘and will show how well you can read. But put these phones on if the screen tells you. These buttons are for Yes and No, and these are numbered to four. Pick the answer that fits best. I’ll be up front.’ Jason found the routine quite easy to adjust to, but very soon the words were becoming too difficult for him to mouth. After a particularly long wait, the screen said simply, ‘Put on your headphones.’ He did, and suddenly the pace of questioning accelerated, as a clear, smooth voice took over. He wanted to rest after the test on words, but there wasn’t much time lapse before the screen lit up again and he was matching shapes, checking out the odd object in a group, setting up sequences. The screen went blank and he was answering a new kind of question. This is so, that is so, then is this so ? The first few were childish, but then he caught himself being tricked. He picked up traps in the way things were worded, realised that his instinctive answer wasn’t always right, in the pattern. He found himself disagreeing with first or second statements and he was relieved when the voice offered him a chance to reject any of them. It became an exciting challenge and when it ended he actually felt disappointed. Yet he was trembling with fatigue when Orest took the phones from his ears and kneaded the back of his neck. He blinked and made his eyes focus, then rolled drunkenly up the aisle after the young man, who had stopped again at the computer console. The machine extruded a long sheet of paper which Orest plucked out and studied. He had turned slightly away, but as Jason watched he could see the man’s head slowly come up, until he was staring off into space. At last he turned back and said, rather carefully, ‘Well, Jason, you’re no great shakes on reading. You’ll pick that up soon enough, I imagine. Non-university personality set. Yet—160 IQ.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It’s time for lunch now. We’ll take a rest and go on this afternoon.’

  After eating with another pair much like Ron and Mel, they returned to their room, where Jason threw himself across his bed and dropped immediately into sleep. It seemed only minutes later that Orest was shaking him gently. He rolled irritably to the wall and dug his face into the pillow, muttering, ‘Lemme ‘lone. Wanna sleep.’ But Orest became more insistent, finally seizing him under the armpits and sitting him firmly on the edge of the bed. ‘Come on,’ he said shortly. ‘Time to take the rest of your exams.’ Jason, temper flaring, snarled at him. Tomorrow. I’ll do ‘em tomorrow. I’m too tired now.’ Orest stepped back and folded his arms across his chest. ‘You’ll do them today! Or tonight! Or at three in the morning, if I say so!’ he barked. ‘Now get on your feet.’ Jason’s lip curled, but as he began to speak a vivid memory of Mel came into his mind. Surly, but obedient, he rose slowly and brushed long hair out of his face. ‘Straighten up your bunk, fast!’ Orest prodded and once again defiance flared in the boy, and as he controlled it he felt it subside into smouldering resentment. He could easily come to hate this man, but it wouldn’t be smart to let it show. Mulishly he spread out sheets and blanket, checking Orest’s bed, but try as he might he couldn’t make his as smooth and tight. Finally Orest showed him how, ending by dropping his scriber in the centre to see it bounce. ‘That’s the way it will look every morning,’ he warned, ‘or you’ll lose rec time remaking it. Now let’s get moving.’

  And back they went to the exam room, where Jason spent the afternoon doing questions about heat, light, air, numbers and such, completely incomprehensible stuff about places and people he’d never known, and finally, schematics! As with the morning’s exams, the last was fascinating and he wanted to go on even though the diagrams were becoming complex beyond anything he had worked with before. When it was over, he merely put his head down on the desk and searched for strength to move, while Orest went to the console and completed the evaluations. He couldn’t protest when he was physically lifted from his chair and led to the dining hall. ,

  Through bloodshot eyes he acknowledged the presence of yet another pair, while he mechanically stuffed food into his mouth. He barely noticed the people scattered through the lounge, relaxing with various pastimes, on his way to their room. Bed was a pit of welcome oblivion and he was asleep before he could give a thought to the day past.

  Sometime during the night Jason could recall having half-wakened, driven upward towards consciousness by nightmare, but it seemed not to have lasted as long and he had sunk back into sleep after a few fitful starts. This time he had a vague recollection of hanging outward over a wall, caught by the backs of his knees, while a large, blurred figure threatened and the motorway thundered far below. Then he was falling slowly downward, towards the rushing traffic, until he woke. Despite the one interruption he must have slept well, for he felt alert and rested, ready for whatever Orest might inflict upon him.

