Children of Tomorrow Page 4

  There were indeed sounds. They came from the hallway beyond a door behind Lane. Lane listened for a moment, and then he shook his head, puzzled. ‘If I were to guess, it would be that a one-legged, hoofed animal is approaching

  He had scarcely spoken when Susan came into view. She hopped into the room on one foot as she put her shoe onto the other foot. This complex operation required her to use only one hand. In the other hand she carried a booklet.

  The shoeing task completed. She put the raised foot down on the floor, and became a two-legged human being, whose appearance indicated that a lot of work had been done in an incredibly short time. Her hair was combed, and done up in a peculiar sweep to one side of her head. Her face looked washed, and presumably her teeth were brushed, for they were brilliantly white. Her skirt and blouse were on straight, and tucked in, and her stockings gleamed in even lines.

  ‘Good morning, mom,’ said this youthful apparition. “ ’Morning, back from-the-universe dad.’

  ‘Good morning, dear,’ said Estelle.

  Lane was hesitating. His daughter’s greeting was somehow not to his liking. That’s what his expression seemed to indicate. Or else, despite his assurances to his wife, the earlier feelings in him were too strong to be overcome, now that the moment for action had arrived.

  Estelle was abruptly tense. ‘John, Susan spoke to you.’

  Lane turned in his chair. ‘Susan/ he said, ‘do you always address people by their latest exploit? Suppose I said to you, “Hello, just-got-up Susan?” ’

  Susan was drinking her orange juice. She lowered the glass. ‘Can we start over, dad? I’m willing. Good morning, dad. I’m sure glad you’re back from the universe.’

  ‘Good morning, Susan,’ said Lane.

  The words still came hard. His tone was slightly peevish, as if he was still one-down in a conversation that - his manner implied - should never have started in the first place. The man watched perhaps too grimly as his daughter finished her orange juice, gave him her delightful smile, and then glided over and put the booklet she had been holding onto the table beside his plate.

  ‘What’s this?’ Lane asked. His gaze fastened onto the print on the cover, and he read slowly, aloud, ‘Rules and Regulations far Outfits'

  Susan drew back, and for the first time when she spoke, her voice seemed formal. ‘Bringing you this,’ she said, ‘is part of the outfit program to communicate with parents.’

  ‘You sound like you’re quoting,’ said Lane, quickly. Paraphrasing is more like it,’ Susan said.

  “What I don’t understand,’ said her father, 'is why should it be a program?’ At that moment, he caught a glimpse of Estelle’s face, with its disapproval, and he said hastily, ‘All right, Susan, I’ll consider myself communicated with.’1

  ‘It’s only a communication if you read it,’ said the girl. She seemed uncertain now, as if the unvarying intensity of his basic hostility was getting through to her finally. ‘Well - ’ she said, vaguely.

  It was a bad moment, and Lane’s expression recognised that the situation could only be saved by a. gesture of goodwill from him. For the first time, he managed a smile. ‘I think I’ve got something better for you than reading this book, my dear about-to-leave Susan.’

  The words caught his daughter at the door. She came to a stop, and turned slowly. She was visibly halted in her flight plan, which was clearly the solution she had come to. To leave, to put Lane and the problem he was causing behind her - that was what his communication prevented, barely in time. The man was momentarily staggered by the disaster that was so narrowly averted. He glanced involuntarily at his wife; and saw in her stricken expression her awareness of the same dark truth. His body shrank a little as he obviously visualised what might have happened if Susan had actually escaped; and there he would have been alone with Estelle.

  Lane swallowed and said hastily, with a forced smile, ‘Your mother has been making strong representations to me ... so just forget our little conversation of last night. I intend to get some data before I - ’ He stopped, grimacing.

  Whatever it was he might have said, was lost to history. Susan came back from the door, and put her arms around him. ‘Oh, dad, I knew you were a great guy.’ She kissed him warmly on the left cheek. As he kissed her on her right, she said, ‘Dad, is it true that when you were out in space, you ran into some dangerous aliens?’

