by Kage Baker
conformity… “
Especially conformity, thought Lewin irritably. He looked down on the rows of little faces, different colored faces to be sure but otherwise as identical as so many young blobs of pudding, vanilla and chocolate and coffee and strawberry. Except for Alec, of course, fidgeting in his seat as he listened to the administrator.
It wasn’t simply that the boy was tall for his age. It wasn’t simply that his features were a bit unusual (though now that he was growing up it was more painfully evident, as his strange face lengthened and the broad high cheekbones rose like cliffs under Alec’s pale eyes). Alec would undoubtedly have to endure being called things like Horseface and Scarecrow once he’d got out in the world; but nobody goes to Hospital for a nickname. Alec’s natural talents, on the other hand… Not that Lewin was exactly sure what Alec’s natural talents were, or if in fact they were natural at all.
Lewin gritted his teeth now, remembering life as it had been eleven years ago. No worries then, other than seeing to it that the sixth earl didn’t get falling-down drunk in public. Roger Checkerfield had been the sweetest, gentlest upper-class twit it had ever been Lewin’s pleasure to serve. Nominally he was a junior executive with some big multinational firm, but as far as Lewin knew, Roger drew his paycheck simply for loafing around from island to island on his yacht. The life had seemed to suit Lady Finsbury too, though she had ten times Roger’s brainpower and was coolly beautiful besides. Then the call had come, one quiet afternoon when Lewin had been cleaning up the debris of a New Year’s party that had lasted most of a week. Private call for Roger from London, urgent business; Roger had staggered from his deck chair, taken the call in his cabin and come out fifteen minutes later white as a sheet. He’d gone straight to the bar and poured himself a stiff drink. After he’d gulped it down like water he’d ordered a change of course, without explanation.
Then he’d gone in to see Lady Finsbury. There had been a hissed quarrel they’d all tried not to hear, though Roger had raised his voice from time to time in a pleading manner. The end of it was that Lady Finsbury had locked herself in her cabin and, in a way, never came out
again.
That night late they’d lain off Cromwell Cay, and Lewin had not asked what their business was there; but he had seen the red lightblinking on the flat sand spit, suggestive of a waiting helicraft. Roger had taken the launch and gone ashore alone, and when he returned had handed up the pretty black girl, Sarah, and the little blanketed bundle she’d brought with her. The bundle had been Alec. In addition to Alec, she’d brought paperwork Lewin and the rest of the crew had all had to sign, attesting that tiny Alec William St. James Thome Checkerfield was the earl and Lady Finsbury’s son, born right there on the yacht. In return they all got generous annuities. But other than holding Alec for the obligatory birth announcement holo, Lady Finsbury had refused ever to touch the child.
After that Roger had begun drinking in the mornings, drinking all day, and Lady Finsbury had opted out of the marriage when Alec was four. Roger had taken Alec to the London townhouse, set up a household with servants, and managed to stay sober for a week before he’d quietly vanished over the horizon and never come back. Not a word of explanation, other than occasional incoherent and remorseful audiomail hinting that Alec was different, somehow, and nobody was to know. Different how, damn it? That the boy was a bloody little genius with numbers, that he was able to make unauthorized modifications to supposedly childproof things (and what a lot of Roger’s money it had taken to hush that up!), that he was able to program all the household systems by himself including the security protocols—none of that need necessarily land a child in Hospital. It could be explained away as a freak of precocity.
But if Alec were some other kind of freak… Lewin wondered uncomfortably, and not for the first time, just what it was that Roger’s big multinational firm did to make its millions. He became aware that Alec was staring up at him in a woebegone sort of way, as the administrator’s speech came to its interminable summing-up. The minute Lewin made eye contact, however, Alec’s eyes brightened, and he winked and mugged and gave Lewin two thumbs up. Lewin smiled back at him.
“… there is no inequity. There is no injustice. In an imperfect world, this is perfection: that all should contribute, and all share in the wealth of social order.”
And blah blah blah, Alec thought to himself, applauding politely with everyone else. The administrator pressed a control, and in majestic unison, 273 screens rose from 273 consoles. Two hundred seventy-three ten-year-olds fervently wished they were somewhere else. Frankie Chatterton was crying silently.
