Beyond Uranus

by Stewart Bruce & Nigel Moreland

  “What the hell is going on Adams?” I asked.

  “What do mean Roy?”

  “Where are the green and white jumpsuits? What happened to the clinical white buildings? Why is there a market here?”

  “That’s a lot of questions. Where do you want me to start?”

  “Anywhere.”

  “OK. This is the Chinese sector. There are no green and white jumpsuits because they don’t want green and white jumpsuits although the clothing they wear is made from the same material that your jumpsuit is made of. There are no white buildings because they don’t like them and there is a market because they love eating fresh produce and haggling for it in the markets.”

  “Why do we have jumpsuits and white buildings?”

  “That’s an interesting question which I often ask myself. The history of the UK sector goes something like this. During the summer of nineteen sixty eight the UK sector had a major facelift. How a sector looks usually changes over time but the pilots of sixty eight wanted to have a whole new look. It was decided among the pilots that the UK sector should have a futuristic look. They wanted the whole sector to look modern and they wanted to make it look like the future rather than the present or past. The trouble is which future did they want it to look like? There were programs like Lost in Space, Star Trek and Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea. There were also films like Quatermass and Barbarella but they all had a different style. Eventually they all agreed that the future should look like 2001 A Space Odyssey. The Chinese like a more traditional approach to their sector hence the clothing, market, buildings and colour.”

  “Do you mean our sector could look any way we choose but a bunch of spaced-out sixties hippies chose it to look like a bonkers science fiction film?”

  “Yes.”

  “What a bunch of tossers.”

  “Roy, how are we going to blend in wearing this ridiculous clothing?” enquired Gary.

  “I think we’d have trouble blending in not being Chinese so I doubt the clothing is going to make much difference. Come on let’s go and look around the market.”

  We walked off to look around the market. As we walked around the market people stopped and stared at us but nobody approached us or asked questions. The food on display had an amazing variety of fresh fruit and veg giving the market a vibrant colour. There was a stall with dried mushroom and a stall with highly aromatic dried fish. Once past the fish you could smell the heady aroma of ginger, cinnamon and aniseed. Each stall had an array of Chinese lanterns hanging from the bamboo cross bars of the supports. There was a butcher selling cuts of chicken and pork but no live animals. I was expecting to see chickens in cages and fresh fish in tanks but there none to be seen. It wasn’t only food that was on offer because there were a variety of other stalls displaying goods like clothing, kitchen ware, electronic gadgets as well as arts and crafts like wooden statues and paintings. The UK sector seemed a quiet and reflective place compared to the bubble of noise coming from the excited customers haggling with shop keepers and exchanging money for goods.

  “Why are they paying for the goods Adams? I thought all the stuff on the station was free?”

  “It is but haggling for goods and paying for them is part of the culture so they also like to do this on the station. To be honest the money is worthless but the population enjoy using it to purchase items in this way.”

  “I thought there would also be live animals?” I asked Adams.

  “We do not have any live animals on the station.”

  “Where does all the meat for the station come from?”

  “It is grown on the station. We have stem cells from all your domestic animals and we grow the meat to order.”

  “That sounds disgusting.”

  “Well you’ve been eating it since arriving at the station and you haven’t complained yet. It might sound disgusting but it’s better than slaughtering animals so you can burn their flesh and consume it.”

  “Didn’t think of it like that. We really are a bunch of savage monkeys.”

  “I’m not sure I totally agree with you,” argued Adams. “Discovering fire and then cooking the flesh of dead animals meant that humans were able to consume larger quantities of protein – which lead to the growth of your brains and turned you away from being savage monkey-like creatures. So you accept that the individual hunter killing an animal for food is a natural event, but condemn farming of your animals for food thus freeing many of you to do other things. It’s ironic that by acting in this so-called savage way is exactly what civilised you and allowed the debate on whether this ‘savagery’ should happen.”

