Iterations and other stories (collection)

Obno’s sigh was a massive white cloud in the cold air. “I know little of capitalism, but isn’t it bad business to make customers install ramps at great expense?”

“It’s a small price to pay. Our robots can save their owners thousands of dollars.” He nodded. “You can get people to do almost anything if they think they’re saving a buck.”

Kivley stared out of his third-floor office window. Crocuses were blooming along the edge of the sidewalk. He heard a knock and swiveled to see Obno squeezing through the mahogany door frame. “Here!” She slapped a hardcopy sheet on his desk.

“What is it?” asked Kivley, rummaging through the clutter for his reading glasses.

“It’s a letter from IBM. They want to purchase the right to manufacture robots like ours.” Her voice took on an edge. “But with legs.”

“You object to the machines requiring ramps, Obno.” He tried to put a question mark at the end of the sentence, but it didn’t quite make it past his lips.

“I am shamed by the inefficiency. Since we introduced them three years ago, nearly all public buildings in the industrial portions of this planet have had to be modified to accommodate the growing robot population.”

“Very well,” said Kivley, nodding as he gave the letter a quick looldng over. “Sell the patent. Ask whatever seems fair.”

Obno spluttered, a loud, sticky sound. “But you wouldn’t let me—!”

Kivley swiveled around to look out at the street again. He gestured Obno to the window. A pretty woman rolled happily along the sidewalk in her wheelchair and up the gentle ramp into the building.

Obno smiled at last.

Last But Not Least

Author’s Introduction

My friend Edo van Belkom is Canada’s top horror-fiction writer. He received a commission from Tundra Books, the young-adult imprint of McClelland & Stewart, Canada’s largest publisher, to produce an anthology of horror stories, eventually entitled Be Afraid! Edo wanted me to contribute to that book, and I wrote the following, which, since it actually contains no supernatural element, also qualifies as the first mainstream story I’d ever published.

…

Matt stood in the field on the bitter October morning. The wind’s icy fingers reached right through Matt’s skin to chill his bones. It was crazy that Mr. Donner made them wear their gym shorts on a day like today—but if Donner had any compassion in him, any humanity, any kindness at all, Matt had never seen it.

“I’ll take Spalding.”

“Gimme Chen. ”

Last week, Matt had tried to get out of phys. ed. class by pretending he’d lost his gym shorts; he’d put his own shorts in the school’s lost and found. But Donner had an extra pair he lent him—and he said if Matt showed up without shorts again, he’d make him take the class in his underwear.

“I pick Oxnard.”

“I’ll take Modigliani.”

Matt didn’t mind being outdoors, and he didn’t mind getting some exercise, but he hated phys. ed.—hated it as much as he hated it when his parents fought; when he had to go to the dentist; when that dog over on Parkhurst came chasing after him.

He knew he was scrawny, knew he was uncoordinated. But did he have to be humiliated because of it? Made to feel like a total loser?

“Johnson.”

“Peelaktoak..”

There were twenty-four boys in Matt’s gym class. Today they were playing soccer. But it didn’t matter what the sport was; it always worked the same way. Mr. Donner would pick two students to be captain.

And then the ritual would begin.

“Gimme Van Beek.”

“Takahashi.”

The captains would take turns picking from the other students to create the two teams.

Matt understood the sick, evil logic of it all: twenty-four kids wasn’t a big group. If you just took the first dozen alphabetically and made them one team, and had the second dozen be the other team, you might end up with two unevenly matched sides.

But this way…

This humiliating, mortifying way…

This way supposedly ensured fairness, supposedly made sure the teams would be equal, made sure that the game would be exciting, that everyone would have a good time.

Everyone except those who were picked last, that is.

“Becquerel.”

“Bergstrom.”

Matt’s big brother, Alf, was in law school. Alf said students fought hard for ranking in their classes. If you got the highest mark—if you finished first—you’d get a million-dollar contract from a huge law firm. If you finished last, well, Alf said maybe it would be time to think about another career. The stress on Alf was huge; Matt could see that every time his brother came home for a weekend. But Alf had chosen that stress, had chosen to be judged and ranked.

But phys. ed. wasn’t something Matt had decided he wanted to take; he had to take it. Whether he liked it or not, he had to subject himself to this torture.

“Bonkowski.”