CHAPTER 3
The door dilated and exposed a wide hallway with a gray wall opposite. The hallway was wider than usually found in a hotel or apartment building. Not a bad sign. But the gray was getting monotonous.
He stepped out and looked both ways. The corridor ended to the left in another gray wall about thirty meters away. There were several doors, presumably to other compartments, offset from each other. To the right the corridor crossed another, wider, corridor and continued down that way to another dead end.
It seemed he was the first to leave the compartment on his corridor as he was alone. He could hear some people talking in the distance, coming from the cross corridor, but they didn’t sound angry. So far, so good.
“Any idea who lives around here?” Jason asked.
“The Gatuses are in the compartment across to your left,” Jewel said. “The Williamses are across and to the right. The Jensens and the Adamses are to your right and left on your side.”
“I don’t know the last three,” Jason said. He’d never had much to do with his neighbors but he knew the one across the street, the Gatuses, and the ones to his left and right. “Where’s Phil and the . . . names . . . Carl and his family?”
One of Jason’s real weaknesses when he was working for Ruger was he was terrible with names.
“Those are the people in your immediate vicinity,” Jewel said. “I have access to the names of everyone on this corridor. Beyond that, there are restrictions.”
“You already know my neighbors,” Jason said. “Makes sense.”
He got along with Phil, another bachelor though younger, and the . . . He couldn’t for the life of him come up with their last names. His neighbors on Earth to the left. But . . . both of them as well as Jim, the guy to the left of the Gatuses, were Democrats based on the yard signs. They’d gotten along by avoiding politics like the plague. Loganville was generally pretty conservative but not his street by and large.
So, they weren’t here, apparently. Just him and the Gatuses.
That surprised him a bit. He’d never even hinted at discussing politics with them. Mostly he’d talked to the father of the household, about his age. When elections rolled around, his lawn and the Gatuses’ stayed clear.
He stepped the few feet to the indicated doorway and looked for a bell or something.
“How do I request . . . ?” Jason asked.
“I’ll ring them,” Jewel replied with a note of humor.
The door dilated and revealed . . . Mr. Gatus’s son? But it didn’t quite look like him.
“Hi,” Jason said. “Uhm . . . I’m Jason Graham . . . ?”
“Jason?” Mr. Gatus said, grinning. “We are all young again, yes?”
The new Mr. Gatus was still about five foot five but with a bulkier build than Jason remembered and a shock of black hair to replace the white.
Jason knew very little about any of his neighbors. He wasn’t the social type. All he knew about Mr. Gatus was that he was Filipino, as was his wife, and that he had retired from IT. Also, that one of their sons lived with them and they had another son who worked in nursing. Their grandkids turned up from time to time.
“Did everybody make it?” Jason asked.
“We did,” Mr. Gatus said, nodding. “All here. So glad. And you?”
“Uh . . . ” Jason said. “My brothers are, hopefully, somewhere else in the galaxy. Which is fine by me.”
“I didn’t even know you had family,” Mr. Gatus said.
“Estranged,” Jason replied. “Friends made it, though. I’m going to go meet one of them. Uh . . . We’re talking about starting a business getting food from groundside.”
“Down on the planet?” Gatus said, his eyes widening. “Are you nuts?”
“Jury’s out?” Jason said, grinning. “When I looked like this naturally, most of my jobs involved various ways to injure yourself. Which was why I was on disability.”
“Better you than me,” Gatus said. “I miss having a yard. But only if there’s no bears to eat me and my babies.”
“There’ll be subdivisions someday,” Jason said. “I’ve got a meeting. . . . See you around?”
“Yes,” Gatus said. “A new world . . . This is going to be strange. But at least we are young again.”
Mr. Gatus’s wife—name?—appeared over his shoulder. Jason had thought she was a tall, fine-looking lady of a certain age. Now?
“Wow,” Jason said, trying not to gape. “You really married up, Mr. Gatus.”
“Thank you, Jason,” Mrs. Gatus said, smiling.
“Thank you,” Mr. Gatus said. “I hope your business venture works out for you.”
“Time will tell,” Jason said, tipping an imaginary hat.
