Hovercars accounted for most area traffic, but the subway still moved a substantial portion of the local population. The cars were clean, and the fare was less than half the going rate on a hovershuttle.
Since it was the middle of the day, traffic was light. Jeremy called up a few hole pictures of Metro operations during rush hour and was glad he had missed it. Things were never that crowded in the Community, except maybe at the Spring dance.
Jeremy descended the entrance tunnel and waited on the platform. A silver and black train arrived in a few minutes. As he got aboard and glanced around at the passengers, something caught his eye. A fiber of insulation from the overhead panel dangled down from the ceiling, a machine screw caught on its end. It was the first sign of disrepair Jeremy had seen in any public facility, and he knew that it wouldn't last long. A cleaning robot would eliminate the string and report the misplaced screw to maintenance.
He watched the screw as the subway car sped through the tunnels. It swayed to one side, then the other, as the car took a wavy path to the next stop.
At the next stop, Jeremy watched the passengers get on and off. The man in the flight jacket brushed past the woman in the blue coat, seemingly unconcerned that she had a conscience, and a soul, or that a bright word might make the difference between hope and despair. Few made eye contact, and no one spoke. But Jeremy saw the loneliness in the woman's eyes and thought he'd break taboo and speak to her. He rose from his seat and headed in her direction, and then noticed something funny a few meters ahead of him on the train. It made his heart stop.
It was the form of a man, floating horizontally in the air -- another of his ghosts. It lay just above and behind a woman who was seated, facing away from Jeremy. The ghost appeared to be studying something intensely, but Jeremy couldn't decide what it was. The woman was completely oblivious.
Jeremy closed his left eye and studied the empty space with his right. He could see no sign of the creature. He considered asking if anyone else on the train could see it, but he didn't want to look like a fool.
The thing was facing away from him, and Jeremy had a sudden urge to touch it. He got up and wandered toward it as casually as he could manage. He stood right next to it, and then he noticed something odd about its movement. The subway car took a sharp right turn and Jeremy almost lost his balance. He remembered the screw. But unlike Jeremy, or the dangling screw, this image wasn't affected by inertia. It remained completely still relative to the wall of the subway car, despite the irregularities of the ride.
The car stopped at his station and the doors opened. Jeremy reached out and put his hand through the image, then he turned and got off the train without looking back.
As he came out of the subway station near his hotel, he configured his favorite search engine to look up everything available on angels.
Chapter 5
When Jeremy walked into the restaurant at five after eight the next morning, he was thankful to see Hanna in her usual seat. He had ordered his breakfast through his implant and knew it would be waiting for him in the autodispenser, but he didn't know how to get it out. Of course he could download the instructions, but instructions were never any good because they were always written by people who understood the process too well. Instead of saying "open the big orange door," it would say "open the dispenser lid," and there would be five things that might qualify as a dispenser lid.
"Hi," he said as he took a seat opposite Hanna at a small table.
"Good morning, Jeremy. No breakfast today?"
"No. I'll eat just as soon as you tell me how to get my food out of that contraption over there."
Hanna rolled her eyes, but explained anyway, very carefully. "You just open that big door, the orange one, put your right thumb on the big button-shaped thing that says 'identification plate,' and the inside door will open up. Your order will be inside."
"Sounds easy enough, but please don't watch me, okay? I'm tired of being a spectacle in this place." Hanna laughed and hid behind a book.
The dispenser worked just as Hanna described, and he was back in a minute, handing her a muffin and a bowl of fresh fruit from his tray. She gave him a grin and picked at the fruit.
"Thanks, Jeremy," she said.
As Jeremy opened his coffee and unwrapped his muffin she continued. "So, my friend MacKenzie told me about you. She's in that sociology class you've been visiting. She said you did a good job."
"MacKenzie" is a girl?
"I'm flattered that you asked about me," he said, looking squarely into her eyes, noticing how the blue gave way to bright green around the edges. Her eyes seemed to sparkle under the attention. "And I'm glad she gave a good report. I didn't expect to like the class, but I did."
Hanna's cheerful face took on a serious aspect. "Yeah, I suppose you would be a little nervous about it, huh? It must be weird to be in a totally different culture, and then to be placed under a microscope. But," she continued with a happier expression, "I think this is a great way for you to learn the ropes. You can ask them about Society stuff while they ask you about the Community."
"Yes. It was helpful," he said.
"Feel free to ask me anything you want to know. I won't bite."
"I wouldn't mind," he said, and then, seeing her confused expression, shook his head. "Never mind. But let me take you up on your offer. My first question is, why do you have a book? Are some titles not unavailable on the hole?"
"Just about everything is available, although some things are expensive, so if you can get your hands on a book you can save some money. But this one you can get for free," she said, patting the left hip pocket of her oversized vest. "I just like real books. They're easier on the eyes."
"So do I. Can I see it, if you don't mind?"
