sk.runningman-第2部分

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　　He　crossed　the　Canal。
　　As　he　got　closer　to　the　Games　Building　it　grew　taller；　more　and　more　improbable　with　its　impersonal　tiers　of　rising　office　windows；　its　polished　stonework。　Cops　watching　him；　ready　to　hustle　him　along　or　bust　him　if　he　tried　to　mit　loitering。　Uptown　there　was　only　one　function　for　a　man　in　baggy　gray　pants　and　a　cheap　bowl　haircut　and　sunken　eyes。　That　purpose　was　the　Games。
　　The　qualifying　examinations　began　promptly　at　noon；　and　when　Ben　Richards　stepped　behind　the　last　man　in　line；　he　was　almost　in　the　umbra　of　the　Games　Building。　But　the　building　was　still　nine　blocks　and　over　a　mile　away。　The　line　stretched　before　him　like　an　eternal　snake。　Soon　others　joined　it　behind　him。　The　police　watched　them；　hands　on　either　gun　butts　or　move…alongs。　They　smiled　anonymous；　contemptuous　smiles。
　　…That　one　look　like　a　half…wit　to　you；　Frank？　Looks　like　one　to　me。
　　…Guy　down　there　ast　me　if　there　was　a　place　where　he　could　go　to　the　bathroom。　Canya　magine　it？
　　…Sons　of　bitches　ain't
　　…Kill　their　own　mothers　for　a
　　…Smelled　like　he　didn't　have　a　bath　for
　　…Ain't　nothin　like　a　freak　show　I　always…
　　Heads　down　against　the　rain；　they　shuffled　aimlessly；　and　after　a　while　the　line　began　to　move。
　　
　　Minus　098　and　COUNTING
　　It　was　after　four　when　Ben　Richards　got　to　the　main　desk　and　was　routed　to　Desk　9　（Q…R）。　The　woman　sitting　at　the　rumbling　plastipunch　looked　tired　and　cruel　and　impersonal。　She　looked　at　him　and　saw　no　one。　
　　〃Name；　last…first…middle。〃　
　　〃Richards；　Benjamin　Stuart。〃　
　　Her　fingers　raced　over　the　keys。　Clitter…clitter…clitter　went　the　machine。　
　　〃Age…height…weight。〃　
　　〃Twenty…eight；　six…two；　one…sixty…five。〃　
　　Clitter…clitter…clitter
　　〃Certified　LQ。　by　Weschler　test　if　you　know　it；　and　age　tested。〃　
　　〃One　twenty…six。　Age　of　fourteen。〃　
　　Clitter…clitter…clitter　
　　The　huge　lobby　was　an　echoing；　rebounding　tomb　of　sound。　Questions　being　asked　and　answered。　People　were　being　led　out　weeping。　People　were　being　thrown　out。　Hoarse　voices　were　raised　in　protest。　A　scream　or　two。　Questions。　Always　questions。　
　　〃Last　school　attended？〃　
　　〃Manual　Trades。〃　
　　〃Did　you　graduate？〃　
　　〃No。〃
　　〃How　many　years；　and　at　what　age　did　you　leave？〃　
　　〃Two　years。　Sixteen　years　old。　〃　
　　〃Reasons　for　leaving？〃
　　〃I　got　married。〃
　　Clitter…clitter…clitter　
　　〃Name　and　age　of　spouse　if　any。〃
　　〃Sheila　Catherine　Richards；　twenty…six。〃
　　〃Names　and　ages　of　children；　if　any。〃
　　〃Catherine　Sarah　Richards；　eighteen　months。〃
　　Clitter…clitter…clitter　
　　〃Last　question；　mister。　Don't　bother　lying；　they'll　pick　it　up　during　the　physical　and　disqualify　you　there。　Have　you　ever　used　heroin　or　the　synthetic…amphetamine　hallucinogen　called　San　Francisco　Push？〃
　　〃No。〃
　　Clitter
　　A　plastic　card　popped　out　and　she　handed　it　to　him。　〃Don't　lose　this；　big　fella。　If　you　do；　you　have　to　start　back　at　go　next　week。〃　She　was　looking　at　him　now；　seeing　his　face；　the　angry　eyes；　lanky　body。　Not　bad　looking。　At　least　some　intelligence。　Good　stats。
　　She　took　his　card　back　abruptly　and　punched　off　the　upper　right…hand　corner；　giving　it　an　odd　milled　appearance。
　　〃What　was　that　for？〃
