by Alex Drozd
“No.”
“I do,” Brenda said distantly. She sighed. “It’s anxiety, I guess.”
“Hmm,” Stuart said.
“Psychologically, I guess it’s easier to stay home and fulfill responsibilities than to go somewhere else and do it.”
“What are you talking about?” Stuart asked his mother. He began to fear she would start getting sentimental. He groaned inwardly. He knew he never should have complimented her painting. She had been making more of them recently. He’d have to comment on them more often now, making deeper observations with every new picture she produced, the pressure growing on him continuously.
Only two years until it’s time for my Rank One, he thought.
“You’ve been really strange this past week,” Brenda said. “You’re not the kind of boy who says much in the first place, but you’re being as quiet as you were when Dwayne passed away.”
“He killed himself.”
Brenda curled her lip in a disappointed frown. “That’s another way of putting it.”
“I’m just anxious to finish basic.”
“Do you miss your aunt?”
If Stuart could have rolled his eyes, he would have. But he didn’t. That would have been suicide, a quicker one than Dwayne’s. If his mother ever really knew how little he cared about her sister, she would disown him as a child. He couldn’t let that indifference about his dead aunt show.
Stuart shrugged. “It’s not just that.”
“Oh, honey.” She leaned forward to hug him.
Stuart let her latch on, feeling every atom in his body crawl a nanometer away from her in response, averse to her touch. Physical contact with someone he wasn’t sexually attracted to was a repulsive idea to him.
“You’ll do fine on your final exams, Stu,” Brenda said. She let go of him. “And you’ll do fine getting your Ranks.”
“What are you going to do if they pass the Equity Measure?” Stuart asked. It was a brave question. He didn’t know if she’d discuss such things with him.
Brenda’s smile faded just a hint, but it never fully left her face. She looked at him for a long moment before speaking, her eyes pensive. He gave her all the time she needed—time to form an answer that would paint herself in a positive light.
“I might have to get certified,” she said in a calm tone. “I just don’t see them giving me the standard stipend for my current role.”
“Why not?”
“Well my job just doesn’t have enough hours in the week to compare to others; that’s because it’s not a job. When we emigrated here, I came here to serve a family function. Right now, for being a home-carer, I get about a third of your father’s stipend. It was part of the emigration incentive. They used to bribe people with not having to go to school if they would come out and populate planets like Janus. Well, with the Equity Measure, I lose that stipend. The measure excludes anything other than the agreed upon amount except for the case of child care, but you’re legally an adult now, so that doesn’t help us.”
“Does this mean you’ll have to get your Ranks?”
“I don’t know.” Brenda frowned. “People in my position are usually taken care of, after all, I was guaranteed a lifetime setup here, but then again, that emigration corporation doesn’t own Janus anymore.”
“A company used to own Janus?”
“Used to. That’s usually how planets get started.”
“Why don’t they own us anymore?”
“Once a planet exceeds a certain population they’re a nation and can no longer legally be owned.”
Stuart felt embarrassed. He had never bothered to learn about his world, much less the other world’s in the galaxy. Despite his innate academic abilities, he knew hardly anything about the universe around him. Was he one of those foolish people journalists would interview on those VidScreen programs, the ones who couldn’t point out Earth on a galactic map? Stuart shuddered.
The receptionist stood up at her desk. She looked down at her PortScreen and shouted, “Stuart Fergesson.”
Brenda looked at him and smiled. “Hey, that didn’t take too long.”
They stood up and approached the desk. Brenda signed a few papers for her son before getting to one that required his own signature. “Stuart,” she nudged him. “I can’t sign this part for you.”
Grimacing at her choice of words, Stuart reached for the glow-pen. He wrote his name on the document. He could feel the receptionist’s eyes on him. Was she waiting for him to fail? Could the little boy sign his own name? He hated her. And for a brief moment, he feared her. Was she Alissa in disguise? He handed the document back to her, making eye contact with her for a little longer than was normal. The woman let out an uncomfortable giggle.