"Sure," she said. She reached into her pocket and handed Jeremy an exquisitely bound, leather volume. It was the perfect size for a coat pocket, felt substantial in the hand, had gilded pages, a satin marker and an embossed title. Jeremy thought it was a Bible, but it was titled "Call to the Unconverted," by Richard Baxter. He'd never heard of it, but the title scared him. Is she some kind of religious nut? he wondered.
"I'm taking a class in English Puritan theology and this is one of the books we're supposed to read," she said. "I saw the title in my pastor's library, so I thought I'd read the real thing, instead of burning my eyes out on my implant."
Jeremy smiled at her as he glanced at a few pages.
"I'd noticed that your eyes don't wander, like a lot of people's do."
Hanna grimaced. "It used to be a sign of poor discipline -- 'implant eye,' they called it, and you were considered somewhat of a slob if you couldn't control it -- but people seem to have given in. Not me."
Jeremy looked up and smiled again as he paged through the book. He was a very fast reader, but this book made for heavy work. Baxter's style seemed tedious, and the subject didn't interest him at all, but the book itself was a beautiful thing. The text was in a flowing script that forced the reader to take it slow. It might even have been hand-written.
He handed it back.
"I wouldn't have suspected that an anthropology student would have to take English Puritan Theology. It sounds more like something in a divinity program."
"You're right, it's not in my curriculum. It's actually a class offered at my church."
That brought to mind his late-night study from the day before. "Do you know anything about angels, Hanna?" he asked in a subdued voice, looking down into his food.
"Some," she said. "What do you want to know?"
"Well," he looked up at her eagerly, but kept his voice low, "how would you know if you had seen one?"
He steeled himself for the inevitable laughter, but it didn't come. Instead, Hanna wore a thoughtful expression and looked away for a minute. "I've never really thought about that," she said. "From everything I've read, angels look like regular people. Sometimes they look like huge regular people, like when David saw the angel that was attacking Jerusalem, b
ut most of the time they are just taken to be men."
If you believe that stuff, Jeremy thought, and found it somewhat odd that she hadn't questioned his interest.
"I was studying this question last night, and I came to the same conclusion. They just look like regular people most of the time." She didn't reply, and there was a minute of silence as he pondered what to say next. "What do you know about ghosts?"
Hanna suppressed a laugh. "Far less than I know about angels, I promise you. I would say that I don't believe in ghosts, but frankly I'm not dogmatic on that one. I don't think there are ghosts, but I wouldn't rule out the possibility."
Jeremy nodded, and his respect for Hanna shot up a few notches. It was one thing to believe that angels were real if you thought there was sufficient evidence. It was a completely different matter to believe that ghosts were not, and it seemed that she knew the difference.
"Aren't you dying to know why I'm asking these questions?" he finally said.
The edges of her mouth curled in a conspiratorial smile. "I figured you'd get around to it if you wanted to. And besides, I have other ways of finding out about you."
MacKenzie.
He shuffled in his seat a bit, scratched the back of his head and looked around.
"I have a lot of things I'd like to talk to you about. Can we go for a walk?"
Hanna raised her eyebrows in surprise, put her half-eaten breakfast on Jeremy's tray, and they left together.
* * *
At the 10:00 sociology lab, Jeremy asked for another round of introductions and was careful to associate names and faces, especially MacKenzie's. She was modestly dressed, unlike some of the people in the class who wore elaborate hairstyles and fantastic clothing. Her brown hair was neat, but not overdone. She was pleasant-looking, but not beautiful, and she looked thin, although her clothes made it hard to tell. He smiled and nodded at her when her turn came, and she winked back.
The class went on much as it had the day before. Most of the questions focused on the socialization of children in the Community. This was the seminar topic for the semester, and the students asked about some things Jeremy had never even considered before. Was there an average age for weaning and potty training? Were boys encouraged to be more athletic than girls? Did fathers prefer their boys, or mothers their girls?
It was a much harder interview than he expected. Jeremy had to stop and think before almost every answer, and he was surprised how much he didn't know.
When class was over, Jeremy had one piece of business to attend to.
"Hey MacKenzie," he said before she could get away. "What are you doing for lunch?"
* * *
"Double duty today," Dr. Berry said to Jeremy as he grabbed a cup of coffee at the psychology lab later that afternoon. The room was much larger than the intimate settings of the sociology class -- which Dr. Berry had missed that morning -- and there was a correspondingly larger audience.
"Yes, but it's been very helpful," he said. "I've learned a lot about Society. I've even learned some things about the Community. I'm a little more worried about these guys, though." He pointed to the assembled crew of nine psychology teachers and 15 students.
"You'll do fine," Dr. Berry said. "But if things get difficult, or you feel uncomfortable, remember that you don't have to answer the questions. And one other thing. Doctor business this time. I need to see you for a follow-up visit. You can come to the office, or I can just meet you somewhere."
"How's this evening in the lobby of my hotel?" he said, uncomfortable with the idea of going back to her office, unless he had to.
