Charless Sheffield & Jerry Pournelle - Higher Education

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Higher Education

Charles Sheffield

Jerry Pournelle

CHAPTER ONE.

At sixteen, Rick Luban's life was about to end. He didn't know it yet. He thought he was all set

for a good time.

The first period had gone no differently than usual. Mr. Hamel had been teaching high school for

thirty years- forever, in Rick's eyes. Hamel looked like an old turtle, and like a turtle he had

developed his own survival techniques. Nothing got to him; not talking in class, or eating, or

farting, or sleeping. Gross and direct rudeness or violence, too much even for him to ignore, he

passed up the line at once to the principal's office.

Hamel's rule: No fuss, no muss. And if that meant no work and no learning, too, he would settle

for it. He usually reached that understanding with a class before the end of its first week.

"Test today." Hamel took no notice of the half-hearted groans. Failing an Act of God, biology

tests in his class came every Tuesday and everyone knew it. "Read the questions, mark the answers.

You have forty minutes."

More out of boredom than anything else, Rick put on the earphones attached to the desk and slipped

the written sheet of questions into the reader.

"Question one," said the voice in his ear. "Five point credit. One of the animals on your screen

belongs to a different class from the others. Indicate which one. For assistance on the biological

definition of class, or for name identification of any of the animals shown, touch the empty box."

The TV screen in front of Rick was divided into six rectangles. The first was empty. The second

through sixth showed an ant, a butterfly, a mosquito, a spider, and a caterpillar. They were all

in color, and all moved in natural settings.

Rick saw Dim Willy Puntin, Puntin the Pumpkin, reaching out to poke the icon of the caterpillar.

It certainly looked grossly different from the other four. Rick snorted to himself. That was just

like Hamel, trying a trick question. Rick had hardly been listening to the lesson about larval

insect forms, but even a five-year-old knew that caterpillars turned into butterflies; and insects

all had six legs.

Rick reached forward to touch the icon of the spider, at the same moment as Juanita Cesaro, two

seats in front of him, removed her headset. She raised her hand and then stood up.

Hamel left the raised podium and moved over to her at once. Rick eased the earphones away from his

head. Juanita was dim, but she was hot stuff. Half the boys in her year-including Rick-had been

through Juanita; but you'd never know it from seeing her in class. She always sat demure and

quiet, doing so poorly in every subject that her teachers all had trouble passing her. She never

caused trouble.

"These." Juanita waved her hand vaguely at the headset, television, and reader. "Not working."

Hamel came around the desk and leaned over to examine the television picture. He was very careful

not to touch Juanita, and careful to stand so that this fact would be apparent on the classroom

videocamera recording.

Wily old turtle. No sexual harassment charges for you. Rick could see the empty box and the five

icons on Juanita's screen, just like on his own.

Another clapped-out reader, it had to be. The readers were junk, breaking down all the time. Even

when they worked they would only handle one size of page. School was too cheap to buy decent

stuff. Not like the school the phone company ran. That place had great equipment, but it was just

for kids whose mothers or fathers worked there. His mother had gotten herself fired for drugs six

weeks after she started with them, so Rick had only been to company school for a little while.

That was back in first grade, but he still remembered it well.

Hamel had apparently made up his mind about the reader. He was glancing thoughtfully around the

class, finally gesturing to a girl at the back.

"Belinda. For this period I want you to change seats with Juanita."

Rick had expected that action, well ahead of the teacher's taking it. Belinda Jacob was one of

three people in the class who could read well enough to handle the test from the printed sheet,

without using a reader at all. So see what reading does for you, Rick thought, as the two girls

changed places. Not a damn thing. Belinda was Hamel's star student. She had probably been halfway

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through her own test before she had to move- and now she was forced to start over, while Juanita

would get the benefit of her right answers.

Rick grinned to himself as he settled back to listen to the rest of the questions. Unless Hamel

went to the trouble of noting the point where the two had changed over, which wasn't at all

likely, Juanita for the first time in her life was going to score-on a test.

The broken reader was all that the first period could offer to relieve the boredom. That was

predictable with Mr. Hamel. Dullness was the rule.

What Rick and his friends had been looking forward to for a week was second period. They were

supposed to get a new civics teacher then, right out of training.

"Willis Preebane, his name is. An' if I can't have some fan with him, I'm losing my touch."

Screw Savage was speaking. Any one of the three might have offered the same statement, but Screw

had special credibility. He was a school legend. Two years before, by a mixture of near-inaudible

insult and off videocamera dumb insolence, he had made a new teacher take a swing at him on her

very first day. She had been fired on the spot. Screw was provided with a groveling apology from

Principal Rigden. His parents had sued school and county anyway, and been paid a hefty out-of-

court settlement.

