The Status Civilization, Page 2

  Chapter Two

  The new prisoners were led to a row of barracks at Square A-2. Therewere nearly five hundred of them. They were not yet men; they wereentities whose true memories extended barely an hour in time. Sitting ontheir bunks, the newborns looked curiously at their bodies, examinedwith sharp interest their hands and feet. They stared at each other, andsaw their formlessness mirrored in each other's eyes. They were not yetmen; but they were not children either. Certain abstractions remained,and the ghosts of memories. Maturation came quickly, born of old habitpatterns and personality traits, retained in the broken threads of theirformer lives on Earth.

  The new men clung to the vague recollections of concepts, ideas, rules.Within a few hours, their phlegmatic blandness had begun to pass. Theywere becoming men now. Individuals. Out of a dazed and superficialconformity, sharp differences began to emerge. Character reasserteditself, and the five hundred began to discover what they were.

  Will Barrent stood in line for a look at himself in the barracks mirror.When his turn came, he saw the reflection of a thin-faced, narrow-nosed,pleasant-looking young man with straight brown hair. The young man had aresolute, honest, unexceptional face, unmarked by any strong passion.Barrent turned away disappointed; it was the face of a stranger.

  Later, examining himself more closely, he could find no scars oranything else to distinguish his body from a thousand other bodies. Hishands were uncallused. He was wiry rather than muscular. He wonderedwhat sort of work he had done on Earth.

  Murder?

  He frowned. He wasn't ready to accept that.

  A man tapped him on the shoulder. "How you feeling?"

  Barrent turned and saw a large, thick-shouldered red-haired man standingbeside him.

  "Pretty good," Barrent said. "You were in line behind me, weren't you?"

  "That's right. Number 401. Name's Danis Foeren."

  Barrent introduced himself.

  "Your crime?" Foeren asked.

  "Murder."

  Foeren nodded, looking impressed. "Me, I'm a forger. Wouldn't think itto look at my hands." He held out two massive paws covered with sparsered hair. "But the skill's there. My hands remembered before any otherpart of me. On the ship I sat in my cell and looked at my hands. Theyitched. They wanted to be off and doing things. But the rest of mecouldn't remember what."

  "What did you do?" Barrent asked.

  "I closed my eyes and let my hands take over," Foeren said. "First thingI knew, they were up and picking the lock of the cell." He held up hishuge hands and looked at them admiringly. "Clever little devils!"

  "Picking the lock?" Barrent asked. "But I thought you were a forger."

  "Well, now," Foeren said, "forgery was my main line. But a pair ofskilled hands can do almost anything. I suspect that I was only _caught_for forgery; but I might also have been a safeman. My hands know toomuch for just a forger."

  "You've found out more about yourself than I have," Barrent said. "All Ihave to start with is a dream."

  "Well, that's a start," Foeren said. "There must be ways of finding outmore. The important thing is, we're on Omega."

  "Agreed," Barrent said sourly.

  "Nothing wrong with that," Foeren said. "Didn't you hear what the mansaid? This is our planet!"

  "With an average life expectancy of three Earth years," Barrent remindedhim.

  "That's probably just scare talk," Foeren said. "I wouldn't believestuff like that from a guard. The big thing is, we have our own planet.You heard what they said. 'Earth rejects us.' Nova Earth! Who needs her?We've our own planet here. A whole planet, Barrent! We're free!"

  * * * * *

  Another man said, "That's right, friend." He was small, furtive-eyed,and ingratiatingly friendly. "My name is Joe," he told them. "Actually,the name is Joao; but I prefer the archaic form with its flavor of moregracious times. Gentlemen, I couldn't help overhearing yourconversation, and I agree most heartily with our red-haired friend.Consider the possibilities! Earth has cast us aside? Excellent! We arebetter off without her. We are all equal here, free men in a freesociety. No uniforms, no guards, no soldiers. Just repentant formercriminals who want to live in peace."

  "What did they get you for?" Barrent asked.

  "They said I was a credit thief," Joe said. "I'm ashamed to admit that Ican't remember what a credit thief is. But perhaps it'll come back tome."

  "Maybe the authorities have some sort of memory retraining system,"Foeren said.

  "Authorities?" Joe said indignantly. "What do you mean, authorities?This is _our_ planet. We're all equal here. By definition, there can'tbe any authorities. No, friends, we left all that nonsense behind onEarth. Here we--"

  He stopped abruptly. The barracks' door had opened and a man walked in.He was evidently an older resident of Omega since he lacked the grayprison uniform. He was fat, and dressed in garish yellow and blueclothing. On a belt around his ample waist he carried a holstered pistoland a knife. He stood just inside the doorway, his hands on his hips,glaring at the new arrivals.

  "Well?" he said. "Don't you new men recognize a Quaestor? Stand up!"

  None of the men moved.

  The Quaestor's face went scarlet. "I guess I'll have to teach you alittle respect."

  Even before he had taken his weapon from its holster, the new arrivalshad scrambled to their feet. The Quaestor looked at them with a faintlyregretful air and pushed the weapon back in its holster.

  "The first thing you men better learn," the Quaestor said, "is yourstatus on Omega. Your status is _nowhere_. You're peons, and that meansyou're _nothing_."

  He waited a moment and then said, "Now pay attention, peons. You areabout to be instructed in your duties."