Pascale's Wager: Homelands of Heaven

by Anthony Bartlett

  She could not help wondering what were they to each other, now that they had fields to wander in and seas to swim. No doubt they were together at this moment, and perhaps more together than they had ever been. They were not married like they would have to be in the Homeland, but what difference would that make if you had real fields and warm sunshine? Everything would have to be very different in a land like that.

  Tears welled up inside her and she did not want them to stop. She cried for Poll because he was not there and because his not being there was the same as no one at all being there. She cried because she was alone, because the Homeland was so cruel, because there was never any warm sunshine and no one to kiss her and hold her under a kind sky. She cried because she was young, because she knew so very little and because all she saw ahead of her was unrelenting struggle. The sobs pulsed through her body like lumps of hot metal. She let them out from her throat and sucked back the air in great gasps. The noise was a frequency of human sound she had not known existed, and she was amazed at the sound herself. The Word and Image system never showed people experiencing emotions like this: it was as if they were against the very design of the Homeland itself. Then she hurt and wept even more because she was so different. Yet slowly the sound quieted, quelled by its own powerful force of emotion. Little by little, as the sobs subsided, she felt her tears and her weeping were good. It was an astonishing thing but her tears had emptied and opened her heart at the same time, bringing her to a strange peace and clarity. She knew what she had to do. She would find some means of transport to the camps and she would find Poll. What would happen after that was not so clear, but it did not matter. There was now absolutely no question about the task before her or even the certainty of its success. She got up and bathed and dried her face. She switched off all the holograms, dropped the bed from the wall and lay down. She knew she could wait. She did not have to find the path, it would come to her.

  ***

  She did not have to wait long. Within two days Benn came seeking a solution to their stand-off. Although he had permission from the Security Chief to keep her at home it would reflect badly on him to continue to ground her. If he was to achieve fame as a Worship Leader he had to have a model family. He had to show that his daughter could be exemplary too, just as Danny had proven to be. Also he had noticed she did not in fact seem to suffer from the punishment. She remained calm in herself, even remote. The Worship Leader was irritated. He had to find a way out.

  “I suppose you’ll say that I was too harsh on that young man, and I’m overreacting keeping you at home. But you’re far too young to understand how dangerous the game was you were playing. And Sidak, he had a very destructive side to him.”

  Cal looked up at her father from the small family table where she was sitting.

  “It’s you who don’t understand.”

  Benn struggled to control himself. He continued.

  “Cal, you have to make a choice, and I want you to think carefully about the future. You clearly have more intelligence than required in those courses you were taking. You should adopt a more serious path of study, for one of the leading professions. I know I can put a good word in for you. In Technical Control perhaps, or Transport Management, or even Entertainment and Information! I need you to think about your direction, now you have this time to yourself.”

  Cal had more or less guessed that her father would make an offer like this. There was little alternative for him if he wanted to break the stalemate between them, and she’d already thought quite a lot about her answer. She had no interest in a profession in the Homeland, but she did want to learn about transport. She needed to understand the transport system if she was to get to Poll.

  “If you’re offering me a way out, Dad, I’ll take it. I would be glad to go to special classes.”

  “Great! We’ll make a new start together, you and me. So which will it be then?”

  “I was thinking of Transport. You know, I like numbers and schedules, that kind of thing. I think I’d be good at that.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Benn said, obviously relieved. “I’ll make some inquiries and you’ll be back on the Early Bubble in no time!”

  Not long after that she was accepted into the Department of Transport Management. Her classes began early in the day because in addition to all the basic courses she was to take extra studies. Quantum magnetics, power supply, track, computer control and guidance, along with maintenance, personnel, service request and monitoring, all this had to be learned both theoretically and practically. Cal threw herself into the work with an enthusiasm that rapidly got the attention of her superiors. As she shadowed the trained operators in Transport Control they noticed her uncanny ability to count ahead, to predict real time sequences on screen or in a meter reading. She could assimilate data as it appeared and extrapolate from it to make predictions of astonishing accuracy. Just by looking at bar variations for a section of track she could judge how many Bubbles were using it, how long it would take them to move through the section and at what speed. Her overall skill meant she would eventually have the ability to calculate, virtually in her head, the general transporting needs of the Sector on any given day. Her adviser predicted enormous success for her in Management of the fixed rail system. But she also showed interest in engine maintenance and inquired about independent vehicles which could travel outside the Sector. The adviser told her that they would soon be visiting the machine shops where they had ice-tractors, but really this was way below her abilities and she should concentrate on digital systems. Cal said yes, of course, but she counted the days to the field trip.

  She was still attending some of her old courses at the Training Center and once or twice she saw Wes and Esh in Dining, but she stayed out of sight. She was sure they were upset about losing Danny and would value the chance to talk. But she hadn’t decided how much she should say to them—about her plans to find Poll. They would consider her absolutely insane and try to dissuade her. On the other hand, if she said nothing and one day she too disappeared, they would never understand what had happened to her brother. She felt ultimately they had a right to know. So one lunch time she went up to their table and sat down.

