Charles Sheffield - Jupiter 1 - 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 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
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 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.
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."
"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,
"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 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-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.
摘要：

HigherEducationCharlesSheffield&JerryPournelleCHAPTERONEAtsixteen,RickLuban'slifewasabouttoend.Hedidn'tknowityet.Hethoughthewasallsetforagoodtime.Thefirstperiodhadgonenodifferentlythanusual.Mr.Hamelhadbeenteachinghighschoolforthirtyyears-forever,inRick'seyes.Hamellookedlikeanoldturtle,andlikeaturtle...

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