He walked to the cross corridor and looked both ways. There were a few people out in the corridors, all males, who were talking and shrugging in a clear body language that read “I don’t know what the hell is going on.” He vaguely recognized one of them. Maybe. It might be a guy he’d seen walking his dog around the neighborhood. At least he thought he did, but the guy was, of course, younger.
Jason walked over cautiously and held up a hand in greeting.
“Hey . . . ” Jason said. “Jason Graham. Eleven Sixty-Four Granite Lane?”
“Hey,” the guy said, holding out his hand and grinning. “You look . . . not at all the same.”
“Yeah,” Jason said. “This is super freaking weird.”
“Yuh think?” one of the group replied.
It wasn’t surprising given the conditions but all the people were carrying.
“I’m a big sci-fi reader,” Jason said. “I even wrote some bad self-pub. But this takes the cake.”
“Any ideas on . . . ?” the dog guy said and shrugged.
“I never got your name.”
“Stephen Druce,” Steve said. “Go by Steve.”
“Jason,” Jason said.
“This is Harry,” Steve said, introducing the group. “Chuck. Robert.”
“Hey,” Jason replied, nodding.
“So . . . any ideas on what’s going on?” Chuck asked. “I mean . . . rescued?”
“There was a story . . . ” Jason said, furrowing his brow to remember details. “It was an early Hugo winner . . . It was humans in space who were capturing these . . . ursinoids. Bear people if you will. It wasn’t explained why they were doing it. Were they capturing them for slaves or what? The last scene in the story was as the last ship was going into hyperspace and the sun went nova. It was a rescue mission. Side point: Your dog?” he said to . . . Steve.
“According to the AI, she’s in storage,” Steve said, shrugging. “My kids are freaking out. Also, going nuts in that apartment. One of the reasons I’m out here.”
“So, you think this is real?” Possibly Robert asked. “That we were rescued by robots?”
His tone indicated skepticism.
“I have not a freaking clue,” Jason said. “I might be having a stroke and this is what I’m imagining as I’m dying.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s not that,” Steve said, chuckling. “’Cause then we’d all be having strokes. And this is the last thing I’d imagine.”
“The way I see it we have to work with it,” Jason said, shrugging. “I’m going to start a business if I can, getting food from the surface. I haven’t even tried print food, yet . . . ”
“Oh, I have,” Robert said, grimacing. “It’s like eating a multivitamin. God awful.”
“I’ve got a meeting I’ve got to get to,” Jason said. “My advice for what it’s worth? Husband your credits. Get a job. Just . . . do it. We’re conservatives. We work.”
“No jobs right now,” Robert said, shrugging.
“Then start a business,” Jason said. “That’s where jobs come from. By the way: Guy I know is starting a bank. Used to be a VP with Bank of America. Knows his stuff. If you’re looking for a bank. Speaking of businesses, I gotta get. I’ve got to find Lambda Square somewhere. Good talking to you.”
“Good talk . . . ”
“See ya . . . ”
* * *
Everywhere was gray but as Jason walked through the seemingly endless corridors, he could see differences. The side corridors were residential. The wider corridors were clearly designed as commercial space. There were supposed to be businesses, shops, that sort of thing.
Currently there were just empty gray fronts. He was starting to loathe gray. He’d never wanted to be in the Navy.
After two or three turnings on wider and wider tunnels and a trip down an escalator, he finally reached one that was multilevel with a slidewalk down the middle as well as another above. He was virtually alone, his footsteps echoing over the susurrant shoosh of the slidewalk. No one else seemed to have reached this far out from their compartments.
Then he heard laughter and saw two teenage boys running down the upper slidewalk. From the speed they were going, the slidewalk must have been doing at least ten miles per hour.
So, teen boys remained teen boys. People were people.
And people had to eat.
“So, I’m trading units,” Jewel said. “But there are things that I don’t know if you want to keep.”
“Like?” he said.
“Ships?” Jewel said. “Ports? Factories? Slidewalks? Commercial real estate? You have ten million units. Each one represents a small to large ownership of capital items.”
“I have no idea,” Jason said, looking around. “So . . . all these store fronts . . . ?”
