Outward Bound, page 8
Linc never left a chuck key in, even for a few seconds. But arguing would only have made things worse.
He was bumped by people passing in the corridors, shoved when standing in line in the cafeteria. The clothes in the bag that came back from the laundry were three sizes too small. "The wrong tag musta got put on," he was told when he took them back. "Dunno how that coulda happened . . . Nope, sorry. No sign here of yours at all."
He had no doubt that Arvin was behind it. It was as if Arvin took it that the incident in the gym finally settled that he had come out on top, and Linc couldn't be allowed to forget the fact. Linc tried to put it out of his mind and concentrate on the different way of seeing life that he was beginning to discover.
It took hours of patient work to create something as intricate as a precision instrument, years to acquire the skills to do it; and what made it possible beyond that was knowledge that had been built up over centuries. Yet any jerk with a hammer could destroy it in seconds. Since there were so many jerks loose in the world, it seemed that nothing complicated or demanding should ever get made. Yet the machines that he worked with were here; every day, planes climbed skyward from the San Antonio airport, a few miles away. When they put their minds to it, people could create so much more than they destroyed.
Something in their nature seemed to drive them that way. Linc would have liked to see a world in which more of that could happen. He wanted, somehow, to help make it happen.
It was after seven in the evening. Swimming and diving classes were over for the day, and the pool was free for recreation. Linc and Patch hung in the water with their arms draped along the edge, enjoying the coolness after a hard day. Johnny was on cleanup duty in the front building. Rocky had asked them to stay away from the room for an hour, and they hadn't asked why. He had been keeping company with a girl called Liz, from Room One Hundred-Something on the ground floor of the other wing.
"I hope we're still together when we get wherever this is heading, and it's okay to talk about ourselves," Patch said. "I've got a story for you that'd keep us up all night. There's something that tells me yours wouldn't be all that uninteresting either."
"If you're fishing, Patch, forget it," Linc told him. "When it happens, I plan on still being around."
"Still playing it straight and even, eh, Linc? Not taking any chances. Not like Rocky."
"He's crazy. They know everything that goes on in this place—it's like in the slam. It could even be bugged everywhere for all we know."
Patch made a face. "Aw, I dunno. This just doesn't strike me as that kind of an outfit somehow."
"How could you tell?"
They turned their faces away as somebody jumped in off the side, making a large splash nearby. Patch wiped an eye with the back of a hand. "Do you still reckon it could be something in space like you said—corporations? I asked around about it. A lot of guys think that could be right."
Linc shrugged. "Like I said before, you can guess all you want, but it isn't going to change anything. Why waste the time?" He looked away. On the far side of the pool, a girl called Marlene looked as if she had spotted them and was coming around. He added, "But if it's right, and we are still together, I don't know if we'd be able to get in much climbing out there."
"Not on the Moon?" Patch said. "Doesn't the Moon have mountains?"
"More like just dust everywhere from the pictures I've seen."
"I thought it had mountains. Isn't all that white stuff you see ice? . . . I've seen pictures on TV of bases and tractors and things, with all this ice everywhere."
"That's not the Moon we see. It's other moons someplace else," Linc said.
"Really?"
"I think so . . . But it's something we can still do when we get time off," Linc said. "Whatever this thing is that we're into, we're bound to get leave or vacations or whatever sometime. When that happens, we'll get our own stuff together, and we'll go to the mountains ourselves, somewhere. And we'll climb."
"Hey, you really mean that? It sounds great! You're on, man! We'll do that. It's a deal." Patch grinned and held up a hand. Linc slapped his own palm into it.
"Deal!"
"Hi, guys. Cooling off?" Marlene lowered herself to sit on the edge by them. The pool area was starting to get crowded as more people came out to make the best of the free time.
"After a day like this one, I could use it," Linc said.
Patch stretched out to let himself float, still grasping the rail with his hands. "Just hanging in here."
"Seen Rocky about?" Marlene asked, looking around. She managed to sound too casual about it. Linc got the feeling that she was more curious about who Rocky was supposed to be with.
"Not lately," he replied.
"I think he might be working," Patch said.
"Oh." The air of chatty intimacy switched itself off. "So, what did you guys do today?"
Linc made a face, rocking his head from side to side. "Oh, workshop stuff that you probably wouldn't want to hear about.
An hour in the gym. Floor-scrubbing detail in the kitchen. All kinds of wild things."
"I saw you in the library at lunchtime," Marlene said.
"That's Linc's new room," Patch told her. "We're gonna put a pool table in the space where his bed is. He doesn't need it."
"What's so interesting in the library?" Marlene asked.
"Math and trigonometry," Patch said. "Would you believe he sits in there and reads math?"
"The final machine-engineering practical tests are in a few days," Linc explained. "You have to make a set of test parts to drawings, and they get graded. The dimensions that aren't given have to be calculated."
"It sounds really like my idea of fun," Marlene commented.
