The Fanciers & Realizers MEGAPACK

by Phyllis Ann Karr

  Cunningham came in. The door shut behind him as soon as he stepped on the inside bulge that signaled you were clear of its swing.

  “Step forward, boy. All the way.”

  The distance to the desk seemed almost as far as the whole walk down the corridor. The sanctum was full of shadows, except where the sun that came in the big stained glass window—Gabinny’s “Consecution”—you couldn’t see anything in the sanctum when you tried to look through from the outside—threw patches of color like the blue shine on Princeps Cage’s bald head, the red and orange on his plain cream tunic that looked fancy-class, the green and yellow lucky cross stretched out on his polished desktop, that shifted into view as Cunningham stepped forward. I’m a reality perceiver, he reminded himself. But the shadows did not go away and the color patches looked just as loud.

  “Good,” said the princeps. “Put your hands on my desk. Palms down. Spread your fingers.”

  The boy obeyed, watching his hands to be sure he did it right. Princeps Cage’s big, pudgy hands came down and put an elastic metal loop around each of his pointer fingers. The loops were the ends of a double wire, covered with red and black plastic, with a tiny light bulb in the middle. The princeps adjusted the boy’s hands until the double wire stretched between them like a little tightrope with the light bulb for the circus walker midway.

  The princeps stood back. “Do you know what this is, Cunningham?”

  “No, sir. Some…thing electric?” Probably something like what the Nationals used to torture Li Wan Sung with in the Shanghai Riots of 2037. The bulb was flickering on with a pale orange glow. Any minute the shocks would start. He started to clench his hands.

  “Don’t move your fingers,” the princeps ordered him. “It is a lie detector. As you obviously guessed, and it caught you in your lie.”

  The boy looked up and shook his head. “No, sir—what lie?”

  “That you didn’t know what it was.” The princeps took out a brown handkerchief and patted his bald spot. “As you plan to go on lying. I can see it very well. Yes, it shows me very plainly that you are planning to go on lying.”

  Sure enough, the light bobber was still flickering, brighter and steadier. Cunningham stared at it and went on shaking his head. “No. Honest. I wasn’t planning to lie. Honest.”

  “You hid inside the school plant last Friday with intent to break the rules and do mischief?”

  “No—er ...” The light was still flickering. Cunningham took a deep breath and pressed his hands flat on the table and thought about Senior Sergeant Lestrade. She said there wasn’t any such thing as a real lie detector, just gadgets to test how scared you were. “I knew it was breaking the rules, but I wasn’t going to hurt anything, just camp out inside overnight.”

  The bobber almost went out. Not quite—you could still see a little bit of a glow—but almost.

  “Well,” said the princeps. “We can take it that that much is near the truth.”

  “I was up in the skyview bubble almost the whole time, sir. And I had my own rations, and chips for the dispensers ...” Why was the dumb light still flickering? “... And I was going to sleep on one of the nurse’s cots or something, but I was going to make it up again in the morning.”

  “However, you were about to, er, enjoy an unauthorized swim in our aquanatorium and upset M. Pinesweep’s delicate ecological balances.”

  “I was going to shower and everything first, sir, just like for swimming class.” It was flickering a little brighter. Why was it flickering brighter?

  “Um, yes. So you were already in the dressing room for quite some time. Long enough to, er, witness what happened in the pool area?”

  M. Sapperfield’s body flashed, all swollen up—Cunningham shouted, “No!” and the bobber lit up bright and clear. He stared at it. “I didn’t see who pushed him in. Honest. I just found him.”

  “I ... see,” said the princeps. Maybe now he was thinking Cunningham did it himself.

  “M. Princeps Cage, sir, Senior Sergeant Lestrade says there’s no such thing as a real lie detector.” The light dipped and then flared up brighter than ever.

  “What a strange thing for a policewoman to say. Well, the bobber shows me it’s another lie. Either yours or hers.” The princeps’ left finger came down and pointed at the light. His hand was sort of shaking. The boy sneaked a glance up and saw he was rubbing his handkerchief over his bald stretch again. The princeps caught him watching and he ducked his head back down.

