the Amusement Gardens lake and sunbathed on a large flat rock. Karl drew his girlfriend’s picture. It was the first time, as far as Chip knew, that he had drawn a living human being.
In June, Chip claimed another pad for Karl.
Their training ended, five weeks early, and they received their assignments: Chip to a viral genetics research laboratory in USA90058; Karl to the Institute of Enzymology in JAP50319.
On the evening before they were to leave the Academy they packed their take-along kits. Karl pulled green-covered pads from his desk drawers—a dozen from one drawer, half a dozen from another, more pads from other drawers; he threw them into a pile on his bed. “You’re never going to get those all into your kit,” Chip said.
“I’m not planning to,” Karl said. “They’re done; I don’t need them.” He sat on the bed and leafed through one of the pads, tore out one drawing and another.
“May I have some?” Chip asked.
“Sure,” Karl said, and tossed a pad over to him.
It was mostly Pre-U Museum sketches. Chip took out one of a man in chain mail holding a crossbow to his shoulder, and another of an ape scratching himself.
Karl gathered most of the pads and went off down the aisle toward the chute. Chip put the pad on Karl’s bed and picked up another one.
In it were a nude man and woman standing in parkland outside a blank-slabbed city. They were taller than normal, beautiful and strangely dignified. The woman was quite different from the man, not only genitally but also in her longer hair, protrusive breasts, and overall softer convexity. It was a great drawing, but something about it disturbed Chip, he didn’t know what.
He turned to other pages, other men and women; the pictures grew surer and stronger, done with fewer and bolder lines. They were the best drawings Karl had ever made, but in each there was that disturbing something, a lack, an imbalance that Chip was at a loss to define.
It hit him with a chill.
They had no bracelets.
He looked through to check, his stomach knotting sick-tight. No bracelets. No bracelets on any of them. And there was no chance of the drawings being unfinished; in the corner of each of them was an A with a circle around it.
He put down the pad and went and sat on his bed; watched as Karl came back and gathered the rest of the pads and, with a smile, carried them off.
There was a dance in the lounge but it was brief and subdued because of Mars. Later Chip went with his girlfriend into her cubicle. “What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said.
Karl asked him too, in the morning while they were folding their blankets. “What’s the matter, Li?”
“Nothing.”
“Sorry to be leaving?”
“A little.”
“Me too. Here, give me your sheets and I’ll chute them.”
“What’s his nameber?” Li YB asked.
“Karl WL35S7497,” Chip said.
Li YB jotted it down. “And what specifically seems to be the trouble?” he asked.
Chip wiped his palms on his thighs. “He’s drawn some pictures of members,” he said.
“Acting aggressively?”
“No, no,” Chip said. “Just standing and sitting, fucking, playing with children.”
“Well?”
Chip looked at the desktop. “They don’t have bracelets,” he said.
Li YB didn’t speak. Chip looked at him; he was looking at Chip. After a moment Li YB said, “Several pictures?”
“A whole padful.”
“And no bracelets at all.”
“None.”
Li YB breathed in, and then pushed out the breath between his teeth in a series of rapid hisses. He looked at his note pad. “KWL35S7497,” he said.
Chip nodded.
He tore up the picture of the man with the crossbow, which was aggressive, and tore up the one of the ape too. He took the pieces to the chute and dropped them down.
He put the last few things into his take-along kit—his clippers and mouthpiece and a framed snapshot of his parents and Papa Jan—and pressed it closed.
Karl’s girlfriend came by with her kit slung on her
In June, Chip claimed another pad for Karl.
Their training ended, five weeks early, and they received their assignments: Chip to a viral genetics research laboratory in USA90058; Karl to the Institute of Enzymology in JAP50319.
On the evening before they were to leave the Academy they packed their take-along kits. Karl pulled green-covered pads from his desk drawers—a dozen from one drawer, half a dozen from another, more pads from other drawers; he threw them into a pile on his bed. “You’re never going to get those all into your kit,” Chip said.
“I’m not planning to,” Karl said. “They’re done; I don’t need them.” He sat on the bed and leafed through one of the pads, tore out one drawing and another.
“May I have some?” Chip asked.
“Sure,” Karl said, and tossed a pad over to him.
It was mostly Pre-U Museum sketches. Chip took out one of a man in chain mail holding a crossbow to his shoulder, and another of an ape scratching himself.
Karl gathered most of the pads and went off down the aisle toward the chute. Chip put the pad on Karl’s bed and picked up another one.
In it were a nude man and woman standing in parkland outside a blank-slabbed city. They were taller than normal, beautiful and strangely dignified. The woman was quite different from the man, not only genitally but also in her longer hair, protrusive breasts, and overall softer convexity. It was a great drawing, but something about it disturbed Chip, he didn’t know what.
He turned to other pages, other men and women; the pictures grew surer and stronger, done with fewer and bolder lines. They were the best drawings Karl had ever made, but in each there was that disturbing something, a lack, an imbalance that Chip was at a loss to define.
It hit him with a chill.
They had no bracelets.
He looked through to check, his stomach knotting sick-tight. No bracelets. No bracelets on any of them. And there was no chance of the drawings being unfinished; in the corner of each of them was an A with a circle around it.
He put down the pad and went and sat on his bed; watched as Karl came back and gathered the rest of the pads and, with a smile, carried them off.
There was a dance in the lounge but it was brief and subdued because of Mars. Later Chip went with his girlfriend into her cubicle. “What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said.
Karl asked him too, in the morning while they were folding their blankets. “What’s the matter, Li?”
“Nothing.”
“Sorry to be leaving?”
“A little.”
“Me too. Here, give me your sheets and I’ll chute them.”
“What’s his nameber?” Li YB asked.
“Karl WL35S7497,” Chip said.
Li YB jotted it down. “And what specifically seems to be the trouble?” he asked.
Chip wiped his palms on his thighs. “He’s drawn some pictures of members,” he said.
“Acting aggressively?”
“No, no,” Chip said. “Just standing and sitting, fucking, playing with children.”
“Well?”
Chip looked at the desktop. “They don’t have bracelets,” he said.
Li YB didn’t speak. Chip looked at him; he was looking at Chip. After a moment Li YB said, “Several pictures?”
“A whole padful.”
“And no bracelets at all.”
“None.”
Li YB breathed in, and then pushed out the breath between his teeth in a series of rapid hisses. He looked at his note pad. “KWL35S7497,” he said.
Chip nodded.
He tore up the picture of the man with the crossbow, which was aggressive, and tore up the one of the ape too. He took the pieces to the chute and dropped them down.
He put the last few things into his take-along kit—his clippers and mouthpiece and a framed snapshot of his parents and Papa Jan—and pressed it closed.
Karl’s girlfriend came by with her kit slung on her
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