"Sure. How's seven?"
* * *
A moment later there was an exchange of pleasantries and introductions, but the teacher of this psychology lab came from a different mold than Phyllis.
"First of all, Jeremy," he said as he began the interview, "we should tell you that we've read the transcript of your conversations with the sociology class." Jeremy didn't know there was a transcript. "You've given us some very useful information about the Community, but I believe our approach will be slightly different, and perhaps our analysis will be a little deeper."
He smiled self-assuredly and glanced around the room. A few of the other professors returned his arrogant smirk while others rolled their eyes.
As the professor's voice droned on in the background, Jeremy received a message over his implant.
From Doctor Berry. Chat mode requested.
"Thank you, professor," he said aloud. Accepted, he sent.
Be careful with this guy. He likes to impress his class by being tough on people, Dr. Berry's voice said through his implant. It was the first time she had sent him a message during one of these sessions, and the first time Jeremy had used chat mode.
Thanks for the warning.
"I'd like to start the questions myself, if you don't mind," the professor began. He liked to be called "professor," while most of the other teachers went by their first names.
Jeremy nodded.
"There is one striking omission from your anecdotal accounts of life in the Community," the professor began. "You explain that you grew up believing Society to be oppressive and invasive of personal liberties, and that you've found that not to be the case." He said this with the condescending tone of a teacher who has exposed and corrected a foolish error. "But you never mentioned why, if you felt that way, you left the Community."
Jeremy swallowed hard and tried not to show the sudden panic he fought to suppress. Did the professor know the real reason?
You don't have to answer, Dr. Berry's voice told him after his delay was becoming obvious. He nodded, almost imperceptibly, to Dr. Berry and turned to look at the professor.
"It was a difficult decision, of course, and not one I wish to review right now for complete strangers."
The professor didn't react, but it was clear that he was not used to being spoken to in that tone of voice. He made another attempt.
"Surely there is something you can tell us about your reasons for leaving the Community. Or do you wish to leave a room full of psychologists to speculate?"
There were subdued chuckles.
"You can speculate all you like. It doesn't make a bit of difference to me what you think."
The professor shook his head and made an impatient gesture to one of the other faculty members to take over the questioning. He then immediately scribbled something on a pad of paper in his lap. Pads of paper had been rendered obsolete by the implants, and Jeremy expected the pad was some sort of affectation. Paper was usually reserved only for special correspondences.
Jeremy looked away from the professor and toward the rest of the assembled teachers and students, as if to say that he was dismissing the professor from further consideration. He noted that one of the other psychology professors discreetly gave him a thumbs up. He was the next one to speak.
"Jeremy, I don't know if you're aware of this, but the Communities came to differing decisions about how completely they should sever their ties with Society. Some continued to watch our television broadcasts, for example, or listen to the radio, back when we had such things. But yours was different. The Community you are from severed all contact from the very beginning. Why was that? What was so wrong with the radio? Were you afraid that Society ideas would undermine your Community?"
Jeremy laughed good naturedly. "Hardly. No, it wasn't the fear of the conspiracy theorist. The founders of our Community didn't listen to the radio because they were completely uninterested in anything anyone was saying, and because they had more pressing matters to attend to, like building a new culture, a new government and all that. Society ideas seemed both useless and sophomoric." He stopped himself at that, and then said, "no offense meant to the sophomores."
A young man in the back of the room said "none taken," and there were a few scattered chuckles.
"In fact, years later, part of our education was to listen to tapes of the broadcasts from that era," Jeremy continued. "Perhaps
you never have?"
The questioner, Bob, as Jeremy remembered from introductions, said that he hadn't.
"You ought to. It's complete drivel; pure propaganda. Some of the shows complained about oppressive government tactics and some defended them. But it was just a lot of wind, and nobody seemed to get to the heart of the issue. People competed as if they were ideological enemies, but they didn't realize how much they had in common. In fact, it was some of their common assumptions that were the real root of Society's problems."
He paused and took a drink of water, discreetly surveying a few faces in the crowd before he continued.
"There were a few voices of reason from those days, but many of those were the very people who ended up founding the Communities, so we were left with the impression that the brain trust had left." He laughed at that. "And we were content to leave you folk to quarrel among yourselves. We had no idea that things had straightened out."
"Very interesting," Bob said, "but you also made no effort to check back with us. Why was that?"
"At the time we split, the government had its fingers into everything. We thought it was inevitable that they'd take over every institution and organ of power. We were just waiting for the government to come and close us down. We didn't expect you to reform, but in that hope we established the Advocate as a kind of ambassador, or legal counsel, for the Community. He was supposed to be let us know what was going on, but it turns out, in our case, at least, that our Advocate has been lying to us for decades, feeding us stories that the government was still knocking on the door, threatening to disband the Communities."
Heads around the room shook in disgust and anger, and there were a few murmured conversations.
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