Science Forums 2

[Pyrotex]

Okay, okay. I cave under the unrelenting demands of your literary hunger.
I shall post here just one more story. This is it. Maybe.


Child of Privilege
by Nelson Thompson

Sarachel didn’t mind being the only child in the Paradise Pavilion O’Neill. There was, in fact, a certain fame that derived from her unique status among the sixteen million residents. She was often recognized when she went exploring. And she went everywhere -- from the densely crowded barracks and farms of the residential levels, to the wide open spaces at the nogee axis, to the factories and utility plants at the heaviest levels. She was the daughter of Very Important People, and so was permitted to wander wherever she willed. Well, almost.
Temporarily bored with her lessons and games and friends, she was wandering now, attempting to find some place within the PPO that she had not explored before, some place novel and interesting. This was not as easy as it seemed, for she had discovered long ago that not all the facilities within her world were mentioned in the Index.
She had dressed in a common work suit with hood so as to discourage recognition, and was ambling down a gray-on-gray viaduct in the heaviest level, farthest from the axis. To either side of the wide viaduct stood massive, abstract sculptures of machinery, ducts and cable, that pierced the ceiling and caused the floor to thrum against the soles of her feet. Segmented light pipes snaked their way through the twisted mosaic, adding their sterile shadows to the ubiquitous noise.
Scattered here and there within the forest of machinery, were those individuals responsible for maintenance, repair or whatever. It was safe to assume that they worked here, for no one (except Sarachel) would come here more than once for entertainment.
She kept to the orange walkway painted on the scalloped metal floor, noting the letters and numbers that defined her location. The changing coordinates told her that this walkway was parallel to the axis of the O’Neill. There was half a kilometer of it behind her, and an equal portion in front of her before the next bulkhead. And from this point onward, it was all new territory to her. She smiled at the possibility of discovering something unexpected. Her toes tingled with suspense.


“I’m home!”
Of course they knew she was home. The public door would have announced her. Her parents always knew where she was, or at least that information was always available to them from the Index. But it was her custom to announce herself as the public door closed behind her. She kicked off her shoes and removed the featureless work suit, leaving them for the housebot to clean and put away.
Hearing noises from the kitchen, she entered, and gave a subdued greeting to her mother, Larafenn. A managerie of food smells reminded her that she hadn’t eaten in many hours.
“Where’s Danster? Is he home yet?”
“No, your father has been given some recreation time. I’m preparing a special dinner, and afterwards we’re invited to a private concert on the axis. You’re invited, too, of course.”
“Is that meat?” Sarachel pointed at the casserole dish her mother had just removed from the microwave. “It is! What kind is it?”
Larafenn adroitly maneuvered the dish into the dining alcove. “It’s vatbeef, and you can’t have any until your father arrives. Wash up, and please put something else on.”
Sarachel glanced down briefly at her bodysock, noting it was torn.
“Oops! Sorry, Larafenn. I must have fallen... or something.”
Quickly, she stepped into her toilet alcove, and in ten minutes was washed, coiffed and attired in a fresh bodysock and tunic. She entered the main room just as the public door dilated, and her father stepped in from the community atrium.
“Danster! We’re having meat for dinner! Extreme animal protein! What’s the occasion?”
Her father gave her his normal perfunctory hug, and a kiss on her forehead indicating he was in an exceptionally good mood.
“Sash,” using his pet name for her, “it is a very extraordinary occasion indeed! I have been promoted to Computer Manager for the entire second quadrant of Paradise! And...” he said with a dramatic flourish, “I am next in line for Computer Director of the entire O’Neill! And so I thought we should all celebrate our excellent fortune.”
Sarachel took this news with far less excitement than her father expected. She nodded and posed her mouth in a close approximation to a smile. She hugged her father again, perhaps a little stiffly.
“Congratulations! That is extreme news, Danster. And serves to explain the meat, and the concert. Where will it be?”
Danster was mildly disturbed at her not quite authentic display of pleasure, but set his concerns aside for the moment.
“On the axis. The Garden of Eden. By invitation only. Music and nogee dance by the Paradise Ensemble. The Senate and all Boards of Directors have been invited, so this is to be a very special event.”
His daughter smiled and nodded again, repeated her congratulations, and then with no explanation, turned and went silently to her room, leaving him quite puzzled. Though Sarachel was legally an adult, it seemed to him at times that she was still a child, with a child’s unpredictable flights of mood. He stepped into the kitchen to greet his wife.


