The Adjusters (12 page)

He hardly paid attention to his opponent as he streamed down the lane, so intent was he on getting every iota of speed from his limbs. So it was only as he approached the third and final turn
that he saw it…

The shape of the other boy racing ahead in the parallel lane… Somehow making it to the turn before him… Suddenly no longer seconds behind, but seconds ahead…

No way!
Henry thought as he made the turn. Unable to resist, he looked up, seeing that Steve was now almost halfway down the lane on his way to the finish.
Got to catch up.
In the
following seconds he pushed himself harder than ever before …

And it still wasn’t enough.

By the time he slapped his hand against the far end of the pool, Steve had pulled himself up out of the water and was waiting for him with his arms folded. He wasn’t even breathing
heavily, despite the incredible exertion of the last few minutes. Gasping, Henry leaned against the edge and tried to get some much needed air into his lungs.

“Great time,” the coach said, kneeling down beside him and examining his stopwatch. Then he stole a glance at Steve, who turned and walked away, his face an emotionless mask.

“Not great enough,” Henry said, splashing water on his face.

“You look exhausted,” the coach said. “Get dressed and meet me in my office.”

“But the rest of the trial!” he protested.

“Kid, you’re done in,” the coach said with a sigh. “Too bad. I really wanted to see you beat that guy.”

He turned and walked away. Henry balled his hand into a fist and pounded it against the water.

It seemed Malcorp High wouldn’t even allow him to be good at the one thing he was best at.

Five minutes later, Henry found the coach sitting in the small office that looked over the pool. The room was crowded with papers, sports magazines and all manner of other
junk. As he walked in, the coach pointed to a chair in the corner. Henry removed a stack of old newspapers from the seat and sat down.

“Sorry, coach,” he said quietly. “Guess I didn’t make the grade, huh?”

“I made you a coffee,” the man said, passing over a mug to Henry. “Thought you could use one.”

“Thanks,” Henry said.

The man reached into his desk, removing a bottle of whiskey. He poured a measure into his own coffee mug. “You didn’t see that,” he said as he replaced the bottle.

“Uh, no, coach.”

The coach considered him for a moment, and then forced a smile. “Congratulations. You just made the swim team.”

Henry frowned. “But I got beaten…”

“In any other school I’ve taught in, that time you did would have put you at the top of the team.”

“Steve’s better.”

“Yeah,” the coach admitted. “I’d never seen anything like it until I came to Malcorp High.”

“He’ll win you gold medals,” Henry said. “Perhaps you should be spending your time on him.”

The coach smiled. “But that would mean spending time
with
him.”

Henry burst out laughing.

“I probably shouldn’t say that about a kid on the swim team,” the coach added.

Henry shrugged. “Well, I might be fast, but I’ll bet I’m the slowest swimmer in this school. I just don’t know what’s going on.”

“Neither do I,” the coach replied. “I took this job six months ago, thinking it would be a nice, quiet gig up to my retirement. The level of sporting and academic achievement
at this school surpasses any place I’ve ever worked. And I’ve worked at some good schools. But everyone seems to regard it as normal. They don’t even want to compete in the local
leagues. What the hell is with that?”

“I don’t know, coach.”

“Not the slightest interest. From the students or the faculty. News kids that do show some competitive edge lose it after a few weeks. Like this place sucks it out of them.” The
coach leaned forward and pointed a finger at Henry. “If you swim for me, we’re sending you to a county trial. And
you’re
gonna win me some medals. Think you can handle
that?”

Henry nodded. “Sure thing, coach.”

Coach Tyler nodded approvingly and sat back in his chair. “I know one thing: these kids might be good, but there’s no joy in what they do. Know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Henry said. The man had a point. Most of the students he’d met…they were brilliant at everything, but it never seemed a big deal. Just cold, clinical perfection.
Blake was the only one who had shown any normal enthusiasm, but thinking back, Henry thought there was something fake about that too. Almost like he’d been going through an act for
Henry’s benefit.

“You’ll do just fine, Henry,” the coach said, finishing his drink and pouring another. “And if you don’t, that’ll be just fine as well.” He took a sip
from his mug and pulled a face. “You know what? I’ve got ten kids on the team who come here after school every single day. Never miss. They swim laps so long and so fast they should be
on the bottom of the pool with exhaustion. Then they get out of the water, say,
Thank you, coach
, and go home. You understand what I’m saying?”

“I’m not sure, coach…”

“At my last school, I think half my time was spent coaching kids in the water. You know what the other half was spent doing? Chewing them out over being late. Giving them pep talks when
they wanted to quit. Listening to them blub because some boy or girl broke their heart.” He looked out over the dive pool, where a few kids were still swimming. “But this lot…
They never have any problems. No doubts. No distractions. It ought to be a dream job.”

“But it isn’t?”

“Half the time I think I needn’t be here at all.”

Henry considered this. “The other teachers around here don’t seem to mind.”

The coach shook his head. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call those people teachers, Henry. Most of them have never set foot inside a classroom outside Malcorp High. They’re
facilitators
, or at least that’s what they call themselves. I’d hate to see how they fared in my old school back in the Bronx.” He thought it over for a moment, remembering
some other time, then looked at Henry. “So I want you to do something for me. Show up late for practice once in a while. Forget your kit. Slack off during training so I can ball you out. Can
you do that for me?”

He laughed. “Sure thing, coach.”

The man smiled at him, then said, “Go on, get outta here. Training is Monday, 5 p.m. sharp. And if I ever catch you fighting in my changing rooms again, I’ll put your ass in a
sling.”

