silence. I could almost feel my ears growing, as
they struggled to grab some audio they recognized. The first sound that
soaked through to my brain was my own heavy breathing.
Then a nervous young whisper or two. Then birds chattering up in
the treetops; a rustle of wind seeping through green leaves. Some kind of
insect buzzing by, slow, droning, and erratic, like it was flying drunk.
A minute or two more and I realized the plane was continuing to not
explode, so I opened my eyes and looked back. Payne had lowered the
boarding ladder, and he and the pilot were taking a nice, leisure stroll
towards the camo net-covered shack. There wasn’t any fire. There
wasn’t even any smoke. I remembered the thing Payne had said back in
Seattle about liking to keep us disoriented, and fed that to the inference
engine in my head. It kicked out the idea that this was going to be one
long summer. If I didn’t get out.
The pilot went into the shack and started talking to someone. Payne
stayed outside and brayed, “Fall in!” When the jarheads and most of the
punks had trotted over he looked straight at me and shouted, “Are you
waiting for an invitation , pissant? Or do you like lying in poison ivy?”
Cyberpunk 1.0 70
©1982, 1998 Bruce Bethke
Poison ivy ? Oh, just fritzing terrific.
Slow, gingerish, trying not to touch one more leaf than I absolute
had to, I started getting up out of the weeds. Payne turned back to the
rest and began barking out orders. “Ten- shun ! For mup ! By twos! Rye
face !” All that kind of military babble stuff. A couple seconds later most
everybody had collected their bags and gone trotting off down a jeep
trail into the woods, except for me and the two McPunks. I was just
standing there, wondering what the Hell I was ‘sposed to do about
poison ivy now that I’d been lying in it, and trying to figure out how
cooperative I felt. The McPunks were staring at the rutted, weedy dirt
trail, and fondling the wheels of their skateboards.
One of them started giggling. The other one got a fierce scowl on his
face and punched the giggler on the shoulder, but that just made him
giggle harder. He kept building up, and building up, until finally he was
laughing and howling like he’d gone full-blown nutzoid. Then he took a
big spinning windup and threw his skateboard off into the trees just as
hard as he could throw it.
The other one stared at him a minute longer, then shrugged, grinned,
and followed suit. Laughing Boy settled down long enough to program
his Casio for a funky marching rhythm, and then the two of them started
off after Payne and the rest.
Since I didn’t have any better ideas, I walked over to the plane,
picked up Mom’s suitcase, reset the mileage counter in my right shoe,
and followed them.
Cyberpunk 1.0 71
©1982, 1998 Bruce Bethke
Chapter 0/ 9
Up and down, twisting and turning through the deep shadowy
woods, the trail wound on. And on. And on. Around .27 miles, I noticed
that my suitcase was getting real heavy. That, and Payne and the rest of
the kids were moving a lot faster than I was. I’d already lost sight of the
group; even the Style Statement wimp who was bringing up the rear.
(How he ever managed to move that fast in those shoes, I don’t know).
At .56 miles, I started to flash on them all being in on the scam.
Yeah, that was it. Dad had paid them all off. They’d flown me up here
just to ditch me in the woods, and now they were back at the plane,
laughing hysterical.
At 1.12 miles, I came out of the woods and into The Academy.
The basic layout was a bunch of long, low, prefab buildings lining
the sides of a big rectangular field. The forest came right up to my end
of the field; at the other end they’d stacked a mess of the prefabs to
make a vaguely high-schoolish looking building. There was also a sort
of reviewing stand or something out in front of the big building, with
two flagpoles, a Canadian flag, and a U.S. flag
they struggled to grab some audio they recognized. The first sound that
soaked through to my brain was my own heavy breathing.
Then a nervous young whisper or two. Then birds chattering up in
the treetops; a rustle of wind seeping through green leaves. Some kind of
insect buzzing by, slow, droning, and erratic, like it was flying drunk.
A minute or two more and I realized the plane was continuing to not
explode, so I opened my eyes and looked back. Payne had lowered the
boarding ladder, and he and the pilot were taking a nice, leisure stroll
towards the camo net-covered shack. There wasn’t any fire. There
wasn’t even any smoke. I remembered the thing Payne had said back in
Seattle about liking to keep us disoriented, and fed that to the inference
engine in my head. It kicked out the idea that this was going to be one
long summer. If I didn’t get out.
The pilot went into the shack and started talking to someone. Payne
stayed outside and brayed, “Fall in!” When the jarheads and most of the
punks had trotted over he looked straight at me and shouted, “Are you
waiting for an invitation , pissant? Or do you like lying in poison ivy?”
Cyberpunk 1.0 70
©1982, 1998 Bruce Bethke
Poison ivy ? Oh, just fritzing terrific.
Slow, gingerish, trying not to touch one more leaf than I absolute
had to, I started getting up out of the weeds. Payne turned back to the
rest and began barking out orders. “Ten- shun ! For mup ! By twos! Rye
face !” All that kind of military babble stuff. A couple seconds later most
everybody had collected their bags and gone trotting off down a jeep
trail into the woods, except for me and the two McPunks. I was just
standing there, wondering what the Hell I was ‘sposed to do about
poison ivy now that I’d been lying in it, and trying to figure out how
cooperative I felt. The McPunks were staring at the rutted, weedy dirt
trail, and fondling the wheels of their skateboards.
One of them started giggling. The other one got a fierce scowl on his
face and punched the giggler on the shoulder, but that just made him
giggle harder. He kept building up, and building up, until finally he was
laughing and howling like he’d gone full-blown nutzoid. Then he took a
big spinning windup and threw his skateboard off into the trees just as
hard as he could throw it.
The other one stared at him a minute longer, then shrugged, grinned,
and followed suit. Laughing Boy settled down long enough to program
his Casio for a funky marching rhythm, and then the two of them started
off after Payne and the rest.
Since I didn’t have any better ideas, I walked over to the plane,
picked up Mom’s suitcase, reset the mileage counter in my right shoe,
and followed them.
Cyberpunk 1.0 71
©1982, 1998 Bruce Bethke
Chapter 0/ 9
Up and down, twisting and turning through the deep shadowy
woods, the trail wound on. And on. And on. Around .27 miles, I noticed
that my suitcase was getting real heavy. That, and Payne and the rest of
the kids were moving a lot faster than I was. I’d already lost sight of the
group; even the Style Statement wimp who was bringing up the rear.
(How he ever managed to move that fast in those shoes, I don’t know).
At .56 miles, I started to flash on them all being in on the scam.
Yeah, that was it. Dad had paid them all off. They’d flown me up here
just to ditch me in the woods, and now they were back at the plane,
laughing hysterical.
At 1.12 miles, I came out of the woods and into The Academy.
The basic layout was a bunch of long, low, prefab buildings lining
the sides of a big rectangular field. The forest came right up to my end
of the field; at the other end they’d stacked a mess of the prefabs to
make a vaguely high-schoolish looking building. There was also a sort
of reviewing stand or something out in front of the big building, with
two flagpoles, a Canadian flag, and a U.S. flag
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