Читать книгу City Out of Time - William Robison III - Страница 10

The City Temporary Housing

The Next Day - Relative

Lanz lay on the soft bed, half awake, in a warm cocoon of conscious twilight. The crisp cool sheets felt like heaven against Lanz’s naked flesh. The sunlight that streamed through the window felt warm against his bare back.

His first fully conscious thought was, “Why am I naked?”

His eyes opened and his hand drifted down to confirm that which the rest of his body already knew. He was stark naked. He rolled over and looked around. The room was immediately strange, unknown, and empty.

The day before came flooding back. His brother was alive. He was in some sort of strange city in the desert. Oh, and there was some fantastic bit about being a time traveler… or had he dreamt that part?

There was another knock on the door and Lanz realized that the first knock had been what had woken him. He rolled out of bed, thought better of answering the door naked, and grabbed the sheet. He wrapped it around him like a makeshift toga and went to the door.

He cracked the door a tiny bit and saw the older gentleman from the reception desk standing in the hallway beyond.

“Mr. Franco?” he asked.

“Yes?”

“Is everything alright with you?”

Lanz thought this over for a second before answering, “Yes, I think so.”

The older gentleman seemed perplexed by the answer.

“Is something wrong?” Lanz asked.

“Well, sir… you didn’t come down for breakfast and you’re going to be late for Indoctrination.”

“Indoctrination?”

“You remember… from the orientation film last night?”

“Oh… no… I skipped the movie.”

The sour look on the receptionist’s face told Lanz that that was the wrong answer.

“I came in late,” Lanz added. “I was told I could see it later.”

“Oh… well, Indoctrination is where you go to be given permanent housing. This is only temporary housing. I’m afraid you’re going to need to check out, sir.”

“Oh, okay… I… I’m just going to take a shower and then I’ll clear out.”

“Very good. Come see me at the main desk and I’ll get you squared away.”

“Thanks.”

The receptionist turned around to leave, but stopped after only a step and said, “Oh, one more thing…”

He turned around and handed Lanz a stack of his clothes, freshly laundered. Lanz took the stack of clothes, but didn’t have a chance to ask about them before the receptionist was gone.

Lanz shut the door and walked over to the window. This town was certainly efficient… and completely strange. Friendly, though, so far as Lanz could tell.

He pulled open the curtains (had he closed them?) and stood in the window looking out at the town spread below him, now sparkling in the rising of a brand new day. The hills in the distance were the same ones Lanz had seen from on top of the peak in Death Valley the day before – only, it seemed, this town had sprung up in the little valley between the two sets of hills since then. And along with the town of about 50,000 people, the valley had also sprouted a fully flowing river, a thriving main street, and several gorgeous looking green parks. Lanz was certain that none of this had been visible the day before.

Lanz closed the curtains, shed the toga, and went into the bathroom. There was nothing Star Trek about this future city’s shower. It was a straight-forward turn-the-knob-and-hot-water-comes-out variety. Lanz’s dry sweat-stained skin soaked up the warm water and spit out the dirt. Humanity and sanity returned.

He dried off in a nice fluffy white towel and pulled on his freshly laundered clothes. A rudimentary toiletries kit by the sink provided a tooth brush, tooth paste, razor, shaving cream, and comb. Lanz gussied himself up and then checked the room for any lost articles. Having brought none with him, he didn’t worry about leaving any behind. Satisfied that he was ready to go, Lanz stepped from the room and rode the elevator down to the lobby.

“Ah, Mr. Franco, you look far better now,” said the receptionist. “I always find a nice shower first thing in the morning keeps the spring in my step.”

“Yes, it was an eye opener, but I also smelled like a wet dog,” Lanz replied. “So the shower served two functions.”

“When I started here in 1971, I’d constantly have to find rooms for hippies. Believe you me, mister, nothing smells worse than a hippie that hasn’t bathed in a couple of weeks.”

“You’ve been here that long?” Lanz asked.

“Sure beat the hell out of the jungles of ‘Nam, let me tell you.”

“’Nam? Oh, the hippies must have loved you,” Lanz replied with a smile.

“Surprisingly, we had a lot more in common than you might imagine,” said the receptionist. “Now, don’t let me get started talking about the old times, Mr. Franco. You’re already going to be late to Indoctrination as it is.”

