To The Stars (The Harry Irons Trilogy) (3 page)

Harry paused on the steps leading into the building and gazed skyward. The rain had stopped and the sun was breaking through. That was a good sign. Frankie slapped him on the back.

"Good luck, Harry."

"Good luck to you too." Harry walked inside the building. Desks, manned by representatives from the corporate testing group, were set up in the foyer and labeled by their separate testing areas. Linguistics and anthropology were straight ahead. A line of applicants nervously awaited their turn to register. George was so nervous he left without saying anything. Harry found his section and took his place in line.

When he got to the head of the queue, Harry handed his admissions ticket to the registrar. While he waited for her to validate his entry, he noticed a beautiful young woman in line for the biology and botany tests. She was dressed smartly, obviously from the upper crust. Odd that a person like that would be among the candidates. She saw Harry looking at her and boldly stared back. Harry realized he was staring and turned away, blushing a full red.

Thankfully, at that moment, a corporate rep instructed Harry and the other entrants to follow. They were led to the testing room and instructed to take seats. Each desk held a small computer monitor. Pencils and paper were also available. A thick, blue test booklet was at the center of each desk. A well-dressed, middle-aged man stepped to the dais in the front of the room and tapped for quiet. The roomful of entrants fell silent.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen." He paused and smiled for effect. "On behalf of the Braithwaite Foundation, allow me to welcome you to the Corporation Entrance Examinations for the Survey Group. Each of you is to be congratulated for having made it this far. In so doing, you have included yourselves in an elite group, something less than ten percent of your original number."

He peered at a paper he held in his hand and continued. "By the way, this room is for language and computer specialists, so if anybody is here by mistake, please leave now." He looked over the room. Nobody left.

"There are reps in the hallway outside who will direct you to the proper room." Again he paused and scanned the room. This time, a young man in the back stood up, excused himself and left.

The corporate rep smiled. "There's always one, even among the elite. There's a valuable lesson here. We at Braithwaite believe that before a person can rely on others, that person must first be able to rely on himself. There is no room for error in the type of space operations for which your tender hearts yearn. There can be no mistakes. Even though we've been using the wormhole for forty-some-odd years, much remains unknown. It's a dangerous enterprise, but the rewards are great, perhaps for some of you, even awesome."

"It may interest you to know that the young man who was confused about where he was supposed to be is now being escorted out of the building."

Harry squirmed in his seat.

"This afternoon you will be barraged with the psychological tests. I hope you are prepared. They are quite strenuous. We will begin testing in a moment and will proceed until 11:30. There will be two ten-minute breaks. Between sessions there is a ninety minute break for lunch. I suggest you make use of the time and relax. There's no way to prepare for the psych tests, just be yourselves. Now, are there any questions?" There were none.

"Please open your test booklets."

Chapter 3

As far as tests went, Harry felt he'd taken worse. They were comprehensive, covering a wide-assortment of human and non-human languages, although Harry figured no one really knew what it was like to be a dolphin.

He emerged from the test room, pushing the door quietly open so as not to disturb those who still worked.

Outside, one of the monitors looked up from her table. She smiled at Harry and asked how he'd done.

"Okay, I think."

"That's what we like to hear." She removed a slip of paper from a bundle and handed it to him. "Here's your lunch chit. You have," she glanced at her watch, "two hours until the psych tests. Please stay in the building and restrict yourself to the specified lounges, cafeteria, and courtyard. Any questions?"

"Can you tell me where the, uh, the..."

"Facilities are located?"

"Well, yes."

"On the way to the lounges, off to the right. Anything else?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Then congratulations on being the first entrant to finish the test, and good luck to you." She went back to whatever she'd been doing and Harry went off in search of the john.

As she said, the restroom was located just off the corridor. When Harry walked in, he immediately sensed another person in the room. Sounds came from a stall at the rear. Harry relaxed and looked in the mirror, pleased with being the first to complete the test. Maybe it wasn't going to be so bad after all. He brushed his hair from his face. It was going to be a breeze.

He turned to a urinal just as the last stall door opened and a middle-aged woman stepped out.

Ignoring Harry, she moved to the mirror and adjusted her hair. There was nothing wrong with her presence there. The preceding one hundred years of social innovation included the gradual disappearance of segregated spaces for personal hygiene. That didn't mean people were no longer modest. It was as it had always been; some were more modest than others. For someone who'd been raised in a large family, Harry was overly shy.

He stood transfixed and fought to follow social convention, but all he could do was stand closer to the urinal and stare at the scrubbed porcelain. The lady was in no hurry. She meticulously applied lipstick to her puckered middle-aged lips.

After an interminable length of time, the outside door opened and a fat, disheveled, young man entered. Ignoring both Harry and the woman, he stepped up to the vacant urinal beside Harry and, without a problem, began to relieve himself. The woman finished with her lips and began dabbing powder onto her face. Still the fat young man continued to urinate. He stood back and allowed the stream to arc into the urinal.

Holding her purse in both hands, the woman gave him a disapproving look and exited.

Harry glanced at the guy. From the nametag attached to his lapel, Harry saw he was a test entrant. Unlike Harry, the young man appeared to be unconcerned with his appearance: worn spots shined from the knees of his pants, his hair was dirty and uncombed, and situated at points on his forehead and just behind both ears were the unmistakable marks of implants. The young man was a wirehead, able to plug himself into computers, the twenty-second century's version of a pleasure-seeking junkie.

