The Grief Team by David Collins Read Free Book Online Page B

descended from his office in one of the two available glass-enclosed elevatorpods, stepping off at the main level,only to find himself, a little embarassed and somewhat awkward, surrounded by a clutch of kids tugging excitedly at his sleeves, shouting their questions at him, and calling his name. As the star of his own programme on TV—something which Elias had practically forced him to do—the subsequent dramatic effect visited upon the mallchildren when he appeared in public proved to be as regular as clockwork. Every child seemed to have a need to be near their hero and more and more would surround him, shouting, praising, laughing, until he was practically forced to demand that they cease-and-desist. He was firm with them when he had to be, but pleasantly so. On occasion, Gabriel would display his Deathleaf, a gold maple leaf with its implanted holographic skull. This symbol of his authority always reduced the squealing fans to awestruck, gape-mouthed statues for a moment or two and, thus quelled (and impressed!), they would finally  allow Gabriel to slip away and have his coffee in peace.
    To say that he did not enjoy the adulation of children was false. To infer any deeper significance or to assume that such devotion had any effect on his character, other than a transitory boost to his ego, was also false. Gabriel, wholeheartedly and logically, was committed to preserving life in Toronto Nation, the last fragile piece of what had once been a thriving nation—ad mare usque ad mare—called Canada. The children were the future of this brave little outpost called Toronto Nation and that meant that every child was precious and must be protected, nurtured, and loved. He believed this fervently, not in some overwhelmingly emotional sense, but rather with a complete, logical acceptance of the rules of life in the malls as Mayor Dickie, the father-of-the-Malls, had conceived them in the midst of the wreckage of all he had once known as a child himself. In pursuance of these principles, the same kind hand which lovingly petted the admiring heads of mallchildren was equally capable of smashing his fist into the back of  a fourteen-year-old WildKid with enough force to snap his spinal column in half.
    Elias had told him, “You were born at the beginning of the end of the old life. While the world was dying, you were just beginning to live. It died because of intolerance, greed, hate, and that fuckin’ bastard Jeffrey Meilgaard! It died, you lived. Take your purpose in life from that!”  Gabriel had done so and now, as the Director of the Grief Team, he knew his purpose all right. His purpose was to enforce the rules.
    “You want this, Gabriel?” Sid, the server, held up a square viewer. With a practised flick of his wrist, the Nation’s Chronicle slid down the counter and stopped within a hair of Gabriel’s cup.
    “Thanks, Sid.” Gabriel could read the headline without adjusting the depth of his glasses. It didn’t surprise him. 
     
    SWEDES BUY BLONDS BIG-TIME!
              POPULATION PASSES FIVE THOUSAND MARK!
     
    “Them Swedes, huh, Gabriel?” offered Sid.
    Gabriel nodded. How would Sid react if he knew that the Swedes had secretly been palmed off with five-and-six-year-old Wildkids, not embryos hatched in the labs in Cedarbrae?
    “They make too goddamn much fuckin’ profit,” Sid declared. “Me, I make only tips.”
    Gabriel smiled. He knew how many ‘tips’ Sid had in the bank. He pressed the scan icon on the palette, letting the day’s events slide by…someone had reported seeing a live fish in the pool in the E.C.—a miracle subsequently disproved and the ‘visionary’ fined two credits and busted two categories for food rations…five Mulls sent to the Crematoria for possession of human bones in their apartment. Some Mull dive in the basement of Vegasville had been strewn with the grisly remains of a Wildkid. Stomachs bloated from their best meal in weeks, the perpetrators