Alexander isolated 5-27-07

MOM! DAD! I’m home, and we got company! Bitsy called as they entered a cramped front room, full of old furniture hiding its age under throws and doilies. The sound of running water and soft clear singing came from the kitchen, which you saw just by looking through the dining room, which you saw just by looking through the living room. Bitsy put her bookbag on the stairs and motioned Alexander to do the same. Glancing up, Alexander was startled to see a large, bearded man standing at the top of the stairs. He was silently regarding Alexander, his expression puzzled and anxious. “Bits,” he said finally, not taking his eyes off Alexander, “you come to take me in? I been good ever since—“
“Rob, “Bitsy broke in, stepping in front of Alexander and holding out her hand, “This is my friend Alexander from school. Come on down and meet him.” The big man hesitantly descended, taking Alexander’s hand in a massive paw with a strangely gently grip. Then it came to Alexander. This was the shirtless giant who had broken up the parade and gotten Wilf all worked up enough to….. Lose control, sort of. But all Alexander said was, “pleased to meet you, Rob,” returning that steady gaze until Rob relaxed a little and said shyly, “Friends of my sister are souls well met,” and he turned to go back upstairs. Bitsy grabbed his hand and kissed it, getting a slow smile for her pains, and then he was gone. Bitsy showed Alexander the telephone, and he was sure his mother was smiling as she approved his evening “studying” with Bitsy.
“Bretaine, Bretaine, is that you, dearie?” The singing had stopped, but not the water and the voice from the kitchen appeared as a small woman with short cloud-gray hair and pink cheeks, drying her hands on a cloth and smiling as she caught sight of her daughter. She kissed the crown of Bitsy’s head, extended a small, rough hand to Alexander with a wink, and drew them both back into her realm. The sink was running water over a large pot turned bottom up. It was mostly covered with runny black stuff. It looked like Mrs. Bruce had been scrubbing away at it. Her face was flushed and moist, and her hands were warm from the water, and almost as red as her cheeks. She exchanged knowing looks with her daughter, and for Alexander’s benefit she added, with obvious good cheer, “ Himself will have been preparin’ his famous barley pottage, and who’s to pay the piper but me, now. And where have you two reeves been this day? Is all peaceful at school and on the street?” Her shrewd eyes took them in at a glance, and she sat the two youngsters down at her tiny table in the corner and produced crockery mugs of cold milk and a plate of shortbread squares. She went back to her scrubbing and listened while they told the story of Noyes’ folly and his arrest at the meeting. When they had finished she tut-tutted and shook her head, bending over her pot and muttering clearly enough to be heard, “and another clan is without its dearest, thanks to them devils, and for what?” Then she remembered that Alexander was also an agent of “them devils,” and she excused herself, turning to brush a strand of hair from her face, using the one holding the brush, then gesticulating with her soapy scepter until suds were everywhere, “ I’m never the one to stand in anyone’s road, mind you, now, if the journey is worthwhile………” she paused as she returned the brush to the sink and dried her hands again, “ but I can’t be having with sending young’uns away, not for any reason, and I’ll tell that to anybody. Sending the likes of you out to remind those who’ve forgotten their manners, once the schoolin’s over, that’s one thing. But when day is done, families are meant to gather, is all I’ll be sayin’. ” Alexander smiled at Bitsy to let her know he wasn’t taking offense, and Mrs. Bruce went back to drying the big pot and hanging it on the wall with the others, all similarly scoured and scrubbed, not a matching pair among them.
The front door opened, and the sound of singing came to them, a man’s deep, rough voice: “an’ would I give ye o’er, would I sell my heart for aye….” And Mrs. Bruce, smiling at the two children, gave the refrain in her own clear soprano, “ nae linen, lamb nae lands wou’ do,” and they finished together, facing each other across the kitchen, “ to live nae more wi’ you….” Bitsy may have been a bit embarrassed, but she was smiling, and Mr. and Mrs. Bruce were unabashed. After a moment Mr. Bruce noticed Alexander and offered his hand. It was almost as big as his son’s, and every bit as gentle. Bitsy spoke up, “Dad, this is my friend Alexander Wozniak.” Mr. Bruce held Alexander’s eyes, finally saying, with a twinkle, “If our Bretaine brought you, you can stay.”
