Arcadian's Asylum by James Axler

investment for any baron in terms of jack, resources and manpower—and then allow the people who lived above it to wallow in their own crapulence? Why feed them, as he obviously did?
    It pointed toward a baron who had plans and schemes. That wasn’t unusual: they all did. To be a baron necessitated a certain degree of cunning and a lust for power. A baron without these qualities would soon fall by the wayside. But some had a more twisted psyche than others, and their schemes were more arcane and unfathomable.
    To all of the companions, while passing through this sector of Arcady, it occurred that Arcadian may have a mind more labyrinthine than most. The question was simply this: how did they fit into that mind and its plans?
    While those thoughts had been passing through the minds of the friends, in their differing ways, they had traversed the shanty sectors and were now about to enter the center of the ville.
    They turned another corner, and the shacks and tumbledown huts suddenly fell away. A bare expanse of ground, about fifty yards in length, lay ahead of them. Beyond that was a wire fence that stretched in either direction. There were no guard posts.
    The sec boss spoke for the first time since they had begun the march. He had obviously caught the way in which they had all looked at the ground, and also the glances that passed between them.
    “This patch is just to make sure that the people of this sector don’t stray too far. Must be obvious they ain’t the brightest, but Arcadian looks after even the feeble. We don’t let ’em buy the farm, not when there’s enough to go around.”
    “Very admirable, such altruism,” Doc murmured. Much as he tried, he couldn’t keep the sardonic edge from his voice. The sec boss noticed.
    “Listen, other villes can do things the way they want. Arcadian believes in the greater good for the greatest number. We all do. That’s how we live in these parts.”
    And presumably those who don’t think that way don’t live here for long, one way or another, Doc thought. But he kept it to himself, figuring it wiser to keep his mouth shut for the moment.
    In silence, the group walked along the edge of the barren ground until they reached a path that had been trodden flat. It was straight and led to a gate in the fence. Although the wire fence was about twelve feet high, the gate was only half that, and was only wide enough for two people to pass though at a time. On the other side, barely a few yards from the fence, were the backs of better constructed, better maintained buildings. Through the windows, covered in what appeared to be plastic, they could see people going about their business and sparing not a second look for the fence, the group, or the shanty ville beyond. There was something about their complete unconcern that seemed odd. They were so used to this segregation that it was invisible to them.
    As they turned onto the narrow path, the sec force was very careful to herd them so that they moved three abreast—a sec man on either side of one of Ryan’s group—and stayed very particularly on the beaten path. Both Ryan and J.B. spared a glance for the blank expanse of dirt on either side of them. Could the area be mined? Or was this just a piece of behavior that was ingrained? Both knew that to ask would be pointless; all the same, knowing could be important at some future point.
    If either man had to lay odds, they would have put their jack on it being ingrained behavior. What happened next determined that. As they reached the gate, Ryan was astounded when the sec boss stepped up to the gate and simply pulled it open.
    There was no lock. No charge running through the fence. It was simply an access cut into the wire fence that could be passed through at any time, by anyone.
    They were ushered into another sector, and as they walked through the gate, each wondered about the kind of ville Arcady might be. It would appear, on first impressions, that people acted in