file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Keith%20Laumer%20-%20In%20the%20Queue.txt

VERSION 0.5 DTD 032600


IN THE QUEUE

Keith Laumer

The old man fell just as Fam Hestler's power wheel was
passing his place in line, on bis way back from the com-
fort station. Hestler, braking, stared down at the twisted
face, a mask of soft, pale leather in which the mouth
writhed as if trying to tear itself free of the dying body.
Then he jumped from the wheel, bent over the victim.
Quick as he was, a lean woman with fingers like gnarled
roots was before him, clutching ait the old man's fleshless
shoulders.
"Tell them me. Millicent Dredgewicke Crump," she
was shrilling into the vacant face. "Oh, if you only knew
what I've been through, how I deserve the help"
Hestler sent her reeling with a deft shove of his foot.
He knelt beside the old man, lifted his head.
"Vultures," he said. "Greedy, snapping at a man. Now,
I care. And you were getting so close to the head of the
line. The tales you could tell, I'll bet. An old-timer. Not
like these line, er, jumpers," he diverted the obscenity. "I
say a man deserves a little dignity at a moment like
this"
"Wasting your time, Jack," a meaty voice said. Hestler
glanced up into the hippopotamine features of the man he
always thought of as Twentieth Back. "The old coot's
dead."
Hestler shook the corpse. "Tell them Argall Y. Hestler!"
he yelled into the dead ear. "Argall, that's A-R-G-A-
L-L "
"Break it up," the brassy voice of a line policeman
sliced through the babble. "You, get back." A sharp prod
lent urgency to the command. Hestler rose reluctantly,
his eyes on the waxy face slackening imto an expression of
horrified astonishment.
"Ghoul," the lean woman 'snarled. "Line!" She
mouthed the unmentionable word.
"I wasn't thinking of myself," Hestier countered holly.
"But my boy Argall, through no fault of his 'own"
"All right, quiet!" the cop snarled. He jerked a thumb
at the dead man. "This guy make any disposition?"
"Yes!" the lean woman cried. "He said, to Millicent
Dredgewicke Crump, that's M, I, L"
"She's lying," Hestier cut in. "I happened to catch the
name Argall Hestierright, 'sir?" He looked brightly at a
slack-jawed lad who was staring down at the corpse.
The boy swallowed and looked Hestier in the face.
"Hell, he never said a word," he said, and spat, just
missing Hestler's shoe.
"Died intestate," the cop intoned, and wrote a note in
his book. He gestured and a cleanup squad moved in,
lifted the corpse onto a cart, covered it, trundled it
away.
"Close it up," the oop ordered.
"Intestate," somebody grumbled. "Crap!" .
"A rotten shame. The slot goes back to the government.
Nobody profits. Goddam!" The fat man who had spoken


