The
floodlights glared harshly on the ice-crusted surface around the large
entry portal throwing shadows out across the surface between the 60 meter
high drifts carved by the wind on the southern side. Billy could feel the
vidsensors watching as the team pulled into the sheltered archway in front
of the huge double doors. H.P.R.C. was stenciled in large block letters
across the dark metal face and in smaller letters: Human Propagation
Research Center, Government of North America.
He
tried to look unconcerned when the smaller utility port did not open
immediately. They would be checking his authorization to be outside. As
far as he knew, very few people received permission, or even had a
legitimate reason to go beyond the entry, especially alone. The dogs
impatient barks reverberated under the arch. It was several hours past
their feeding time. Standing still, Billy imagined he could feel the
bitter cold seeping into his coldsuit. The wind blew gusts of fine ice
crystals into the air that crackled and clicked against his face
mask.
The
dogs lunged forward as the smaller port slowly began to open. Warm light
flooded across the snow. Dogs, sled and man pulled into the entry passage
as the 2-meter-thick insulated port door sealed away cold and darkness
with a deep resounding thud that echoed inside the high-ceilinged staging
area. Two Security service men were waiting to take the sled as soon as
Billy disconnected the dogs and removed his personal pack and tool case.
Access to the sleds was carefully controlled. They never let Billy get
near a sled except for a few moments before leaving the Center, and never
privately. Security was always there to run a checklist and inspection of
the items he carried before he was released.
Billy
could feel his body overheating as he quickly shed the bright yellow
coldsuit. One of the black-suited men, bored and indifferent, took the
suit away without a word. The power pack would be removed and recharged.
The packet he had stuffed inside his tech uniform was like a hot coal
burning against his waist. He sucked in his stomach hoping there was no
tell-tale bulge. They didn't look at him as he turned leave. Relieved at
being ignored, he still felt awkward as he tried to appear normal.
"Come
on guys. Todney is waiting!"
The
dogs ran ahead, stumbling and tangling in their harness lines. The ramp
led downward; one turn, another, each ramp resembling a gigantic concrete
hill. Finally they scrambled out onto another staging area, similar to the
first only much older and worn, built before the first big freeze and the
permanent ice.
Billy
crossed the pitted concrete space to the freight elevator and the
impatient dogs. They rushed into the elevator the moment the gate opened.
He touched the lighted square, Level 4, and the elevator hummed into
action, dropping several hundred meters per minute. He busied himself
removing the leadlines and untangling the dogs. The harnesses would come
off later. The older, lead dog stood patiently, nose at the gate.
Level
4 opened with a hiss. The dogs left him far behind running down the
brown-colored passway toward their quarters The only place they knew,
having been born, raised and trained inside the Domestic Animal Level
(DAQ). Level 4 had been painted a warm brown, as was the soft, uniform
jacket which barely fit around Todney's ample stomach. He squinted through
his glasses logging in Billy's return of the dogs on the commterm.
"You're
late. You'd better do your report right now." Somewhere in his mid
fifties, Todney tried to complete Billy's training about the sleds and
dogs in the rush after Matthew's death. Now he felt responsible and
concerned about the high risks the younger man must take, especially with
so little time to work with Matthew's sled dogs. "Come on, they're
expecting it now." He stepped back to allow Billy to enter the small
office.
"I'd
rather have a hotcup and a shower." Billy said, sitting at the
commterm with a tired sigh. After his initial entry, the display
requested, EXPLAIN FAILURE TO MEET ETA AS SUBMITTED.
Billy
very methodically typed: EXTREME SNOW DRIFTING AND ICE BUILD-UP AT BOTH
STATIONS 1 AND 2 REQUIRING REMOVAL OF SAME BEFORE ENTRY. EXTRA TIME
NECESSARY.
Reading
over his shoulder, Todney said, "I expected as much."
"Yeah,
I was really nervous about getting back after dark."
"The
dogs know the way, you know." Todney reminded, stepping out of the
small office.
"So
I'm learning."
