Evolution (13 page)

After a few days, or possibly weeks, she came to work in the compu-centre. I kept my extra eye on her.

No one of either gender spoke to her; but no one harassed her.

The way I dealt with the situation must have restored some confidence in me. No further dramatic episodes have occurred, but I know the balance of power is not right.

It’s not just Hermione that the members of the sectoid ignore. It’s me as well. They feel no compunction to work at their targets. They spend their time doing what they damn well like and there seems little I can do about it. No wonder I feel depressed.

An unexpected visitor arrives. Athene. She doesn’t address us impersonally each week on the big screen as Ra, the previous CEO, did. She visits each sectoid personally. Today it seems it’s our turn.

She arrives by the transporter next to Man1 and makes her way down the silver cylinder to the compu-centre, a tall, elegant woman in a long sky blue gown. Apart from her hands and face there is not a bit of skin to be seen. She moves with an easy grace. She looks around and notes the number of empty workstations. Apart from myself, only Hermione is here and the compu-mad whiz kid, Damian.

‘Kali,’ Athene says, coasting up to me, ‘can you spare me a minute?’

For Zeus’s sake. She’s the CEO. How can I not? I complete the line I’m typing, save it and reduce it. Nothing important, but I must give the impression that it is.

I look up at her, nod and smile. ‘Athene. Good to see you.’ I stand up. ‘Shall we go to Man1? We can talk in private there.’

She raises her eyebrow, implying that it is reasonably private here. ‘I’d like you to show me round the compound first, if you don’t mind.’ She’s nothing if not polite. ‘I haven’t seen it since the renovations.’

I do mind, but I have no choice. I stride, hop and leap to the sliding doors and look over my shoulder to make sure she is keeping up. She’s right behind me. The doors slide open and we step into the RR, side by side. Several couples are lounging on the double shapers.

‘Oh dear, I’ve come during your mid-day break,’ Athene says. Sarcastic bitch. She must know that the situation has become so lax here that whatever time of day she chooses to visit she would think it a break.

She drifts over to have a word or two with the humanoids on the shapers. They jump up as they see her approach as if caught with their fingers in someone else’s food packoid. Pleasantries are exchanged.

We proceed to the gym and watch a game of badminton and some weightlifting. On to the games room where billiards, table tennis and scrabble are in progress. Athene waits for a suitable break in the action and has a few words with the players. She is all smiles, calm, friendly but business-like. When she considers she has seen and heard enough, she recommends we move on, not to Man1 as I suggested, but outside.

‘Outside? But there’s nothing there and it may be a bit cold. We’ve just had a storm,’ I explain.

‘That’s all right,’ she says sweetly. ‘We can try it anyway.
Good to get some fresh air. You say there’s nothing to see? Then we’ll have to use our imaginations.’

It’s not cold. It’s muggy and there’s a smell of damp. Not an unpleasant smell.

She glances at the sticks scattered over the ground where the “soldiers” dropped them when the rain started. ‘I see you haven’t started planting anything yet.’

‘Planting?’ I ask. ‘What would we plant?’

‘That’s up to you. You’d have to find the type of plants that suit the soil and climate.’

She bends down and grabs a handful of muddy earth. ‘It’s quite loamy. Might be worth consulting Jaga.’

‘Jaga?’

What’s the matter with me? I seem to be speaking in monosyllables repeating her words as if I’m a moron. No wonder I’ve lost control of the workforce.

Athene half closes her large eye, shields it with a hand like a sloping roof on her forehead and squints at the horizon. ‘Plenty of scope here for quite a big project.’

I think of how the members of the sectoid love being out of doors. I try to share the view she’s imagining. I see rows of vegetables, fruit trees and bushes. I turn to her, feeling quite excited. ‘We could cultivate this land. Grow our own produce.’

‘It’s a possibility. Now we are no longer confined to the compounds we should take advantage of our exterior resources. But we mustn’t be too ambitious too soon. My advice is – start small and gradually develop. Oasis will continue to support us until we are ready to be independent.’

‘Some sort of market garden or farm might be the answer,’ I suggest.