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looked around at the others. "In a case like this we ought
to get together, have some 'equitable plan worked out and
agreed to in advance"
"Hey," the slack-jawed boy said. "That's conspiracy!"
"I meant to suggest nothing illegal." The fat man faded
back to his place in line. As if by common consent, the
small crowd dissipated, sliding into their places with deft
footwork. Hestier shrugged and remounted his wheel,
putt-putted forward, aware of the envious eyes that fol-
lowed him. He passed the same backs he always passed,
some standing, some sitting on canvas camp stools under
sun-faded umbrellas, here and there a nylon queuebana,
high and square, some shabby, some, owned by the more
fortunate, ornate. He was a lucky man; he had never been
a standee, sweating the line exposed to the sun and prying
eyes.
It was a bright afternoon. The sun shone down on the
vast concrete ramp across which the line snaked from a
point lost in distance across the plain. Aheadnot far
ahead now, and getting closer every daywas the blank
white wall 'perforated only by the window, the terminal
point of the line. Hestler slowed as he approached the
Hestler queuebana; 'his mouth went dry as he saw how
close it was to the head of the line now. One, two, three,
four slots back! Ye Gods, that meant six people had
been processed in the past twelve hoursan unprec-
edented number. And it meantHestler caught his
breathhe might reach the window himself, this shift.
For a moment, he felt a panicky urge to flee, to trade
places with First Back, and then with Second, work his
way back to a safe distance again, give himself a chance
to think about it, get ready. . .
"Say, Fam." The head of 'his Cousin Galpert poked
from the curtains of the nylon-walled queuebana. "Guess
what? I moved up a spot while you were gone."
Hestler folded the wheel and leaned it against the
weathered cloth. He waited until Galpert had emerged,
then surreptiltiloualy twitahed the curtains wide open. The
place always smelled fudgy and stale after his cousin had
spent half an hour in it while he was away for his comfort
break.
"We're getting close to the head," Galpert said ex-
citedly, handing over the lockbox that contained the
papers. "I have a feeling" He broke off as sharp voices
were suddenly raised a few spaces behind. A small, pale-
haired man with bulging blue eyes was attempting to
force himself into line between Third Back and Fifth
Back.
"Say, isn't that Four Back?" Hestler asked.
"You don't understand," the little man was whimper-
ing. "I had to go answer an unscheduled call of na-
ture . . ." His weak eyes fixed on Fifth Back, a large,
coarse-featured man in a loud shirt and sunglasses. "You
said you'd watch my place . . . !"
"So whatta ya think ya got a comfort break for, ya
bum? Beat it!"
Lots of people were shouting at the little man now:
"Line-me-ucker-bucker-line bucker, line bucker . . ."
The little man fell back, covering his ears. The abscene
ahant gained in volume as other voices took it up.
"But it's my place," the evictee wailed. "Father left


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it to me when he died, you all remember him . . ." His
voice was drowned in the uproar.
"Serves 'him right," Galpert said, embarrassed by the
chant. "A man with no more regard for his inheritance
than to walk off and leave it . . ."
They watched the former Fourth Back turn and flee,
his hands still over his ears.
After Galpert left on the wheel, Hestler aired the queue-
bana for another ten minutes, standing stony-faced, arms
folded, staring at the back of One Up. His .father had
told him some stories about One Up, back in the old
days, when they'd both been young fellows, near the end
of the line. Seemed he'd been quite a cut-up in those
days, always joking around with 'the women close to him
in line, offering to trade places for a certain considera-
tion. You didn't see many signs of that now: just a dumpy
old man in burst-out shoe-leather, 'sweating out 'the line.
But he himself was lucky, Hestifer reflected. He'd taken
over from Father when the latter had had 'his stroke, a
twenty-one thousand two hundred and ninety-four slot
jump. Not many young fellows did that well. Not that he
was all that young, he'd put in his time in the line; it
wasn't as if he didn't deserve the break.
And now, in a few hours maybe, he'd hit the head of
the line. He touched the lockbox that contained the old
man's papersand of course his own, and Cluster's and
the kids'everything. In a few hours, if the line kept
moving, he could relax, retire, let the kids, with their own
places in line, carry on. Let them do as well as their dad
had done, making head of the line at under forty-five!
Inside the queuebana it was hot, airless. Hestler pulled
off his coat and squatted in 'the crouch-hammocknot the
most comfortable position in the world, maybe, but in full
compliance with the Q-law requirement that at least one
foot be on the ground at all times, and the head higher
than the waist. Hestler remembered an incident years be-
fore, when some poor devil without a queuebana had
gone to sleep standing up. He'd stood with his eyes closed
and 'his knees bent, and slowly sunk down to a squat; then
bobbed slowly up and blinked and gone back to sleep.
Up and down, they'd watched him for an hour before he
finally let his head drop lower than his belt. They'd
pitched him oat of line then, and closed ranks. Ah, there'd
been some wild times in the queue in the old days, not
like now. There was too much at stake now, this near the
head. No time for horseplay.
Just before dusk, the line moved up. Three to go! Hest-
ler's heart thumped.
It was dark when he heard the voice whisper: "Four
Up!"
Hestler jerked wide awake. He biinked, wondering if
he'd dreamed the urgent tone.
"Four Up!" the voice hissed again. Hestler twitched the
curtain open, saw nothing, pulled his head back in. Theif
he saw the pale, pinched face, the bulging eyes of Four
Back, peering through the vent slot at the rear of the
tent.
"You have to help me," the little man said. "You saw
what happened; you can make a deposition that I was.
cheated, that"