Now Screw tended to get high grades without ever doing homework or handing in tests.

"But we'd all like to have first go at him," Screw went on, "so we do it fair, an' draw lots."

Rick and the other two were walking between classes, heading for Room 33 with Screw Savage leading

the way. The corridors were their usual confusion with backed-up lines in front of the metal and

plastique detectors. Hoss Carlin, walking next to Rick, took a step to his left and reached out to

brush his fingers over the breasts of a girl walking the other way. She slapped his hand away, but

she turned to give him a big smile and said, "See you tonight."

"Watch it, Hoss," Rick warned.

"You're in deep shit if they have that on camera."

"Nah." Hoss jerked his head upward. "Checked already."

The ceiling videocamera for the corridor was ruined, lens broken and body a shattered hulk. It was

like this all over the school. Every time a corridor camera was repaired, within a day or two it

would be smashed.

"Anyway," Hoss went on. "Jackie'd be on my side if they did see me. She'd tell 'em I was swattin'

a wasp off her tit or somethin'."

The three youths were almost at Room 33. Most of the class was already there, standing waiting

outside the locked door.

"Mebbe Preebane's not as dumb as you think. Screw," Hoss said. "He knows at least that much.

Lockin' the door stops us from givin' him a welcome."

"So one of us has to get real inventive once we're inside." Savage turned around, three toothpicks

sticking up from between the knuckles of his closed right fist. "Short one has first go at Papa

Willis. Who wants first pick?"

"Me," Hoss said, and grimaced with annoyance when the toothpick he pulled was full length. "Lucky

with women, unlucky in the draw. Go on, Rick. You got one out of two chance now."

Rick plucked the toothpick from between Savage's first and second finger, and grinned when he saw

it was a fragment only an inch and a half long.

"Lucky bastard." Screw opened his hand to reveal a third, full-length toothpick. "You get Preebane

all to yourself."

"Aha!" The voice, thin and with a definite lisp, came from behind Rick.

"And do I hear thomeone taking my name in vain?"

Rick turned and stared. The man waddling along the corridor was too good to be true. He was pale,

short, and grossly overweight. He had watery blue eyes in a pudgy face, and he sported a flat,

gingery-brown moustache that looked as though it had been poorly dyed and pasted above his full

upper lip.

Preebane's very appearance was an opportunity to have fun. If Rick didn't get in quickly, some

other class joker certainly would.

In fact, it was already happening.

Rick heard a whisper, deliberately loud, from among the group of waiting students: "Quiet now.

Here comes our new PE teacher."

Preebane, heading for the classroom door, paused uncertainly After a moment he decided to pretend

he had not heard the comment. He unlocked the door and waved the students inside. Rick, contrary

to his natural instincts and usual practice, went to sit in the middle of the first row.

Preebane, belly wobbling, moved to stand beneath the videocamera right in front of Rick. He beamed

directly at him.

Rick gazed back and waited for inspiration. He, who usually had a thousand ideas for baiting

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teachers, suddenly found his mind a blank. Goaded to physical violence, Willis Preebane looked

like a man who would drop dead from the exertion before he could land the first blow.

And that voice. "Good morning. I am Mr. Preebane, and I want to welcome you to my class on

introductory civics." Or rather, it was "Mr. Pweebane," and "my clath on intwoductory thivicth."

"I told Pwinthipal Wigden of my appwoach, and she agweed with it completely. Begin by forgetting

evewything that you have ever been told about the Conthtituthion."

"Done," said a girl's voice from the back of the room, followed by a loud male whisper, "Hire the

handicapped."

The others were starting without Rick. He could feel Screw and Hoss glaring accusingly at his

back. And still his brain was empty. It was an enormous relief to hear the click of the PA system,

right above his head, and a voice saying, "I am delighted to announce that we have been paid an

unexpected visit by Congresswoman Pearl, who as I am sure you know serves on our Board of

Education. All students and teachers will please assemble at once in the main hall."

Principal Rigden didn't sound delighted to Rick. She sounded ready to shit bricks. But the

interruption would give him time to think. He stayed in his seat until everyone except Mr.

Preebane had left the room, then he moved out and held the door for the teacher.

Preebane nodded his thanks. Rick closed the door; was careful not to lock it; and hurried after

the rest of the class ahead of Preebane. He caught up with them as they were filing into the hall.

"What about some action, dipshit?"

Screw Savage didn't wait until they were seated. "If I'd known you was goin' to just sit there

like a dried-out dog turd, I'd never have held any draw. You can't hang old Willis out to dry,

what the hell can you handle?"

"His dick." Hoss stood on the other side of Screw. "He's done it too much and softened his brain."

"Don't you believe it. I know what I'm doing. And it's something special."

