Evolution (20 page)

‘I don’t know. I’ll try. Give me your number for a start and I’ll see what I can do.’

‘You’ll come back and see me, won’t you Michael? I might not be here tomorrow mind. They move us on quite quick to different places. Look the supervisor’s coming. Better not be seen talking to me or you’ll be the next one to be tagged.’

She leans over and starts stacking the cereal boxes on the shelves again, a skinny pathetic figure so different from the pretty dancer I was once half in love with. I turn away. She calls out her number. ‘5978342106.’ Good job I’ve got a good memory for figures.

I have yet to tell Father about my relationship with Lizzy. I’m ashamed now that I didn’t obey him and keep out of the
Project. On the other hand, if I’m not aware of the problems in our society how can I be a reformer?

Because that’s what I intend to be. A reformer, someone who sees the mistakes in the system and finds a way to correct them.

On my watch, there’ll be no more Projects, no more Rehabilitation Centres, no more treating people like automatons.

No more arrests on the street by thugs. No more discrimination between completes and mutants. Michael Court on his soapbox, Do-gooder extraordinary! I can’t help smiling at my temerity.

If anyone can help Lizzy it will be Father. She needs a job and somewhere to live. Not with us. That wouldn’t do at all. My philanthropy doesn’t stretch that far. I’ll talk to him about it tonight.

At uni, Jonathan pokes his head round my cubicle. ‘Tonight’s the night!’ he teases me.

‘What?’ So much has happened that I’ve quite forgotten about my date with Gemma.

He offers to give me a packet of condoms.

‘It’s not like that,’ I tell him. ‘I told you. I hardly know her.’

‘That’s the best time to go for it,’ he says, ‘before you know each other too well.’ He raises his eyebrows up and down in comic mode.

But I’m not in the mood for his ribbing. I’m thinking of Lizzy. Jonathan is only person who knows of my friendship with her so I decide to share my concerns about her with him. We go to the junior common room for a coffee.

‘I’ve just seen Lizzie,’ I tell him.

‘Two chicks in one day,’ he grins. ‘You are coming out of your shell.’

I tell him where I saw her and about the electronic tags and how she’s known by a number. ‘And guess what? Those
boys weren’t her brothers after all. They just looked out for her, she said.’

‘They were her pimps.’

‘She wasn’t like that.’

‘Wasn’t she? Did she ever ask you for money?’

I don’t answer.

‘Did you ever give her money, Michael? You did. You fool. She was playing you. Forget her, man.’

‘You should have seen her today. She looked so – downtrodden. Close to despair. I want to help her.’

‘Not much you can do, man. Sad, but that’s the truth. It’s the system.’

‘Then the system must change.’

‘And you’re the one to change it?’

‘Yes, I rather think I am. I’ve been thinking about my life, the future, about what I want to do. Reassessing my plans. I want to seek out what is wrong with our society on Earth and Oasis and find a way to change it.’

‘Wow. That’s quite a challenge.’

‘I might not succeed but I want to try.’

‘So – you want to be a politician?’

I stare at him. ‘I suppose I do. If that’s the way to make a difference.’

‘You’re a good person, Michael, but you know as well I do that politicians are scum. Power crazy, ruthless and corrupt.’

‘I’m going to be a different sort of politician.’

‘They all start out like that, full of ideals, keen to change the world. It doesn’t last. In the end they find they have to play dirty to win.’

‘I’m going to win without playing dirty.’

Jonathan laughs. ‘I’ll believe it when I see it. You’ll get sucked in like all the rest and lose your integrity.’

‘My father’s kept his integrity.’

Even as I say that I wonder if it’s true. There have been
occasions when I’ve been critical of him. I think of the mutant humanoids on display in the museum and find it hard to believe that my father was a member of a parliament that allowed such a travesty. The Oasis Project for the unemployed must have started out as a good idea too but degenerated into a less than perfect scheme, a trap that restricts the freedom of its beneficiaries and, if my sources are correct, one that leads to the brainwashing of those who do not conform.

Maybe my father’s too soft to stand up for his principles, too soft to fight for his beliefs.

Or maybe it’s not that easy to make changes when others use unethical methods to oppose you.

Jonathan could be right. There may come a time when even I, full of ideals and good intentions, might be tempted to consider that the end justifies the somewhat dodgy means.

