“Come on Roy,” she said “I have a lot to show you.”
“Great!” I said in my dweeb voice. ‘She’s got a lot to show me, not-half! No! Shut up you fool. Oh, she’s turned around. Don’t look at her arse. Wait she has her back to me. Look at that arse. Wow!’
“Come on Roy, we haven’t got all day.”
Picking my chin up off the floor, I got off the table and walked quickly to catch up with her. I actually felt fit and healthy. There were no aches or pains and I felt so fresh. Before I left the room I turned around and said “Thanks Doc I feel great.”
“You’re welcome, I think.”
*
We walked down a corridor in silence. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. What do you say to such a beautiful woman? I had no experience of that. Bridget the Midget was plain looking and she was easy to talk to but that had been a long time ago. The women in school were mostly married and easy to talk to because I didn’t fancy any of them. Claire was different. What could I say that wouldn’t make me sound like an idiot? Maybe I shouldn’t bother because she was obviously way out of my league and she could be in a relationship or married. How could I find out? When we got to the door at the end of the corridor she stopped by the door and faced me. No, just for a moment I thought her eyes had travelled down before coming back up to meet mine, was she checking me out?
“I’m about to bombard you with information. Don’t be worried if you forget anything all you have to do is ask, I will repeat information. Are you ready?”
“I think so.”
As we walked through the door she had opened I could see more doors on either side of a corridor. The ceiling was about three stories high and I stopped for a second to look at the vista. I could see stars against the blackness of space and although we were in a brightly lit corridor it looked like the view you would get on a clear night on Earth. I had no idea what stars I was looking at and wondered if one of the distant lights would be Earth. The same minimal decor that I had seen in the previous areas was also present here. I guess the whole station was going to be devoid of character.
“These are the apartments where the pilots live. You have number nineteen which is further down on the left. I have an apartment next to you. They have everything you need that you would find in a home. You won’t need a key because they all have biometric scanners. There are three types of personnel on the station, pilots wear white, support personnel wear green and Simon’s wear whatever they feel like. This is one corridor of accommodation for the pilots but there are many others. The UK sector is quite large.”
As she said this we rounded the corner and entered a huge open area. We were stood in the corner of a big square like the centre of an English village only bigger, much bigger with the obligatory white buildings around the area. There was a large grassy area with trees and several paths crossing it which must have been about a kilometre across. The green grass and trees contrasted with the whiteness of everything else making the colours really stand out. There was a path all the way around the centre section and several people wearing green jumpsuits were walking along it. All the buildings had glass fronts and I could see the same minimal colour scheme continued inside. They were about three stories high and the roof was the same as I had seen in the corridor, a view of space. As this was a huge open area, there was a much wider view of the outside and I could see the band of stars that made up the Milky Way. The funny thing was that although this area was very bright I could not see any lighting fixtures.
“Down this side,” Claire pointed to her right “we have several amenities like a cafe, Sam’s Bar, a hair salon, two large restaurants, a clothes shop in case you need a new jumpsuit or adjustments, swimming pool, sauna and other leisure facilities. There’s also a small supermarket so if you want to cook at home rather than eat in the Pilot’s Restaurant you can. Over here on the left are the hangar bays with all our equipment and ships. Next to that over there are the pilot facilities. It houses things like a Restaurant, bar, cafe, training area and leisure facilities. These facilities are exclusively for the pilots as it’s one of the perks of the job. And finally over there on the opposite side of the square are more apartments. The few on this side are for pilots whilst the more numerous ones on the other side are for support staff.”
Segregated sectors, segregated areas and segregated staff. The station seemed to be a social experiment gone wrong. On the face of it there seemed to be some sort of bizarre class system between the pilots and everybody else.
“How many pilots are there?”
“It varies over time, but currently we have twenty pilots including myself. You will be number twenty one.”
