Evolution (6 page)

I note Sati observing the way they eat and copying it. She manages very well, much better than I do.

I’m so worried about looking like an oaf that I don’t eat as much I’d like to and get up from the table still feeling hungry.

Bathsheba whispers, ‘don’t expect to eat like this every night. This is a special feast to welcome you.’

I feel quite relieved to hear that. I’m not used to eating in public with so many people watching me. The dino-cube in C99 has a series of small tables. They are not well lit and I usually sit alone or share a table with Thor whose table manners are infinitely worse than mine. He can’t resist stuffing his nutri-rations into both mouths at the same time. Gross.

That reminds me. The change in my life took place so quickly I didn’t have a chance to tell Thor I was leaving. I must send him an auto-mail tomorrow. Or perhaps not. Let him wait. Do him good to worry.

After supper we are led into the theatre. The members of the sectoid appear fascinated by us. They touch us as we pass or come and sit beside us and let their fingers play on our hands and forearms. I find it a little disconcerting but strangely soothing.

We are treated to another dance performance. I can’t say
I enjoy it. All that smiling and leaping and gyrating. When will it end? I can’t wait to curl up in my bunku with Sati, make love-sex and go to sleep.

Much later that’s exactly what we do. But when I wake up the next morning, Sati has disappeared. No doubt she’s sampling the commun-dormo-cube. Up to her old tricks again.

The next day I am determined to show Bathsheba and the entire sectoid that I am in charge and they’d better understand that fact.

I find Bathsheba in the dino-cube at breakfast time and tell her to gather everyone together. She asks me to sit down beside her for a moment, takes my hand in hers and advises me that such a confrontation would not be wise. ‘At least not before you’ve talked to the council.’

I get the strange idea that she intends to seduce me. True she’s a handsome woman, but she’s far from young and not my type at all. Her deep voice and touchy-feely behaviour give me the creeps.

I have no idea who or what the council is but she soon enlightens me.

‘Kat knows that the best way to get humanoids to co-operate is to give them a share in the decision-making. He’s all for democracy. The council consists of colleagues who wish to share their ideas with him. The members tend to change from week to week. A nucleus remains, but there are always some who have to relinquish their duties on the council because they are busy working on a particular project and can’t devote enough time to attend meetings; but there are always others bursting with enthusiasm ready to take their places.’

All this democratic stuff is not my bag. I’m a tad bored with it already and am aware that Bathsheba senses this. Still I mustn’t rush in “where angels fear to tread” – an old cliché that one – or “like a bull in a china shop” which is probably a more apt expression in my case. I did rush my doomed visit to Oasis that time and look where that got me. Locked up in a cage and put on show like an animal in a zoo.

I agree to meet the council. Bathsheba looks relieved.

‘Very wise, Heracles,’ she says and encloses my hand in hers. I feel my skin crawl and am pleased when she leaves. Patronising bitch.

The members of the council assemble in my office later that morning, nodding and smiling. I really can’t tell one individual from another. If the council changes from week to week it hardly seems worth the effort to get to know them anyway.

I tell them about the proposed general meeting. They look surprised. One of them says, ‘It’s quite a good idea in principal. You could give a short speech to introduce yourself. It would give everyone a chance to see and hear you, but it must be handled carefully.’ The speaker is a humanoid with two ears one above the other on one side of his face. He only has one mouth but seems more interested in talking than listening. ‘You could express your ideas in a very general way, saying such things as we are all working toward the same goals and that you are as keen as we are for The Big Event to be a resounding success.’

Wow! That’s original, I think, but I’m sure my sarcasm wouldn’t be appreciated, so I bite my tongue. A lot of nodding is going on and I find myself nodding too, to keep them happy. They are looking at me, expecting me to say something.

‘Who doesn’t want The Big Event to be a success?’ I make a gesture, the palms of my hands uppermost. ‘The meeting would be an opportunity to get everyone on my side.’

‘We don’t do sides here,’ a red-faced female with frizzy hair informs me. ‘We are all so devoted to our Kat, you know. You’ll have to give us time to get used to you.’

‘With a few changes, such as new schedules, I’m sure we can all get on well together and achieve a good result.’

A rather stern looking female with three piercing eyes says sharply. ‘New schedules! No need for that. An excellent timetable is already in place. I drew it up myself and it’s working well. Let’s keep to that. ‘

More nods from the council. I let her comments wash over me. I have agreed to listen but I don’t have to take their advice. After all, I’m in charge.