  “Cal! What happened to you? The last time we saw you, you were under arrest.”

  “Yes, but they couldn’t hold me. My Dad was embarrassed about having me at home, so he’s got me on a new course of studies. How about you guys? How are you?”

  “The Hundredth Day Fest was a complete bummer. It was no fun without Danny. How can they just take people away from their friends like that?”

  “Who took them away?”

  “They said it was a colony for successful athletes, but in any case it doesn’t seem right.”

  “Those places exist, Esh, but they’re different from what we imagine. Danny and Liz were taken to the other world, the place where there’s warm sunshine.”

  Wes looked incredulous. “You’re still talking about that! We figured it was some crazy stuff Poll cooked up. You still believe it?”

  “I don’t believe it, I know it.”

  Wes stopped her, half looking round again. “Now it's you who's getting crazy, and it's seriously dangerous, I suppose you know that.”

  Cal thought, “You have no idea.” But she hesitated. It was a moment of choice. Perhaps it was safer on her own. Then again she needed allies. And perhaps the two young people should be brought in simply because the whole thing was bigger than any one person and they should know it for their own sakes.

  “Actually I want to talk to you more about the whole thing. Do you really want to find Danny and Liz again? Or do you want to live like Poll, in a prison, except at least he knows he’s in prison?”

  She wasn’t sure where the words came from but they seemed to have an impact. Nobody answered. Esh was looking at her with a tunnel stare, scared yet impressed. Wes seemed about to panic. Cal thought her brother’s friend had lost his nerve all together. Then she saw he was not actually looking at he
r. She turned her head and there right behind was a security guard.

  “Hi Officer, can we help you?”

  “You kids hung out with Danny Anders, didn’t you? And you’re his sister, if I’m not mistaken. I recognize you from the Worship Centers Bulletin. I just wanted to say congratulations, on his special retirement. You all must be very proud.”

  Cal smiled affably and stood up.

  “Thank you. I’m sure Danny is very happy. And all of us really want the best for him, don’t we?”

  Danny’s two friends nodded stupidly.

  “What’s your name, Officer?”

  “Seb, everyone calls me Seb.”

  “Well, Seb, thanks for introducing yourself.”

  Seb colored slightly.

  “No problem, Miss. It’s a pleasure!” And he quickly turned away.

  Wes and Esh were in awe.

  “Wow! You had him eating out of your hand.”

  Esh was grinning, but her tone quickly shifted back. “But you’re serious, aren’t you? You’re up to something.”

  “Yes, I am serious. Poll’s in the camps and I must help him. All this, everything you see around here, it’s all lies. Danny and Liz know the truth, but they probably don’t care anymore. I do, and I’m not going to just sit in my TEP for the rest of my life and let it ring me in.” Gesturing with her finger down through the table she said, “There’s another world, right here in this world. And I’m going to find it. And I’m going to start by finding Poll.”

  Cal knew how extreme and preposterous her words sounded, but she was in no mood to debate them. She stood up from the table and left without giving the two young people the chance to reply.

  ***

  Poll had been told by Cato to walk the remaining distance to the condenser hall and knock loudly on a door next to the fan in the tunnel wall. When he did an enforcer opened the door and led him across a platform and down a zigzag of metal stairs. The steps descended the wall of a pit filled with hundreds of engines and thousands of clustered pipes with banks of rotating fans playing across them. The noise was deafening and the updraft of warm air like the blast of a foundry. When they reached the bottom it was cooler but here at ground level the layers of rock in the walls were seeping moisture. Pools of water gathered underfoot. They splashed along the pit floor until they came to a heavy metal door in the wall.

  “Knock,” said the guide, and turned away at once.

  Poll did as he’d been told and a gray voice sounded, “Enter.”

  He pushed down on the handle and stepped into the room. The door swung shut behind him and at once it was much quieter. The space inside was warm, with sealed walls and a concrete floor, but the furnishing was sparse, just a couple of desks and some hardback chairs. There was a musty smell. Sitting in the one easy chair, sipping from a metal flask, was the man who had first welcomed him to the camp, the one who had declared himself Poll's god.

  “My name is Guest. Please come, sit down.” He waved his hand toward a chair next to him. Poll walked over unsteadily and sat down.

  “I’m glad to see our camp life is agreeing with you.” The Iceman’s words carried more than a hint of mockery, but his face remained motionless.

  “I have no complaints, sir. I’m doing pretty well.”

  “Good, good,” the Iceman continued. “You are here at my pleasure, but I want you to relax. Nothing is gained if any of us is tense.” And after a moment, “Because I need you to help me.”

  Poll kept his head slightly lowered as he answered.

  “How would I be able to help you, sir?”