She takes me by the shoulders and faces me, her one big eye looking deep into my extra eye in the centre of my forehead. ‘Kali, everything you say is possible but I think you could do with some help.’

‘Help?’ I’m back on repeating monosyllables again and hate myself for it.

‘I have taken the liberty of asking Jaga to come and see you. I think the two of you could devise a plan to make full use of this area. Come. Let’s go in now. She’ll be here soon.’

I’m gob-smacked. Why would I want help from Jaga, that traitor? She came to help me fight Sati but changed sides and betrayed me. She stole my sectoid. She and Sati ruled C55 together until Durga helped me win it back.

On the other hand it occurs to me that Jagadgauri is named after Shiva’s harvest bride and she takes her role seriously. She’s skilled in all things agricultural. Perhaps she could prove useful to me.

Athene continues to talk to me as we make our way back to the compound. She tells me that Jaga needs my help as much as I need hers.

She was Chief Administrator in C98 while Durga was in prison, but once Durga was released and initiated a coup, Jaga’s power collapsed. Jaga had tried to turn the golden warriors into farm labourers and it just didn’t work. They rebelled and supported Durga.

‘Here in C55, it’s quite a different scenario. I suspect your workforce will be only too pleased to work outside and learn to dig and plant things. With your cool head and good administrative skills and Jaga’s agricultural knowledge, there is no reason why you shouldn’t succeed. You both have so much to offer each other. Ah here she is.’

Jaga steps out of the transporter. My sister-wife and I greet each other somewhat coolly but Athene takes my hand in her right hand and Jaga’s in her left and leads us into Man 1.

We sit on a treble shaper, Athene between us, Jaga and I turned towards each other.

Jaga looks as beautiful as ever with her straw-coloured hair encircling her bronzed face like a halo. I have no idea what
mutations she has. I’ve never seen her without clothes but she can’t be a complete or she wouldn’t be living on Earth. I wonder what she thinks of my blue-black face, three eyes and dreadlocks and the mottled snakes at neck and wrists.

Jaga smiles her sunny smile and begins to draw for us a mental picture of her plan. Bit by bit she encourages us to share her vision of the future. She talks, not of a market garden nor a farm, but field after field of golden wheat.

She talks of a glorious harvest with the workers scything the corn, side by side in unison, of binding the sheaves into little tent-like structures and leaving them in the field to dry, of lifting them on long pitchforks to store them in stacks. She talks of sifting and grinding the seeds, of making bread, of cottages, a church, a shop, a village, of enjoying a rural life and, eventually, of being entirely self-sufficient and independent.

‘It will be our place,’ she says simply. ‘Our own place.’

Such is the power of her words that I swear I can see those waving fields of wheat gleaming in the sun and the villagers, our colleagues from C55, living an idyllic life in the countryside.

It’s an ambitious scheme and will take a lot of work to bring it to fruition. I can see that Jaga will need my common sense to take one step at a time. We will need experts and equipment to help us. Athene promises us all the support we need.

‘At the moment,’ Athene says, ‘the completes on Oasis continue to provide us with nutri-food packoids and clothes, but they won’t want to support us forever. Anything they can do to help us become independent they will do. They know and we know that change cannot take place over night, but it can happen. It will happen. And you can take the first steps towards making that dream come true here, starting tomorrow.’

We sit and talk a little longer, all three of us contributing ideas to what has become our combined plan. When Athene sees that our meeting is going well, she slips away and we two sister-wives talk on.

When we are ready, we leave Man1 and go to the compu-centre to share our news with our colleagues. Most of them are at their workstations now, heads down concentrating hard, shamed by Athene’s presence into doing some work.

When they see Jaga, their faces light up. They spring up from their shapers and rush towards her. They pull up before they reach her and look at me warily, but I nod and make myself smile, encouraging them to greet her.

They crowd round her and ask her how she is. ‘Are you just visiting?’ ‘Are you back for good?’ ‘How great you look’ and to tell the truth I feel jealous of her popularity. I have never experienced such warmth from them.

News of her return travels fast and in come the others from other cubes to welcome her. I turn away, unable to watch any longer.

