Evolution (10 page)

The choir sings. The warriors strut their stuff more or less in unison. I see Durga wince a couple of times as someone misses a beat. In my eyes they are splendid, a welcome addition to any formal occasion.

It’s the turn of Compound Creative. They have prepared a dance in Brahmin’s honour. I find it incredibly moving. I find a tear escaping and am obliged to blow my nose. Silly old fool that I am. I’m going to miss the old bugger.

The dance is to be followed by the burning of the body.
I can’t watch that. I imagine the old man’s flabby flesh hanging off the bones and catching fire. I am also aware from my reading of history that the burning of human flesh smells. I’ve no desire to breath in the putrid stink of death.

I slip back to the museum and try to take my mind off what is happening outside by studying some of our newest acquisitions. One of them is a tiny silver icon of Saint Sebastian. Brahmin would have loved it. I glide into the inner cave, his inner sanctum as we called it, and choose an appropriate niche for it. Perfect. Satisfied with this little ritual, I return to my workstation and start to make a list of the sections of the museum that could do with additional pieces.

I have only just started on the list when Dionysus appears. At first I think he has news of Isis and, because of the mood I’m in, I believe it to be bad news. I look up and frown.

‘How is she?’ I ask.

‘She wants to see you,’

‘Really? When?’

‘Now. She’s in Durga’s office.’

It takes me a moment to realise that he’s not talking about Isis, but Athene.

I pull myself together and accompany him along the passage that links the museum to Durga’s office.

‘Any news of Isis?’ I ask Dionysus, the handsome young man beside me.

‘Not yet but the baby is due any day now.’

I put my hand on his arm. ‘Are you going to see her?’

‘I don’t see how I can at the moment. With Durga back and everything.’ He looks down at me. ‘Don’t worry, Sir. We’re in touch. She seems to be fine, but….’ He hesitates. ‘Maybe you could go. She’d like to see you.’

‘It’s you she wants, Dionysus. You know that.’

‘I really can’t get away at the moment, but I am worried –
not so much about Isis – but about the baby. Do you think they will let her keep it?’

‘What do you mean? Why shouldn’t they?’

‘They might kill him and tell us he died of natural causes soon after he was born.’

‘Why would they do that?’

‘Completes don’t like mutants. They don’t want any more of us. They might put him in a bottle in the museum labelled, “The last mutant humanoid.”’

I glance at his face to see if he’s joking but he looks as serious as ever. ‘Or perhaps they’ll keep him alive to study him – put him in a cage so that they can monitor every stage of his development.’

‘You don’t really believe that,’ I say.

‘I wouldn’t put it past them. They seem fascinated by us mutants.’

There’s bitterness in his voice. The time he spent in Museum Oasis on show is playing tricks with his mind. Post-traumatic stress. Battle fatigue, although there was no battle. I must spend time with him and try to help him. After all he is my son-in-law.

Athene is on her own in Durga’s office. She smiles, stands up, walks round the desk and holds out her hand to shake mine. ‘Good to see you again, Odysseus. We need to chat.’

‘Delighted,’ I tell her.

She takes a seat on a shaper and signals for me to sit on the one beside her. An informal chat then. ‘Now, Odysseus, some strange things have been going on here. I’d be glad to have your view on what’s been happening.’

I’m not sure what to say. I tend to keep out of anything political, things that do not concern my day-to-day work in the museum.

She senses my hesitation. ‘What did you think of Jaga’s scheme to turn the warriors into agricultural workers?’

I summarise my thoughts on the matter, making sure I’m not over-critical of Jaga, just in case Athene is thinking of reinstating her.

I tell her that Jaga’s idea of turning swords into ploughshares has precedents in history but that in my opinion she didn’t prepare the sectoid sufficiently for such a drastic change. This sudden switch to a new direction led to resentment. Once Durga was on the scene again a revolt was inevitable.

Athene considers this. ‘You and I both know that the golden warriors are an anachronism, little more than a token force. Their study and practice of military procedures are their way of fulfilling their creative targets.’

She looks at me carefully trying to judge my reaction to this.

I can’t help wondering why she wants confirmation from me, but am nevertheless flattered by her respect for my opinion.

‘Working towards creative targets is all very well,’ I tell her, ‘but historical studies show that the building up and training of armies usually culminates in action of some sort. Soldiers expect to fight. An attack on some enemy, real or invented is likely, especially if the leader has a warlike disposition.’