  Lane completed his kiss. He was smiling now, cynically. ‘Now, dear, if I had classified information about that, I couldn’t tell you. But the fact is, the whole story is in the papers. We spent a year in evasive flight, making sure they didn’t trace us back to earth. The fight was very brief, three months - which in space is like three day’s battle on earth. Then the long, tiresome getaway.’ ‘It sounds awful scary,’ said Susan. ‘But5 - she glanced at the clock - ‘look at the time.’ . She trotted to the door. ‘See you.’

  After she had disappeared down the hallway, there were a few additional noises. The sound of her footsteps. Then her voice from a distance, saying, ‘Oh, my dear little Fuzzy pussycat, good-bye; I’ll see you later.’ Next, the front door opened softly and closed loudly. If there were other Susan noises after that, they were indistinguishable from ordinary street sounds.

  In die breakfast room, no word was spoken by the parents as the girl made her exit. When she was finally gone, Lane pushed the booklet she had presented him away from his plate. Estelle, who had been watching, reached forward and pushed it toward him again. Lane looked down at it somberly and then up at her, ‘I don’t have to read it, do I?’ he said.

  ‘It says in there somewhere,’ stated his wife, ‘that a jabber is old enough to evaluate a parent, but what they’re normally not able to evaluate is what they should do about it, if their judgement is negative. The outfits tell them what to do. I thought you might be interested to know what they say.’

  ‘Why don’t you give it to me in one sentence?’

  The woman shook her head. She was not unfriendly, and her tone was not as critical as were her words. She said, ‘If you can’t give ten minutes to your daughter after ten years, then I also may find myself making a negative judgement of you. Only for me there’s no book of rules that tells me what to do about it.’

  The man sat shaking his head in a puzzled fashion. ‘I guess I’m home again all right, because suddenly the world of logic ha’ vanished. Suddenly, I can’t count on an agreement being lived up to. We settled all this last night - remember? I agreed to suspend judgement. I have.’

  'You haven’t. Not really,’

  Her husband gazed at her with steady gray eyes. ‘Think, now. with me, to decide is to act. I haven’t acted.’ Pause. “Have I?’

  For a long moment, the woman sat gazing off into some undetectable spaces above his head. Abruptly, she shook her head, and bit her lip. A smile broke through, crinkling her nose. ‘Oh, hell!’ she said. The smile broadened. ‘I keep forgetting, I’m married to a fleet commander. Every night from now on, Susan and I can look forward to you coming home and making exact statements with exact phraseology.’

  Lane said, ‘I never leave people in any doubt as to where I stand.’

  She shook her head. ‘That’s not true,’ she said. She broke off quickly, as the thunder clouds darkened his face, ‘I’ve seen you do devious scheming to get your own way. And you can be extremely secretive.’

  ‘Oh, that.’ His sudden anger faded, and he smiled grimly. ‘You’re talking about the tactics and strategy of winning.’

  The blonde woman sighed. ‘Just don’t bring your warfare rules into this house,’ she said.

  Her husband glanced at the wall clock beyond her, and stood up. ‘Time I was on my way.’ He bent over her. His lips came down to within inches of hers. ‘Do I get a goodbye kiss?’ he asked.

  Her friendly eyes looked up into his questioning ones. ‘1 married you for better or worse,’ she said. ‘1 guess a kiss comes somewhere on the better side of the spectrum.’

  It was acceptance. His head c
ame all the way down. Simultaneously, his fingers grasped the wrist of her arm that was partly on the table. Without ceasing to kiss her, he drew her to her feet and into his arms. His lips sought, and hers received, the caress. She did not return the pressure of his lips, but she did not reject him.

  She went with him, presently, to the door, and watched him go down the walk and along the street out of sight. Then she returned to the breakfast room, and stood for a while staring down at the outfit booklet where it lay beside his plate. Finally, silently, she picked it up, carried it to a cabinet with dishes in the glassed-in top and drawers below. Slowly, she drew open the top drawer, put the booklet on the silverware that lay there in neat rows, and then slowly closed the drawer again.

  Whereupon, with a faraway look in her eyes she began to clean up the breakfast dishes.

