A Thousand Deaths

by George Alec Effinger

  Courane was surprised when TECT admitted him to the University of Pilessio. Courane didn't know even where Pilessio was. He had never heard of the university before. Even stranger, to Courane, was that he had been selected on the basis of a basketball scholarship.

  Courane had never heard of basketball either.

  Immediately after he read the news on the tect screen in his parents' apartment, Courane typed a request at the terminal: "Please supply me with all details concerning this order, along with instructions for complying in the immediate future."

  Courane felt that his response left a tangible record of his willingness to cooperate. He believed that in some unguessable time of trouble his eagerness would be a matter of documented fact. He could then prove his loyalty, and TECT would be inclined to help him. In point of fact, however, Courane was wrong. TECT didn't care one way or the other.

  A few weeks later, Courane registered for admission to the University of Pilessio. He was given a course of study which was broad and led seemingly to no profession or useful trade. Courane wondered what TECT had decided about him; no amount of argument or pleading with the computer could persuade it to reveal its plans.

  On the tenth of September, in the year of TECT 5, the red ADVISE light blinked on the tect in the parlor of Courane's dormitory building. The young woman on duty asked whom the message was for and called Courane; he came downstairs and identified himself to the tect. The message, stripped of the official salutations and warnings, went as follows:

  TECT in the name of the Representative welcomes COURANE, Sandor, and hopes that you will enjoy your term at the University of Pilessio. It is further hoped that you will use the university's great facilities for your own education and the successful completion of your course of study. Failure to do so will be considered Contempt of TECTWish.

  You are to report to the Harthorn Wingo Memorial Gymnasium on Monday, 13 September, 5 YT, before 12:00:00. You will register with Professor Ernesto Silverio, coach of the university's basketball squad. Failure to do so will be considered Contempt of TECTWish.

  The game of basketball is a healthful, wholesome, and exciting one. TECT in the name of the Representative hopes that it affords you many opportunities to forge those qualities which may stand you in good stead, here at the university and in your later life. You will also meet many other athletes from many different backgrounds, giving you the chance to acquaint yourself with the rich resources of Europe's cultural heritage. Failure to do so will be considered Contempt of TECTWish.

  Courane made the necessary response, indicating that he understood the computer's orders. Then he added a request that TECT print out a summary of data relating to the game of basketball. He was a little bewildered by the situation, but he had all weekend to study.

  The following Monday, Courane reported to Professor Silverio's office. "Good morning," said Courane.

  "Courane?" asked Silverio.

  "Yes, sir," said Courane.

  "You're small," said the coach with some disappointment.

  "Yes, sir."

  "You must have some talent. TECT has its reasons. Well, maybe you're a playmaking guard. Quick. Good hands. How is your ball-handling?" The coach tossed Courane a purple, orange, and green basketball.

  "I don't know," said Courane. "I've never handled one."

  "TECT has its reasons," murmured Silverio, frowning. The coach spoke a few words to an assistant, who turned to a small closet in the coach's office. The assistant gave Courane a pair of light, thin basketball shorts and a sleeveless top, navy blue with white letters and numbers.

  "What size shoes?" asked the assistant.

  "Eight," said Courane.

  "Small," said the assistant. He found a pair of white high-top basketball shoes. Courane took the suit and the shoes and went to a locker to change. Then Courane walked onto the basketball court. He was very self-conscious. For some time he watched some of the others on the team shooting baskets and practicing their dribbling. Finally, when he had worked up his courage, he joined them and tried taking a few shots himself.

  He was no good at all.

  His hands were too small. The ball slipped from his grasp easily, and he couldn't dribble with any skill or confidence. He only stared in disbelief as the others twisted through the air and slammed the ball down through the net. Courane was much shorter than they were. While the other players could leap up and touch the backboard above the rim, Courane could barely reach the net that hung from it. He became discouraged quickly.

  "Don't worry about it," said Coach Silverio dubiously. "You'll pick up the drill. TECT knows what it's doing."

