Wortsman Cold Earth Wanderers

1. Auflage 2014
ISBN: 978-1-938349-18-8
Verlag: Pelekinesis
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 220 Seiten

A science fiction novel set in a completely built up world where vertical values are prized while all horizontal tendencies are suspect. An illicit underground group is hoping to break through to the elusive outside but special agents are hot on the trail.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Wortsman, Peter

Leseproben

II
1.
When Elgin got home he found his mother weeping. –“Mom, what is it?!” Ever since his father’s disposal, he had taken a gentler tone with her, as if she, not he, needed protecting. Her joy at seeing her son safe was overshadowed by a dark dread of what lay in store for him. “They came here looking for you. I told them you were at school!” Elgin grinned. “It’s nice to know somebody missed me.” “Oh Elgin,” she broke out crying, “you don’t understand the seriousness of the matter!” “What’s the good of being young,” he said, “if you take things too seriously?” “I went to see Dr. Orion,” she replied. –“How is he?” –“He showed me your block citizenship composition.” –“Didn’t he find it vertical enough?” –“For up’s sake, Elgin, don’t you know you’re skating on thin ice!” –“So what if I slip? I’ll freefall all the way to China!” –“They’re talking about a personality profile, Elgin. Do you know what that means?” –“Fame and fortune?” His flip tone camouflaged his own mounting upset. –“After a PP, the next step is compulsory desensitization!” –“All the kids go through desensitivity training, Mom, it’s no big deal!” Elgin shrugged. “It’s a character-shaping experience!” he mouthed the popular slogan with a grin. * After evening nourishment, Mrs. Marble found her son packing his father’s old leisure backpack with a nervous determination. –“What are you doing? Where are you going?” “Camping,” he said, without blinking. She hugged him to her. “They took your train, you know!” “They haven’t got enough imagination to make it run!” he smiled. There was silence between them, not the empty electric silence sputtering between Inter-Eye segments, but a heavy human silence choked with emotion. “I love you, Mom!” the boy said, gripping the backpack. She shut her eyes to hold back the tears and preserve an intact image of her son, for he wouldn’t be leaving a hologram of himself behind. 2.
Agents Belfry and Quirt were waiting in the corridor several doors down. They always gave their mark a little lead for, like all predators, they enjoyed the chase. But that was not the only reason they allowed Elgin to make a run for it. Small fry, like Elgin, however tasty, had hardly enough meat on their bones to be worth the effort, whereas if they gave him some slack he might very well lead them to a bed of Crabs. 3.
Dr. Orion made it a regular practice to round out each sustained up-cycle (or what his pupils called the old tick-tock) with a well-earned downtime visit to his favorite horizon parlor. He was feeling eminently vertical following his meeting with Mrs. Marble, the dead level bitch. A mother who fails to keep her child in check deserves no pity. Quite the contrary, it was his official duty to correct her mistakes. Inappropriate parental imprints do lasting damage on their precious pups. How lovely it was to watch her wriggle. It was his duty, after all, as high school principal, to sift out the bad seed so as to protect the rest so prone to spoilage. He himself would be conducting the PP on the boy, a responsibility he took very seriously. But there was time enough to muse on such official business. Although tolerated, horizon parlors were not altogether respectable, and patrons of social standing like himself concerned for their reputations generally hid behind an alternate identity conferred by an accommodating hostess, just in case the list of clients should be leaked to the ever-eager Inter-Eye for their weekly Subverted Verticality Report, a favorite down-time feature. So Mr. Orion checked in as Orville Wright, a sobriquet further shortened to Or by a plucky hostess. “Where to today, Or?” she asked. “I don’t know,” he hesitated, scanning the electronic menu of virtual destinations. Hawaii, Singapore, Sri Lanka, Fiji, Staten Island—the names evoked no vivid associations, the globe having long since been subdivided into homogeneous numbered blocks with no distinguishing mark. “Urban, suburban or rural?” she pressed, the magma of impatience evident in her voice beneath her studied professional smile. “I just can’t make up my mind,” he admitted, reverting to a childish indecisiveness the hostess found galling. “How about a historical junket?” she