  That stalwart was once again up and stretching, stifling an enormous yawn as he stripped the bedclothes from his
bunk and motioned Jason to do the same. The boy got the job of taking clothes and linen to the launderit and after eating they picked up the clean laundry. He did a passable job of making his bed, somehow anxious to match Orest, then they were off to tour the school complex, marvellous in its scope and compactness. Labs and shops of every description were arranged in the central area near the dining hall. Sleeping wings radiated from this hub, and between them were open areas and a ‘gym’, where it seemed one could play at all those things the Marks loved watching on vid-screens. There was even a building with hockey rink and curling sheets—which had been too far beyond his daily fight to survive to capture his interest. He was dazed by the immense gulf between his past life and what lay before him, frightened by the sudden realisation that he would be expected to take part, that most of the people here must use all these. For the first time, he began to wonder what the others had done to be trapped here, what he had done. Nevertheless, a wary corner of his mind noted that the shape of all Orest had shown him was a semi-circle: the layout was clear, every room and corridor from his wing— Lacombe?—to the farthest, MacKenzie Wing, which was on a straight line right through the central complex. And what did that mean? There were no discernible exits to the other half of the circle. Store it!

  When they returned, shortly before lunch, Orest showed him how to fold back the top of his deck and pull up a scanner. He went over the instruction manual carefully, dialling microfilm and tapes from the library, showing Jason the reading aid attachment. ‘I’ll have a programme for you tomorrow morning,’ Orest smiled. ‘According to how fast you go, there’ll be adjustments made. For now,’ he added, ‘you’ll do what I think you need. I don’t think you’ll have to read all morning, somehow. Once you get that skill out of the way you’ll spend time in the labs. And there’s PhysEd too—got to put meat on them bones.’ He laughed at that and as the chime sounded they went to lunch.

  Jason had found himself wondering about this whole setup. The Stab had said he was guilty of some big trip, but so far he couldn’t see where the hook was. Bread, a sweet hole, a chance maybe to dig ‘tronics; it sure wasn’t the wipeout he’d expected from listening to the other Pickers. But back in the room he got his first taste of the hook. As soon as they’d closed the door a panel above it slid back and a long buzz drilled his ears. Behind the panel was a scanner which showed simply—Lenchuk Berkley: KP Area 2: 6/24—7/10. Orest sighed and pressed a button in the top of the door frame. ‘Well,’ he murmured, ‘they still get you moving right off. We’ve got sixteen days of KP, starting now.’

  * * * *

  It was hot, despite the climatrol, and Jason had never worked so hard in his life. Pile after pile of dirty cups, plates and cutlery was racked and sent through the washers. His utility suit clung to him and he took small comfort from the fact that two other boys, faces drawn and sweat-beaded, worked alongside him. Behind them, Orest and two other men were checking out belts and loaders and through one of the belt accesses Jason caught a glimpse of two others working in the more familiar area behind the serving doors. He had raided that section in more than one autoteria and he wondered now if there had been anyone in the next room, doing what he now slaved at. No: there would have been more noise. Must have been robos.

  With a groan of relief he helped to send the last rack into the washer and squatted down to rest. ‘All right!’ Orest called out, ‘stack ‘em!’ With incredulous anger, he turned to see Orest pointing to the empty loaders. The other boys had already begun to clear the hot racks and Jason followed, inwardly seething. One more point against the big crud, he thought, letting anger sweep through his body to give him strength. It had not left him when he loaded the last pod of knives and they methodically mopped the floor right to the entry, so he called up images of himself standing over a sweating Orest, mopping with a toothbrush. It nearly made him smile. His back ached and his fingers were puffy, his face felt oily and his hair was stiff, but when they had showered and had supper he was still alive enough to go into the lounge with Orest and watch for a while. Most games didn’t interest him much. He might learn to play some day, just to see if he could beat these Marks. The one with the funny pieces though, that looked promising. He could see an infinity of corridors on the chessboard, could see that some of the pieces, just like the Marks, had to stick to certain patterns. Only one big piece could go anywhere it pleased. He found himself remembering the levels of the city he had known. Yes, this was a game for him. When Orest, answering, said he played, Jason noted a slight caution, a veiling of the eyes, and after that he knew the man was watching, thinking.

  As he bedded down for the night, the boy mulled over everything he had learned in the past two days. Life here had its bad qualities, like Orest, who was still up and prowling the other side of the light wall. That kitchen work too, and probably crud like it—they might have a number of unpleasant surprises for him. Well, he had some surprises for them too. If they thought they were going to break him, Orest included, they were dead wrong. He could take that slop every afternoon and morning too, for that matter. There’d come a time, meanwhile, when he would find the way out. And if he got into the labs, he’d leave a little present for the big crud too, when he busted. It was a pleasant way to drift into sleep and his night was completely untroubled at last.