The
display requested, UNUSUAL OR SIGNIFICANT INFORMATION TO REPORT?
Billy
froze for a second, then realized he was already committed. He entered,
NOTHING SIGNIFICANT.
STATION
STATUS?
He
finished the report with, MICROWAVE STATION 1,2=NORMAL.
Evidently
satisfied, Commcentral sent a termination tone and the screen darkened.
Billy felt the tension of the moment drain out of his neck and shoulders.
He really wanted to ask Todney about the Polar bears, but it didn't feel
like the right time, maybe later.
Todney
was already on the far side of the training compound setting out food for
the dogs as Billy headed for the lift.
"Thanks
Tod. Give them all they want. They got me back!"
In
the small cylindrical lift he touched Level-8. Some minutes later he
arrived with a hiss, hundreds of meters deeper into the huge, underground
complex and was striding down a yellow-tiled passway towards his own
quarters.
The
lights glowed as he entered the room. He dropped the pack on the carpeted
floor and returned the tool box to its compartment, then sat to remove the
thermal boots which were beginning to roast his feet. Reaching down over
the boots, he quickly slipped the package from the microwave station into
one of the boots. The strange plastic felt warm. Standing he stripped out
of his work uniform and placed the boots and uniform into the wall
compartment. After removing his ID and financial card he hung the personal
pack on the inside of the panel. Neatness and care of belongings had
always been part of his life, but this time the actions seemed forced. He
kept his eyes away from the vidscreen.
He
knew the vidsensor was watching him. Anyone coming in from outside was
observed more than the usual random checks that went on all the time. He
occasionally had to service the lens that were built into the display
panels of many commterms. Centered in the wall opposite the entry door,
coming and going could never be a secret. Billy always lived an open life,
but the idea of being occasionally, or even continually observed rubbed
against some nerve deep inside that never was spoken of. Yet, on this
night, he had falsified a report hiding the fact of an intruder at the
station, had carried forbidden, unrevealed material into the Center, and
then hidden the material. If he looked toward the commterm he knew his
face would give him away.
He
stepped out of his underwear and went into the small bathroom. Looking
into the mirror he rubbed his dark curly hair, contemplating the look of
fatigue in his blue-gray eyes, or was it guilt? He definitely looked his
31 years, despite the full lips and short nose he inherited from his
Mother. The eyes. It was in his eyes. He could see it, dark shadows edged
with guilt.
Matthew
had to have been a contact for someone on the outside, he thought, and now
I'm falling into whatever he was doing. He stepped into the narrow shower
and the steam rose up around him. He sighed and drifted into the
sensations of warmth. Later his back and legs would be sore from all the
exertion.
Dressed
and feeling better, Billy leaned over activating the commterm and entered:
CLOVE WHERE?
The
display instantly showed: OFF DUTY STATUS--LAST CONTACT: YELLOW-MEETING,
TABLE 18.
The
meeting area for the yellow level was the largest in the Center,
cushioned, carpeted, and mirrored to expand the space. Billy entered the
lounge. Warm and inviting, the room featured a living painting, softly
merging in and out of itself on the wall-sized screen. Near the back a
woman bent over a keyboard creating musical rhythms on a music
synthesizer. The dining room was still mostly full. He could hear the
sounds of many voices above the music, each intent on its own
conversation. He found Clove sitting with Windslow in the dim light of the
entertainment lounge.
Clove's
face brightened with a smile when he saw Billy, "There you are! We
thought you were lost in the Outside."
"Not
as long as I have Matthew's dogs," answered Billy as he sank into a
chair. "Hi Windslow," he said to the pale, blond, round-faced
man with Clove.
"I
hear you are becoming an Outsideman?" There was a great deal of
respect in Windslow's manner. "Just to think of being out in the open
with no protection. It makes me very nervous!" In his mid-fifties,
Windslow had come to the Center with his parents when he was a small child
as had most of the residents.
Clove
laughed, "Everything makes you nervous, Windy!" He activated the
small commterm in the table top, saying, "Billy, do you want the big
dinner? You must be starving. All that outside air and exercise and
all." Several years older, but like Billy, born in the Center, Clove
was thin and small. "We ate some time ago."