recommended, putting her smile and perkiness on automatic pilot. “Our ever-popular whirlwind tour of the sin cities includes unforgettable glimpses of Sodom, Rome, Bangkok, Las Vegas and Atlantic City.” “Perhaps,” he said. –“Or maybe you prefer the Penal Colonies Tour? Participant or spectator, handcuffs or leg irons, the choice is yours.” Dr. Orion perked up. * He always traveled in style. He liked such little extras as a hot towel and a glass of bubbly to still the jitters prior to departure. “I’m your hostess, you may call me Miss!” a stern-looking schoolmarm with hair pulled back in a tight knot introduced herself. “You will be physically restrained for the duration of the trip.” “There must be some mistake,” he protested meekly. “This way!” she pointed, her index finger trembling with impatience. Resistance was futile. Dr. Orion permitted himself to be pinioned to a reclining chair in a private Pullman car, all the amenities of which were just out of reach. “Champagne, please, Miss!” he requested. The hostess popped open a bottle and poured herself a glassful and drank it down. “Not bad!” she said. –“May I have a sip?” Frowning, she found a funnel in the minibar. “Open your mouth!” she said and proceeded to pour the rest of the bottle down his throat, so that what he did not gag on soaked his clothes. “Hot towel!” he pleaded. With a pair of pincers she plucked a steaming hot hand towel from a metal box and dropped it on his face, nearly scalding his delicate pink skin. “All aboard,” she cried, “for the Penal Colony Express!” The simulated train whistle blew. The wood-paneled wall opened to reveal an interactive screen with simulated old-fashioned outdoor landscape, including occasional cattle and waving children, rushing by like canned memories, in the opposite direction. First stop Andersonville, where the starving prisoners on screen begged for food and Dr. Orion, opting for the role of prison guard, was released from his straps and took considerable pleasure in stuffing sawdust down their mouths. At Devil’s Island, Dr. Orion switched places and had himself stripped and shackled to a treadmill and made to drag considerable loads at a rapid clip. Whenever he slowed down, Miss made a simulated whip crack in stereo, stinging realistically, though it raised no welts. Next stop, Auschwitz! Dr. Orion watched the screen as an old coal burning engine coughed out a filthy black cloud, spitting steam, and a towering gateway came into view. The moving image slowed down to a crawl and came to a dead stop at a railroad siding accompanied by the snarl and bark of savage dogs. “I think I’ll sit this one out,” he whispered. “As you like,” a sexless voice said. Other simulated passengers were herded out of the train to the welcome of dogs and bludgeon-wielding black-booted guards. The passengers were separated into two lines, one to the right and one to the left. The reluctant were prodded and shoved. Infants were torn out of their mother’s arms and swung, head first, against the rusted metal railing of the cattle car they came in, then flung into a lifeless heap. The sight was a little too messy for Dr. Orion’s taste. “Fast forward, please,” he muttered. “Too horizontal for your taste?!” Miss teased. Now he watched eagerly as the women and girls undressed, and shivered as they were herded into a small square chamber, imagining himself pressed between bosom and buttocks. A few seconds of the spectacle of asphyxiation was all he cared for. “Please!” he whimpered. But at Srebenize he made up for lost time, an enthusiastic participant in the simulated rape of young girls, complete with realistic screams, as the families of victims looked on. All in all, he had had a splendid time. Dr. Orion came away feeling refreshed and ready to tackle the challenges of the coming tick tock. 4.
As Elgin headed for the elevators, he thought he heard footsteps behind him. Turning, he saw no one following him. He reflected a moment on whether to take the passenger elevator, in which the Inter-Eye monitor would immediately register his presence, or to ride the freight, whose operator, an old friend of his father’s, would not ask too many questions. His dad had taken him along on many a freight run to teach him the ropes, so the elevator repair crews were well accustomed to his presence and might accept this little lapse from protocol as a residual surplus of filial devotion or advance training for a future career. “How’s it riding, son?” Otis, his father’s longtime partner and subsequent replacement on the freight run, greeted him with a warm welcoming smile. “Smooth as silk,” Elgin gave the customary response and Otis waved him in. –“Where to,...