"Daniel Slane, civilian, Social Security number 456-7329-988," Dan said.
"Eh?"
"Name, rank, and serial number," Dan explained. "I'm not answering any other questions."
"This means penal relocation, Sapiens! Unlawful departure from native locus, willful obstruction of justice-"
"You forgot being born without permission, and unauthorized breathing."
"Insolence!" the Inspector snarled. "I'm warning you, Sapiens, it's in my power to make things miserable for you. Now, how did you induce Agent Dzhackoon to bring you here?"
"Well, a good fairy came and gave me three wishes-"
"Take him away," the Inspector screeched. "Sector 97; an unoccupied locus."
"Unoccupied? That seems pretty extreme, doesn't it?" one of the guards commented, wrinkling his heavily ridged brow.
"Unoccupied! If it bothers you, perhaps I can arrange for you to join him there!"
The Neanderthaloid guard yawned widely, showing white teeth. He nodded to Dan, motioned him ahead. "Don't mind Spoghodo," he said loudly. "He's getting old."
"Sorry about all this," a voice hissed near Dan's ear. Dzhackoon-Ghunt, he couldn't say which-leaned near. "I'm afraid you'll have to go along to the penal area, but I'll try to straighten things out later."
Back in the concourse, Dan's guard escorted him past cubicles where busy IDMS agents reported to harassed seniors, through an archway into a room lined with narrow gray panels. It looked like a gym locker room.
"Ninety-seven," the guard said. He went to a wall chart, studied the fine print with the aid of a blunt, hairy finger, then set a dial on the wall. "Here we go," he said. He pushed a button beside one of the lockers. Its surface clouded and became iridescent.
"Just step through fast. Happy landings."
"Thanks." Dan ducked his head and pushed through the opening in a puff of frost.
3
He was standing on a steep hillside, looking down across a sweep of meadows to a plain far below. There were clumps of trees, and a river. In the distance a herd of animals grazed among low shrubbery. No road wound along the valley floor; no boats dotted the river; no village nestled at its bend. The far hills were innocent of trails, fences, houses, the rectangles of plowed acres. There were no contrails in the wide blue sky. No vagrant aroma of exhaust fumes, no mutter of internal combustion, no tin cans, no pop bottles In short, no people.
Dan turned. The portal still shimmered faintly in the bright air. He thrust his head through, found himself staring into the locker room. The yellow-clad Neanderthaloid glanced at him.
"Say," Dan said, ignoring the sensation of a hot wire around his neck, "can't we talk this thing over?"
"Better get your head out of there before it shuts down," the guard said cheerfully. "Otherwise-ssskkkttt!"
"What about some reading matter? And look, I get these head colds. Does the temperature drop here at night? Any dangerous animals? What do I eat?"
"Here." The guard reached into a hopper, took out a handful of pamphlets. "These are supposed to be for guys that are relocated without prejudice. You know, poor slobs that just happened to see too much, but I'll let you have one. Let's see… Anglic, Anglic…" He selected one, handed it to Dan.
"Thanks."
"Better get clear."
Dan withdrew his head. He sat down on the grass and looked over the booklet. It was handsomely printed in bright colors. WELCOME TO RELOCATION CENTER NO. 23 said the cover. Below the heading was a photo of a group of sullen-looking creatures of varying heights and degrees of hairiness wearing paper hats. The caption read: Newcomers Are Welcomed Into a Gay Round of Social Activity. Hi, Newcomer!
Dan opened the book. A photo showed a scene identical to the one before him, except that in place of the meadow, there was a parklike expanse of lawn, dotted with rambling buildings with long porches lined with rockers. There were picnic tables under spreading trees, and beyond, on the river, a yacht basin crowded with canoes and rowboats.
"Life in a Community Center is Grand Fun!" Dan read. "Activities! Brownies, Cub Scouts, Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, Sea Scouts, Tree Scouts, Cave Scouts, PTA, Shriners, Bear Cult, Rotary, Daughters of the Eastern Star, Mothers of the Big Banana, Dianetics-you name it! A Group for Everyone, and Everyone in a Group!
"Classes in conversational Urdu, Sprotch, Yiddish, Gaelic, Fundu, etc; knot-tying, rug-hooking, leatherwork, Greek Dancing, finger-painting and many, many others!
Little Theatre!
Indian Dance Pageants!
Round Table Discussions!
Town Meetings!
Dan thumbed on through the pages of emphatic print, stopped at a double-page spread labeled A Few Do's and Don'ts.
All of us want to make a GO of relocation. So-let's remember the Uranium Rule: Don't Do It! The Other Guy May Be Bigger!
Remember the other fellow's taboos!
What to you might be merely a wholesome picnic or mating bee may offend others. What some are used to doing in groups, others consider a solitary activity. Most taboos have to do with eating, sex, elimination, or gods; so remember, look before you sit down, lie down, squat down or kneel down!
Ladies With Beards Please Note:
Friend husband may be on the crew clearing clogged drains-so watch that shedding in the lavatories, eh, girls? And you fellas, too! Sure, good grooming pays-but groom each other out in the open, okay?
NOTE: There has been some agitation for "separate but equal" facilities. Now, honestly, folks; is that in the spirit of Center No. 23? Males and females will continue to use the same johns as always. No sexual chauvinism will be tolerated.
A Word to The Kiddies!
No brachiating will be permitted in the Social Center area. After all, a lot of the Dads sleep up there. There are plenty of other trees!
Daintiness Pays!
In these more-active-than-ever days, Personal Effluvium can get away from us almost before we notice. And that hearty scent may not be as satisfying to others as it is to ourselves! So remember, fellas: watch that P.E.! (Lye soap, eau de Cologne, flea powder and other beauty aids available at supply shed!)
Dan tossed the book aside. There were worse things than solitude. It looked like a pretty nice world-and it was all his-so far.
The entire North American continent, all of South America, Europe, Asia, Africa-the works. He could cut down trees, build a hut, furnish it. There'd be hunting-he could make a bow and arrows-and the skins would do to make clothes. He could start a little farming, fish the streams, sun bathe-all the things he'd never had time to do back home. It wouldn't be so bad. And eventually Dzhackoon would arrange for his release. It might be just the kind of vacation "Ah, Dan, my boy!" a bass voice boomed. Dan jumped and spun around.
Blote's immense face blinked at him from the portal. There was a large green bruise over one eye. He wagged a finger reproachfully.
"That was a dirty trick, Dan. My former employees were somewhat disgruntled, I'm sorry to say. But we'd best be off now. There's no time to waste."
"How did you get here?" Dan demanded.
"I employed a pocket signaler to recall my carrier-and none too soon." He touched his bruised eye gingerly. "A glance at the instruments showed me that you had visited the park. I followed and observed a IDMS Portal. Being of an adventurous turn, and, of course, concerned for your welfare, I stepped through-"
"Why didn't they arrest you? I was picked up for operating the carrier."
"They had some such notion. A whiff of stun gas served to discourage them. Now let's hurry along before the management revives."