Robert Reed Short Stories by Robert Reed

Author:Robert Reed [Reed, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-04-26T05:00:00+00:00

If We Can Save Just One Child

Schoolyard

One man looked out of place. Twenty years on the job and a software package from one of the new security companies told the Physicality Facilitator to ignore everyone else on the schoolyard and focus his full attention on the fellow who was sitting apart from the other adults. The suspicious man was middle-aged, dressed in slacks and a sweat-dampened dress shirt. He had his rump perched on a concrete retaining wall, his face betraying a less-than-comfortable expression. Following standard protocols, the PF took photographs from several angles before asking the software for final interpretations. Moments later, the PF found himself with a thorough analysis of the man’s posture and face, six stars on the seven-point scale lighting up.

Three weeks later, that popular and wildly profitable software would receive what was dubbed an upgrade. But in reality, the product was so flawed that its owners would have to obliterate half of their previous work, replacing a stew of cranky algorithms and flawed databases with tools that were still inadequate, but measurably better than the awful predecessor.

“Hello, sir,” the PF began with a loud, overly friendly voice. “And how are you today?”

The man on the wall looked up, mildly surprised.

The PF introduced himself without extending his hand. Then with a smile worthy of a yearbook photograph, he asked, “Do I know you, sir?”

“I don’t know what you know,” the stranger replied. “Or what you don’t know, for that matter.”

The response was unexpected, and a blatant challenge. The PF stiffened his smile. “If I might ask, sir. Are you here to pick up a student?” “Yes.”

“Which child?”

The yard was littered with waiting parents and nannies, day care services and several older siblings. But the instructor knew most of those faces, or at least he could see nothing alarming in the other people’s body language. Sitting alone was a problem. Not conversing with the other parents was a signal. Not that anything would come of this, the PF reasoned … but still, in these grim times, someone in his position had to ask all the right questions.

The stranger glanced at the old brick schoolhouse. With a tight, quiet voice, he reported, “I’m waiting for my son.”

“I need a name, sir. Please.”

“Olsen. Pepper Olsen.”

The PF fed the name into his reader. Then with an exceptionally serious tone, he warned, “We don’t have any children named Olson.”

“Try an ‘e’ and a ‘n,’” the man muttered.

This time the PF was rewarded with the image of a smiling first-grader and links to a pleasant-faced woman who looked somewhat familiar. “Does his mother normally pick him up?”

“My wife does. Yes.”

“And she’s not here today?”

The man―Mr. Olsen, presumably―gave the world a mocking glance. With his gaze fixed on his accuser, he said, “No. She’s stuck at home.”

“I see.”

“I don’t usually pick up. But my wife, Pepper’s mother, is sick today. And for some reason, she doesn’t think people would appreciate seeing a woman barf on the playground.”

“Sir,” said the PF in a slow, injured tone.

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