Gemma and I meet in a little bar on the far side of town. We sit opposite each other, drink wine and look into each other’s eyes.

She starts to tell me about her life.

‘My parents split up when I was ten years old. I live with my mother. It hasn’t been easy for her. Sometimes she’s had to hold down two jobs to support us. She was determined to give me a good education and supported me through my training as a nurse. It will be difficult for her if I go to university and study to become a doctor. That’s why I must be self-sufficient.’

I like her positive attitude. ‘I’ve downloaded some papers about grants for you. Did you bring your CV?’

She blushes. ‘Oh no, I forgot.’ I can see that something is worrying her. ‘Michael, I want to ask you something. I got the impression that you and Isis knew each other from way 
back. How can that be possible when you are a complete and she is a mutant humanoid?’

I look at her. Her little forehead is wrinkled. Her confusion seems genuine enough. She’s curious that’s all. But it’s too soon in our relationship to tell her that I was once a mutant humanoid brought up in the same compound as Isis. Until Father and I agree about not hiding our past, I must continue to be circumspect.

My hesitation prompts her to continue. ‘You seemed to know that other humanoid too, the old one, Odysseus isn’t it? Have you taken a trip to Earth?’

‘No, but I’d like to,’ I say. That is true. I haven’t visited Earth. I lived there.

She looks at me expectantly. I haven’t answered her question.

‘I’ll tell you something that not everyone knows,’ I begin.

Gemma leans forward, attentive.

‘My stepmother, Stella Jameson, is head of a company called Worldwideculture. Her role is to be a benevolent overseer of life on Earth. She rarely intervenes. As you know, the humanoids have their own leader, the current one being Athene who visited Oasis not long ago.’

Gemma nods. She continues to stare at me, willing me to tell her more, but the intensity of her stare makes me nervous. She’s a little too anxious to discover how I could know Isis and Odysseus. Does she suspect that I am not the person I purport to be?

Feeling like the devious politician Jonathan suspects I could become, I tell her about the Worldwideculture website and my access to it. ‘Normally, I’m just an observer, you understand, but occasionally, Stella asks me to communicate with some of the humanoids. I can do that in a chat-room. But because we all happened to be there in Hos-sat at the same time, a live meeting seemed appropriate.’

‘So you’d never actually met Isis or Odysseus before?’

‘Not in the flesh no. Only online.’ A lie, but a necessary one. Is this how politicians start to be dishonest, a little lie leading to bigger ones?

‘But you seemed very close to Isis. She had a nickname for you. Mercury.’

I feel my heart beating fast. ‘Heh – what is this – an interrogation?’

She blushes and smiles. ‘Sorry. I suppose the truth is I’m a bit jealous of Isis, of your closeness to her.’

She’s been fiddling with her glass, but hasn’t drunk any wine. I lean across and take both her hands in mine. ‘You have no need to be jealous,’ I assure her. ‘Isis and I don’t have that kind of relationship.’

She withdraws her hands and clutches her bag as if ready to leave.

‘Are you hungry? Shall we order some food now?’ I ask her.

She shakes her head. ‘Sorry. I have to go.’

‘But I thought…. Tomorrow perhaps? Lunch or dinner?’

‘I’m on duty tomorrow. The early shift.’

‘When can I see you again?’

She stands. I stand too and move towards her. Her whole body is trembling. I’m about to kiss her lightly on the cheek, but she pulls away.

‘I’m sorry, Michael,’ she says.

‘You don’t want to see me again?’

She looks round, anxious to make her escape. ‘I just can’t. I don’t know how to explain. The truth is being a spy is just not my thing!’

And off she runs with frantic little steps out of the bar.

I sit down again, dumbfounded. She cringed when she thought I was about to kiss her. Actually cringed. She’s never done that before. She’s found out I’m a mutant humanoid
and the thought disgusts her. And what was that she said about being a spy?

Suddenly it clicks. Orlando Wolfe has bribed her to find out about me. That’s why she’s been asking all those questions. He is paying her to find out if I had an operation in Hos-sat, to get rid of my mutations. My case was so secret that she couldn’t find the evidence. Instead she thought she’d try to find out directly from me, but found she couldn’t do it.

Has our entire relationship been a sham? Or was she really attracted me at first? I’d like to believe that. The fact that she couldn’t go through with her plan to spy on me surely proves that she’s not a bad person. But she cringed when I attempted to kiss her. Bad news.