‘Just a minute,’ Jaga tells them and she walks across to me with strides almost as big as mine, puts her arm round my shoulders and says, ‘Kali is still here too. My dear sister-wife, Kali. She and I are going to work together from now on. We have some plans, but they will only work with your support. We’ll tell you about them now and you can tell us what you think.’

With her arm round my shoulders, she talks again of waving wheat and harvests and working on the land and building little cottages and living in villages, and a mighty cheer goes up.

She raises her hand and says, ‘But I can’t carry out this plan and neither can you, without Kali. She is a wonderful administrator and she will make sure everything is workable.
I tend to get carried away with big ideas but to make my dreams come true I need Kali. And we need your support too or this will not happen. Do we have it?’

Someone calls out, ‘Yes, you have!’ and others take up the cry, ‘Yes, yes, yes.’

Jaga asks me if I’d like to say something and I find myself saying, ‘This promises to be an exciting project, although, as Jaga says, it will involve hard work.’

A groan and someone says, ‘Here we go again. She’ll mention targets in a minute.’ That comment provokes a laugh. What a killjoy they think I am.

I need to say something that will have popular appeal. ‘From now on, those of you who wish to work outside can do so.’

A loud cheer.

‘Those who prefer to work inside on your compus are welcome to do that too.’

A mocking cheer. But I note that Hermione, Damian and one or two of the others who are less physically able or have an aptitude for research nod and exchange smiles, pleased to have the option.

I can’t resist adding. ‘From now on you can reach your targets either inside or outside.’

‘Those bloody targets,’ shouts Apollo. ‘What use are they anyway?’

‘No more targets!’ yells Serena and a chant starts up ‘No more targets’ and everyone claps in unison. I decide to let it pass. At least for the moment. After all they could be right. How has working towards targets ever benefited C55?

There’s a buzz of excitement in the compu-centre. Things are looking up. Maybe power-sharing is not so bad after all. I hug Jaga and find I have tears in my eyes. I notice that her eyes are moist too. Tomorrow will be the first day of our new life.

That turns out to be true in more ways than one. An unexpected auto-mail from Durga arrives. She suggests that we four sister-wives, Durga, Sati, Jaga and myself should let bygones be bygones and demonstrate our solidarity at Athene’s proposed Big Event.

‘Bloody cheek!’ says Jaga. ‘She takes over my sectoid and expects me to co-operate with her? I don’t think so. Solidarity? What a joke. She can count me out.’

‘It might be worth listening to what she has to say,’ I suggest.

Naturally Jaga is bitter about Durga’s behaviour. It’s different for me. Durga helped me get my sectoid back from Sati. I wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for her.

‘Do what you like but don’t expect me to join in one of her madcap schemes.’

Jaga throws back her head and straw-coloured hair flies all over the place. ‘She talks about the power of us sister-wives, but what she really wants is power for herself. Sati won’t agree to any plan by Durga either. Their personal history leaves a lot to be desired.’

‘We’ve all got adverse history with each other, but if we can get over our differences and work together, as you and I have started to do, in spite of our past relationship, why not the rest of us?’

Jaga pulls a face. I can see she’ll need some heavy duty persuasion to make her co-operate with whatever it is Durga wants us to do.

When Durga tells me her plans for The Big Event, I can see immediately that it will wow the spectators, fill them with awe and wonder. In fact I am so excited by her imaginative proposal, I know I must be part of it. I will have to find a way to persuade Jaga and Sati to put aside their grievances for one day and join in too. The four wives of Shiva are going to upstage every other presentation at The Big Event.

I suspect that Sati might be tempted by the prospect of showing off her beauty and sexual potency in public. Jaga will be more difficult to convince. But I will succeed in persuading both of them.

Things are looking up for my sectoid and the prospect of performing at The Big Event gives me something else to look forward to.

There is only one thing missing for my life to be complete. To be reunited with Mercury. I still have no idea where he is.

I ask Mr Spencer, the surgeon, for a postponement of the vasectomy.

Our conversation is polite but he can’t understand why I should want to change my mind.

