sk.everythingseventual-第58部分

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Dr。　Wentworth　and　the　other　folks　running　the　place　were　careful　to　keep　us　separated。　I　once　asked　why；　and　got　a　runaround。　That's　when　I　started　to　realize　that　not　everybody　who　had　TRANSCORP　printed　on　their　shirts　or　walked　around　with　TransCorp　clipboards　was　my　pal；　or　wanted　to　be　my　long…lost　Dad。
　　And　it　was　about　killing　people；　that's　what　I　was　training　for。　The　folks　in　Peoria　didn't　talk　about　that　all　the　time；　but　no　one　tried　to　sugarcoat　it；　either。　I　just　had　to　remember　the　targets　were　bad　guys；　dictators　and　spies　and　serial　killers；　and　as　Mr。　Sharpton　said；　people　did　it　in　wars　all　the　time。　Plus；　it　wasn't　personal。　No　guns；　no　knives；　no　garrotes。　I'd　never　get　blood　splashed　on　me。
　　Like　I　told　you；　I　never　saw　Mr。　Sharpton　again…at　least　not　yet；　I　haven't…but　I　talked　to　him　every　day　of　the　week　I　was　in　Peoria；　and　that　eased　the　pain　and　strangeness　considerably。　Talking　to　him　was　like　having　someone　put　a　cool　cloth　on　your　brow。　He　gave　me　his　number　the　night　we　talked　in　his　Mercedes；　and　told　me　to　call　him　anytime。　Even　at　three　in　the　morning；　if　I　was　feeling　upset。　Once　I　did　just　that。　I　almost　hung　up　on　the　second　ring；　because　people　may　say　call　them　anytime；　even　at　three　in　the　morning；　but　they　don't　really　expect　you　to　do　it。　But　I　hung　in　there。　I　was　homesick；　yeah；　but　it　was　more　than　that。　The　place　wasn't　what　I　had　expected；　exactly；　and　I　wanted　to　tell　Mr。　Sharpton　so。　See　how　he　took　it；　kind　of。
　　He　answered　on　the　third　ring；　and　although　he　sounded　sleepy　（big　surprise　there；　huh？）；　he　didn't　sound　at　all　pissed。　I　told　him　that　some　of　the　stuff　they　were　doing　was　quite　weird。　The　test　with　all　the　flashing　lights；　for　example。　They　said　it　was　a　test　for　epilepsy；　but　…
　　'I　went　to　sleep　right　in　the　middle　of　it；'　I　said。　'And　when　I　woke　up；　I　had　a　headache　and　it　was　hard　to　think。　You　know　what　I　felt　like？　A　file…cabinet　after　someone's　been　rummaging　through　it。'
　　'What's　your　point；　Dink？'　Mr。　Sharpton　asked。
　　'I　think　they　hypnotized　me；'　I　said。
　　A　brief　pause。　Then：　'Maybe　they　did。　Probably　they　did。'
　　'But　why？　Why　would　they？　I'm　doing　everything　they　ask；　so　why　would　they　want　to　hypnotize　me？'
　　'I　don't　know　all　their　routines　and　protocols；　but　I　suspect　they're　programming　you。　Putting　a　lot　of　housekeeping　stuff　on　the　lower　levels　of　your　mind　so　they　won't　have　to　junk　up　the　conscious　part　。　。　。　and　maybe　screw　up　your　special　ability；　while　they're　at　it。　Really　no　different　than　programming　a　puter's　hard　disk；　and　no　more　sinister。'
　　'But　you　don't　know　for　sure？'
　　'No…as　I　say；　training　and　testing　are　not　my　purview。　But　I'll　make　some　calls；　and　Dr。　Wentworth　will　talk　to　you。　It　may　even　be　that　an　apology　is　due。　If　that's　the　case；　Dink；　you　may　be　sure　that　it　will　be　tendered。　Our　trannies　are　too　rare　and　too　valuable　to　be　upset　needlessly。　Now；　is　there　anything　else？'
　　I　thought　about　it；　then　said　no。　I　thanked　him　and　hung　up。　It　had　been　on　the　tip　of　my　tongue　to　tell　him　I　thought　I'd　been　drugged；　as　well　。　。　。　given　some　sort　of　mood…elevator　to　help　me　through　the　worst　of　my　homesickness；　but　in　the　end　I　decided　not　to　bother　him。　It　was　three　in　the　morning；　after　all；　and　if　they　had　been　giving　me　anything；　it　was　probably　for　my　own　good。
　　
　　XII
　　
　　Dr。　Wentworth　came　to　see　me　the　next　day…he　was　the　Big　Kahuna…and　he　did　apologize。　He　was　perfectly　nice　about　it；　but　he　had　a　look；　I　don't　know；　like　maybe　Mr。　Sharpton　had　called　him　about　two　minutes　after　I　hung　up　and　gave　him　a　hot　reaming。
　　Dr。　Wentworth　took　me　for　a　walk　on　the　back　lawn…green　and　rolling　and　damned　near　perfect　there　at　the　end　of　spring…and　said　he　was　sorry　for　not　keeping　me　'up　to　speed。'　The　epilepsy　test　really　was　an　epilepsy　test；　he　said　（and　a　CAT…scan；　too）；　but　since　it　induced　a　hypnotic　state　in　most　subjects；　they　usually　took　advantage　of　it　to　give　certain　'baseline　instructions。'　In　my　case；　they　were　instructions　about　the　puter　programs　I'd　be　using　in　Columbia　City。　Dr。　Wentworth　asked　me　if　I　had　any　other　questions。　I　lied　and　said　no。
