Page 29 - The Gluckman Occasional Number Two

“You’re not Chick.” He moved toward a panic button, but the
other man was already in front of it, pointing his weapon at Bud’s
chest. “You’re not even old. How did you get in here?”
“The name’s Mance. You’re right: I’m twenty-seven years old,
Pops.” He pulled off his mask with his free hand. “And I can get in
anywhere I please, day or night.”
Bud blinked. Fifty—even forty—years ago he would have jumped
this insolent housebreaker and taught him a lesson. But now he was
too slow, too stiff, too weak, too fragile.
“What do you want?” he croaked.
“First, sit down, over there, away from the console and keep your
hands in your lap. Then listen carefully. I’m here to give you a
warning: Heliopolis does not tolerate gracers. Shape up or else.”
Bud sat, his eyes on the limp form of his dog. “Gracers? I don’t
understand. What does that mean? I’m an American citizen, same as
everyone else here.”
“All right. I’ll spell it out for you.” Mance leaned against the wall,
where he could keep an eye on Bud and the front door at the same
time. “Gracers want to grow old gracefully, looking and acting like
old people. They won’t get their skins reconditioned, their hair
transplanted, their joints and organs replaced with rebuilt units
harvested from poor dead juvies. They live in the past, read books,
putter around with meaningless projects in their spare rooms. Any
juvie who makes it past retirement age is forced to become a gracer
whether he or she likes it or not—because you can’t avoid it unless
you can afford to live in Heliopolis. Now do you get it?”
“I get it,” said Bud defiantly. “You’re one of those punks I came in
here to get away from. You don’t give a damn about anything in the
civilized world—or what’s left of it—and you can’t find anything
better to do than victimize the older folks who had sense enough to
work hard and save their money for their retirement. You’ve got
some nerve telling me how to behave. If you’re going to rob me go
ahead and do it and leave. You may find breaking out of Heliopolis is
not as easy as sneaking in.”
Mance laughed, a discordant bark. “You invited me in here.
And I didn’t force my way into Heliopolis, either. I’m one of the
unknown crew of juvies behind the scenes making this place
work, God help us. You don’t suppose any of you old codgers
could manage or maintain an operation like this, do you? We
keep out of sight, or circulate among you disguised as rejuvies,