Excerpt: Outlaw

A peal of thunder woke Stan from his sleep; he sat up cursing and looked up at the ominous cloud formation overhead. Dark black and gray clouds swirled above, maybe with a hint of green in them; a sharp cold breeze caused him to shiver; tornado weather. He looked over at the alarm clock, 12:30am, universal standard time. He hit the alarm button and the clouds dissipated, the breeze died away and the ceiling lights came on.
He never would have installed the indoor weather system of his own choice but it had come with the apartment and he had grown to enjoy it despite the government mandated weather ‘quirks’ embedded in the programming. No matter how pleasant the setting, sunny day, day at the beach or a user created program, a cold breeze, a dark cloud, wind, rain, sleet, hail, something would dampen the experience. Stan just set it to thunderstorm and left it, no way to ruin a good thunderstorm though the shrieking of the wind often contained an unsettling element similar to a human scream.

He got ready for his day, washing, dressing and munching a food bar. It was the weekend and he had nowhere officially to be and nothing to do until he reported for his shift Monday morning at 21:30. He did however, have something in mind and thus determined, set about his business.
Taking the elevator down to the 100th floor, the shopping district, he chose a store. No reason for it, they all sold the same stuff but it was habit he guessed. He picked out a few food items from the mostly fresh perishable choices, canned or other shelf storable items being his preference although harder to get anymore (thanks to the purity, efficiency and economy in food transport act) picked a blanket of appropriate material and stood on the white line painted on the floor, waiting to pay. The lined inched forward, everybody it seemed was shopping this morning although once he thought about it, it made sense. Two hundred thousand residents in the building, most of them working the standard 20 hour day, ten day work week and four stores for all of them. Sure they could have chosen any number of stores in any of the other buildings in the city but what difference would it make, they were all pretty much the same.

The woman in front of him placed her items on the counter, the cashier rang them up and then she sat down on the concavity next to her. The unit scanned the subdermal insert on her bottom (less likely to be meddled with in that spot) and then deducted the amount owed from her account. She stood up, the robotic arm handed her her purchases and off she went. Stan was next.

Having processed Stan’s items, the clerk waited for him to sit down to finalize the purchase.
“I’ll pay in cash.” Stan told him.
“You’ll pay in what?” The man asked.
“Cash, money.” Stan answered. The clerk stood frozen for a moment.
“I…I don’t know how to do that.” He stammered. “They never taught us how to do that.”
Stan leaned over the counter. “Look there,” he pointed, “the total is 143 units,” he took two 100 unit bills from his pocket. “I give you these and you owe me 2 units in return.”
The clerk looked dazed. “I better call my manager.” He decided. A moment later the manager appeared. “Is there any problem?” He smiled.
“This man would like to pay in cash money.” The clerk replied. The smile left the managers face. “Well, I suppose, it is still legal,” he muttered. He showed the clerk how to make the transaction and handed Stan his change. “You should get with the times, forget about the old inefficient ways, you’re holding us all back, wasting time and making things more expensive for everybody.”
“I just don’t think paying by butt plug and having all my personal information up my rear end is progress.” Stan answered as he walked away.

“Radical.” He heard the manager whisper to the clerk not too quietly.

“Radical.” Stan thought, “name calling, anybody that stands up for their rights and liberties gets vilified with a name, that’s how they change things, outlaw things. First some government functionary will create a derogatory handle and the media will ape it until everybody thinks that way, then the legislation or vote…that’s how they got rid of the homeowners and private landholders. Proposition 34,” he thought. “The protection from environmentally unsound land uses act. They’d got that one passed by calling individual home ownership a ‘radical’ departure from traditional land management practices, told people they didn’t pay their fair share in taxes, used up precious resources, created pollution, called them names like renegade homeowner and wealthy elitists and said we needed the land and once we had it there would be more room for everybody. The propaganda had worked and the private ownership of a home or land was abolished.
They didn’t mention the amount of money that went into the hands of the builders and the management corporations of the two or three kilometer high buildings that went up to house the populace. Room enough for everybody indeed and no need to ever leave, just as the authorities wanted. One could be born, raised, educated, eat, sleep, work, recreate, procreate and die all under one roof.

It hadn’t ended there either. Virtually any kind of individualism had been tamped down under some marginalizing or pejorative term, radical, extremist, terrorist, renegade! They’d gotten the owners [extremists all of them] of any privately owned motor vehicle in such manner. Outdoorsmen from hunters to hikers, birdwatchers, boaters, even skiers had become threats, called names like survivalists, supremacists, lone wolf anti-social psycopaths, or revolutionary militias and the average person went along, as it only took one or two examples of bad behavior to paint everyone indulging in such activities as representative of the whole.

The ‘Revision of Government act’, an attempt to simplify the language of the laws and the constitution had passed overwhelmingly even though as a result the individual right to vote ( as well as most of the 20 amendments in the bill of rights ) were no longer recognized. Voting had become a right held in common, poll based elections; As long as someone got to vote in every election and every polled position was represented, the right was being upheld.
Almost no one cared.
Lost in his thoughts Stan wandered down to the ground floor, ahead, through double doors was the park. 1,300 meters by1, 300 meters it was the largest open space in the entire building, with the exception of some necessary support structures. A sign on the door said that the creek was drained for maintenance, though another creek on the other side of the park was operating. He knew that few people would walk through the park to get there, going around was the best way to avoid getting lost.

He looked in, a crew was power-washing the creek bed, the difference was obvious as algae and assorted crud was sluiced off and carried down the synthetic waterway. Nearby a troop of scouts was setting up their camp. No doubt some of them would be going for wilderness survival badges. He wondered if any of them had ever been outside the building before. The sun lamps grew slowly brighter, mimicking a real sunrise. The captive plants resumed photosynthesis, mimicking their outdoor counterparts. Holographic animals flitted through the dwarf forest, the trees swaying from the fans that simulated the squall that was scheduled to blow through shortly. The cleaning crew looked at their watches hoping they’d be done before then. The scouts hoped they would be okay, they had tents but they were old and tents weren't being made anymore and the intensity of these storms had found many troops standing dripping and miserable in the hall outside the park waiting for the tempest to pass or shivering from an unexpected 'summer blizzard'. As a result many were pushing to eliminate the scouting aspect of scouting. It could all be simulated on a computer screen anyhow, why endanger our youth with such dangerous and antiquated pastimes?
.

