First Family

by Patrick Tilley

  Dan Dover and Ty Morrison joined Steve in the corridor. ‘What gives with that guy?’

  Steve shrugged. ‘He’s someone I was involved with topside. He’s just drawn twelve to fifteen down here on account of something he did for me.’

  Dover fisted Ty Morrison’s shoulder. ‘You see? I told you our friend here was a bad hat!’ He threw an arm across Steve’s shoulder and gave him a friendly hug. ‘Welcome to the club.’

  As he walked along the corridor leading from the mess-deck, Chisum quietly congratulated himself. It had all worked out much better than expected. He reached the end of the corridor, stepped out onto the main A-3 access road and hitched a wheelie ride back to the MedCare centre. Yes… another few days would see the end of this particular assignment and he would able to get back upstairs. He had done well – and might even have earned himself an invitation to spend a few weeks in Cloudlands.

  Nine

  In the forty-eight hours following his surprise encounter with Chisum, Steve’s thoughts were centred round Roz and what might happen to her – and also to him. He had let Chisum go without asking him when Roz’s ‘confession’ and his demotion had taken place. In a way, the question was irrelevant. Sooner or later, there was bound to be further fallout. There was – and Steve didn’t have long to wait. On the 1st of March, 2990, as he was preparing to go on the 0800 shift, his squad supervisor – a Tech-4 called Mullins – came into the bunkhouse and yelled out his name. ‘Brickman?!’

  Steve snapped to attention. ‘Sirr!’

  Mullins beckoned him over. ‘You won’t be on this shift. Get into your off-duty coveralls and get your ass down to the main elevator deck. Pronto!’

  ‘Yess-sirr!’ Steve sidestepped Mullins and doubled towards the locker room. Down in the A-Levels you only saluted on ceremonial occasions – and there were very few of those.

  Mullins raise his voice again. ‘Dover?!’

  Dan Dover straightened up by the end of his bunk. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Pack up Brickman’s gear, strip his bunk, and hand everything in to the Quartermaster.’

  ‘You mean now, sir?’ asked Dover, already figuring that, if he spun it out, the time-wasting chore could mean missing up to half a shift.

  ‘No, not now, Dover. When you come off at 1600, you asshole!’

  ‘Yeah, and up yours,’ muttered Dover, as Mullins strode away. Turning, he saw his buddie Ty Morrison trying not to laugh. Dover aimed an angry punch at his solar plexus but Morrison danced out of reach.

  Steve found three Provos waiting for him at the turnstile to the main elevator deck. The meat-loaf in charge asked for his ID-card, then he was hooded and chained and hustled through the turnstile. When the hood came off, he saw that his escort had changed. The two Provos now facing him sported the White House shoulder flash. He was back in the medical unit where he had first run into Chisum. The bigger of the two meat-loaves ordered him to stand with his legs apart and his hands by his side then moved behind him and unlocked the steel bands around his wrists and knees.

  ‘Okay, strip off,’ said the other meat-loaf. He waved his truncheon towards the adjacent wash-room. ‘You’ve got five minutes to shower and get back into uniform. Move!’

  Steve didn’t stop to ask ‘What uniform?’; meat-loaves didn’t like being asked questions. He twirled on the shower tap, peeled off his clothes, washed himself thoroughly, then rubbed himself down with the aid of a disposable glove-towel in the warm air drier and emerged with two and a half minutes to spare. The big meat-loaf had made himself comfortable on the only available chair; the other had hoisted his low-slung butt onto the edge of the table next to a neatly arranged pile of clothing: a flight-blue jumpsuit, field cap, underclothes and gleaming dark-blue parade boots.

  The meat-loaf on the table pushed the pile of clothes towards Steve with the point of his truncheon. ‘Get this stuff on…’

  Steve pulled on the pants, socks and T-shirt with a mixture of pleasure and surprise. He’d been given a wingman’s uniform, and when he opened out the freshly-pressed jumpsuit he saw that it bore his name on the woven tag over the right breast pocket, and a pair of silver wings over the left. It even had the correct unit arm badges; one that identified him as coming from Roosevelt/Santa Fe; the other as serving aboard The Lady from Louisiana. They – someone – some mysterious benefactor – had given him back his identity! He donned the jumpsuit and tried to fight down a rising feeling of excitement. After all that had happened to him over the last few months it would be foolish to raise his hopes too high. He adjusted the field cap, straightened the long front zip of the suit and stood at ease waiting for the Provos’ next order with seconds to spare.