  Now he’s really sure I did it, thought the boy. He’ll tell Sergeant Lestrade, and if she wasn’t already planning to shoot me full of truth juice ...

  “Well, I think, seeing that you are obviously determined to go on telling lies, further interrogation along these lines would only waste our time,” said the princeps. His hands came down again and tugged the loops off.

  “Are you going to whip me now?” Cunningham asked. His voice didn’t sound very strong.

  The princeps put his hand to his chin and turned around. “Whippings, Cunningham, are for students who misbehave themselves violently.” He turned the rest of the way and faced across the desk again, making the boy look back down. “Students who plan long, time-consuming infractions merit long, time-consuming disciplines,” the princeps’ voice went on. “Of course, we’ll have to add an additional penalty for telling lies, but I’ll think about that later. For now, for your infraction Friday night, into the closet with you.”

  The boy looked at the closed closet doors. They had a design like a dark baseball diamond with long yellow triangles around its corners. It could be realwood, but in the shadows on that side of the room, where the stained-glass patterns didn’t reach, it looked more like a big, dark cave. “How ... How long, sir?”

  “I have calculated the time justly and fairly. Why? Is there anyone, er, waiting for you?”

  “No—no, sir.”

  “If there is someone waiting for you, I can give you permission to contact them by phone and tell them not to wait.”

  “No, sir. There’s nobody waiting for me.” If he told about Sergeant Lestrade, the princeps would really think he’d done it to M. Sapperfield. Besides, the Senior Sergeant wasn’t waiting for him, she was coming back to meet him.

  “Good,” said Princeps Cage. “Oh, yes, you’ll have to give me your wristphone. I can’t allow you to while away your time making casual conversation or playing with personal compshows.”

  Cunningham woggled with the buckle strap. He hated to turn his phone over. The brown tab was coded to Sergeant Lestrade’s personal number, and if he saw Princeps Cage was going to keep him in the closet till after 16:00, he could call her and explain. “Can’t I promise not to call, uh, not to tab anybody’s number except—”

  “I have heard that promise from other young malefactors. I know how to value it.” The princeps held out his hand. “I have already informed your mother of your estimated time of arrival. Provided, of course, that you do not dawdle on leaving the building.”

  So the boy had to hand his wristphone over. He hoped he’d be out of here by 16:00, or Sergeant Lestrade might chime his number and get the princeps.

  “Now then, young man.” Princeps Cage took the wristphone and put it in his desk drawer. “Forward to the closet.”

  “Sir, could I…take a comfort break first?”

  The princeps looked down at him and smiled. Funny, give him a white beard and red tunic and he’d look like Santa Claus. “In there,” he said, pointing to his own private comfort station. “You may close the door, but do not dawdle.”

  Some of the bigger kids said he really played Santa Claus around Christmas time in a few schools and places on the other side of town. Never at Owlsfane Garber.

  When the boy came out again, the nearside closet door was open. There was a screen cubby inside, and Princeps Cage had his hand resting on the back of the chair. Cunningham sat
down. The princeps adjusted it to his height, strapped him in, poked a key into a lock beneath the selector row and tabbed one of the middle buttons. The cass slid into place inside the machine panel and the first frame lit the screen: Advanced Junior Geometry, Supplemental Program II.

  “This is a completely closed unit,” said the princeps, as if you couldn’t tell that right away by the battery toggle on the keyboard. “Do not waste your time trying to tie into any outside termscreen.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Or trying to change the program for something more congenial to your tastes. It has only study programs and it responds only to my key.” Princeps Cage took his key out of the lock and put it back in his pocket. “Disciplinary sessions are to be spent in self-improvement. I expect to see progress proportionate to the time available.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Princeps Cage shut the door and Cunningham was alone. The closet doors must be covered with sound-soak, because he could hardly even hear the princeps walk back to his desk. He tried looking around for the flagellator. It’d be nice to tell Badger tomorrow what it really was, especially if he didn’t have to feel it. But the whole closet must be walled with light-soak, and all he could see was the screen and the little area it lit up—the keyboard, his hands and tunic, and the princeps’ coat hanging just close enough to catch a glow. He bet Badge was wrong and the famous flagellator wasn’t anything much at all, just a bunch of noodles on a handle, something to scare fanciers with. Big D didn’t look much like a fancier, but most days he was one. Grownups could tell when a kid was a realizer, and that was why Princeps Cage stuck Cunningham Roberts Cunningham in the closet instead of trying to scare him with a silly mop of noodles.