　　〃Never　mind。　Somebody　will　tell　you　later。　Maybe。〃　She　pointed　over　his　shoulder　at　a　long　hall　which　led　toward　a　bank　of　elevators。　Dozens　of　men　fresh　firm　the　desks　were　being　stopped；　showing　their　plastic　LD。s　and　moving　on。　As　Richards　watched；　a　trembling；　sallow…faced　Push　freak　was　stopped　by　a　cop　and　shown　the　door。　The　freak　began　to　cry。　But　he　went。
　　〃Tough　old　world；　big　fella；〃　the　woman　behind　the　desk　said　without　sympathy。　〃Move　along。〃
　　Richards　moved　along。　Behind　him；　the　litany　was　already　beginning　again。
　　
　　Minus　097　and　COUNTING
　　A　hard；　callused　hand　slapped　his　shoulder　at　the　head　of　the　hall　beyond　the　desks。　〃Card；　buddy。〃
　　Richards　showed　it。　The　cop　relaxed；　his　face　subtle　and　Chinese　with　disappointment。
　　〃You　like　turning　them　back；　don't　you？〃　Richards　asked。　〃It　really　gives　you　a　charge；　doesn't　it？〃
　　〃You　want　to　go　downtown；　maggot？〃
　　Richards　walked　past　him；　and　the　cop　made　no　move。
　　He　stopped　halfway　to　the　bank　of　elevators　and　looked　back。　〃Hey。　Cop。〃
　　The　cop　looked　at　him　truculently。
　　〃Got　a　family？　It　could　be　you　next　week。〃
　　〃Move　on！〃　the　cop　shouted　furiously。
　　With　a　smile；　Richards　moved　on。
　　There　was　a　line　of　perhaps　twenty　applicants　waiting　at　the　elevators。　Richards　showed　one　of　the　cops　on　duty　his　card　and　the　cop　looked　at　him　closely。　〃You　a　hardass；　sonny？〃
　　〃Hard　enough；〃　Richards　said；　and　smiled。
　　The　cop　gave　him　back　his　card。　〃They'll　kick　it　soft　again。　How　smart　do　you　talk　with　holes　in　your　head；　sonny？〃
　　〃Just　about　as　smart　as　you　talk　without　that　gun　on　your　leg　and　your　pants　down　around　your　ankles；〃　Richards　said；　still　smiling。　〃Want　to　try　it？〃
　　For　a　moment　he　thought　the　cop　was　going　to　swing　at　him。　〃They'll　fix　you；　〃　the　cop　said。　〃You'll　do　some　walking　on　your　knees　before　you're　done。〃
　　The　cop　swaggered　over　to　three　new　arrivals　and　demanded　to　see　their　cards。
　　The　man　ahead　of　Richards　turned　around。　He　had　a　nervous；　unhappy　face　and　curly　hair　that　came　down　in　a　widow's　peak。　〃Say；　you　don't　want　to　antagonize　them；　fella。　They've　got　a　grapevine。〃
　　〃Is　that　so？〃　Richards　asked；　looking　at　him　mildly。
　　The　man　turned　away。
　　Abruptly　the　elevator　doors　snapped　open。　A　black　cop　with　a　huge　gut　stood　protecting　the　bank　of　push　buttons。　Another　cop　sat　on　a　small　stool　reading　a　3D　pervert　mag　in　a　small　bulletproof　cubicle　the　size　of　a　telephone　booth　at　the　rear　of　the　large　car。　A　sawed…off　shotgun　rested　between　his　knees。　Shells　were　lined　up　beside　him　within　easy　reach。
　　〃Step　to　the　rear！〃　the　fat　cop　cried　with　bored　importance。　〃Step　to　the　rear！　Step　to　the　rear！　〃
　　They　crowded　in　to　a　depth　where　a　deep　breath　was　impossible。　Sad　flesh　walled　Richards　on　every　side。　They　went　up　to　the　second　floor。　The　doors　snapped　open。　Richards；　who　stood　a　head　taller　than　anyone　else　in　the　car；　saw　a　huge　waiting　room　with　many　chairs　dominated　by　a　huge　Free…Vee。　A　cigarette　dispenser　stood　in　one　corner。
　　〃Step　out！　Step　out！　Show　LD。　cards　to　your　left！〃
　　They　stepped　out；　holding　out　their　I。　D。　cards　to　the　impersonal　lens　of　a　camera。　Three　cops　stood　close　by。　For　some　reason；　a　buzzer　went　off　at　the　sight　of　some　dozen　cards；　and　the　holders　were　jerked　out　of　line　and　hustled　away。
　　Richards　showed　his　card　and　was　waved　on。　He　went　to　the　cigarette　machine；　got　a　package　of　Blams　and　sat　down　as　far　from　the　Free…Vee　as　possible。　He　lit　up　a　smoke　and　exhaled；　coughing。　He　hadn't　had　a　cigarette　in　almost　six　months。
　　