Rick glared at both of them. "But I need a little bit of help from you. You have to go sit down

near the front."

"And where will you be?" Screw sounded suspicious.

"Right at the back. Near the door. The classroom's not locked, Screw. I was last out, I made sure

it was that way."

"Ah!" The other two understood at once.

"What do you want us to do?" Hoss asked.

"Wait 'til the principal is ready to introduce Congresswoman Whats-it. It should get real quiet.

Then you drop something."

"What?"

"Hell, I dunno. Anything. Anything that makes a decent noise."

Hoss dived into his pocket and came up with a handful of change.

"This? People will scrabble around after 'em, too."

"Perfect."

"But the Rigger will have my ass in a sling for interrupting her."

"For dropping money and losing some? Don't think so. Anyway, if you're going to help, get going. I

can't wait much longer. Have to find a seat near the side door."

Hoss and Screw nodded. Rick turned at once and started easing his way against the main flow of

students.

The seats at the back, usually filled first, were today half empty. Everybody wanted to see

Principal Rigden wriggle and grovel, the way she always did with Board of Education visitors. Rick

sat at the end of a row he had almost to himself, close enough to the open door for a quiet

getaway.

He waited impatiently while the stage filled with the senior teachers.

Willis Preebane was up there with them-that was surprising for a new and junior staff member. The

honor didn't seem to make him comfortable; maybe because his ass would hardly squeeze in between

the arms of his chair.

There was one student on the stage, too. Daniel Rackett. As valedictorian (yale-dickhead-torian,

as Hoss usually put it) Danny would be called upon to say something to welcome their guest.

He didn't look comfortable, either. He was peering at the headset that was supposed to read his

speech into his ear. From the expression on his face it wasn't working right. Even from the back

of the hall Rick could see his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

Finally Principal Rigden appeared, smiling broadly and leading a large, red-haired woman in a

green pantsuit.

They moved to two empty chairs at i the front of the stage, Congresswoman Pearl sat down, and the

principal turned to face the students. "I would like-" There was the clatter of two-dozen small

coins falling onto the wooden floor. Some of them were still rolling when Rick quietly rose and

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slipped I out of the side door.

The principal would speak, then Danny Rackett, then the visitor. Rick probably had at least half

an hour. But that wasn't long for what he had in mind.

First he headed away from Room 33, keeping his eyes open for working videocameras. The

contraceptive dispensers were down by the cafeteria entrance. They needed a student name and ID

code before they would operate, but Rick was prepared for that. He entered "Daniel J. Rackett" and

"XKY-586," waited as the valedictorian's ID was confirmed, and took the packet of three condoms.

He did it twice more. Nine should be enough.

If anyone checked today's records, Danny would get quite a reputation.

The corridors were deserted as he hurried back toward Room 33, opened the door, and slipped

through. The tricky piece now was to disable the classroom videocamera without being seen by it.

The cable ran along the ceiling, well out of reach. Rick scaled the open door and balanced

precariously on top of it. He had no knife on him-anything that might form a weapon would never

get past the school entrance-but his nail clippers were enough for this job.

He crouched on top of the door, reached up, and delicately snipped the thin grey cable.

He lost his balance as he did so and had to jump, but he landed easily. And finally he could close

the classroom door. There was no way of locking it from the inside, but he felt a lot safer once

it was shut.

He blew up eight of the condoms and tied their ends. They formed great balloons, a couple of feet

long and nine or ten inches wide. He taped them all around Preebane's desk, stepped back, and

surveyed his work.

It was a start, but it was not enough. He could imagine Screw Savage's sniff and critical comment:

"Kindergarten stuff." He had to try for the rest.

Rick went to the door, opened it, and looked along the corridor. He had no idea how much time had

passed, but everywhere was still silent and deserted. He left the door unlocked and hurried along

to the washroom at the end of the corridor. He placed the end of the remaining condom over a

faucet, held it in position, and turned on the water.

It took forever to fill. Rick put in as much water as he dared, until he was sure that the thin

skin would burst under the weight. At last he tied off the end. The bloated condom had become

amazingly heavy. He cradled it in his arms and headed back to the classroom.

The most difficult part still remained. Somehow he had to balance the monstrous condom right above

the door, so that it would burst as the door swung open. And he had to get out, himself, after the

trap was set.

It sounded impossible. Rick puzzled over it, increasingly sure that he was running out of time,

until at last he realized that he was trying to solve the wrong problem. He didn't have to leave

the room at all. There was going to be total confusion after the door was opened. He could hide

behind the desks at the back of the room, and leave when the excitement was over.

He spent ten nervous minutes arranging a harness of tape around the condom, then placed thumb

tacks through the ends of the tape. Finally he dragged a chair over to the door and lifted the

condom into position.

