The Life of the World to Come (13 page)

Read The Life of the World to Come Online

Authors: Kage Baker

Tags: #Adult, #Science Fiction, #Adventure, #Fantasy, #C429, #Extratorrents, #Kat, #Travel

BOOK: The Life of the World to Come
2.07Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
None of them knew about the Captain’s little secret, of course.
BEEP BEEP!
“Who’s that?” Lewin frowned as he took out his plaquette and peered at the screen. “Pembroke Technologies? Ah. It’s just a note to tell us that our Playfriend’s due for a checkup. They’re sending a man round this afternoon, it says, as part of the agreement in our service contract.”
“How thoughtful.” Mrs. Lewin smiled, pouring a cup of herbal tea. “Oh! I’ve just remembered, Alec dear: another box came for you. It’s more of those components for your cyberscience project. They’re in that box on the hall table.”
“Great!” Alec scraped up the last of his oatmeal and started on the rashers. “The Captain will be glad to see those.”
The adults smiled at each other over his head. Alec finished his breakfast, took his Playfriend and the components he’d ordered, and ran off upstairs to go to school.
As soon as he’d closed the schoolroom door, the Captain materialized beside him, looking hungrily at the box of new components.
“The Maldecena projector came at last, did it? Bless you, matey.”
“There’s lots more in here, too.” Alec opened the unobtrusive cabinet where he kept what his guardians assumed was a school project. He’d never told them it was a school project; he knew it was wrong to tell lies. On the other hand, he knew that keeping secrets was very important. “We’ll install ’em after school, okay?” He slid the package in and closed the cabinet.
“That’s my clever lad.” The Captain rubbed his hands together. “One of these days, Alec, one day soon we’ll go on the account.” He grinned at the schoolroom console as though it were a galleon waiting to be boarded. “Go on, now. Mustn’t be late for class.”
He winked out. Alec sat down in front of the console and logged on to St. Stephen’s Primary. He waited patiently for the icon of the frowning headmaster to appear. When it did, he took up the reader and passed it over the pattern of his tie. Encoded in the tie’s stripes were his identification, educational record to date, and all other information required to admit him to the august and exclusive halls of learning. The frowning icon changed to a smiling one, and morning lessons began.
In many respects, the twenty-fourth century was the ideal time for English schoolchildren. No wrenching good-byes at transport stations, no cold and dismal boarding schools with substandard nourishment, no bullying or sexual molestation by older children. No constant sore throats or coughs, no fighting in the schoolyard, no corporal punishment, no public humiliation!
No tedious lessons in subjects in which the pupil had absolutely
no interest, either. Education had become wonderfully streamlined. Very nearly from birth, children were given aptitude testing to determine what they liked and what they were best at, so that by the time they started school a carefully personalized curriculum was all laid out for them. Each child was trained in the field of his or her best talent and in no other, and by the time school years ended there was a societal niche all picked out and waiting for its lucky occupant, who was sure to be good at his or her job and therefore happy.
Not that things always went as smoothly as all that. But there were very few children in the twenty-fourth century anyway, so if one recalcitrant child failed to shine at something useful, there was plenty of time and attention to spend on him or her until he or she could be molded into a properly functioning citizen. All in all, it really worked very well, sorting them out early like that. Clever children were encouraged and guided to self-fulfillment, stupid children were comforted and guided to lives where they’d never notice their limitations, and bad children went to hospital.
Alec had entered the evaluation program rather late, due to spending his first years at sea, but his aptitude for cyberscience was so shining and so evident that there had been no need for further testing. It helped that his father was the earl of Finsbury, of course.
