Perfect World

by George Ivanoff

  Keagan put a finger to his lips. ‘Shhhh.’

  Along the next corridor they had to duck around a corner as black-clad clones came racing along a connecting branch.

  Continuing on, they eventually entered a corridor ending in an elevator. There was a group of five clones between them and the door, who were milling around in confusion.

  ‘I don’t think that alarm goes off very often,’ said Keagan. ‘How do we get past them?’

  ‘We just go,’ said Eone. ‘Look at them. Nothing is ever supposed to go wrong in their perfect world … so now that it has, they’re so muddled they don’t know what to do. I doubt they would try to stop us. And I think we have passed the need for secrecy.’

  They sprinted down the corridor, through the confused clones to the elevator. Keagan slammed his hand onto the button beside the sliding door.

  And waited.

  ‘How do we get in?’ asked Eone.

  ‘We need to wait for the elevator to come down and the doors to open,’ explained Keagan.

  ‘Elevator?’ asked Eone.

  ‘Like that shaft we climbed up,’ said Keagan. ‘Except this one is going to take us to the top of the city. It’s where the Waiting Rooms are.’

  ‘Ah!’

  ‘I don’t think that you should be here.’ Two of the clones had come up behind them. They seemed both bewildered and concerned – struggling with their controlled world being out of control.

  ‘Probably not,’ said Keagan. ‘But it’s okay. As soon as the elevator arrives, we’ll be outta here.’

  He stabbed at the button again, trying to hurry it along.

  ‘Is the alarm because of you?’ asked one of the other clones.

  ‘No, no,’ Eone tried to assure him. ‘It’s for someone else.’

  ‘We should alert security,’ said the two female clones, facing one another, their puzzled expressions becoming determined.

  They must be the supervisors of the group, thought Keagan.

  At that moment the doors slid open and he and Eone jumped in.

  The supervising clones started to say something, but the doors closed, silencing them and the alarm.

  Browsing the array of buttons, Keagan pressed the top one. They felt the gentle movement as the elevator began to rise, accompanied by dreadful, tinny music.

  ‘Seriously?’ whispered Keagan. ‘Even clones in a sci-fi city get elevator music?’

  Reaching the top level, they left the music behind and walked along a corridor with doors on either side. There was no alarm up here and the lighting was subdued.

  ‘I was hoping there might be windows,’ said Keagan with a sigh.

  ‘Windows?’ asked Eone. ‘Why?’

  ‘So that I could see outside,’ said Keagan. ‘I want to know what your world looks like.’

  Eone frowned. ‘What do you mean? You’ve seen our world. There is the city up here and the Dumping Ground below. That is our world.’

  ‘What about outside?’ asked Keagan, as he stopped by the seventh door. ‘Trees? Grass? Sky? Fresh air?’ Eone stared blankly at him. ‘Jungle or desert or wide grassy plains? Or maybe rocky ground? I don’t know. There must be something.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Eone. ‘Above and below, that’s all there is.’

  ‘What about the sewage? Where does that go? Outside to an ocean or river or something?’

  ‘It goes down into a dark pit.’

  ‘But where does the … oh, never mind.’ Keagan waved a dismissive hand. ‘It doesn’t matter. This is it.’ He held up the tech-screen.

  ‘47-G-2 is inside?’ asked Eone.

  ‘I guess so,’ said Keagan. ‘This is where the map leads.’

  They opened the door and entered.

  In the centre of the room, a woman in a hospital gown lay on a bed. She was surrounded by an array of equipment, attached to her by numerous wires and tubes. She was old and wrinkled, her hair thin and white but still in the bobbed hair-style of the clones. Her eyes were closed and she seemed close to death.

  As Keagan and Eone approached the clone’s eyes snapped open. Unlike the rest of her, they were bright and vibrant.

  ‘You,’ she croaked, ‘are from the Dumping Ground?’

  Eone and Keagan nodded.

  ‘I have been waiting for you.’

  ‘You’ve been waiting for us?’ asked Eone.