“Are owned by a variety of unit holders,” Jewel said. “Including you.”
“So . . . do they run the shops that are presumably supposed to be in them?” Jason asked.
“They could or they could rent the space,” Jewel answered.
“This isn’t owned by the government?” Jason said, looking at the slidewalk.
“It is currently run by the government until a board can be appointed from the unit holders,” Jewel said.
“How is a company supposed to make money from a slidewalk?” Jason asked.
“That’s a very good question,” Jewel said.
“Skip ports and slidewalks for now,” Jason said. “And I’ll look into factories and so on later. Keep some commercial in the immediate area of the compartment and near Lambda Square if I have any.”
“Commercial is centralized near the owner,” Jewel said. “Duly noted. I’ll skip the rest of the questions for now.”
“What now?” Jason asked.
“Turn right,” Jewel said. “Head down to the entrance to the lower slidewalk. I’d suggest taking that one.”
“Roger,” Jason said.
The slidewalk opening was a few corridors down, about a half a block at a guess. At that point there was a very similar cross corridor with another slidewalk. The area in between was clear and the commercial space on the corners was set back. One corner was occupied by a large playground instead of a commercial space. The playground looked like a larger version of a McDonald’s PlayPlace.
It was clear that the area was supposed to be filled with people changing slidewalks, shopping, gathering.
It was entirely empty. Jason had worked in a mall as one of his many jobs and it felt like a mall after closing time.
“Call Steve, my neighbor,” Jason said.
“Calling Steve Druce,” Jewel said, helpfully.
“Get used to me being terrible with names,” Jason said.
“Hey, Jason,” Steve said.
“There’s a playground for your kids,” Jason said. “Whole place is mostly deserted and it’s a bit of a walk, but there is one.”
“Any dog parks?” Steve asked.
“Not that I’ve found,” Jason said. “I’m headed to something that’s alleged to be a park. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Got it,” Steve said.
“Out here.”
As he moved down what was apparently a main drag, he saw the occasional other traveler and waved. It seemed the neighborly thing to do.
All of them were male which he found interesting and he had yet to see a black face. In the Atlanta area that was unheard of. Mr. Gatus was the only person he’d seen who wasn’t white.
Then he saw the cops. Two police officers were at one of the junctures. They were in dark blue uniforms, fully kitted out with body armor and a utility belt that included both firearms and something else. One of them was black, the other white.
Jason stepped off the slidewalk and walked over, hands out.
“Hey,” Jason said. “Carrying. Okay to talk?”
“Keep your hands clear, please, sir,” the black cop replied. His nametag said “Tuite.” “Before you ask, sir, we have nearly as little information as you do and pretty much the same as the President’s address.”
Jason folded his hands in front of him and nodded.
“I’m from Loganville,” Jason said. “Jason Graham. Pleasure to meet you, Officers. You from the Atlanta area?”
“Good to meet you, Mister Graham,” Tuite said politely. “I was APD, Officer Brooks was with Peachtree City Police. Loganville sector . . . ?”
“I’m headed to an in-person meeting with a friend,” Jason said. “At Lambda Park?”
“Understood, sir,” Tuite replied calmly.
Cops were always suspicious. It was the nature of the job and didn’t bother Jason a bit.
“Just got woken up?” Jason asked.
“Week ago,” Brooks replied. “Got briefed in and got familiar with the areas we were assigned to, met the new leadership.”
“Families?” Jason asked.
“They were in stasis until today,” Tuite replied. “The married officers and officers with kids are off duty right now, getting them settled, making sure they’re okay.”
“Roger,” Jason said, nodding. “And no more information than we’ve got?”
“Not really, no, sir,” Tuite replied. “Just maintaining a presence in case . . . ”
“People freak out about this?” Jason said.
“That,” Brooks said. “You seem to be handling it okay?”
“Just trying to figure out if this is what I’m experiencing as I’m dying,” Jason said, grinning. “Looking forward to a ride in a spaceship.”
“That does look like fun,” Brooks said, smiling.
“How long were you with APD?” Jason asked Tuite. “I’m just a curious person, sorry.”
“I was retired,” Tuite replied drily. “Twenty-six years with APD, street units.”