"Yeah,
double meat with mashed and extra gravy, and a hotcup while I'm waiting.
The air is unbelievably cold outside, even through a mask. It makes me
hungry enough to eat a bear!" It was a common expression, but as soon
as he said it, he was sorry. The memory of the dead man flashed in his
mind. The bears had attacked him while he was trying to get into the
station.
Clove
and Windslow both laughed. Billy always had a way of being cute and funny,
but tonight it felt very shallow and insincere. He smiled at his friends
and moved his concentration to the living painting which was wavering and
blinking in time to the music. A few people were beginning to stroll in
from the dining room. He waved to someone he thought he knew across the
lounge.
When
they were children, Clove being the older, was often very mean to Billy.
Being the youngest and the smallest always made him a target for teasing
and sometimes spiteful incidents. They were friends now, but Billy always
had felt inadequate, always behind and catching up--until now. Now he had
a job and position that made the others respect, if not look up to him.
For the moment he felt good. The room, the level, in fact the entire
Center seemed smaller than it did a few days ago.
The
commterm sounded a tone and displayed, B.615 DINNER IS SERVED: DINING
ROOM, TABLE 9.
"Will
you join me," asked Billy turning to his friends.
Clove
nodded. "Sure."
Windslow
stood, saying, "Maybe another time. I'm on comm duty at 0500, so I'm
sleeping early. I'll catch you both tomorrow."
"Bye,
Windy." He entered, B.615: 1 EXTRA HOTCUP, and standing said,
"Come on Clove, food is waiting!"
Billy's
mind kept returning to the station out on the ice and the package that was
hidden in his room. The dead man had been quite a bit older than he would
expect. Maybe living outside caused a human to age faster. No one in the
Center looked that old, expect perhaps Director Aberchrombie. But then he
was as old as the Center, having been a designer during the actual
construction of the lower levels.
He
was wiping up gravy with the last of his bread when he noticed the black
uniform of a security guard. He was standing at the back of the dining
room near the service doors. For a moment his heart jumped, breaking out
in a sweat, his guilt was spreading over him like a second skin. They
can't know. There's no way they could know.
The
guard didn't even glance at the diners, he was intent on some other
business and was soon gone. Billy became aware that Clove was talking
about some handball game that was coming up. He tried to concentrate on
his friend's words, but it was as if Clove was on the other side of a
glass wall. There were stories from the past about people who never
accepted the GNA and who were living outside the control zones. How could
anyone live on their own without the help and protection of the
government? All his life he'd been taught there was only one way to live
and survive. The man's clothes weren't even manufactured by a GNA
workshop.
"Billy,
you're not here," Clove was saying. "Are we going to practice
tomorrow or not?"
"Huh?
Oh sure. I'm sorry. I guess I'm more tired than I thought. I think I'll
turn in. We can get a good work-out before lunch tomorrow, ok?"
"Great,
I'll be ready by 1030," answered Clove as they headed for the main
entrance. He stopped part way across the room, "You know, I think
I'll stay and dance for a while. I need the exercise, unlike you. Catch
you in the morning, Billy." He turned back toward the music and the
pulsating wall of flashing colors.
At
the entrance Billy stopped to wait for a crowd of people to pass through.
They all were dressed in monochromatic shades of yellow identifying them
as technicians; the same as himself. Crowds were always orderly. Touching
someone, even accidentally, was usually avoided at all costs. He stood
well back to give the in-coming people space. Most seemed to be alone,
walking together, but not being together.
Just
outside the Yellow-Meeting he noticed the woman standing at the edge of
the entrance. Her blue cape and dress seemed very out of place in the
midst of the yellow level. He knew her name was Miss Marzon. She was a
teacher and supervisor of the older children on Level-6. She appeared to
be very nervous, her eyes searching into the Yellow-Meeting. Billy watched
her as another group of technicians entered. Her light brown hair was
pulled back and fastened with a wooden clip. She was, like him, average
sized if not on the thin side. Her fine-featured face and eyes were
strained, maybe from lack of sleep. Billy knew the feeling.