‘Plus a desire for power.’ Athene sighs. ‘The sister-wives of Shiva – Jaga, Durga, Sati and even Kali – are all ambitious. And ruthless. They could cause me problems in the future. I can see that.’

I nod but privately believe that no leader’s position can ever be safe. It’s not just Shiva’s wives who are a threat. I am pretty sure that Heracles is waiting for his chance to grab power too. As the new leader of Compound Creative he will have more freedom to plot against Athene.

Athene turns to me. ‘Odysseus – how committed are you to your work here in the museum?’

It’s an odd question. How could she not know how dedicated I am to my work? ‘Completely committed,’ I answer without further thought. ‘In fact I wanted to talk to you about that….’

‘And yet you came to the meeting I called about the possible leadership of Worldwideculture. And you agreed to be interviewed by Stella Jameson when she was considering who to appoint as leader.’

Athene must think I’m interested in unseating her too. I can’t believe it. I’m probably her most loyal supporter.

‘As Chief Chronicler I am naturally interested in the process of the selection of leader. I’ve never had any aspirations in that direction myself. To be curator of the museum is the height of my ambition I assure you.’

‘To be honest, I’d like you to be a little more ambitious than that. I respect your opinions, based as they are on an intelligent analysis of the past.’

Her blue eye deepens in intensity. ‘What I am hoping, Odysseus, is that you will agree to be my second-in-command. I need someone to consult whom I can trust. Someone wise. Someone who would be a worthy successor if something happens to me.’

‘I’m very honoured that you should think of me, but what could possibly happen to you? You are young and have many years of leadership ahead.’

That’s my automatic response, but I know, as she does, that a leader can fall at any time.

My mind is in a whirl. She’s offering me a chance to be her chief adviser with the possibility of succeeding her. ‘But I understood that Heracles was your deputy?’

‘Yes and I will permit him to retain that position – at least in name. We’ll invent a new title for you. Chief Consultant perhaps.’

I’m already Curator of the Museum and Chief Chronicler.
Do I want this extra responsibility? The turmoil in my stomach tells me I do. I’m more ambitious than I thought.

‘Will I still be Curator of the Museum?’ I ask.

‘I know it’s a project close to your heart but you must learn to delegate. Think of yourself as in charge of policy, but find someone you trust to be in charge of every day affairs. Eventually I’d like you to move to C99 to be at my side. But at the moment I need you here to keep an eye on Durga.’

I can’t believe what is happening. I’ve never had such a day in my life: the rebellion, Durga’s coup, Brahmin’s funeral and now this offer that I don’t seem able to refuse.

Athene continues, ‘I have to accept Durga’s coup. I don’t have much choice. The warriors are glad to have her back in charge.’

She’s right. It’s a done deed.

‘If she has ideas of attacks on other compounds or even, Zeus forbid, on Planet Oasis, you must let me know immediately.’

‘As for Jaga,’ Athene continues, ‘I can’t allow her to remain captive here. Have you any ideas about her future?’ Athene is already treating me as her consultant.

‘Jaga’s vision of reclaiming the land, of getting us out of the compounds to live and work in villages is not a bad idea in principle. It is time for us to think about moving out of the compounds to live in daylight as people did in the past. We’ve been shut up long enough. Is there a compound where Jaga could go that would be open to such a experiment?’

‘I’ll give it some thought, do some research. I’m sure there’s somewhere she could use her skills. For the moment I’m going to take her back with me to C99. As far as Durga is concerned I’m taking Jaga back as a prisoner. This will allow Durga to save face and not undermine her authority. I will spend some time talking to Jaga about her ideas for the
future. I may want further advice from you about this. After all, you have experienced some of the highs and lows of her plan in action.’

I find myself flushing with pleasure.

Athene stands and shakes my hand. ‘I look forward to us working more closely together, Odysseus.’

Still feeling a bit bemused I say, ‘Me too’ and find that I mean it.

‘I must go to Durga now. She’s kept her spirits up very well during the funeral, but I know she’s upset. The loss of her father must have been a big shock to her.’

It takes me a moment to grasp the significance of what she is saying. Once more I’ve been lacking in perception. I had no idea that Brahmin was Durga’s father.

That explains why Durga couldn’t bring herself to appoint me as curator over him. All that procrastination makes sense now.

