James lay on his stomach on the floor and idly ran the black colored toy train back and forth on the tracks. The train had once belonged to Dad when he was a little boy, and his own Father before him. The train was of something of a family heirloom in James view.

James could remember a time when his greatest longing had been for Mark to outgrow the train so James could have it all to himself, but it wasn’t what he wanted to play with today. There was a beautiful day unfolding outside, with fleecy clouds in a blue, sky, and a mild breeze rustling the grass in the backyard. The cutting of the trees in the backfield had begun since last week and so he hadn't left the house in a week now. He could almost hear the whispers of the outdoors calling out to him like a tempting mistress late at night, but now he wasn’t even allowed in the same room as an uncovered window.

"Are you trying to be discovered?" Dad had bellowed at James just that morning, when he had held the shade a few inches back from the kitchen window and peeked out longingly, James jumped. He'd been so busy thinking about running barefoot through the grass and lost in other fantasies playing in his mind that he’d half-forgotten there was anyone or anything behind him, in the house.

"No one's out there," he said, glancing again to be sure.

He'd been trying not to look beyond ragged edge of the backyard to the torn down branches, trunks,

leaves, and mud that had once been his beloved woods, his sanctuary.

"Yeah?" Dad said. "Did it ever occur to you that if there is, they might see you before you see them?"

He grabbed James by the arm and jerked him back a good three feet. Freed from James's grasp, the bottom of the shade banged against the windowsill.

"You can't look out at all," Dad said. "I mean it. From now on, just stay away from the windows. And don't go into a room unless we've got the shades or curtains pulled,"

"But then I can't see anything," James protested.

“Better that than to get turned in." Dad replied back.

Dad sounded like he might feel sorry for James, but that only made things worse. James turned around and left, scared he might cry in front of Dad.

Now he gave the toy train a shove, and it drifted off the track. It landed upside down, wheels spinning.

"Who cares?" James muttered,

There was a harsh knock on his door.

"Population Police! Open up!"

James didn't move.

“That's not funny, Mark!" he shouted,

Mark opened the door and bounded up the stairs that led to James's room proper. James's room was also the attic, a fact he had never minded, Mother long ago had shoved all the trunks and boxes as far as they could go under the eaves, leaving prime space for James's brass bed and circular rag rug and books and toys. James had even heard Billy and Mark grumble about James having the biggest room.

But they had windows in their rooms.

“Scared you this time, didn't I?" Mark asked with a grin on his face.

“No,” James said. Nothing would force him to admit that his heart had nearly jumped out of his chest. Mark had been playing the "Population Police” joke for years, always out of their parents' earshot. Normally, James would just have ignored Mark, but now, with dad acting so skittish... What would James have done if it really had the Population Police? What would they do to him?

“Billy and me, we've never told anyone about you” Mark said, suddenly serious, which was strange for him.

“And you know Mother and Dad don't say anything. You're good at hiding. So you’re safe, you know?"

“I know,” James muttered.

Mark kicked the toy train James had crashed. "Still playing with baby toys?" he asked, as if to make up for slipping his usual façade and being nice.

James shrugged. Normally, he wouldn't have wanted Mark to know he played with the train anymore. But today everything else was so that it didn't matter.

“Did cone just to bug me?" James asked.

Mark put on an offended look.

“Thought you might want to play checkers," he said. James squinted.

“Mother told you to, right?” he asked.

“No!”

“You’re lying,” James said, not caring how harsh he sounded.

“Well, if you're going to be that way……”

“Just leave me alone, okay?"

"Okay, okay." Mark backed down the stairs. “Jeez! What’s up with kids these days” whispered Mark sounding like some adult even though he wasn’t one.

Alone again, James felt a little sorry he'd been so mean. Maybe Mark had told the truth. James should apologize. But he didn't really feel like it. James got up and started pacing around his room. The squeak of third board in from the stairs annoyed him. He hated to duck under the rafters on the far side of his bed.

Even his favorite model carriages and horses, lined up on the shelves in the corner, bothered him today. Why should he have model carriages and horses? He’d never even sat in a real one. He never would. He’d never get to do anything or go anywhere. He might as well just rot up here in the attic. He'd thought about that on the rare occasions when Mother, Dad, Billy, and Mark all went somewhere and left him behind—what if something happened to them and they never came back? Would someone find him years from now, abandoned and dead? He'd read a story in one of the old books in the attic about a bunch of kids finding a deserted pirate ship, and then a skeleton in one of the rooms. He’d be like that skeleton. And now that he wasn't

allowed in rooms with uncovered windows, he'd be a skeleton in the dark.

