Children of Tomorrow Page 3

  Susan, who had been maneuvering the kitten, balancing it, preventing it from falling by nuzzling it against his chest, brought her other arm down, and picked up the kitten in both hands. She held it up to his face. ‘Dad, meet Fuzzy.’ She pressed the little animal against his cheek. ‘She’ll be up on your lap a lot if you’re really going to be home, so you might as well get aquainted, and learn to love each other.’

  In order to deal with the kitten, Lane released Susan from his

  embrace. With one palm he lifted the kitten out of her hands. With the other he caught Susan by the arm and drew her into the den.

  ‘I want to talk to you for a minute, Susan,’

  Susan suppressed a yawn. ‘I want to talk to you for a thousand hours, dad. But not too much tonight. I can scarcely keep my scanners open.’

  Lane’s expression hardened a little. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Here - sit down.’

  He had brought her into a chair. She sank into it and accepted the kitten when he handed it to her. She stared up at him, face more serious, suddenly. Lane pulled a straight-backed chair over from the library table, and settled himself into it in front of her.

  ‘How old are you, Susan?’

  ‘Sixteen.’ There was a faraway look in her eyes. She said without looking at him. ‘It’s bad when a girl has to have the thoughts which have suddenly come into my mind,’

  ‘Eh?’

  You’re not really going to be a booter, are you, dad?’

  It was clear from the expression on Lane’s face that the conversation had taken an unexpected turn. But his eyes also showed that he was not a man who allowed any evasiveness to detour him from his set purposes. ‘Booter,’ he said in an even tone. ‘That sounds like one of those labels that somebody slips into another person’s mind — particularly an unwary young person’s - and as soon as it’s been sneaked in, thereafter, that person judges life by the label.’ He finished, ‘I mean, don’t judge me until I’ve said my say.’

  Susan nodded. She looked relieved. ‘That’s fair,’ she said. ‘But I’d really rather wait until the dawn light. I can see I’m not up to thinking about what you’re going to say, because I feel confused already.’

  ‘I’ll make it brief,’ said Lane.

  He thereupon explained to her what he had said earlier to his wife: his surprise and disappointment that on the evening of his return, his only daughter had gone out, and remained out until midnight.

  ‘I was with my outfit,’ said Susan. Her tone indicated that the explanation should take care of his concern. She went on, ‘If, you’re a booter that won’t mean anything, but if you’ll wait a few days and find out what all this means then it won’t bother you.’

  ‘We’ve already discussed the word booter,’ Lane replied. ‘It has a special significance which you have accepted and which I don’t accept. So why don’t we remove it from the conversation,

  and go on from there.’

  The faraway look was back in Susan’s eyes, which were also a little misty again. She said. ‘No matter what happens, dad, remember this jabber loves you as a father, and will never change that.’

  'You’re still thinking with the label, I see - ‘ Lane began. And then he stopped. He sat there, with the expression on his face of a person who suddenly feels his first helplessness. He said finally, ‘Dear, we’re just going to have to get past these rote answers you’re giving me.’

  Susan nodded. ‘That’s fair,’ she said. ‘No father rote, no outfit rote. Sack?’

  There was a pause. Lane sat, tapping one knee with the fingers of his right hand. His face muscles had tightened considerably, but there was still restraint.

  He temporised. ‘I suppose,’ he said, ”sack” means is it all right, or is it okay. But what does jabber mean?’

  ‘A kid over fourteenth birthday and under nineteenth.’ Susan smiled suddenly, and her whole face showed an amazingly attractive personality shift. The smile had a magnetic brightness to it. Until she smiled, she was pretty. The smile made her a dazzling beauty. She said, still smiling, ‘Jabber® still jabber, dad. Let’s face it. A twenty-minute jab lasts two hours.'

  Lane was not about to be diverted. 'What would father rote consist of?’

  ‘What you just said,’ she said instantly, ‘about missing me when I wasn’t here. That’s an untruth, and you shouldn’t do untruths - ever.’