I try again. ‘I will be able to judge if changes are necessary when I make my daily inspection of rehearsals.’

The male with two ears placed vertically above each other proffers another piece of advice. ‘It wouldn’t really be prudent to talk about inspecting our work. Why not just say that you wish to attend rehearsals or workshops from time to time to take an interest in what we are doing. It might put a few backs up if it’s felt you are checking up on us.’

It doesn’t occur to these cretins that “putting a few backs up” might be my intention. To let them know who is boss.

Red face adds, ‘You must remember that negative criticism impedes creativity and none of us want that, do we?’

Yawn, yawn. I stand up and summon up a smile. ‘Thank you all for your time and advice. I’ll think about what you’ve said and get back to you.’

They seem surprised that I’m cutting the meeting short.

The female with piercing eyes and a voice to match turns at the door in a last attempt to get some sense into what she no doubt perceives as my thick skull. ‘You really must understand that creative humanoids – especially actors and dancers – must be handled with great sensitivity.’

‘Oh, I do understand that,’ I assure her. ‘Being creative myself, I understand all about sensitivity.’

She frowns as if she doesn’t believe me but can’t call me a liar to my face.

They are all reactionaries, resistant to change. They want to keep the status quo at all costs. What’s the use of being a leader if you have no power to initiate change?

Feeling a bit disgruntled, I shut myself in Kat’s office, now mine. I’m in the mood for a vigorous bit of hacking.

Half an hour later I break into the Symposium’s website on Planet Oasis. Great!

Another half hour and I manage to access the personal account of The Minister for Foreign Affairs. A photo of the Minister heads the file. It’s the complete that interrogated me on Oasis. Orlando Wolfe.

I leap into the air, let out a massive ‘Yes!’ and throw my arms above my head. Success!

I recall the conversation Wolfe and I had. Even in the interrogation room I recognised that he and I had a lot in common. I remember how intently he listened as I told him about my dream to build a city for mutant humanoids on a satellite. He was adamant that could never happen, making it clear that the satellites were only for completes.

Now I have an available site to build a new city on Earth, Orlando Wolfe could prove the man to help me. I settle down at the console and begin to read Wolfe’s auto-mail and files. As I suspected, Orlando Wolfe is a powerful member of the Symposium. He’s on the sub-committee looking into the possibility of the integration of mutant humanoids on Oasis. That surprises me. He seemed so adamant the day I met him that Oasis was only for completes. Of course he may have got himself on to the committee to act as a subversive, ready to undermine
any proposals that those in favour of integration might suggest.

There certainly appear to be problems with the migrants from C1 – complaints from employers about their work not being up to scratch and from residents who don’t appreciate living next door to them. I understand that. I wouldn’t want to live next door to those cretins either.

Orlando Wolfe doesn’t do much about these complaints, but he doesn’t trash them. I suspect he’s collecting evidence, biding his time before taking action.

As I trawl through file after file, I come across a series of fotograms, head and shoulder shots of members of the Symposium, with their names and the posts they hold. I sift through them. Typical politicians, men in suits, some more shifty-looking than others but all trying to look serious and powerful. What a joke. Women too, power-dressed to kill, but not as many as I would have expected from completes attempting to build an ideal society.

I select one fotogram at random: Harold Smythe, Minister for Education, is the caption. The folder opens to reveal a further series of files. Each one contains notes on Smythe’s opinions on various issues and how he voted on them. Yawn, yawn. There’s another file marked personal and when I open it, I see fotograms of his family, a rather severe-looking woman and three children. I open more folders containing similar notes on other Symposium members, both personal and official.

All the politicians seem to have children. Obviously no problem with propagating the species as far as completes are concerned.

I wonder what it would be like to have children. I think of Isis now on a satellite called Hos-sat waiting to give birth. I had a little fling with her once. That could have been my baby. It isn’t, of course. The timing is way off, but how
would I feel if I were the father? Heracles, a father! What a laugh. Nah. Not my bag this family lark, although from these fotograms the families look happy enough.

One folder seems to be missing, that of Orlando Wolfe. I soon deduce why.

These files contain information about Wolfe’s colleagues that he has compiled himself. The devious bastard.

I grin. It takes one to recognise one. He’s made of the same stuff as I am.