“Remember,” Alec muttered. “It’ll be okay.” Frankie gulped and nodded. Alec turned his eyes to the screen and slipped on the headset.
The screen filled with the image of a meadow of golden daffodils, swaying gently in the wind. Sweet music played, something calming, and a voice cooed: “Good morning, dear. 1 hope you’re feeling well. I’m going to tell you a story now, and the best part of it is, you’re the star of the story! You get to make all the decisions. Are you ready? Touch the yellow smiling face if you’re ready; touch the blue frowny face if you’re
not ready.”
Alec stuck out his tongue in disgust. What a lot of buggery baby talk! He tapped the yellow face impatiently, and the two faces vanished. They were replaced with a picture, done in the style of a child’s drawing, of a row of houses. The nearest door opened and a little stick-figure child emerged.
“This is you! And you’re going next door to visit your friend.” Alec watched as the stick figure wobbled over to the next house and knocked on its door. The door opened, and the point of view swooped down to follow the stick figure into the next house. The scene changed to a childish drawing of a front parlor. His stick figure was looking at another stick child sitting on a couch. The other stick child’s moony face was smeared with brown, and he was holding a brown lump of something in his hands.
“You go in to see your friend, but, oh, dear! Ugh! You see something nasty! Someone has given your friend sugary sweets! He’s eating chocolate. And now, we’ve come to the part of the story where you decide what happens. What will you do? You have three choices. Here they are!” The red letter A appeared on the screen, and the voice said:
“You tell your friend he mustn’t eat such nasty things. He promises he won’t do it anymore. You help him throw away the chocolate and wash his face and hands so nobody will see.
“Or does this happen?” And the blue letter B appeared on the screen.
“You think the chocolate looks nice. Your friend offers to give you some of the chocolate if you won’t tell anyone what you’ve seen. You take some of the chocolate and you and your friend eat sweets and play
games.
“Or does this happen?” The yellow letter C appeared.
“You go outside and see a Public Health Monitor in the street. You tell him that your friend is eating chocolate, and show him where your
friend lives.
“Think carefully, now. What happens next? A, B or C? Choose the story you like best. Here are your choices again,” and the voice repeated the three possibilities. Alec narrowed his eyes. Bloody telltales!
But he tapped on C.
“What a good choice! Are you sure you’ve chosen C? If you are, tap the yellow smiling face and we’ll move on to the next part of the story… “
Alec tapped the smiling face and moved on, all right, moved on to the deck of his pirate ship, and he was at the wheel steering handily, and the wind filled all her canvas and she raced along over blue water!
Smack, up went the white spray! And the air was clean and smelled of the sea. The Captain paced the quarterdeck above him with a spyglass, looking out for treasure galleons, and the swivel guns on the rail waited for Alec’s expert aim as soon as there was any chance of mayhem… When the test had ended, everyone filed from the hall into the Ministry’s banqueting room beyond, where they were all treated to a luncheon.
/> Lewin could barely choke it down, he was so nervous. At least Alec didn’t seem frightened; he didn’t eat much, but sat gazing about him at the other children in frank curiosity. At last he turned and inquired,
“I didn’t know I was so tall. Do you think they mind?”
“Of course they don’t mind,” said Lewin, opening his pillbox and taking out an antacid. “I expect they’re just not used to you. Perhaps they’re a bit scared.”
“Of me?” Alec looked impressed. He took a julienned green bean from his plate, stuck one end of it up one nostril and stood at his place. “Excuse me! Somebody got a tissue? I need to blow my nose!” The children around him screamed with laughter, and some of the adults snorted, but most fixed on him with a glare of outrage. Lewin went pale and sank back, closing his eyes.
“Young man, that is disgusting and an immoral waste of food!” shouted the nearest parent.
“My-young-gentleman-is-the-son-of-my-lord-the-earl-of-Finsbury,” Lewin rattled off like a prayer, and it worked again; the angry parents swallowed back venom, the amused parents nodded knowingly at one another.
“I’m very sorry,” said Alec contritely, and ate the green bean. The other children screamed again, and Alec caught the end of one parent’s muttered remark: “… get away with it because he’s one of the hereditaries.”
