Wei Loon Jingsheng
The curvescreen for their group carrel posed the project schedule like a puzzle: how to dispatch
five teams with different objectives so that they finish at the same time, with appropriate
inter-communication and accommodating the unexpected. It reflected the hypothetical project in a
nest of charts and forms and interactive-dialog panels, like multi-colored Ghosts of Future Success
— or Failure. Put like this, the problem intrigued Loon. It hinted at action, control, and a
chance to accomplish things she couldn't do by herself.
She glanced at four glum faces on the students sitting around the carrel with her. I guess I'm the
only one who feels that way.
An electronic bell trilled through the classroom. Loon looked up to see their instructor answer
his llevar. He frowned over the message he saw there, scowled as he digested it, then sighed in
acquiescence. Stepping into the center of his teaching space at the front, he called his students'
attention.
"Director Derkinit has asked me to announce the following:
"Ganj Dareh's anshin combine is recruiting. Anyone interested in work as constable, fire fighter,
or counselor should go immediately to the Hohoej Amphitheater. Anybody interested? Anybody?
Anybody?"
Loon nearly panicked. "Constable" lay at the end of her study plan, not so near the beginning.
She felt giddy with the speed of her life. Eight days ago, she had graduated from her Society for
Passage, and now, her life's ambition opened in front of her like a jungle waterfall. Should I
go? she asked. But of course, she answered and leaped to her feet.
"Fine. Go." The instructor waved Loon away. "You, with your hand up in the back, go as well."
Loon snatched up her backpack, nodded good-bye to the group, and turned toward the exit. Back
there, across a dozen of the round carrels, stood Chi Unesugi. The woman smiled in return, so Loon
hurried through the neat rows, her mind buzzing with double excitement.
Chi Unesugi led Loon outside so as to not bother the class. "I registered. I scheduled. I came
late to my first class, this one in project planning. I settled into a seat and did not notice
you. Then the announcement. I have often wondered ..." She glanced away, then back. Her eyes
twinkled. "Wondered about fighting fires: the excitement, the danger, the size of it all,
so much bigger than anything I have ever done. So I thought, 'Why not?' and stood up and saw you.
So I knew I — we should do this. Do you know where this amphitheater is?"
"You bet!" Loon grinned and took Chi Unesugi's arm.
#
A hundred or so people flocked into the amphitheater, most excited, some just wafting, avoiding
class. Not many, considering that over eighty-thousand, Gast- und einheimischer Arbeiter, now
attended the Rendezvous. Why wouldn't everybody want to do this? Loon wondered, then salved a
qualm of insecurity with, Better odds for us then.
She and Chi Unesugi shook hands with an agent-for-trade, then worked their way along one of the
long, curving benchs to a spot near the middle. Loon didn't know about Chi Unesugi, but she was
definitely nervous. Insecurity stabbed at her again. She squeezed Chi Unesugi's hand, and Chi
Unesugi squeezed back.
On the stage, a single man waited, his back straight, his feet set at shoulder-width, his hands
clasped behind him, his hair long and gray like weathered wood, his face also weathered, lined and
tanned by adventure. With deep, dark eyes, he inspected everyone who entered. That gaze alone
sent several wafters scurrying away.
"What do you think?" Loon whispered. "A constable?"
"Could be." The woman smiled. "Or maybe, a gentle counselor who likes sea kayaking. I have
learned to wait out first impressions."
"I see." Loon preferred the romance of who-could-he-be, but perhaps Chi Unesugi was right. Life
was turning out to be not all that straightforward.
A moment later, the anshin recruiter broke his pose and paced forward to a podium at the very edge
of the stage. He peered down at a screen embedded there while his hands drove its display with
darting assurance. At last, he lifted his eyes and scanned his audience, then with one last glance
downwards, he stepped away from the podium.
"Chief Heejanus and her anshin combine need your help to keep the peace in Ganj Dareh. The
Rendezvous of Futures — your Rendezvous — has challenged us, and we'd like you to help us meet
that challenge. We'd also like to make your transition into our ranks easy, fun, and safe ... but
we can't."
He gestured at the empty stage behind him. "This morning, we had planned to greet you with ten
recruiters representing all facets of our combine. Karoshi made that impossible. Incidents are
rising again. Those people are now out working the paths and clinics. I am here alone to recruit
you — and I retired from The Job twenty years ago. So, you can see that joining us will not be
easy, fun, nor necessarily safe ... but it will give you the greatest opportunity in your life to
serve and protect others, to save and redirect lives, and to become everything you thought you
could be. Few jobs on this planet offer you that."
He pivoted on a toe and marched back to the podium. Standing smart and tall behind it, he looked
out across the stands again, sweeping those dark eyes over each row.
"If I've scared you," he said in that calm voice, "good. Please go back to your classes and
perhaps, we can talk again later when things have settled down." He paused. "Go on. Listen to
your instincts. Serve your society in other capacities."
Many did rise and walk self-consciously away. Loon wondered at their cowardice over future
challenges and their bravery in the face of present embarassment.
"I will now read some names," the recruiter said. "If I call yours, I am asking you also to return
to your classes. Nothing personal, but we have found things in your profiles and history that
indicate that you are best suited for other lines of work. We wish you steady growth and
fulfillment."
And he started on the list. Loon's stomach lurched up against her heart. Her life's objective, so
recently crystallized, so recently shined into possibility, about to be dashed into impossibility.
The recruiter's introductory words of context hadn't scared her — concerned her, yes, but not
scared — but his next ones frightened her more than anything else ever had. When Chi Unesugi
slipped a reassuring arm around her shoulders, she hugged her back hard and waited through at least
twenty names, none hers.
"That's it." Just a dozen or more remained behind. "We'd like the rest of you to stay." And he
smiled, his craggy face lighting up. Loon relaxed in that warmth.
"However—" The word goosed Loon's heart again. "However, we are going to divide you into two
groups." His face relapsed into serious. "One group we'd like to put to work immediately, not out
on the paths, but in clinics, stations, and other support positions. You'll be able to work your
way onto the paths if you want to.
"The rest of you will enter an accelerated training program that will lead quickly to real police,
firefighting, and counseling work soon enough, I promise you."
When these names had been read, Loon and Chi Unesugi parted again. Loon recognized that she was
better off in training and that Chi Unesugi deserved to have her years and wisdom recognized by
going straight to work, but in these last string of seconds, she'd come to enjoy their being
together. Like the sister — or mother — she'd never had. At least, they'd see each other at
home. Loon just hoped the future would re-unite them at work as well.