  The Provo lounging in the chair checked his watch then got up and walked over to the door that opened onto the passageway beyond. His buddie followed. Steve heard footsteps. The two Provos took up position on either side of the doorway then jumped to attention and saluted as an Amtrak Exec entered. Steve followed suit.

  The Exec wore the rank stripes of a JX-2. She eyed Steve then turned to the Provo-Corporal. ‘Is this the interviewee?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am!’ The Provo-Corporal had palmed Steve’s ID-card in readiness for the hand-over.

  The Exec lifted the flap of the protective wallet, glanced briefly at the card, put it in a thigh pocket then swept her hand towards the door. ‘Would you come this way please?’

  The gesture and the courteous tone were so unexpected, they left Steve with his feet momentarily glued to the floor. The JX-2, whose name tag identified her as Pruett, J K, was a slim, brown-haired woman of around thirty. She had the kind of face you wouldn’t look at twice unless you had to but, despite this, she radiated an air of cheerful efficiency.

  Pruett led the way to an office unit on Level Four-2. En route, Steve noticed that the walls and floors of the corridors – which had high curved ceilings – were faced with almost pure white marble. Large portraits of Jefferson the 31st and the Founding Father were sited at strategic points along the way. The elevator that took them up from Level Two-1 was carpeted in pale cream throughout. The quality and finish of the decor in this section of the White House was even better than the much-vaunted John Wayne Plaza; the overall impression one of clean, luminous magnificence.

  Pruett checked Steve in with a front office Exec then carded him through a turnstile door and left him standing in front of a large desk in a very large office with two curtained windows. Through them, Steve could see a view of a distant line of strange buildings with pale, ornate, coloured façades set against a blue, cloud-filled sky. The buildings looked as if they were sinking into the water that occupied the foreground. The view through the window was clear and extremely well detailed but there was something about it that was not quite real. Steve decided that it must have been created by COLUMBUS. He pulled his eyes away from the windows and took a closer look at the office interior. The floor was covered with carpet, the walls with long, flat strips of wood bearing the same wavy lines he had seen on bits of wood used by the Mutes. Even the desk and parts of the chairs were made of wood! How strange…

  A door in the wall behind the desk slid open to reveal a man wearing a silver jumpsuit. He walked in and took his place behind the desk. Slim, medium height, with a high forehead, lean angular face, firm thin mouth and jaw, and dark deep-set eyes that gave every sign of being linked to a sharp, penetrating intelligence.

  Steve sprang to attention with a slight chill of apprehension. He had been 90 per cent certain that the young President of the Board of Assessors was Family but this was the first time he had ever been physically face to face with someone dressed in the silver uniform with the blue and white stripes.

  The man tapped out a single-stroke command on the keyboard of his desk video, eyed the result on the screen then looked at Steve. ‘So… you’re 21028902 Brickman, S R…?’

  ‘Yes sir!’

  The man ran his eyes over Steve and gave the nod of someone who feels he’s been landed with a difficult task.
‘I am Commander-General Karlstrom. It is not a rank you are familiar with as it applies solely to my position within the First Family. I shall not explain it further, other than to say it gives me direct access to the President-General and requires you, during this, and any subsequent interview, to address me as “Commander”. Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, Commander.’

  ‘Good. Stand at ease.’ Karlstrom laid his well cared for hands on top of one another. ‘Let me put you in the picture. Following your transfer to the A-Levels, your kin-sister –’ He glanced at the screen to refresh his memory, ‘– Rosalynn, contacted the Amtrak Executive on the first of December ‘89 and made…’

  The date came as a surprise to Steve. It was just a few days after he had been sent down. Why had they waited three months before hauling him up before a highly-placed member of the First Family?