James looked up automatically, as if to remind himself that nothing lit the rafters but the single bulb over his head. Except—there light at either of the ceiling, leaking in under the peak of the roof. James stood up and went to investigate. Of course. He should have remembered. There were vents at each end of the roof.

Dad grumbled occasionally about heating the attic for James— “It's just like throwing money out those vents” but Mother always fixed him with one of her stares, and nothing changed.

Now James climbed on top of one of the largest trunks and looked down through the vent. He could see out! He could see a strip of the road and the cornfield beyond, its leaves waving in the breeze. The vent slanted down and limited his view, but at least he was sure nobody would ever be able to see him. For a moment, James was excited but that quickly faded.

He didn't want to spend the rest of his life watching the corn grow. Without much hope, he stepped down from the trunk and went to the other end of the attic, the portion that faced the backyard. He had to slide boxes around and drag an old step stool from the opposite end of the attic, but finally his eyes were level with the back vent. The view was not of the backyard—it was too close— but of the former woods.

He'd never realized it before, but the land there sloped away from his family's house, so he had a clear view of acres and acres that once had been covered with trees. The land was abuzz with activity now. Huge gray ‘Elephant carriages’ shoved brush back from a rough road that had been traced out with gravel.

Elephant carriage were big and slow like an elephant meant to flatten and harden the surface. They are powered by electric core. The mechachines would use a lot of water to keep the electric core cooled that tented to heat up. The elephant carriage released a lot of steam from a chimney on the top of its body.

Other mechachines James couldn't identify were digging holes while being supported by long spider like limbs, for huge steel pipes, James watched in fascination. He knew about many mechachines; equipment and carriages powered by electric cores were called mechachines. But these mechachines were different, each designed for different jobs. And they were all operated by different people.

James had even read about the Electric cores in a book in his free time. Nobody knows what or exactly how they are made. They are a fist sized ball with metallic surface that provides power to mechachines. Only produced by the government. They are a state secret.

Once, when James was younger, a tramp had walked up to the house and James had only had time to hide under the sink in the mudroom before the man was in the house, begging for food. The door of the cabinet was cracked, so James had been able to peek out and see the man's patched trousers and holey shoes. He'd heard his whiny voice: “I ain't got no job, and I ain't eat food in three days.... No, no, I can't do no farm work for my food. What do you think I am? I'm sick, I'm starving... "

Other than that tramp and pictures in books, James had never seen another human being besides his parents and Billy and Mark. He'd never dreamed there was such variety.

Many of the people running the Elephant carriage and shovel like contraptions were stripped of their shirts, while others standing nearby even wore clocks and coats. Some were fat and some were thin; some were browned by the sun and some were paler than James himself, who would never tan again. They were all moving—shifting gears and lowering pipes, waving others into position or, at the very least, talking at full speed. All that activity made James dizzy. The pictures in books always showed people still.

Overwhelmed, James closed his eyes, then opened them again for fear of missing something.

"James?"

Reluctantly, James slid down from his step stool perch and scrambled over to recline innocently on his bed.

"Come in," he called to his Mother

She climbed the stairs heavily

"You okay?"

James dangled his feet over the side of the bed.

"Sure. I'm fine."

Mother sat on the bed beside him and patted his leg.

"It's—" she swallowed hard. "It's not easy, the life you've got to live. I know you'd like to look outside. You'd like to go outside……"

"That's okay, Mother," James said.

He could have told her then about the vents—he didn't see how anyone could object to him looking out there—but something inside stopped him. What if they took that away from him, too? What if Mother told Dad, and Dad said, "No, no, that's too much a risk. I forbid it"? James wouldn't be able to stand it. He kept silent.

Mother ruffled his hair.

"You're a soldier," she said. "I knew you'd hold up all right."

James leaned against his Mother's arm, and she moved her arm around his shoulders and hugged him tight to her side. He felt a little guilty for keeping a secret, but mostly reassured—loved and reassured.

Then, more to herself than to him, Mother added, "And things could be worse,"

Somehow, that wasn't comforting. James didn't know why, but he had a feeling what she really meant was that things were going to get worse. He snuggled tighter against Mother, hoping he was wrong.