  When Susan departed from her parents’ home, she walked rapidly along the street that led to the monorail. In daytime, the entrance of that fabulous transport system was a metal housing of rugged design half-hidden in heavy shrubbery. The girl went past it, straight on to a second street. And again without pausing to a third street. Abruptly, she was in a different world. The quiet, expensive homes had become less expensive in appearance with each block that she traversed. And now she found herself approaching a business street.

  Unknown to Susan, a little drama was developing on the street ahead, A sullen-faced, good-looking brunette girl was coming along the business street, briskly at first, and then more slowly as she became aware of a boy across the street.

  As she watched him from the comers of her narrowed, calculating eyes, she saw that he had spotted her. The instant she had his attention, she made a peremptory gesture, pointing ahead. The boy nodded, and began a slanting crossing of the street which would intercept the dark-haired girl a dozen or so feet from the intersection of the business street and the street along which Susan was coming.

  The boy was sandy-haired, slim of build and of medium height. He wore the brown trousers and yellow coat of the Yellow Deer outfit; and, as he came up onto the sidewalk, where the sullen brunette was waiting for him, he was unmistakably nervous.

  There was a faint, devil-may-care smile on the girl’s face. She motioned him with a toss of her head to follow her. And then she led the way into a shallow alcove. Guilt radiated from him as he walked after her. It was in the way he held his body, and in the dark, oozy sweatiness of his face.

  It was about twenty seconds after they went into the alcove that Susan rounded the nearby corner. She was walking rapidly past the alcove when she grew aware of the couple. She stopped. She turned. What she saw was the sandy-haired boy and the dark-haired girl standing with arms around each other. They were lip-kissing.

  Susan walked slowly into the alcove. Her face was troubled, but she clearly knew what she must do. As she came to a point about half a dozen feet from the two, &he said, ‘All right, jabbers.

  That’s enough.

  The dark-haired girl was amazing. She didn’t react. Her body did not make the convulsive involuntary start of the surprised person. In fact, when the boy literally jumped, her arms tightened instantly around him. Held him. Kept his face against hers.

  But it was a pretty sad-type kiss that was now in process between them. And, after a long moment, she must have realised that she could not contain as much masculine emotion as was shuddering in her taut, capable but after all, only feminine arms. And, so, reluctantly, she released the highly charged young male, stepped back, and stood watching him with a certain amount of contempt in her face. But there was triumph also. Her expression said that she, at least, had achieved from the interchange what she expected.

  The boy was by this time a lost soul. All the color had drained from his cheeks. His heart must have been pounding for he was breathing heavily. His fear was so obvious that Susan was embarrassed. ‘Joe,’ she said, ‘it isn’t that bad. All you have to do is report this to your outfit. And you’ll only get a third stage dashing.’

  If Joe heard the reassurance, it did not show. He tried to speak, but it was only a noise and not a meaningful word that came from his lips. The dark-haired girl watched his dissolution, her lips curling. ‘Typical outfit material,’ she said with a sneer.

  Nonetheless, she made her first attempt now to help him. ‘Joe,’ she said, and her voice dripped with cool assurance, ‘It’s only the word of a one-cheek-kisser against yours.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t count, of course.’

  A pitying expression had come into Susan’s face. ‘Joe,’ she said, ^why don’t you just leave? And be sure to run. Running alters the adrenalin in your system when the pressure is this strong.’

  This time he heard; for he started off, uncertainly at first. Then, as the two girls walked after him, he actually broke into a loping run. As they emerged from the alcove, Joe was twenty feet further along the street, running.

  The dark girl called after him, ‘And don’t you ever come near me again, you coward.’ Her tone was vicious.

  ‘Ssshhh, Dolores,’ said Susan. 'You know there is no such thing as a coward.’

  Dolores was scathing. 'You outfitters have all kinds of weasel words for what people do. It didn’t stop the Red Cats from kicking me out.’

  Susan said, ‘It’s not the same thing. You wouldn’t admit you were wrong. Joe will.’

  Dolores stood there; the faint, angry smile that had been on her face faded. Only the anger remained. ‘I wasn’t wrong. I was Lee’s moocher until your sweet phony little face got to him. Look at me now. Look what you did to me.’