Stan turned and walked through a short hallway. On the wall was a schematic, a yellow arrow flashed, You are Here! He placed his finger on the schematic and traced his finger along a route through the hallways and public avenues of the connected buildings. A readout displayed the distance and approximate walking times as his finger progressed. “40 minutes to one and a half hours.” He frowned, further than he had thought but doable. He turned and began to walk through the crowded passages.

The readout had been wrong, his time was only 33 minutes. He looked at the large glass doors. Through those and he’d be outside, really outside, no roof over his head, no walls around him. He’d been outside before, a lot, before the laws had changed and social attitudes as well. Still, he took a breath and then pushed the door. It opened, he was half surprised that it did but then going through them was no crime, yet.

Outside it was…pleasant! A mild sun shone down on him, the temperature was comfortable. He followed the sidewalk with his eyes, ahead about 200 meters or so it led into another building. To one side of the walk was a narrow strip of short clipped lawn, neat and tidy. It butted up against the sides of the buildings. The other side of the walk featured a railing of dull polished metal, no gate. Beyond that was a much wider stretch of neatly clipped lawn that ran out against a tangle of bushes and trees 200 meters or so distant. He stepped out and briskly walked a dozen steps or so and then hopped over the railing. “Good thing I don’t have a butt plug.” He said to himself.
“Hey, hey you!” A voice cried to him.
He turned. Four workmen in gray coveralls gaped at him, he hadn’t seen them.
“Are you okay? One of them asked.
“Yes, yes I’m fine.” He answered.
“What are you doing?”
“Just going for a walk, that’s all I’m fine.”
“Well why don’t you stay on this side of the railing then? It’s dangerous on that side.” The man said.
“ I just”…he paused not sure how to explain himself, “I just wanted to take a walk in the woods for a little while.” The faces of the workmen took on a shocked expression.
“No, you don’t have to do that,” the man exclaimed. Another of the workers took a few steps backwards and then hurried inside. “It can’t be that bad, we can get you help.”
“Really I’m fine,” Stan almost chuckled, “I’ve been doing this all my life really, I’ll be okay.” The man appeared not to have heard him.
“Look, if your wife left you or you lost your job or something…you don’t have to…to do this.”
“Really it’s nothing like that. I like it out there, I’m okay.”
He began to walk across the grass. The workers followed him up to the rail but didn’t climb over. “Come back man.” Another of them called out. In a moment he was off the grass and into some bushes. He turned to look back; the workmen stood in horror and shock, unsure and unable to act. He parted some branches and then was out of their sight.