He pushed the pins into the wall and made delicate adjustments. When the door was opened, its

rough top had to just scrape the bottom of the condom enough to break it. But the condom felt so

distended and tight, he was almost afraid to move it now.

At last he realized that he was doing more harm than good. The changes he was making were

loosening both the pins and the tape. He returned the chair to its original position and forced

himself to retreat to the back of the room. He found a place which allowed him a narrow view of

the door, with a very small chance of his being seen.

And then he waited. And waited.

What could be going on in the hall?

There was no way to know how long Congresswoman Pearl would decide to speak. Certainly, Principal

Rigden would not dare to interrupt a visitor who was a member of the Board of Education. Suppose

that she went on right until lunch time, and the class did not return to this room?

Rick's legs were stiff and his knees sore from crouching on the hard floor when at last he heard

the sound of footsteps clattering along the corridor.

He tensed. He had not been able to lock the door, as he had originally intended. Maybe Preebane

would notice that.

Apparently not. The metal handle on the inside was turning. The door opened its first inch and

Rick heard Preebane's voice saying, "After you, Aunt Delia. I am weally glad that my clath will

have you-" The door swung open. Rick had one glimpse of Willis Preebane, ushering a large, green-

clad figure ahead of him into the room. Then the giant condom, scraped by the top of the door,

burst with a soft, subdued plop. Water deluged down.

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Rick, peering through the narrow slit, had the sudden feeling that the flood had decapitated

Congresswoman Pearl. He could see her red hair, sodden with water, lying on the floor.

Then he heard her scream. She clutched at her head. The hair beneath the wig was revealed as short-

cropped and grey.

Behind the congresswoman and Preebane, crowding now into the doorway, came Rick's whole class.

They were buzzing with excitement and delight. Delia Pearl's secret would be all over the school

by lunch time. Rick saw Screw near the front, standing open-mouthed with astonished glee.

He felt a huge satisfaction. He had promised; and he had certainly delivered.

CHAPTER TWO.

Rick also believed that he was safe from discovery. In the melee that followed, the classroom had

been total confusion. No one noticed when he joined the rest-even Hoss and Screw didn't realize

that he had been in the room, and they had no idea how he had managed the trick until he

explained.

It was a total shock to Rick when he was called out of class right after lunch and taken to

Principal Rigden's office.

The principal was there. So was Congresswoman Pearl, the three assistant principals, Willis

Preebane, and two other people whom Rick did not recognize.

The congresswoman had managed to dry her wig, and she was wearing it. That was a mistake. After

its soaking it looked like a strip of cheap coconut matting wedged down onto her head. Beneath it,

her blue eyes glared at Rick with undisguised hatred.

"This is the one?"

"We believe so." Principal Rigden wasted no time on formalities. She turned to Rick. "Ricardo

Luban, do you know of the outrage that was perpetrated on Congresswoman Pearl this morning?"

"Yes." Rick felt uneasy, but he could not see how anything could be pinned on him.

"Will you admit that you were responsible for it?"

"I didn't do it."

"Were you in Mr. Preebane's class, before the assembly to greet the congresswoman?"

"Yes."

"And you were the last to leave that class?"

"Yes. I think so."

"Mr. Preebane?" The principal turned her head.

"He was the last. Definitely. He held the door for me."

"Did you?"

"Yes."

"And you locked the door after you, as you were supposed to?"

"Sure."

Rick felt easier in his mind. They were going to try to prove that he hadn't locked the door. He

didn't think they could. And even if they did, that was a long way from proving that he had set

the booby trap. But the principal didn't pursue that line.

She merely nodded, and asked, "Mr. Preebane tells us that you then went on ahead of him, toward

the hall. Is that right?"

"Yes." Rick was uneasy again.

"And you attended the general assembly?"

"Yes."

"And remained there throughout?"

"Yes." If they were going to ask him what happened in the hall, he was on solid ground. Hoss and

Screw Savage had briefed him pretty thoroughly over lunch. Danny Rackett's headset hadn't worked

right. He had tried to read his speech of welcome from printed sheets, stumbled over every word

longer than one syllable, and made an ass of himself until Principal Rigden finally cut him off.

She had then made a short speech herself, explaining what a wonderful person the visiting

congresswoman was. And finally Congresswoman Pearl had offered her own contribution, telling the

audience how pleased she was that her own nephew, Willis Preebane, had decided to teach here, how

talented he was, and how lucky the school was to have him. She hoped he would be really happy with

his choice.

She had said it all twice, to make sure that the principal and the other teachers got the message,

added that she was looking forward to seeing an actual class being taught, and at last sat down.

If Principal Rigden wanted anything more detailed than that, Rick would plead ignorance-and be

sure that half the school remembered no more than he had been told.