“Um, that’s everything,” the receptionist said. She tried not to look at Stuart. “Follow me please.”
They followed her. The woman remained reticent. Stuart wouldn’t be happy until she was gone. His image of her was tainted now. Whether she was Alissa or not, she reminded him of Alissa, and since Alissa was most likely a product of his mental delusions, the receptionist simply putting the thought of her in his head was the same as an encounter to him. He didn’t want to confront his hallucinations. They would go away on their own given enough time. So he hoped.
“Mrs. Kathy will renew your travel-pass in here. Have a nice day,” the receptionist said.
“Thanks, you too,” Brenda beamed.
Stuart didn’t say anything. He just stared at her.
“Um, bye,” the receptionist muttered. She shuffled away, almost shivering from the look in Stuart’s eyes. The stare of an adolescent boy at a young woman. It was enough to make anyone uncomfortable.
Brenda didn’t notice a thing. She just smiled.
They seated themselves in the office and shook hands with Mrs. Kathy. She was a short woman with dark black hair, wearing the traditional red business suit of Janus. She made no effort to smile at her visitors. They were here for unpleasant, bureaucratic things. Why add pleasantness to the meeting? It just wouldn’t mix.
“Hello. So you’ve booked a flight to Earth only a few days away, and you need to renew his pass right now?” Mrs. Kathy said in a lecturing tone. How dare you forget to fulfill your responsibility and force me to add more work on top of my own, her eyes said. If I was the boss, I wouldn’t meet you for this. I wouldn’t let you get away with it. You’d learn your lesson. You’d never make a low-level, miserable government employee have to work more than they already had to again.
“Uh, yes,” Brenda said. “You know how it is. We were so focused on him registering for his Rank Zero that we forgot about it.”
“Uh-huh,” Mrs. Kathy sighed. She typed at a keyboard, a disapproving look on her face. Stuart waited there uncomfortably, wishing he didn’t have to sit through the monotony of this renewal.
“Okay,” Mrs. Kathy sighed again. “Earth has had some policy changes since your last visit, so I’ll have some questions to ask. It has to do with the update of their transportation software, which you’ll be using as a visitor there next week. Anyways, they have a bunch more information to fill out.”
“All right,” Brenda said with a smile. Mrs. Kathy nodded at her and proceeded to pull out a few legal forms. Stuart’s mother went on, “So, I have to ask, is Kathy your last name?”
The woman stopped pulling the documents from her desk and peered over at Brenda. Stuart shifted in his seat. Couldn’t his mother see how bad of a mood this woman was in? Why could she only detect a disrespectful tone when he was the one to use it?
“Kathy is my first name. I come from Rithea. We prefer to use the first as a formal name.”
“Oh, I see,” Brenda said. She looked away from the receptionist, contemplating something. Stuart wished he could look into her head. What kind of simple thoughts swam around in there? No, that wasn’t right. He could tell his mother was smart. He just enjoyed picturing her as stupid, someone beneath him. It satisfied his adolescent view of the
world, one where his ego was protected and cradled, a world terraformed just for his particular psychological configuration.
Once Mrs. Kathy had pulled up all the forms, she asked Stuart, “All right. First, it asks for your intended Rank Zero?”
“Oh, uh,” Stuart said. “Programming.” He was a little surprised. What did that have to do with riding the hover bus on Earth?
“Okay, thank you,” she said. “Criminal record?”
She asked a few more odd questions like that. Stuart looked over at his mother to watch her reaction. She looked normal.
“What about work experience, do you have any?” Mrs. Kathy went on.
“What? No. How could I?” Stuart asked.
“Not everyone is born on Janus and run through the same system you are. Some planets require work experience before education.”
“Oh.”
“Now, what about your final grades?”
This one really shocked him. Now why should they care about that?
“For basic?” he asked.
“Yes,” she droned impatiently.
“I’m, uh,” Stuart shook his head. “I don’t have my final grades yet, I take my finals in a few days.”
