The trio nodded waved, stepped into the corridor, and the door swung shut behind them.

On the board, the three green circled beds winked out.

The screen cleared again and a film began. A white man beamed at the people. "Congratulations!" he shouted, and someone said, "It's that man from the Miss America."

"This group has been tested, and I believe there are now . . ." The screen went blank and the computer flashed a huge number 73. The film immediately resumed: " . . . of you. Is that correct?" The happy announcer paused and looked directly and earnestly into the camera.

"Yes, that's right," someone called, and the glad-face man went on talking:

"It has been determined by our computers that you are best suited for ..." The film stopped again and the board lit up with the words "Agriculture, Farming."

"Now," the announcer laid aside the sheaf of papers he had been holding. "Are there any among you (and please, don't be afraid) that do not wish to go?" He made the question sound more like a statement, and the people looked nervously at each other as his face slowly faded from the screen and the film ended.

The now familiar pattern of pallets with their little silhouettes reappeared on the scoreboard. Franklyn was certain that wherever his sister might be, Irene would not be likely to agree to go to a farm. He took a deep breath and got to his feet.

His silhouette winked out and an ugly red X began to appear across the vacated pallet. A yellow number 2 formed when the X was completed.

The hall was still. Franklyn wet his lips and began walking toward the door. It swung open at his touch and he stepped in without once looking back. When the door had swung shut behind him, he could hear the happy announcer voice resuming and the occasional self-conscious cough of the others as they watched.

The booming friendly voice grew fainter as Frank went down number 2 corridor. He could hear it stop one or two times, and he knew the computer was issuing special instructions.

He knew his sister would not go to a farm. She would have to be crazy to go along with that idea.

"Not Irene," he muttered to himself. It occurred to him that he had never seen a white person except on eduvision, and he wondered what he would find at the end of hall number 2. He began to wish he had gone with Allen and the others.

***********

"Do you think we did the right thing?" Curtiss said slowly. They were sitting in an anteroom at the end of number 3 corridor.

"This is a strange time to ask," Raisin Face scolded.

Curtiss watched Allen limp to the door and try it for the fourth time. It was still locked. On the other side, they could hear what sounded like lots of office machinery. They had been able to go no farther, and now they were trying to be patient. Allen hobbled back and forth and Curtiss stared at his hands.

The door opened, and a tall, beautiful black woman stood on the other side. Curtiss stared wide-eyed. She wore makeup and jewelry. Bracelets jangled on her arm as she greeted and motioned them in.

"Hello, come on," she laughed.

"Where'd you get those?" Curtiss said, staring at her bracelets as though the woman did not exist.

The tall lady laughed and said, "There'll be time for that later. Right now, there is someone that's waiting to meet you."

The group got to their feet and followed the statuesque woman through the door. She was the first person any of them could recall seeing, face to face, outside of Pigeon City. Allen glowered at her, full of hate and mistrust, but he limped along with the others.

The machines they had heard on the other side of the door turned out to be printers and processors. The room was full of them, and floor seemed to vibrate with electric energy.

Capable and serious black men walked among the machines. They wore white coveralls. "Watch your step," their guide called as they picked their way through the strange digital devices.

"We're installing new equipment," she explained. The new arrivals nodded and moved along. This was the first time they had seen men working with machines. Allen would not relax.

"Where are you taking us?" he demanded.

"You'll see," the beautiful woman answered. She smiled radiantly. Allen grumbled, and she smiled even more.

"What's your name?" Curtiss asked.

"Oh I'm sorry," she said. "I'm Carol."

Allen shot Curtiss a furious look, but Curt ignored him. They passed from this printer room to a long hall and Carol stopped before a series of elevators.

Their car stopped at the seventeenth level, and the group stepped into a large sunny office. Behind a tremendous desk sat Irene. She was looking through some papers, and when Allen, Curtiss and Raisin Face stepped into the office, she rose to greet them. The elevator doors closed behind them and Carol was gone.

"Irene!" Allen cried.

"You aren't really surprised are you?" she said and they all laughed.

"We're happy to see you," Raisin Face said. "Your brother is here somewhere and he is looking for you."

"I know," Irene replied.

"You do?" Curtiss walked toward her desk.

For an answer, Irene handed Curtiss a printout. On it were listed the names of the reclaimed people from 112th Street. Allen looked impatiently over Curt's shoulder. They saw that their names were circled in green, along with Franklyn's.

"I hoped he would come with you," Irene said softly.

"Well, he didn't. He's as stubborn as he ever was."

"I know he didn't go to the farm," she sighed.

"The what?" Allen's face twisted and he snatched the printout from Curtiss.

"The farm," she said. "I know he didn't go through number 1 door, because I have a list of those names." She put her hand on a pile of papers. "He must be in number 2, but we're still waiting for word."

"What are you talking about?" Allen put his hands on her shoulders and shook her gently. "What are you doing here anyway?" Allen's eyes narrowed and he suddenly dropped his hands and stepped back. He looked at Irene coldly, and he would say no more.

"Oh, no," she said quickly. "Allen, Curtiss, you know me. You can trust me." She looked at Raisin Face but the old woman would not meet her eye.

"I would find Frank and help him, but I have no real power here. I dispense information, that's all. I . . .I indoctrinate." She looked at the group anxiously, but no one made a sound.

At last Curtiss said slowly, "Irene, where is your brother? Why does he need help?"

"We know he went into tunnel number 2, because number 3 is the one you came through, and you came through without him. We test arrivals, and the ones they call ‘Creatives' are green-lined and sent here."

Allen was slowly shaking his head. Irene continued:

"Number 1 tunnel is for the workers. They go to factories, farms and the like, and eventually they are recycled, distributed among compatible communities." She took a breath and looked thirstily at her old friends. They stared at her simply.

"What about number 2?" Raisin Face prodded.

"Number 2 is something else again," she replied cryptically.

Allen exploded. "We know that!" he shouted. "What happened to your brother?"

Irene's lip trembled. "Allen, I . . . please Allen, won't you trust me?" She looked at them but their faces were hard. She seemed to shrug and drawing on some inner strength, she pulled herself together before going on: "All I know for sure," she said, "is the number 2 corridor is a sort of obstacle course, and the number 2 area is a correction facility.

The idea is, the people in 2 finish there and then go on to 3 or 1. Anything is possible, but I've never known anyone here in 3 to admit to a number 2 history." She turned and walked to the window. "I was going to intervene when I learned what had happened with Frank and Raisin Face, but . . ." She stopped talking and stood alone and small with her back to them. Her shoulders shook. Curtiss almost felt sorry for her, but he would not try to comfort her.

"You were going to intervene?" Raisin Face said.

"Yes," Irene replied. "But we only know he went into number 2: you see, he never came out."

Click HERE for Part IX