City Out of Time. William Robison III

City Out of Time - William Robison III


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than an orderly.”

      He looked down at the paperwork again and asked, “But in the Army, you were a medic?”

      “Combat medic, yes. About the equivalent of an EMT.”

      Jack Stiles sighed and then flipped through a few more sheets of paper on his desk.

      “Well, we’ve got some openings in the Medical Ward. Would that suit you?”

      Suit me? Lanz was puzzled. What was this coordinator asking? Was he offering Lanz a job?

      “How much does it pay?” Lanz asked.

      Now it was Jack Stiles turn to look surprised.

      “Pay? Don’t you remember Orientation?” he asked.

      “No… I missed it.” Lanz admitted.

      “The City is a closed system. There is no pay… nor is their expense. There is need and there is want. We fill all needs. We ration out all wants. The system works very well.”

      Lanz looked at Jack Stiles and wondered what sort of hippie commune his brother had dragged him into.

      “So… what does that mean?” Lanz asked carefully.

      “It means, Lanz, that you are here to get a job. You do that job and we give you food, housing, and everything else you need… medical, dental, etc… If you want anything beyond that, like a brand new TV for instance, we can get it for you as we receive them. You might have to wait a few weeks, but one would eventually be brought to your door. This isn’t like the Soviet Union. There’s no waiting in line for toilet paper. We have people that deliver according to your needs.”

      “That sounds a bit… suspicious to me.”

      Jack Stiles laughed, “Don’t worry… you’ll get used to it.”

      “So I keep hearing,” Lanz replied.

      They reached an impasse. Jack Stiles looked across his desk at Lanz as if trying to size him up. But whatever conclusion he came to, it was clear that Jack Stiles was not going to leave this room until Lanz had been indoctrinated.

      ”Well, then… will this be sufficient?”

      Lanz thought about it for a second and then replied, “The job? Sure. What happens if I don’t like it?”

      Stiles smiled as if the conversation had suddenly veered back onto a normal path.

      “You can come back here for reassignment at any time -- if you should change your mind about the Corps, for instance. The only rule we have here is that you must work if you are at all capable.”

      That seemed reasonable to Lanz.

      “Fine. What now?”

      Jack leaned across the desk and shook Lanz’s hand. Then he handed Lanz a yellow card, a blue card, and a green card.

      “Most everything you will do here is coordinated to your job. It’s not so much of a prestige thing as a practical thing – firemen, for instance, tend to get housing near their firehouses. Anyway, you take the yellow card to the Job Desk at the end of the hall, and they’ll tell you where to go with the blue card. And remember, if you change your mind about your job, come back here any time.”

      “Thanks,” Lanz said.

      That hadn’t been so bad, after all. Lanz stood up and realized that in the course of about ten minutes he’d finally been able to land a job in a hospital without having to finish medical school. Maybe there was something to this City after all.

      Lanz followed a yellow line painted on the floor that took him back into the main hall and then led to the end of the hallway where a bright yellow table waited. A man in a wheelchair sat at the table waiting eagerly for Lanz to approach.

      Lanz handed him the yellow card and the wheelchair bound man read it and seemed impressed.

      “A doctor… that’s pretty cool,” he noted. “Let me get you set up here.”

      He reached under the table and pulled out a dull blue map of the City. At the center of the map a large complex of buildings represented the City Centre. He took a pencil and circled a decent sized building about two blocks away from the City Centre.

      “That’s our hospital. You’ll be working in Ward 90. Just ask for Julia tomorrow and she’ll get you squared away.”

      “Is that all?”

      “Julia will take care of the rest.”

      “Okay… and where do I go next?”

      “Follow the blue line to the Housing Desk and they’ll get you a place to stay.”

      Lanz was reminded suddenly of boot camp. Only, so far, there’d been a lot less yelling.

      He followed the blue line on the floor down the hallway and around a corner, and came to another desk. This time, there was a pretty young Asian woman behind the desk. She looked up at him and smiled, but took the card without a word and started looking through sheets of paper that reminded Lanz of a voter registration book.

      “Single or Double?” she asked, without looking up.

      “For what?” Lanz countered.

      “Do you want a roommate or not?”

      “Is it cheaper?” Lanz asked.

      She looked up now, slightly exasperated, “There is no cost. It’s just a matter of preference. Some people like to have others around. Also the double apartments tend to have a little more social space.”

      Lanz said, “Single.”

      She went back to her search, found something, wrote it in the book, then wrote it on his blue card.

      Finally she looked up again and said, “You’re now in Apartment 809 in the TAC building on California Street.”

      She snatched the map from Lanz’s hand and circled another building about ten blocks from the Central Plaza. She handed him back the map and then went back to her little book.

      Lanz followed the green line down another hall and around two more corners until he came to a guy in a green cage. The guy looked like he belonged on a construction site – right down to the sleeveless t-shirt and the tattoos on his arm that designated him a former marine. Lanz handed the guy his green card.

      The man took the green card, turned to a small desktop computer inside the cage and tapped away for a few seconds.

      “Ah yes… Lanz Franco… here you are. New job at the hospital, apartment on the 8th floor… at least you have an elevator… okay I’ve got you squared away. Your stuff will be delivered to your apartment at noon.”

      “My stuff?”

      The man looked perplexed and Lanz felt a sinking feeling before the man ever uttered the words Lanz was dreading to hear, “Didn’t you see the Orientation Film?”

      “So… my stuff will be delivered by tonight?” Lanz asked.

      “That’s what it says here,” the man said pointing to the computer.

      Lanz left the million questions in his head fade into the background and decided to take it on faith for the time being.

      “Thanks,” Lanz said. “Now what do I do?”

      The man shrugged his shoulders, “Beats me. You’ve got the rest of the day off. I’d get a bite to eat and then take the above-ground trolley around town to get a feeling of the City. Just remember to take your map so you can get back to your apartment.”

      Lunch? Lanz suddenly patted his pockets and realized that he’d left his wallet in his car.

      “I don’t have my wallet…”

      “Everything is taken care of, remember? Just go to any restaurant you want and order anything


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