Chapter Five
Back in his sleeproom, Cory stared with a feeling of disgust at the barbells stacked in one corner—his own set of bars. In spite of his increasing resistance to exercise, his deepening sense of futility over what seemed to be frantic and meaningless activity designed simply to fill up the empty hours of the day, he had worked out secretly in this room with his barbells, grunting and straining over the protests of his aching muscles. Not because he wanted to win any medals, like Owen, he thought, but because of Citizen Zona. Because he secretly dreamed of impressing her.
He remembered the smile which had seemed to hover on her lips when she helped him to his feet at the end of their Mixed Exercise—had he imagined it?
Or had she been laughing at his clumsiness?
Coloring, he turned away from the hated barbells. There was a lack in him, something missing, something both Zona and Owen possessed. What else could be said of an exerciser who despised exercise? But right now he didn’t care. What good was exercise at all, what purpose could it possibly have, when a man like Owen could be cast out—a man who was twice the exerciser that Cory would ever be?
Tears burned his eyes, blurring the room. It made no sense. The Personnel Specifications themselves didn’t make any sense when they could destroy someone like Technician Owen because of an accident—a minor physical imperfection that was no real handicap at all—ignoring all that he was and all that he could do.
Cory paused. He could feel his heart thudding heavily against his ribs. If the Authorities knew what he was thinking—if they could read his mind—he would soon be where Owen was. His bunk and his shelves and his closet would be empty, as if he had never existed.
A knock on the door made him jump. Before he could move or respond or even reason away his alarm, the door opened. A tall young man poked his head through the opening. Cory had an immediate impression of someone his own age, with close-cropped blond hair and a face that was soft and boneless, the features lacking any hard definition, the eyes and mouth unmarked by fear of hidden thoughts or unnatural impulses. He would not jump at any knock.
“Hello, I’m Technician Eric. I’ve been assigned—”
“That’s your bunk,” Cory broke in wildly. “Come on in. We’re all in this together, aren’t we? It doesn’t matter whose face it is, as long as the arms are the same length. Isn’t that right?”
“I say, I’m not sure what you mean. You are Technician Cory, aren’t you?”
“It doesn’t matter. The name doesn’t matter, don’t you know that?” As Eric stared at him in bewilderment, Cory gave a harsh laugh. His arm waved in a sweeping gesture embracing the room. “It’s all yours! I hope you five to enjoy it.”
He shoved past Technician Eric into the corridor. The newcomer followed him to the door, calling anxiously, “I say, where are you going? Aren’t we in CQ?”
But Cory was already striding rapidly down the hall, no longer listening. At the first intersection he turned sharply left. His pace quickened until he was almost running, oblivious of the milling exercisers who jumped aside or turned startled eyes toward him as he passed. The red glow of an EXIT sign drew him. Without knowing when or how he had made the decision, he knew his answer to Eric’s puzzled question. He knew exactly where he was going.