The brush was low and thick, the going hard for the first few minutes but as he got in deeper the trees began to shade out the lower flora, the irregular mounds of overgrown earth, moldy textiles and broken concrete disappeared and the going became easier. He took a sheet of paper out of his pocket, a hand written map of sorts, and followed the directions penciled in on it. After some time he came across a trail and followed it for long enough to worry that he was lost but eventually the trail took him to a clearing.
A voice called out to him. “Stan, you made it.”
“Yeah, I did but some workers saw me this time.”
“Did they try to follow you?”
“No, but they sure did try to convince me that this isn’t the way to end it all.” He laughed and several others laughed with him. Stan nodded to three others in greeting.
“Howie, Jordan, Jordan’s wife whose name I always mispronounce.” He said.
“How do you mispronounce June?” Jordan’s wife June asked?
“Jane.” Stan mumbled back.
“Nobody touched the cache.” Howie said. “We are gathering quite an accumulation of supplies but we need a lot more canned goods before they are all outlawed. Maybe we can think of a way to preserve food on our own.” They all agreed it was a good idea.
"They used to do things like that in the old days." June said. "I could try and find something in the old data files, if....if they haven't been erased (Efficiency of media data storage act) or security locked."
“You’ll have to be very discreet,” Stan said, “ I should have looked around better myself to make sure I wasn’t seen. If the authorities get a lot of reports of people going into the woods we might have trouble.” They all nodded.
“You’ll have to take a different door back in.” June told him. “There may be a search. I can give you directions to another one if you need it.”
“Good.”
Stan strode over to an old wooden bench and opened up the blanket, which he had folded into a bedroll. He removed the canned goods and other supplies he’d brought from inside of it. He looked around at the rusted old swing set, the teeter-totter and slides.
“This might be our best camping trip yet!”
Several old large trees provided shade and beneath them, as a result, there was relatively little undergrowth. This provided somewhat of a clearing beyond which could be seen the remnants of....something, something man made. Stan had a notion to explore. Jordan, seeing his gaze guessed his intent and offered to go along.
"I've wanted to investigate that myself," he told Stan, "but I've always been a bit leery of going alone."
Stan chuckled to himself, he was older than the others and though he too had been raised in a society inculcated with the superiority of its own culture, he had also been raised before that culture had taken so thorough a hold of the minds of its citizens. He remembered being outside as a child and nothing bad happening so he thought nothing of being outside though he knew his friends had been reared to fear it. To their credit they were facing their fears, primitive instincts, base humanity overcoming conditioning.
"C'mon, let's go." He said.
The two wound their way through tall grass and bushes following what Stan thought to be animal trails, though what animals had created them he hadn't a clue. A wall of brick appeared as they moved closer. It was buckled and leaning in places, tree roots had undermined it and they were able to walk through without difficulty. A bent and badly corroded metal sign warned tresspassers to "keep out, government property" another warned of "extreme danger that could result in serious unjury or death".
Jordan took a back azimuth with a homemade compass and then wrote the data in a notebook lest they become disoriented and lost. Ahead were other structures, more substantial than the wall though they too were in great disrepair. Many of them were collapsed in on themselves. These ruins were seperated by somewhat open areas and Stan realized these were paved roads, or had been once. Plants and small trees taking advantage of joints and cracks in the concrete had begun growing there, the pavement heaving up in places but still perceptable in general form and layout.
Some of the larger buildings remained standing and Stan wondered what the peeling orange markings spray painted by some of the doors and windows signified.
"I remember," said Jordan, "when I was majoring in anthropology and had to take a history minor, before they did away with history, we read old reports about the government going through the 'abandoned areas' to remove all the reusable metals and wiring and electronics. Those may be the markings the crews used to tell each other where they had searched already or what they had found." He looked at one of the markings closely. "Yes, see that?" He pointed it out to Stan. "That's a number, from the old number system, before they changed the way we write numbers. They used base ten in the old days too."
"What's base ten?" Stan wondered.
"Well," Jordan paused trying to think of how to explain it. "Today we use base five because it's more efficient. One, two, three, four, ten. Then eleven through fourteen then twenty to twenty four then thirty and so on."
"Yes, I know how to count but what's base ten mean?" Stan said puzzled.
"Okay, well they would go from one to a number called nine and then to ten, then eleven to a number called nineteen then twenty to one called twenty nine and on and on."
"It sounds complicated, nine..teen? It sounds so weird, I could never remember that. Crap, I'm glad we do it our way. At least the government got that right." Stan told him.
"Well their nineteen equals our thirtyfour." Jordan said, "Think about that a minute, when the government says our life expectancy has increased to two hundred and thirty years and they used to only live to be half that. Is the gov't hedging the numbers?"
"Hmmm, that's all beyond me." Stan replied, "I don't believe most of what the gov't tells us anyhow so I guess they could be lying about that too."
"They don't have to lie, they can just withhold the truth and whose to say they are wrong? We can't read any of the old time books or reports, maps or surveys. They mapped the whole planet, I know I've seen some of it but it's useless to us now because of the numbers issue. We are the first society to not use base ten in twelve thousand years of recorded history." Jordan told him.
"So everything that came before us means nothing?"
"It's useless to regular people. The gov't or high level academics can run it through a computer and get what they need out of it but most people don't even know about the base ten, base five differences to begin with so even if they find something they can't read it or use it."
Stan looked around them. "All of this then is kind of like unexplored territory. In a way we are the first people to see it and have the ability to comprehend and interpret some of what we find."
"The first in several generations anyhow," Jordan added as the two continued to walk amongst the ruined buildings. "Our grandparents may have understood these things. In fact I know they did, mine anyhow. I have seen pictures of them and they had these old numbers written on them, on the back or even in the pictures themselves. Addresses on their homes, numbers on vehicles. I didn't understand it when I was young but when I went to college, it opened my eyes. There is so much more to the world than the building and some of those old Professors wanted us to know it too.
"I didn't know about the numbers, I never went to college, but I have always been drawn to being outside, no roof over my head or walls around me." Stan spoke. "My Mother told me that when I was young we lived near some mountains and we would go to beaches and actually swim in an ocean. That's where it comes from, I never learned to be afraid of it I guess. Then when I was four or ten they made us move because of the insurrection. The terrorists were using the mountains as bases and we were in the forbidden zone so we had to leave. We moved around a lot til I was about 22 or 23. I was the oddball kid in school, I wanted to go out for recess and do something and all the other kids stayed inside where it was safe. Puberty was simply awful but in a lot of ways it helped me to know myself and not to be dependent on the system. I graduated from high school early when I was 34 and wandered around from city to city. Finally I got a job working for transit and got to go city to city for free. It beats being in a box all day but I still only get to see the world from inside a plastic tube."
"I've spent my entire life in this city." Jordan told him. "Other than these excursions I've never been outside of it or visited another city."
"Did they deny your travel permit?" Stan asked.
"Well to be honest, I never applied." Jordan replied sheepishly. "I never had any reason to visit another city, no relatives or anything and I didn't know what I would do once I got there anyhow. Hell, I lived in the same building as university so even leaving the building was a big adventure for me."
"So what got you venturing outside in secret?" Stan wondered.
"Well college had a lot to do with it but I also grew up in one of the old style buildings, the ones with windows. My Grandmother jimmied one open and she would feed the birds. Yellow birds and blue ones and red ones and some black ones and brown ones. I was terrified but Granma just laughed and said they were harmless. She told me they came from a place off in the distance. All I could see were some green tree tops far away, this was when they were trying to build a dome over the city and hadn't yet built the perimeter high rises that block the view or replaced the glass with pictures of other buildings. Well as you know the dome was knocked over by a storm before it was completed and the idea abandoned or else we wouldn't even be able to get outside now but somehow those far away tree tops with their colored birds are still out here someplace waiting for me to find them. You must get a good view from the transit tube?"
"I do," Stan told him, "but not the passengers. They see what's on the screen in front of them or the advertisments posted on the walls or the pictures of buildings everywhere else. I get to sit there up top in front in my sealed control station and see all the 'wild dangerous' territory that we pass through on our way to another city. Sights too terrifying for the average citizen to be allowed to see. Sights so horrifying in magnitude that I am offered counseling on a regular basis in case it gets to be too much for me to handle. I accept it too from time to time. Not because I need it but because if I didn't accept it, if I told them I like the scenary they would think something is wrong with me. So I make up stories of how lonely and barren and frightening it all looks to me and how comforting the soothing female computer voice is or the music or the solid structure of the cabin. The guy buys it too because he's never seen it himself, he just hears about it from people like me so it fits in with what he's been told about it all and best of all, the time I spend there I get paid for." Stan laughed.
"I do see things though." He added. "People sometimes, where there shouldn't be any, kilometers from any city, it would take days to walk to. People like us but, what's the word I want, somehow like they belong there, likes it's natural for them to be there."
"Feral." Jordan said, "feral people, natural people."
"Yeah, like that. Sometimes I wave to them and they wave back, not hostile at all and they have children sometimes. Strange to think there may be a society living outside the cities. I wonder if I should mention them to my counselor, I sometimes think maybe they are put there for me to see them and find out if I'll report it."
"Like the 'holdouts' from the old days. Although that term is no longer officially sanctioned. Nobody lives outside the cities anymore." Jordan snorted. "They brought that whole group of people in some years back, a cult of some sort that had lost touch with civilization, settled them in one of the cities, schooled the children, told us horror stories of how they'd been 'forced' to live like animals when their supplies ran out, starved and only survived by eating their dead. The whole thing was a put on though, to counter the rumors that people really could live outside."
"Really, I never knew that." Stan marveled.
"Yeah, they do something like that every twenty years or so, really push it on the school kids to kind of take the adventure, the romance out of it and discourage them from even thinking it is an option."
"Amazing the lengths they go to."
"Well', Jordan replied. "the easiest way to control people is to make them want to be controlled, to make them want to go in the direction you are taking them. I don't think your 'wilderness' people are plants put there to test you. That would help perpetuate rumors that the gov't wants stopped. I think you really are seeing wild, free people."