“Right. So, uh, how do I get there?”

“Go back down the escalator to the tube and take it downtown until you reach the Central Plaza station – about three minutes or so,” the receptionist explained. “When you come out of the station, it’ll be the big round building directly across from you and past the Fountain of Peace. But if you miss it, or get lost, just ask anyone where it is. They’ll be happy to point it out.”

Lanz shook the receptionist’s hand and thanked him before walking across the lobby and down the escalator to the tube station.

The tube was just as he remembered it from the night before, only much more crowded. It whizzed through the tunnels past three or four stops before finally reaching the Central Plaza. Lanz got off and followed the crowd up a wide flight of stairs into the bright sunshine of a perfectly clear morning.

It was relatively cool here. Lanz estimated the temperature to be only in the seventies with a slight breeze. It reminded Lanz of the two weeks of spring that Vegas received before the temperatures started rising on a nearly daily basis until it swelled past 100 degrees every single day in June. The temperature was pleasant.

The Central Plaza was a hive of activity today. People were streaming across its wide circular expanse, ignoring the beautiful statues and fountains, on their way to whatever constituted an emergency for a city full of time travelers. It seemed so normal – like a town he might find in a quiet valley in California or Arizona or New Mexico.

Lanz immediately spotted the Indoctrination Building. It was about five stories tall and round like a wheel thrown on its side. The front entrance opened on to the plaza. The building reminded Lanz of something he’d seen in a picture from the New York World’s Fair.

He crossed the plaza and walked through the front doors.

The lobby of the round building was impressive. A large reception desk was off center in the open space. Three lovely young ladies offered information there to all that asked. Massive original paintings graced the five story walls that made up the left and right walls of the lobby. But what drew Lanz’s attention was a gigantic scale model of the entire City resting in a glass cabinet on the other side of the lobby.

Lanz walked over to the model and tried to take it all in. The model was an entirely functional duplicate of the entire city. It had working lights, running above ground and below ground transportation system, and it even seemed to transform throughout the day from a 1940’s variant of the city to a near-future variant (with computerized monitors on some of the walls). It was an impressive model with some really impressive effects.

Lanz located the spot on the model where he would have been standing when he first spotted the streetlights in the fog and when he tried to look from the same angle that he’d been standing in at that moment, he could see a street intersection with a street light in it. As hard as it had been to believe the night before, Lanz realized that this was, in fact, the City he’d seen through the fog about twenty four hours before.

Lanz stared at the model for quite some time before he was approached by one of the young ladies from the information desk.

“Is there something I can help you with?” she asked.

“I was admiring your model,” Lanz noted. “But, uh, I’m actually here for…”

“Indoctrination?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Most other people have some experience of the City – the model doesn’t usually draw their attention as much.”

“Right… still, it’s very cool.”

“Hmm, yes. I suppose,” she said.

“Right… Indoctrination?”

“Through the large double doors,” she pointed to a pair of double doors at the far end of the lobby. “They’ve already started, but you can just grab the paperwork as you enter and start filling it out. It’s pretty self-explanatory, actually.”

Lanz was tired of feeling like a newbie at a brand new high school. He decided to stop gawking and start acting like he knew what was going on. He smiled, nodded, and strode away towards the double doors.

He walked through the double doors and stopped in his tracks. He had just entered one of the largest theaters in the round that he had ever seen. The circular stage at its center was massive – easily more than enough to hold two or three big name concerts at the same time. There had to be enough seating in the place to house the entire town at once if that was needed.

He consciously stopped gawking, looked around, and spotted a plain coffee table nearby filled with paper forms, clipboards, and pencils. An elderly woman sat behind the table, knitting, with one eye on her flashing needles and the other eye on Lanz.

“You’re late,” she said.

“Sorry,” Lanz replied.

He went to the table and looked at the dozens of forms on the table. They were all bureaucratic forms – no rhyme or reason to their color schemes, nor form names. Lanz thought about just grabbing one of each, but he didn’t particularly relish the thought of filling out dozens of forms just because he was too proud to admit that he hadn’t a clue.

“Which forms do I need?” Lanz asked.