He labored dutifully at his morning class in communications skills (only children with lower-clerical aptitudes were taught to read or write), breezed through maths, and settled happily into the long afternoon session where he learned what he really wanted to learn, which was cyberscience. Cyberscience served the secret plan.
The plan was very simple. All Alec had to do was see to it that the Captain became more powerful. Over the last two years the cabinet in the schoolroom had gradually filled, as packages of components arrived from mail-order firms. The Captain had ordered them, ably forging Lewin’s identification code, and when they arrived Lewin assumed they’d been sent from St. Stephen’s as part of Alec’s school supplies. Alec had no idea there was any forgery going on. He would have protested if he had, because he knew that was wrong.
He knew it was wrong to steal, too, which is why the Captain had taken some pains to explain to him that what they were going to do when they had enough power wasn’t really stealing. If you take something away from someone, like a toy or a daypack, that’s stealing, certainly; but what if you only make a copy of somebody else’s toy or daypack? What if they don’t even know you’ve done it? They’ve still got what belongs to them and you’ve got what you want too, and where’s the harm?
All the Captain wanted were files, after all. Just information, to help him make certain that Alec was always happy and safe. Nothing wrong with that! Just the same, it was best to keep the plan secret from all the busybodies and telltales who might spoil things.
Like the man from Pembroke Technologies who came to the Bloomsbury house that afternoon.
“Look who’s come to see you, Alec,” said Lewin, after a polite double knock on the door. Alec looked up from his holo of
Treasure Island
(the 2016 version with Jonathan Frakes) to see a thin pale man standing in the doorway with Lewin. He stood up at once and shut off the holo.
“Hello. My name’s Alec Checkerfield,” he said, and advanced on the man and shook his hand. The hand felt a bit clammy. “What’s your name?”
“Uh—Crabrice,” said the man. “Morton Crabrice. I’m here to see your Playfriend.”
“Okay.” Alec waved his arm to indicate the little silver egg where it sat on its table. “There it is. I like it very much, it works fine.”
“Let’s see,” said Mr. Crabrice, and he pulled out the nursery chair and sat down awkwardly.
“We’ve been awfully pleased with the Playfriend, I must say,” said Lewin, trying to put the stranger at his ease. Mr. Crabrice had big dark wet eyes that looked perpetually alarmed. “It’s done wonders for our Alec! Everything it was touted up to be.”
“It was what?” Mr. Crabrice looked up at him with a horrified expression.
“Er—touted. You know, it’s lived up to all our expectations,”
Lewin said. Mr. Crabrice stared at him a moment longer and then said:
“I need a glass of water.”
“Certainly, sir,” said Lewin tightly, and turned on his heel and went downstairs.
Alec followed their conversation with interest. When Lewin had gone, he sidled around and stood as close as he might without making Mr. Crabrice nervous. Mr. Crabrice opened the black case he had brought with him and spread it out on the table.
“Are those your tools?” Alec took an involuntary step forward. There were fascinating-looking instruments in there, much better than his little collection. Mr. Crabrice put out an arm and swept them closer to him defensively.
“Don’t touch,” he said.
“I won’t,” Alec said. “Don’t be scared.”
Mr. Crabrice ignored him and picked up a pair of optics, much bigger than Alec’s set and decorated with silver circuitry. Alec leaned close to watch him put them on.
“Those are cool,” he informed Mr. Crabrice. “Will I have a set like that, some day?”
“No,” Mr. Crabrice said. “These are for service personnel only.”
“Well, but I might be a service person,” Alec said. “I’m into cyberscience, you know.”
“I didn’t know,” said Mr. Crabrice, groping through his tools distractedly.
“Yes, I am. I’m getting good marks in it, too. I like it a lot.”
“You’re talking too much. You’ll make me make mistakes,” said Mr. Crabrice irritably, pushing the optics up on his forehead. Suddenly he paused, peering sharply at Alec. “You’re
different,
” he said suspiciously.
“Yes, I am,” said Alec. He considered Mr. Crabrice. “You’re different, too, aren’t you? You smell a lot different from other people.”
“No, I don’t.” Mr. Crabrice looked terrified.
“Don’t be scared,” Alec said again. “It’s okay. I’m not a telltale.”
Mr. Crabrice peered at him a moment longer before