Supper at the Bruce home reminded Alexander of his own family dinners. Bitsy kept shooting glances at him, wondering if her family was strange or “unsound” to Alexander’s trained eye. He could only give her small smiles, hoping she could see that he was not inclined to find fault at all. Rob came downstairs without being called, and his dad touched his shoulder, and Rob answered, “keeping well, dad?” and he helped his mother set out the table: heavy plates with a rough brown finish ,the same plain mugs that had been used for snack , and real silver utensils, soft and bent from use, polished to a soft shine. Mr. Bruce’s special pottage was placed in honor at the center of the table, and brown bread appeared from the big old oven where it had been keeping warm. They joined hands before they ate, and Alexander was confused and fascinated to be holding Bitsy’s tiny hand in his left, and Rob’s huge hand in his right. Both Bruces, both kind and gentle, each stirring different feelings in him as they bowed for Dad’s grace. “Our Maker, all we have is Yours, and ourselves we freely give, amen.
They tucked into the steaming stew, rich and lumpy with some kind of meat, and Alexander noted that Rob and his dad dragged their bread through the hot mixture, while Bitsy and her mother alternated bites, but no one gave anyone a lecture. Alexander found himself digging into his bowl of barley, even though he couldn’t taste it very well through his DOOK. There were crunchy bits and the meat was tender; the whole thing just felt good in his mouth. And the bread was crusty and coarse and gave up a sweetness that made you want to chew it. Certainly it was a big change from his mother’s daily fare, and from Mr. Wozniak’s spicy weekend dishes.
“So Bretaine’s been telling us that you’re a smart one,” Mr. Bruce said. “Says you been skippin’ grades and all, and now you two are the youngest ones in your classes.” He smiled through his trim black beard, “and likely the smallest, too, I’ll guess. Takes a bit of sand in your gut to make a way in this Great Society, that’s certain enough.”
Alexander didn’t know how to reply, but he nodded and said, “yes sir. But Bitsy’s the smartest one in school. No one else’s skipped two grades.” Bitsy’s head was tucked into her bowl, so Alexander couldn’t tell if she was blushing.
“Is she, now?” Mr. Bruce acted surprised, but his eyes were twinkling and Alexander started to understand that he enjoyed teasing his children, especially in company. “And here was me thinkin’ those were just bricks in that bag, for drivin’ boys away!” Rob laughed in appreciation, a deep rumble, pleasant to Alexander’s ear. “Dad!” Bitsy complained, “Stop. Please.” Her face had turned the prettiest shade of pink, and she resembled her mother even more. Mrs. Bruce was giggling into her napkin, but she spoke up, “Now, Robert, we have a guest, and our Bretaine knows she’s smart, and pretty besides, don’t you, dearie?” This only made Bitsy blush more deeply, and she held her napkin over her face, but her ears shone bright red under her blonde curls. Suddenly Mr. Bruce, Rob and Bitsy’s mother were laughing out loud, and Mr. Bruce almost choked on his bread, and Rob went to slap him on the back but Mr. Bruce held up a hand, still laughing, and said, “There she goes again, hidin’ from her adorin’ public, and all of us just hopin’ for a smile.” Bitsy waited for quiet, then dropped her napkin back in her lap and fiercely attacked her barley. But her ears stayed pink for quite a while, and she was grinning, too.
When they had all eaten enough pottage and bread, Bitsy and her mother cleared the plates, leaving Alexander at the table with Rob and Mr. Bruce. “Alexander Wozniak, is it?” Mr. Bruce asked, taking a toothpick from a bowl on the table. “yes sir.” ‘is your dad the same Wozniak who runs my department at Progressive Programs?”
“yes sir, he’s an engineer for them.”
“Smart man, that,” said Mr. Bruce, nodding. “And fair. Don’t know him, actually, he’s over the lot of us in Security Interfaces. I’m just a writer, actually. But he’s got a good name. Not an easy thing to keep in these times.”
Alexander was a little embarrassed, not least because his dad had never told him anything about his work, more than a shrug and a “well, never mind.” He said, “ yes, sir. And what do all of you do in that department? “ and , in response to Mr. Bruce’s unspoken question he added, “ Dad doesn’t talk much about work, really.”