“See?” Alec said to Lewin as he sat down again. “Now they won’t be scared of me.” And the other children to either side and across the table did begin to chat with Alec, and the adults stolidly pretended nothing had happened, and Lewin wiped his brow and prayed that this incident wouldn’t affect the outcome of the Sorting.
After lunch they were herded into another vast room, empty with a dais in the center, and everyone was lined up along the walls, all the way around. That morning the children had kept their distance while the adults had grouped together to talk; now that the die had been cast, the children waved and shouted to one another and it was the adults who kept to themselves, eyeing the competition.
“Now we’ll see,” hissed Lewin, as an administrator crossed the room and mounted the dais. Alec, distracted from semaphoring at Frankie Chatterton, looked up at him.
“Why are you scared again?”
Lewin just shook his head. The administrator coughed and hammered on the podium, and a deathly silence fell. This was a different man from the first administrator. He looked less like a politician and more like a holo announcer.
“Good afternoon, citizens!” he said, and his words echoed in the room. “I hope you all enjoyed your luncheons? Girls and boys, are you ready for the exciting news? Remember, everybody’s a winner today!
Let’s say it all together: Everybody’s a winner!”
“EVERYBODY’S A WINNER,” groaned the parents, piped the children obediently.
“That’s right! The results are all tallied and the appraisals have been made! I know you’re all eager to see what part you’ll play in the bright future awaiting every one of us, so without further ado—the vocational assignments!”
And he applauded wildly to show they were all supposed to join in, so they all did, and when everyone’s hands were tired he cleared his throat again and said loudly:
“Aalwyn, Neil David! Please approach the podium.”
Neil David Aalwyn was a very small boy with scraped knees, and his parents flanked him up to the dais, looking edgily from side to side. They had arrived that morning by public transport and their clothes were not elegant, were in fact about five years behind the time in
fashion.
“And what does jour father do, Neil?” boomed the administrator. Neil opened his mouth to speak but nothing audible came out, and his father cried hoarsely:
“Farm for Sleaford Council!”
“A farmer’s son! That’s a noble profession, young Neil. Without the farmers, we’d have nothing to eat, would we? And I’m happy to report that you scored so well, it is the opinion of the Committee that you are fully fit to follow in your father’s footsteps!”
There was a breathless pause, and Alec heard a faint muttering from dark corners of the room. The administrator added:
“But! With the further recommendation that you be considered for Council membership, thanks to your extraordinarily developed social conscience!”
Neil’s parents brightened at that, and there was thunderous applause as they returned to the wall.
“Throw ‘em a sop,” Lewin said under his breath, but Alec heard him and looked up.
“Is Council the same thing as Circle?” he inquired.
“Not exactly. But it’s better than he might have done,” Lewin replied. “It’ll keep his subgroup happy.” Neil Aalwyn was followed by Jason Allanson, who was going to be a clerk just like his father, but that was all right because literacy was a fine thing; after him came Camilla Anderson, who had done so well she was going to join the Manchester Circle, as her parents had done (“Big surprise,” growled Lewin). Arthur Arundale was going to follow his honored mother and continue the fine family tradition of driving public transports. Kevin Ashby, Elvis Atwood-Crayton, Jane Auden: all winners and all neatly slotted into careers they’d be sure to love, or would at least find reasonably personally fulfilling. Babcock, Baker, Banks, Beames, came and went without surprises, and so did the rest of the Bs until little Edmund Bray, standing at the dais with his parents the third earl of Stockport and Lady Stockport, was informed that he could look forward to a life free from responsibilities and might perhaps pursue a career in the arts.
Lord Stockport went purple in the face, Lewin exhaled, and a buzz of excitement ran through the room. Many of the parents were hugging themselves gleefully; others stood silent and mortified.
“I BEG your pardon?” shouted the third earl.
“What’s happened?” demanded Alec. “What’s wrong? Didn’t he win too?”
“It’s just fairness, son,” Lewin whispered beside his ear. “Remember how I said there’s always one hereditary Admin who gets thrown to the wolves every year, for appearances’ sake? Keeps the lower classes happy. Makes room for somebody else to move up into a Circle and get a nice job, and you can’t say that isn’t democratic.”