  The chair didn’t swivel. He felt the strap. It buckled at the back of the chair, but he figured he could unfasten it okay if the building caught on fire or anything, but he wasn’t about to do it now and get in deeper trouble. It was embarrassing to sit strapped in like a little kid on a carnival whizbang, but nobody else was around to see, and he didn’t have to tell Badger or anybody about the strap. And he sure didn’t mind the study program! Gol, he was already halfway through Advanced Junior Geometry Basic, and Supplementals I to V were always alternates in any subject, you didn’t get to consecutives until Supplemental VI’s.

  This must be the Princeps’ Black Hole that fancier kids talked about, and it wasn’t all that bad. So why didn’t realizer kids call them on it? It wasn’t rude to tell reality straight, it was just saying what you perceived, the way fanciers told everyone in sight what they perceived. But a lot of the types who got punished all the time made out that studying was even worse than getting whipped. Besides, it’d be sort of fun to puff a little tomorrow himself. “Yeah, Badge, you were right, chains with links two centimeters long, and all these little studs ...” No way, he wouldn’t puff it up to Badger. Not for very long, anyway.

  And now he thought about it, that stupid lie detector gadget hadn’t sent out any torture shocks after all. The loops pinched a little, nothing serious. If only the crubbled light hadn’t gone trollies and made him out to be a liar! Geez, just because he’d been a little scared? Like Senior Sergeant Lestrade said—just devices to measure how nervous you were. Had he really been that nervous? Fine Yuri Yokamo he’d make!

  Chapter 33

  It was 16:14 and a few seconds when Click finally rolled to a stop in front of Owlsfane Garber’s front doors. He had his choice of parking spaces—the entire curve of empty curb. “The kids boiled out at fifteen thirty,” he remarked. “The last bus is just a memory till tomorrow. And they turned the profs out to pasture at fifteen forty-five.” Gloriana Robotnik, too, he thought regretfully. “The parking cave must be cleaned and hollow by now.” No kid was waiting for them beneath the entrance hood, but to point that out aloud seemed like rubbing it in too deep.

  “Pinesweep isn’t clocking out until sixteen thirty. Princeps Cage must still be in there, too.” Lestrade’s teeth chewed audibly on her pipestem. “Above and beyond the call of duty.”

  “Come on! How long would he take to discipline a first offender? The kid must have been outside by fifteen forty-five, didn’t see us, and decided he was just in time to jump on the last bus.”

  “I told him we’d be here at sixteen hundred. He would have waited.”

  Click shrugged. “Okay, until sixteen hundred hours. Then he got tired of waiting and went on down to the shop stop to catch a bus. Remember how long five minutes used to seem when you were a kid? Let alone a quarter of an hour.”

  “I probably remember childhood better than you do. And Cunningham would have waited. So we’re going to wait. At least until sixteen thirty.”

  “All right. Fine.” He settled down and started filling his pipe. “So what do you think about Mandra Lotus? Program her into our list of suspects or not?”

  “My instinct says no. She was too intent on getting her book. She wouldn’t have waited around the building when she could be on her way to Sapperfield’s apartment.”

  “She jumped right in with that tiplist for you.”