"So where did you sit during the assembly?"

The question was totally unexpected. It left Rick floundering.

"I dunno."

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"That's silly, of course you remember. Now, where?"

"I guess maybe I was near the back.

Near the side door."

"Very good." The principal turned to the screen that covered one wall of her office. "Right here,

in fact." She touched the wall. "This is you, is it not?"

The screen showed a videocamera still. The resolution was not good.

Rick, sitting way at the back of the hall, was barely recognizable.

"Yes, that's me."

Mistake. Should have said maybe, not sure. He thought of changing his story, but it was too late.

The picture had flashed off, to be replaced by another, and Principal Rigden was saying, "The

first image I showed was taken at the beginning of the assembly.

This one was taken close to the end of it. The seat where you were sitting originally is now empty

Where are you sitting now, Ricardo Luban?"

"I moved." Rick spoke automatically, but he knew he was doomed. If they had been able to locate

him on the video image...

"We are quite sure that you moved."

The principal stepped away from the wall screen. "But where did you move to? During the lunch

period we managed to identify every student in school today, in both the first and the second

picture. I should say, every student except one. You are present in the first image, and absent in

the second. Now would you like to confess?"

Rick shook his head. They had him on ice, but he wasn't going to admit it.

He would plead innocent today, and tomorrow, and if necessary for the whole of the next two years,

until the end of his time in school.

It was with disbelief that he heard Principal Rigden saying, "I quite agree with you,

Congresswoman Pearl, and with the other board members. Guilt is established beyond reasonable

doubt. Such people have absolutely no place in this school or in our school system. We will take

action for expulsion as soon as the necessary signatures can be obtained and the paperwork

completed."

"For the final, official decision."

Delia Pearl stared stonily at Rick. "But unofficially, pending that decision, expulsion will

happen today."

"Today?" Principal Rigden hesitated. "Very well. Of course." She turned to Rick. "You are expelled

from this school, effective immediately The final notification will follow in a day or two. Please

collect your possessions and leave the premises as soon as possible."

"You can't do that!" Expulsion, for a simple practical joke that had really hurt no one? Rick knew

a student who had broken his language teacher's arm, and another who had deliberately run over a

science teacher in his car. Explosive booby traps for other teachers had been set, filled with

shit or warm tar. But those people had received only trifling punishments.

"I think you must let us decide what we can and cannot do."

"I'll sue. I will."

For a second everyone stared at him. Then they all smiled.

"Sue a Congresswoman?" The principal laughed aloud. "And what lawyer do you suppose will take your

case?

Get out, Luban. You arc as ignorant as you are stupid. Go."

Delia Pearl's mouth twisted with satisfaction, and she turned to Preebane. "Willis, I do not feel

that we can trust this young man one little bit. Would you please accompany him when he collects

his possessions, and then escort him off the premises."

"Of course." Preebane did not even look to the principal for confirmation.

Rick was led away. He was too dazed to resist. He hardly saw Hoss or Screw or the other members of

his class as he picked up his school bag, and he did not say a word when he was escorted to the

front door and his ID was canceled from the entry system. He walked out into the afternoon

sunlight and stared around him as though he were on an alien planet.

He went to the side of the school, walked out beyond the sports field, and sat on the grass. He

was still sitting there when school was released for the day. Occasional students passed by. No

one spoke to him. He did not stir or speak to them. Only when a long afternoon shadow fell across

him, and silently remained there, did he look up.

It was Mr. Hamel, more like a turtle than ever as he stood motionless with his head pushed

slightly forward. He nodded at Rick.

"Caught at last, Luban. And not before time."

"You heard what happened?"

"The whole school heard. Would you like to talk to me about it?" And, when Rick shook his head,

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"Very well.

That is your option." He began to walk away across the grass.

"Wait!" Rick struggled to his feet and hurried after him. "I don't want to talk, but I want to

ask."

"Better yet. We learn by asking, not by talking." Hamel continued on his way, slowly pacing out of

the school grounds and into the street. "So ask."

"Why me? I mean, why did the motherfuckers dump on me like that?

What I did wasn't any big deal compared to some of the shit that goes down all the time in

school."

They had come to a bench. Hamel sat down on it and gestured to Rick to join him.

"Must you employ such language? Is your vocabulary so meager that you are incapable of other forms

of expression?"

"What'll you do, expel me? You never hear people talk like that?"

"I hear people talk like that every day." Hamel sighed. "It never ceases to grate. Do you want

people to wish that you were not around them? It's easy enough to do. Or do you want answers?"

"Answers. Why did they dump on me?"

