“Don’t they complain?”
“Of course they complain, but what good does it do them? We just blame it on departmental error and tell them to send the complaint through channels, and channels on this planet really means something. You figure a ten-to twentyyear wait on most paper work. Here’s your office.” He pointed to an open doorway. “You settle down and study the records and see if you can come up with any ideas by the next shift.” He hurried away.
It was a small office, but Bill was proud of it. He closed the door and admired the files, the desk, the swivel chair, the lamp, all made from a variety of discarded bottles, cans, boxes, casters, coasters, and such. But there would be plenty of time to appreciate it; now he had to get to work: He hauled open the top drawer in the file cabinet and stared at the blackclothed, mat-bearded, pasty-faced corpse that was jammed in there. He slammed the drawer shut and retreated quickly.
“Here, here,” he told himself firmly. “You’ve seen enough bodies before, trooper, there’s no need to get nervous over this one.” He walked back and hauled the file open again and the corpse opened beady, gummy eyes and stared at him intensely.
VI
“What are you doing in my file cabinet?” Bill asked, as the man climbed down, stretching cramped muscles. He was short, and his rusty, old-fashioned suit was badly wrinkled.
“I had to see you-privately. This is the best way, I know from experience. You are dissatisfied, are you not?”
“Who are you?”
“Men call me Ecks.”
“You’re catching on, you’re a bright one.” A smile flickered across his face, giving a quick glimpse of browned snags of teeth, then vanished as quickly as it had come. “You’re the kind of man we need in the Party, a man with promise.”
“What party?”
“Don’t ask too many questions, or you’ll be in trouble. Discipline is strict, just prick your wrist so you can swear a Blood Oath.”
“For what?” Bill watched closely, ready for any suspicious movements.
“You hate the Emperor who enslaved you in his fascist army, you’re a freedom-loving, God-fearing freeman, ready to lay down his life to save his loved ones. You’re ready to join the revolt, the glorious revolution that will free … “
“Out!” Bill shrieked, clutching the man by the slack of his clothes and rushing him toward the door. X slipped out of his grasp and rushed behind the desk.
“You’re just a lackey of the criminals now, but free your mind from its chains. Read this book”-something fluttered to the floor-“and think. I shall return.”
When Bill dived for him, X did something to the wall, and a panel swung open that he vanished through. It swung shut with a dick, and when Bill looked closely he could find no mark or seam in the apparently solid surface. With trembling fingers he picked up the book and read the title, Blood, a Layman’s Guide to Armed Insurrection, then, whitefaced, hurled it from him. He tried to burn it, but the pages were noninflammable, nor could he tear them. His scissors blunted without cutting a sheet. In desperation he finally stuffed it behind the file cabinet and tried to forget that it was there.
After the calculated and sadistic slavery of the troopers, doing an honest day’s work for an honest day’s garbage was a great pleasure for Bill. He threw himself into his labors and was concentrating so hard that he never heard the door open and was startled when the man spoke.
“Is this the Department of Sanitation?” Bill looked up and saw the newcomer’s ruddy face peering over the top of an immense pile of plastic trays that he clasped in his outstretched arms. Without looking back the man kicked the door shut and another hand with a gun in it appeared under the pile of trays. “One false move and you’re dead,” he said.
Bill could count just as well as the next fellow and two hands plus one hand make three so he did not make a false move but a true move, that is he kicked upwards into the bottom of the mound of trays so they caught the gunman under the chin and knocked him backwards. The trays fell and before the last one had hit the floor Bill was sitting on the man’s back, twisting his head with the deadly Venerian neck-crunch, which can snap the spine like a weathered stick.