  "Okay," said Courane. He was very tired after half an hour of exercise. "What part of the game do you think I ought to concentrate on?" he asked. Silverio didn't say anything. He just shook his head sadly.

  A few months later, as winter began to thaw into spring, there was another message for Courane on the dorm's tect. He identified himself and read the news on the unit's screen.

  **COURANE, Sandor - RepE Dis4 Sec27

  Loc39-Gre-834

  M232-86-059-41Maj

  09:24:37 8 March 6 YT - TECTGreet**

  **COURANE, Sandor:

  Notification of Majority. Alteration in TaskFunc (Details follow).

  **COURANE, Sandor:

  Congratulations! Today you are nineteen years old, and an adult citizen under the protection of TECT in the name of the Representative. Now that you are officially an adult citizen, we are even more concerned for you and your future.

  **COURANE, Sandor:

  Upon notification of the attainment of majority, a citizen is usually presented with a list of alternative services under the CAS authority among which he may choose to fulfill his civic responsibility. We had tentatively decided to offer you an opportunity for employment in the exciting and fast-paced world of professional basketball, which we have maintained for the entertainment of the millions. Following your season on the University of Pilessio team, we computed your statistics as follows.

  **COURANE, Sandor:

  Average time played per forty-minute game—07 minutes, 23.4056 seconds

  Average number of field goals attempted—03.0417

  Average number of field goals made—00.0000

  Percentage of field goals made-00.0000

  Average number of free throws attempted—01.2917

  Average number of free throws made-00.2083

  Percentage of free throws made—16.1290

  Average rebounds per game—00.1250

  Average assists per game—00.1667

  Average personal fouls per game—03.2917

  **COURANE, Sandor:

  These statistics are not very impressive. They lead TECT in the name of the Representative to believe that a future in professional basketball may not be right for you. But do not despair! To do so may be considered Contempt of TECTWish.

  **COURANE, Sandor:

  You will travel to North America. You will become a writer of science fiction adventure tales. We have encouraged the continuing existence of science fiction for the amusement of the millions. You will produce one full-length science fiction novel each six-month service term. Your first novel will be entitled SPACE SPY. It will be wry and ironic, yet contain seemingly important statements about the human condition. It will have no explicit sex and little violence. Other than that, the book will be entirely the product of your imagination. Failure to comply with these directives will be considered Willful Contempt of TECTWish.

  **COURANE, Sandor:

  Understanding of the above to be indicated.

  **COURANE, Sandor:

  Affirm?**

  "Yes," said Courane wearily. That was how he learned of his first crime against the state. He went back to his room to pack, and to think about his new future as a novelist. He still wanted to be on the good side of TECT; he was deeply sorry that it was disappointed with him and his basketball playing. He promised himself that he would become a good and respected
writer. He would copy the styles and techniques of the best science fiction writers in the business, whoever they were. His college friends in Pilessio never learned what happened to him. He went home to Greusching that day and left for New York the next. He got right down to work shortly after his arrival in North America.

  There was a light rain falling and the sun was low in the sky. Courane was working on the roof of the house with a man named Shai, who had joined the community two months before. They were tearing off and replacing shingles that had been damaged; rain water was leaking through the roof and into the infirmary. Goldie had nearly drowned in her sleep before someone noticed a pool of water forming on her bed. Suddenly Courane sat up on the roof and looked around. "What are we doing up here?" he said.

  Shai glanced over at him, perplexed. "What do you mean, Sandy?" he asked.

  Courane felt completely disoriented. "Who are you?" he said. Shai came over and put a hand on Courane's shoulder. "Calm down. Everything's all right. It'll all come back to you."

  "Shai, I'm sorry," said Courane. The anxiety passed, but it left him with a lingering suspicion. He sat on the roof and looked around. He wasn't on Earth anymore. That sun was Epsilon Eridani. A great gulf had opened between Courane and his birthplace, between him and his parents and everything familiar. Unconsciously he clutched at the shingles. It was like the worst dream he could imagine, but there would be no waking from this nightmare.