  ‘Yes,’ said the clone. Her hand snaked out to a control and the top of the bed rose, bringing her into an almost sitting position. ‘Ever since 47-G-1 went down to what she jokingly called the Dumping Ground, and started her Refuse society, I knew that someday, someone would return. And I am glad that it happened within my lifetime. It has been –’

  She stopped, eyes falling on Keagan.

  She gasped.

  Keagan took a step back.

  ‘You are not cloned?’ said the woman. ‘Come closer.’

  Keagan wasn’t sure he wanted to, but tentatively moved towards her. She locked eyes with him.

  ‘Your eyes,’ she whispered. ‘They are green. You are not from here. You are different. You could …’

  Her voice faded away as she drifted off in thought.

  After a few moments of awkward silence, Eone asked, ‘So you are 47-G-2?’

  ‘Yes. Tell me … is my co-supervisor still … is she …’ But 47-G-2 couldn’t bring herself to finish the question.

  ‘Alive?’ Eone finished for her. ‘Yes. Yes, she is alive and well. She is one of our Elders and guides the Refuse with care and fairness. She has a good heart.’

  ‘She is doing better than me then.’

  ‘You’re still alive,’ said Keagan.

  ‘But for how much longer?’ asked 47-G-2. ‘I am in a Waiting Room.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ said Keagan.

  ‘All the old and retired are sent to the Waiting Rooms,’ explained 47-G-2, ‘so they can wait … for death.’

  ‘What?’ Keagan was aghast.

  ‘That’s horrible,’ said Eone.

  ‘That is life in the Perfect World,’ said the clone bitterly. ‘When you start to break down, when you are no longer Perfect, you get shut away so no one can see you. Still, I suppose it is better than getting removed like the young and imperfect.’ She smiled. ‘If only they knew.’

  ‘Knew what?’ asked Eone.

  ‘Knew how many of those scheduled for removal went to the Dumping Ground instead.’

  ‘You’re the one who sends people down?’ asked Eone.

  ‘I used to,’ said 47-G-2. ‘I and others like me. Those of us who believe we all have a right to live. Of course, we could not save everyone. For those whose imperfections go undetected, we try to keep them hidden. And if they are discovered, we try to save them. The records show that they are removed, but … there are several disposal chutes in the removal centre.’

  ‘The Refuse,’ whispered Eone.

  ‘Now,’ said 47-G-2, her voice taking on a businesslike tone. ‘I am sure you are not here to ask me things that 47-G-1 could have told you. So … what has brought you here?’

  ‘You haven’t heard the alarm?’ asked Keagan.

  ‘No,’ answered 47-G-2. ‘No alarms up here.’ One of the machines beside her pinged, and a tube connected to her arm filled with liquid. She looked at it. ‘Ah … lunch.’

  ‘Befour – 61-B-4 to you – has come up from the Dumping Ground to overthrow the Perfect,’ said Eone.

  ‘How does he plan to do this?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ said Eone. ‘But we don’t think he can do it. In any case, whatever he does … it’s going to draw attention. It already has. Downstairs the alarms are blaring.’

  ‘Which means the Dumping Ground is no longer a secret,’ said 47-G-2.

  ‘So what do we do?’ pleaded Eone.

  ‘You need to teach the Perfect about the importance of individuality,’ said 47-G-2, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. ‘Let them know that difference is a good thing. This whole society is based
on an incorrect assumption. That perfection gives us the greatest chance of survival and in turn sameness leads to unity. It does not. Because, no matter how it may appear, no two people are exactly the same. Not inside their heads. Trying to force a sameness simply leads to deep unhappiness. You need to make everyone realise this. We need differences to survive.’

  ‘How?’ asked Eone.

  ‘Teach them.’

  ‘How?’ repeated Eone, with a little more force.

  ‘The learning centre,’ Keagan piped up.

  ‘You are a bright boy,’ said 47-G-2. ‘I have been planning this for a long time. And I am not alone. There are people in all of the learning centres, ready to link the computers together and transmit to the entire city. You need to get me to a communications panel so I can –’

  The lights died. The machines around 47-G-2 fell silent. They were plunged into complete darkness.