Sarachel had come within sight of the next bulkhead on the viaduct. The noise and the machinery had changed numerous times, but not until now had she seen anything really new. On her left, a crosswalk appeared, of about half the width of the main viaduct. About fifty meters down its well lit length, there was a blast door set in a solid wall. And it was open.
Sarachel invoked the Index, by simultaneously blinking her eyes and touching the control spot in her right palm with the tip of her middle finger. Overlaid on her vision in gossamer red lines was a map of the O'Neill. By appropriate twitches of her fingers and wrist, she deftly selected the correct level, controlled the point of view, and increased magnification until she had identified in the map the exact spot that she was looking at in reality. The map showed the blast door, but identified nothing behind it.
She smiled. This was it, the adventure had shifted into a higher gear. She bounced into the crosswalk.
Fortunately, there was no one else around, which was slightly strange, given how crowded the PPO was. She had encountered any number of mysterious rooms and passages during her many adventures, but typically had found someone else there as well. Sometimes, she succeeded in talking her way in, by flirting or charming the persons who were apparently there to keep intruders out. On a few occasions she had bullied her way in, letting them know that she was the daughter of Very Important People. But just as often, she had been turned away.
She approached the blast door, with its two huge clamshells rolled to either side of the portal. The walkway continued through, then disappeared abruptly to the right. The lighting inside was much subdued, and the walls seemed to absorb sound like a sponge. She was tempted to call out just to see if there was an echo. But someone might hear her.
She stepped through. After she had executed the turn, she could hardly hear any trace of the ocean of noise that had pervaded the main viaduct. The walls gave way to alcoves in which were parked a variety of wheeled machines, some of obvious purpose, some not. The walkway turned again and she found herself at the edge of a huge chamber. Aside from the recreational areas at the axis, this was easily the largest single volume she had ever experienced in her life. It had to be a hundred meters wide and deep, and more than twice that in length.
She was not at floor level, but rather close to the chamber’s ceiling. Several spiral stairways and ramps lead to the vast and empty floor. Of greater interest to her were the catwalks that traversed the chamber, suspended just under the ceiling. They reminded her of the suspension bridges that she had studied in engineering class. They were so narrow, and so high above the chamber floor, that the thought of walking over one thrilled her to the core.
Glancing carefully all around to see if there were any people objecting to her presence, and finding none, she walked swiftly to the nearest catwalk. It was two meters wide; the flooring and side walls consisted of interwoven metal wire. It felt rigid enough when she put her weight on it.
Cautiously at first, then with ever increasing confidence, she strode out to the middle of the catwalk. The view was awesome, and the illusion of danger was real enough to keep her heart pounding. She was enjoying herself very, very much.
Holding tight to the railing, she bent over and looked straight down. She heard someone call out in the distance. She looked at the levels and ramps that lined the chamber walls, and saw dozens of people in color coded work suits, but none of them appeared to be aware of her presence. An intermittent noise, as if from an alarm, suddenly filled the air, distracting and unpleasant.
The voice called out again, closer. She looked up to see a figure on the catwalk running in her direction, still too distant to discern gender.
“You there ... come away ... danger ...”
She instinctively bolted in the opposite direction. Until she noticed that the floor of the chamber had parted, revealing a growing rectangle of utter black, speckled with uncountable glowing jewels. In spite of her fear of being caught, she halted, her attention held prisoner to the spectacle below her feet. Beneath her was a black so deep and so profound that she physically shrank from it, and yet felt as if she were being sucked down into it. Her knees wobbled, and she sank down on all fours, unable to tear her eyes away from that infinite abyss.
She was unaware of the man until he was upon her. He grabbed her about the waist and pulled. His mouth made sounds but she could not make them out. He struggled to pull her upright, but she could not move.
Something else was moving. Something in that vast, speckled blackness moved and grew. Something bright and mechanical and smooth and so very fast and large was coming directly at her, up through the floor, filling the chamber at hideous speed, a piston smashing her against the ceiling like an insect. She had just enough time to draw half the breath she needed for the scream that never came.


The meal had been excellent, and the tunic she was wearing was the most beautiful one she had ever owned. Larafenn had surprised her with it after the meal. It was exquisite, and made of pure cotton. She had never before owned any clothing that was completely organic.
The trip to the axis should have been even more exciting than ordinary, as this was her first trip to the fabled Garden of Eden. Only the cream of PPO society were ever invited there. It was marvelously decorated with multi-colored auroras and fluttering banners.
But the meal tasted like cardboard, the tunic felt like a dirty rag, and the nogee concert struck her as having no more meaning than a random Brownian movement of unwashed human bodies. Their party tunics and leggings were mere costumes; the entire soiree a pitiful act of play-pretend and self delusion.
Or was it? Sarachel didn’t know what to believe any more. It was all she could do on the way home to keep from crying.