As we were talking, a man had been walking towards us wearing a green jumpsuit. He had a slim build, greying hair and was about the same height as me. And then the worst thing ever happened. When he arrived he gave Claire a big hug and a tender kiss on the cheek. My heart sank and I felt gutted.
“Hi Claire, who’s the new pilot?”
“Let me introduce you. Gary this is Roy McCormack and Roy this is Gary Lamont.”
I shook Gary’s hand and said “Hi.” I wanted to dig a hole and escape. The most beautiful girl I’d ever met was in a relationship. My life sucks.
“Well it’s been nice meeting you Roy I’ll probably see you around.” He turned to Claire and said “What time are you popping round darling?”
“Is seven OK?” she said.
“Seven is great for me. I’ll see you later.” He kissed her again on the cheek again and said “Love you.”
“Come on Roy let’s go and meet all the other pilots. They’re waiting for you in the Pilot’s Bar.”
*
As we walked over towards the pilot’s area she talked about the workings of the station. I should have paid more attention but my heart wasn’t in it. ’There’s plenty more fish in the sea’ I told myself but it actually didn’t make me feel better. I’d met a lot of women in my life but none as attractive as Claire and I was as jealous as hell of Gary. What a lucky bastard. ‘Some guys have all the luck’ according to Rod Stewart and he was bloody well right. I shouldn’t have got my hopes up anyway because somebody as pretty as Claire was bound to have a boyfriend or be married. I felt such a fool, but she was so attractive. Oh well at least we can be friends and I’ll get to spend a bit of time with her over the next few days.
When we arrived at the pilot’s facilities on the other side of the square we went through a door and entered a big white lobby area. Claire pointed out various areas like the restaurant, bar, cinema and a relaxation area. “Is the restaurant expensive?” I asked.
“No silly, it’s free. All the facilities on the station are free. Money has no use or meaning here so you can use what you want, when you want as long as it’s open.”
“That’s good.” We walked up a set of stairs in the middle of the lobby and went through a glass door. There was a long bar with somebody stood behind it. Scattered about the room were a number of low coffee tables with comfortable looking black chairs. Down one side of the room was a table with a buffet laid out. The room contained various groups of pilots wearing belts with small cuboids attached. Some were stood chatting, whilst others sat.
Claire took my hand and said “I’m going to take you round and introduce you to everybody. Don’t worry about remembering names because you’ll soon learn them all.”
We walked over to the nearest group.
“Hi everybody,” said Claire interrupting their conversation, “let me introduce Roy McCormack. Roy, this is Poppy Smith, Becky Lacey, Emily James and John D’Eath.” Then she linked my arm in hers, silently mouthing ‘I’ll tell you later’, and said, “And this is Denny Hopper.”
Poppy was the shortest of the group and had long fair hair. Emily had dark hair that was tightly tied back that looked like it was an explosion waiting to happen. Both girls were fairly young and pretty but didn’t look as gorgeous as Claire. John had jet black hair and a full b
eard to match, which made him look like he was the bad guy from an Elizabethan plot to kill the queen. It was Becky who spoke first. She had dark hair cut to a bob and was about two inches taller than me.
“Hello Roy,” she said in a plumy English accent. “Mummy and Daddy got me a place at Hertford College in Oxford, to study Physics. Which College did you study with?”
“Cardiff.”
“I don’t believe I know that one, perhaps it is a Cambridge College?”
“No it’s a Welsh College in Wales, Cardiff University.”
“Oh, you’re not an Oxbridge then.” You could feel the disappointment in her voice. “So what was your major? Physics? Astrophysics? Quantum Mechanics? Not something like Media Studies surely?” I’m sure that her voice carried a tone of demeaning scoff in it.
“Computer Science.” I hit back with my strongest volley.
“Oh.” It felt like I was elevated to near-scum. Full scum would have been something in the arts, whereas, at least I had the word ‘Science’ behind me. “That’s interesting. So what was the main focus of your studies? Research? Chip development? Cutting edge micro development? Any Post Graduate research?”
