New Writings in SF 20 by John Carnell (ed.)

Author:John Carnell (ed.) [Carnell, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Short Story Collection, Science Fiction
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

THREE

He did learn to skate. His fine balance and sinewy leanness made it surprisingly easy and good skating enabled him to play passable hockey with the others, most of whom had had a stick and puck before they could walk. Nevertheless, he played with a singleness of purpose which kept it from being sport with him. His lightness made him vulnerable too, and no matter what team he played with, his opponents seemed to relish catching him with a bruising check or a shoulder along the boards. Still, he didn’t retaliate. You don’t score in the penalty box. And at least Orest and the other men were scrupulously fair about refereeing the games.

He was careful to do everything he was told, now, and seemed completely indifferent to changes in his programme. Orest had an uncanny ability to spot his growing enthusiasm for a subject and several times thwarted him again, but he was determined not to let his frustrations show. Commonsense had told him that sooner or later he must return to some things, that very few subjects had been more than opened up for him. Just after Christmas, a meaningless respite, he got his chance to return to the tron-lab. It was the one thing he had been waiting for, not merely because he had an all-consuming interest in it, but because he had a long-considered plan in mind.

To even a sharp-eyed observer it would have appeared that Jason was following out reasonably circumscribed projects; constructing model trontraffic controls, authorised computer circuits, standard test equipment, at times playing with his own refinements and demonstrating them to Orest, who clearly had other specialisations. That in itself gave him a sadistic satisfaction, having a labtech praise his work while Orest looked on, not quite following. But in the brief time he allowed himself after completing a project, before checking out, he stole a moment for the all-important thing. First it was a casual touch of screwdriver to the face of that detestable plate in his arm, with its shimmering dependence. He’d never seen Orest’s clearly, but it surely didn’t say that! On the first try he got only a tingle. Next day, with a “slip”, he numbed his whole arm. What was the difference? Touching the centre gave the least effect, but closer to the edges he could nearly put himself out. Adding it up, he recognised a peripheral force field. The cruddy Stab probably had it rigged to destruct if anyone tried to remove it for you.

The plate itself, he had long since deduced, was a combination sensor and transceiver. Just from the advanced equipment he was using here, he knew they could monitor and control as many circuits as they wanted in a unit that size. He’d seen a beauty almost as small in a tape on the Mars landing team, grafted between the shoulder-blades. And what did it amount to, after all, but a sophisticated version of something he had worked over often enough. He could visualise the circuitry closely enough for his purpose.

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