To The Stars

Why should they do all this? They had changed history — altered the true story of the world — and could monitor the world’s citizens. Who were they? The overall answer appeared obvious when phrased that way. There were a few people at the top of society and a lot at the bottom. The ones on top wanted to stay there. And he was one of the ones on top so, unknown to him, this was all being done to make sure he kept his status unchanged. So all he had to do to keep his privileged position was absolutely nothing. Forget what he had heard, what he had uncovered, and the world would be the same.

For him. And what about the others? He had never thought about the proles much before this. They were everywhere and nowhere. Always present, always unseen.

He had accepted their role in life as he had always accepted his own; something there and unchanging. What must it be like to be one? What if he were one?

Jan shivered. The cold, it was getting to him. Just the cold. There was the laser hologram sign of an all-night store up ahead and he hurried toward it; the door opened as he approached and admitted him to the welcoming warmth. There were some things he needed for the kitchen. He would buy them now and take his mind away from the morbidity of his thoughts. The next service number was seventeen, and it changed to eighteen when he touched the plate. Milk, he was sure he needed some of that. He typed seventeen on the number pad under the display liter of milk, then one. Butter, yes, he was low on that too.

And oranges, firm and ripe. With the word Jaffa bold on each of them. Flown in fresh from summer to northern winter. He turned quickly away and hurried to the checkout.

“Seventeen,” he said to the girl at the counter and she typed in the number. “Four pounds ten, sir. Do you want them delivered?”

Jan handed over his credit card and nodded. She inserted it into the machine, then returned it to him. His purchases appeared in a basket and she redirected it back inside for delivery.

“Been a cold day,” Jan said. “Quite a wind blowing.”

She opened her mouth slightly, then turned away when she caught his glance. She had heard his accent, seen his clothes; there could be no casual conversation between them. The girl was aware of that even if Jan wasn’t. He pushed out into the night, glad of the cold bite of air on his glowing cheeks.

Back in the apartment he realized that he had no appetite at all. He eyed the whiskey bottle, but that would not be a satisfactory answer. In the end he compromised with a bottle of beer, dialed up a Bach string quartet, and wondered just what the hell he was going to do.

What could he do? Through ignorance and good luck he had missed being caught when he had first tried to gain forbidden information. He couldn’t try that again, not that way. The work camps in Scotland were waiting if you made trouble for the authorities. For all of his life he had looked on the camps as a stern but necessary measure to weed the troublemakers out of a highly organized society. Prole troublemakers of course, the thought of any other kind was unthinkable. Thinkable enough now when he might be one of them. If he did anything at all to draw attention to himself he could be caught. Just like a prole. Perhaps his sector of society was physically better off than theirs — but he was just as much a prisoner of it. What kind of world was he living in? And how did he find out more about it without making that one-way trip to the Highlands?

There was no simple answer to his questions that day or the next, or the next. At the laboratory it was easy enough to get involved in his work, which was still complex and interesting. It was appreciated too.

“I cannot begin to say in words how happy I am with what you have done here,” Sonia Amarigho said. “And in such a short time.”

“It’s been easy so far,” Jan told her, spooning sugar into his tea. It was the afternoon break and he was seriously thinking of leaving after it. “Basically what I did was upgrade the old designs. But I see where some original work will be needed very soon, particularly on the comsat twenty-one, and that will not be the easiest job.”

“But you can do it. I have infinite faith! Now, to other matters. Social ones. Are you free tomorrow night?”

“I think so.”

“Please be sure so. There is a reception at the Italian Embassy then and I think you will enjoy attending. The guest is someone you might enjoy meeting. Giovanni Bruno”

“Bruno? Here!”

“Yes. On the way to America for a seminar.”

“I know all of his work. He’s a physicist who thinks like an engineer… ”

“I’m sure you can think of no higher praise.”

“Thanks for asking me.”

“A pleasure. Nine o’clock then.”