What's he doing here, Harry wondered? How did a guy like that ever qualify for the corporation tests? Wireheads were undisciplined people who stayed plugged in most of the time and addicted themselves to direct neural stimulation. The wirehead glanced at Harry. "How're you doing?"

"What?" Harry returned, surprised.

"How are you doing? I saw you inside. You were the first to complete the test. Either you did extremely well or you didn't know anything and turned it in just to be finished. Which is it?"

"Well, I did okay, I guess."

Self-assured, the wirehead replied, "Me too," and zippered his trousers. He turned away and, without another word, strode to the door. When he was alone again, Harry was finally able to relieve himself.

Still thinking about the wirehead, he strolled to the lounge and spotted his friends seated at a corner table.

"How'd it go, hairball?" asked Frankie.

"All right. It's not over yet." Harry looked at George. "How'd you do?"

"I don't know, it was pretty hard. I don't think I did so hot."

"Don't worry about it, pal," Frankie said, "I'll let you stay in my orbital condo while I'm out on survey trips." Frankie laughed. He didn't need to tell anybody how well he did on the test. It was obvious he was pleased with himself.

"Ready for the psych tests?" asked Harry.

"Ready as I'll ever be. In fact..." Frankie lowered his voice. "In fact, I've heard that the psych tests started the minute we stepped inside the building."

"What do you mean?"

"Ah, Harry old buddy, haven't you noticed all the cameras? They're everywhere."

Harry looked around the lounge. Frankie was right. Scattered about, strategically placed along the walls and ceiling, were small, mounted cameras with tell-tale red lights on the fronts indicating monitoring activity.

"There's more; people have told me all kinds of things about the selection process. The company wants to know everything about you. You know, everybody that's gotten this far has had a background check already."

"Yeah, but I thought that part was over."

"Harry, Harry," Frankie chided, "wake up, this is the 22nd century." Something distracted Frankie. "Look at her, would you?" Frankie directed his attention to a young woman who had just entered the lounge.

Harry turned to look and saw the same woman he'd seen before the test. She carried herself with self-assurance as she walked across the lounge and, to Harry's surprise, she stopped and spoke with the wirehead from the restroom. They seemed to know one another.

She was truly beautiful. A tall, busty blonde, calm and self-assured, definitely from the upper class. Unlike the current fashion among young women, her hair was long, falling loosely to her shoulders. What was she doing there? And what was she doing with a wirehead?

Harry's staring finally drew her attention. She excused herself from her companion and crossed the lounge toward Harry, riveting him with emerald eyes.

Frankie announced what they all could see. "She's coming over here." George, lost in thoughts of failure, didn't care.

Harry couldn't stop looking at her. Their eyes remained locked as she approached.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that staring was rude?" Her voice was rich with the same self-assurance she exuded, but not overly forceful. Instead, it was controlled and even. She wasn't unfriendly, just assertive.

"Why, I uh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"Forget it," she said, extending her hand. "My name is Kathleen Casey." Harry felt her firm grip as he took her hand.

"I'm Harry Irons."

"Yes, I know."

Startled, he didn't know what to say.

"Hello," Frankie chimed in. "My name's Frank Torelli. This is George." George nodded.

Kathleen barely gave any indication she'd heard. Speaking to Harry, she said, "There's someone I'd like to introduce you to, okay?" She took him by the arm and let the question hang in the air.

Harry looked to his friends. "Sure, I guess so." The entire group started across the wide lounge area but Kathleen stopped. Turning to Harry she said, "Just you." To Frankie and George she said, "I'm sure you understand." She gave the briefest of smiles, then led Harry away.

"I'm sure I understand that I don't understand," Frankie said to no one in particular. He faced George. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, I do. She's interested in Harry, not you."

"You're kidding."

Kathleen led Harry straight to the wirehead. "This is Harry Irons."

"Oh yes," the wirehead said. "We met, sort of, in the restroom."

"Intriguing," Kathleen murmured. "Harry, this Dr. Bartholeme Blane, late of the MIT School of Computing.

"Bart, if you please, I'm still getting used to the doctor part." They shook hands. As expected, the young wirehead's hands were soft and delicate. Although his disposition seemed pleasant enough, Harry was having a tough time getting over Blane's outward appearance.

Blane rubbed his forehead. "What do you say we just get down to it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Harry, Kathleen and I have a sponsor. Do you know what that means?"

Sure, Harry knew what that meant. It meant the two young people standing before him had a ticket to the stars. They were privileged, already chosen by the corporation. For them, the tests were a formality. Suddenly, he didn't like them very much. He'd worked for years to get his opportunity, theirs had been bought.

Blane continued, "Having a sponsor does offer certain advantages..."

Kathleen interrupted, "Such as reviewing the lists of candidates. Your name came up as one of our choices for linguists. We wanted to meet you. Could be we'll wind up on the same team."

"I'm flattered."

"Don't be. The testing isn't finished yet and just because we want you doesn't mean that the sponsor feels the same way."

"Who's the sponsor?"

"Can't tell you that, but if you're chosen, you'll find out. How about having lunch with us and we can talk some more?"

"Well," Harry looked to his friends standing on the opposite side of the lounge. "My friends..."

"Of course, you want to spend some time with them. Go on, we won't keep you. Perhaps we'll see you again." With that, Kathleen Casey, possibly the most beautiful woman Harry had ever seen, walked away accompanied by the wirehead. As they left, Harry noted that the wirehead was shorter than Kathleen.