As
the entry space cleared, Billy approached her asking, "Miss Marzon,
can I help you? Is anything wrong?"
"Oh,
ah.. Crane isn't it? Mr. Crane?" She drew back, eyes averted. Seeing
her reaction, Billy said very gently, "Yes, but everyone calls me
Billy. Being the youngest one in the Center I don't usually rate the
"Mr."
Her
smile was very fragile and fleeting. "Have you seen Jed Wilson? The
food table commterms are down, the kitchen won't function, and none of the
children have eaten!"
"Didn't
you comm for him?"
"Yes,
of course, but he hasn't answered. I've been calling him for the past
hour." She was trembling slightly, soft hazel eyes, pleading.
Billy
sensed something more serious was wrong. "What about Security, they
can find him if it's an emergency."
"Oh,
no!" Her reaction was fast, although she tried to hide the emotion
behind it. "I couldn't bother them. Please, I don't want to involve
Security."
Actually
relieved, Billy thought for a moment. "Why don't you come inside.
There's a commterm and we can try a computer search again. I've got a
friend at Commcentral who can run a locations check." When he looked
at her with those blue-gray eyes and that open face showing only concern,
she nodded and stepped forward when he motioned her to follow him.
Inside
the Yellow-Meeting he indicated she should sit in an alcove while he sat
opposite and activated the public commterm display. He entered, EMERGENCY:
JED WILSON, WHERE? The standby light blinked silently. In the background
the music throbbed and he could sense the energy of the dancing. Dozens of
figures, each moving separately, each in his or her own kinetic
space.
He
could see she was thankful for the partial concealment of the alcove. She
looked very beautiful in the shadowed light; finely shaped features,
perhaps a little sharp, but softened by large hazel eyes and very curly,
soft brown hair that fuzzed around the edges of her face and neck, hands
holding the blue cape a little too tightly. Her eyes were constantly
looking out into the motion and noise of Yellow-Meeting.
It
was not her world. These techs were not part of her almost isolated
existence dominated by the children and their needs. She watched Billy as
he contacted his friend who was on duty at Commcentral. He looked tired as
he brushed his dark hair back from his eyes.
He
didn't understand. ALL SEARCHES NEGATIVE- NO CONTACT, was blinking on the
display. Where was Jed, Billy puzzled. A person couldn't simply disappear
inside the Center. He wasn't at his job and his quarters registered empty.
He was a tech, so he should be somewhere on Level 8.
"I'm
sorry, Miss Marzon, he's not to be found. It's possible he's sick or
injured and out of sight of the vidsensors although that's hard to
believe. Maybe you should contact Security?"
Standing,
she said, "No, I don't want that, but someone's got to come to
level-6. I can't feed the children without some help with the equipment. I
must get back. It was foolish to even come down here."
Feeling
that he should help. Her desperation was only partly concealed and it
disturbed him. He blurted out, "I think you're very upset." And
then knowing he shouldn't, but did anyway, "Is it more than the
food?" He felt her close off, even before she answered.
"No,
it's just the children." She looked as if she could cry at any
moment. "Thank you anyway,...Billy."
The
way she said his name. He remembered his Mother. She said his name that
way sometimes. Neither of them noticed the black-uniformed Security guards
until one of them spoke.
"Miss,
you must return to Level-6, the children need your attention."
Billy
froze, not knowing what to do or say.
She
gave him one last, desperate look, and then nodded her head to the guard.
The look in her eyes chilled Billy to the center of his being. It was an
unspoken fear. More than ever he wanted to help her, to do
something.
He
stammered, "I'm sure everything will be alright. They'll find someone
to repair the commterms and get the kitchen up and running."
She
didn't answer or look back as she left with the guards. Billy watched them
disappear down the passway toward the elevators. Suddenly he had a great
need to be alone; to get back to his room, get into bed, and turn off the
light.
Copyright
© 1999 by Gale Peterson
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