There’s no doubt about it. Our relationship has ended before it has properly begun. I pay the bill and leave.

A pcm on my mob-fone tells me that Father has located the baby. Thank Zeus for that. At least one piece of good news today.

Dear Odysseus,

You will be surprised to hear from me, as we have never met. We would have done so had I been able to attend the funeral of Brahmin, as planned. In the event, Heracles and Sati took my place and I was obliged stay behind and hold the fort, so to speak, at Compound Creative.

The reason for this missive is that you have requested a report about the said Compound Creative for your proposed publication, the Chronicles of Planet Earth, Life in the Compounds. The obvious humanoid to write such an account would be our beloved leader, Kata-Mbula, but, as I’m sure you appreciate, he is too busy with preparations for The Big Event to undertake such a project at present. He has therefore asked me to deputise for him. I’m proud to be entrusted with this task and just hope I can do it justice.

I know who you are of course. Who doesn’t? Although we are quite insular here, immersed as we are in our creativity, everyone has heard of the wise Odysseus. I have long followed your work as historian and museum curator, but I doubt you know who I am. Forgive me, therefore, if I spend a few lines telling you a little bit about myself.

You may be interested to know I too am interested in antiques, art and handicrafts of all kinds. I have even been known to dabble in a bit of painting and embroidery myself. One of my works was chosen to hang in our beloved leader’s office, in prime position on the wall facing his workstation. He usually changes his pictures every week, but mine seems to have become a permanent fixture. In addition, a tapestry of mine adorns the wall adjacent to the entrance of Compound Creative, an honour that I truly appreciate.

I like to think of myself as Kata-Mbula’s deputy, although this title has never officially been bestowed on me. The reason for this is because in Compound Creative we work as a team and consider ourselves equal. Nevertheless when our leader’s talents were called upon to design and oversee the building of the stadium for The Big Event at C99, the main responsibility of looking after the sectoid fell on me.

Yes, I know Heracles was appointed temporary leader but he was new here and needed considerable guidance. I was content to assist him settle in and, when necessary, to advise him of our procedures. With Kat away I also took upon myself the job of running rehearsals – once I became aware that performance art was not really Heracles’s forte. Frankly he showed little interest in this aspect of our work and I felt justified in taking it on. I believe he was duly grateful for my support.

I should perhaps draw your attention to the fact that when Kata-Mbula is here, I prove invaluable to him too. I do not take part in the plays, operas or dances. I am not an actor, singer or dancer and do not aspire to be, but I can turn my hand to all kind of backstage tasks and am always ready to take over when someone has to drop out through ill health or incompetence.

Kat will not tolerate the continued presence of anyone who doesn’t pull his or her weight or is proved not to have
the talent to execute something perfectly. This criteria applies not only to dancers and actors, but also to ASMs, whether stagehands or sound or lighting operators. If they are not good enough they are dismissed and I am only too happy to replace them until someone more suitable is found.

Actors are subject to the same rigid standards but they have understudies standing by, ready to take over if they do not come up to the mark.

As you have probably gathered, Kat and I have a close relationship, which works well for both us.

I don’t expect him to spend all his spare time with me. That would be unreasonable. Currently, for example, he spends much of his ex-curricular time with the girl playing Desdemona. It’s a complicated role and she needs lots of coaching and confidence building that only he can give. I don’t protest. I know, deep down, that he has a homing instinct and, as soon as this production is over, he will spend more time with me.

Before you start feeling sorry for me or think me a victim of Kat’s arrogance I must end such speculations. There is nowhere I would rather be than in Compound Creative and nothing I would rather be than an integral member of Kat’s team. To suffer from his indifference towards me for a short period is a small price to pay for the pleasure of his company both professionally and personally when he returns to my side.

Odysseus, you ask me to tell you how rehearsals are going and I’m delighted to say that now Kat is back in charge they are going very well indeed. The only hiccoughs are those caused by the number of pregnancies that have suddenly come to pass. We’re pleased about them of course. For humanoids to reproduce again is a dream come true. Too late for me I’m afraid, but the joy felt by the expectant mothers is something I can share. I look forward to assisting
at the births and helping look after these offspring, if called upon to do so.

The problem is, that because of early morning sickness or other pregnancy-related health problems, there has had to be considerable re-casting. As the weeks pass, some dancers in particular have had to relinquish their roles, no longer able to leap or twist or move with the required agility.