  ‘Darn,’ croaked a voice in the dark. ‘I had not finished my lunch.’

  Keagan and Eone took torches from their pockets and switched them on.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Keagan, shining his torch from left to right as if expecting an attack.

  ‘Befour, I’m guessing,’ said Eone. ‘He probably took that clone with him to show him the way to the city’s power centre.’

  ‘This is both a good and a bad thing,’ said 47-G-2. ‘Good, in that it will make it easier to set up the teaching systems undetected. Bad in that you will have to do everything without me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Keagan.

  ‘There is a backup power system,’ said 47-G-2, her voice sounding strained. ‘It will restore power within ten minutes. When … it comes back on, there will be so much confusion, no one will notice the change in what the learning systems are doing. You …’ She paused to take a shuddering breath. ‘You need to get down to the nearest learning centre and get things started. Just … walk in and say the words enlightenment and divergence. It has all been prepared.’

  ‘What’s wrong,’ asked Eone, concerned by 47-G-2’s weakening state.

  ‘These machines were keeping me alive,’ said 47-G-2 matter-of-factly. ‘And ten minutes is too long.’

  Eone rushed to her side and took her hand.

  47-G-2 smiled. ‘No time,’ she whispered. ‘You need to get going, now. There … is a maintenance shaft next to the elevator. Go!’

  Keagan and Eone climbed down the maintenance shaft. It was dark and tight, but at least there was no elevator music. Reaching the bottom, they headed for the teaching centre.

  In the darkened corridors their torches illuminated groups of clones wandering about in a disorientated state. Some of them were holding up tech-screens, using the soft glow to light their way. None of them tried to stop Keagan and Eone.

  They made it to the teaching centre just as the lights flicked back on.

  The children were huddled together in clusters of five, terrified. Their fear intensified when Keagan and Eone entered.

  Keagan and Eone went straight to the window and knocked on the glass. The clones gazed out at them with bemused expressions, then a door slid open and they went in.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked the two supervisor clones together.

  ‘Enlightenment and divergence!’ said Keagan and Eone together.

  ‘What?’ four of the clones responded. The fifth, one of the supervisors, stared in wide-eyed, startled silence.

  ‘You know, don’t you?’ Keagan said to him.

  The clone didn’t respond.

  ‘Well,’ barked Eone. ‘47-G-2 said it was all set up. She said you would help. Now that the power is back up, we need to move … right now.’

  ‘But … but …’ stammered the clone. ‘The alarm. Everyone will be under scrutiny. Did you cause that?’

  ‘No we –’

  CRASH!

  They all turned to stare through the window. A section of the teaching centre wall smashed apart as Befour came crashing into the room.

  ‘Wow!’ exclaimed Keagan.

  Befour was in a mech-suit but his was quite different to those of his followers. It was bigger and looked way more dangerous. It covered most of his body with its sturdy armoured frame.

  Children screamed and scattered as Befour stumbled into the centre of the room.

  ‘Clear the students from the area,’ instructed the two supervisors, as the other three clones operated the tech-screen.

  Outside, the children headed for the exits.

  Befour steadied himself. Numerous black-clad clones poured in from two of the connecting corridors. Some of them were carrying makeshift weapons – metal poles, pieces of machinery, bits of furniture. They set upon the junk-encased Befour, but he knocked them aside, one by one. Still they came. There were well over twenty of them now, and despite the power of Befour’s mech-suit, it was unlikely he could hold them off too much longer.

  ‘Now!’ shouted Eone. ‘We need to do this now!’

  She and Keagan looked expectantly at the clone. He turned to his co-supervisor. ‘47-G-2 set this up a long time ago,’ he said. ‘I realise it seems ridiculous, but … do you trust me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The first clone now addressed Eone and Keagan. ‘My designation is 56-T-2. I am a learning supervisor.’

  ‘I’m finding all these numbers confusing,’ said Keagan. ‘I’m going to call you Coach, okay?’

  ‘If you must,’ answered 56-T-2/Coach.

  ‘Cool.’ Keagan was smiling, imagining the football coach at his school, shouting instructions at his players.

