Free Fremder by Russell Hoban Page A

roasting what looked like a dog on a spit. One of them had a blaster and there was dancing but I couldn’t hear the music.
    The air looked no soupier than usual and all the hopper vents were closed but our breather filters were greenish-yellow by the time we got to the Ziggurat. The transparent anti-rad canopy was up and the yellow HAZRAD blimps that supported it swayed glistening in the rain. Through the canopy I saw bodies, some naked and some clothed, heaped on a plaza below the upper levels. The maintenance crews were out on strike so the building was in its purple standby mode; the naked bodies seen through the yellow canopy were greenish-grey and ghastly. As we flew lower I saw that there were Shorties among the adults. Placards were visible but I couldn’t make out what they said.
    ‘Are the big ones Clowns?’ I said.
    ‘Probably,’ said High John. ‘With Shorties giving the orders. This lot must have had a neutraliser for getting through the barrier screen; Shorties are getting smarter all the time.’
    ‘If they’d been smart they wouldn’t have got themselves terminated like that,’ said Mojo.
    ‘What were they protesting against?’ I said.
    ‘What’ve you got?’ said High John.
    ‘Fun Creds are what they mostly protest for,’ said Mojo: ‘toadsy and arcade time.’
    ‘You ever done toadsy?’ High John asked me.
    ‘Flicker drive is all I do in the consciousness-altering line.’
    ‘toadsy makes life a lot more exciting,’ said High John.
    ‘Death too,’ said Mojo.
    Even with the corpses the purple Ziggurat looked wonderfulin the rain sporting its yellow canopy and flashers, the various red and green beacons winking on relay towers and dish antennas, and the newsflash girdling it with green lights: SUNNYBANK MELTDOWN: 237 MORE DEAD. ‘DANGER PAST’ – SNG SHAKEUP, NO. I IN SECRET TALKS WITH TOP EXEC –
CLEVER DAUGHTER
FAMILIES: ‘TELL US THE TRUTH’ – ZIGGURAT MAINTENANCE CREWS REJECT CORPORATION OFFER: ‘WE’LL ZIG BUT WE WON’T ZAG’ – SURVEY SHOWS 43% INCREASE IN NO-GO AREAS: STREET BOSS SACKED, said the headlines. It was good to be home.
    Because of the canopy (still up because Maintenance were still out) we landed in the hopper park on top of the old MI Archive Tower and took the lift down to the underground shuttle to get to the Ziggurat. The shuttle is Red Clearance only and passes had to be shown but the platform stank of urine just the same and the graffiti on the walls were the usual thing: SNG HOARS OUT WOGS JEW UROTRASH OUT INGLAN 4 THE INGLASH. SHORTIS ROOL. The crossed arrows of the Patriots were prominent as were many illegible calligraphies which may have been personal signatures.
    At the Ziggurat we took the lift to Pythia Reception where Mojo signed me over to the Tech 7 on duty who turned out to be Nina Marlowe, the wife of Ernie Marlowe who’d been Auxiliary Engineer on
Clever Daughter
. ‘You’re looking well, Fremder,’ was all she said. She punched up my entry on the console and fed my capsule into Pythia intro.
    Standing by the reception desk was a sweet-faced grandmotherly-looking woman in a business suit and a power haircut. ‘A sad welcome, Mr Gorn,’ she said. ‘I’m Irene Heale, Head of Research and Development. Nothing can bring back the seven who were lost but we’re hoping for data from you that will prevent such disasters in future.’
    ‘I’ll do my best,’ I said.
    Nina pushed a buzzer, a young woman with fair hair in a long plait came towards me, and I felt a sudden rush of loss andlonging and desire all at once. It was too early for dusk but the little tribunal was sitting and the verdict was the usual one. ‘Hello,’ she said, and stuck out her hand. ‘I’m Katya Mazur. I’ll prep you for Pythia.’
    ‘You’re new, yes? You weren’t here the last time I had a Pythia session.’
    ‘I’ve been here three months or so.’ Her handshake was firm, her hand warm and dry.
    I leaned closer to see how her name was spelled on her