Pascale's Wager: Homelands of Heaven

by Anthony Bartlett

He began by looking for the great condenser tunnel, thinking that could be an organizing feature. But there was nothing that resembled it, no obvious circular line. It was more like a multi-leveled maze, with any number of routes, starting at one point and arriving at somewhere unrelated. He started looking at the symbols and copying them down. There was a huge number of them. Even when he began noting where the same ones occurred there were so many others it seemed impossible to establish a pattern with any meaning.

  He wondered if the map could go live, whether it was linked to the real-time operation of the system. He had checked the wires leading to the computer. There was a power source and a couple of cables dangling loose. He examined the computer itself and there seemed to be no wireless device. When Guest came back a couple of days later and asked how things were going Poll explained what he was looking for—some link between the computer and the live refrigeration system. If he could find that then he could perhaps begin to identify some of the symbols. Guest told him the computer had come from a storeroom right there in the condenser hall. He had plugged it in and turned it on. Beyond that had no idea whether it could connect to the live system.

  Poll asked how the work crews knew if something wasn’t functioning. Was there a Control Center that gave them up-to-date information? Guest said that the crews normally turned up faulty equipment by hands-on inspection, checking the warning lights directly on machines and valves. Sometimes the Sector informed them, and in every case they needed to contact the Sector to switch off power in that area so the device could be replaced. So, yes, that was the whole thing he wanted to find out, the Sectors’ control system.

  “Then that’s it, sir. That’s the key! It means there must be some kind of live link to computers in the Sectors. There could be a way of hooking into it. If you don’t mind me asking, sir, how does the camp stay in contact with the Sectors?

  “By radio, of course. Each camp has a radio tower.”

  “Which means the system has to be on the radio link somehow if they’re able to turn it on and off. Could you tell me where your nearest radio connection is, sir? If we could hook the computer to that maybe it would recognize it somehow? It very likely was on some kind of grid when the whole thing was first set up.”

  Guest looked at him suspiciously but he reached into his coat and took out a flat phone with a cable wrapped around it. He went over to the side of the room where his chair was and found a small panel in the wall. He flicked it open. “Here it is. I plug in here.”

  Poll followed him over and looked at the wall jacks mounted in the small cupboard. He had seen that Guest’s radio had a single connector and there was a small round silver socket for that. But there were also two other, more complex jacks, and he could see the very small tines that made the contacts. There were six of them in each. He went back to the computer and inspected the cables straggling from the back. Each had six narrow insulated wires of different colors. “One of those jacks might do it. We need to bring the computer over there to see if we can figure out how to hook it in?”

  Guest was becoming a little excited himself. He quickly helped Poll carry the computer and its table across the room and continued to watch with keen interest. Poll did a quick calculation. The two cables at the back of the computer could be input and output, but there was no knowing which.

  “There are hundreds of possible variations for wiring the cables into those jacks. They could all be wrong, but one could be right. It’ll take some time.”

  “Don’t worry. We’re not going anywhere. What do you need?”

  “A small penknife, fairly sharp.”

  This time Guest did not hesitate. He reached into his coat again, pulling out a pocket knife and handing it over. Poll very carefully skinned the plastic sheath on the end of each wire and twisted the splayed ends. He got a piece of paper and began writing down the various orders of colors for the wires of each cable. But he quickly became frustrated when he realized how long it was going to take. He decided to go directly to one of the cables, experimenting with the first three or four wires to see if they could produce any kind of signal. The task of prodding the wires into the tiny spaces was delicate and painstaking work, placing the wires, checking the computer and then scoring that sequence off the list. He tried both jacks but no matter which order he used the computer screen remained stubbornly lifeless. After about fifty minutes his hands began to shake. He told Guest he had to take a break.

  “Go ahead. Take your time.”

  He spent a few minutes pacing round the room shaking his shoulders and arms. Then he went at it again, shifting directly to the second cable.

  After a number of attempts with the same blank results the screen suddenly crackled and jumped as he prodded the next couple of colors in one of the jacks.

  “We started with the wrong cable,” he muttered. “This has to be input.” He focused his energies more intently, writing down the complete sequence of colors and moving through the remaining wires systematically.

  After about thirty tries with the computer flashing and then blacking out a light began to flicker on the computer console and a screen lit up and steadied. It read: Acquiring Signal. Access Code Required.

  “Wow,” Poll exclaimed as the screen came up. “We did it!”

  “Yes!” Guest uncharacteristically burst out. “I knew you were the real deal. Who would have guessed it could be hooked in like that?”

  For a moment Poll forgot his humility. “Well, there had to be some sort of system control and it was simply a matter of putting two and two together.”

  Guest for once was at a disadvantage. “I’ve never exactly been in front of a live computer until now,” he frowned.

  “You mean you’ve never seen the computers in the Sectors…” Poll’s voice trailed off.

  Guest’s face snapped back instantly to its gray mask. “You have no idea what I’ve seen. And don’t be damn smart, Sidak, remember I still own your skinny ass. Besides,” he said, pointing to the computer, “you have another problem to solve, that access code.”

  With the sliver of a smirk returning to his lips he left the room.