Stan nodded and picked up the remnants of a book from a warped tabletop, paper books were now rare but he had seen them before. Overhead most of the roof had collapsed into the center of the room but against the wall, the table had remained sheltered from most of the weather of the preceding decades. Around him, he noticed now, the walls still had shelves attached, though many had collapsed. Some contained strange devices which he didn't recognize.
"This looks like it was a store." He said to Jordan.
"Hmm, indeed."
They walked through a doorway, a large tree grew out of the tiled floor a few meters in front of them. They moved into the cavern that had once been a large room. Here too the roof had fallen in but they could see a number of supporting columns and the overall appearance reminded them of a theater or the community rooms that they were familiar with in the buildings of their time. Other rooms were connected to the larger one and they recognized that these too were stores. While many of them were empty save for debris and clutter some contained mouldering furnishings and what appeared to be more goods.
Off to one side was a stairway, attached to the wall and made of concrete it remained basically solid. They tested each step nonetheless and cleared each one of leaves and decayed building material as they climbed. At the top they recognized a wide walkway that went around most of the upper level of the room. They dodged around bushes that had taken hold and past more piles of wreckage as they explored the level.
One room appeared less derelict than the others, the roof there was mostly in place, a few holes provided pools of light. They moved slowly inside. As their eyes acclimated to the darkness they could see dark shapes, aisles, counters, shelves that held more dark unrecognized shapes.
"I wish we had a flashlight." Stan said.
"A what light?" Jordan queried.
"A light so we could see what this stuff is." Stan answered him.
"Well why didn't you just say a light?" Jordan replied.
"A flashlight was a specific kind of light, you held it in your hand, think of a sex toy with a light in the end, that's the idea. You could take it with you for...situations like these." Stan told him. "We used to have one when I was a kid. Don't need them anymore I guess, there's always a wall switch or computer console nearby when you need one."
"Hmm, interesting. So did you have sex with it too?" Jordan teased him. Stan staring intently at an unfamiliar object in the dark didn't catch the joke.
"Wha...no! No we didn't, it was just a light that you held in your hand." Stan retorted.
"And brought with you to have sex with in situations like this. You old timers sure were knotty." Jordan was smiling now.
"I'm only about 30 years older than you and no I'm not knotty." He looked up seeing Jordan laughing."Oh, I'll get you for that." He laughed too as he got the joke. "What is that?" He pointed to something on the wall.
It was a long object, four or ten feet long with an eye and a mouth on one end and was attached to a plaque of some sort that was itself attached to the wall. Jordan picked up a broken piece of glass and reflected some light onto the thing. They both jumped back startled and then laughed with relief as the eye reflected light back at them.
"It's a fish." Jordan announced. "But...what kind?"
"I've never seen one like that, does...is that a knife on it's snout?" Stan wondered. He reached up and brushed dust off of the object. "It's blue!"
"Why would they put a fish up on a wall for?" Jordan asked. "Is it some kind of tool shaped like a fish, does it have a function?"
"People used to keep fish as pets." Stan mumbled, "but I think they have to live in the water all the time."
"I'll bet it's a flying fish," Jordan postulated, "I've heard about those."
"No, fish don't fly, look there are no feathers or wings." Stan responded.
"They could have fallen off, that's been there a long, long time, maybe another animal ate the wings." Jordan said.
" I would have heard of flying fish." Stan told him. "You must mean pet birds, birds fly, that's what you heard about, canneries and budgets."

"I don't know Stan, this is weird."
"It is." Stan agreed
At an impasse for the moment the two just looked at the thing trying to make sense of it. Finally Jordan made a rough sketch in his notebook before they moved on.
The two made their way through the remnants of the store, into a back room filled with moldering debris, the roof had failed badly here. At the back wall an open doorway drew them towards the light. They carefully picked their way over the piled trash and through to the outside.
"Look at that!"
Before them sat row after row of vehicles, close packed together, overgrown with brush and trees. They passed over the disintegrating asphalt to the nearest of them.
"I wonder if any of them still work." Jordan said aloud.
"They are badly corroded." Stan answered. "It might be possible." He peered through the tinted glass and inside the nearest. "The structure appears intact, only the outer surface is showing damage. But...who knows how...these machines functioned? We would need schematics."
The pair explored the huge field of disused and abandoned motor vehicles. The going was difficult as they were parked front to back in rows kilometers long with only about a meter between. Thick bushes and other growth often forced them to go over or around. A few canted signs testified to some system of organization to the chaos. Presently they saw what appeared to be a central point, a small building that may have been the coordination point on the very edge of the mass of metal. They made their way to it slowly. It was a small wood frame structure with corrugated metal covering. Jordan entered the unlocked door, Stan climbed a ladder to the roof.
Around him now he could see clearly the vastness of that junk yard. What he recognized as personal vehicles, though he couldn't descern them by type, occupied thousands of rows. Then a demarcation and other larger vehicles, what he would later learn were buses, trucks, trailers, construction equipment. All parked in the same orderly fashion, nose to tail, segregated in general by type, function, purpose. And all abandoned and left to rust.
Shortly Jordan climbed the ladder and joined him, excited by his find he suddenly found himself at a loss for words, awed as well by the vastness of the spectacle around them. In his hand was a map, of sorts, a diagram of the place. Stan took it gently from his hand and read the header.
"Disposal depot number..se...veen?...see...vin?" He tried to sound out the unfamiliar word.
"Seven," Jordan whispered, "disposal depot number seven. Just one of a number of them." He regained his presence of mind, "Look here," he pointed to several digits on the corner of the paper. "That is a 21st century date and year, oh, I don't know exactly when, I don't want to try and convert the numbers right now but it's before the modern age that's for sure. You should come down, there are a lot of things to look at, this was a dispersal point. When they brought the vehicles in they would have stopped here to be assigned a location. A lot of the documentation is inside, this could be a real archaelogical treasure Stan."
"Okay, but I want to go over there." He pointed in the direction of hundreds of buses. "All that glass, if those things are intact we could use them for a shelter or a storage place."
Jordan handed him a broken pair of binoculars. "Try these," he said, "you just put your eyes up to the lenses and look, focus with that ring there. The left one is broken though."
"It magnifies everything." Stan smiled. "Magnificent. Magnifies magnificently as well I might add."

