Sam challenges the establishment and places himself at risk to help the starving citizens.
This demonstration was over the food ration coupons. Government officials were corrupt. They cheated the people and stinted on the size of the allotments. Nowhere was corruption more blatant than in the Food Stamp Centers. The persons below were already tearing at the front gate.
I dropped nearer to the ground to treetop level. Through the glass front doors of the official looking building I saw furtive movements. I guessed they were government clerks. They were barricaded inside the building while unhappy citizens milled about outside the fence screaming invectives.
Some threw stones at the glass panes of the building’s front entrance. The heavy plastic panes did not break and the solid steel door was unmarred. Several rioters had broken the lock on the fence gate and were pouring into the inner courtyard. I was near enough to see the frightened faces of the officials behind the glass doors. They were white with fear. They knew that if the mob got in they would be toast. Sam Candel’s (my) job was to stop that from happening.
The reader of my report will understand, I hope, that while I was in the persona of Sam Candel, I decided to perform just as I knew Candel would act until I knew what other course to take for my own preservation … or until my mind returned to R-Prime. At that point I had no idea whether I was doomed to remain in this world for years or return to my laboratory at any moment.
Placing the handheld audio “Shouter,” to my lips I descended just above the crowd and spoke.
“Disperse immediately,” I said.
My voice was amplified to a shout. The sound shattered the air. A sea of white and brown bitter angry faces looked up filled with hate and need.
One woman shouted, “Give us our stamps. We’re hungry. We’re not animals.”
Some ran. They were used to the usual Secman procedure; to send a blast of paralysis at the mob. The effect was seldom lethal and always extremely painful.
“Fall back and form a line. I promise that each one of you will receive your full allotment this morning,” I replied.
My words were entirely unexpected. I could tell by their startled expressions. Instead of paralysis and pain they might have received, I had given them conciliatory words. This was something they had not heard from a riot control policeman. They stopped running. Some were already returning and they began forming a line to the front door. The crowd waited to see what I would do next.
I wasn’t sure what I would do next either. Candel’s experience told me that I could expect the crowd’s obedience. The hand weapon that I carried was a frightful deterrent. The crowd formed an orderly queue, still looking up at me. The expressions on their pallid faces was a mixture of hope and resentfulness. My message had led them to hope something different might happen; they did not know what. This time, I vowed, a Secman would do the right thing.
Dropping to the street, I walked to the front door, placed my badge against the plaz to show the two men inside my authority. Reluctantly one of them unlocked the door and opened it.
“Why haven’t the stamps been given out?”
“We’re short today, officer,” one of the men whined.
“We have to wait until tomorrow for a new allotment,” his larger friend said.
The two officials might have been twins, both pasty faced with cruel and selfish eyes buried in unhealthy fat. They retreated behind their counter, dour and stubbornly fearful. I knew they lied. Many times officials kept a part of the precious stamps and sold them on the black market.
I ordered them, brusquely, “Open your books and boot up your computer inventory.”
Silently they complied. I scanned the records and felt a flash of anger. The allotment was all there and ready to be handed out. They lied. They had been caught redhanded. Then one of them made his second mistake.
“Officer, would it be OK if we contributed 3,000 Smithson credits to the Police Mother’s fund?”
No such fund existed, naturally. The two officials fully expected me to comply. If I refused it was likely my corrupt superiors would punish me for interfering with the Stamp Allotment Station. I made up my mind to do what was right and face the consequences.
Next episode: The consequences Sam accepts lead to a new adventure that is far different than he expected.
Gene Paleno is an author and illustrator living in Witter Springs.