The woman managed to point to a clipboard without losing a stitch. Lanz reached over and picked up the clipboard and realized that it had an INDOCTRINATION pamphlet as well as about five forms underneath the pamphlet. Lanz grabbed a pen and walked down the aisle towards the massive stage. There were about forty others already seated near the stage, filling out their paperwork.

Lanz sat down in a comfortable stadium seat and put the clipboard across his lap. He opened the pamphlet, scanned it, and realized that it had several entries on how to fill out the paperwork. Apparently, some of the questions weren’t very self-explanatory after all.

Lanz put the pamphlet on the seat next to him and dove into the paperwork. It began with a series of normal type questions – name, age, date of birth, birth place, last city of residence, primary language, other language or cultural identities, language preference, and cultural preference. Then it began to ask more personal questions.

First it had an area about job skills and employment that was more detailed than a resume but, at the same time, nothing like a resume. Instead of asking things like references, it asked things like favorite co-workers, what sorts of things Lanz liked to do on his days off and holidays. Had he ever slept with the boss?

The next section was as detailed as the first, but it dealt with education. The third was a medical history. Then there was a genealogical history; then a series of hypothetical situations requiring short answers. Finally, there was a section written in some sort of foreign language that looked like complete gibberish. Lanz was puzzling over the last form when he heard someone tap a microphone.

A uniformed man stood on stage at a makeshift podium with a glossy smile on his face.

“Good morning and welcome to Indoctrination. Thank you for taking the time to fill out the paperwork. Believe it or not, these forms will help us better place you within the larger framework of the City community. When you are done with the forms, or whenever you feel you can’t possibly write another word, whichever comes first, please bring your paperwork up to the stage and then wait for your name to be called for your meeting with one of our coordinators. Thank you.”

Lanz double-checked that his paperwork was in good working order before he got up and walked up to the stage. He was the fourth person to turn in his paperwork.

He only had to wait ten minutes for his name to be called. He walked up to the stage and found some stairs that led up to the top. The guy at the podium pointed to a stairwell at center stage that went down. Lanz went down the stairs into a basement of the building. There were several signs that directed him through a labyrinth of dark basement halls.

He came to a reception area in the bowels of the building. The young receptionist looked up as he approached and smiled.

“Lanz Franco?” she asked.

“Yes,” Lanz replied.

She looked down at some paperwork on her desk and Lanz realized that they were his forms. She took out a rubber stamp and stamped the papers and then handed them to Lanz.

“Room Three, please,” she said. “Your coordinator will be Jack Stiles. He’ll be with you in a moment. Just have a seat.”

Lanz walked down a short hallway to door number three and went inside. It looked like a dentist’s office. There was a couch, some magazines of all different types and eras, and a small water dispenser in the corner. Lanz poured himself a Dixie cup full of cold water and had a seat.

After about three minutes, the inner door opened and a middle aged man with an impressive dark beard looked out into the waiting room.

“You must be Lanz,” he said, and stuck out a bear like hand. Lanz shook it and immediately felt at home.

“Come on in and let’s see about getting you situated.”

The Coordinator’s office reminded Lanz of his high school principal’s office. There was no window, a dying plant on the corner of his desk, and several self-important diplomas on the walls. Lanz half-expected to see that the Coordinator was sporting a comb-over. But he wasn’t. In fact, he was easily the most interesting part of his entire office.

As he sat down behind his desk, Jack Stiles took Lanz’s paperwork and started sifting through it. As he looked it over, he absentmindedly drummed away on his desk with a pencil. It was perfect rhythm and Lanz recognized a couple of 1980’s rock and roll classic drum solos in his Coordinator’s pencil drumming.

Finally he looked up, put the paperwork and the pencil down, and flashed a great big smile at Lanz.

“I think the answers are all right here,” Jack Stiles said. He reached into his desk and pulled out a flat sucker, like the kind doctors give kids after they’ve had their shots. “Candy?”

“No thanks… I’m sorry. Did you say something about answers?”

“Of course the next training class isn’t for a couple of weeks, but I think we can find something for you to do in the meantime.”

“Training class? For what?”

“The Retrieval Corps, naturally. You’re a perfect fit. And the fact that your brother is already a member will make this so much easier for you. Of course, with your Army training, this is really the best job to suit you.”