  Susan was suddenly uneasy. She had been in this conversation before, her expression said; and she didn’t want a repeat. ‘You know the rule,’ she said, slowly, ‘when such a shift happens. Join another outfit. They were willing. You weren’t.®

  ‘I couldn’t be that two-faced,’ Dolores snarled.

  A change came into her expression. The words, the memory3 seemed to break through to the turmoil underneath, to the jealousy and fury that was there, always close to the surface. Without warning, she struck at the blonde girl.

  It was an awkward blow, and it landed on Susan’s arm. Susan winced, but it was obviously not too painful. She backed away, said in her steadiest voice, ‘Go to school, Dolores!’

  But the dark-haired girl came forward, her face grim, her eyes narrowed. ‘I hate your guts!’ she said. Up came her arm. Once more she tried to strike. But Susan evaded the attempt, and said, ‘You know the rule for me on this I won’t fight. My job is to prevent you from doing something that will make it necessary for something to be done about you.’

  The blonde girl was more relaxed, after an initial strong anxiety. A rescuer was coming. In the near distance on the street behind and beyond Dolores, a familiar boy’s figure had come into view. She recognised Mike Sutter. He had been sauntering, but as he saw the tableau ahead of him, he began to walk faster. And as Dolores, in a second impulse to violence, again ran at Susan and tried to hit her, Mike broke into a run.

  He was wearing soft-soled shoes; and, besides, Dolores was totally absorbed with her own anger. Her attention was so completely channeled, her purpose so violent, that it was not until Mike’s strong lean arms caught her from behind, that she even became aware that anyone else was around.

  Once more, as with her reaction when Susan interrupted her tryst with Joe, Dolores was instantly and fantastically able to meet a new situation. ‘Oh, it’s you, Mike, darling,’ she crooned. She pressed back against him, and, twisting her head far back and around, tried to lip-kiss him. ‘It’s all right, sweetheart Mike, lip-kissing is fun.’

  Mike managed to twist his head, and her mascaraed lips smeared a red path across his cheek. ‘When I start to lip-kiss,’ he said, ‘it will be with lips of my own choice.’

  ‘You mean, with little Miss Nothing Marianne?’ said Dolores sweetly.

  The words and her tone irritated Alike. He was a strong boy;

  and he now spun the dark-haired girl around with an easy skill
and power. Such strength and such a way of using it was felt by Dolores. Something of her self-confidence was knocked out of her. She gasped, and struck at him. But by this time he had her solidly held at arm’s length, his hands grasping both her shoulders.

  ‘There are no nothings in this world,’ he said.

  “Then!, snapped Dolores, ‘how come little Miss Baker spins her web in a little house by the railroad track, and you live in a silkworm palace?’

  ‘The outfits are going to change all that,’ said Mike. As he spoke, in his eyes was a strange idealistic look so common to outfitters. It was obvious that his words seemed real to the youth.

  But he was also a person with an exceedingly short span of interest in unnecessary problems. ‘Look, Miss Munroe, if I release you will you go quietly off to school with our blessing, and with another request that you behave yourself and rejoin an outfit?’ She was recovering from her rough handling. A faint smile quirked her lips. It was an alienated smile, infinitely contemptuous. ‘It’s a little late, Mike dear. I’ve discovered how much fun a jabber can have without the outfits and their holier-than-thou, do-your-duty riding herd on my morals.’ Her smile was infinitely superior. ‘Life is much more interesting now.’

  Mike was not to be diverted. ‘But if I let you go, you will go quietly off to school?’

  ‘I plan to get an education,’ she said, loftily. ‘And I’m looking forward to college, with all those wonderful moonlit nights.’ ‘You’ll never make it through college,’ said Alike. He had removed his left hand from her right shoulder. And now, with a quick motion of his body, he caught her left arm and, putting the other arm around her body, walked her a dozen feet before she braced herself and stopped. ‘Think you’re smart, don’t you?’ Dolores snapped.

  Mike stepped away from her, but he remained standing between her and Susan. It was evident that the situation was too much for the brunette girl. With a dismissing twist of her body, she whirled away and walked rapidly off in the same direction that Joe had gone many minutes earlier.