“Hmm,” Mrs. Kathy frowned. She was silent for a few moments, staring at the box on the form that was giving them trouble. “Actually, this could be a problem. Most people register when they already have grades in place. You’ve landed in a strange window for this.”
“Really?” Stuart asked, surprised. He looked to his mother. She was frowning.
“Would his estimated grade work?” Brenda asked. “He’s a very good student. He has a 4.7 right now.”
“Well they need it confirmed since this adds to his status total.”
“My status total?”
“Earth updated their transportation software, Stu. They need your social standing to determine your value in case one of the hover buses has to solve the trolley problem.” Brenda said.
“Wait, what are you talking about?” Stuart asked. Mrs. Kathy sighed and leaned back in her chair. She looked like she would rather be doing anything else than listen to a boy’s mother lecture him on ethics.
“The cars and buses on Earth are self-driving, Stu,” Brenda said.
“I know that,” he said defensively.
“Well, sometimes the car is put in a position where the computer has to drive it off the road to save the passenger, like when something falls in front of the car. Now, in this situation, what if the only place the car can run off the road has people on it? How does the car decide whom to kill? The passenger or the people on the side of the road?”
“What?” Stuart said. He had never heard of such a ridiculous thing. “Well, you can’t program a hover car to kill its own passenger!”
“Even if there’s only one passenger, but ten people are on the side of the road?”
“Uh.”
“Mrs. Fergesson, you can explain it to him later. I’ll give him a 4.7,” Mrs. Kathy said. “Please, there’s more to do.”
“Oh, all right,” Brenda said.
Perplexed, Stuart looked back at the interviewer. He sat there with a contorted expression, thinking about cars running off roads.
“Okay. Can I have your signature for the pass and your identification number?” Mrs. Kathy slid some forms over to him.
“Wait, does my grade determine my value in the car situation?” Stuart asked suddenly.
Mrs. Kathy let out a long sigh.
“Yes, Stu,” Brenda said. “Earth used to do it by years. Whichever outcome kept the most youth around was what the car went with. Now it’s determined by your value to society.”
“What the fuck,” Stuart breathed.
“Stu!”
“Mrs. Fergesson, watch his mouth. This is a government office.”
“Sorry,” Brenda said. She turned to scold her boy.
“I mean, is this such a common problem, self-driving cars having to choose between killing passengers or pedestrians, that they actually keep records on all this stuff, and the cars know it all?” Stuart went on.
“Yes.” This time Mrs. Kathy answered. “It’s an almost daily occurrence on Earth.”
“How in the...”
“Keep in mind that with a population of twenty billion, that isn’t very frequent, really.”
“Still,” Stuart breathed.
“Please, Mr. Fergesson, I’d like to get this over with.” Mrs. Kathy tapped her fingers on the forms. “Signature and identification number.”
Stuart shook his head and leaned forward to sign the documents. She asked a lot more questions than he had expected, but the renewal hadn’t taken too long. He was glad for that.
“You’ll get the renewed pass tomorrow,” Mrs. Kathy said. Her tone was bored. “We had to go out of our way to do this for you.”
“Oh, thank you so much,” Brenda said. She elbowed her son. “Stu, say thank you.”
Swallowing a sea of self-loathing, Stuart mumbled, “Thank you.”
“Please have a nice day,” Mrs. Kathy snapped in an almost angry goodbye. Her eyes, wide and impatient, went from Stuart and his mother to the door.
“Oh, well you have a nice day as well,” Brenda said. “Thanks for everything.”
She and Stuart walked out of the building only a couple of minutes later. Macrobius was setting, the work day almost over. No wonder Mrs. Kathy had been so testy. Stuart wasn’t in the best mood, either. He had a full day of school, and then an afternoon of waiting in that lobby. Now, he had studying for finals. At least it would all be over in just a few days, he thought. Basic would finally be over for good.
But there was that damn trip right after it...why couldn’t he just stay at home and relax?
While Stuart and his mother were waiting on the bus, he continued to ask her about the transportation system on Earth.