  4. INSTRUCTION

  By the time the day came for the students’ field visit to the machine shop Cal was well aware of its location in the transport system. Yet this was of no use if she could not find out where Poll had been taken or how to drive an ice-tractor to get her there. She was constantly anxious for him, having no way to communicate or even imagine what kind of conditions he was going through. It was as if he’d been dropped down a black hole. So that morning when she arrived at the Training Center she went directly to the Supervisor and said she hoped there’d be an opportunity to drive an ice-tractor, because it was important that trainees knew all aspects of the transport system.

  The Supervisor was leery of this young woman who seemed to want to run the whole show and was rumored to be capable of doing it. “If there’s time, Cal, I’m sure you’ll get all the opportunities you need.”

  The class of fifteen students arrived at the transport machine shop, a huge rambling complex including domes and older-looking rectangular buildings. They went first to the dome where the track system entered. Hundreds of Bubbles were parked in sidings all around its edge. An overhead crane moved on tracks to lift them in the air and carry them to cradles where robotic arms cleaned and greased them. Service personnel tested their magnetic coils and guidance systems and replaced broken parts. It was a scene of impressive activity and the next couple of hours were taken up with technical description of the components, indications of the kind of things that could go wrong with them, and numerous questions by the students. Cal who would normally have been to the fore said very little. She could hardly wait to get to the free-moving vehicles. The session ended and there followed another hour and a half touring a factory where new Bubbles were assembled. Next it was lunch, and after that guidance system programming. She couldn’t contain herself any longer and went to the Supervisor, reminding him th
at she thought it important also to get to the ice-tractors.

  “I really don’t understand you, Cal. The independent mobiles are the least significant part of our system. But if you must insist there may be time for other options after this segment.”

  One of her fellow students overheard her request.

  “Why would anybody want to drive border tractors?”

  Cal had learned that working with ice-tractors was thought to be the bottom of the barrel among Homeland occupations. The drivers were believed to be former convicts, the only ones who would do the harsh work of transport to and from the borders. She replied, “Well I think it’s important. We do need these vehicles sometimes, when the power’s out, on the monorails.”

  The student made a “Whatever!” shrug and turned away. The afternoon session dragged on with Cal willing it to end. After what seemed an eternity the demonstrations concluded and the students were offered the choices Cal had been waiting for. They included new designs and testing, and, at long last, independent mobiles. Cal and one other student followed a technician to a Bubble port. The vehicle ferried them quickly to a large rectangular building set at some distance from the rest of the complex. The moment they stepped through the weather lock Cal knew that there was something seriously different here. It had a distinct smell, acrid and dirty. The light was poor: separated arcs of vision with heavy shadowed spaces in between. There was also much less activity, with just a couple of men moving around in a desultory fashion. And it was cold, not the cheerful sixty six degrees of the domes. The whole thing spoke of another time, another way of living. Cal felt at once she was closer to Poll.

  The technician went to one of the men and asked him to show the students the tractors. The worker squinted at the strangers. His therm-suit was dirty and he was unshaven. “What exactly do you want to see?” he drawled.

  Cal walked up to him. “We’re students in transport management. Not many people pay attention to ice-tractors, but I’ve always been fascinated. They do essential duty for the Homeland. I want to find out everything about them.”

  The mechanic’s mood changed abruptly, as if Cal had thrown a switch inside him. “Well right on! We don’t get many like you. Folks normally avoid us. But I think tractors are the best transport going. We get to drive them out on the ice, how cool is that!”

  “I would love to drive one myself! But first you have to tell me about them, how many you have and how they work, that kind of thing!”

  “No problemo! Class pay attention!” He gestured around theatrically. “You are standing in the tractor depot where the vehicles are kept and maintained. We have a fleet of three sixteen-seaters and one four-seater. They are powered by lithium ion batteries generating two thousand volts of electricity. They keep going for twenty four hours without recharging, and have back-up systems to maintain heat for another twelve or so—pretty important when you’re out on the icefields. We service them here and keep a couple at the camps. Follow me—we have two in the shed, including my favorite, the four-seater. She handles far the best!”

  He led them through rows of workbenches littered with tools and bits of machinery and brought them to the back of the shed. Here were two of the tractors, one huge one that looked like a building on wheels, and another, considerably smaller, beside it.

  “See these caterpillar tracks?” he said, pointing to the monster. “They chew up snowbanks and ice blocks like they’re fresh bread. But if it gets stuck in a crevasse it’s tough to maneuver and you can burn up the motor. On the other hand, my little baby here, she can climb over most things and back out of any hole.”

  “Could we drive that one, your baby?”

  The mechanic looked dubious. “You have clearance? We’d probably have to get an OK from the bosses.”

  Cal smiled. “Yes, we have clearance. My Supervisor said so.”

  He brightened. “Well your guy must outrank my guy. Hell, let’s do it! Get in!”

  He jumped up on the track and the cabin step and climbed in, beckoning the others to do the same through the passenger doors. Cal made sure she got round the other side in front, clambering up beside him while the others came in behind.