  ‘… a voluntary statement which indicated that you possessed information which, for reasons of your own, you had not revealed to the Board of Assessors. I am obliged to warn you that, as stated in the Manual, concealment of information vital to the security of the state is classified as a Code One offence. This interview is to decide whether further interrogation is necessary and what form it should take. There are, as I’m sure you must be aware, various forms of coercion that can be applied.’ Karlstrom sat back in his chair and became a little less forbidding. ‘That’s the bad news. The good news is that the recommendations forwarded by the Board of Assessors has not yet been confirmed by the Adjudicating Council so –’ Karlstrom smiled, ‘– it would be fair to say that it’s all still to play for.’

  ‘I understand, Commander. May I have permission to speak?’

  Karlstrom nodded. ‘Provided what you have to say forms part of a meaningful dialogue.’

  ‘What has happened to Roz – my kin-sister?’

  Karlstrom’s lips tightened. ‘Brickman, I’m the one who’s supposed to be asking the questions. However, if it will help to clarify your thoughts I’ll let that one through. The answer is “nothing”. So far, that is. Your sister is continuing her studies but she is under technical suspension. That means she has been informed that her involvement in this matter is still under investigation and she may be removed from Inner State U at any time. On the balance side, she is to be commended on coming forward to report on the conversation that took place during your illicit meeting.’

  ‘She played no part in arranging that, Commander. I am entirely to blame for her being there.’

  Karlstrom responded with a thin smile. ‘Spare me the noble gestures, Brickman. What your kin-sister has told us is enough to indicate you possess information that could affect not only the security of the Federation but its very future. Having listened to her statement I can understand your reluctance to speak openly about such things to the Assessors but you must understand that, technically speaking, your silence was both criminal and indefensible. However, I am now going to give you a second chance. Your last chance to set the record straight. You can either choose to make a voluntary statement now – to me – or we can extract the information by… other methods. You will end up telling us everything, of that you can be certain. But if we have to do it the hard way, you’ll find yourself up against the wall. On the other hand, if you cooperate –’ Karlstrom shrugged, ‘– who knows?’

  Steve bit his lip. Columbus, what a situation! Any discussion of Mute magic was strictly forbidden. If he told Karlstrom the whole truth he risked execution by firing squad and if he refused he faced the same fate! If only he could remember how much he had told Roz! He had been trying to put the pieces together ever since running into Chisum. Unfortunately, most of that fateful evening remained a smoke-filled blur. He remembered arguing with Roz over Clearwater then lighting up a reaf and talking – but about what…? ‘Commander – if I, uh – tell you everything I know, is there any chance that Roz –’

  Karlstrom slammed his hands on the desk and jumped out of his seat. ‘Christo! You’ve got some nerve, Brickman! There are no “ifs”, no “buts”, and no deals except the ones I make! You have nothing to bargain with. We’ve got your balls in a vice! And as for your kin-sister, she’s going to be extremely fortunate not to find herself laying pipe alongside you – and your friend Chisum! So pull up a chair and start talking!’

  Steve picked up a moulded pedestal chair, put it down facing the desk and sat straight-backed. ‘Where would you like me to start, sir, uh – I mean “Commander”?’

  ‘At the beginning,’ snapped Karlstrom. ‘Where else?’ He hit the Record button on his video deck.

  Steve followed the same story line he had presented to the Assessors but this time he left nothing out. He didn’t dare. With Roz’s confession in their hands he was cornered. Karlstrom listened attentively, asking few questions. Occasionally he would say something that made it clear he knew everything of substance that Steve had previously concealed. Steve, who up to that moment had never experienced the slightest hesitation in selling someone down the river, felt totally wretched at having to break his solemn promises to Mr Snow. To his surprise, Karlstrom – whose tone was hectoring one minute and conciliatory the next – appeared to understand the anguish he felt. ‘Don’t worry,’ he urged. ‘I know they saved your life but don’t let that confuse you. They are the enemy. Promises to Mutes don’t count.’ The only consolation for Steve was the intelligent way in which Karlstrom conducted the interview. Where the Assessors minds had been closed, Karlstrom’s was wide open.