I wonder yet again how I can see things of the intellect so clearly yet fail to see what is going on in front of my eyes. I shall have to be wary about jumping to conclusions when offering advice to Athene. Ironic really that she sees me as a suitable counsellor.

It’s not so bad in here. It’s a hospital but that doesn’t mean I have to stay in bed all the time. In fact they encourage me to get up and do things. Once they find out that I like making things, they send in someone they call an occupational something-or-other to help me. I tell her what I’d like to make and she provides the materials. Her name is Bridie. She’s real friendly and helpful.

She teaches me things I didn’t know before.

For one thing, she teaches me to knit. She gives me three knitting needles so that I can use my fingers on all three hands. She giggles as she tries to work out how to do this. I’m the only mutant humanoid she’s ever had as a patient. The others are completes like her and only have two hands and ten fingers.

‘Once you’ve got the hang of it, you’ll be able to knit much quicker than everyone else.’ she tells me. ‘I’ll download some patterns and you can make clothes for your baby.’

On the compu she shows me pictures of babies wearing little woollen jackets, hats and bootees. Cute.

She brings in a sewing machine. I’ve never seen one before, let alone used one, mainly because there wasn’t such a thing in the compounds, not even in C98.

‘You should have asked for one,’ says Bridie. Apparently,
we humanoids in the compounds can ask for anything we want. Completes will consider our request and, if approved, supply us with it. I didn’t know that.

‘How could I ask for it, when I didn’t even know what a sewing machine was?’

She seems surprised. ‘Haven’t you seen one on the Internet?’

That’s when I come clean and tell her I’m not that brilliant on compus.

‘I’ve nothing against them. Just not interested in looking things up and that. Seems a waste of time to me. I’d rather be doing things like making clothes and pretty things for our dormo-cube or doing beauty treatments.’

Bridie shows me how to use the sewing machine and I catch on real quick. Not totally stupid then.

‘You’ve got the hang of it straightaway,’ she says, echoing my thought. She’s a sweet little thing with rosy cheeks and a shy smile.

I like all the completes I’ve met so far, Bridie and the nurses and doctors and that. All totally kind. I suppose you have to be a caring humanoid – or rather human being as they call themselves – to work in a hospital.

Today Nurse Gemma comes in to check what she calls my vital signs and to chat to Bridie. They tell me they’re “best friends” which means they go out together in the evenings. I wonder where they go. It must be great to have a best friend, another female I mean. I’ve never known what that’s like. Must be brilliant to have someone to talk to about make-up and clothes and that. Males don’t understand how totally important these things are. Not even Osiris. And certainly not Odysseus.

Bridie and Gemma and all the other nurses seem quite fascinated by me and ask me all kinds of questions about my life on Earth and about the mutations of other humanoids. I
answer as best I can. I tell them life was pretty shitty in C55 with the snake woman as boss. We were treated like slaves. That’s probably where my dislike of compus comes from. We were supposed to sit at them all day and all evening too sometimes.

They ask me to describe Kali and are amazed when I tell them that the snakes round her neck and wrists are actually part of her body.

‘But are they real snakes?’ Gemma asks.

‘Totally real,’ I tell her. ‘One of them bit Sati – you know the two-headed nympho I told you about yesterday. Poisoned her. She didn’t die, but she could have done, if Kali hadn’t given her an anti something or other.’

‘Antidote,’ Gemma says.

Gemma is real pretty. Her skin is darker than Bridie’s and her hair is dark too. I think it’s quite long, but she wears it tucked up under a white cap for work so I’m not too sure.

‘It must be awful to be locked up in compounds and not allowed out,’ Gemma says, her big brown eyes wide.

‘I’ve never known anything different,’ I tell her. ‘Outside is the wilderness. Nothing grows there and it’s freezing cold. I did go out once but that was a mistake. Never again.’

‘But surely that was in the past,’ says Bridie. ‘The Earth is not contaminated now. Things have started to grow again.’

‘Dunno. I’ve not been outside again and don’t want to.’

‘Stockholm syndrome,’ says Bridie with a knowing nod at Gemma.

‘No,’ says Gemma, shaking the thermometer and popping it under my tongue. ‘That’s when you bond with your kidnappers. “Institutionalised.” That’s the word you’re looking for. Applied to people who have grown accustomed to being in prison or a children’s home or in any kind of institution. They prefer to keep to the status quo, rather than venture into the outside world. It’s fear of the unknown.’