The Coordinator smiled and started to reach for his rubber stamp of approval. Lanz had that creeping sense that he was fast losing any control of his life.

“I don’t understand,” Lanz interrupted. “Are you suggesting that I become a member of the Retrieval Corps? Like my brother?”

Jack Stiles blinked. “I don’t need to do the whole recruitment spiel on you, do I? Hasn’t your brother told you all about it? Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“I’m not sure why I’m here,” Lanz countered. “But one thing I can assure you is that I’m not interested in the Retrieval Corps. My brother is the outgoing one. If he wants to get himself killed, that’s his business. I’m more of a stay safe at home and fix people person.”

Jack Stiles frowned.

“Ah, so I see… you’re a doctor?” he asked.

“I was in Med School, but I was little more than an orderly.”

He looked down at the paperwork again and asked, “But in the Army, you were a medic?”

“Combat medic, yes. About the equivalent of an EMT.”

Jack Stiles sighed and then flipped through a few more sheets of paper on his desk.

“Well, we’ve got some openings in the Medical Ward. Would that suit you?”

Suit me? Lanz was puzzled. What was this coordinator asking? Was he offering Lanz a job?

“How much does it pay?” Lanz asked.

Now it was Jack Stiles turn to look surprised.

“Pay? Don’t you remember Orientation?” he asked.

“No… I missed it.” Lanz admitted.

“The City is a closed system. There is no pay… nor is their expense. There is need and there is want. We fill all needs. We ration out all wants. The system works very well.”

Lanz looked at Jack Stiles and wondered what sort of hippie commune his brother had dragged him into.

“So… what does that mean?” Lanz asked carefully.

“It means, Lanz, that you are here to get a job. You do that job and we give you food, housing, and everything else you need… medical, dental, etc… If you want anything beyond that, like a brand new TV for instance, we can get it for you as we receive them. You might have to wait a few weeks, but one would eventually be brought to your door. This isn’t like the Soviet Union. There’s no waiting in line for toilet paper. We have people that deliver according to your needs.”

“That sounds a bit… suspicious to me.”

Jack Stiles laughed, “Don’t worry… you’ll get used to it.”

“So I keep hearing,” Lanz replied.

They reached an impasse. Jack Stiles looked across his desk at Lanz as if trying to size him up. But whatever conclusion he came to, it was clear that Jack Stiles was not going to leave this room until Lanz had been indoctrinated.

”Well, then… will this be sufficient?”

Lanz thought about it for a second and then replied, “The job? Sure. What happens if I don’t like it?”

Stiles smiled as if the conversation had suddenly veered back onto a normal path.

“You can come back here for reassignment at any time -- if you should change your mind about the Corps, for instance. The only rule we have here is that you must work if you are at all capable.”

That seemed reasonable to Lanz.

“Fine. What now?”

Jack leaned across the desk and shook Lanz’s hand. Then he handed Lanz a yellow card, a blue card, and a green card.

“Most everything you will do here is coordinated to your job. It’s not so much of a prestige thing as a practical thing – firemen, for instance, tend to get housing near their firehouses. Anyway, you take the yellow card to the Job Desk at the end of the hall, and they’ll tell you where to go with the blue card. And remember, if you change your mind about your job, come back here any time.”

“Thanks,” Lanz said.

That hadn’t been so bad, after all. Lanz stood up and realized that in the course of about ten minutes he’d finally been able to land a job in a hospital without having to finish medical school. Maybe there was something to this City after all.

Lanz followed a yellow line painted on the floor that took him back into the main hall and then led to the end of the hallway where a bright yellow table waited. A man in a wheelchair sat at the table waiting eagerly for Lanz to approach.

Lanz handed him the yellow card and the wheelchair bound man read it and seemed impressed.

“A doctor… that’s pretty cool,” he noted. “Let me get you set up here.”

He reached under the table and pulled out a dull blue map of the City. At the center of the map a large complex of buildings represented the City Centre. He took a pencil and circled a decent sized building about two blocks away from the City Centre.

“That’s our hospital. You’ll be working in Ward 90. Just ask for Julia tomorrow and she’ll get you squared away.”

“Is that all?”

“Julia will take care of the rest.”

“Okay… and where do I go next?”