  ‘What’s the lie in it?’ Lane demanded in a dangerous tone. "We’re different generations, dad. We pass each other. We touch hands. You talk to me to find out if all is well, to make sure I’m not jumping the coop. Then I go somewhere and you go somewhere else. Togetherness would be boring to me and only a duty to you. You couldn’t say your real truths in my presence, and you can see that when I say mine in your presence, it just makes you mad, doesn’t it?’

  There was a peculiar sound at that point from the hallway. Somebody stifling a cough, or something. Lane climbed stiffly to his feet as Estelle came in. T thought I heard voices,’ she said in an oddly muffled voice of her own. She seemed to be having some physical difficulty, for she stood visibly shaking a little, Lane went over to her in alarm.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Her body coninued to shake. ‘May I get you a glass of water?’ She nodded mutely, and he hurried over to the bar. When he returned with the glass, Susan was disappearing

  through the den door into the corridor.

  ‘ ’Night,’ she called over her shoulder.

  Estelle had recovered remarkably during those few moments. But she accepted the glass, and took a sip, and then said, ‘I sort've waved Susan to go to bed,’ she announced. She drained the glass, and added, ‘I heard the last part of that conversation, and I thought you’d had enough inter-action with a jabber for one night.’

  A strange tenseness had come into her husband’s face as he spoke. Abruptly, he clenched his hands and narrowed his eyes. ‘You were laughing at me. That was what gave you that shuddery look. You were trying to hold it in.’

  Amazingly, the woman had to fight again. She started to quiver. Her face broke into a smile, and then she fought that down by compressing her lips. Finally, she managed to murmur, ‘Darling, forgive me, but I could see you were slightly overwhelmed.’ Lane was outraged. ‘That is absolutely untrue. I was trying to be fair.’

  ‘All right, all right.’ His wife nodded vigorously. ‘I agree. That’s what you were doing, and I’m glad.’ She gave him a long look. ‘They’re pretty pure, aren’t they - these outfitters?’ There was a struggle visible in the man’s strong, hard face after those words were spoken. He was obviously still furious, but another thought was gaining the upper hand. An I’d-better-bide- my-time thought. He actually took a step backwards, as if he were physically pulling away from a crisis. Nonetheless, when he spoke it was evident that there was no basic surrender.

  He said in a level tone, ‘I can see that it’s not only the kids that have had ideas put into their heads. But, still, it is late. It’s been going on for some time. It won’t change tonight. So I’ll just let it pass for now.’

  His wife gave him a searching look. “There’s something about your tone of voice, and the set of your jaw that suggests you’re having those old secret reservations. And I have a feeling I’m not going to like what you’re scheming right now, when I finally find out what it is, but’ - she shrugged - ‘one of the things I came out to tell you is that I’m getting sleepy.’ She shook her head and stared up at him, seductively. You wouldn’t want to come in bed and find me sound asleep, would you?’

  Abruptly, the hard muscles in the man’s face relaxed. He smiled, and grabbed her. ‘My same old darling,’ he said, and hugged her.

  From somewhere in the region of his neck his wife said in a muffled voice, ‘Ten years older. And every minute of it hurts inside me in a way that you’re going to have to make right. So,

  don’t waste any time starting in.’

  Lane continued to hold her. ‘Listen!’ he said, ‘yau go back to bed. And I
’ll be there in about one minute and thirty-three scconds.’

  'What are you going to do?’ she asked, as she drew away from him,

  ‘Clean up.’ He indicated the newspaper on the floor, and the bottles on the bar.

  Til clear that away in the morning,’ Estelle said. But she was already heading for the door to the hallway.

  ‘You know I don’t like to leave a mess,’ said her husband.

  ‘Same old John Lane,’ his wife said as she disappeared through the door and off into the darkness beyond.

  Lane was brisk now. He picked up the sections of paper, folded them carefully but quickly, and laid them on the library table. Next, he put the bottles that were on the bar into the cabinet, out of sight. From somewhere a cloth appeared in his hand. He wiped off the bar top. The cloth vanished into a receptacle behind the bar.

  The job done, he walked to the door, and stood there, finger on the light switch, taking a last survey of the room. His expression showed that he saw nothing that needed to be done. He pressed the switch, and then for a moment there were vague sounds of him walking down the hall. Pause. A door shut with a click.