Kat has shown considerable patience in dealing with these setbacks and spent hours training less talented dancers who, quite frankly, would not normally have been deemed good enough to be selected.

Nevertheless, all is well and I don’t think Athene or the audience will be disappointed in the end result.

You ask me about Heracles and Sati. To tell the truth we don’t see much of them now. They have moved out of the compound and live in the Tower, a quite spectacular building in the shape of what appears to be a giant phallus. Not exactly subtle as a symbol of virility. Or tasteful.

Heracles is busy supervising the building of his city and a few members of Compound Creative have started to live there. Those who have chosen to leave us are mainly pregnant females and prospective fathers, planning to live in family units. A lot of promiscuity has gone on in the past so the paternity of these babies is never quite certain. I have noted of late that females hoping to become pregnant have been confining their sexual activities to one male. The commun-dormo-cube is rarely used now. It may be worth us reassigning it as an extra rehearsal space.

Most of us have no intention of moving out of the compound to live in the city. Because of the nature of our creative work, we prefer communal living, with or without communal copulation.

A piece of news about Sati. She too is expecting a baby. Sati went a bit crazy when she lived in our compound. There
are quite a few candidates who could claim fatherhood of her baby, but as far as she’s concerned, Heracles is the father and that’s that.

Some of the humanoid migrants detailed to build the city seem a bit rough. Poor stuff. Luckily they live on the other side of the town in a barrio especially created for them, so we don’t see much of them. One day when the sun was shining, Kat decided to rehearse the opera outside. The singers’ voices soared and the workers stopped to listen, Soon they began to join in, with raucous voices and lewd comments. Kat soon led the group back inside. Open-air rehearsals have not been resumed.

In case you are interested in the programme we intend to present at The Big Event, I will tell you that we are offering various extracts from Shakespeare’s plays.

The balcony and death scenes from Romeo and Juliet; the shenanigans of Puck and the lovers from A Midsummer’s Night Dream and Desdemona’s death from
Othello
. A bit of a secret – but I’m sure it’s fine to tell you – is that Kata-Mbula is to play Othello himself. A performance to relish, I assure you.

There’s also a short opera, Lovely Ladies, in which the characters masquerade as bottles of wine. Just imagine the costumes. I supervised and helped make them. I’m a very hands-on type of humanoid and like working alongside the other members of the company.

As for the dances, the titles are unpronounceable, mainly in the French language, but they will be spectacular, I can promise you that. Between you and me, the female in charge of the costumes is not quite as proficient or as innovative as she believes herself to be, but we can’t expect perfection all the time.

In case you have the impression that Kat is a rigid director, intent on imposing his own ideas on a production to the
exclusion of others, you would be wrong. Kat is focused, yes. He has a clear overall concept of what a performance should be like, but he does leave space for the actors, dancers, musicians, designers, stage-manager and even the stagehands to be imaginative too.

He inspires us, draws us out and encourages us to offer our views to contribute to the whole: a rare talent. Under his guidance we are egalitarian in our work practices and have a strong sense of community.

Odysseus, I realise I’ve been rambling on and that this isn’t an organised account of what life is like here. I do hope you can extract whatever you need and include whatever you consider appropriate in the proposed chronicles.

It’s just my way to put my thoughts down as they come to me, including my doubts and fears. This tendency to write from my viewpoint may prove too personal for your purposes. I do try to be objective but realise it doesn’t always work.

Maybe at The Big Event you and I will have a chance to meet at last. I look forward to it.

If you need any more information from me do not hesitate to let me know.

Best Regards
Bathsheba

Dear Bathsheba,

Thank you for your heartfelt contribution to the Chronicles. I assure you that your account is not too personal.

The best histories are written from an individual viewpoint. That is what makes them interesting and why
the truth about the past is so difficult to pin down. The information is all there in the texts of the primary materials, but the differing perspectives of the chroniclers necessarily affect our interpretation of past events.

For me this is one of the joys of histo-research, trying to work out what happened from the varied versions available to us.

Here I am rambling on, boring you with my theories. What I’m trying to say is – don’t worry about your account being “too personal.” The narrative voice you use gives it validity. You have a gift for drawing the reader into the story, Bathsheba. A rare gift. Treasure it.

I look forward to your next letter and to meeting you at The Big Event.

Best Regards
Odysseus