  * * * *

  It was fantastic how time seemed to fly after that. Jason moved from one thing to the next so quickly that he had little time, except in the private moments before sleep, to puzzle over what was happening to him. He had picked up his reading with very little trouble and even Orest was impressed, which gave a bitter kind of satisfaction to the boy. But the young man gave him little praise and a hell of a lot more work for his reward. He had taken quite naturally to the sciences, and would have spent all of his time at the scanner on that part of his programme, but the ever-present Orest would look up from his own work, check the time and pry him loose sometimes almost physically, to make him work on history, geography, sociology and a batch of garbage. He hated languages and won only the small concession from his tormentor that he could use phones and take a dose late in the evening, so long as he could pass the weekly quizzes.

  It was the same with other activities too. He actually liked gymnastics and he knew that someday he would pass Orest, in fact leave him far behind. Even now, on the bars and rings, he was performing better than boys years older. But team sports he couldn’t stand. There was a barrier between himself and the other boys which he himself created, he knew, since most of them got on with one another, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it and they didn’t make much of an effort either. In the lounge he played only games against a single opponent, with a fierce concentration and graceless exultation over winning that soon left him few takers. Orest had remarked on it when they sat playing chess one evening, while most of the others were at a baseball game in the late summer sunshine. ‘You know,’ he had mused, ‘there’s a lot more to life than being top man in games.’ Jason had snorted derisively at him. ‘What more is there in this cage?’ he retorted. Orest had sat back and looked at him sadly, obviously seeking words. In the end he had merely said cryptically, ‘Until you get that monkey off your back, there isn’t anything more.”

  But with summer gone, and the dusk settling at 20:00, and then 19:00, he got his chance at the labs and he couldn’t have cared less about his social life. Orest had to tear him away and finally requested that they be assigned to evening labour, in order to give him more time in the day. It was then, too, that Jason had his first real look at the world outside the school, although he was still inside a fence. They went to harvest, working among the combines and trucks and he was overwhelmed by the fast, sweeping fields of grain, stretching out towards the dusty foothills, framed by the purple haze of mountains. The sheer space was unbelievable. A strange emotion woke in him, one which he couldn’t define, but which brought tears to his eyes when he stopped to rest and look. They worked on into the darkness each nigh
t, the combines lumbering glaring-eyed across the sections of school land. Then one night it was over. The combines lurched out a great gate, were taken by strange drivers and moved on, leaving the inmates to clear off, fill the last granaries and go back to school. It was the pigbarns and dairy next for Jason and Orest, where automation or not the work was still hard for the boy, and Orest, ever-watchful, made checks and repairs.

  Perhaps it was winter, perhaps his imagination, but as time wore on it seemed to Jason that Orest was becoming more and more oppressive. Just when he was settling into a routine that suited him perfectly, Orest had switched it around. He had wanted to stick with the tronlab, fascinated by the possibilities it presented, when Orest announced that he must move to physics. He had bitten back angry words and set about mastering his lessons with vicious drive. Then Orest had told him he was going to study literature in the mornings and when he furtively dialled a film on trontraffic, the cruddy bum had wired a limiter to his selector. The last straw came when he put the gym off limits.

  It wasn’t much of a fight, really. Orest stood impassively in the centre of the room and repeated carefully, ‘The gym is out of bounds. You’re going to the hockey rink.’ Jason was incredulous. ‘Ah, come off it, Orest. I can’t even skate, for crisakes,’ he pleaded. But his custodian simply folded his arms, mouth in a thin, straight line. ‘What are ya tryin’ to do to me?’ Jason’s voice rose. ‘You’re takin’ away everything I like, everything I want.’ Even more shrilly, he shouted, ‘You’re jealous, damn you. You know I’m good, better than you are—better than you’ll ever be, you lousy crud.’ On the last his voice broke and it came out in a wailing falsetto that shattered his remaining control. In a blind fury he rolled off the bed, fists flailing, only to find himself pushed back hard enough to bounce off the mattress, against the wall and down on to the bed again. Shaking his head, he launched himself at Orest, who grabbed him in mid-air, swung him around and bounced him even harder off the wall. With animal rage, Jason drove for the other’s legs, found empty air, and slid head first into the cabinets under Orest’s bunk. Nearly unconscious, he managed to sit up, blood streaming down both sides of his nose from a cut on his forehead. He tried to get his feet under him, sat down heavily again and shook uncontrollably. He watched helplessly as Orest took a facecloth and left, returning to wipe his face and utility suit and hold the cloth to his head. He was carried to his own bunk and dropped, and as he lay face down, shaking from the emotional storm, he listened to his custodian.