  Silence.

  On another street in a poorer district, the invisible viewer waited before a single story white house: the Jaeger home. It had previously been the house of the couple with whom Bud lived. And so, when Bud and the large boy, Albert, arrived at the gate, the unseen watcher did not explore the environs of the place. It remained just outside the gate, and observed them enter and go up to the door.

  Bud held back. Whereupon, Albert stepped past him, tried the knob, and found it locked. Without hesitation, he thereupon pressed the doorbell button. A faint hilling sound came from inside the house.

  A long pause. Finally, the door opened, and a thin woman in a nightdress with a pale blue robe loosely fastened over it, stood on the threshold. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘It’s you, Bud.’

  “Yes, uh, mom,’ said Bud.

  To the watcher at the gate, the woman’s voice had implied that she expected someone else.

  The woman had thin brown hair. Her face was middle thirties, but lined; and both it and her body expressed sadness and resignation. She spoke again. “Your dad is still out on the town.

  You’d better get in here, and into bed, before he discovers how late you’ve been out’

  For just a moment, Bud hesitated. During that moment, he communicated with the unseen watcher: I have to admit I am greatly relieved, my father. But Mr Jaeger's absence tonight only postpones the time when he finds out that 1 am now a member of an outfit.

  To the father, the entire existence of such groups for teenagers was an unfortunate event. But he had a more urgent awareness at the moment. He telepathed: Hurry! Get inside! I sense someone is coming.

  Bud scurried awkwardly past the woman. She retreated into the house, and closed the door. Albert turned and walked to the gate, opened it, stepped onto the sidewalk beyond, and then turned and closed the gate. Standing there, he must have become aware of the distant figure that had just rounded the comer, The big boy’s whole manner spelled out his recognition that the approaching man was Bud Jaeger’s father. He was noticably torn between two feelings: Leave, or wait and see what happened.

  What he did, abruptly, was, he walked over and stood behind a tree.

  At least a minute passed. At the end of that time, a hulking male of medium height, late thirty-ish in age, came weaving up to the gate. The man had an obvious difficulty in maintaining his balance even when he stopped moving. He fumbled the gate catch. Then he bent down and looked at it. Then he fumbled at it some more.

  Seen close, the man’s face showed a certain ruggedness. But there were purple veins in the nose and upper cheeks. And the small eyes were slightly too near each other. The man’s lips were bulky, as if slightly swollen, and loosely held together.

  Observing him, not for the first time, the viewer had the private awareness - again - that in espionage, one often had to deal with partially destroyed entities. When he was not drunk, Len Jaeger was a skilled toolmaker; and, as such, had successfully applied for a position in Spaceport - all this before he was ever selected for his role.

  When he suddenly produced a son, the authorities were surprisingly unsuspicious. Of course, it was true that his real son had run away. What should have caused wonder, and didn’t was that such a runaway would ever return to such a father.

  This human entity finally solved the gate mechanism. It swung open, and he surged through on up to the door of the house. He stood, then, with his finger pressing the door-bell button until, once more, the door swung open, and there was Airs Jaeger,

  ‘Sssshh! she said. ‘You’ll awaken Bud.'

  If the admonition penetrated to the man there was no sign. He stepped past her, and staggered noisily on into the house out of sight of the watcher. The woman did not immediately follow him. She seemed undecided. It was a momentary delay only. Leaving the door ajar, she walked out onto the little porch, stepped down to the walk, and came along it to the gate, which she closed. Hurriedly, now, as if afraid of being seen, she turned about; and, holding her robe and nightdress way from her feet, she half ran back the way she had come. The door of the house closed behind her.

  For nearly fifteen minutes after that, the boy, Albert, waited behind the tree. At last, he seemed satisfied. He emerged from his place of concealment, walked past the gate, and rapidly made his way along the street. He disappeared around the same corner from which Jaeger had first come into view.

  The unseen watcher did not budge. His would be an all-night vigil

  V

  Next morning came in its slow pace to the Lane household. In Susan’s room, the morning light filtered vaguely through the plastic two-way window. The light adjustment was for almost pitch dark, but not quite.

