In the Beginning (15 page)

We were drinking a light sparkling wine, and supplies ran out. A servant who looked about seventy came shuffling out with more. Someone called, “Get a move on, boy! We don't want to have to wait all night.”

“Beg pardon, young sir.”

He attempted to open a bottle with uncertain fingers, but the one who had spoken, Martin, said, “Leave it, boy, and totter away. I'll see to it.”

The servant retreated, with another mumbled apology, and Martin started opening the bottle.

When the servant was out of earshot, Brian said, “Was that necessary?”

His voice was low but angry. Martin looked at him.

“What?”

“Talking that way to him. It's not his fault if he's old.”

Martin laughed. “Perhaps not. Your parents' fault having him around, maybe. What's wrong with the rest home?”

The rest home was for old and sick servants, a kind of hospital. Food and shelter were provided, but not much in the way of extra comforts. There were usually plenty of vacancies; the servants who went there tended not to live very long.

“If you don't know,” Brian said, “I don't suppose I could tell you.” I was surprised how angry he was. “Anyway, he's our servant and I'll tell him what to do. And I don't like hearing him called ‘boy.'”

Martin stared at him. “What's got into you? They're always called ‘boy.'”

“Then it's about time they weren't. They're human beings, like us.”

“Like us? Sure. Maybe we should fetch and carry
for them, turn about. And have one or two of them on the council.”

There was some laughter.

Brian said, “It might not be a bad idea, at that. What right do we have to make them serve us?”

The laughter stopped; I imagine the others were as shocked as I was. The division between masters and servants was something we had taken for granted all our lives—something you did not even need to think about. Nor want to. A remark like that gave one an uncomfortable, crawly feeling. Brian had probably drunk too much wine, but that didn't justify it. Martin merely turned away, and no one else said anything. We all wanted to drop the subject, but Brian insisted on going on.

“Have you ever thought about how they came to be servants in the first place?”

Martin turned back and looked at him in exasperation. He said dismissively, “What needs thinking about? Because they're descendants of savages, that's why. They wanted to come into the cities to get away from the Outlands, and our ancestors let them. In the Outlands they would be just about scraping a miserable living if they weren't killed by
wild beasts first. With us they have food and clothing and shelter. They made the bargain.”

“Their great-grandfathers made the bargain,” Brian said. “Does that bind them?”

The question was too absurd to need an answer.

Brian went on, “And what about the time before that—before there were savages at all?”

“They've always been savages.”

“No, they haven't. Only since the Breakdown.”

Martin shrugged. Before the Breakdown were the Dark Ages—millennia of squalid barbarism, followed by the two centuries of the technological explosion which were as bad if not worse. We all knew that. For two hundred years mankind, suddenly given machines and power, had squandered the resources of energy, burning up coal and oil recklessly, with no thought for the future. Then the oil supplies had failed and the coal seams had become too thin for economic working. As a result the complex structure of the early twenty-first century had fallen apart in wars and rebellions and men fighting for crusts of bread among rusting machines.

People had died in the millions and tens of millions. Only a handful—our ancestors—had had the
courage and determination and intelligence to start building again in the midst of chaos. The organizers had been those scientists with an understanding of the techniques of nuclear energy. They knew that although it had been inadequate in keeping the whole world with its billions of inhabitants running, it could be used to power individual strongholds. So, one by one, the cities rose again, though far fewer and smaller, each centered about its energy tower. Beyond their walls stretched the Outlands, abandoned to the murderous whims of nature.

Brian seemed blind and deaf to the effect he was having. He said, “The reason the people of the Outlands became savages was because they were kept out of the cities. If they could have come in, they would have, and lived civilized lives. Those who tried were driven away, slaughtered.”

“But if they had been let in,” a girl said, “things would have been impossible. Everything was balanced on a knife edge. Any increase in numbers would have meant civilization breaking down again and us all becoming savages. Is that what you think should have happened?”

