To The Stars (The Harry Irons Trilogy) (4 page)

Harry returned to his friends.

"What was that all about?"

"I don't know. They said they had a sponsor."

"Sponsor my ass, they're just trying to psych out the competition."

"Yep," Frankie repeated, "they were trying to psych us out. Forget it. Let's go get our free lunch. One of the reps told me that after the day's testing is over, we can use the zoomball facilities. I signed us up."

"No way," Harry said, unbelieving.

"For real. They've got everything you need, saunas and showers after. George is for it. What do you think?"

Harry thought about the zoomball court; a specially-built, padded, low gravity gymnasium. It was hard to come by access to a good zoomball court. The city's facilities were always booked up for weeks. Yes, it would be fun.

After a buffet style meal and a leisurely stroll around the facilities, the three men reported back to their separate room assignments. A soft tone floated through the corridors and test monitors informed the waiting entrants it was time to enter their rooms.

The door to Harry's room slid open and he stepped inside. It was a small amphitheater with a single, comfortable-looking, swiveled chair. The lighting was indirect and just a shade dim. A voice from a hidden speaker asked him to please be seated. Harry crossed to the chair and sat down, facing a blank semicircular wall. The lights dimmed further for a moment and then, quite suddenly, the amphitheater disappeared altogether and was replaced by a calm outdoor scene. For all practical purposes, Harry appeared to be sitting beneath a tree looking across a meadow. A man, the same man who spoke before the morning's tests, stood a few feet away.

Harry blinked his eyes. It dawned on him that he was in a holographic simulation. It was the best he'd ever seen. Everything appeared authentic, down to the smells of the outdoors.

The apparition spoke. "Hello, Harrison, and welcome to the final part of your evaluation. You did very well on this morning's tests. I'm sure you'll do just as well here." He smiled. There was something in the smile, a hint that something not altogether pleasant was about to take place. "Are you ready to begin?"

After a moment, Harry realized it wasn't a rhetorical question. He was to converse with the hologram. "Uh, yes. I'm ready."

The figure, so lifelike, so real that Harry felt he could reach out and touch it, continued to smile that enigmatic smile up until the moment it abruptly vanished. Harry sat alone under the tree. Nothing happened. A bird flew by, a breeze passed through, but nothing happened. Just as he began to think maybe something had gone wrong, he heard the door open and close behind him. In a moment, a pretty woman with a nametag appeared.

"Excuse me," she said. "I'm really embarrassed by this, but I can't seem to find my room assignment. Could you help me find my room?"

Harry looked at her. She was pretty. He looked back where the door had been; the hologram stretched out to the rear as well.

"You're part of the hologram, aren't you?"

She looked at him and laughed. "That wasn't too hard to figure out, was it?"

"No, it wasn't."

"Can you figure this out?" She bent at the waist and stuck out a finger, lightly touching Harry on the nose.

"What a minute," he said, "you're real."

The woman stood up and struck a thoughtful pose. "Well," she said, "why don't you think about that under a different setting?"

Immediately, both the woman and the meadow vanished and were replaced by a scene of hellish proportions. Harry was seated before a fiery lake; heat radiated from a nearby lava flow and threatened to singe his hair. Directly before him, a group of four polymorphic creatures held aloft some sort of odd apparatus. Each alien held a tube with straps that stretched to the other tubes. The straps appeared to be made of a type of beaten metal, strong, yet pliable enough to sag. Caught in the middle of the apparatus, like a fly in a web, a man was entangled. He wore the uniform of a corporation mission specialist and hysterically asked Harry for help.

"Harry, get me out of here. Tell them what they want to know."

From what Harry could gather, the creatures were about to dip the man into a pit of an unknown, super-heated substance. The aliens made rhythmic clicking sounds punctuated by pops and soft whistles. Harry correctly deduced that the language was tonal based, the rise and fall of tones signifying individual words. After another moment, Harry thought he was able to hear entire sentences followed by responses. The rhythm of their words combined with their body motions suggested the meanings of words. Harry thought he recognized a negative phrasing pattern.

The aliens chanted in unison and began to lower the man toward the mouth of the pit. "Please Harry! Tell them what they want to know!"

"What do they want to know?"

The man opened his mouth and spoke, but the words were drowned out by the chanting of the aliens. They said one word over and over, a whistle followed by a quick pop. Before Harry really had the chance to think about it, he made the negative form of the same sounds: a whistle in the same tone, a quick pop, and a long hiss. It worked. The aliens stopped lowering the man into the pit and started pulling him out.

It was extremely hot, sweat stuck his shirt to his arms and chest. As the scene began to change again, Harry knew it was going to be a long afternoon.

*

In a room the next corridor over, George had had enough. It was getting too weird. They were scaring him, asking him odd questions. Did he think he had enough dexterity to tie two snakes together? "Sure," he'd replied. When they produced the snakes and he actually felt them, he jumped from his chair and ran from the room.

With his heart beating loudly, George looked up and down the hall. Other doors opened and other entrants stepped from their test rooms, equally shaken. George wasn't the first. A short distance away, Frankie sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, tears streaming down his face.

Chapter 4

The psych tests continued all afternoon. After what seemed an endless succession of scenes and situations, Harry was taken back to where he had started. As before, he sat with his back against a tree. He was stressed from the series of bizarre virtual episodes, his back and neck were rigid, his jaw muscles were sore, and his brow felt permanently furrowed. Suspiciously, he looked about for the next onslaught, but it didn't come, just the soft sounds of a cool, sunlit meadow. After a few minutes, he began to relax and before he realized it, a soothing voice coaxed him to go to sleep, telling him that the test was over and that he needed to rest a moment.

