Two
The machine demanding Mort Bragg's switchblade looked
like an automated teller. With a moan of protest, Mort tossed the knife
in the drawer. The drawer closed to whisk the weapon away to the main
offices. The countdown ended, and the inner door of glass slid open.
Mort gave a sigh of relief, then noticed Marla
frowning at him. "It was just a joke!"
The halls of Armstrong High stretched ahead, broad
halls with low ceilings. Lights came on in wide white bands overhead.
Like the bronze windows outside, the corridor stretched as far as the eye
could see.
"Freaky," Marla said softly. "I've never seen it so
quiet."
"Or so empty," Mort added.
Okay, Rick thought. We have an appointment at six.
For what reason?
The dark-haired girl in the long dress brushed
silently past and went on alone down the corridor. Soundproofed walls
swallowed the sound of her footsteps.
"Nasty little creature," Marla said. She wrinkled
her nose in distaste.
"Becky Marple," Rick said. "She's not a bad kid."
Marla snorted. "She's a nerd."
Marla started off down the hall after Becky. The two
were a study in contrast. Marla was tall and leggy with short blonde
hair. Becky was small, with long dark hair. Marla chose to show off her
die-for figure. This afternoon, she was wearing beige slacks and a white blouse
loaded with lace and frills. Becky was overdressed in an ankle length
skirt and a sweater over a dark colored blouse.
Mort stared at the sway of Marla's body until he
remembered he had company. "Lucky dog," he growled at Rick and started
after the two girls with clenched fists.
Mort had no girlfriend of his own. He had few
friends of any kind. He was a short and stout boy, a natural wrestler
with the face of a pit bull. And a temperament to match.
The bolts to the glass doors slammed shut behind
him. Rick paused and looked again wistfully at the outdoors darkened to a
twilight by the bronze glass. He glanced at a camera mounted by the door,
aware of being watched. During the day, the computers kept track of the
movement of thirty-five hundred students. Tonight, there would be only
four.
Even when deserted, Armstrong High was a living
creature. The computers monitored everyone who came into the building,
and everyone who left. They knew every student by name, by face, and by
school record. They watched students in the classrooms and in the halls.
They even monitored the rest rooms. For the sake of privacy, they
recorded nothing on videotape, but they gave warning to the school staff
if someone got sick or hurt, or broke the rules.
Mort thought Armstrong High a prison. Rick felt
secure inside its walls. The computers tutored each pupil at their own
pace and made learning easy and fun. There were a few human
instructor-assistants on hand, and lots of security people, but Armstrong
High had no human teachers.
Not a single one.
Marla turned back and called out. "Rick Kaiser! Are
you coming, or what?"
Rick hurried obediently after her.
Halfway down the corridor, a janitor knelt beside a
little floor-mopping machine. The machine reminded him of R2D2
from the old Star Wars movies.
Becky smiled and greeted the man as she passed.
Marla thumbed her nose.
Mort pretended to trip over the robot as he went by.
The machine spun and banged against the wall. Mort laughed and followed
Becky and Marla through a classroom door.
Room ninety-four? Of course. Memories snapped into
place as needed. Rick thought he was going crazy.
The janitor looked up as Rick approached. Rick
stopped, startled by the man's pale gray eyes. The janitor rose to his
feet and gestured for him to pass. He was a lean, muscular man with
cross-cropped hair.
"Sorry," Rick murmured. “They’re idiots.”
Rick went on by. When he looked back, the janitor
was still staring.
For what? He had ignored the others.
Becky Marple selected a seat toward the back. Marla
Van Kirk took a seat front and center. Mort moved off to the far side of
the room and took a desk along the wall.
Rick seated himself at Marla's side. The motors in
the upholstered chair purred and adjusted itself to fit his lanky frame.
The desk surface flashed on and showed the logo of Armstrong High, the
blue hawk and red banner of the football and soccer team.
"Rick Kaiser," a woman's voice whispered from
speakers built into the headrest. "How are you feeling this afternoon?"
Marla snubbed her own personalized greeting. Rick
grinned and said, "I'm fine. How are you?"
"I'm fine, too," the cheerful voice replied, "as long
as the faculty remembers to change my batteries now and then."
"How droll," Marla said in disgust.
But Rick chuckled. The computer was programmed to be
user-friendly, and it never used the same stale joke twice.
Silence hung like a shroud in the room. Mort clicked
his fingernails against the surface of his computer screen/desk top.
Becky Marple was talking to hers. Becky Marple, Rick remembered, had
fewer friends than even Mort Braggs. Marla van Kirk thought Becky
strange, and maybe she was. Rick could not remember ever seeing her talk
with another flesh and blood student. If you said hello to Becky Marple,
she would look away, blush furiously, and say nothing.