"It's what he wants to do," Patch said. He braced his arms against the side of the pool and lowered his legs until his feet were pressing against the side as well. "And what I want to do is stretch a little and get some lengths in before this gets to be wall-to-wall people. That's what I came here for . . ." So saying, he pushed away, turned to head in the lengthwise direction along the pool, and broke into an easygoing crawl.
"So what're you aiming for?" Marlene asked, looking back at Linc after a few seconds. "Some kind of engineer or something?"
"I don't know yet. Maybe something like that, yes."
"You seem to take it seriously," Marlene said.
Linc nodded distantly, his eyes on the far side of the pool. "Maybe there's a time when people need to start doing that."
"Your nose is looking better anyhow."
Linc turned his head and looked up. She was watching him curiously, her head tilted to one side. He no longer needed the dressing, and the flesh was almost back to its normal color. "You figure my looks will keep then, huh?" He grinned.
"Oh, your looks are pretty okay anyhow, never mind the nose." Marlene seemed to think for a moment, as if the line had given her a cue that she wanted, then looked back, seemingly weighing him up. She glanced around, and her voice fell. "You know, sometimes everyone needs a break from all this thinking. If you wanted to, kind of . . ." She let the suggestiveness in her voice say the rest for her. "I know a place."
Linc leaned his head back against the side of the pool and closed his eyes. "A nice thought, but . . ." He shook his head. "I plan on being around when this thing gets wherever it's going. I guess it's gotten me curious now."
"Huh. Maybe I need to be put together with nuts and bolts or something. Who do you get off on, Frankenstein's daughter?"
Linc grinned. "You're put together just fine, Marlene. But I don't want to blow this chance now. It's different from all the other things I've known. I want to know where it goes."
There was a sigh. He heard her straightening up. "Okay. I just wish I could see something like that in it . . . I'll see you around."
"Sure thing."
"Oh." Marlene's voice came from slightly farther off. "And good luck with the tests."
"Thanks."
Linc relaxed in the water for a moment, then opened his eyes and turned to rest his elbows on the edge and watch her as she walked away. Not bad looking, in a zesty, sporty kind of way, he had to admit. Her body was solidly formed and supple—maybe about eighteen; her legs, well shaped below the midnight-blue skirt. Yes, there was no doubt about it, he told himself. Life could be tough at times.
Chapter Seventeen
THEY got to meet with their assigned coach every other day on average, typically for fifteen to thirty minutes. Mr. Summer had dark hair and a sallow face with a mustache, and exuded in odor of tobacco although he didn't use it publicly He cut less of an athletic image than Mr. Green at Coulie had, but that was maybe to be expected in view of the different nature of the different nature of Seville Trace. His manner had a certain shortness and directness, but he seemed competent enough at what he did and was fair-minded in his treatment of those put in his charge, which was the main thing. However, when he and Linc next met in one of the offices for their scheduled review session, Linc sensed a reserve about him that hadn't been there previously.
"There was an accident in the tool store yesterday," Mr. Summer said.
"You mean Welsh?" Linc nodded. "Yes, I know about it." The handle had come off a case of heavy jig blocks when Welsh lifted it from a shelf. The case had dropped, scraping his shin and badly bruising a foot.
"Welsh thinks the screws holding the handle must have been loosened," Mr. Summer said.
Linc sighed. From the look in Mr. Summer's eye, it was clear who had been suggested as having perhaps done the loosening. It was clear enough to Linc what had happened: There had been an accident, and somebody had used it as an opportunity to spread rumors. He shook his head, showing his hands. "How could anyone tell? . . . Things like that happen."
But Mr. Summer was evidently not satisfied to just pass it off. "We all know that Welsh is a buddy of Arvin's," he said. "And you've been having this feud going with Arvin ever since you both got here. They've been giving you a hard time, haven't they, in one way and another? . . ." The implication was plain. Mr. Summer let it hang.
Simply denying it would have been pointless, since Linc would be expected to do so. And protesting would have sounded too much like whining. In the end Linc let it go with, "Look, if I was going to risk blowing things, I'd be sure to make it over something a little more worthwhile than that."
The answer seemed to allay Mr. Summer's suspicions somewhat. He nodded. "I'd like to think you're right, Linc. You're a lot more intelligent than you perhaps realize. But you do have this history of violence to live down. It would be a tragedy to see you spoil things now. Let's see how you do with the practical tests tomorrow."
After the previous incident, Mr. Throw seemed to have been arranging his timetable to keep Linc and Arvin apart. On the afternoon following the day of Linc's talk with Mr. Summer, however, Arvin was slotted into the same class as Linc when the evening session was canceled to free up the gym space for another event. Inevitably, when the time came for sparring and partners rotated, they ended up facing each other once again. Conceivably, Mr. Throw could have intervened and separated them, but it would have created an ungainly situation by focusing attention on something he was trying to play down—and no doubt would have preferred not to have to acknowledge existed at all. In any event, his response was to simply let things run.