"Harrison? Time to wake up, your friends are waiting."

Harry opened his eyes. He felt refreshed. Hypnotized, he thought to himself. He looked at the hologram of the company representative. "How did I do?"

"Rather well, Mr. Irons, but we are still analyzing the results. The announcements will be made tomorrow. Now, please join your friends and enjoy the Braithwaite benefits."

"Sure. Hope to see you again." Harry slid out of the chair and started toward the door. Before exiting, he turned back to the hologram. It still stood as it had, watching him.

"The test is over, isn't it? I mean, there's nothing after this?"

The man smiled. "I assure you, Mr. Irons, the test is complete. Now go and have a little fun. Eh?"

"Right." Harry nodded at the figure and left the room.

He found Frankie and George in the lounge. Frankie had recovered somewhat, but now George was despondent. "I don't want to play zoomball. You two go ahead."

"What's the matter?"

"He's a little upset about the test," volunteered Frankie.

"Me?" You should have seen Frankie a couple of hours ago."

"Yeah, well, I guess me and George didn't do so hot. But you made it through, didn't you, Harry?"

"I suppose I did. It was strange, not what I expected."

"Strange isn't the word for it."

"Come on," Harry urged, "let's play a few games."

Frankie looked at George. "What do you say, George? We may never get the chance to come in here again. I heard one of the reps say if we stuck around long enough, they'd feed us again."

"Well, I guess so. But I want to take a sauna afterwards."

Harry grinned and led the way to the Braithwaite Foundation Corporate recreational facilities. He stepped lightly and felt good about his chances with the Foundation. Not only was he sure he did well on the tests, but he also knew people who said they wanted him. Of course, it may have been as Frankie said, maybe the girl and the wirehead had been trying to psych him out. But it didn't matter, he knew he'd aced the tests. Now he wanted to have some fun.

The recreational facilities took up three floors in the building. In addition to the zoomball court, there was a basketball court, an indoor track, and numerous resistance devices, as well as aerobic machines. It was all very posh, very state of the art. Men and women, dressed in athletic attire, lingered in an alcove. The three young men wandered in without really knowing where they were headed.

"Can I help you?" Asked a tall, athletic man standing behind the reception desk.

Frankie stepped forward. "We want to play zoomball."

"Oh, you must be test applicants. How'd it go today, guys?"

George mumbled, "Not so hot."

"Yeah," Frankie agreed, "except for this guy." He pointed at Harry.

The attendant appraised Harry. "Did okay, huh?"

"I think so."

"If you think so, you probably did. Still, I've been completely surprised by some of the people who've been picked." The attendant reached under the counter and withdrew three packages. "Here's three sets of pads, shorts, shirts, towels, and shoes. One size fits all. Locker room to the left, zoomball court to the right. You guys know how to operate the court?"

"Of course," Frankie said, not wanting to seem the dilettante.

"Well then, have a good time, and good luck."

They went to the locker room and changed into their pads. There was a brief interruption as a group of women came in for their showers. The three young men, all from the inner city middle-class, weren't used to such relaxed social practices. It was different on television. On television, everybody was from the upper class, rich, nude and beautiful, as well as relaxed. But this wasn't television. In reality, the truth was that although most locker-rooms and toilets were sexually integrated, middle-class men and women who didn't know one another still didn't mix. There was too much of a chance of inadvertently drawing a harassment charge. Ever since the great sexual integration in the preceding century, fortunes had been made and lost in locker-rooms across the county.

The three young men finished dressing but took an inordinate amount of time tying and adjusting their padded helmets. Afterwards, they emerged from the locker room, grinning to one another, and walked to the zoomball court.

At the zoomball court was a hatch with an accompanying control panel on the wall beside it. On the other side of the hatch was a lounge with a thick dura-glass window that allowed spectators to watch the game in progress. Harry looked through the glass down the length of the court and then through the window at the opposite end of the court. Kathleen Casey, in workout clothes, was lounging and talking with some other, similarly clad people.

"Okay," Frankie said as he opened the hatch, "everybody ready?"

They nodded affirmatively. As Harry stepped onto the court and Frankie shut the hatch behind, he stole another look at Kathleen. She talked and laughed with the three men who surrounded her. Two of them wore zoomball pads.

The court was regulation size and, unlike the city courts, the padded walls were not worn; it looked new and well-kept. At designated places on the walls, ceiling, and floor were handholds that the players could grasp as they bounded around inside the gravity-free court.

"All right," said Frankie as he stood at the controls. "A little warm up first." He punched the activate button and a soft electronic hum rose from behind the walls. All three players felt themselves become lighter and lighter until a slight push could cause them to shoot across the open court. When activated, the zoomball court, by the use of powerful electromagnets, created a near zero-gravity environment. The three men scooted around the inside of the court, shouting like adolescents. George held the ball but lost it the first time he hit a wall. It careened off the ceiling, hit a wall at an odd angle, and floated above the floor, spinning on its axis.

At either end of the court were hoops facing out toward the open court. The point of the game was to hurl the zoomball, a ball somewhat smaller than a soccer ball, through the hoop. One point for each successful pass. The court was divided into three zones; the smaller end zones contained the hoops and were painted yellow while the larger middle zone was white. Red lines divided the zones. In a proper game, each goal was defended by one player. The players could not enter one another's goal zones. A scoring goal was registered when an opposing player stood beyond the yellow zone and threw the ball through the hoop. Both players were free to block and check the other player, so long as they did not enter the opposing goal zones.