  Coach set to work on the controls. ‘Contacting other teaching centres and requesting link up.’ He continued to tap the tech-screen. ‘Three online.’ He paused. ‘Four, five, six.’ Another pause. ‘And most of the others. Four more to go. Three.’ Another pause. ‘Two.’ A longer pause. ‘One to go.’

  A black-clad clone slammed into the wall right next to the window, as the fight with Befour raged on.

  ‘We can’t wait any longer,’ demanded Eone. ‘Just start.’

  ‘We will not get complete coverage without it,’ warned Coach.

  ‘Better than nothing,’ said Keagan.

  ‘Wait! Last one is online now. We are good to go!’ He turned to Keagan and Eone. ‘Which of you is going to do this?’

  ‘Huh?’ said Keagan.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Eone.

  ‘The original plan was to connect 47-G-2 to the teaching machine, so that her belief in difference could be spread,’ explained Coach. ‘She is not here. I cannot do it, because my fear would also transmit.’

  Another clone flew past the window, thrown by Befour.

  Eone and Keagan faced each other.

  ‘You do it,’ they both said, then laughed nervously.

  ‘No,’ said Eone. ‘This is what 47-G-2 meant. She wanted you to do this. You’re not a clone. You don’t have any of our preconceptions. You can teach difference better than any of us.’

  ‘Me?’ Keagan was uncertain. ‘I’m not sure I can.’

  Doubt welled up within him. He was no teacher. He was not one of them. How could he change their minds?

  Eone turned to Coach. ‘Can we both do it?’

  ‘Yes!’

  Eone took Keagan’s hand. ‘We can do this. Together.’

  Despite his uncertainty, Keagan agreed.

  Coach passed them each a wire headset. ‘Put these on. And start thinking. Think about what you want to teach. Focus on it. It takes a bit of concentration so try closing your eyes. People learn best when taught by example. So, focus on specific experiences and the feelings that went with them.’

  Keagan touched the headset. Can I do this? he wondered. Lowering his hand, he thought about the key that had brought him to this world. An emotional connection? That’s what the strange old woman in the shop had told him. Maybe this is it? Maybe this is how I’m connected to the key and this world?

  A surge of confidence flowed through Keagan as he closed his eyes.


  Keagan walked into class. The teacher smiled at him with almond eyes from under a fringe of jet-black hair. She was his favourite teacher. ‘Good morning, Ms Tanaka.’ He sat down next to his best friend, Ravi. They high-fived, Keagan’s pale, freckled hand touching his friend’s dark brown skin as they both grinned.

  Eone closed her eyes.

  Eone was at a meeting of the Refuse in the common area of the junk dwelling. There was no raised area from which to speak, because they were all equal. She looked out at the sea of faces. They were all different … individual. Hair colour and length varied. Some had piercings, some had tattoos. Some still wore the white clothing of the Perfect World, others had created their own from scraps. No two people were the same. It made Eone feel happy. It made her feel wanted. Despite all the difference – in fact, because of it – she felt like she belonged.

  The window shattered as Befour fell against it, broken glass showering the control room. The clones all flinched. Eone and Keagan had only a vague awareness of what was happening around them. Befour steadied himself against the frame and pushed off, back into the fight.

  Keagan stood, being taunted by two other boys who were calling him ‘weirdo’ and ‘geek’. Then Ravi was beside him, proudly proclaiming that he too was a weirdo. Standing strong together with a feeling of pride, the words held no negative feelings for them.

  Eone was in the elders’ nook, sketching. Zeetoo and 47-G-1 were in their chairs, holding hands as they did most of the time. Smiles crinkled their faces. Eone held up the portrait she had been working on. The girl in the picture had a scar on her cheek and blank eyes without pupils, but her expression was one of contentment.

  Keagan sat in his lounge room watching a television interview with Stephen Hawking about advancements in science.

  Eone and the other Refuse welcomed Befour to the Dumping Ground.

  Now the thoughts were pouring through their minds, one on top of the other. Each thought, each memory, leading on to the next.

  Keagan hugging his mum before heading off for school.