They were suddenly interrupted by a cold splat of water hitting Jordan on the forehead.
"What the....?"
Stan looked up and pointed to a single dark cloud overhead. "Rain." He said as large drops began to fall.
"We have to get back to the others." Jordan exclaimed urgently.
"No, it'll be okay.' Stan reassured him. "We'd only get soaked ourselves on the way. Let's get inside this shack, it's only a single cloud I think it will be over soon."

It wasn't that they were afraid of the storm so much, although most people of their time would be unsettled due to their conditioning and unfamiliarity with bad weather, but the fact that most of their clothing was paper based was cause for concern. Nearly all of them had had the experience of getting a sleeve wet in a sink or shower and having it disintegrate and fall off after a short time. When dry, their clothing was as durable as it needed to be and could even be washed a time of two, but wet and on a human body, the warmth, wetness and movement would quickly cause the fibers to weaken and fall apart. Though nudity was not so taboo in their close confined society, every room of every building was maintained to the same temperature and the experience of being cold was just too unpleasant for them to accept willingly.

"I'm worried about June," Jordan confessed. "this was my idea, if something happened...."
"It's okay, really," Stan reassured him, "remember our ancestors lived in the wilds for hundreds of years before the ascent of civilization. Her innate animal cunning will take over in a crisis."
They both laughed at the old fashioned notion that somehow human beings had evolved from and lived like animals.
"They do have all the synthetic blankets with them."
"She's probably more worried about you than you are about her, terrified that we are out here getting soaked, that in an hour or two the both of us will wander back naked and shivering and that she'll have to nurse you back to health....if you survive."
"The poor girl. I hope she doesn't worry too much."
"Look, it's stopping." Stan pointed. "Let's go back and bring them here. We even have a place to shelter if it rains again."

Once they had returned to the others they were shocked to discover that it had not rained there.

"How can it rain in one place and not another?" Howie asked skeptically. "We didn't hear any thunder, no screaming wind so how could all of that happen just a few kilometers away and we didn't notice it?"
"It didn't thunder, there was no wind, it just rained for a little while." Jordan calmly explained.
"I've never heard of that." Said an unconvinced Howie.
"Me either." Agreed June. "It always rains hard, the wind blows things around and the thunder is so loud it knocks you to the ground. Always."
"But where those real storms or generated by computer?" Asked Stan.
"Well...every storm I've ever been in...I don't know, it just always is so, so violent." June replied.
"I have to agree with June here," said Howie. "That has been my experience as well."
"I don't meant to be a know-it-all but I am a few years older than all of you and I remember rain when I was a kid, outside rain." Stan told them. "Sometimes it was violent, sometimes it would just rain all day and sometimes it would pass over quickly, gently."
"And I can back that up from what we just experienced. "Jordan added. "My experience has almost always been like yours, noisy, scary bad storms but this one was different. So unless you think I'm lying to you..."
"No, no. I didn't say you were a liar." Howie said. "It's just so different from what I've come to expect of bad weather."
"Well I'm not going to argue about it," said June, "we'll just consider it a learning experience like the wild asparagus I found that time. Some seed must have gotten out and blown around and was able to grow and survive without being taken care of by anybody."
"It happens." Said Howie.

"Anybody interested in what we found?" Jordan asked. He produced several large squares of folded paper. "Schematics." He said.
"Schematics?" Howie was very interested. "Paper schematics, you don't see those anymore."
"What are they of?" June asked, more interested in the artisitc possibilities than the technical.
"We found a vehicle disposal point." He answered, unfolding one of the squares. "This is a schematic of that place." He pointed out the line drawings representing the rows of vehicles, how many and of which types. They peered intently at the unfamiliar words and numbers. "I also found this," he said as he opened a larger one. "It covers a very large area, I think the place where our city is, where it would be built in their time, is on this." He pointed to a nearly empty plain near a river. "And look at these," his finger went to indicate the locations of several other disposal units. "And this, aircraft disposal unit one, at this place, the George W. Bush memorial airport." They mouthed the unfamiliar term, airport. More lines indicated where rows of planes would have been parked.
"Oh my word," Howie exclaimed, "look, private aircraft, single engine, private aircraft multi-engine, corporate aircraft. Private aircraft! I had no idea they could own an aircraft."
"Only the Central government operates any now." Said June. "I wonder why a person would even want to have one?"
"To go places in." Said Stan.
"What! Travel by aircraft? No, no nobody goes inside them, not in the air." She retorted.
"I've heard of it," Said Howie, Jordan nodded in agreement. "the military would move people to conflict zones. People actually operated the controls in flight in those days."
"How come I've never heard of that before?" She asked them.
"You're a physician, you get very insulated, everything you are involved in is modern and up to date. We do plant systems engineering and building, we have access to old materials, books and references that you wouldn't. Things get written down sometimes and passed on. Ours is a profession rooted in practicality, my dear, they can't change the laws of physics just to suit a political philosophy or we'd find out about it, things would stop working, buildings would fall down."
"I'm in transit," Stan said, "it's just kind of common knowledge to us."
"Well don't feel bad about it," Howie teased, "none of us can rebuild a heart or clone damaged brain material."
"I know my high school science project in that regard went well awry." Stan added.

The group decided that as the day was late they would do no more exploring. They set about putting their camp up and preparing for the night. Extra blankets were propped up by or tied to sticks and trees to act as a tent (they'd not gotten a permit to buy a proper one). They next set about the arduous task of building a fire, something that none of them had ever had to do before. It took some time before they discovered the correct combination of kindling, twig and larger branch progression in the fire starting process. Fortunately both the medical and engineering sciences worked in harmony to contrive and work out the details of combustion, oxygen and fuel structure requirements to produce the needed results.