The silence was the first thing she noticed. Then she opened her eyes upon the man’s looming face. It was a startling face, an alluring face. He had saphire eyes and matching hair, cut in a style she had never seen. There were multiple sensor probes tattooed on his forehead. Yes, an altogether alluring face.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded.
“Let me help you up.” And he did so.
“I’m all right now. I can stand unaided.” And he unhanded her.
She tore her eyes away from his face and looked around. The vast chamber appeared to be gone. Two meters below the catwalk was a matte and scarred metal surface. At some remove, there were large numerals and symbols painted on it.
“What happened?”
“Don’t you know? The five eleven shuttle docked. Normal procedure. Only there aren’t supposed to be people on the catwalks during a docking. It can be dangerous. Rapid changes in air pressure, you know.”
She looked back at him, staring blankly into his eyes.
“Or perhaps you don’t. Are you assigned here? What is your work station?”
He looked up and down her nondescript work suit which bore no insignia, as his did. And then he looked intensely at her face. He reached up and pulled back her hood.
“You’re a child! How old are you? What are you doing here?”
A surge of anger purged the last remnant of stupor from her system.
“I'm a legal adult, and I’ll go wherever I want! I had my ‘seventy-two hundred’ three months ago!”
His brows furrowed. “seventy-two hundred?”
“Days!’ she retorted. “Twenty standard years! Now get out of my way or I’ll inform my parents. My mother is a Senator’s aide and my father is a Quadrant Director!”
“Holy tarpoons! You’re only twenty years old! And living in a rimcan! Incredible! They’ll never believe this dirtside. Here, come with me.”
She slapped away his hand. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”
“Yes you are. Your ears and nose are bleeding. The air pressure, remember? I have a medikit in the ready room.
This time she didn’t resist when he took her arm and pulled her along.
He was a forcefield tech who had been on the PPO for several weeks performing maintenance and upgrades to the docking ports. He would be taking the shuttle that filled the docking chamber back to ‘dirtside,’ his slang for Daltrave-6, the principal planet of the stellar system.
Sarachel knew what a planet was, of course. Didn’t everybody? But she failed to see why she should be so impressed. Planets were filthy. They were chaotic and dangerous. They had bio-systems that ran amok, and storms and earthquakes and other lethal phenomena. Vast stretches of their surface didn’t even have the Index! And yet this tech, who had obviously never lived in an O’Neill, kept babbling on and on about his dirtside life as if she should fall on her knees and worship him. The arrogant twat!
A last touch of his medikit and she was as good as new. She got up to go.
“And where are you off to in such a hurry? Don’t you like my company?”
“If you must know, I find you very interesting. You use a lot of strange words and have a lot of weird ideas, which is quite novel. But you keep treating me like ... like I wasn’t a real human being. Not on your level, anyway. And I find that offensive. So I guess I don’t like your company. Goodbye.”
She turned to go, only to find her arm gripped. She gave a sharp tug to free herself, but his grip would not break. He pulled her around to face him.
“Well, aren’t you the little brat. Just another poor skeezer in a rimcan, yet you act like you’re the Earth Queen herself. And speaking of which, how the holy tarpoon does a newbie come to live in a rimcan, anyway? Well?”
“What’s a ‘rimcan’?”
“You don’t know anything, do you? A rimcan is a can at the rim, of course. A can is common slang for an orbital habitat, spinning on its long axis. You live on one. And the rim is ... the rim! You know what a stellar system is?”
“First grade stuff! A star and all its planets and asteroids.”
“Right. Well, the region outside the orbits of all the habitable planets is what we call the rim. It’s where all the rimcans orbit -- and dirty industries and any other junk that civilized dirtsiders don’t want around their precious planets. Rimcans are where we put the losers and indigent who can’t make it in the real world. We call 'em skeezers.”
Sarachel didn’t know how to respond. His words burned into her soul, rearranging the entire natural order of the Universe. She searched for something to say.
“What’s a ‘newbie’?”
“You. Someone too young for the initial eternity treatment. You'll get that when you turn thirty. There can’t be many newbies in a rimcan, since anybody stuck in one almost certainly lost their breeding rights along with everything else.
“Say, I haven't had sex with a newbie since I was one myself, and that's been four hundred years. And you’re very beautiful. I’ll make it worth your while. What say fifty Daygelts? I’ll be gentle. You'll like it. I promise.”
While saying these words, he casually reached over, unzipped the breast of her work suit, and slipped his hand in.
Sarachel lashed out, slapping him hard enough to stagger him back a step. There was the sound of ripping fabric.
His immediate reaction was one of apology. He could see her hand gesture, finger tip on palm, and knew that she could call upon the Index in the blink of an eye, triggering electronic monitors, and the swift appearance of emergency personnel. Even rimcans had the Index.
“Pax! Pax! It was a misunderstanding! Really, I thought you would be grateful! Dirtsiders don’t often have anything to do with skeezers. I thought you’d appreciate the attention -- and the money. You could use it to buy your way out of this godforsaken hole.”
He continued to plead his case, and Sarachel listened. In spite of her desire to flee, she listened as he talked about rimcanners and dirtsiders and the ‘way things were.’ After several minutes, when she couldn't hold back the tears anymore, she turned and ran, leaving him still trying to explain.