　　Minus　096　and　COUNTING
　　They　called　the　A's　for　the　physical　almost　immediately；　and　about　two　dozen　men　got　up　and　filed　through　a　door　beyond　the　Free…Vee。　A　large　sign　tacked　over　the　door　read　THIS　WAY。　There　was　an　arrow　below　the　legend；　pointing　at　the　door。　The　literacy　of　Games　applicants　was　notoriously　low。
　　They　were　taking　a　new　letter　every　fifteen　minutes　or　so。　Ben　Richards　had　sat　down　at　about　five；　and　so　he　estimated　it　would　be　quarter　of　nine　before　they　got　to　him。　He　wished　he　had　brought　a　book；　but　he　supposed　things　were　just　as　well　as　they　were。　Books　were　regarded　with　suspicion　at　best；　especially　when　carried　by　someone　from　south　of　the　Canal。　Pervert　Mags　were　safer。
　　He　watched　the　six　o'clock　newsie　restlessly　（the　fighting　in　Ecuador　was　worse；　new　cannibal　riots　had　broken　out　in　India；　the　Detroit　Tigers　had　taken　the　Harding　Catamounts　by　a　score　of　6…2　in　an　afternoon　game）；　and　when　the　first　of　the　evening's　big…money　games　came　on　at　six…thirty；　he　went　restlessly　to　the　window　and　looked　out。　Now　that　his　mind　was　made　up；　the　Games　bored　him　again。　Most　of　the　others；　however；　were　watching　Fun　Guns　with　a　dreadful　fascination。　Next　week　it　might　be　them。
　　Outside；　daylight　was　bleeding　slowly　toward　dusk。　The　else　were　slamming　at　high　speed　through　the　power　rings　above　the　second…floor　window；　their　powerful　headlights　searching　the　gray　air。　On　the　sidewalks　below；　crowds　of　men　and　women　（most　of　them；　of　course；　technicos　or　Network　bureaucrats）　were　beginning　their　evening's　prowl　in　search　of　entertainment。　A　Certified　Pusher　was　hawking　his　wares　on　the　corner　across　the　street。　A　man　with　a　sabled　dolly　on　each　arm　passed　below　him；　the　trio　was　laughing　about　something。
　　He　had　a　sudden　awful　wave　of　homesickness　for　Sheila　and　Cathy；　and　wished　he　could　call　them。　He　didn't　think　it　was　allowed。　He　could　still　walk　out；　of　course；　several　men　already　had。　They　walked　across　the　room；　grinning　obscurely　at　nothing；　to　use　the　door　marked　TO　STREET。　Back　to　the　flat　with　his　daughter　glowing　fever…bright　in　the　other　room？　No。　Couldn't。　Couldn't。
　　He　stood　at　the　window　a　little　while　longer；　then　went　back　and　sat　down。　The　new　game；　Dig　Your　Grave；　was　beginning。
　　The　fellow　sitting　next　to　Richards　twitched　his　arm　anxiously。　〃Is　it　true　that　they　wash　out　over　thirty　percent　just　on　the　physicals？〃
　　〃I　don't　know；〃　Richards　said。
　　〃Jesus；〃　the　fellow　said。　〃I　got　bronchitis。　Maybe　Treadmill　to　Bucks　。　。　。〃
　　Richards　could　think　of　nothing　to　say。　The　pal's　respiration　sounded　like　a　faraway　truck　trying　to　climb　a　steep　hill。
　　〃I　got　a　fambly；〃　the　man　said　with　soft　desperation。
　　Richards　looked　at　the　Free…Vee　as　if　it　interested　him。
　　The　fellow　was　quiet　for　a　long　time。　When　the　program　changed　again　at　seven…thirty；　Richards　heard　him　asking　the　man　on　his　other　side　about　the　physical。
　　It　was　full　dark　outside　now。　Richards　wondered　if　it　was　still　raining。　It　seemed　like　a　very　long　evening。
　　
　　Minus　095　and　COUNTING
　　When　the　R's　went　through　the　door　under　the　red　arrow　and　into　the　examination　room　it　was　just　a　few　minutes　after　nine…thirty。　A　lot　of　the　initial　excitement　had　worn　off；　and　people　were　either　watching　the　Free…Vee　avidly；　with　none　of　their　prior　dread；　or　dozing。　The　man　with　the　noisy　chest　had　a　name　that　began　with　L