Free The Godwhale (S.F. Masterworks) by T. J. Bass Page A

among themselves.
    ‘Seems bright enough, but the directive is clear. Society can’t allow him to suffer. Better give him a bottle of Easy Red and put him in a side hall.’
    The bundle of clothing consisted of a coarse paper robe with a rope belt. The squeeze-bottle looked inviting until he deciphered the fine print – ‘Euthanasia liquor’.
    The soft wheels turned a notch and the Committee studied the next body. The Identoplate fitted into the reader. ‘Name? Occupation? Infirmity? Easy Red’.
    Larry watched the bodies around him. The drugs had aroused them, but few struggled into their robes. Most used the soft bundles as pillows and began to sip from their squeeze-bottles. The red liquid cheered them up. If it was lethal, and the label assured that it was, they would die happy – and much later. Larry pulled his robe over his arms and used the belt to tie the lower folds into a rolled tassel. His tender areas thus protected, he began a slow crawl down a side corridor towards the sounds of a city.
    ‘Excuse me,’ said Larry. Someone had come up from behind and stumbled into him. It was a female, about his age. Her smock was green and neat. Her features smooth. Her hair was rolled up tight. He tried to catch her eye, but they had the same nonfocusing emptiness he had seen in the attendant.
    ‘You should be ashamed, old man,’ she spat.
    ‘I’m sorry, I—’
    ‘Cluttering up the floor with your crippled old body is awfully inconsiderate. Do you realize that your ugliness has ruined my day? A girl can’t even walk the halls these days without being nauseated.’
    The words were harsh, but her face blank.
    ‘You smell awful,’ said another Citizen – a teenage male. ‘Can’t you see you’re dying of uraemia? Here, take this bottle of Easy Red. You shouldn’t be lingering on and suffering like that. You make all of us suffer when we have to look at you.’
    Larry huddled in a dark recess behind a Food Dispenser, but still they found him and chastized him for being alive. He asked for food, but those who noticed him shrugged and walked on. Most did not even glance in his direction.
    ‘Food,’ he said to the Dispenser. ‘I need something to eat.’
    ‘Unauthorized. You have no credits,’ said the machine.
    Larry was beginning to get the picture. He’d have to act quickly if he was to survive.
    ‘Food!’ he shouted, striking the Dispenser with his fist. ‘Feed me, damn you, or I’ll bust your skin and take what I want.’ Seams widened in the metalloid skin as his fist continued pounding. A red light blinked above the chute. He paused. His skin, softened by Suspension, began to bruise and split. The stubborn meck leaked lubricants. An optic high on the wall focused on Larry.
    ‘Old man, this disturbance irritates me.’ The green-smocked female had returned.
    Larry withdrew to a corner – sullen. She patted the damaged Dispenser and received her food item – a foot-long knobbly object with a bread-like consistency and a variegated cut surface. She bit off a generous portion and approached, talking with her mouth full.
    ‘I can’t even enjoy my meal with the sight of your ugly deformed . . .’
    The Security Squad stood around the attack scene, poking their light beams behind vents and pipes while the White Team quieted the hysterical girl.
    ‘But I was using the standard “suicide-precipitation” techniques when he attacked me. He wasn’t supposed to do that.’
    ‘I understand he is not one of our docile recent Citizens. He was suspended a long time ago,’ soothed the Mediteck.
    ‘But I’m not being paid to take these risks. How’s my ankle?’
    ‘Fine. This brace can come off in about fifty days. Do you feel up to talking with “Security?”’
    She nodded and repeated her story. ‘He doesn’t even have legs. Why would he want to live? He crawled off that way – eating my fruit loaf. See the trail of crumbs?’
    The trail was short. It ended at a ‘service’ access hatch –