pulling down the optics as though to protect himself, snatching up a thing like a suction cup on the end of a long lead and plugging the lead into a port in the side of the optics. He reached out with the suction cup and fastened it to the side of the Playfriend.
“Run standard diagnostic one,” he enunciated carefully, flexing his long white hands.
Lewin was puffing a little as he got to the third-floor landing, guiltily aware he needed more regular sessions on his exerciser. He set down the glass of water he’d fetched for Mr. Crabrice and paused, catching his breath.
There was a crash from the fourth floor, followed by high-pitched screaming.
Lewin got to the nursery door in seconds, having vaulted up the final flight with a speed he hadn’t known he was capable of attaining.
The screaming was coming from Mr. Crabrice, who was curled up on the floor clutching his legs. Alec had backed into a corner of the room, and on the floor behind him was the Playfriend.
“He tried to hurt the Captain,” Alec shouted. Lewin had never seen him like this, wild with anger: his pupils were black and enormous, alarming-looking in the pale crystals of his eyes. His face was flushed, his clenched fists were shaking.
“He attacked me,” shrieked Mr. Crabrice.
“What’s this, then?” Lewin said, striding into the room. “What did you do?” He bent over Mr. Crabrice. Mr. Crabrice pointed a long trembling finger at Alec.
“You made unauthorized modifications!” he said accusingly.
“What the hell are you talking about?” snarled Lewin.
“He altered the unit,” Mr. Crabrice insisted, closing his enormous eyes and rolling to and fro in his pain.
“No I d-didn’t!”
“Of course you didn’t, Alec. These units can’t be modified, my man, it says so in the Playfriend specs. Least of all by a seven-year-old kid!
What did you do?
”
“He tried to take the Captain away from me,” said Alec.
“Unit must be confiscated,” said Mr. Crabrice through clenched teeth. “Modifications studied. See clause in service contract!”
“Hm.” Lewin straightened up and looked from Mr. Crabrice to Alec and back again. His brow furrowed. “Is the unit malfunctioning?”
“No,” said Mr. Crabrice. “
Altered
.”
“But it’s working okay.”
“Yes—but—”
“Then it’s not going anywhere, is it? I know the terms of the service contract and it doesn’t say anything about alterations, ’cos it guarantees they’re impossible. If it’s not malfunctioning, then you’ve no reason to confiscate it, and you’re not going to. Understand?”
“Service contract
voided
,” hissed Mr. Crabrice.
“Too bad,” said Lewin. “Now, why don’t you get up and get your little tool kit together and get out of here, eh?”
“I can’t,” Mr. Crabrice said. “My legs are broken!”
Lewin grunted in disgust. “Don’t be such a bloody baby—” he said, leaning down to roll up Mr. Crabrice’s trouser leg. He stopped, gaping. Not only were Mr. Crabrice’s slender shins bleeding, they were indented in a way that suggested fracture. He straightened up and turned to look at Alec. “What did you do, Alec?”
“I kicked him,” Alec said. He had gone pale now, and looked as though he might be sick. “Very hard. I got mad. I’m sorry.”
“You will be,” Mr. Crabrice promised. “Assault and battery! Hospital confinement!”
Lewin crouched down and seized him by his tie. “I don’t think so,” he growled. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with, here, my lovely, do you? This kid’s going to be the seventh earl of Finsbury. Not to mention that his dad happens to be an executive with Jovian Integrated Systems.” He looked over his shoulder at Alec. “Alec, go up to the schoolroom and wait there.”
“Okay,” said Alec faintly. He exited the room, carrying the Playfriend clasped tight in both arms. Lewin waited until he’d heard him climbing the stairs and then turned back to Mr. Crabrice.
“I’ll call an emergency team to take you out of here. It’ll only take a few minutes. You can use those few minutes to think about which story we tell them.” He still had hold of Mr. Crabrice’s tie, and he used it to jerk Mr. Crabrice’s head a little closer to his as he spoke in a menacing undertone. “You’re going to tell ’em you fell on the stairs. All right? Or I’m going to tell them you tried to do something nasty to our Alec and I came in and caught you at it, and I’m the one who broke your damn shins.

Other books

Mack (King #4) by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
High Plains Hearts by Janet Spaeth
Cruel Summer by Kylie Adams
An Absence of Light by David Lindsey