As Henry opened the door, the sound of music began to echo across the pool from speakers set high into the ceiling. Henry listened and heard it playing dully outside as well, as if it was being
broadcast across the entire complex. The sound was distorted, but there was something familiar about it. It took him a second or two to realize that the tune was “The Star-Spangled
Banner”.

“Here we go,” the coach said, reaching into his desk for a top-up from his whiskey bottle. “Every Monday morning, every Friday afternoon. Without fail.”

Around the dive pool, kids had emerged from the water and took position by the side. They stood absolutely still, staring into space as the music played, almost as if they were in a trance.
Henry found himself wincing as the music played. There was something discordant about it that he just couldn’t put his finger on. The effect was grating, but the kids around the pool
didn’t seem to sense it. If anything, their expressions were serene.

“Jesus,” the coach said, taking a swig from his mug, “that has got to be the worst version of our national anthem ever.”

Henry nodded and walked towards the changing rooms, past the kids standing like statues around the edge. He looked at the face of one of the girls as he crossed in front of her. Her eyes were
half-closed, but beneath the lids he could see her pupils flickering from left to right.

Like the eyes of a dreamer in REM sleep…

Henry had spent a whole week at Malcorp High now and, as much as he’d tried to ignore it, his anxiety had grown from one day to the next. He just couldn’t get the
events at the pool out of his head, and it seemed Coach Tyler was no wiser than he was. So if Henry wanted answers, there was only one place to go.

He hammered on the door of the coffee shop, which was showing the
closed
sign, even though it was midday on a Saturday. Through the window he’d seen someone moving around in the
darkened lower area and he was sure it was Fox.

He banged his fist on the door again.

After a moment the girl approached and studied him through the glass.

“What do you want?” she shouted, an accusatory tone to her voice.

“You said you had evidence about what’s going on at Malcorp,” Henry replied. “Show it to me.”

“What brought about this change of heart? Things not going so well at school? You thought we were delusional, remember?”

Henry looked round. The shopping street was quiet enough, considering it was a Saturday afternoon, but he still didn’t want to have this discussion out in the open. “Can I
please
come in?”

Reluctantly, Fox opened the door and allowed him into the cafe. Inside, it was pleasantly cool after the heat of the day and the walk he’d taken from the complex. The smell of
yesterday’s coffee lingered in the air.

“You’re not opening for lunch?” he asked, looking around the interior. The chairs were still on the tables.

“Business is slow,” Fox said with a shrug as she locked the door. “But if I’d known you were coming, I’d have baked a cake.” She walked through to the other
side of the counter. “Come on up, I guess.”

He followed her up the narrow staircase to the apartment above the cafe. In the light of day it looked just as cluttered as the last time he’d been there, but there was something warm and
lived-in about the place. It made Henry think of his old apartment in the city. It had been way too small for him and his mom, but he’d begun to miss the old place since he’d been at
Malcorp.

“Take a seat,” Fox said as she moved through to the kitchen. “Something to drink?”

“Just some water,” Henry said, sitting down on one of the sofas. “I didn’t see you in school this week.”

The girl poured a glass from the tap and brought it over. “That’s not surprising. I wasn’t there.”

“You were sick?”

“I don’t go to school.”

Henry frowned. “What do you mean? You’ve dropped out?”

“Malcorp High didn’t agree with me,” she replied. “And since the Newton school closed down, it’s the only option. Anyway, I’ve got the cafe to look
after.”

Henry sipped his drink. “I can see you’re real busy with that.”

Fox said sharply, “If you just came to be sarcastic—”

“Okay, sorry. Why didn’t the school agree with you?”

Fox grinned wryly at him. “Well, I’m sure you can guess yourself. Finding the curriculum a little challenging?”

Henry put the glass of water down amidst the clutter on the table and sighed. “I’m not stupid… But I just can’t seem to keep up…”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Fox said. “We’ve all been there.”

“So what
is
going on?” Henry asked.

Fox raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure you want to hear this?”

“Try me.”

She walked to a bookshelf and pulled out what looked like a thick, leather-bound photo album. Opening it up, she took a seat beside Henry and passed it across to him. He looked over the page
she’d opened, which was covered with newspaper clippings and stories printed from the web.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Research,” she replied. “On Malcorp. Just read it.”

For the best part of an hour, Henry worked his way through the scrapbook.

There was background information about Malcorp… How John Mallory founded it in the late seventies as a software company. How it had developed an operating system that almost became the
industry standard for home and business computers, before Microsoft bought them out for millions in the mid-80s. With the proceeds of that sale, Mallory had diversified his company into the area of
bioscience, getting involved in the cutting-edge field of genetically modified foods. One story covered Malcorp’s seed engineering sector, and how it held patents on ninety per cent of the
grains used in the United States – this one company could hold the agriculture industry to ransom. If the farmers didn’t buy their GM seeds from Malcorp, they were pretty soon driven
out of business.

Then there were the reports of Malcorp’s other scientific interests, including low-cost IVF (Henry guessed that’s where his mom came in), stem-cell research and the development of
next generation prosthetic limbs for troops injured in Afghanistan. Some articles were critical of the company, focusing on several scandals in their biotech labs, where scientists had been accused
of breaching safety guidelines in the use of stem cell and cloning technology. Others were gushingly positive. There were plenty of people around who believed that, with its use of science to
improve farming and medicine, Malcorp was going to save the world from poverty and hunger. Fox had certainly been thorough in her research and Henry wondered how long it had taken her to collate
all of the information.