  In the dim light it was possible to make out what was unmistakably a nice room. There was a makeup table with a large, glinting mirror. A dresser stood against the wall by the window. Pictures on the walls built-into-the-wall drawers, a built-in television, and a cunningly concealed door that opened into a spacious wardrobe. And on the bed, covered by a thin sheet, Susan lay sound asleep.

  Suddenly, movement. On the bedside table to Susan’s right, a clocklike object produced a flag. The flag sprang into view with a click-clack. An instant later a chime sounded inside the clock, giving forth with a prolonged bell-like Middle C. As the musical note died away, a voice spoke from the clock. A familiar, girlish voice. It said, ‘Good morning, Susan ... it is 7.30. Time to get up.’

  The girl in the bed did not stir.

  In the breakfast room at the far side of the house, Lane was sitting at the table. He had a small notebook beside his plate, and his manner was preoccupied as he wrote into it at some length. Presently, he put the pen down, ate the rest of his breakfast - a few mouthfuls - and then, without looking directly at Estelle who was sitting across from him, he said, ‘I notice that hasn’t changed.’

  The woman had been watching him, waiting for him to finish his notation. His sudden words caught her by surprise. ‘What?1 she asked.

  ‘Outfit or no, it’s still as hard to get a kid up as when I was young.’

  His wife was recovering. She smiled, but her voice was calm as she said, ‘Susan isn’t perfect about getting up, but she’s pretty good. She has so many duties, I wonder sometimes that she can stand it. It would drive me out of my mind.’

  Lane looked up, frowning, ‘Duties?’ he echoed.

  ‘For the outfit.’

  ‘Oh.’

  There was a tone to his voice that caused the blonde woman to look at ihim sharply. She said finally, ‘Now, remember what you agreed.’

  The expression on the man’s face showed that his thoughts and her words were not entirely in accord. He looked exasperated, then briefly cynical, and then his lips twisted ever so slightly, indicating that he hadn’t really agreed.

  But he said aloud, ‘I remember.’

  His voice sounde
d false. Estelle sighed. ‘Really, John’ - wearily

  'do we have to go over all this again?’

  Lane shrugged. ‘You’re trying to imply something that does not exist.’

  ‘You agreed - ‘

  ‘I agreed not to make a further issue of it with Susan,’ said Lane. ‘I didn’t agree to like it.’

  The woman’s eyes were abruptly misty. She took out her handkerchief hastily from her sleeve, and wiped her eyes Lane watched the little byplay impatiently, and then said in an irritated tone, ’For heaven’s sake, Estelle - ’

  ‘What I’m visualising,’ she said in an unsteady voice, ‘is you around here, sullen, going into silences - like you used to, whenever you didn’t get your own way. It just seems’ too much to look forward to after all these years.’

  Lane sat gazing at her. His shoulders sagged a little. It was the lame body response of helplessness that had briefly come over him the night before with Susan. But in the end he shook his head rejectingly. ‘You’re hitting hard,’ he said. ‘I haven’t done any of those things yet.’

  She half sobbed, ‘I spent half the night fighting for the small concession that you finally made, and now it looks like you didn’t really concede anything,’

  ‘I agreed to wait,’ said Lane. ‘And I’m waiting. I’ll defer judgement until I hear the facts. But if Susan were to leave her outfit of her own free will, I can tell you it wouldn’t hurt my feelings any - the way I feel right now.’

  “What a strange remark!’ She stared at him. The grief was gone out of her as suddenly as it had come. Her face tightened with suspicion. ‘I can’t imagine what could be going on in the mind of someone who would say a thing like that.’

  ‘Estelle - let up!’ her husband protested. ‘I haven’t done any’ thing. I give up. Have mercy.’

  The woman was still suspicious. ‘Can I trust you?’

  ‘To do what I said - yes.’

  ‘All right.’ Her tone was still grudging, but her face changed. A smile brightened her eyes, and crinkle of lines around her mouth showed satisfaction. She said swifdy in an undertone, ‘I hear sounds. I do believe someone is coming.’