  I clapped my hands together and rubbed them several times. “Burgers all round then.”

  “Besides which you shouldn’t try politicising your food chain,” continued Adams with his mini lecture. “Earth would probably change if you had the science to do it and to do it well enough that you couldn’t taste any difference. Don’t forget that if you didn’t need the animals to produce the food then they would be redundant on the Earth. Farming is a business so all would be slaughtered and for no good reason, so a lot of domesticated animals would become extinct. The only animal that you can get something useful from without it meaning slaughter somewhere along the line is a sheep and its wool and there is a limit to how many woolly jumpers people will buy.”

  “I wouldn’t wear a jumper,” added Gary, “not even in pink.”

  I shivered at the thought of being with a friend wearing a fluffy pink cardigan and a knapsack on his back.

  There were several clothing stalls. Some had western style clothes and some had more traditional style Chinese clothes. It was Gary who spoke next “What’s the building in the centre Adams? Is it some sort of church or place of worship?”

  “It’s a restaurant.”

  “Great I’m starving. Let’s go get us a sweet and sour Roy.”

  “OK, now that I am game for.”

  As we entered the restaurant the aroma was a heady mix of aniseed, ginger, garlic and soy sauce which made my stomach grumble. Threading our way between crammed tables the chatter of diners and the ceramic chink of spoons created a hubbub of white noise. Walking towards an empty table we were greeted by a tall dark haired lady in a silky red dress with a gold dragon emblazoned on the front. She spoke to us in what we assumed was one of the Chinese dialects, perhaps mandarin?

  “What did she say Adams,” I asked.

  “She said ‘Good afternoon. Can I help you?’”

  “Tell her we’d like a table for two.”

  Adams spoke to her in perfect Chinese and she spoke back to him. “What did she say Adams.” I asked again.

  “She said ‘Would you and your boyfriend like a more private table?’”

  “What? He is not my boyfriend.” I turned to face the woman and spoke very slowly pronouncing every word individually, as clearly as I could, leaving a short gap in between each word and almost shouting because foreigners who don’t speak English must be deaf. “He is not my boyfriend and I am not gay. Do you speeky English. Not homo.” In what I thought was international sign language I held up my right hand and let it flop at ninety degrees to my arm whilst shaking my head to indicate I wasn’t gay. The Chinese lady stared at me in silence. In normal speech I said “Adams tell her he’s not my boyfriend and tell her I’m heterosexual.”

  Gary was nearly bent double laughing at my attempts to dissociate myself from this conjecture of my sexuality. “Calm down Roy,” said Gary trying not to giggle, “She can’t help it if you look gay.”

  “How can I look like something I’m not? Adams tell her I’m not gay. It’s that bloody white knapsack of yours.”

  “Or your gay white jumpsuit with the red stripe.”

  “Maybe but it is definitely red not pink.”

  Interrupting our double act, Adams spoke to the woman again and she replied, which Adams translated to us; “If you say so. Please follow me.”

  We followed her to a table and she handed us
a couple of menus which Adams translated for us. I ordered some sort of shredded pork dish and Gary ordered a noodle dish called Zhajiangmian.

  “Gary,” I asked, “Why is pink seen as a badge of homosexuality? It seems an odd idea to associate a girly colour with men who don’t like girls.”

  “I honestly don’t know the answer to that Roy and it is not a case of not liking girls per se, just not sexually. Before the Victorian era pink was actually the colour for boys and blue for girls. It seems that nowadays that has been reversed and although now pink is a more feminine colour it is really the more masculine, historically, don’t you think?”

  “I’ll have to pass on that one.”

  We sat at our table for several hours after our meal talking. The restaurant had a very slow turnover and when we were leaving there were people still sat at the tables that they were at when we first entered. We decided to take one last stroll around the market before leaving for home. As we walked around I realised that the artificial separation and segregation by rank, of the UK sector was gone. I couldn’t tell who the pilots from the support staff.

