City Out of Time. William Robison III
it that obvious?”
“Most other people have some experience of the City – the model doesn’t usually draw their attention as much.”
“Right… still, it’s very cool.”
“Hmm, yes. I suppose,” she said.
“Right… Indoctrination?”
“Through the large double doors,” she pointed to a pair of double doors at the far end of the lobby. “They’ve already started, but you can just grab the paperwork as you enter and start filling it out. It’s pretty self-explanatory, actually.”
Lanz was tired of feeling like a newbie at a brand new high school. He decided to stop gawking and start acting like he knew what was going on. He smiled, nodded, and strode away towards the double doors.
He walked through the double doors and stopped in his tracks. He had just entered one of the largest theaters in the round that he had ever seen. The circular stage at its center was massive – easily more than enough to hold two or three big name concerts at the same time. There had to be enough seating in the place to house the entire town at once if that was needed.
He consciously stopped gawking, looked around, and spotted a plain coffee table nearby filled with paper forms, clipboards, and pencils. An elderly woman sat behind the table, knitting, with one eye on her flashing needles and the other eye on Lanz.
“You’re late,” she said.
“Sorry,” Lanz replied.
He went to the table and looked at the dozens of forms on the table. They were all bureaucratic forms – no rhyme or reason to their color schemes, nor form names. Lanz thought about just grabbing one of each, but he didn’t particularly relish the thought of filling out dozens of forms just because he was too proud to admit that he hadn’t a clue.
“Which forms do I need?” Lanz asked.
The woman managed to point to a clipboard without losing a stitch. Lanz reached over and picked up the clipboard and realized that it had an INDOCTRINATION pamphlet as well as about five forms underneath the pamphlet. Lanz grabbed a pen and walked down the aisle towards the massive stage. There were about forty others already seated near the stage, filling out their paperwork.
Lanz sat down in a comfortable stadium seat and put the clipboard across his lap. He opened the pamphlet, scanned it, and realized that it had several entries on how to fill out the paperwork. Apparently, some of the questions weren’t very self-explanatory after all.
Lanz put the pamphlet on the seat next to him and dove into the paperwork. It began with a series of normal type questions – name, age, date of birth, birth place, last city of residence, primary language, other language or cultural identities, language preference, and cultural preference. Then it began to ask more personal questions.
First it had an area about job skills and employment that was more detailed than a resume but, at the same time, nothing like a resume. Instead of asking things like references, it asked things like favorite co-workers, what sorts of things Lanz liked to do on his days off and holidays. Had he ever slept with the boss?
The next section was as detailed as the first, but it dealt with education. The third was a medical history. Then there was a genealogical history; then a series of hypothetical situations requiring short answers. Finally, there was a section written in some sort of foreign language that looked like complete gibberish. Lanz was puzzling over the last form when he heard someone tap a microphone.
A uniformed man stood on stage at a makeshift podium with a glossy smile on his face.
“Good morning and welcome to Indoctrination. Thank you for taking the time to fill out the paperwork. Believe it or not, these forms will help us better place you within the larger framework of the City community. When you are done with the forms, or whenever you feel you can’t possibly write another word, whichever comes first, please bring your paperwork up to the stage and then wait for your name to be called for your meeting with one of our coordinators. Thank you.”
Lanz double-checked that his paperwork was in good working order before he got up and walked up to the stage. He was the fourth person to turn in his paperwork.
He only had to wait ten minutes for his name to be called. He walked up to the stage and found some stairs that led up to the top. The guy at the podium pointed to a stairwell at center stage that went down. Lanz went down the stairs into a basement of the building. There were several signs that directed him through a labyrinth of dark basement halls.
He came to a reception area in the bowels of the building. The young receptionist looked up as he approached and smiled.
“Lanz Franco?” she asked.
“Yes,” Lanz replied.
She looked down at some paperwork on her desk and Lanz realized that they were his forms. She took out a rubber stamp and stamped the papers and then handed them to Lanz.
“Room Three, please,” she said. “Your coordinator will be Jack Stiles. He’ll be with you in a moment. Just have a seat.”
Lanz walked down a short hallway to door number three and went inside. It looked like a dentist’s office. There was a couch, some magazines of all different types and eras, and a small water dispenser in the corner. Lanz poured himself a Dixie cup full of cold water and had a seat.
After about three minutes, the inner door opened and a middle aged man with an impressive dark beard looked out into the waiting room.
“You must be Lanz,” he said, and stuck out a bear like hand. Lanz shook it and immediately felt at home.
“Come on in and let’s see about getting you situated.”
The Coordinator’s office reminded Lanz of his high school principal’s office. There was no window, a dying plant on the corner of his desk, and several self-important diplomas on the walls. Lanz half-expected to see that the Coordinator was sporting a comb-over. But he wasn’t. In fact, he was easily the most interesting part of his entire office.
As he sat down behind his desk, Jack Stiles took Lanz’s paperwork and started sifting through it. As he looked it over, he absentmindedly drummed away on his desk with a pencil. It was perfect rhythm and Lanz recognized a couple of 1980’s rock and roll classic drum solos in his Coordinator’s pencil drumming.
Finally he looked up, put the paperwork and the pencil down, and flashed a great big smile at Lanz.
“I think the answers are all right here,” Jack Stiles said. He reached into his desk and pulled out a flat sucker, like the kind doctors give kids after they’ve had their shots. “Candy?”
“No thanks… I’m sorry. Did you say something about answers?”
“Of course the next training class isn’t for a couple of weeks, but I think we can find something for you to do in the meantime.”
“Training class? For what?”
“The Retrieval Corps, naturally. You’re a perfect fit. And the fact that your brother is already a member will make this so much easier for you. Of course, with your Army training, this is really the best job to suit you.”
The Coordinator smiled and started to reach for his rubber stamp of approval. Lanz had that creeping sense that he was fast losing any control of his life.
“I don’t understand,” Lanz interrupted. “Are you suggesting that I become a member of the Retrieval Corps? Like my brother?”
Jack Stiles blinked. “I don’t need to do the whole recruitment spiel on you, do I? Hasn’t your brother told you all about it? Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“I’m not sure why I’m here,” Lanz countered. “But one thing I can assure you is that I’m not interested in the Retrieval Corps. My brother is the outgoing one. If he wants to get himself killed, that’s his business. I’m more of a stay safe at home and fix people