I haven’t a clue what they’re on about. I’m not afraid, just happy in C98. When Gemma takes the thermometer out of my mouth, I try to tell them how I feel.

‘I’m happy in our compound, especially now Osiris is back from the war. We’ve got a lovely dormo-cube, which I’ve decorated with things from the museum.’

I wish they could see it. ‘Maybe you could come and visit us one day, after I’ve had the baby.’

Bridie and Gemma exchange looks. They often do that. ‘But wouldn’t you rather live in a proper house rather than a compound? If it were possible, I mean,’ asks Bridie.

I shrug. ‘Now I’m with Osiris my whole life has changed for the better. I don’t want to leave C98. Ever.’

I tell them about the golden warriors and how magnificent they look in red and gold and about the pretend wars they play on the compus, how they have mock fights with each other with blunt swords but how Osiris really did march off to war.

‘He was away for ages, but, thank Zeus, he came back. I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t.’

‘Isn’t he allowed to come and see you here?’

‘Of course, but he’s very busy, you know.’

He should come. He should make time to see me. I sniff, blow my nose and change the subject. I don’t want them to see that I’m upset. I don’t want them to be critical of Osiris.

‘Mind you, I wasn’t happy in my previous compound, C55. Kali, the snake woman, was in charge. She was the one that made us sit at compus all day to reach our targets. Dead boring. Put me off compus for life. Luckily I spent most of my time in the histo-lab with Odysseus and he let me do what I liked – more or less.’

‘Who’s Odysseus?’

‘Odysseus is the sort of head-history-person. There’s nothing he doesn’t know about the past. Actually he’s my father. He brought me up.’

‘What happened to your mother, if you don’t mind me asking?’ Gemma asks, her eyes wide.

‘She died years ago. I don’t think about her much. At least I didn’t before I found I was expecting. Now I think of her quite a lot. I wish she could have lived to see her grandson.’

Another exchanged look. ‘What makes you think you’re going to have a boy?’ Bridie asks.

‘I always think of my baby as male.’

‘But surely the doctor has told you….’

‘He hasn’t told me anything.’

‘Well, remember you had those scans?’

‘Scans?’

‘When you went in the other room and they took X-rays of the baby inside you?’

‘Yes, I remember that.’

‘Didn’t he show you the result? The scan? A little photo of the baby inside you. Didn’t he tell you the sex of the baby?’

‘No. He just said everything was all right. No worries.’

‘I’ll find out for you. Be back in a minute.’

While Gemma’s away, Bridie returns to the subject of compus.

‘Didn’t you learn how to use computers at school?’

‘We don’t have school in the compounds. Everyone is given a compu to help us reach the targets. I’m quite good at typing things – lists, labels for the museum, things like that. But they don’t count. They’re not creative. The rest of the compu stuff is sooooo difficult. Odysseus lets me do what I want – make-up my face and nails, sew, things like that. Says that can count as creative work for the targets.’

‘Targets?’ Bridie frowns. ‘What are these targets for?’

I shrug. ‘Dunno. Never asked that. We just do them.’

‘Tell you what,’ Bridie says. ‘We’ll do fifteen minutes on the computer every morning, but only to give us ideas or techniques for making things. Motivation is all.’

I’m not sure what she means, but she’s so nice that I agree. Fifteen minutes is nothing.

‘We’ll get lots of ideas for making clothes and other things from the Internet,’ she tells me.

I tell Bridie that I get the ideas for making clothes from looking at old paintings. Especially since I’ve been expecting.

‘One of them is a lady in a long blue cloak and hood thing with a long white dress underneath and she’s holding a baby, a plump male. He’s naked and totally gorgeous and the lady looks so loving as she looks down at him. Serene. Odysseus taught me that word. Serene. That’s how I want to be with my baby.’

‘The Virgin Mary and Child,’ says Bridie.

‘Oh no, she can’t be a virgin. She’s the baby’s mother,’ I tell her.

Bridie giggles, but I don’t know why. What I’ve said is the truth.

‘Odysseus did tell me the name of the painting, but I can’t remember. He’s always telling me things, trying to teach me about the past but I can never remember a thing.’

‘You remembered the word serene,’ says Bridie, but can’t help adding, ‘the good thing about computers is that you don’t have to remember. The computer does that for you. You can have a list of favourite things. One click and it comes up and reminds you.’