“Sarachel. Is something wrong? You didn’t seem to enjoy the concert, you hardly ate any supper, and you seem terribly distracted and unhappy. Are you feeling okay?”
It was Larafenn who asked the question shortly after they returned home, but Danster wore the same question on his face. Sarachel turned to face them.
“No. I’m not okay. Something happened today. I met ... someone ... a man ... who doesn’t live in Paradise Pavilion. And he told me some ...”
Her parents glanced knowingly at each other, then motioned for Sarachel to join them on the sofa.
“What did this person say, dear?”
“That we’re skeezers, losers, trash. All of us. Everyone in the PPO. Only he called it a rimcan, like it was a toilet. He said we lived here because they won’t let us live outside. That we’re prisoners.”
Tears flowed down her face, dripping onto the new cotton tunic. Her eyes pleaded with her parents to understand her torment, and to set her world back the way it had always been.
“Is it true? Are we prisoners here?”
Danster took his wife’s hand, for she too was crying. He turned somberly to his daughter.
“Sash, we had hoped to protect you from this. You have always been such a happy child, and we didn’t see any good reason to spoil your life with unpleasant realities. Whoever told you those things was probably a cruel person. But ... some of what he told you may be true. Is true.
“We are not free to leave Paradise Pavilion. That is, we could, but the obstacles are very high. Your mother and I tried many years ago to work our way out, but finally came to realize that this is our home. We’re comfortable here, and we’ve succeeded here in a way that we never could when we lived on the outside.”
“You’ve ... lived on the outside? Outside the PPO?”
“Yes. I was born on Daltrave-6, and your mother immigrated there from the Earth System. But, we couldn’t find work. We ran out of money. And by the welfare laws, we were sent here, where we met and married. The man you talked to was right. Planets are where the very rich and successful live. The welfare O’Neills on the stellar rim are reserved for the people who cannot ... compete.”
“What about me?” Sarachel asked, “how did I get here if ... if you lost your breeding rights?”
Larafenn looked away, racked with silent sobs.
“Occasionally, children are orphaned, and have no relatives and no estate to support them until their maturity. Sometimes they are sent to welfare O’Neills and adopted.”
“But I don’t understand. You’re so successful here. Why couldn’t you be a Computer Director on Daltrave-6?”
“Technology, sweetheart. The PPO's computer systems were built using the same subquantum channel technology that I studied in college over six hundred years ago. I simply couldn’t cope with the technologies that followed. It got harder and harder to find a job that I could do. I fell further and further behind until I was destitute. Your mother’s story is somewhat the same. But here in Paradise Pavilion, among sixteen million others who, for one reason or another, failed to make it on the outside, we were among the best.”
“Is there no way out?”
“Yes. You can work very hard and accumulate Daygelts, and get a degree in a field that is in demand outside, and the Board of Rehabilitation can obtain an exit permit for you. But that takes an awful long time. And ...”
“And what?” she demanded, breaking the silence.
“We chose to spend our income here. On you, Sash. And ourselves. On this lovely home instead of living in the barracks and eating in commissaries.”
Sarachel looked on her parents with a measure of understanding and pity. Perhaps they had done the best they were capable of. She realized she felt no resentment toward them. And at last, she felt that she was about to become the adult that she had pretended to be for so long.
“Danster, I was happy here. I was so happy living with you two in this wonderful home. But I can’t do that now. Tomorrow I want to meet with the school regent to discuss my future studies. And I’ll need an apartment of my own in the singles barracks.”
“Oh sweetheart, there’s no reason for you to leave. You can stay here with us. Can’t you?”
“Yes. I could. But then I would be here forever. A prisoner. Like you.”
Sarachel turned toward her room.
“I might as well start packing now. I love you both. You'll always be my parents, and I'll visit often, I promise. But my future isn’t here any more. It’s ... out there somewhere. Dirtside.”
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