The Currents of Space Read Online Free PDF Page B

hypnotic fashion.
    Oldsters sat on wheeled chairs in the strips, absorbing the warmth and moving as the strip moved. Sometimes they fell asleep and would remain behind in the shade, nodding in their chairs until the squeaking of the wheels when they shifted position woke them. Occasionally mothers nearly blocked the strips with their carriaged offspring.
    Terens said, “Now, Rik, stand up straight. We’re going up.”
    He was standing before a structure that filled the space between four square-placed pillars, and from ground to Upper City.
    Rik said, “I’m scared.”
    Rik could guess what the structure was. It was an elevator that lifted to the upper level.
    These were necessary, of course. Production was below, but consumption was above. Basic chemicals and raw food staples were shipped into Lower City, but finished plastic ware and fine meals were matters for Upper City. Excess population spawned below; maids, gardeners, chauffeurs, construction laborers were used above.
    Terens ignored Rik’s expression of fright. He was amazed that his own heart beat so violently. Not fright, of course. Rathera fierce satisfaction that he was going up. He would step all over that sacred cementalloy, stamp on it, scuff his dirt upon it. He could do that as a Townman. Of course he was still only a Florinian native to the Squires, but he was a Townman and he could step on the cementalloy whenever he pleased.
    Galaxy, he hated them!
    He stopped himself, drew a firm breath and signaled for the elevator. There was no use thinking hate. He had been on Sark for many years; on Sark itself, the center and breeding place of the Squires. He had learned to bear in silence. He ought not forget what he had learned now. Of all times, not now.
    He heard the whir of the elevator settling at the lower level, and the entire wall facing him dropped into its slot.
    The native who operated the elevator looked disgusted. “Just two of you.”
    “Just two,” said Terens, stepping in. Rik followed.
    The operator made no move to restore the fallen wall to its original position. He said, “Seems to me you guys could wait for the two o’clock load and move with it. I ain’t supposed to run this thing up and down for no two guys.” He spat carefully, making sure that the sputum hit lower-level concrete and not the floor of his elevator.
    He went on, “Where’s your employment tickets?”
    Terens said, “I’m a Townman. Can’t you see it by my clothes?”
    “Clothes don’t mean nothing. Listen, you think I’m risking my job because you maybe picked up some uniform somewheres? Where’s your card?”
    Terens, without another word, presented the standard document-folder all natives had to carry at all times: registration number, employment certificate, tax receipts. It was open to the crimson of his Townman’s license. The operator scanned it briefly.
    “Well, maybe you picked that up, too, but that’s not my business. You got it and I pass you, though Townman’s just a fancy name for a native to my way of figgering. What about the other guy?”
    “He’s in my charge,” said Terens. “He can come with me, or shall we call a patroller and check into the rules?”
    It was the last thing Terens wanted but he suggested it with suitable arrogance.
    “Awrright! Y’don’t have to get sore.” The elevator wall moved up, and with a lurch the elevator climbed. The operator mumbled direfully under his breath.
    Terens smiled tightly. It was almost inevitable. Those who worked directly for the Squires were only too glad to identify themselves with the rulers and make up for their real inferiority by a tighter adherence to the rules of segregation, a harsh and haughty attitude toward their fellows. They were the “upper-men” for whom the other Florinians reserved their particular hate, unalloyed by the carefully taught awe they felt for the Squires.
    The vertical distance traveled was thirty feet, but the door opened again to a new world. Like the