Never taking his eyes off Alexander, Mr. Bruce used his napkin, tossed it on the table, and said, “ Doesn’t he, now? Can’t say as I blame him. And, it’s not for me to tell tales, if that’s his way, but…. It’s no secret, really, We’re tasked with keeping folks out of places in the software that are restricted to all but a few. I write the manuals; edit them, mostly, to make sure no one finds a way in where they aren’t supposed to go. So the special sections of the Net browsers, where only officials and those with clearance can get in and access things, stay safe. Your dad’s got quite a reputation for plugging up holes in the programs, they say. They say nothing gets by him, not if it concerns keeping young ones out of the Wildnet and the Frontier sites.” Mr. Bruce’s face was neutral, and Alexander couldn’t tell how he felt about “keeping young ones out of the Wildnet,” but just then Bitsy and her mother returned with the same mugs, washed and refilled with coffee for the grownups and cocoa for Alexander and Bitsy. They sipped the hot drinks quietly for a while, and Alexander thought about how much this family seemed to enjoy the simple act of eating together, just being together. It reminded him a little of his own family, but the Wozniaks were a bit more careful to do things normally. The Bruces seemed to care only for each other’s opinions, at least here in their home.
When supper was truly done, and everything put away, Alexander and Bitsy went upstairs to get their studying done before going out on their strange errand with Kerry. Bitsy’s computer was a bit old, a G6 Jobs with a small screen, but the broadband signal was lively and strong, and even taking turns they had found and downloaded everything in less than an hour. Alexander looked at the clock- 7:15. By half past they would need to be at the bus stop for the ride downtown, and Alexander did not want to have this risky, volatile talk within the range of any sensors. With a gulp he blurted, “Bitsy, turn off your PEW---- please.” He removed his wrist remote, pulled his workstation out of his bag, and put it in shutdown sequence. Bitsy said, “What’s up?” Her face showed she was alarmed; their friendship was still fairly new, but Alexander’s expression was earnest, and his station was already blank, so she pushed her “Off” button and a moment later they were alone: no personal alarm, no “security monitoring” from downtown, no contact with POOP at all. It was unnerving, especially for two agents who had counted on their stations to get them out of jams in the field. They stared at each other, Alexander struggling to find a starting place.
“I’m not,” he began, “ going to try anything silly,” and her snort of laughter helped him get a grip. He was kneading his fingers nervously, one after the other, looking at his hands. “I really like your family, and I can see that they think the world of you……” Bitsy was still half wondering if this wasn’t a schoolboy pass, and she gave him no help, meeting his glances with a very level stare.
“Is your father, was he, ever…… a writer?” Bitsy’s guard was up, and she shrugged. “He’s a writer at work, as you know,” she said flatly.
“No, I mean… I mean is he a real writer, or was he, years ago? You know, grownup writing, fiction and poetry, that kind of stuff?”
Bitsy was getting stirred up. She answered, “ Why do you want to know? If you’re looking for trouble, we’ve had more than our share, Wozniak, so why don’t you just pack---“
“Bitsy, please, that’s not it,” Alexander pleaded, really miserable now, his hands really chafed and red from the nervous wringing and squeezing, which he couldn’t stop. “I would never cause trouble for you and your family, and I’m not up to anything stupid like Noyes and those Insec pukes…. I just got some information about a writer who was popular back before the Great Society, someone who was thought to be really good, who got shut down and sent to the frontier, and when he came back he got a straight job and settled down. It might not be your dad, but if it is, he may be in trouble. Again. People have been hoarding secret caches of his writing and circulating it on the Wildnet, and some of the Frontier sites are openly listing his work. Now some new material is showing up, and the Ministry of Decency thinks it resembles this man’s old work. They’re considering a full-out investigation,” Alexander’s voice reached the breaking point, and his hands hurt pretty bad but he couldn’t stop worrying them. “And if what I just told you gets out, I’m finished as an agent and as a Wozniak,’ he smiled in spite of himself.
