I nodded seriously. The rating wasn’t as good as it could have been, but it was more than enough to start.
“The lowest levels require hard, unpleasant, boring work,” he warned. “But you will be observed and, if you do well both at work and in your courses, you will be advanced accordingly. Whether you are advanced to pilot or driver training, or to some other area, will depend on your work habits, diligence, your supervisor’s ratings, and how well you integrate yourself into our system. Understand?”
“Ah, yes, sir. Um… how old do you have to be to enter pilot’s school?”
He smiled. “The minimum age is sixteen, the average age eighteen. The program is “one year, then there’s an additional year of in-service apprentice work before you can be considered for full licensing.”
I nodded. Still, while trying to convince the man that I was more than eager to work my way up and please everybody for the next two years, the back of my mind said “two years” in a far different tone. Two years was a long, long time…
CHAPTER FOUR
Workin’ on the Railroad
The next day I was given a small card that bore a number and a symbol on the front and had a series of dots of some magnetic material on the back. The symbol was a bolt of lightning flanked by two solid black lines—rails, it seemed. The symbol of the Transportation Guild. True to their word at the initial briefing, I also received a set of tailored uniforms in my size. They were in the satiny red color of the Guild and bore the same symbol on the pocket. A small suitcase contained some basic toiletries, including, I found, a razor, something I wouldn’t need for a while. Also included was a pair of red rubber-soled shoes, just to improve footing on the smooth floors and sidewalks of the city.
The card contained my name, new address, Guild, work assignment, and various control numbers. It was even my bankbook. The Central Bank of Gray Basin held an account in my name. Every time I wanted to pay for something I had to stick my card in the appropriate slot and the amount would automatically be deducted from my account. I was impressed. Pretty much like home, although my bank stake was only a hundred units.
The basic currency was the unit—work unit, I assumed—which was broken into a hundred smaller divisions called bits. A pretty standard decimal system. Things must be fairly cheap.
Beyond that I received some insincere “good lucks” from Gorn and Sugra and some far more sincere ones from my eight comrades, now all turned, or acclimated, to the Warden organism. I picked up a bus-route map of the city that told me how to get to where I had to be, and that was it. Clutching my small overnight case, I was out the door and on the streets of the big city.
Once temperature was no longer a problem, the city seemed much like those domed cities I’d been in on several other worlds. Factories and such were easy to spot by their design, but mostly because their exhaust vents went straight up to the illuminated ceiling and on through it. With temperatures fairly well equalized inside and out, there was no problem with frost, although occasional ice crystals floated in the air. Curiously, my breath did not show in the cold. I wondered just what the hell that bug had made us into, since I was pretty sure I was still a warm-blooded mammal.
The buses were pretty easy to find, and in their automated style worked very well. The locals seemed to be guided by single magnetic strips buried within the street paving itself and ran on rubberized tires—synthetic, of course. They had sensors at the clearly marked and color-coded bus stops and would stop if anyone was within the painted stop zones. The door was something of a turnstile, unlocking when you stuck your card in the side slot and passing you through without giving any opportunity for a second person to sneak by—an interesting indication to me that this place wasn’t as crime-free and rock honest as had been made out. I suspected a lot of petty crimes were attempted even by ordinarily honest folk. It was just about the only way you had to feel like you were getting back at the system.
The bus was not only comfortable, it had a handy map above the windshield that illuminated where it was on its route and where the transfer points were. With that and my own set of directions I had no trouble crossing town, changing twice and winding up exactly where I was supposed to be. There was something, certainly, to be said for Medusan efficiency.
During the ride I just sat back and studied the city and the people. They looked a rather ordinary lot, all dressed in these identical uniforms, color- and badge-coded as to guild and grade. It took no real detective work to figure out that the militarylike rank and uniforms of Gorn and Sugra were those of the dreaded TMS, who certainly had to socialize only among their own. Whenever a green fatigue uniform was visible, you could see everybody else pretending to ignore it but shying away fast. And TMS people, of course, radiated arrogant disdain for the masses and joy in knowing they were powerful and feared. The cops were certainly the enemy here, and for good reason. I had never seen a system with police force more in control of things. Idly I wondered how you entered TMS—and who were they afraid of?
Around the city’s core, with its office buildings and cooperative shops and markets and central terminal, the residential and manufacturing areas were arranged in something of a pie-wedge design. The wedges seemed to alternate between heavy industry and residential units, all of which were four-story affairs composed of what looked like identical apartments. I later learned this was not the case, however. Family units had one room per family member over twelve, so some were fairly large suites; and the top grades had pretty swanky suites just for themselves.
My own destination was T-26, a unit that looked much like all the others. I punched the stop button and jumped off as the building number went past the window, which meant I had to backtrack a block. I hesitated only a moment, then walked up and entered the main entrance.
The place was like a dormitory. The ground floor had a lobby with computer screens giving general information, including schedule changes and even sports scores. A pair of double doors led to a common dining hall. Apparently the residents of the building ate here, cafeteria-style, although the food was certainly prepared elsewhere. There wasn’t much room for a kitchen.
Doors on either side led to communal stores. There was a small pharmacy, a tailor, a shoe shop, and the like. Apparently they were only open one hour on each side of each shift change. They also couldn’t be very large, I told myself, as it wouldn’t be efficient to have actual stores in each building unit. Each was staffed by one clerk, who simply took in what you had—shoes to be fixed, for example, or an order for toiletries and such—then sent them to a central store which had the shoes fixed or filled the order. What you wanted was ready when you came back from a shift. Not a bad system. If it wasn’t for TMS I might actually be impressed by this place, I told myself.
There was a small elevator cage at each end of the hall, too, I noticed, so I would not have to climb the stairs.
My instructions said I was to report first to T-26, Room 404—which, I assumed, was on the fourth floor—and get settled. I would be contacted there and told where to go and what to do next.
Room 404 was where it should logically have been. Since there was no key, only a card slot, I inserted my card and the door slid open.
It was a small room, about five meters by four, but it had been sensibly laid out by somebody who’d obviously done hotel work. The two beds looked comfortable and standard—after the cell and then those barracks cots they looked wonderful—and there were two reasonably spacious closets, plenty of drawers along the wall opposite the beds, and a CRT terminal that was unfamiliar in design but pretty easy to figure out.