  “Why can’t I see any pilots Adams?”

  “There are pilots here but there isn’t the same type of hierarchy that exists in the UK sector. Although there are similar pilot’s facilities for pilots there isn’t a dress code to distinguish them from other personnel.”

  “I think we have a bit of a class system creeping into the UK sector,” said Gary.

  “I don’t think it’s creeping,” I chuckled, “I think it’s full in your face discrimination by rank and status! Doff the cap and tug the forelock m’lud.”

  I was about to ask Adams another question when I thought I saw Simon, and before I could think I shouted out to him “Simon!”

  He turned and looked at us and started walking to us. When he arrived, he didn’t look too pleased. He spoke to us sternly in Chinese and Adams translated. “I’m not Simon. I am Simon.”

  “You mean Simon the Chinese instructor?”

  Switching to English he said, “Yes. Are you from the UK sector? What are you doing here?”

  “Err...,” I thought for a second, “We’re on holiday visiting. We’re tourists.”

  “You shouldn’t leave your sector because you may not be welcome in other sectors.”

  “We’ve had a great time today haven’t we Gary?”

  “Yes we have Roy.”

  “And everybody here has been very accepting of our visit. There’s been no trouble and we’ve had a lovely lunch in the restaurant.”

  “That’s nice but you should really stick to your own sector.”

  “I’m sure we’d accept visitors from the Chinese sector if they wanted a day out.”

  “Are you kidding?” said Simon, “Have you seen your decor? The UK sector is like an operating theatre. Look around you at all the colour and variety we have in this sector. Do you really think these people would want to visit the UK sector?”

  “OK Simon, thanks for the lecture. Come on Gary let’s head back to the UK sector.”

  Simon stood and watched as we started walking back across the square to get back to the door we had come through to get to the Chinese sector.

  “Is that it Roy?” asked Gary. “Are we finished exploring? Are you going to take Simon’s advice and stay in the UK sector? It would be a shame because it didn’t last very long and I had a good time today.”

  “Are we bollocks. I’m off out again tomorrow. Are you coming Gary?”

  “Yes I am.”

  “Make the most of it,” interrupted Adams, “because I suspect Simon will tell Simon and you’ll end up in Simon’s office explaining to Simon why Simon had told Simon what you said to Simon.”

  “Adams?”

  “Yes Roy?”

  “Do you really think my tiny monkey brain can cope with all the Simons who aren’t Simon but are Simon and now you want add another layer of confusion over these foreign Simons who aren’t Simon but are Simon but not the English Simon though they are the definitely the foreign Simon.”

  Gary laughed, “It’s a good job we don’t play Simon Says.”

  “Can you imagine what it’s like at Christmas? This present under the tree says it’s for Simon. There’d be a blood bath.”

  “The Simons are not Christian,” informed Adams, “and therefore do not celebrate Christmas.”

  “Thanks for killing the moment Adams. Why don’t you try saying something funny?”

  “OK. How many Simons does it take to change a light bulb?”

  “I don’t know Adams, how many Simons does it take to change a light bulb?”

  “None, the lights here are all self repairing. They are also fitted with a carbon fused sub quantum regulated core with a continual operational life span of several thousand years before any self repairing mechanism needs to be deployed.”

  “I think we need to work on your humour program.”

  *

  Gary and I had our evening meal together at Sam’s Bar and then Russell arrived and sat with us. We told Russell about our discovery and how the Chinese sector was totally different to our own sector.

  “And there’s no jumpsuits or white buildings?” asked Russell.

  “None of that,” said Gary.

  “Well blow me down. All these years I’ve been wearing this bloody uniform and it turns out that it’s not a station policy it’s a UK policy. Are you two going again tomorrow?”

  “Yes we are, aren’t we Roy?”

  “As long as Simon doesn’t find out and give us a bollocking.”

  “Can I come with you?” asked Russell.

  “I don’t see why not.” I answered.

