Brave New Worlds

door open without us knowing about it in a pretty dramatic way. "
    "But it must take forever to re-pressurize?"
    "Not many people go in and out. Just data. "
    Lawrence patted himself down.
    "You got everything?"
    "Do I seem nervous to you?"
    The old timer picked up his tea and sipped at it. "You'd be an idiot if you weren't. How long since you've been out?"
    "Not since I came in. Sixteen years ago. I was twenty-one. "
    "Yeah," the old timer said. "Yeah, you'd be an idiot if you weren't nervous. You follow politics?"
    "Not my thing," Lawrence said. "I know it's been getting worse out there—"
    The old timer barked a laugh. "Not your thing? It's probably time you got out into the wide world, son. You might ignore politics, but it won't ignore you . "
    "Is it dangerous?"
    "You going armed?"
    "I didn't know that was an option. "
    "Always an option. But not a smart one. Any weapon you don't know how to use belongs to your enemy. Just be circumspect. Listen before you talk. Watch before you act. They're good people out there, but they're in a bad, bad situation. "
    Lawrence shuffled his feet and shifted the straps of his bindle. "You're not making me very comfortable with all this, you know. "
    "Why are you going out anyway?"
    "It's an Anomaly. My first. I've been waiting sixteen years for this. Someone poisoned the Securitat's data and left the campus. I'm going to go ask him why he did it. "
    The old man blew the gate. The heavy door lurched open, revealing the vestibule. "Sounds like an Anomaly all right. " He turned away and Lawrence forced himself to move toward the vestibule. The man held his hand out before he reached it. "You haven't been outside in fifteen years, it's going to be a surprise. Just remember, we're a noble species, all appearances to the contrary notwithstanding. "
    Then he gave Lawrence a little shove that sent him into the vestibule. The door slammed behind him. The vestibule smelled like machine oil and rubber, gaskety smells. It was dimly lit by rows of white LEDs that marched up the walls like drunken ants. Lawrence barely had time to register this before he heard a loud Thunk from the outer door and it swung away.

    Lawrence walked down the quiet street, staring up at the same sky he'd lived under, breathing the same air he'd always breathed, but marveling at how different it all was. His heartbeat and respiration were up—the tips of the first two fingers on his right hand itched slightly under his feedback gloves—and his thoughts were doing that race-condition thing where every time he tried to concentrate on something he thought about how he was trying to concentrate on something and should stop thinking about how he was concentrating and just concentrate.
    This was how it had been sixteen years before, when he'd gone into the Order. He'd been so angry all the time then. Sitting in front of his keyboard, looking at the world through the lens of the network, suffering all the fools with poor grace. He'd been a bright fourteen-year-old, a genius at sixteen, a rising star at eighteen, and a failure by twenty-one. He was depressed all the time, his weight had ballooned to nearly 300 pounds, and he had been fired three times in two years.
    One day he stood up from his desk at work—he'd just been hired at a company that was selling learning, trainable vision-systems for analyzing images, who liked him because he'd retained his security clearance when he'd been fired from his previous job—and walked out of the building. It had been a blowing, wet, grey day, and the streets of New York were as empty as they ever got.
    Standing on Sixth Avenue, looking north from midtown, staring at the buildings the cars and the buses and the people and the tallwalkers, that's when he had his realization: He was not meant to be in this world .
    It just didn't suit him. He could see its workings, see how its politics and policies were flawed, see how the system needed debugging, see what made its people work, but he couldn't touch it. Every time he reached in to adjust its settings, he got mangled by its gears. He couldn't convince his bosses that he knew what they were doing wrong. He couldn't convince his colleagues that he knew best. Nothing he did succeeded—every attempt he made to right the wrongs of the world made him miserable and made everyone else angry.
    Lawrence knew about humans, so he knew about this: this was the exact profile of the people in the Order. Normally he would have taken the subway