‘Are you sure you want to do that, Michael?’ he asks. ‘I moved several appointments around to make you a priority.’

‘I am sorry to upset your schedule, but, I’ve had second thoughts about having the operation. As I’m sure you will agree it is a big decision.’

His grey eyes study me across his desk. ‘Your father led me to believe….’

‘It’s not my father who’s having the operation. I am twenty-years-old and an adult.’ I hear my voice rising. I must keep calm. ‘The choice is mine, not my father’s.’

He hesitates, taps his fingers on his desk and rests those steady grey eyes on my face again. ‘You are right. You must be sure before embarking on this course. A vasectomy is not so easy to reverse as you might think. I would like to help you with your decision by making an appointment for you to see our psychiatrist. You can talk through everything with her.’

‘Does she know my medical history?’

‘She does. Dr. Atherton is a permanent member of our team. If you remember I suggested you should consult her before going ahead with your previous procedure. You said it wasn’t necessary, that you’d already made up your mind. This time you appear to be less certain.’

‘It’s a big decision to deny myself the right to become a father.’

‘It was a big decision to convert from mutant humanoid to complete,’ he observes dryly. He pauses. ‘Any regrets on that score?’

‘Of course not,’ I answer almost too quickly.

He’s no fool. He narrows his eyes. ‘But you do have some reservations.’

‘I probably should have spoken to Dr. Atherton first. It might have helped me adjust to my new life more easily.’

‘In that case I’ll make you an appointment with her.’

‘That would be great. Thanks.’

I stand up ready to leave. At the door I turn back and say, ‘I don’t want to rush my decision. I’m happy to stay on for a while and have several sessions with Dr. Atherton, if necessary.’

Mr Spencer frowns. It’s clear that he finds my request for delay far from logical. Not in keeping with what he knows of my nature.

I’m sure he’ll be on the phone to my father the minute I’ve left his office. These old boys always stick together.

I must get to Father first. I send him a text to tell him that I’m reconsidering having the procedure. I take a deep breath.

Now I have an excuse to stay in Hos-sat for a few more days.

I pop my head round the door of Isis’s room.

Isis is not there. Only Gemma, the pretty nurse. She’s changing the sheets. She looks up when she sees me, and smiles.

‘She’s been in there all night,’ she says. ‘A long labour.’

‘Can I go and see her?’

‘I don’t advise it. She’s kicking up quite a fuss, screaming and yelling at everyone.’

I pull a face. ‘Maybe not then – unless you think I could be of help?’

‘You? No, I don’t think so. She’s in good hands. Gertie is there and the obstetrician, Doctor Carter. Best leave it to the professionals, Mr Mercury.’

‘Michael, please.’

She gives me an odd look. ‘Michael? OK. Isis calls you Mercury.’

‘It’s a sort of childhood nickname.’

Another odd look. I’ve said the wrong thing. She’s wondering how a mutant and complete can possibly have known each other since childhood.

I have no intention of enlightening her, but something keeps me there. I watch the efficient way she pulls the sheet tight across the mattress. She has neat, capable hands.

‘I’ve seen the scans,’ I tell her.

‘But you’re not the father?’

I find myself blushing. ‘No. Just a friend. The scan….’

‘Looks perfect – no sign of any mutations, but they’ll examine the baby thoroughly after the birth to make sure.’ She treats me to her lovely smile. ‘No need to worry.’

‘I understand the baby is female.’

‘She is.’ Gemma plumps up the pillows and spreads the top sheet across the bed, smoothing it with those compact little hands.

‘If they don’t find any mutations, do you think they will let Isis keep the baby?’

She puckers her little forehead. ‘Why wouldn’t they?’

‘I just wondered if they would allow her to take a complete back to Earth?’

‘Oh, I see what you’re getting at.’

Gemma stops tucking in the sheet, stands up straight and thinks for a moment, pursing her mouth in a manner that is far from unattractive. She’s pretty and intelligent too. A good combination.

‘Could be a problem, I suppose,’ she says. ‘The idea of a complete human being brought up among mutants would be unconventional to say the least. There may be some against it.’

‘What about you?’ I ask.