"Very well. Answers you shall have." Hamel paused, studying Rick from battered sneakers to razor-

cut hair. "You are not stupid, Luban. But you are a fool. For one thing, you consort with people

like Savage and Carlin, who really are stupid. You are also ignorant, cynical, amoral, and

unthinking. Wait a moment." He held up his hand. Rick was starting to stand up. "I am going to

answer your question-or rather, I am going to let you answer it. You are-how old? Sixteen? So you

have been in the education system for eleven years. And what have you learned?"

"My grades are all right."

"Certainly. Because nothing is required of you. It is easy to hit a target pasted to the end of

the rifle. We are also required to make you feel good about yourself. The technical term is to

'raise your self-esteem.' While you were in school I could not have spoken to you this way,

because you had to be protected from the truth. Now I can. Despite all the work that we have done

to raise your self-esteem, surely you must know that you've learned very little."

"I do all right," Rick protested again-half-heartedly.

"You 'do all right.' Indeed. What does that mean? Let us examine what you know.

"You can read short, simple words, but only those you have seen before. You have a reasonable

speaking vocabulary-when you choose to exercise it-but you are unable to read more than half of

the words that you know. You have a rudimentary knowledge of simple science, and you can do simple

arithmetic. I've hammered some biology into your skull, but you know little mathematics, and no

economics, geography, history, arts, or languages. You can recite all manner of juvenile song

lyrics, but you are ignorant of real poetry and literature. And you would be little better if you

stayed here another two years and graduated."

"Reading from books is a waste of time. Like adding up numbers. I got a calculator to do that.

Reading's ancient history. The readers do it for us fine."

"They do-when they work, and " when you have one available. But you miss a point. A person who

cannot read can also not write. Writing-and revision-is essential for completeness and clarity of

expression. But I do not want to digress. You have been in the education system for eleven years.

How much, in that time, have you learned about the system itself, and how it works?"

Rick considered the question. He had never had the slightest interest in the education system. Nor

did anyone else in his right mind.

"Not much."

"But you have enough information to work things out for yourself. For instance, whom do I work for-

to whom do I report?"

"Principal Rigden."

"And to whom does she report?"

"I dunno. I guess, the Board of Education."

"Good enough. There are a couple more layers in there, but that will do. Now here's another

question. How much of the county and state's total budget goes on education? I don't expect you to

know the answer to that, so I will tell you. It is about four-tenths. That's an awful lot of

money, a huge vested interest at work. Now, who decides what that amount will be and how it should

be allocated?"

"Congress?"

"For all practical purposes. Very good. So let us climb the ladder of status in society If you

play one of your unfunny 'jokes' on a teacher, and are caught, you pay a small price. But a

teacher, most students are amazed to learn, is the lowest form of life in the school system. Do

something to the principal, that's worse, and the punishment is more severe. To a Board of

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Education member, worse yet. And to a congresswoman, who is also a member of the Board of

Education-"

"I didn't know I was doing something to a congresswoman."

"That is the plea of the foolish through all of history. 'I didn't know what I was doing'. But I,

speaking as a teacher, tell you that I have no sympathy for you. Is it better to insult and offend

and diminish me or Willis Preebane, rather than Congresswoman Pearl, simply because the punishment

is less? That is the logic of a coward."

"I ain't no coward!"

The Sun was setting in their faces, and Hamel shielded his eyes with his hand. Rick could see the

deep lines on his cheeks and around his mouth.

Hamel seemed ancient, far older than when he was teaching his class, until suddenly he lowered his

hand and turned to face Rick. His eyes were alert and astute, changing his whole face.

"I believe that you are not guilty of conscious cowardice. So now for some good news. Until today

you were destined for two more years of schooling here. Did you have any thought of continuing

beyond that?"

Rick shook his head. For the past three years he had wanted to finish school and get out of it

more than anything. "Mick makes me stay in school because Mom gets the education incentive bonus

in the welfare. I'd be long gone if I could."

"So now what happens to you?"

"I don't know Sit around and watch the tube, I guess, until they throw me out. Mick's goin' to

kill me. The education incentive was 940 a month and we only get 6,200 altogether."

"So your education is a good part of the money Of course you don't get it yourself."

"Naw. Mick takes it. He's gonna hate losing that 940. Fifteen percent-" "It is that. You do

percentages in your head?"

"Sure. That's useful, you need it to play the numbers."

"An undoubtedly valuable skill. Now that you are out you will have more chance to exercise it. But

suppose that you had stayed in school. At eighteen, you would graduate. Even with your minimal

skills, you would receive your diploma. Then you emerge and offer your talents to a waiting world.

Did you have any plans as to what you would do?"

"Find a job, I guess. There's supposed to be plenty of jobs around."

"In laundries, or fast food places. Or running a scanner, there are usually jobs in data entry.