  Shai tried to comfort him, but he hadn't had much experience at it. "You'll be all right, Sandy. Just wait a minute."

  "I'm all right now, Shai." It had been an unsettling experience, as if he had awakened in the body of a dumb animal, or as if he awoke one morning and learned that he had only dreamed his adult life, that he was only four years old and unable to communicate his distress.

  "Let's knock off for today," said Shai.

  Courane just stared down at the hideous red plants standing in rows in the fields, at the monstrous creatures in the pasture, at the alien landscape surrounding the farm. He didn't want it all to come back to him. He wanted to be home.

  He laughed as he bent to pick up the young woman's corpse. How he must have made a fool of himself. How often in his life he managed only to look ridiculous when he had aimed instead for nobility or deftness. The memory of his first lapse was still bitter in his mind. How he had been fooled. How unfairly he had been misled. He wished that he could go back to give the information to his previous self. How stupid he had been—how stupid they all had been, and how eager to ignore the obvious. But that was the first stage in dying. No one is quick to accept the idea of his own end.

  Even as he struggled to make a comfortable burden of the body, Courane's memories evaporated from his mind, leaving faint traces like the bouquet of a good wine. "Her name is Alohilani," he read on the note. Alohilani. The name wasn't significant. Her face was unfamiliar. He read the rest of the note, but there was nothing in it to jog his memory. He decided that the note was there for some good reason; admitting that, he took up his charge and continued on the long way home.

  Four

  The settlers of Planet D made their lives as cheerful and happy as possible. Some people, like Courane and Molly and young Kenny, had accepted their new home and were comfortable there. Others, like Klára and Fletcher, grew more resentful and ill-tempered as the weeks passed. But Planet D might not have been at fault; the good spirits of the one group and the bad humor of the other might have been but the reflection of what these people were on Earth.

  One of the least pleasant jobs on the farm was the butchering of the animals. No one liked to do it but it was a chore that had to be done. Consequently everyone took a turn at it except those people who were too disturbed by the idea. Only Goldie and Kenny begged off; surprisingly, even Molly and Alohilani took their turns, although both women expressed their reluctance.

  There were large, fat rodents that lived in a corner of the barn. They were butchered like hogs and their meat smoked. They bred rapidly and abundantly, and they supplied much of the animal protein in the community's diet. The rodents were called "varks," from an old Dutch word for pig.

  Kenny liked the varks as much as he liked the other animals. When it was time to butcher one of the pale blue creatures he always protested, even though he knew it was necessary. After a fewmonths, his protests grew weaker until they were little more than a kind of perfunctory statement of regret.

  One day late in Vespasi, Courane and Shai came in after swabbing down the shed where the varks were slaughtered and butchered. The two men had become close friends since Shai's arrival from Earth.

  "Which vark did you kill?" asked Kenny.

  "Which vark?" said Courane. He couldn't tell one from another, and he was surprised by the suggestion that anyone else could.

  "The big one with the patch of yellow hair over its eye," said Shai.

  "Aw," said Kenny, "that was Bambi." He looked gloomy.

  "Sorry," said Courane.

  Kenny only shrugged.

  "Sandy," said Shai, "you've been here longer than I have. Who named this place Home?"

  "I don't know," said Courane. "I called it Planet D for a long time before I heard anyone else call it Home. Ask Kenny. He's been here even longer than I have. He's been here longer than anyone except Molly." There was a bit of a pause because Molly was upstairs, in the infirmary. Kenny had already shown signs of advancing D syndrome, but he was still doing well enough not to require confinement on the third floor.

  "It was always called Home," said the boy. "I asked TECT about that once months and months ago, and it said that the first gang of people it sent here named the planet Home. I would have picked a better name for it."

  Courane knew what was coming. "I'm sure you would have," he said.