“There was a case for exclusion
then
,” Brian said. “I'm not disputing that. But what about later? What about now? We have more food, more energy, more everything than we need. The cities could support ten times as many people as they do.”

“So we could live in mobs again, like in the twentieth century?” That was another boy, Roland. “Let's bring the savages in and live alongside them in ­tenement buildings—is that what you want?”

“No, of course I don't.” Brian suddenly seemed to realize the absurdity into which his argument had led him, and looked uncertain. “Anyway, I was talking about servants, really. They've lived in the cities for generations. We call them servants, but if we were honest we would call them slaves. They're born in slavery, live in slavery, die in slavery. In ancient Rome slaves had a slim chance of getting their freedom. Our servants have no hope at all.”

There was a general murmur of disgust. The reference to ancient Rome had something to do with it. No one was interested in the Dark Ages, either early or late. And it wasn't true about slavery. Servants were paid money for their work—not a lot, it was
true, but too much, many said, for the amount they did. “Slave” was an unpleasant expression which had no place in the civilized world of the twenty-­third century.

Martin said, “You're just talking rubbish, Brian. The servants don't mind being servants, any more than the savages mind being savages. They're used to it—contented, in fact.”

Brian asked, “How do you know?”

Roland said, “
I
know something. I know I've had enough of this talk. I mind that. Let's have some more music.”

“You won't think,” Brian said. “None of you will. That's the trouble—you won't let yourselves think.”

“I'll tell you what I think,” Martin said. “I think you should shut up, Brian, or else do the thing properly and go out and join Wild Jack.”

That raised a laugh. We could all remember being told stories about Wild Jack by our nurses when we were little: Wild Jack, the bogeyman who would creep up from the Outlands, steal over the wall by night, and take back naughty children to his lair among the savages. Martin's remark reduced the subject to the level of the ridiculous, which was
its proper place. Brian made a feeble attempt to continue with his protests, but no one was listening any longer.

After all, what point was there in talking about the Dark Ages or the savages, far away either in time or space? Servants brought out more food and drink. The sky was black above, but the lamps shone gaily in the trees. It was still warm, but if the evening were to turn cold, thermostats would switch on the heaters. A long boat, lit up from stem to stern, drifted past on the river, and farther off I heard the high whine of a speedboat.

The Outlands, we knew, were wild and trackless, inhabited by hungry, murdering savages, but all that was on the far side of the wall. We were snug in the city. I saw a high light in the distance, marking the summit of the energy tower.

Someone had turned up the music, and couples joined together to dance. Brian had seemingly accepted defeat and now had other things in mind. He came over and asked Miranda for a dance.

She gave him a small, cool smile. “I'm sorry. Clive's already asked me.”

I hadn't, in fact, but I didn't argue about that. I took her out onto the circle of polished wood, laid down by the servants between the trees. For the first time I felt there had been some point in the grinding tedium of dancing lessons. She danced lightly, humming in tune to the music. It was good to hold her and see her face close to mine in the lamplight.

Also by John Christopher
From Aladdin

THE TRIPODS SERIES

The White Mountains

The City of Gold and Lead

The Pool of Fire

When the Tripods Came

THE SWORD OF THE SPIRITS TRILOGY

The Prince in Waiting

Beyond the Burning Lands

The Sword of the Spirits

The Guardians

The Lotus Caves

A Dusk of Demons

Wild Jack

Empty World

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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This Aladdin paperback edition May 2015

In the Beginning
text copyright © 1973 by John Christopher

Previously titled
Dom and Va

“In the Beginning” short story text copyright © 1982 by Longman Inc.

Cover illustration copyright © 2015 by Anton Petrov

Also available in an Aladdin hardcover edition.

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Cover designed by Karin Paprocki

Interior designed by Hilary Zarycky

The text of this book was set in Venetian 301.

Library of Congress Control Number 2015932392

ISBN 978-1-4814-2004-4 (hc)

ISBN 978-1-4814-2003-7 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-4814-2005-1 (eBook)