　　You　probably　think　that's　weird；　but　it's　not。　I　mean；　I　had　a　long　and　sucky　school　career　which　ended　three　months　short　of　graduation。　I　had　teachers　I　liked　as　well　as　teachers　I　hated；　but　never　one　I　entirely　trusted。　I　was　the　kind　of　kid　who　always　sat　in　the　back　of　the　room　if　the　teacher's　seating…chart　wasn't　alphabetical；　and　never　took　part　in　class　discussions。　I　mostly　said　'Huh？'　when　I　was　called　on；　and　wild　horses　wouldn't　have　dragged　a　question　out　of　me。　Mr。　Sharpton　was　the　only　guy　I　ever　met　who　was　able　to　get　into　where　I　lived；　and　ole　Doc　Wentworth　with　his　bald　head　and　sharp　eyes　behind　his　little　rimless　glasses　was　no　Mr。　Sharpton。　I　could　imagine　pigs　flying　south　for　the　winter　before　I　could　imagine　opening　up　to　that　dude；　let　alone　crying　on　his　shoulder。
　　And　fuck；　I　didn't　know　what　else　to　ask；　anyway。　A　lot　of　the　time　I　liked　it　in　Peoria；　and　I　was　excited　by　the　prospects　ahead…new　job；　new　house；　new　town。　People　were　great　to　me　in　Peoria。　Even　the　food　was　great…meatloaf；　fried　chicken；　milkshakes；　everything　I　liked。　Okay；　I　didn't　like　the　diagnostic　tests；　those　boogersnots　you　have　to　do　with　an　IBM　pencil；　and　sometimes　I'd　feel　dopey；　as　if　someone　had　put　something　in　my　mashed　potatoes　（or　hyper；　sometimes　I'd　feel　that　way；　too）；　and　there　were　other　times…at　least　two…when　I　was　pretty　sure　I'd　been　hypnotized　again。　But　so　what？　I　mean；　was　any　of　it　a　big　deal　after　you'd　been　chased　around　a　supermarket　parking　lot　by　a　maniac　who　was　laughing　and　making　race…car　noises　and　trying　to　run　you　over　with　a　shopping　cart？
　　
　　XIII
　　
　　I　had　one　more　talk　on　the　phone　with　Mr。　Sharpton　that　I　suppose　I　should　mention。　That　was　just　a　day　before　my　second　airplane　ride；　the　one　that　took　me　to　Columbia　City；　where　a　guy　was　waiting　with　the　keys　to　my　new　house。　By　then　I　knew　about　the　cleaners；　and　the　basic　money…rule…start　every　week　broke；　end　every　week　broke…and　I　knew　who　to　call　locally　if　I　had　a　problem。　（Any　big　problem　and　I　call　Mr。　Sharpton；　who　is　technically　my　'control。'）　I　had　maps；　a　list　of　restaurants；　directions　to　the　cinema　plex　and　the　mall。　I　had　a　line　on　everything　but　the　most　important　thing　of　all。
　　'Mr。　Sharpton；　I　don't　know　what　to　do；'　I　said。　I　was　talking　to　him　on　the　phone　just　outside　the　caff。　There　was　a　phone　in　my　room；　but　by　then　I　was　too　nervous　to　sit　down；　let　alone　lie　on　my　bed。　If　they　were　still　putting　shit　in　my　food；　it　sure　wasn't　working　that　day。
　　'I　can't　help　you　there；　Dink；'　he　said；　calm　as　ever。　'So　solly；　Cholly。'
　　'What　do　you　mean？　You've　got　to　help　me！　You　recruited　me；　for　jeepers'　sake！'
　　'Let　me　give　you　a　hypothetical　case。　Suppose　I'm　the　President　of　a　well…endowed　college。　Do　you　know　what　well…endowed　means？'
　　'Lots　of　bucks。　I'm　not　stupid；　I　told　you　that。'
　　'So　you　did…I　apologize。　Anyhow；　let's　say　that　I；　President　Sharpton；　use　some　of　my　school's　plentiful　bucks　to　hire　a　great　novelist　as　the　writer…in…residence；　or　a　great　pianist　to　teach　music。　Would　that　entitle　me　to　tell　the　novelist　what　to　write；　or　the　pianist　what　to　pose？'
　　'Probably　not。'
　　'Absolutely　not。　But　let's　say　it　did。　If　I　told　the　novelist；　'Write　a　edy　about　Betsy　Ross　screwing　around　with　George　Washington　in　Gay　Paree；'　do　you　think　he　could　do　it？'
　　I　got　laughing。　I　couldn't　help　it。　Mr。　Sharpton's　just　got　a　vibe　about　him；　somehow。
　　'Maybe；'　I　said。　'Especially　if　you　whipped　a　bonus　on　the　guy。'
　　'Okay；　but　even　if　he　held　his　nose　and　cranked　it　out；　it　would　likely　be　a　very　bad　novel。　Because　creative　people　aren't　always　in　charge。　And　when　they　do　their　best　work；　they're　hardly　ever　in　charge。　They're　just　sort　of　rolling　along　with　their　eyes　shut；　yelling　Wheeeee。'
　　'What's　all　that　got　to　do　with　me？　Listen；　Mr。　Sharpton…when　I　try　to　imagine　what　I'm　going　to　do　in　Columbia　City；　all　I　see　is　a　great　big　blank。　Help　people；　you　said。　Make　the　world　a　better　place。　Get　rid　of　the　Skippers。　All　that　sounds　great；　excep