He stopped, staring at Bitsy, knowing that she was trained not to trust him. Especially not him. And he was trained not to trust her. Especially not her. No one worked more closely with potential enemies than a POOP agent, by design. You picked your friends elsewhere, if you dared. She stared back, picking him apart with her eyes. Bitsy’s inner struggle was making her shiver like it was winter. She looked out the window at the settling dusk, then at the clock by the bed. “Time to go,” she said shortly, hitting the boot button on her workstation. “We’ll come back to this, maybe.” Alexander was in torment, but she was right--- they had to go catch the bus. And go meet Kerry and whoever was with him. And they had to watch each other’s back. Neither one could trust anyone else, and the question was, could they trust each other?
Virtuvid was the brain child of some genius in the Ministry of Health and Happiness. In a society where behavior was so strictly controlled, fantasy became the last refuge of free thought. And in a society where morality and decency were so narrowly defined, even fantasy had to be controlled, lest it produce “unacceptable” behaviors. The technology of computer simulation was nothing revolutionary; the manipulation of simulated content to reinforce Innovative Ideas without boring the consumers was the real challenge. Sex was off limits, of course, as well as violence and aggression. What remained to the software engineers at Health and Happiness and their outsource contractors was a bit pale, but it was safe, clean and not likely to stir anyone up to rebellion. Entering the simulated world, the consumer chose from a menu of virtual experiences ranging from being named head of a Ministry department to informing on rebellious neighbors. What with startlingly good visuals and sound, even the bland content made people feel….. sort of excited, in an obedient way.
The Teraflop Café was a respectable virtuvid salon, with rows of sim chairs bristling with sensors, and attendants bustling about helping consumers fit the gear over their orifices for the “experience.” Most of the noise was cancelled by special microphones, but there was still a murmuring din of suppressed voices and shifting in the chairs as consumers told off their bosses, thanked the applauding crowd for their adulation, and congratulated the board on their astute choice of chairpersons. Young people accepted various “best student,” “best athlete” and “most popular” awards. The experiences were affordable, and as entertainment it ranked about even with Society-sponsored movies featuring, for the most part, working stiffs who made good by following the rules.
Alexander and Bitsy entered on the dot of eight, backpacks slung high over their red windbreakers, a pair of POOP agents looking for some relaxation. Or maybe looking for someone to harass. The crowd glanced, then hastily looked away to avoid making eye contact. POOP agents were not relaxing company. Through a clear wall bisecting the room was the actual café, where consumers went to calm down after a sim experience, or wait for an available chair. Kerry was seated near the back. His sour expression got sourer as Alexander and Bitsy approached. He was shaking his head.
“Did I tell you to bring your girlfriend, Wozniak?” He sighed, for the dramatic effect. “And did I tell you to come in wearing your colors, so everyone can see me talking to an agent ? Huh?”
Bitsy was having none of it. “Kerry, we’re on our way back from studying, which I doubt you did any of tonight, and I’m not anyone’s girlfriend. And you know we have to identify ourselves if we’re carrying our equipment.”
Kerry shrugged, miming skeptical disapproval. “Ok, ok, just get lost for a few minutes while I talk to my man Alexander here, how ‘bout it? “
Bitsy shrugged and turned toward the bar, claiming a stool for her bag and one for herself, affecting to ignore the boys while she ordered a shake.