"So next time we try to light the smallest twigs first, not the largest." Howie stated.
Jordan consulted his notebook. "Ummm, yes, correct, the attempts to light the log failed each time until a continuous flame was achieved by igniting and maintaining flame first on the smallest and then a series of progressively larger pieces of wood. The attempts to light the medium to smaller branches were inconsistant but the kindling caught fire almost everytime which served as a base to ignite the larger pieces."
"And you also have to have a supply of wood close at hand or it will go out." June added. "And wet wood or that found in depressions in the ground or under leaves is very difficult to light or keep burning."
"Yes, I know that now." Answered Stan.
"Good, I'll write that down for next time." Jordan said. "Now which of the structural constructions do you think worked the best?" He asked the group.
"Well just piling everything up didn't do so good." Stan volunteered. "It was hard to ignite and fell over if you knocked into it while trying to light it."
"Good, good." Jordan jotted in his book.
"I don't think the structural geometry itself was the prime issue," said June, "they all seemed to work well once we got a fire going if there was some spacing to allow the air to get into the flame. Rather the main point is to put your ignition source at the bottom so that the heat will travel up and ignite the wood atop of it."
"Atop the wood pile," said Stan, " because the fire won't burn downwards very well, I see, I see. Okay good. I'll remember that next time."

Late that night it began to rain again though once more it was not the kind of violent storm they feared it would be. A gentle rain, solid at times, fell for about an hour but stopped before dawn. The foursome huddled together for warmth and comfort, most of their clothing sealed in water resistent bags for protection. After it became apparent that their makeshift tent was keeping out the majority of the water and that nothing untoward was happening they began to loosen up and find humor in their situation.
Jordan took the opportunity to explain some ideas he'd had and showed them some writing on the schematics. He explained that these were base ten numbers and suggested they all learn how to use them. In that way they could use the grid system on the diagrams to communicate specific locations and even if someone else saw them they wouldn't easily be able to decypher the true meaning. They all agreed and took an hour or so to memorize up to the number thirty. Most of them found it awkward but they had the general idea and with practice it would become easier for them.

Stan and Jordan together spoke more in depth about what they had seen earlier at the disposal yard and about the possibilities. A fair number of the vehicles they'd encountered were large enough and intact enough to serve as a storage place or shelter and the idea of moving their caches there was brought up. Jordan explained that with the grid system one of them would be able to store items within a specific vehicle and that the others would be able to find it later never needing to go there beforehand.
Howie reminded them about finding a cluster of strange metal pots, pans and assorted eating utensils on an earlier outing. Though exposed to the elements for many decades they appeared to be usable and generally in good condition. This was important as in their own time many of these items were not available in a durable material suitable to their purposes.
A sense of excitement permeated the group, though they were still technically within the law they felt the giddy sensations of getting away with something. The spirit of the explorer was reawakened; A desire to see and learn, to satisfy an inner urge that could no longer be contained.
Sunday, the last day, found them quickly exploring even more. They had decided to take a circuitous route to return to the city and avoid using the same entrances on their trips thus avoiding, they hoped, suspiscious patterns. This worked well as they were able to revisit the auto disposal lot and establish landmarks that all would now have in common.
The old schematic showed roads and though mostly broken up and overgrown by now the walking along most of these was easier than through the thick brush and woods that surrounded them. Animals had used the roads over the years as animals, like people, tend to take the easiest routes and in so doing they had kept the roads open to a degree as trails. Occasionally an old road sign remained and they used these to check their progress, finding that they were making excellent time. Open fields often proved to be the remnants of paved lots or foundations or even small bridges still spanning creeks and other watercourses.
With growing satisfaction they realized that these old roads could take them surprising distances. That these would allow their explorations ever wider ranging excursions in the short days they had available to them.
The day was pleasant, the sun shone down warmly, trees shaded the way and provided welcome stopping places. They noticed that many of these appeared to have originally been planted, many species only appearing near the ruins of homes, walls or other manmade constructions.
Animals they later would discover were called deer initially frightened them but the creatures appeared only to be curious and showed no aggressiveness before gently disappearing and the group became less fearful of them. Other animals also flitted about in the trees, running up and down trunks or jumping to branches. The knew about squirrels and the rabbits they saw along the way. Several terrifying snakes which had been sunning themselves slithered out of the trail and into the brush, these brought the group to a complete halt for some time. They'd never seen a living one before and the natural fear of snakes that all primates seem to have combined with years of conditioning took some rational thinking to overcome.
Jordan was fascinated by the birds. Most were different earthy tones of brown or black but a screeching bluejay startled all of them and captivated him. He wasn't sure if it was the same kind he had seen as a child but it didn't matter, it reaffimed his memories and thus his purpose.
Eventually the walk ended, they reached places where Howie, then Stan and finally Jordan and June would return to their homes in the big buildings of the city. They would have to scramble through a few hundred meters of mounded earth and building rubble which was being overgrown with underbrush, then a few strides across a nicely manicured lawn, over a safety rail and they were back. If they had been careful and remained unobserved know one would know where they had spent the last two days.