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"Look here, what are you doing out of line?" Hestler
cut in. "I know you're on-shift, why aren't you holding
down a new slot?"
"I . . . I couldn't face it," Four Back said brokenly.
"My wife, my childrenthey're all counting on me."
"You should have thought of that sooner."
"I swear I couldn't help it. It just hit me so suddenly.
And"
"You lost your place. There's nothing I can do."
"If I have' to start over nowI'll be seventy when I get
to the window!"
"That's not my lockout"
". . . but if you'll just tell the line police what happened,
explain about my special case"
"You're crazy, I can't do that!"
"But you . . . I always thought you looked like a decent
sort"
"You'd better go. Suppose someone sees me talking to
you?"
"I had to speak to you here, I don't know your name,
but after all we've been four spaces apart in line for nine
years"
"Go away! Before I call a line cop!"
Hestler had ahard time getting comfortable again after
Four Back left. There was a fly inside the queuebana. It
was a hot night. The line moved up again, and Hestler
had to emerge and roll the queuebana forward. Two
spaces to go! The feeling of excitement was so intense
that it made Hestler feel a little sick. Two more moves up,
and he'd be at the window. He'd open the lockbox, and
present the papers, taking his time, getting it all correct,
all in order. With a sudden pang he wondered if anyone
had goofed, anywhere back along the line, failed to sign
anything, missed a notary's seal, or a witness's signature.
But they couldn't have. Nothing as dumb as that. For
that you could get bounced out of line, lose your place,
have to go all the way back
Hestler shook off the morbid fancies. He was just ner-
vous, that was all. Well, who wouldn't be? After tonight,
his whole life would be different; his days of standing in
line would be over. He'd have timeall the time in the
world to do all the things he hadn't been able to think
about all these years . . .
Someone shouted, near at hand. Hestler stumbled out
of the queuebana to see Two Upat the head of the line
nowraise his fist and shake it under the nose of the
smaU, black-mustached face in the green eyeahade framed
in the window, bathed in harsh white light.
"Idiot! Dumbbell! Jackass!" Two Up yelled. "What do
you mean take it back home and have my wife spell out
her middle name!"
Two burly line police appeared, shone lights in Two
Up's wild face, grabbed his arms, took 'him away. Hestler
trembled as he pushed the queuebana forward a space on
its roller-skate wheels. Only one man ahead of him now.
He'd be next. But no reason to get all upset; the line had
been moving like greased lightning, but it would take a
few hours to process the man ahead. He had time to relax,
get his nerves soothed down, get ready to answer ques-
tions ...
"I don't understand, sir," the reedy voice of One Up