“I did do a Post Graduate.” My serve hit the net.
“That’s good.” she brightened up a little, “What was the research area?”
Second serve, “Err... no research area I did a Post Graduate Certificate in Education and then I was a school teacher in a secondary school in North Yorkshire.” Game, set and match to the posh bird.
“Oh.” She responded, like a kick in the goolies to me.
Then, I had a similar conversation with Denny, who rested her hand on my shoulder. Occasionally slipping it down to the top of my arm and momentarily squeezing the muscle before moving her hand back to my shoulder. I felt like a bit of rough being sized up for other, less cerebral activities. Claire spotted this and seemed anxious to move us on. She almost heaved a sigh of relief when John put his arm around Denny’s waist and dragged her away, but not before he gave me a glance that was hardly friendly.
The old saying of, ‘Them as can do, them as can’t teach.’ was almost audible. Then, Claire grabbed hold of my hand again and led me to another group of boffins to disappoint. It was sheer torture.
She took me from group to group and the conversations were almost identical for every group. By the time I had finished I felt miserably out of my depth. What had Simon been thinking asking me to join? I had nothing in common with anybody in the room. I had lots of patronising ‘oh’ and some ‘how interesting’ and quite a few ‘really?’ A sequence of focus groups convened for my belittlement, ruthlessly effective.
Afterwards I said, “I need a drink, do you want anything?”
“I’m fine,” said Claire.
I walked over to the bar to drown my sorrows. I’m sure every conversation in the room would have been about me and my lack of qualifications.
“Good afternoon sir,” said the barman, “what can I do for you?”
“Well first of all you can call me Roy.”
“Yes sir. Anything else?”
“Your name?”
“Russell.”
“Hi Russell I’m Roy. Call me Roy.”
“Yes sir.”
“It’s Roy.”
“Yes sir. Thank you.”
“Roy.”
The bar man looked a bit anxious and peered around the room to see if anybody was listening. Then said “The Pilot’s Bar protocols demand I call you sir whilst working here.”
“Oh. Well Roy McCormack’s protocols demand you call me Roy. I haven’t been knighted and I very much doubt I ever will.”
“Very good sir. So what can I get you?”
“Fuck’s sake. A pint of lager please.”
“Lager?”
“Lager please.”
“Sorry sir we do not serve any alcohol.”
“What!”
“No alcohol sir.”
“Not much of a bar without alcohol is it?”
“No lager, only soft drinks.”
“What about the Sam’s Bar in the square does that serve alcohol?”
“No sir. Perhaps I should expand my explanation. There is no alcohol on this station so all drinks are soft drinks.”
The lack of beer taps dawned on me. “Holy shit!” I tried to hide the disappointment on my face, but what I thought was, ‘Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks!’ What I really needed at this moment was a good old boozy pint, preferably in the back-room snug at the ‘Ankle Spankers Arms’.
“Just soft drinks sir.” A life sentence wouldn’t have hit me harder at that point.
“Good grief! This isn’t a Quaker establishment is it, or Amish maybe?”
“Alcohol is not good for you and can make you sick during Hyper Travel if you haven’t got it fully out of your system.”
“Of all the days in my life when I could really do with getting plastered I’m on an alcohol free station. That’s what I call irony. Oh well. I’ll have a vodka and coke, hold the vodka.”
I picked up my coke and returned to Claire. She told me that she’d grabbed my arm, earlier, to protect me from Denny. “Why?” I asked a little bemused.
“We call her bed Hopper. She has something of a reputation and eats men for breakfast.”
Denny wasn’t beautiful in the classical way, but she did have a body that just oozed sex appeal and a manner that screamed ‘lie down I want to talk to you’, but I must admit that I had felt a bit intimidated by her touchy-feely ways when chatting earlier. Apparently she and John D’Eath were often an item, in between the numerous other liaisons that she constantly had simmering away. Having exhausted the gossip on Denny, Claire and I made small talk for a while and munched some of the food from the buffet. Other than Claire I didn’t speak to anybody as I felt a bit of an outsider. At about half five Claire said “Come on I’ll take you to your apartment.” We went round the various groups saying goodbye and left. Ten minutes later we were outside number nineteen.