Monday morning began as usual for Stan. He turned off the alarm and watched the clouds on the ceiling fade, then he was up. He arrived nearly an hour later at his reporting console, flashed his ID and gave the machine a look at his dental structure then looked to the screen expecting his usual work assignment. Instead a two tone announcement told him to report to the Director's office. Only a little out of the ordinary, it didn't much worry him, one was usually summoned to see the Director several times in each calender period.
He reported to the Director's assignment coordinator and was shown in.
The Director sat behind his modern, minimalistic desk, a triad of synthetic building blocks, two on the bottom, one on top adorned it, one of two or three of such types that were the usual aesthetic desktop decor these days. The Director smiled, a good sign so far.
"Stan....." he paused, then held out one hand in greeting and awkwardly motioned for him to sit with the other.
"Mr Director." Stan smiled back. The Director was one of the new breed, young well educated, easily manipulated by the higher ups. Just the type that was badly needed throughout the city these days.
"Stan, we need you to....well how are you first?" The Director asked.
"I'm good." He answered.
"Stan, we need you to take an extra session with Doctor..." he looked at his console. "Doctor Novotny. Yes."
"Okay, uh, when?" Stan asked.
"Oh, um that would be now Stan. Well..." He looked back to the console, "in an hour." He said then stood to usher Stan out.
Stan kept his seat. "Any particular reason for this?" He asked.
"No, none." The Director answered then looked at his console and sat back down. "So where were you this weekend, do anything...uh...unusual, out of the ordinary?" He asked.
"I went for a walk." Stan told him. "Outside." He decided to stick as closely to the truth as he could.
"Ah ha." The Director answered. "Um, uh, okay. Why outside?" He asked.
So, that is it, Stan thought to himself. "I like it outside," he said. "It was sunny."
The Director got to his feet again and held out his hand. Stan wasn't sure if the Director was offering to help him up or trying to shake his hand again. "Okay Stan, it was nice to see with you...it was nice to talk with you again." Stan stood and shook the Director's hand as the two walked to the door.
"Doctor is waiting for you, you can go right in now." The assignment coordinator motioned him towards another door as he exited the Director's office.
"Fast hour." He mumbled. He stepped inside the door indicated. Soothing music, pleasant odor, low lighting.
"Stan, good to see you again." The Doctor greeted him. Stan sat in a large over cushioned chair across from the Doctor in his large over cushioned chair. "So I suppose the Director told you what this is all about...?"
"No, not really, he didn't." Stan told him.
"That little cowardly sh..." The Doctor cursed quietly. "Okay, well it seems that this past saturday morning the Safety department was notified of a possible suicide attempt. It seems that somebody hopped over the safety rail outside the Orange 24 building and wandered into the dark void. Know anything about it Stan?"
"Hmmm," Stan grunted. "I was taking a walk in that area about that time. I didn't notice anybody acting strangely." He said.
"This person was observed. Observed by several maintenance personnel Stan. This person had a Transit patch on the seat of his trousers Stan. An alert went out and all Transit employees on duty or off were accounted for....except for one Stan."
"Okay, it was me," he admitted. "But as you can see I'm still alive, I'm fine." He showed his wrists. "No cut marks. I was just taking a walk. You can take a hair sample, blood sample whatever you want, you won't find any poisons, no chemicals. I was just taking a walk."
The Doctor smiled at him. "Look Stan, you have a job that is very...hard on the human mind. You go out ten days a week, week after week and you see such terrible things and you are all alone Stan. This is probably the only outlet you have, these monthly sessions with me where you can talk about it. I know Stan, Transit workers are tough people, you probably don't even talk about it much amongst yourselves but I'm here to listen."
Stan nodded. "I know, thanks."
"You know Stan that whatever you tell me doesn't leave this space. But...whether or not you get to climb back into a transit command console is also up to me so I need you to talk to me about what is going on with Stan. Open up to me, I'm not your Judge."
"Alright," he sighed. "look, I know you won't understand this, what I'm about to tell you, but I grew up in a different environment then most of you...people here. I'm not afraid to be outside Doctor, I like it out there." He saw the look in the Doctor's face as his eyes grew wide. "I've been lying about that because frankly nobody seems to understand. And I'm not a threat, really I'm not, not to myself, not to anybody. I just want to be able to go outside when I want to on my own time and walk around and smell the scents of the trees and the rain. Did you know that it takes on a specific scent outside after it rains? I bet you didn't did you. I like it when it rains, I think I do, damn clothing falls apart in it but that's all that bothers me about it. Every tree, every flower has it's own scent and most of them are pleasant. And the wind, it's not always a violent thing, it's gentle sometimes, warming or cooling if you are too hot. And trees, so thick together you can't see more than 20 or 30 meters in any direction."
The Doctor nodded, fascinated.
"So does that make me crazy, do I sound like a suicide I have sat underneath an old tall pine tree, needles on the ground so deep that you could bury your hands into up to the elbows. It's soft there, so soft a person can sleep on them under the shade of that big old tree and it feels good. And if an insect crawls over me....I don't care."
The Doctor bit hard on his lip trying not to cry out in disgust.
"Did you know that snow falls out of the sky in little flakes that have geometric patterns? I've seen them. I'm not sure, because I haven't spent a lot of time outside in the snow because it's so cold, but I have a theory that the shapes determine how the snow lies on the ground, maybe how deep it gets and things like that. If you push it together with your hands it has cohesion, you can build temporary structures with it, it's strong enough. It holds up to the wind. "
Sweat glistened on the Doctor's forehead as he listened. This was going to be a long in depth case. He realized he should be taking notes and his hands shook a little as he began typing into his notepad. A series of therapy sessions would be called for, perhaps medications and consultations with other doctors.
"A lot of the plants are edible," Stan continued, "a lot of them aren't good until the end of the growing season and others have to be cooked or processed in some way. Animals too, you can hunt them, some of them and eat the meat." The Doctor cringed in his seat. "Our ancestors did it, had to in order to survive."
"So," the Doctor took the opportunity and interupted him, "do you question the official origination stories...our religious doctrines?"
"Well, I hadn't thought them through," admitted Stan. "But in order for people to have just suddenly appeared, as we are today....seems a little unlikely. God just snapped his fingers twelve thousand years ago and here we are. Or aliens that have never returned since to check up on us."
"Are you a believer in evolution then Stan?"
"Oh no, no, not that," he laughed. "I'm no religious fanatic. My...my desire to be outside doesn't hinge on any religious aspects, the outdoors is in and of itself the reason for my wanting to be out there. No, religious doctrines aren't a part of it for me."
The Doctor typed some more, Stan had, for the moment at least talked himself out. Finally the Doctor spoke filling the void. "You've opened up to me quite a bit haven't you Stan, How does it make you feel?"
"Scary because I'm afraid of losing my job but good too...I can't talk to the...to others about it like this and I'd like to."
"Because you think they'll make fun of you or report you?" The Doctor asked.
"Yes, people don't understand. I really don't think you do either but you're good at your job so I tell you things I probably shouldn't."
"People are gregarious by nature Stan. Talking makes us feel good, sharing with other people is part of the community spirit and it feels good to help the community."
"Even if it's probably not going to be a good thing for the individual...right Doctor?"
"I don't see the two as being exclusive of each other. I think we each sense innately what is best for the group, our community, so if one is involved in some activity that might be harmful to the group one's conscience compels one to speak about it to others. The consequences don't have to be bad or dramatic or permanently life altering. In the long run it's in the self interest of the individual anyhow as all individuals depend on the larger group for their well being."
"I won't be able to work for Transit anymore will I."
"We'll see what happens Stan. You've done a good thing today for all of us and that counts in your favor. Had you kept your silence who knows what the consequences might have been, for you, for all of us."
"So what happens now?" Stan asked.
"I'll write you a prescription, you can fill it at your communication station from home and it will be delivered with complete anonymity. It's just a sedative, to help you relax for a few days while I consult with some of my peers to devise an effective course of treatment. By the way, you'll be put on a form of administative leave and you may be eligible for an early retirement. So Stan, you have nothing to worry about, the worst that can happen now is that you'll get to come back to work for Transit or you'll retire. See, the community takes care of it's members."

