He stood between a young mother with dingy yellow hair and an older woman dressed in a mold-colored coat. Jadek shuffled his feet from side to side. One foot had fallen asleep. The faces all around him had the same feeling. Dead eyes. Numbed minds.

Jadek checked his watch. 10:53. He had lined up at 07:00. The line was only one hundred and fifty three people now. He knew. He counted. And he had subtracted as each applicant left the stain-steel walls of the employment station. Some left with smiles; some tears. Most with the same dull faces.

A sweat broke out on the man's face when the line got into the double digits. Only 86 more people until he could achieve the greatest moment of his life. The waiting went on.

At 12:06 he almost lost his spot. Legs beginning to cramp, he had leaned up against a concrete support next to the line. The woman behind him, the one in the mold-grey coat, made to step-up and cut him out of the line. Jadek quickly stood up, blocking her movement. Line-jumpers. How he despised them, yet deep down inside he knew he'd have done the same. He had done the same when he had lined up for the 76B11D. That had been six years ago.

The man looked at his number, taken from the number wheel in the other room. He'd lined up at 0700, two hours before the station opened, to get a number. By 0920 he'd made the line for the station counter. Now – only 73 more.

The crumpled ticket read E124. The day's count began at A001 and ended at-- ? He didn't know. He'd always come early. He had heard of those poor souls with late numbers, things like H707 or J854. When the stations closed at 18:00 sharp, the late comers always cried uselessly, or pounded on the doors. If they persisted long enough, they got a beating from the Station Police. Usually they just gave up and went back to their dorms, swearing to come back early the next morning. The few who try to stay all night were arrested and sent to penal colonies on Mars.

The line moved on and on. The clock ticked away 12:00, 13:00. At 14:02, Jadek reached the front of the queue, in the first three. The young mother with the long hair had dropped out at 12:30. Instead, a large man with old-fashioned glasses and a beard waited for "the next available station" and the green light above the door to flash. The man shuffled his booted feet nervously. He, too, clutched the 3P900X form, the same as Jadek. The man kept mumbling something over and over. He had studied too. Practicing his answer, thought Jadek.

Then the man was gone. He walked away into the station on the right. Jadek was now first in line. 14:31 his watch read. Eight and half hours. His leg muscles were numb, his back on fire. But he was first!

At 15:14 the light flashed green. It was his turn! Jadek walked up to the shiny metallic door, entered. Inside was an equally shiny metal console. He placed his 3P900X into the slot. He waited with bowel-clenched panic. What if he had filled it out incorrectly? The form would be rejected and he would have to go home and fill out another.

A green light flashed on the console. There was a clunk as a page fell into the catch tray. The form had been accepted! Jadek looked at the questionnaire. It had two boxes. No words. The man stared at the two squares. Which one? Which to pick?

Jadek reached over with a shaking hand. He placed his thumb on the top box. Auto-ink took the impression of his thumb-print. The form instantly shot back into the machine.

It was over. There was nothing to do but go home. His legs, stiff with fatigue, carried him slowly away, like an elderly man. Now all he had to do was wait. Weeks. Months. Maybe tens of months. But one day, he'd know. Had he passed the 3P900X? Had he achieved thatmlofty position? And was he ready to go on -- with his ambitious dreams -- to the 4ZBX33 form? It was too much to hope for...
 

Copyright 1998 G. W. Thomas

You can e-mail William at  chucks@pgweb.com