“Put your hand on the plate next to the door.” I did as she asked.
There was a slight throbbing sensation as my hand was scanned and then the door clicked open. We stepped into the hall-way and moved onwards into a spacious living room, decorated with cream walls, cream carpets and a brown leather suite. There were several paintings of landscapes on the walls, some lights on the ceiling, a coffee table with an old style dial phone, TV and a couple of side tables with lamps on them. Compared to what I had seen of the station this room was warm and welcoming. I followed Claire as she took me around the apartment. It was set over three floors with floors two and three featuring large en suite bedrooms. The ground floor had the main living room, a toilet, kitchen and utility room. The utility room contained all the household equipment you’d expect but Claire pointed out that most of it, such as the washing machine, drier and iron would never be used because the jumpsuits never needed cleaning or pressing. Back in the kitchen, the inside of the fridge was mostly filled with space, surrounding and overwhelming a bottle of milk and some cartons of orange juice. “How wonderfully healthy!” I remarked dripping my voice with sarcasm.
After the tour we went and sat on the big sofa. “You seem a bit quiet after the get together,” she said.
“I’ll be honest with you, I really don’t know why I’m here. I felt totally out of place, such a fraud with my computer science degree and my P.G.C.E.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Look, I need to go and see Gary but how would you like it if I dropped in later?”
“If you like but don’t feel you have to put yourself out for me.”
“I don’t mind, honestly.”
I followed Claire to the door and opened it for her. “I’ll see you later then,” I said half questioningly. As she left I watched her walk off. She really had a great arse and legs that went all the way to the top. I closed the door and went and sat down for a sulk. Next to the TV in my living room was a games console but I sat
in the quiet, feeling thoroughly deflated, thinking about what a massive mistake I’d made and why did they ever bother asking me to join. Everybody I met was an Oxbridge graduate. They all had fantastic sounding degrees like astrophysics, nuclear physics, classical mechanics, quantum mechanics, molecular physics and I had my computer science degree. I didn’t understand why I’d been asked to join Earth Station Three.
*
At about eight thirty there was a knock at the door. I opened the door to Claire and she walked in, lifting my mood immeasurably.
“You look different,” I said.
“I’ve had my hair trimmed by Gary.”
“It looks good. Actually it looks great. He’s a talented man.”
“Oh thank you and yes he is.”
We sat down and Claire said “You shouldn’t worry about your qualifications. You don’t need a PhD in quantum mechanics to be a pilot. Sometimes they act like they are a bunch of alpha-males establishing the pecking order and that includes some of the women too!”
“But everybody’s been to Oxford or Cambridge and they all have physics related degrees and post graduates.”
“I didn’t go to Oxford or Cambridge.”
“You didn’t?”
“I got my degree through the Open University.”
“Really?”
“Yes and I don’t have a science degree. I have a degree in English.”
“Never!”
“So you see we are both in the same boat and I cope with the other pilots. They are a good group of people when you get to know them. I think of most of them as friends.”
“Did you have problems fitting in? Were you not looked down upon as inferior with an English degree?”
“Look Roy, English is not an inferior field and the O.U. is rated as one of the best universities there is. The job you’re about to do doesn’t require a degree in anything, it requires a bit of thought and good decision making. The pilots are curious to begin with but they really don’t care about what university you went to as they are more concerned with what you can do and how well you do it. Give them a chance and I promise you that you will end up with a lot more great friends.”
“OK. Thanks, that actually makes me feel a million times better.”
And then the phone rang. I looked at Claire as if I’d never heard a phone ring before.
Beyond Uranus Page 6