She takes a moment to consider that then shakes her head. ‘In my experience a child is always better with its mother.’

A good answer. ‘I’d like to ask you a question. During the last few days, have you seen any unusual visitors here – official-looking people?

Gemma gives me a sideways look. ‘Only you, Michael. Only you.’

I grin. ‘I’m not an official. I’m a student.’

‘At Oasis uni?’

‘That’s right.’

‘You’re so lucky. I’d love to go there. I studied to be a nurse here at Hos-sat, but what I’d really like to do is to study medicine and become a doctor.’

‘You should go for it. If that’s what you want to do.’

‘I often think about applying. Thing is my mother can’t really afford to support me through another lot of training. I’d need a grant or loan of some sort.’

‘I could look into the possibilities for you, if you’d like me to.’

‘You would do that for me?’ She raises her dark eyes to mine. I note that she’s a bit shorter than me.

‘Sure. I’d like to help. I think having an ambition is important. Do you live here on Hos-sat?’

‘In the nurse’s home, yes, but I go back to my parents’ house on Oasis on my days off.’

‘Maybe we could grab a coffee some time?’ I got that line from Jonathan. ‘I could download the necessary forms, you could bring your CV and we could fill them in together.’

I hesitate. How far should I go to show my interest in her? Jonathan would tell me to just go for it.

‘I’d really like to talk to you some more, get to know you better.’

She gives me a shy smile that makes my head reel. ‘That would be good.’

We exchange mob-fone numbers and she says, ‘I have to go now. See you later.’ And she’s off.

I call out to her retreating back, ‘You will let me know when it happens?’

She looks over her shoulder. ‘What? Oh, the baby. Yes, yes of course I’ll let you know.’

There’s a thing. A pretty nurse has agreed to have coffee with me. She wants to get to know me better. I say her name to myself: Gemma. I find myself giving a little skip along the corridor. I look over my shoulder just to make sure that Janey, the physiotherapist, is not around before I launch myself into a giant leap.

A little old man is sitting outside the maternity unit. Not so old actually. Probably only about fifty or at the most sixty but he has the look of old age, a mixture of frailty and wisdom.

Close up I recognise that triangular face and shrewd central eye. I hesitate for a moment. Father has forbidden me to talk to mutant humanoids, but I’ve already broken that promise by making contact with Isis. And there isn’t anyone I’d rather see. Apart from Kali.

‘Odysseus!’ I say. ‘Great to see you.’

He looks up questioningly and an expression of wonder comes over his face.

‘It’s been a long time, Mercury,’ he says.

‘Nearly four years.’

Neither of us can stop grinning. With amazing agility he springs to his feet and puts his bony arms round me.

His body is thin and wiry. Not an inch of flesh on those bones. Isis used to call him a crinkly-crumbly but I have the feeling there is something in the constitution of this humanoid that is far from crumbling.

‘No news yet?’ he asks, acknowledging that we are both waiting for news of the birth.

‘Not yet. No. You do know the baby is female?’

‘I do indeed. Isis is going to call her Penelope after her mother.’ His face lights up. ‘I still can’t believe it. I’m going to be a grandfather.’

Odysseus brought up Isis just as Kali did me and I consider her my mother. A sudden thought. If ever I do have a baby Kali will be a grandmother.

We sit down next to each other and Odysseus starts to ask me questions right away about where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing since we last met. I realise that the time for hedging is over. No more lies. At last I have found someone I trust enough to tell the truth about the changes in my life.

But not now. A text from Gemma tells me that Isis has given birth to a healthy baby girl. An odd twist in my stomach as I note that Gemma’s message concludes with two little crosses – kisses. A personal message from Gemma to me.

Isis is the picture of serenity, propped up on her pillows with the bundle that is baby Penelope in her arms. The pupils of her eyes roll upwards to show the whites in typical Isis fashion and she smiles the widest smile I have ever seen.

‘Isn’t she beautiful?’

Odysseus and I both nod and smile, but to tell the truth all we can see is a little screwed up face. Not much beautiful about it; but I suppose a mother sees her baby differently.

Isis looks totally happy. She doesn’t even ask if Dionysus is here.