  “I’m working tomorrow but I can take a day off on Thursday. Can I come on Thursday?”

  “No problem. We’ll all meet at Gary’s salon at ten on Thursday. And Gary?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow at ten.”

  “OK.”

  I left Gary and Russell at the bar and went back to my apartment for a couple of games with Adams. The games were very long because we were both playing in stealth mode but I equalled his score.

  “I’m going to change tactics tomorrow night” said Adams.

  “I think you better because I am going to beat you very soon.”

  Chapter 10 – Wednesday

  Showered, shaved and something else, I headed off for breakfast at Sam’s Bar and was ready to meet Gary. After that I left the bar and started walking the short distance to the salon. As I approached, I could see Gary in the distance coming from the support crew’s apartments. As we got closer to each other I noticed that he wasn’t wearing his white knapsack today but there was a strap over his left shoulder that was supporting a small brown bag down by his waist.

  Resisting the temptation to do a face palm, I asked, “Why have you got a handbag?”

  “It’s not a handbag. It’s a man bag.”

  “But it looks like a handbag.”

  “Well I can assure you that it’s a man bag. Lots of men have them and I think it looks cool.”

  “I don’t have one and I’ve never met anybody who’s owned one before so I don’t see how you can say lots of men have them.”

  “That’s because all your friends are geeks.”

  “Thanks. What’s in it?”

  “Nothing, I told you it makes me look cool.”

  “Knapsacks and handbags! Why not have a big neon sign pointing towards you saying gay man here,” I gestured ringing a bell, “mind out gay man coming through dingle ling a ling,” then I made a trombone playing gesture, moving an imaginary slider whilst booming out, “gay man here, gay man here,” and then pretended to bang a big base drum, “gay man here bom, bom, boom gay man!” Rhod Gilbert might have been proud of my parody if I could have done it in a Welsh accent.

  “Get you,” teased Gary, pausing for a couple of seconds before continuing. “Actually I think you’re right. I wonder if I could make it more obvious
.”

  “I give in. Adams?”

  “Yes Roy?”

  “Can you guide us to the other exit?”

  “Yes Roy.”

  We walked to the end of the facilities and followed a corridor that ran between the facilities and the support crew’s apartments. Eventually where the corridor was closed off by a plain wall, we came to stop.

  “Open sesame,” I said and a concealed door slid open revealing a new corridor that had been painted grey. We walked through the opening and the door slid down behind us. This time there were no distinctive smells or any kind of aroma other than a slight tinge of dry decay, a sort of moth eaten odour of empty decline. We walked along the corridor and turned the corner into the new sector.

  The square was a large dull grey concrete slab and was a complete contrast to the greenness of the UK sector and the colourful Chinese sector. As I looked around the sector there was decrepit emptiness. Nothing moved and there was not a person in sight, the only sounds I could hear were the muffled, slightly crunchy fall of our footsteps and my own breathing. The buildings surrounding the square were of faded red brick, this and the grey paint scheme took away any excitement I might have had. The whole place screamed of formality and it was strange not having any people milling around like in the UK sector. As we got closer I could see that the buildings were in a state of dilapidation. Some of the masonry had crumbled and fallen away littering the ground. The windows had a grey frosting where dust had been allowed to build up, a few of them were cracked. We stopped and stood for a few minutes taking in the silence. Eventually Gary nudged me and pointed to a building that would have been the pilot’s facilities in our sector. Hanging from the building was a massive dusty red flag. On the flag in grimy yellow was a star, a hammer and sickle and the letters CCCP.

  “Russia,” said Gary

  “The United Soviet Socialist Republic. If you include all the satellite states consumed by Russia,” I said.

  “Сою́з Сове́тских Социалисти́ческих Респу́блик,” said Adams.

  “I don’t get it,” I added, “Where is everybody. This is a ghost town and I thought every nation would be represented over the six stations. Adams, do you know what’s going on here?”