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was saying to the small black mustache behind in the win-
dow. "My papers- are all in order, I swear it"
"You said yourself your father is dead," the small, dry
voice of Black Mustache said. "That means you'll have to
reexecuite Form 56839847565342-B in sextuplioate 'with
an eadarsement from the medical doctor, the residential
police, and waivers from Department A, B, C, and so on.
You'll find it all, right in the regulations."
"Butbut he only died two hours ago: I just received
word"
"Two hours, two yearshe's just as dead."
"ButI'll lose my place! If I hadn't mentioned it to
you"
"Then I wouldn't have known about it. But you did
mention it, quite right, too."
"Couldn't you just pretend I didn't say anything? That
the messenger never reached me?"
"Are you suggesting I commit fraud?"
"No . . . no . . ." One Up turned and tottered away,
his invalidated papers clutched in his hand. Hestler swal-
lowed hard.
"Next," Black Mustache said.
Hostler's fingers shook visibly as he opened the box. He
laid out the salmon-colored papers (twelve copies), the
puce papers (nine copies), the lemon-yellow papers
(fourteen copies), the lime papers (five copies . . . only
five? Could that be right? Had he lost one?). Panic
clutched at his chest.
"Salmon-colored: twelve copies." The clerk was frown-
ing ominously.
"Y-yes. Isn't that right?" Hestler stammered.
"Of course." The clerk went on counting papers, mak-
ing obscure notations in the corners.
It was almost dawn six hours later when the clerk
stamped the last paper, licked the last stamp, 'thrust the
stack of processed documents into a slot and looked past
Hestler at the next man in line.
Hestler hesitated, holding the empty lookbox in nerve-
less fingers. It felt abnormally light.
"That's all," the clerk said. "Next."
One Down jostled Hestler getting to the window. He
was a small, bandy-legged standee with large, loose lips
and long ears. Hestler had never really looked at him
before. He felt an urge to tell him all about how it had
been, give him a few friendly tips, as an old window
veteran to a newcomer. But the man didn't give him a
glance.
Moving off, Hestler noticed itfae queuebana. It looked
abandoned, functionless. He thought of all the hours, the
days, the years he had spent in it, crouched in the
sling...
"You can have it," he said on impulse to Two Down, a
woman, dumpy, slack-jowled. He gestured toward the
queuebana. She made a snorting sound and ignored him.
He wandered off down the line, 'staring curiously at
the people in it, at the varied faces and figures, tall, wide,
narrow, old, youngnot so many of thosedressed in
used clothing with hair combed or unoombed, some with
facial hair, some with paint on their 'lips, all unattractive in
their own individual ways.



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He encountered Galpert whizzing toward 'him on the
power wheel. Galpert slowed, gaping, came to a halt.
Hestler noticed that his cousin had thin, bony ankles
in maroon socks, one of which 'suffered from perished
elastic 60 that the sock drooped, exposing clay-white
skin.
"Famwhat . . . ?"
"All done." Hestler held up the empty lockbox.
"All done . . . ?" Galpert looked across toward the
distant window in a bewildered way.
"All done. Not much to it, really."
"Then ...1... I guess I don't need to . . ." Gal-
pert's voice died away.*
"No, no need, never again, Galpert."
"Yes, but what . . . ?" Galpert looked at Hestler, looked
at the line, back at Hestler. "You coming, Fam?"
"I . . . I tihink I'll just take a walk for a while. Savor it,
you know."
"Well," Galpert said. He started up the wheel and rode
slowly off across the ramp.
Suddenly, Hestler was thinking about timeall .that
time stretching ahead, like an abyss. What would he do
with it? He almost called after Galpert, but instead turned
and continued his walk along the line. Faces staied past
him, over him, through him.
Noon came and went. Hestler obtained a dry hot dog
and a paper cup 'of warm milk from a vendor on a three-
wheeler with a big umbrella and a pet chicken perched
on the back. He walked on, searching the faces. They
were all so ugly. He pitied them, so far from the window.
Once he saw Argall and waved; but Argall was looking
the other way. He looked back; the window was barely
visible, a tiny dark point toward which the line dwin-
dled. What did they think about, standing in line? How
they must envy him!
But no one seemed to notice him. Toward sunset he
began to feel lonely. He wanted to talk to someone; but
none of the faces he passed seemed sympathetic.
It was almost dark when he reached the end of the
line. Beyond, the empty plain stretched toward the dark
horizon. It looked cold out there, lonely.
"It looks cold out there," he heard himself say to the
oatmeal-faced lad who huddled at the tail of the line,
hands in pockets. "And lonely."
"You in line, or what?" the boy asked.
Hestler looked again at 'the bleak horizon. He came
over and stood behind the youth.
"Certainly," he said.




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