Such a waste. She had a round face and heart-shaped
lips. And those eyes. Her mother was Asian, Rick remembered. And her
father? Irish, he had heard.
Mort sat hunched in his seat, looking like an unhappy
gnome. "What's this about, anyway? Anyone got any idea why we're here?"
Marla chuckled nervously. "As often as you skip
classes, Mort Braggs, you show up after school and can't remember why?
Boy, you're losing it."
"Don't call me boy," Mort growled.
Marla gave Mort a crooked grin. "Then what, if not
boy? Are we a man already?"
"And you anything more
than a spoiled brat?" Mort said. "How about just keeping your mouth
shut?"
Marla wrinkled her nose. "Or what? You going to
shut it for me?"
Mort glared at her. He dared not openly threaten
her. Not inside a classroom.
"Give it a rest," Rick
suggested mildly, speaking to neither in particular.
Marla jerked her head around, outraged that he dared
to criticize her.
Rick sighed. "Let's just get this over with. Okay?"
Marla decided against a tantrum. She shrugged.
"Yeah. I guess I'm a little uptight myself. What's this all about,
anyhow?"
Rick looked back at Becky Marple. Becky would know,
as smart as she was, but Becky looked quickly away.
The answer popped into Rick's
head. There had been a parent-teacher conference earlier in
the day. Rick had visited the front offices and had seen his parents in
one of the conference rooms. They had smiled at him. His father had
waved at him. His mother had blown him a kiss. "It's a
psychological evaluation."
Marla looked astonished. "Oh, yeah! I forgot!"
"Great," Mort muttered. "Just what I need. Another
maggot-gagging psych evaluation. You'd think they'd get it right first
time around."
Rick was thinking that it had been good to see his
mom and dad. They worked swing shifts. Sometimes, he didn't see one or
the other for days on end. They were like strangers to him.
"No big deal," he called out to Mort.
"Man, you're not the one in hot water," Mort said.
"You and your preppie friends here got it made. You know what they told
me the last time I got one of these psych evaluations? One more screw-up
and I'm out."
Marla picked her nails. "I never screw up."
"Yeah, well, maybe you did and don't know it," Mort
said. "You ain't here to be crowned prom queen, that's for sure."
Marla looked up and stared off into space with mock
concern. "Did I mess up?" She shook her head decisively. "Nah, I never
do anything wrong. My mother and father would never tolerate anything
less than absolute and total perfection."
Mort looked at Rick, eager for someone to back up the
possibility that they were all in trouble. Rick didn't think so. "I
pretty sure it has something to do with that parent-teacher conference
this morning."
"Oh, great! My old man was drunk. I'm sure he made
a great impression on everyone."
Marla grinned wickedly.
"Don't push too far," Rick said softly.
Marla glared at him. "Or what?"
"Not with Mort," Rick said. "Use some common sense."
Marla joined Mort in drumming her fingers.
Rick stared at her. "What are you so uptight for?"
"I'm edgy," Marla said.
They were all edgy. "Why?" he wanted to know.
He didn't know, but maybe she did.
Marla looked at him again. This time, she looked
thoroughly upset. She had been hiding it. "I don't know. Something's
wrong with me. I can't remember things. It only lasts for a second..."
Rick nodded understanding. "Same with me. I found
myself at the front door and couldn't remember how I got there."
"Maybe they got us tranqed," Marla said.
Rick shook his head. The Supreme Court had declared
all forms of student manipulation unconstitutional in the year 2014,
including the use of psychotropic drugs. "It's gotta be something else."
"Look at the nerd," Marla whispered. She gestured
back to where Becky had begun to weep quietly to herself. Becky was
hunched over the computer screen. Her shoulders shook. Tears dripped to
the glowing screen.
And the computer was soothing her. "All is well,
Becky Marple. I will place a note in your counselor's folder to speak
with you in the morning. Truly, there is no reason to be frightened."
Mort leaped to his feet, unsettled by Becky's tears
in the nerve-wracking quiet. "I'm getting out of here! I'm not playing
games with these ignorant dweebs!"
Mort spun about and started toward the door in long
strides.
He stopped abruptly and took one step back.
A black man with gray eyes stood in the doorway. The
janitor stood in the hall behind him, looking over his shoulder. Both men
stood six and a half feet tall. The janitor wore blue coveralls. The
instructor-assistant wore a black suit and tie.
Both had the same pale eyes.
"Is there a problem?" the newcomer said with a voice
like rumbling thunder.
