Jack and the Beanstalk [SF YA]

CHAPTER TWO - Breaking Bones for Baking Bread - Part I

One hour, two beers and three sandwiches later, saw me much happier. After telling Brian about my worries he reassured me that this time the waivers might come through.

I left the office by the front door. It deposited me back onto the speedwalk and I headed homeward. But I wasn't headed home. Until Brian mentioned it I had forgotten that I had a date. With a family for a birthday party. Dr. Mikhail Petrovich and his wife, Jill, brought me to London from the United States at age seven. I lived in the orphanage they ran until I turned sixteen. Actually Jill ran it and Mikhail, Mike, had an office attached to the building where he ran a small psychiatric practice. Mike had been a rocket scientist in the Second Soviet Union. When opportunities in space science disappeared he left the country and turned to his second love: people and why they do what they do.

The Petrovich's home lay on the southeast side of the city near the edge of the dome. When I reached the orphanage, all the lights were out. Not another surprise party. I stepped up to the door and knocked. No answer, of course. I checked the door; the knob turned. I stepped in and the lights flashed on, confetti hit me in the face, and Mike grabbed me in a bear hug.

Mikhail Petrovich is sort of a Kris Kringle with a Russian accent--round, jolly, always with a twinkle in his eye. He'd give you the shirt off his back if you needed it.

"Sorry, we couldn't throw you a real bash, Jack," Mike roared over the noise of scrambling kids.

"It's perfect, Mike," I said looking around at all the happy young faces, "Feels like home." And it did--as close to home as I'd ever felt. Jill came and hugged me, too. She, in contrast to Mike, was built more like the little people of Celtic legends--small, dark hair and eyes, almost elfin. Her familiar perfume took me back to times when I'd been one of these little kids running around, looking up into her face instead of down. As much of a mother as I could remember, she always made me feel safe. Whenever I'd been in trouble with the authorities, which was rather often, she would come to my rescue.

I glanced across the crowd, spotting the twins, Nadia and Tatiana, Mike and Jill's own children, keeping the little rascals at bay. A couple years older than me, there'd always been two of them. Fond memories of wrestling and tickle fights. Then things changed. Mike's family took me on a camping trip. The last night one of the twins, Nadia, I think, accidentally (is anything a fourteen year old girl does an accident?) crawled into my sleeping bag. Nothing much happened, and she never spoke of it. Hell, I don't even know which one it was for sure. That moment I realized that older girls weren't simply for saving your skin on the streets. Not long after that I got caught red-handed. I could've gotten out of the charges by fingering Brian, but I couldn't do that. So I went to reform school and that conviction kept coming back to haunt me. Some days I think that I might as well become the criminal the authorities think I am. But then days like this change my mind.

The night rolled on like any birthday party and when I finally reached my own flat I fell into bed, tired and happy. The feeling of belonging to something still warmed my heart.

#

I spent Saturday working at the factory. Amazing what the lack of Dodgson did to the ambiance. Without him there, I worked happily, whistling, jogging from job to job. I finished the quotas and cleaned a little before I went home. 9 o'clock found me utterly content, my nose in one of my few treasures, a somewhat tattered paperback version of Heinlein's Space Cadet that Mike had given me on my twelfth birthday. Though his data library held almost every work ever printed, I could never keep my hands off the ancient books, with their musty smell and their fragile paper pages.

#

Waking up Monday morning, I jumped in my genuine Price Pfister Autolave, the only luxurious component of my staid living quarters. I set the 'lave for a flash of hot, cold, then hot water and a body blow dry. After a cup of tea and some faux sausage I was ready to face the world and almost certain disappointment head on. I practically skipped out the door and onto the speedwalk, switched to the fast lane, and headed for the city center and the Student Administration offices. There, one way or another, the course of my life would be charted.

The SA offices were in an older building built back in the 1970's during that period that referred to its' architecture as "modern", in other words, useful but uninteresting. The clerk at the information desk seemed of the same style.

She droned, "Please step up to the computer and state your full name for voiceprint identification." Was she simply an android pretending to be human?

"Yes, Ma'am. John Isaac Higley."

"Mr. Higley, what can I do for you today?"

"I requested university financial waivers." I tried to sound calm and businesslike but it seemed to take an eternity for the computer to pull up the proper files.

"I'm sorry," she said, sounding faintly human, "They weren't approved."

"Thank you," I choked out. Back to the factory. If I'm lucky they'll let me rest when I'm dead.

I didn't hurry to work. The quotas had been met and I didn't care much what the old son-of-a-bitch did to me now. What could he do but fire me?

Shuffling in the door with no smart comments, I tossed Kate a wry salute. She glanced up, saw me and averted her eyes. She could probably read the disappointment on my face. I popped my timecard in its slot and crossed to the door, glancing back to see Kate hard at work.

A young lady sat at Hassam's work station trying vainly to thread the ancient machinery. She must have sensed my stare, because she looked up.

"You must be Mr. Higley. I'm Gwen. This is my first day. Can you show me how to thread this machine?"

A cursory survey of the surrounding personnel revealed none of my crew. "Gwen, where's the usual crew?"

"They're gone. They must've quit or something."

I strode to Kate's office. "Where the Hell has everybody disappeared to?"

Kate sighed. "Dodgson let everyone go."

"Where is he?"

"He'll be back for lunch." Her eyes stayed on her work, avoiding mine. "Look, Jack, maybe it's for the best."

"How can you say that, Kate? I've seen the way he's treated you." In her own way she'd been as much of a target as I had.

"But he has to run a business."

"I can't see how you can defend the man."

"I'm not defending him," she said earnestly.

I shrugged. People always amaze me with their misguided loyalties. "When he arrives tell him to find me."

Dodgson finally appeared after the crews had left for the day. They'd left promptly, laughing, happy to have work. Their voices increased my rage.

"Afternoon, Jack."

I spun to face him. "Evening, Mr. Dodgson."

There he stood grinning like the proverbial canary-filled cat, chewing on his cigar. "You were late this morning." He belched. "I'm afraid we had to release your work crew for unsatisfactory performance."

I took several deep breaths before speaking. Then in low measured tones I spoke, "But, Mr. Dodgson, Sir. I had an appointment. The quotas are met. You can't... they're not..." My words broke down into rudimentary sounds.

Now, Jack... son," Dodgson said, sounding conciliatory. "You've got to take care of yourself. You can't be doing the job for everyone on your crew."

"They can do the jobs," my voice rose, "As long as the quotas are reasonable."

"Jack, do you like your job?" The implicit threat hung in the air like the scent of oil and leather.

I ignored the threat. "No! I don't like my job! And I don't like you... you son-of-a-bitch."

"Consider what you're about to do, Jack. Are you willing to sacrifice your seniority for a bunch of camel jockeys?"

Last straw, I thought and moved. My fist caught Dodgson on the chin, smashing the cigar. My hand throbbed. Damn his hard head.

Dodgson sputtered, blood flowing freely from his mouth. Rage on his face chased away the look of surprise. A low growl began to build behind his teeth, bared in a sadistic grin. "You'll regret that."