She’s determined to get me on that compu.

Gemma comes back holding a little fotogram. It’s my baby. Tiny, curled up. A bit blurred.

‘Look,’ she says. ‘No penis. It’s a girl. Isn’t she just perfect?’

‘Perfect,’ I say. I tell myself I’m not disappointed. It would be nice to have a boy, a little Osiris, but on the other hand a female would be good too. I can dress her up in pretty clothes and when she’s older teach her all about make-up and all that. Maybe next time I’ll have a boy like the lady in the painting.

‘You’ll have to think of a name for her?’ Bridie says.

I look at the tiny curled up creature in the fotogram. I can see her back and two tiny feet and her shoulders and the beginning of her arms, but I can’t tell how many. It’s a bit blurred.

‘I’ll have to see her face before I know what to call her. Osiris may have ideas too. Can I keep this?’

‘Of course you can,’ says Gemma.

‘You won’t get into trouble for giving it to me?’

‘Not at all. Sometimes the doctors prefer the nurses to give it to the patient.’

She and Bridie stay a bit longer chatting to me before going to change their clothes. They’re going out together this evening.

‘We’ll pop in and see you before we go,’ Gemma promises.

I sit studying the tiny creature in the fotogram. It doesn’t seem possible that this little creature is nestled warm inside me.

Out of her nurse’s uniform Gemma looks quite different. She wears a short red skirt and black top. She does have long hair. It’s shiny black and dead straight, reaching all the way down her back. Amazing.

‘You look divine,’ I tell her. ‘Totally divine.’

She blushes and laughs.

Bridie comes in. She’s wearing white trousers and a loose blue top.

‘Where are you going?’ I ask them.

‘To the cinema and pizza parlour,’ says Bridie.

‘And afterwards to a disco,’ says Gemma. ‘To see if there’s anyone worth picking up.’

I wrinkle my forehead. Sometimes I have difficulty understanding what they’re talking about. Yet we all speak English.

‘To look for sexy men,’ Bridie explains. ‘Have a bit of fun.’

I roll my eyes until the whites show. ‘Good luck! But be careful.’

‘Talk about pot and kettle,’ says Gemma.

‘See you tomorrow!’ calls Bridie and off they trot to a life and world I know nothing about.

A few minutes later tall Janey arrives and makes me do some pre-natal exercises. Just a bit of stretching. Nothing too exhausting, thank Zeus. I show her the picture of my baby.

‘A girl,’ she says. ‘Lovely.’

Janey leaves and short, plump Moira takes over. She makes me do breathing exercises.

‘It will help with the birth,’ she informs me. I lie on my back and take deep breaths. ‘In…. and out….’ Moira chants and I obey. It’s quite relaxing. I nearly fall asleep.

I’m still clutching the photo. I show it to her as well.

‘She’s beautiful,’ she tells me. ‘Perfect.’

I have to admit I’m well looked after. In the morning, the doctor will examine me as usual and make sure everything is going according to plan. It shouldn’t be long now before I have my baby. I can’t wait to see her and hold her and cover her face and body with little kisses. I’m getting used to the idea she’s female.

Janey rushes back in, looking flushed and out of breath, her eyes bright. ‘Surprise! You’ve got a visitor.’

‘Just a tick.’ I sit up, get out my makeup bag from under the pillow and put on some lipstick. He’s been a long time coming. He can wait a minute or two longer. I’ll play it cool.

Janey and Moira are standing close together just outside the door, chatting, excited. I wonder why. I know Osiris is good looking but I didn’t know he could have this effect on other females. Thing is they’re both so old. Must be at least thirty. If only they knew how stupid they look with their red faces. They should calm down and act more dignified-like.

Janey sings, ‘Walk like a man,’ in a silly high voice and Moira calls out, ‘Don’t forget to breathe.’

They are almost smothering him. Reminds me of a scene outside a pop concert I once saw on the tele-screen. A group of young females burst through a barrier thing and threw themselves on the singer, screaming and shouting out his name. Ridiculous.

As for these two, what fools they are making of themselves. I look away and pretend to take no notice, but I can’t help the occasional peep. I can’t see him, only the backs of these two bulky females. Their silly squawks of delight fill the room.

At last they stand back and I see him properly for the first time. It’s not Osiris. It’s a stranger who stands there grinning at me. No. Not a stranger. It’s my mate, little Mercury. I don’t believe it.