“So you mean when we went there last year for Aunt Emma’s funeral, every time we got in a car or bus, it could have been programmed to kill us?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Brenda said. “Stu, this is normal. You don’t know about any of this? Janus is one of the few worlds that doesn’t build its cars that way.”
“Why not?”
“We can’t afford to have all that yet. The self-driving software is expensive.”
“But if we could afford it, we’d use it?”
“Well, of course we would.”
Horrified, Stuart turned to look at a row of buildings in the distance. Suddenly, he again grew afraid Alissa would appear. He surveyed almost the entire field of view around him, but she was still nowhere to be seen.
“There’s an incident every day?” Stuart said, trying not to think about her coming back. “Self-driving cars, on a daily basis, kill their drivers or run into sidewalks full of people?”
“Well they’re not self-driving if they have a driver.”
Stuart shook his head. He muttered, “Their passengers.”
“Well, yes, but people get killed far more often if they’re human-driven. Really, Stu, you need to go on this trip. You need to know more about the galaxy. That curriculum they have you on here is too focused on just Janus. You learn too many things that only apply here.”
“It’s supposed to train us to function on Janus, so...”
“Yeah I know, but don’t you want to be well rounded?”
And know nothing of any real use and have to worry about re-entering education because all I have is an artist’s understanding of the world? Stuart didn’t say it out loud, but he certainly thought it.
The bus arrived and took them home. When he was settled in for the night, Stuart made one last check for Alissa. She wasn’t anywhere in his room or anywhere else in the house. She wasn’t even outside the window, which he was sure to check as well. He worried about what she might do the next time he saw her, what all getting him out of going to Earth entailed. There were only a few days left before basic. Soon, he would take his finals, and then two days later be on a s
tarship, on his way to visit his uncle and cousin, two people he had to care about because of circumstance—why anyone really cared about anybody to begin with.
Stuart lay down for bed. Stay focused, he thought. Get past basic, get past Earth, get past certification, get past Alissa. All these things will disappear in time. I just have to wait for them.
He fell asleep.
10
It was the day before they were to leave for humankind’s home world, the great Mother Earth. With an ecosystem like no other, the green, white and blue planet was the most common tourist attraction in the inhabited galaxy. Stuart had passed his exams and completed his general education with flying colors; now it was time for the family trip.
He dreaded the number of people they would have to deal with while traveling. The interstellar cruisers were far worse than the education building in terms of traffic. Somehow, the starships were larger than he would have ever thought was necessary, yet they weren’t big enough. There were just that many people in their corner of the galaxy. He shivered at the thought.
Alissa hadn’t appeared since that bus ride back home, a little over a week ago. All his paranoid glancing right and left was for nothing. He began worrying about her less. She was just a freak episode of my imagination, he thought. The advising day had been a depressing one, and I just had a little hallucination to help me deal with it. But everything that’s happened lately has been normal. So it’s all over. Including basic. I passed my final tests and I’m qualified for certification. Everything is going to be okay. Everything is fine.
But of course there was the other part of him that worried she was waiting until just the right moment to come back. The fear of that was as real as his relief over having not seen her, quite a surreal feeling.
They had received his renewed travel-pass on the day he took his last exam for basic. Part of him had hoped it wouldn’t be approved, that the shortcuts Mrs. Kathy had taken would be caught and his renewal denied. She really had done quite a serious thing putting in his final grade before anyone knew what it would be. A 4.7 had ended up being the case, but still, that number, combined with his others, could determine if he would live or die. By putting in some arbitrary number for his grade, Mrs. Kathy had demonstrated she didn’t care about the system, even though it was one contingent on ethics. The software worked by summing up the societal value of all the people who made up the two parties in the trolley question. Whoever had the most points, the car would decide not to kill. Mrs. Kathy had scoffed at him for not knowing about the dilemma, yet she had disregarded the system’s purpose by putting in that tentative grade. She had taken it upon herself to decide who would live and who would die, hypothetically. In reality, the chances of such an encounter with the hover cars on Earth were negligible, but still, the words “almost every day” rolled around in his head. He would be on Earth for five days—maybe if he got lucky...