There's also the Job Corps, make-work jobs cleaning litter from parks. Plenty of those. That sound

good?"

"Naw, but there's other stuff."

"Not for you. The fact is that perhaps two dozen of your two hundred classmates-12 percent, as you

will readily confirm-have skills that anyone wishes to pay for. Of course, nearly everyone has the

grades to go on to junior college."

Rick shuddered.

"You wouldn't learn any more there than you have in school," Hamel continued. "But it would keep

you off the streets, and separate you from the genuinely stupid. Better than nothing, but still

leading to a dead end."

"Bigger education incentive, too-it goes up to a thousand a month."

"A thousand a month, to stay in junior college for two years. At the end of that time would you

possess any salable skills?"

"I don't know," Rick protested. He shook his head. "The way you talk, I guess not. So who gets the

real jobs?"

"Who do you think? Those who have the real skills. A few of your classmates, perhaps, but mostly

students from company schools. People who know something, people who have learned how to work

hard." Hamel shook his head sadly. "It pains me that I have lived to see the transformation of the

United States from a republic to a feudal aristocracy. Not pretty."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"No, I don't suppose you do. That's part of the problem. You ask who gets the jobs. The answer is,

people with knowledge and drive. There are jobs for them. Not for an arrogant, semi-literate,

unfocused, trouble-making know-nothing. Not for amoral, idle, a cynical wasters, which is what

you'd be if you stayed here. I told you I had good news. Here it is: you we, fortunate to be

expelled from this school. Had you remained you would have wasted another two years, and at the

end of it you'd have no more knowledge or capability than you have today-"

Rick stood up. "I don't need to take this crap from anybody. I'm going."

"Very well. Going where?"

Rick shook his head. "I dunno. Mick's going to kill me. " He knew how a it would happen. When they

found out that the education incentive would stop, his mother would scream and her boyfriend-

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Rick's "stepfather," though he certainly wasn't- would tell her to shut her yap. Then they would

start in on each other. Finally when the fight between them cooled off they would gang up and turn

it all on him.

"Going home, I guess. I got a truce with the gangs but I can't be out after dark unless I pay, and

I don't have money."

"And tomorrow morning, when you get up and school is closed to a you?"

"I don't know. Look for a street job."

"Selling dope?"

"I don't know; what else is there?"

"Theft. Shoplifting. Working as a pimp. Admittedly those don't pay as well as being a pusher, but

they stay out of jail somewhat longer. Live longer, too."

Rick knew what that meant. Most rackets were controlled by gangs, even by adult mobsters. Mick,

his current stepfather, claimed to have good connections, but nobody believed him. Especially not

Rick, because he had asked about getting set up in a good racket, and Mick kept stalling him. Rick

was sure that Mick didn't know shit about real rackets. And if you didn't have connections you

wouldn't last long. You'd get busted or shot, maybe both.

Rick shook his head. "I guess I don't know what I'll do."

"I assumed as much. However, I have a suggestion." Mr. Hamel handed Rick a small yellow card. "Can

you read what is written there?"

Rick stared at the card in the fading light. "Eight-one-five-two." He paused.

The numbers were easy but the words were long and unfamiliar. At last he shook his head. "Not

without a reader."

"Then I will tell you. It says, 8152 Chatterjee Boulevard, Suite 500. Can you remember that, and

find the place?"

"Sure." Rick stared at the card. "Say it again."

"Very well-8152 Chatterjee Boulevard, Suite 500."

"Got it." Now that he'd heard the words he could sort of read the card, at least enough to remind

him.

"If you go there tomorrow there is a possibility of useful employment."

"A job?"

"Exactly. Not an easy job, but a worthwhile one. The most rewarding jobs arc always the most

difficult ones.

You may keep the card."

Rick studied the words, silently mouthing them to himself. "I know how to get to Chatterjee

Boulevard. If I went there tonight, would someone be in Suite 500?"

"I cannot say." Hamel stood up. "I must go now. But you have the right idea. Action is usually

preferable to inaction."

Rick stood up, too. He wanted j somehow to thank Mr. Hamel, but he did not know how. "Why are you

doing this for me?"

Hamel paused. "Certainly it is not because I like you, Luban. I do not. As I said, you are a fool.

And you are-" "Ignorant, cynical, amoral, and unthinking. I heard you."

"Correct. Did I omit to say lazy? But you are not stupid. You are, I think, basically very

intelligent. However, all forms of tests that might suggest one student is more able or talented

than another were long since judged discriminatory, and banished from our school system.

Therefore, I have no objective basis for my conjecture. But I do hate waste. You and your friends

have been wasting your lives."

"I still don't understand. You just told me I'm good for nothing."

"You are-today. I did not tell you that you lack potential. It is all relative, Luban. You believe

that the antics of your friends are daring and wicked.