  As he listened to Steve unburden himself with an increasing sense of relief, Karlstrom wondered if he had any inkling of the real situation. Having studied the videotape made by Q-6, the Family already had most of the information it needed to come to a decision about Brickman. This second interrogation was just part of the elaborate setting-up process. Giving Brickman back his uniform was another move in the game. Once he had put it on, Karlstrom knew Brickman would do anything to avoid losing the right to wear it…

  The interview lasted several hours during which time Karlstrom ordered deliveries of Java and salted soya-beef rolls. Steve told his story with fluent economy but included one or two anecdotes to make it interesting. Karlstrom showed no sign of being upset by his more contentious observations about the educability of his captors but he became tight-lipped and shook his head resignedly when Steve told him about teaching Cadillac to fly. Eventually, they reached the moment of his escape.

  ‘What I find hard to understand,’ said Karlstrom, ‘is why you stayed on when you’d built the rig. Once you were off the ground why the heck didn’t you keep on going? Why go back?’

  ‘If I’d gone then, in broad daylight, they would have knocked me out of the sky, Commander. There were two Mute lookout posts on the high ground to the south of the bluff. My only chance was to go under cover of darkness but it wasn’t that easy. As I’ve explained, I shared a hut with Cadillac. I had to wait for the right opportunity. It was only when Mr Snow and Cadillac left the settlement on a five-day trip that I finally got the break I needed.’

  Karlstrom responded with a thin smile. ‘Yes, with Cadillac’s shack-mate. Don’t treat me like an idiot, Brickman. You didn’t come back here to tell us the Plainfolk’s secrets. The only reason you left your lumphead friends was to save your own skin!’

  Steve felt the colour flood to his cheeks. ‘That’s not true, sir! They’re not my friends! And to suggest that I would have preferred to stay out there does not, with respect, make sense. We all know that the atmospheric conditions make it impossible to survive overground without proper protection. It was my duty to escape but for the first couple of months I was unable to walk properly. And then, when I learned what the Mutes were capable of, it was clear that the only way I could escape was by air. To build the glider I needed their cooperation – and the only way I could obtain that was by getting them to trust me. It’s true I taught Cadillac how to fly but without an aircraft that knowledge is useless. And even if, by chance, they were able to rebuild another
crashed Skyhawk they would not be able to use it effectively. It doesn’t fit in with their way of thinking – their concept of warriorhood.’

  ‘That remains to be seen,’ replied Karlstrom. ‘You have still given them that knowledge. And not to an ordinary lumphead who, with luck, might forget it all but to a wordsmith – whose role it is to teach others! Never mind… there may be some way you can repair the damage you’ve done.’

  Steve leapt eagerly off his chair. ‘How, sir?!’

  ‘Calm down,’ said Karlstrom. ‘I’m not promising anything. To be frank, Brickman, I’m not totally convinced we can trust you. Your attitude towards the Mutes worries me. You talk about them as if they were people.’

  ‘Commander – the point I was trying to make to the Assessors is that we have underestimated their abilities. We can’t afford to be complacent. Whether they are people, or not, is immaterial. I have never forgotten that they are the enemy. What I learnt out there is how dangerous they are. All I want is the chance to put that knowledge to some use – for the benefit of the Federation.’

  Karlstrom nodded. ‘That’s what I thought you’d say. And you know something? I almost believe you.’

  ‘It’s true, Commander. I swear it! Just give me the chance to get back into combat on board a wagon-train.’

  Karlstrom shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Brickman.’ He waved a hand towards his desk video. ‘You’ve got a good record, you’ve got the right connections, and prior to going overground you did everything by The Book. Who would have figured you as a guy who jacks up Mutes?’ He screwed up his face at the thought. ‘I think if I ever found myself that far downhill I’d rather cut my dong off.’

  Steve felt the need to defend himself. ‘Commander, if she’d been an ordinary lumphead I’d have probably felt like doing the same. But she wasn’t. Clearwater has the brain and the body of a real human being!’

  ‘Yes, so you say… But that doesn’t make her one of us. She’s still got the mind of a Mute. She thinks and acts like one. And so does Cadillac – the lump she shacks up with.’ Karlstrom’s choice of words was deliberate. He saw them strike home. ‘You see? That’s what I’m getting at. You’re involved, Brickman. The line between them and us has become blurred. What we now have to ask is – when the chips are down, when the good guys are up against the bad guys, whose side will you be on?’