  She saw him enter a code on the instrument panel and was able to memorize it. He hit a button and a powerful whine rose from beneath them making the body of the vehicle shake. He put it in gear and it ground forward slowly. He pushed another switch on a box above his head and a wall section of the shed began to roll to the side revealing a weather lock. He steered in front of it and waited, with the tractor vibrating so strongly everyone felt they were buzzing inside. When the opening cleared he moved the tractor forward into the lock. He switched on heating and hit the overhead panel again. The wall section rolled back behind and an outer gate began to lift vertically in front of them. He told everyone to buckle their safety belts and continued to inch the tractor forward even before there was headroom. Immediately there was clearance he rolled forward and they heard something catch and scrape briefly.

  “Don’t worry, just the antenna,” he shouted. It bends!” He laughed and slammed the tractor into second gear, and immediately third. It lunged forward and they were suddenly out, bouncing across the open tundra with the machine buildings disappearing rapidly behind.

  “It’s a stick shift,” the mechanic yelled above the whine to Cal. “It’s easy. All you have to do is depress the clutch—see my foot here?—then move the gear lever and let go of the clutch.” He popped into fourth, lifted his foot and the tractor surged forward again. “It’s soooo fun!” He was looking over at Cal. “You really want to take a spin, don’t you? I can tell.”

  Cal nodded feverishly, hardly able to speak with the rush of nerves and excitement. The technician behind them leaned forward. “What are you saying? I don’t think we have permission for students to drive vehicles.”

  “No one said we couldn’t,” countered Cal.

  The driver’s reply was to bring the tractor to a skidding halt. “I won’t say anything if you don’t,” he said over his shoulder.

  He flipped out of gear, pulled his hood over his head, opened the door and jumped out, waving to Cal to do the same. They exchanged places bringing a blast of face-scalding air into the compartment.

  “Don’t worry, the heating’s great.” And he cranked it up several notches.

  “OK, Just push down on that lever with your foot, then put it in gear here with your hand. Up and down for first and second, then to the middle and the right, then up and down for third and fourth. There’s a fifth and reverse too but we won’t worry about them. Just remember to steer the wheel!”

  Cal pushed down on the clutch, gripped the wheel with one hand and the gear lever with the other, thrusting it into first. Then she released her foot. The tractor bounced forward. She put her foot down on the clutch again, pushed the gear into second, but let her foot up too quickly. The tractor shuddered, groaned, and almost came to a full stop, but the engine continued to torque and slowly regained momentum.

  “Ha! See what I mean? My baby! She don’t quit. Now, like I said, to the middle and to the right for third and fourth.”

  Cal continued her lesson, crashing the gears and bouncing her passengers painfully, but essentially getting the hang of the shift. She executed a number of big turns in the open icefield, becoming more and more confident. “You’re a natural,” her instructor beamed, “but we gotta stop now. We won’t want to run the battery down and get reamed out.”

  They exchanged places once more and turned back toward the shed. On the way in Cal asked casually, “How do you find your way out there? It must be difficult on that endless ice?”

  “Nah, it’s easy. There’s basically one road and you can’t miss it. And anyway there’s a beacon that keeps you heading in the right direction.” And he pointed to a small screen set in the dashboard.

  “Where does it all lead?

  “To the borderlands of course. Refrigeration, the camps. Where else?”

  “Oh, of c
ourse, silly me! I suppose you make the trip a lot?”

  “Now and then, but there are plenty of others. The guys from the camps usually make their own collections. ”

  Cal bit her tongue. She was dying to ask more but could think of no good way without sounding too interested. She turned to the passengers behind her. “I hope you’re not sore at my driving, I had to try.”

  The technician looked hostile, but said nothing. The student replied, “It was very cool! By the way, my name is Rory.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Rory.”

  “Yeah, and my name is Rip Van Winkle,” broke in the mechanic, guffawing.

  Cal seized her chance. “Well, good to meet you, Rip. You know, I was thinking I’d like to get an idea of how much these vehicles are used. I might write a term paper on them. Do you keep any kind of log? “

  “Sure, we keep a log. Each vehicle has one right in there,” and he pointed to a box between the seats. “But this time you really will need permission to start poking around in those things.”

  “Yes, of course. But thanks anyway for the chance to drive your baby. It was a blast!”

  The tractor had entered the lock and they were waiting for the wall section to roll back.

  “Pleasure’s mine, Cal. Maybe they’ll send you down here as manager or something. You would sure brighten the place up!”

  “You never know,” she responded. “I definitely want to come back!”

  ***

  Danny and Charlize were asleep in each other’s arms, entwined on the single couch. They awoke slowly and as they began to focus they saw around them a peaceful circle of white-garmented men and women. Some were cradling small oil lamps, some had their eyes closed smiling blissfully, others stared ahead contemplating an invisible greatness. Charlize was the first to come to and she caught one of the attendants’ eyes who smiled at her and, half-conscious, she smiled back. Danny focused and then convulsed, falling off the bed. He landed instinctively, half on all fours and half trying to cover himself, looking desperately around for something to wear. The circle of acolytes all laughed, a noise like chiming bells and falling water. One of them retrieved Danny’s robe on its stool and handed it to him.