“Oh, wow,” Jason said, shaking his head and chuckling. “I was pushing retirement.”
“Not sure how long I’m going to do it, this time around,” Tuite said, shrugging. “Wearing armor all day got old a long time ago. As did . . . all the rest. At least I’m not going to be picking bodies out of cars anymore.”
“That you won’t,” Jason said, offering a hand. “Stay safe, both of you. And I hope the job isn’t too onerous.”
They shook hands and Jason found his next slidewalk.
“Officers were chosen based on experience and professionalism,” Jewel said. “There were plenty to pick from and the current officer-to-civilian ratio is higher than Atlanta police. About five thousand civilians per badged officer in Carolina.”
“That’s expensive to maintain,” Jason said thoughtfully.
“We’ll see what the long-term choices are of the elected officials,” Jewel said.
“This is the ‘conservative’ system,” Jason said. “Right?”
“That’s what seems to be the case,” Jewel replied.
“Do I even want to know the racial makeup?”
“Of Carolina or Pegasus?” Jewel asked.
“Start with Carolina,” Jason said. “The southeast of the United States was about twenty or thirty percent black. So far, I’ve only seen one.”
His neighborhood had been mixed race. But the groups he’d seen in the area were all whites.
“Carolina is six percent other, including Asian and Native American, ten percent black, fourteen percent Hispanic and seventy percent white,” Jewel said.
“Holy cow,” Jason said. “That’s a huge drop in black.”
“Also a drop in Hispanic,” Jewel said.
“Male-female ratios?” Jason asked as another guy passed in the opposite direction.
“There are slightly more men than women in Carolina but there is a more or less even split in Pegasus as a whole with some states having a lean to women.”
“What are the States?” Jason asked.
“New England, Carolina, Kansas, Texas, Arizona, Franconia . . . ”
“Franconia?” Jason said. “A state named after a small town in New Hampshire?”
“Franconia is made up of persons from the former Frankish nations of Europe,” Jewel replied. “Germany and France primarily with a smattering of British, Swiss, Czech and Italian. Shall I continue?”
“Yes,” Jason said.
“Balkans . . . ”
“One state for the whole Balkans?” Jason said, grimacing. “Oh, Jesus.”
“There’s some anticipation of disturbance in the area,” Jewel said.
“Yuh think?”
Jason had spent far too much time in the Balkans to think otherwise.
“It includes persons from former Yugoslavia as well as Greece,” Jewel noted. “With some Poles, Hungarians . . . ”
“Did they want to start an internal war?” Jason asked.
“Bohemia, which includes most of the rest as well as Ukrainians, Swedes, Danes, Norwegians, Lithuanians, Estonians and Latvians. Also, a smattering of Russians.”
“I hope they’re well separated from the Ukrainians,” Jason said.
“Actually, they’re right next to each other,” Jewel replied. “I think that the Ukrainians will quickly learn that the Russians, one and all, were pro-Ukrainian. Whether that will help . . . ?”
“Yeah,” Jason said. “Wow. Remind me to stay to the US portion of the station until . . . I doubt they can ever get along.”
“Then there’s Helenus,” Jewel continued. “Which, oddly, does not include Greece. Helenus is the area that was, way back in time, Hellenistic. That includes persons stretching from Morocco to Persia including Turkey and Afghanistan. Southwest Asia and North Africa, basically, as well as a few odd additions. There are some sub-Saharan Africans as well as Mongols.”
“In the Hellenistic regions?” Jason asked. “Another state to stay strictly away from.”
“Hindia,” Jewel said. “Note the H. Includes persons from India as well as most of what used to be called Indochina.”
“Interesting,” Jason said. “That misses South America, most of Africa, China and Australia entirely.”
“There are Australians in Franconia,” Jewel said. “As well as white South Africans in Bohemia. The Cybers tended to separate for race.”
“This is gonna be a hell-of-a-thing, politically,” Jason said, sighing. “Glad I’m not in charge. Jesus.”
“Your stop is coming up,” Jewel said.
“Since this slidewalk ends and I can see a park,” Jason replied, “I was sort of thinking, yeah.”