“Follow the blue line to the Housing Desk and they’ll get you a place to stay.”

Lanz was reminded suddenly of boot camp. Only, so far, there’d been a lot less yelling.

He followed the blue line on the floor down the hallway and around a corner, and came to another desk. This time, there was a pretty young Asian woman behind the desk. She looked up at him and smiled, but took the card without a word and started looking through sheets of paper that reminded Lanz of a voter registration book.

“Single or Double?” she asked, without looking up.

“For what?” Lanz countered.

“Do you want a roommate or not?”

“Is it cheaper?” Lanz asked.

She looked up now, slightly exasperated, “There is no cost. It’s just a matter of preference. Some people like to have others around. Also the double apartments tend to have a little more social space.”

Lanz said, “Single.”

She went back to her search, found something, wrote it in the book, then wrote it on his blue card.

Finally she looked up again and said, “You’re now in Apartment 809 in the TAC building on California Street.”

She snatched the map from Lanz’s hand and circled another building about ten blocks from the Central Plaza. She handed him back the map and then went back to her little book.

Lanz followed the green line down another hall and around two more corners until he came to a guy in a green cage. The guy looked like he belonged on a construction site – right down to the sleeveless t-shirt and the tattoos on his arm that designated him a former marine. Lanz handed the guy his green card.

The man took the green card, turned to a small desktop computer inside the cage and tapped away for a few seconds.

“Ah yes… Lanz Franco… here you are. New job at the hospital, apartment on the 8^th floor… at least you have an elevator… okay I’ve got you squared away. Your stuff will be delivered to your apartment at noon.”

“My stuff?”

The man looked perplexed and Lanz felt a sinking feeling before the man ever uttered the words Lanz was dreading to hear, “Didn’t you see the Orientation Film?”

“So… my stuff will be delivered by tonight?” Lanz asked.

“That’s what it says here,” the man said pointing to the computer.

Lanz left the million questions in his head fade into the background and decided to take it on faith for the time being.

“Thanks,” Lanz said. “Now what do I do?”

The man shrugged his shoulders, “Beats me. You’ve got the rest of the day off. I’d get a bite to eat and then take the above-ground trolley around town to get a feeling of the City. Just remember to take your map so you can get back to your apartment.”

Lunch? Lanz suddenly patted his pockets and realized that he’d left his wallet in his car.

“I don’t have my wallet…”

“Everything is taken care of, remember? Just go to any restaurant you want and order anything on the menu. They’ll take note of your name and credit the restaurant with your lunch allotment… It sounds complicated, but it’s easy once you figure it out.”

It all sounded far too simple. Lanz thanked the guy, and followed a white line to some stairs that led back to the lobby. He looked at the map again, tried to orient himself within the City and then decided to just wander for a while. He realized that the time alone might help him clear his head of the cobwebs he’d felt ever since he’d arrived here.

He walked back out into the Central Plaza and absorbed the pleasant heat. He spied a promenade along the river and decided that that might be the perfect place to begin a long stroll and walked towards it.

“Lanz!” Seth called to him from a tunnel that Lanz recognized as the entrance to the Ops Center. Seth was standing there with Celeste. Lanz changed directions and joined them.

“Just get out of Indoctrination?” Seth asked.

“Yeah. Apparently, they want me to be a doctor,” Lanz noted.

“A doctor?” Seth asked. “Didn’t you tell them you wanted to join the Corps?”

“The Corps?” Lanz countered. “No, Seth… I’m done with crazy adventures. Being a doctor will be fine for me. You can go wherever it is you go and do whatever it is you do. I’ll deal with normal things like colds and bandages.”

Celeste looked at Lanz and smiled. “I think you’ll be a good doctor.”

“See,” Lanz said to Seth. “That settles it.”

“Whatever, bro… have you had lunch yet?”

“No. I was just about to go for a walk.”

“We were just heading for a quick lunch before our debrief. Come with us. I know a great diner.”

Lanz looked from Seth to Celeste and back to Seth. He wasn’t entirely sure his presence was desired by both parties.

“I’m not intruding?” Lanz asked.

“It won’t be an intrusion,” Celeste said quickly, “We’d love for you to join us.”

Lanz nodded and said, “Then let’s go to lunch.”