  Guest looked at him with narrowed eyes. “You want to please, yes. I see it. But why? I must continue to think about that, too. Because I believe you really are a smart one, and I should be on my guard. But there, isn’t that the reason why I’m talking to you in the first place, that you’re smart? So, at least at the moment, there’s nothing for it. I must explain myself to you, Sidak. It is Sidak isn’t it?”

  He continued without a pause, with a tone of quiet contempt. “I have been in the camps for more years than you have lived. This is not a prison for me but a kingdom. I have no way of communicating how immensely I prefer being here to the stupid little clockwork world you come from, the Sector, the place you miss so desperately every night you curl up in your miserable bed. Here I am free, I am my own lord. Indeed I am god, as I said to you before.”

  His gaze seemed to penetrate the wall and burrow through the solid earth and the field of ice in which it was encased. He sighed and took a small sip from his flask.

  “But being god is a problem if there is a limit to one’s power. Here in the borderlands there are things I cannot do. I cannot control the flow of electrical power. I cannot switch off a single turbine or compressor or fan. We can tell when they fail, and then the Sector tells us to replace them and throws the switches. But I switch nothing on or off. I cannot control a single circuit breaker or relay. Now, it is not that I have any particular purpose in turning everything off, but it would suit me greatly to know how to do so.”

  In his characteristic way he drawled the last few words. As he did so he caught Poll’s glance and held it. There was a sense of the enormous power he sought.

  “I have asked others before you to help me and I have not been angry with them when they failed, but, let’s say, their stories were inevitably lost. I have a feeling about you, Sidak. I don’t think your story will be lost. What do you say?”

  Poll understood this was an offer of conspiracy. Whatever law had put him here for asking awkward questions would certainly not tolerate any interference in the actual mechanics of the Homeland. Not that he cared. He was desperately interested to find out himself. But he could not give that impression to Guest. If Guest suspected a fraction of what he, Poll, suspected, there would be no telling what he might try to do.

  “I like to figure out puzzles, sir. I told you. It makes me happy. Do you have plans, drawings?”

  Guest laughed, an abrupt cough that ceased as soon as it had begun. “You’re quick to the chase, aren’t you? Perhaps too quick. But I need someone like you, so just know I’ll be watching you. You hide something and it’s easy to take a wrong turn down in the ice tunnels. You understand?”

  Poll nodded humbly. Guest again held him in his cold stare, his glance like refrigerant all his own. Then he slipped his flask into a pocket and got up from his chair. “Over here.”

  Against a back wall was a small table, and standing on it was what looked like a box covered by a cloth. Guest led the way, giving the impression he was approaching something he respected and hated all at once. He carefully took off the cloth to reveal a computer, the same basic type as Poll had worked on in Cal’s Worship Center. Guest bent to switch it on, then gestured to the screen as it flickered into life.

  “There’s a whole load of stuff here but I have no idea what it means. I want you to get into it and find out what’s there, to see if it can tell us about the controls of the refrigeration system and anything else of interest. This will be your work. You will come here every day with the others but report immediately to this desk. You will stay on it until you figure it all out, or lose your mind trying. I expect results.”

  With that Poll was alone. Guest seemed to disappear without warning. He was silent as the grave and Poll felt he could walk up behind him anytime to look over his shoulder and he wouldn’t know it. In the meantime here he was again in front of a computer screen seeking answers to the enigma of the Homeland. How ironic it was. The computer in the Worship Center had provided information that got him sent to the camp, and now in the camp they had given him another computer which might possibly supply the way out of the entire Homeland system.

  For on the screen page was a tangled mass of lines in a bewildering array of colors, one laid on top of the other in fine detail. Scattered through the maze were tiny white dots. Clicking on the white dots pulled in a zoom on that particular area, showing more lines and various added symbols. Hitt
ing the symbols sometimes revealed an entirely new geography with further pathways and what looked like structural forms. As he continued to click and stare Poll understood this was a design plan of the refrigeration plants and tunnels. It couldn’t be anything else. The computer had probably been left behind after construction was completed and it was locked on this page. What he was looking at could possibly contain transport routes, including the final all-important exit route, the one that led from here to the world of sunshine: in other words the proof he was looking for. It was hard for him to believe his luck. His sick feeling was swept away on a tide of hope. It was good that Guest had disappeared for he would not have been able to hide his excitement from those iceberg eyes. But Guest would be back, so it was essential to find something to keep him happy. Poll would have to play along, but he would also be on constant lookout for answers to his own quest.

  The following days unfolded in a steady, even pleasant rhythm. Instead of the sweating wind of the condenser tunnel or the traumatic cold of the refrigerant lines he had steady warmth to work in, bracketed by the brief pain of the journey back and forth from the hut. His body settled into the routine. While others endured by pure will or succumbed to illness he reached a state approaching good health. Each day he turned on the computer in good spirits believing that would be the day he would get the information he was after.