The old nurse, Gertrude, bustles in. ‘You should get some sleep now,’ she tells Isis and puts out her arms to take the baby.

Isis pouts. ‘No, let her stay here with me.’

Gertrude yawns. Not surprising. She’s been up all night and no doubt wants to catch up with some sleep herself. She’s a bit tetchy. ‘Don’t be silly. You can’t go to sleep with the baby in your arms. You might lie on her and crush her. We’ll put her in the cot at your side. She won’t run away.’

Isis gives the baby a last kiss on the forehead and, reluctantly, lets the nurse take her and settle her in the cot.

Gertrude is just as strict with us, dismissing us as if we are children. ‘Off you go, you two,’ she says. ‘Let the girl sleep. Enough visitors for one day.’

In the Hos-sat dining room, Odysseus and I sit and talk. For the first time I feel able to tell someone what has happened to me over the last four years. He is the right person to tell because I respect him and am fond of him. As well as bringing up Isis he always took an interest in me.

So I tell him how my father came to Headculturedome to find me and how he took me back with him to live a very different life on Planet Oasis. I explain that first I came here to Hos-sat to have my mutations taken away and to learn to speak and move like a complete. He listens carefully and congratulates me on the way I have mastered these skills.

‘It was not just the physical changes that I’ve found difficult,’ I tell him. ‘I’ve had to learn to think like a complete
and living on Oasis is very different to being in a compound on Earth. Sometimes better, sometimes worse, but always different. A lot to get used to.’

Odysseus listens to my story with such intensity and seems to totally grasp the nature of the ambivalent emotions I’ve experienced. But I’m not after sympathy. As Gemma said earlier, I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m studying at the University of Oasis, something I never in my wildest dreams believed could be possible.

Of course I tell him about my studies there and about Museum Oasis and its comprehensive collection of artefacts.

‘All pillaged from Earth of course,’ I add with a wry grin.

It’s such a relief to be able to talk about my life openly. It makes me realise how frustrated I’ve felt, forced to keep this secret to myself.

He asks me about my father and I say that I believe Alexander Court to be a good man and that I’ve come to love and respect him. Odysseus presses his bird-like hand on mine and says how pleased he is to hear that.

My turn to ask Odysseus about his life.

He tells me about his new position as Chief Consultant to Athene. ‘What an honour it is to be offered this position!’

His face glows with pleasure. ‘Of course I’m still curator of Museum Earth although I’ve had to delegate much of the day-to-day work. And as Chief Chronicler I’m in the process of asking humanoids from different compounds to contribute to the archive. Sooner than we realise the compounds as we know them will fail to exist. I believe that some well-documented personal reports of what it was like living in those confined spaces should be recorded. What do you think, Mercury?’

‘I think it’s a must. Each contribution would be different and the collection of these reports would provide a great primary resource for future students of the history of Earth.’

I feel excited by this project. Accounts of life in each compound would make a fascinating read.

‘I’m so glad you approve,’ Odysseus says, adding with a keen look, ‘would you be willing to contribute?’

‘As a matter of fact, I’ve been keeping a journal for years. Just for myself, but the idea of it being part of resource in the museum’s archive would make my ramblings really worthwhile.’

Odysseus’s eyes light up. ‘Excellent news. Your journals would chronicle, not just life on Earth, but on Oasis too.’

I hesitate. ‘Some of the things I’ve been writing about are very personal. I’m not sure….’

‘All the better. It’s always the frank accounts that make the most compelling reading.’

I shake my head. ‘No, I can’t do it. Not yet anyway. What I haven’t told you is that my transformation from mutant humanoid to complete is not known by anyone else apart from the team here in Hos-sat, my father and Stella.’

‘Stella?’

‘My father’s partner.’

‘Stella Jameson, the head of Worldwideculture?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘I’ve met her. She interviewed a select group of us when considering who to appoint as CEO.’

I remember watching Stella’s dramatic intervention on the Worldwideculture site during the meeting arranged by Athene. The individual interviews with potential candidates for the post were private. I hadn’t been able to view those. ‘What did you think of her?’