Kerry was sipping a drink, but he didn’t offer to order Alexander anything. He seemed a bit rushed to get this done. “Now I know,” he began, holding up his hands and pursing his lips for the innocent effect, “we ain’t exactly been friends at school, Wozniak. In fact there’s been times you really got under my skin, sticking by the rules and issuing warnings in the hall and all.” Kerry tilted his head one way, then the other. “But that’s just the small stuff, and I’m willing, for one, to forget all about it. I been thinking, just lately, of becoming a ministry intern myself, due to some nice offers bein’ made by associates of my father. He, if you didn’t happen to know, runs a piece of the Ministry of Scenic Beauty, and me and my buddies help out sometimes in the parks and sanctuaries, picking up litter and stuff like that. It’s great to be out in the pretty country, away from all the hustle and blow, no monitors, no sensors, just good times with good friends. You interested in that at all, Woz--- Alexander?” Kerry paused for effect. Alexander was spellbound by the pitch. Alone with Kerry and his goonish friends in a Ministry park; it sounded like a great place to get ganged up on. But Alexander did his own head tilt and answered, “ Who wouldn’t like a little peace and quiet, I suppose? And you can never have too many friends.” It was about as chummy as Alexander knew how to be, especially facing someone who had more than once promised him a facelift in one go. Kerry flashed a very sincere phony grin and slapped the table. “Good! Good. That settles it. This Saturday we’re going up to Exemplary Acres, and you’re invited. My house is near the last bus stop on the Invidio line at 10 and we’ll have you back tor dinner. You can meet my folks and Dad will drive us up to the park. And Wozniak,” Kerry put on a wary face and hammed it up, “ Remember you’re off duty, ok? No need for your big bag and all that official snoop gear. Let’s just have a good time. And maybe we can keep a lid on this friction thing we always seem to get into at school. I know you got to do your job, W—Alexander, but the rest of us got to live, too. Maybe a little less nitpicking on me and my friends would be a nice gesture, if that ain’t too much to ask, especially since you are sort of in my circle anyways, after our little chat here. Whattya say?” and Kerry held out that paw that had to often appeared in Alexander’s dreams as a fist, and Alexander couldn’t think of anything to do but shake it, and that was it. Kerry stood up, ready to leave, and noticed Bitsy again, sitting at the bar, guarding her bag and sipping a tofrappe special and pretending not to notice the boys at all. “So, Bruce…. What’s yer name… Betty?”
“Bitsy,” Alexander prompted, seeing Bitsy’s shoulders tense, fearing another outburst.
“Betsy, right, “ Kerry grinned, moving past her on his way out. “You’re pretty smart at school, they tell me,” he turned to her, still moving toward the door, and said, “But I think you should loosen up a little, like Alexander here,” and he was through the door and gone, leaving Bitsy fuming and Alexander dumfounded. “Let’s get to the bus stop,” she said, and hefted her bag. Out on the street, Bitsy sputtered, “What was that all about, and what did you shake his hand for? He’s up to something, and as dumb as he is, I can’t work it out.” She glared at Alexander, waiting for his response. He couldn’t think of what to say. Kerry was surely up to something, but this meeting had not revealed the scheme as Alexander had hoped. Instead he had found himself agreeing to hang with Kerry and his mob at Exemplary Acres on a weekend, away from sensors, Geek teams and the protection all agents relied on in the field. And he had tacitly agreed to consider tolerating Kerry’s in-school antics, and shaken on it. But where all this was coming from, Alexander hadn’t a clue.
Alexander looked at Bitsy, by now straddling her bag at the bus stop and eyeing him curiously, and said, “ Maybe I just got flimm-flammed, Bitsy, but Kerry didn’t want anything much, and he didn’t say anything suspicious. He just wants me to go to Exemplary Acres with him and his friends sometime, and he asked if I would go easy on him at school, and that was all.” He shrugged, shaking his head. “That was all?” bitsy asked, skeptical. “Yes, that was it,” Alexander shrugged again. “I have no idea what Kerry’s up to.”
“You’re planning to play along, aren’t you?” Bitsy asked, sounding too much like Mrs. Wozniak at that moment. “You know the big bully doesn’t like you, because he doesn’t like anyone who doesn’t idolize him and laugh at his dumb jokes, but you’re going to pretend to be his friend, and try to spot the trap before it closes.” Her bright blue eyes bored holes in Alexander as she waited for his response. He felt a little cornered, not for the first time today, so he just stared back, finally admitting, just to stop the staring, “ Yeah, I guess that’s my plan.”
Bitsy snorted and picked up her bag as the bus arrived. “Just don’t pretend you know what you’re doing, ok? And when it gets all smelly, just remember you got me into this, and friends,” she concluded with mock seriousness, “ stick together, even when one of them is crazy.” Alexander grinned and boarded the bus behind her, savoring that word--- “friends.”
Next day at school was uneventful. Kerry actually winked at Alexander passing in the hall, but otherwise made no sign that he had changed his stance on “rat agents,” as they were sometimes called. Bitsy smiled when he passed the door of her home room, but there was no time to talk. And Noyes was missing ; painfully so, since Alexander knew where he was , or at least what he was doing. He was getting his hair cut short, which would make him look even smaller and skinnier, and he was being issued a blanket and a plate and mug, and made to walk naked through a disinfecting chamber. Citizens of the Progressive Society, even disgraced ones, had to be free from germs.