Another image catches my eye. It’s the man who came to Headculturedome, the day little Mercury disappeared, the first complete I’d ever seen. Mercury called him Mr. Suit. Yes, that’s him all right, a thin-faced, rather intense man. Not as cocky looking as Orlando Wolfe. The caption informs me that his name is Alexander Court, the Minister for Culture. I click open the folder, go straight to the personal file and find another fotogram of him with a rather frail-looking female at his side. In tiny letters at the bottom, it says, First wife, Lisa, died in childbirth. I open the next page. There is Alexander Court with another female and two children, a boy and a girl, named Stuart and Bella.

I don’t believe it. His new wife is Stella Jameson, the bitch who chose Athene as the new CEO instead of me. I slap my hand down on the desktop. Shit. My old agro about her builds up. Why the hell should she, a complete, choose our leaders? I glare at the fotogram. Her steady blue eyes stare back at me. Blond hair frames her serene face. She’s very sure of herself. And beautiful – if you like that type. I have to admit I wouldn’t kick her out of bed.

I scroll down and sure enough there is quite a long article about Stella Jameson’s ancestors, the originators of Worldwideculture, and an update about her current position as owner and managing director.

Among her many duties
, I read,
is the appointment of the
mutant humanoid CEO in charge of all the English speaking compounds.

It’s not fair. Why should this female complete have so much power over us?

I scroll up to the fotogram again. She is holding Alexander Court’s arm and looking up at him with a self-satisfied smile. The smug bitch. There’s no doubt she wears the trousers in that relationship.

I scroll down and am in for another shock. There’s another fotogram of Alexander and Stella, this time with a young male. Printed underneath it says that the young man’s name is Michael Court. But that can’t be right. It’s little Mercury from C55, I knew him when he was a child. Shit. Somehow or other he’s inveigled himself into that family and changed his name to Michael Court.

I think back to that interrogation with Wolfe. When he told me the satellites were only for completes. I blurted out that if that was the case why had I seen a mutant humanoid coming out of the university? I remember the way Wolfe’s eyes narrowed as he asked me to write down the name of the humanoid I thought I’d seen and any other details I knew about him to give him the next day. Before I could decide how much to tell him, I was returned to Earth.

Wolfe was very interested in the identity of that migrant from Earth. No doubt he will still be interested. I had seen Mercury online coming out of Oasis University and again in real life through the transparent walls of that prison cell. He saw me too. The glass was obviously soundproof so we couldn’t speak but he recognised me all right and I him.

Could it have been Mercury who was instrumental in getting me released the next morning? I’m confused. Is he friend or foe? What the hell is he doing on Oasis?

I scroll down and there is a picture of the whole family, Alexander, Stella, Michael, Stuart and Bella. Michael Court
looks a little uncomfortable. I’m not at all sure he likes being a member of that family. Perhaps they kidnapped him. Perhaps I could be his rescuer.

If I have anything to do with it, Michael Court will soon be little Mercury again and back with Kali in C55. At least she will be happy to see him again.

I write a coded message to Orlando Wolfe, reminding him who I am and saying that I would grateful for his help with resources from Oasis to build a city on Earth.

In return, I could help you find the mutant humanoid I saw on Oasis. I suggest that you investigate Michael Court, the adopted son of Alexander Court, the Minister for Culture. Michael Court is a mutant humanoid masquerading as a complete. He was brought up on Earth and disappeared four years ago. A close examination should reveal his mutations.

Wolfe replies immediately and says he will look into the matter. To be honest, I do have a twinge of conscience about betraying little Mercury; but the next day the first delivery of building materials arrives so I dismiss my qualms. His problems are the last things on my mind.

Time to call a general meeting of every member of Compound Creative.

I send for Thor and ask him to come to Compound Creative with twenty loyal male colleagues from C99. Naturally I mean loyal to me. Not to Athene. They’ve been working for me for some time, designing the proposed city. Now I need them to lend a bit of weight to my speech.

Thor and Sati draw up notices and pin them up all over the compound. They announce a meeting in the theatre at 8.0 p.m. staying that attendance is compulsory. They’re snazzy posters in primary colours. No one can miss them.

My colleagues from C99, dressed in their usual jogging suits in dark colours (did I really wear such things?) line up
at the back of the stage. I sense an air of excitement in the audience. Everyone is intrigued by the appearance of these stern-faced strangers.

In contrast to the dark overalls of my erstwhile colleagues, I’m decked out in a suit made of bright coloured fabric.

‘We’ll show them we have a sense of theatre too,’ Sati says. She hovers in the wings, making sure everything goes smoothly. ‘Go on. This is your big moment, Heracles! On you go.’ She gives me a little shove and I stride on to the stage and stand with my three legs apart.