  “She got the news of Sapperfield’s death from her cousin Sherry Hawthorne, who had wormed it direct from Cunningham. Must have hit her like a wave of relief with an undertow of panic. Unless he really had gotten rid of her book—and he was still blackmailing her with the threat he could show it around as proof of her seduction—she could guess we’d find it in his things. That’d tie her to him, make her a prime suspect. She couldn’t talk to anyone about it. Even her sister was only so much good as a confidant. Most of what Ginny told me she’d put together from observation, a few desperate questions, and what she’d learned about Sapperfield during her own midschool years at Owlsfane Garber. So Mandra snatched the first inspiration that came, and threw up a smokescreen to hide behind. I think she told me the truth about believing one of her suspects could really have done it. Interesting how those kids kept my name right.”

  “You chose yourself an easy name to remember, Les. In snoop context, anyway. But she’d have had more time to make her list if she started working on it Friday evening, and we don’t know she was the particular student sweetie Pinesweep saw leaving that afternoon.”

  “We should be able to get an ident from him easily enough.”

  “Still no proof he didn’t get last Friday mixed up with some other afternoon.”

  “No proof that he did, either. Eyewitness testimony isn’t always and automatically false. You can’t get evidence for a conviction simply by reversing everything your eyewitnesses tell you.”

  “Okay. Without further evidence, we leave Mandra out of the running. Like I say, it won’t break my heart to put in our eighty hours and key ‘unsolved’ on this one. Wally Dutois is a bigger potential social menace than Lotus Blossom, anyway.”

  “Don’t nickname her. She’s been through too much.” The Old Woman got out of the car and stood looking back at the office wing with its thick stained-glass windows. “What the hell is he doing to that poor kid?”

  “Calm down, old girl. I told you, Cage finished up with Cunny half an hour ago, the kid got tired of waiting for us and went home, and we’re losing our time here. Maybe we even slipped his mind in the relief of surviving sanctum discipline.”

  “All right.” She got back in and shut the door. “So this is as good a time as any to play me your interview with Dutois and Badger Badderley.”

  Oh, yeah, he thought. Damn! All that business with Mrs. Greene and Family had pushed it to the back of his mind. He’d hoped to hit his senior sergeant in a better mood, but ... He played both interviews back: him and the kids in the student grove, the kids and Cage in the sanctum, skimspeeding through the scuffle and a few other places where she gave him the nod. When he tabbed it off she said,

  “I want to keep Badderley’s statement that Dutois cornered Cunningham into the bet.”

  “We can get him to repeat it
for the record,” Click suggested. “Badger should be even more cooperative when we get him alone, in a friendly situation, let him know how much he can help his buddy.”

  She drummed her fingertips on her knee.

  He tried, “Hey, no congratulations for the way I kept Momma Greene out of your hair this afternoon?”

  “All right. You can wipe ’em.” She held up one hand with a warning grunt. “After I’ve heard them a few more times. In fact, I’ll take them home with me and wipe them myself, when I’m ready.” She compared her watch with the polcar clock once more.

  It read 16:30:00 on the nose, but he didn’t risk commenting on the time as he handed her the tape.

  “Just exactly what kind of beater was it Cage used on Dutois?” she asked.

  “Looked like a miniature cat-o’-nine-tails, but it must’ve been well within the guiderules. Softlast tails, most likely.”

  “Yeah. Well, maybe the guiderules allow too much these days. We can’t even use wet spaghetti on grownup mashers, and we’re the pollies. Why should princeps be allowed to use softlast and springstick on midschool kids?”

  “Cunningham and Dutois aren’t exactly similar cases, Les. The Big D’s a hardened repeater. Cunny was a first-timer.”

  She looked at him.

  “Okay,” he went on, trying to stay on her mild side. “I’ve changed my mind, you convinced me, your boy couldn’t have done it. We’ll wipe him off our list completely. Even without doublechecking. Okay?”

  “No. If he doesn’t show up for us now, we’re going to shoot him with truth juice and run a full check. Damn it!” She got out of the car again and started for the building.

  “Come on, Les,” he called. “Didn’t you ever get summoned to the sanctum when you were a kid?”

  “Once. Only once.” She returned to the car. “In fourth grade. About a brooch somebody had stolen from the teacher. It wasn’t me. Turned out to be some big seventh-grader who sneaked into our classroom during break. But I got disciplined for it before they found out.”