You will be amazed to learn that this school, despite its many failings, does not come close to

the bottom of the heap. Go south with me ten miles, and I will show you schools like armed camps,

schools where student and staff murders and rape are a daily event. For you, with all your flaws,

there may still be hope. I would like to think so."

Hamel nodded and started to walk away, a small, stooped figure in the twilight. "Do you think I'll

get a job?"

Rick called after him.

"I cannot say." Hamel did not pause or turn around. "But if you do, wait a while before you thank

me for it."

CHAPTER THREE.

Mr. Hamel had sensed the truth: Rick could not face going home. The school might not have called

his mother, but somebody would have contacted her to make sure she knew there wouldn't be any more

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education incentive money coming in. Nine hundred and forty a month. It would stop today. He never

saw one cent of it, but they would make him pay. Mick would wait up for him, drunk or drugged but

anyway in a foul temper.

If only, when Rick finally had to go to the apartment, he could tell them that he already had some

sort of job, some way to bring home some money....

It seemed like the thinnest of straws to grasp at as he descended from the overhead Public Vehicle

at the corner of Chatterjee Boulevard and began to walk along toward Number 8152. He had to push

his way through crowds of young men and women, standing or wandering aimlessly along the littered

street. They were part of the Pool. Not more than one in ten of the Pool would have a job of any

kind- ever. Yet many of them had graduated high school and junior college, and some of them from a

real college. Rick had already known most of the things that Mr. Hamel had told him. He had just

never thought about them.

They didn't want us to think about them. Rick remembered what Mr. Hamel had said about self-

esteem.

He'd heard some of that before, too, but it hadn't seemed worth bothering with. They want us to

feel good and not think about the future. And it works, too. Why should we?

Number 8152 was a ten-story windowless building, its featureless walls made of grey lightweight

carbon composite. Rick waited stoically as his ID was verified by the automatic guard and the card

given to him by Mr. Hamel was read. It was close to eight o'clock at night. On the way here he had

convinced himself that Suite 500 would be empty.

That conviction grew when he at last stood outside the entrance of the suite. He could see through

the shatterproof glass door that it was just one room. It had plenty of computers and displays and

printers inside, but no people.

He touched the attention panel anyway, and was astonished when after about ten seconds a woman's

voice responded, "You are at an office of Vanguard Mining and Refining. Please identify yourself."

Rick went through the ID process all over again. He showed the little card and stumbled through

the explanation that it had been given to him by Mr. Hamel, and why. The woman did not say another

word, but at last the door swung open. Rick went in.

The door closed behind him and one of the television monitors came alive.

"Sit down right here."

Rick took the only seat near the monitor. Now he could see the woman on the screen. She was small,

thin, and sharp-featured, and somehow reminded him of an animal. A rat? No. Not quite.

She was examining something in front of her, not visible to Rick. "You are sixteen years old. You

have been expelled from school. And it is eight o'clock, your time. Right?"

Each of the statements was true enough, but taken together they made little sense.

"That's right."

"I want you to tell me exactly why you were expelled from school. Take your time and give as much

detail as you can. I'll try not to interrupt. If I do there will be a delay of about five seconds

between what you say, and my comment or question. So you may have to back up occasionally and say

things over. Go ahead."

There was a temptation to lie, or put things in a way more favorable to Rick. Some instinct warned

him that would be a mistake. He recounted the whole episode, from the arrival of Willis Preebane

to Rick's interrogation and expulsion by Principal Rigden. It was difficult to talk about the

condoms and the booby trap. After the fact it sounded so stupid and pointless and unfunny. Rick

was sure that any hope of employment with Vanguard Mining was evaporating with every word he said.

He plowed on, ending with his decision to come to this office tonight even though it was so late.

"Not late where I am," the woman replied. "I got up just two hours ago. But are you tired?"

Just got up. She had to be somewhere on the other side of the Earth!

The speech delay must be caused by the satellite link. "I'm not tired."

"Good. Can you read?"

"A little bit." But five seconds was far too long for a satellite link delay.

Rick struggled to remember things that had never before been of the slightest interest to him.

Radio signals traveled at the speed of light. But how fast did light travel?

"Can you write?"

"Just a few things."

"Hell." The woman's opinion of his reply showed more in her tone of voice than in her comment.

"Well, no matter. We'll manage. I want to give you a whole set of things called aptitude tests.

First, though, we have to deal with a few formalities. You never had tests like this in school,

because they're forbidden in public programs. We're a private company but still the tests can't be

given to you without suitable consent. In the case of someone like you, less than eighteen years

old, that consent has to come from a parent or guardian."

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Charless Sheffield & Jerry Pournelle - Higher Education

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