The contest between Linc and Arvin degenerated into a tussle that got dirty and then went downhill from there. Arvin made a habit of dropping to the mat while hanging onto Linc's jacket, dragging Linc down to continue by means of ground fighting, where Arvin's weight gave him an edge. In this, he was particularly ferocious in trying to apply armlocks, which Linc became equally violent at avoiding—another "accident" like last time, he quickly perceived, would put him in a cast for a month. His anger rising, Linc retaliated with savagely effective choke holds, sustaining the pressure for several seconds after Arvin's submission signal, leaving him red-faced and gasping. The rancor between them could be felt by the rest of the class, who grew less vocal and were clearly uncomfortable. By the time the session ended, Mr. Throw was exasperated and ready to take both of them on personally.
"Not Linc and Arvin," he called, when he dismissed the others. "You two stay behind." They stood, eyeing each other coldly while Mr. Throw closed the door behind the last of the departing figures. He turned and came back across the mat to where they were standing. "All right," he told them in a tight voice. "I don't know what this is all about, but it's affecting my class, so let's have it out and get rid of it. This is off the record, understand? What happens here right now never happened. Your own rules apply unless I say different. Got it?"
Linc felt his instincts taking control. A hundred experiences had taught him the advantage of just letting his body react in situations like this, when his mind wanted to think for a split second longer. That split second could make the difference. Most men lost through giving in to that impulse to hold off for just a moment, to be sure—which allowed events to drive them, instead of the other way around.
Mr. Throw held up an arm like a starter at a race. "Now, back off three paces, each of you . . . ." Linc exhaled hard, and then opened his mouth wide, sucking in a last-moment lungful of oxygen. "Ready . . . Go!"
Linc flew. There was no sizing up or holding back to get any measure. Arvin had barely moved or even registered that anything had started to happen when the first punch hit him full on the jaw. Linc followed it with a second, third, fourth . . . ten staccato blows into the face with the same fist, too fast even to allow pause for changing hands. Arvin was glazed and bewildered even before the last had shot home. Linc slammed a foot into his stomach as his guard flopped, doubling him over, and clubbed him to the floor with three hammer fists using the other hand, delivered to the back of his head and neck. For an instant he saw in the blond waves not Arvin but Kyle, and his impulse was to finish things with kicks to the side of the body; but there was no need, and he held off—turning away, instead, contemptuously.
Even Mr. Throw seemed taken aback by the speed and violence of the attack. He went down on one knee and turned Arvin's head up to check him. Although not KO'd, he was functionally out of things, his eyes rolled upward, face marked and bloody, nose streaming—Linc had made sure not to omit that.
"Jeez!" Mr. Throw muttered softly. "I guess we can take it that you've been around some?"
Breathing heavily, Linc picked up a towel. His first reaction was a surge of inner satisfaction. After days, weeks, of the tension that had been building up inside him, the release was worth whatever happened now. He didn't care what they did. A few moments later, after he had mopped his face and the adrenaline hit began to subside, he was less sure. He looked at Mr. Throw questioningly. "Is that it? You meant what you said? This doesn't make any difference to anything, right?"
Mr. Throw nodded slowly, not quite able to keep a hint of awe out of his gaze. "We never go back on our word here," he said.
Linc nodded, slung the towel over his shoulder, and turned for the door.
Linc found he had good feelings inside that persisted through to the next day. By the day's end they were even better. Although some of the calculations had been a bit tricky, he felt he hadn't done too badly at all on the tests.
Chapter Eighteen
ONLY the coaches seemed blind to the sings of Arvin's apparent encounter with a threshing machine. It didn't pass without notice, either, that the harassment Linc had been subjected to miraculously ceased. But that had no sooner become a topic of conversation when, weeks before the end of the stay at Seville Trace, it was eclipsed by the announcement of a general address to be given the next day in the dining area, which because of the seating also double as the main auditorium. All classes and other activities were suspended. Everyone was to attend. Rumors immediately began circulating that it had to be the long-awaited revelation of what the program had been preparing the inmates for. For the rest of the day there was little talk that didn't lead back to airing all the standard theories yet again, with occasional new variations. Johnny thought they were being graded for high-skills potential to be sold off to other governments—commanding much better prices than unassessed raw labor, which lesser developed countries had no shortage of anyway. One of Marlene's friends suggested it could be for breeding experiments, which raised a few intriguing and imaginative speculations among some.
The buzz was approaching fever intensity by the time the remains of the late breakfast shift were disposed of, and those who had been elsewhere began arriving to swell the numbers. The Director was there, as expected, along with most of the staff. A number of visitors also showed up for the occasion. Among them, Linc was intrigued to note, with his white hair, bushy eyebrows, and heavy spectacles, still sporting a jacket and bow tie, was Dr. Grober. A number of Linc's colleagues recognized him too. Dr. Grober was evidently a busy man.
