"I don't really like questionnaires."
"It doesn't hurt." She smiled as if they shared agreement about the absurdity of it all. "It's kind of fun, actually."
"I'm not sure I want you to know who I am. I want to know who you are."
"These questions are your gateway to learning that. Believe me, it's for the good of both of us. We don't want to waste your time- or ours."
He remembered vocational tests in school. One suggested that half his class become farmers, when there'd been almost no vocational opportunities in farming for fifty years. The kids had hooted in derision. Now here Daniel was again, trying to fit some shrink's personality grid. He sighed. "Fire away."
There were no preliminary questions about his age, weight, health, family, hobbies, or skills. He'd been a net-entry since birth, and a punch of buttons could deliver to anyone who cared an avalanche of files groaning with information about his buying habits, subscriptions, employment records, and memberships. Privacy laws had broken down under the continual assault of hackers, lawyers, web solicitors, journalists, and snoops, and targeting businesses often knew more about their consumers in a statistical sense than the consumer himself. Instead, Dr. Chen's queries focused on Daniel's self-analysis, ranging from the trivial to the fundamentaclass="underline"
"Do you sometimes wake just to see a sunrise?" she asked.
"I get up early to run." He shrugged. "Sunrise is one of the reasons. It's hard to see in the city."
"Do you like to try new things?"
"It's hard to find new things. That's the problem, isn't it?"
"What kind of watch do you own?"
"Jesus, I don't know." He looked at his wrist in puzzlement. "It's just a watch. Ganymede, I think. Does it matter?"
"What would you order for your last meal?"
He pondered. "I've never been convinced I'd have much of an appetite."
She laughed approvingly.
It was a bullshit test, Daniel decided, another part of an elaborate psychological come-on. He'd been enlisted in the effort to recruit himself. Accordingly, some of his answers were serious but others were flippant. She made no objection to the latter, going down her list calmly. The doctor is a holo-recording, he reminded himself. You can't provoke a true reaction.
"Are you a leader?"
He hesitated, then admitted his supervisor was right. "No."
"Are you a follower?"
That was easier. "No."
"Are you brave?"
"I've never had to find out."
"Are you smart?"
"Taking this test, I'm beginning to wonder."
"Do you like people?"
What was the right answer on that one? Were they looking for hermits or class presidents? "Depends on the person, doesn't it?"
"What do you live for, Daniel?"
"Myself, I guess." Might as well be honest.
"And is that enough?"
"Sometimes." He paused. "No. But I don't have anything else. Anyone." He certainly wasn't making much progress with Raven. Or Mona Pietri, for that matter.
"Are you happy?"
He sighed. "Sometimes. Not really. I don't like the way things are."
"Would you eat grubs to keep yourself alive?"
"Grubs? What the hell is a grub?"
"A larval insect."
He laughed. "If I would, does that mean I'm happy? Or simply crazy enough to go on your outdoor outing?"
Dr. Chen smiled. "Congratulations, Daniel. You've passed the first test of Outback Adventure."
"That's it? I'm insane enough to go?"
"You've been accepted as a candidate for the experience of a lifetime. To pursue this possibility further you must make an appointment to meet your Outback Adventure counselor."
"Good grief. You don't make taking my money easy, do you?"
"At our corporate offices we'll explain the program and schedule you for excitement if you decide to participate."
"Schedule for excitement?" He rolled his eyes.
"We choose our words carefully, believe me."
He looked at her skeptically. "And how much will this once-in-a-lifetime experience cost me?"
"One year's salary." She didn't even blink.
"What!"
"The fee is to test the seriousness of your commitment."
"It sure as hell does! I can't afford that!"
"Yes you can." Her look remained serene.
"I'm sorry. I'm not going to pay that."
"Yes you will." Her confidence was infuriating. "It's a small price to come alive."
CHAPTER SEVEN
The address in Daniel's city was in the tower of an anonymous skyscraper cluster forty minutes away by tube. Discreet lettering in the lobby announced the firm's presence on the thirty-third floor. The elevator opened to reveal a number of nondescript small offices: a title company, a financial newsletter, a laser-lift skin clinic. The tour agency door was solid wood, plain, and locked. OUTBACK ADVENTURE, a tiny sign read in letters slipped into the kind of bracket that could accommodate a rapid turnover of tenants. He glanced at the ceiling. A vidsnake was watching him.
Daniel hesitated, then knocked.
Silence.
He looked at his watch: on time. He tried the knob but it didn't budge. He knocked again. Nothing.
Dammit, it wasn't lunch, but there was no sound from the other side. He eyed the keypad lock and punched some numbers at random without effect, quickly becoming bored. "Hello?" Finally he retreated across the hallway and slid down the wall, sitting expectantly on the floor. He'd wait for the bastards.
With that there was a buzz, a click, and the door swung quietly open. He stood awkwardly and walked over, poking his head through. The inside revealed a small waiting area with ugly plastic molded chairs, a desk, and a pretty receptionist. She smiled. "Close the door behind you."
He stepped through and the door clicked shut.
"Your appointment?"
"To see Mr. Coyle," he said grumpily. "My name is Daniel Dyson."
"Please have a seat, Mr. Dyson." She gestured at the plastic chairs. "I'll inform Mr. Coyle."
"You didn't answer my knock."
"Yes we did. Eventually." She regarded him with quiet amusement.
"You don't want clients to come in?"
"Eight percent of our applicants are turned away by that door and that's for their own good. They wouldn't do well with Outback Adventure, would they?"
He sat while she announced his arrival. The chairs were as uncomfortable as they looked. The brochures on the table featured the same wilderness couple he'd seen on his video wall. There were pictures of empty desert, red-rocked gorges, and bounding kangaroos. The text was spare. "Like primitive life itself, this is a journey with no schedule, no itinerary, and no set destination- except self-realization."
A Zen thing, maybe.
There was a buzz and she looked up at him again, smiling. "Your counselor will see you now." He went through another solid wooden door.
The man who met Daniel reminded him a bit of the brochure Ninja, but without the knives. Elliott Coyle was dark-haired, tanned, and dressed in a charcoal sport coat over a black silk crew shirt and dark pants. He wore black Dura-Flex slippers. A silver pin on his lapel was the only bright point to catch the eye. It showed a kangaroo. That would be something, Daniel thought, to see a wild kangaroo.
"There are thousands of them- hundreds of thousands- where you're going." Coyle had followed Daniel's eye.
"How do you know I'm going?"
"I've read your profile, Daniel. You belong there."
"You have a profile?"