  There was an expectant silence. It stretched on and on, with neither Courane nor Shai breaking down to ask Kenny what he would have chosen instead.

  "I gave it a lot of thought," said Kenny at last, "and I would have called the place Schmotz." He looked around. Shai was smiling, but Courane just looked impatient.

  "Why Schmotz?" asked Shai.

  Kenny's expression indicated that he thought the answer was self-evident. "How can you be afraid of a place called Schmotz?" he said.

  When Courane had been on Planet D, or Home, for a few days, he noticed something odd. He was wandering around the grounds during a free hour. At the back of the house was a porch and a small yard with some tables and chairs and a narrow path leading down to the river. At the front of the house was the wide field of high red grasses through which he had waded on his arrival. To one side was the barn and silo which, together with the house itself, partially enclosed the barnyard. On the opposite side of the house were the pastures and the cultivated fields. Courane found nothing unusual, and that bothered him. He felt something was missing. He looked all around; the river formed a definite boundary in one direction, but in the other three there was flat land covered with waving grass and dotted with trees, and the high growth came right up to the edge of the clearing the people had made for themselves. At the horizon were low hills. There were no other landmarks. Courane was puzzled because he didn't know where the cemetery was.

  The colony had been on Planet D for one hundred and twenty- four years, and it was made up of a few hard-working prisoners and a dozen or so people suffering from D syndrome. To Courane that meant that scores, even hundreds of people had died on the planet since the beginning of the colony, and so they must have been buried in some plot of ground that ought to be recognizable from the house. But he saw nothing. Maybe it was the custom to take the bodies out and bury them in unmarked graves within the shelter of the red grass. Courane went to find Arthur. Alohilani had mentioned that he had been assigned to take charge of Zofia's funeral arrangements.

  "What funeral arrangements?" asked Arthur. He was genuinely puzzled.

  Courane frowned. "I just thought that if such a great custom has evolved of seeing everyone off at their dy
ing moment, that there was probably something of a similar nature to be done at their burial."

  Arthur shook his head emphatically. "We don't bury anyone here," he said.

  "Why not?"

  "What else? TECT has given us other instructions. That's the way things have been since the year one here. After a person dies, we put him in the medic box and leave the room. TECT ordered that no one should enter that room again for a full day. It didn't specify an Earth day or one of ours, so we stay away for a twenty-seven-hour Planet D day just to be sure."

  "But why?"

  "I don't know. But as soon as the corpse is put in the medic box, TECT must diagnose and realize the patient's dead. What happens after that I don't know, but a day later the body is gone. Always. No one knows why."

  "What could TECT want with the bodies?" asked Courane.

  "Nothing," said Arthur. "I just think they're sent back to Earth for proper burial."

  "I'd like to think so, too," said Courane, "but you don't have a teletrans unit in the medic box, do you?"

  "Of course not." Arthur had known the flaw in his explanation, but he preferred to believe in it rather than try to outguess the devious reasoning of TECT.

  "Well, what other theories do you have?"

  Arthur stared for a moment. "Other theories?" he said. "I don't have any other theories. I don't need any other theories. Do you think there's something wrong?"

  "No, no," said Courane quickly. "I'm just trying to understand your life here as quickly as I can."

  "Okay, fine," said Arthur. He sounded suddenly very tired of the conversation. "If it's so important to you, maybe you can find out what happens to the bodies."

  "Maybe I will," said Courane thoughtfully.

  When he decided to go on, his arms still ached. They had given him a lot of trouble all morning. Now his hands throbbed and his fingers refused to close into fists. He looked at his hands. They trembled visibly. Courane knew that he was sick, that he had to get help soon. But there was no help for him in the desert. The hills were nearer now, but they didn't look as if they promised any help either. Beyond the hills, that was where he must be going. What was beyond the hills? Courane couldn't remember. He looked at his hands again for a few seconds, but they made him nervous. He clasped his arms across his chest and tucked the hands under his armpits. Then he walked on toward the hills.