“But what’ll happen to him?” asked Alec, staring at Edmund Bray, who was looking on uneasily as his parents held a sizzling sotto-voce conversation with the administrator.
“Nothing much. His people have money; he’ll live it down. Wouldn’t have failed if he hadn’t been a little blockhead, anyway,” Lewinexplained lightheartedly. He was giddy with joy that Alec hadn’t been the chosen sacrifice. “Besides, for every one Admin like him that gets what’s coming to him, there’s ten brilliant Consumer kids who ought to make Circle and get stuck being bank managers instead. No worries,son.”
The rest of the Bs were something of an anticlimax, but as they got into C Alec could feel Lewin tensing up again. Calberry, Carter,Cattley…
“Yo ho, we’re on the high Cs,” Alec whispered to make Lewin smile,forgetting he wasn’t supposed to talk about pirates. Lewin just grimaced.
“Francis Mohandas Chatterton!” cried the administrator. Alec turnedin surprise and applauded as Frankie was pushed up to the dais by hisDad and Mummy. Behind them, quietly, walked four men in suits.
Lewin put his hand on Alec’s shoulder a moment, clenching tight. Nobody in the room made a sound. Alec could hear his own heart beating. The administrator’s voice was just as peppy as ever, seemed loud as a trumpet when he said: “Well, Francis, you’re a very lucky boy! The Committee has determined that you’re entitled to special counseling! What a happy and carefree life you’ll have!” Alec heard Lewin make a noise as though he’d been punched. Frankie’s Mum put her hands to her mouth with a little scream, and Frankie’s Dad turned and noticed the four men.
“What—what—” he said, still too surprised to be angry. Frankie had begun to cry again, hopelessly. Alec felt Lewin pull him back and half-turn him, as though he could keep Alec from seeing. “Ah, Christ, they’re no
t going to fight, are they?” Lewin mumbled. “Poor little bastard—”
“I don’t understand,” said Alec wildly, straining to see. “He didn’tfail! Why are they—”
“He’s going into Hospital, Alec. Don’t look, son, it’s rude. Leavethem go with some privacy, eh?” But Alec couldn’t look away as Frankie’s dad began to struggle, shouting that this was an outrage, that it was racially motivated, that he’d appeal, and the administrator kept talking cheerily as though he couldn’t hear, saying: “Please follow our courtesy escort to the waiting complimentary transport. You’ll be whisked away to a lovely holiday at the East Grinstead Facility before beginning your special classes!” Nobody applauded. Alec felt as though he were going to throw up. Two of the men in suits were dragging Frankie’s dad toward the door now, as the other two shepherded Frankie and his mummy afterthem.
The administrator drew a deep breath and sang out, “Alec William
St. James Thome Checkerfield!”
Alec seemed frozen in place, until Lewin pushed him forward. Dazed, he walked out to the dais and looked up into the administrator’s happy face.
“Well, Alec, it’s a pleasure to meet you! What do your dad and mum do, Alec?” Alec was tongue-tied. He heard Lewin’s voice coming from just behind him: “My young gentleman’s father is the Right Honourable Roger Checkerfield, sixth earl of Finsbury, sir.”
“He’ll be proud of you for sure, Alec,” beamed the administrator. “You’re to be admitted to the London Circle of Thirty! Well done, young Checkerfield! We expect great things of you!” There was applause. Alec stood there, staring. How could he have passed when Frankie had failed so badly, since they’d both had the right answers? Then Alec remembered the transmitters. He felt something swelling in his chest like a balloon. He was drawing breath to shout that it wasn’t fair, that it was all a cheat, when he looked up and saw Lewin’s old face shining with relief. So Alec said nothing, but walked meekly back to his place when the applause had ended. He stood like a stone through the rest of the ceremony, and every time he tried to summon blue water and a tall ship to comfort himself, all he saw was Frankie’s dad wrestling with the other men. Twice more that afternoon, unhappy children and their parents were escorted out the door by the ominous-looking men, and everyone pretended not to notice.