As Stan was leaving he noticed two stocky young men waiting outside the office. The two said nothing to him but as he walked past they stood and followed him as far as the double doors leading to the elevator platform. He walked through and waited for several minutes. They didn't join him.

After Stan had left the Director came in to see the Doctor.
"It was him, he told me everything Allan, not a suicide attempt though, he's one of those rogues, those outdoor crazies. He actually told me he likes it. Bugs, trees, nature, the whole sick thing. " The Director winced at the Doctor's words. "I'm putting him on administrative leave and I've reassured him about the prospects for his future so I don't think we'll have any trouble from him."
"Okay, good. I had security discreetly excort him from the floor anyhow. Is he married?"
"Not anymore, divorced a couple of times I think. He's your employee Barry, you don't know?"
"It's in a file somewhere I'm sure, I didn't think it was relevent."
"Then why did you ask me?" The Doctor asked him.
"I don't....I'm...I'm just trying to get my head around this. I've never met anyone that goes outside. It gives me the creeps to think that we had one working for us. What will the panel say, my god Barry, my job could be on the line too."
The Doctor laughed. "You didn't hire him, you're not on the hook, he came up through the normal programs and passed all of his tests and checks. He's just like a normal person."
"The Safety department is going to have to be notified." The Director said matter of factly.
"That's a problem, he hasn't violated any laws and until I can reach a defined diagnosis and convene a mental health board to confrim it and judge him to be a public threat it isn't legal to report it."
"Even for people like him?"
"I'll have to ask my wife to write up a change in legislation, it'll take a long time though to get that done and voted in and approved. It'll be there for the next one though."
"The next one! Elvis H. Presley, is this an epidemic or something?"
"Watch your mouth, I don't like it when people take the Lord's name in vain like that. Where there is one person with a mental illness there is likely to be another. Our brains function pretty much the same."
"Sorry, may Elvis forgive me. The next one....great."
"I blame the media, they used to go to great lengths to lionize anyone found living outside the cities, til the truth finally came out. But some of these older ones, they were just kids then, it set them up for all kinds of fantacy behavior. For most people it's harmless daydreaming, a form of escapism from a boring job or life but it can become a real problem for some."
"Why can't people be happy to live within four walls like God intended." The Director snorted.
"If they all did, I'd be out of a job." The Doctor smiled.

Stan wandered the hallways, streets and public rooms of the building for hours. Aimless, depressed and afraid for the future, even the artificial parks didn't lighten his mood. He was tempted to try and contact Jordan or Howie but a streak of paranoia made him reconsider. Was he being watched, followed? A number of scandals involving high ranked politicos had resulted in the removal of most surveillance equipment in the city, the remainder being left in certain well known public areas. But was he being watched?
He tried to think back to his session with the Doctor. What exactly had he said, did he mention the others of the group? He almost had, he remembered correcting himself so that it could be taken as a simple mistake. He decided the best course of action would be to isolate himself from his friends in order to protect them. Any electronic communication would automatically be recorded and a face to face meeting would likely risk them just as much. He would have to try another way.
That afternoon Jordan went to his favorite cafe, sat in his usual seat ordered his usual lunch and then noticed two tiny markings on the table top just at the base of the support for the console screen. One was a pencil drawn picture of a blue colored bird squawking in alarm, the other a blue colored fish jumping through an open window. He spilled his coffee and when he had wiped it up the drawings were gone.

Two days later the Doctor noticed that the prescription given to Stan still hadn't been filled. Attempts to reach him went unanswered and finally the Safety department had been notified. They made a cautionary entrance to his apartment, warned by the man's doctor that his patient may be suicidal or dangerous. No one was found, the place was empty save for the usual minutia of modern life in the big building.

The first night was the worst. He'd never been outside at night alone before, at least never that he could remember. He'd grabbed as many durable and useful items as he could think to carry and bundled them up into some bags. He'd waited until the evening rush, the majority of the building's populace going home for the night, the evening workers going to their work stations. He'd blended in with the crowds and had not been challenged as he made his way to an outer doorway. Taking a very careful look around him he'd confirmed his insularity before venturing forth once again across the railing and swiftly into the awaiting woods. He'd moved quickly as the evening crept up around him, bypassed the camp sites of the recent past intent on reaching and spending the night in one of the large sturdy vehicles at the disposal location. He now knew they were called buses, an earlier form of transit, and though old and rusted with rodent torn seating many of them were relatively weather tight.
He had moved along the parked rows, skirted brush and small trees and made his way well past the cache sites that had been discussed. As the shadows lengthened and the sun's last yellowing rays threatened to drop behind the trees he had chosen a promising machine, forced apart the doors and entered. It had been warm, almost hot inside, the long vehicle composed in large part of green tinted glass had been sitting there heated by a long sunny day as it had for nearly his entire lifetime, possibly longer. A quick look to confrim that he hadn't been followed and then he closed the doors behind him and picked a spot and sat. And sat.

At some point he'd slept, wrapped in a blanket more for the comfort of it than the need to warm himself. Unseen, unknown noises disturbed him several times, field mice encountered a new unknown intruder and scattered throughout the bus. Outside other strange creatures raised their voices, the change of temperature caused the vehicle to creek and groan. Brush knocked against the glass as gentle breezes wafted through their branches. Paranoia and anxiety played their parts as well.
The rising sun found him less anxious but thirsty and with only a few containers of juice and some wrapped food. He knew he would need to find a source for water, boiling it was the only purification method he knew of and he hoped it would suffice, that no chemicals or toxins would need filtering. It dawned on him just how unprepared he really was for the situation he now found himself in.
"Okay," he told himself. "Time to put things in order. I need things....what things? Containers: for water, to prepare food in. What food, where do I get it? I'll have to think about that for awhile. I need to cook it so....I need firestarting things, or a solar cooker." He eyed the thousands of vehicles in every direction. Enough glass and metal and plastic to make many things if he could figure out what to make and how to make them.
"I need tools, for wood, for metal, to cut things with, to shape things and attach things." He thought of the many ruined buildings. "The people that had lived and worked there had been more self sufficient," he thought, that had been his impression, "more able to do things for themselves than we, than I. They had used materials that were more durable, more rugged. Many of those things would likely still be in some of those buildings." So that would be the plan of action for the day, to explore and scavenge and learn his surroundings.