Stiffly, he walks to the kitchen area, almost tripping over his Bergen and he grumbles out loud, “Where is the light, please?” An automated voice answers promptly, “Lights activated.” The light in the kitchen as well as the living area flicks on, stunning Gax. He stands very still, hardly daring to move. What is going on? He is sure he is the only one in the house. He spins around and almost throws himself at the door. It is left unlocked! Did someone come in while he was asleep? But no, the lights are downstairs, and there is no one to be seen pushing light switch buttons. He turns the key, just to be on the safe side, berating himself for his carelessness. In a trembling voice he says out loud, “Lights off, please.” Straight away he is plunged in darkness.
He licks his lips and says softly, “Lights on, please.” He walks to the kitchen, now light and inviting. Gax swallows, pulling his back as straight as possible, determined to not show fear. He looks in the tall fridge, but apart from some mouldy unidentifiable crumbs, it’s empty. The light works though and it feels cool inside. He turns to the kitchen tap, hesitating a moment. Should he ask for the tap to be turned on? In the end Gax decides that he’d rather decide on the waterflow himself and he turns the cold tap on. He feels it. The water is deliciously cold, so he washes his hands, then cups them and greedily slurps from them, water dribbling down his chin. He still looks over his shoulder every now and then, wondering about the voice.
The cool water revives him and revives his hunger as well. His stomach makes rude noises, loudly protesting the long fast filled with exertion. Immediately the automated voice replies, “I am sorry. I did not quite get that. Could you repeat, please.” Gax is mortified, holding his stomach; he stares round, before blurting out, “Who are you?”
The automated voice doesn’t hesitate, “I am your automated servant. You may call me anything. Except late for dinner. Ha ha.” Gax tries to breathe, his mind spinning. Automated Servant? Does that mean that the city has some form of technology that can control your lights and hear you? Gax likes it. A bit. The lights going off and on is quite nifty and who knows what else the ‘Servant’ can do. The downside is that the Servant hears you, down to a growling stomach. What if he talks in his sleep? He wonders if Linu could…his thoughts trail off like a cassette player run out of batteries. There is no Linu here. Linu is back home in Mataiox. Back where you have to operate your own light switches. Then it hits him. This was not planned! Automated Servants were never once mentioned in any of the planning meetings. It wasn’t part of his familiarisation process, his backstory. No one ever mentioned dodgy voices talking back to you, or making rude comments about your stomach, or switching lights on and off.
If Linu totally missed this and the rest of the team with her, then what would the implications be? Can the ‘Servant’ only hear him, or does it watch him too? Will it be able to see him when he does something that the city council has forbidden? Will it report him if he says or does something wrong? Gax can feel himself starting to sweat, his face glowing. Of course he is not afraid, just excited. “Right, Automated Servant,” he says out loud, needing to do something before he can no longer cope with all this…excitement. “I will call you…” He thinks to people back home, “I will call you Yulra.” He smirks when the automated voice promptly replies, “Thank you. You may call me Yulra. You can change my settings when you wish. Do you wish to save this new setting?”
“Yes, Yulra it is,” laughs Gax, forgetting how his fears had almost choked him, finding a childish delight in calling his Automated Servant after the girl in school that made everyone help her. He does know it’s childish, but it gives him a small sense of power in a situation he is afraid might be beyond him. He does need to keep an eye on Yulra though.
Gax walks to his green Bergen and digs out his emergency rations, taking them to the kitchen. He looks at the hob, not seeing where the flames would come from. “Hey Yulra, switch the hob on, please,” he says, hopefully. Immediately, one of the smooth sets of rings glows eerily red. Gax blinks, stutters, “Thanks Yulra,” and puts the pan with his ration on top of the rings. Soon the water boils, and his food is ready to eat. “Right, switch the hob off, Yulra,” he says and Yulra doesn’t seem to mind that his voice is more squeaky than usual. He eats, has more water, this time from an enamel cup he found. Feeling decidedly better he cleans up, then looks round a little helpless.
He can’t go to the shops till it’s the end of the working day. Doing otherwise would raise questions and Gax wants to avoid questions at all cost. His briefing had been very clear about questions, or rather the answers. There was to be no untruth told, not ever. No unkind words either, no rudeness, but definitely no lies, white, black or any colour lies.
So no going to the shops, no going out either. Then Gax remembers the upstairs, as well as the dark door in the corner. The dark door turns out to be the bathroom, Yulra helpfully providing light. Gax walks over to the bottom of the stairs, looking up into the dark hole in the ceiling. “Um, Yulra? Lights on upstairs please.” Yulra obliges and Gax slowly climbs the stairs, not because he is scared, but his legs ache. He gets to the landing, a small space, but light, with two windows. Gax quickly moves to the window looking northeast. What he sees makes him exclaim out loud, Yulra promptly asking him to repeat that as she didn’t quite get that. He ignores his servant and stares out of the window. There, in the distance, sloping up steeply is the city. He can actually see the terracotta coloured city from his house! He notices the steep walls and red roofs sticking out above it. He can see the zigzag road, leading to the city and his heart floods with feelings of gratitude to his trainer who made him run uphill each day.
He turns around to enter through the landing door which opens into a large, sunny room. There are four windows in this room, two have their shutters still shut, presumable against the heat. The room contains a large bed, a huge television as large as the one downstairs, a tall mirror dull with dust and cobwebs and the usual bedroom furniture, the dark wood in stark contrast to the soft yellow walls. Gax stands in the door opening, his eyes taking everything in quickly. He smiles with a satisfied grin. Gax likes the cheerful, light room, even though the silence in the house is making him feel restless. “Yulra? Some music please,” he says, wondering what will happen.
“What type of music do you want?” The voice doesn’t sound the least bit curious, but willing. Gax opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. He almost said “Instrumental hymns, please.” Well, that would have been the quickest mission ever! Gax feels sweaty all over again, blushing a vibrant red, wondering if Servant Yulra will pick up on colour changes. “Um, anything instrumental, mellow, will do,” he says out loud instead. “Thank you,” Yulra replies, “I will now play your choice.” The television screen comes on, showing calming coloured waves and soft harp-like music fills the sunny room.
Gax drops down on the bed, suddenly overwhelmed by his task ahead, his loneliness, the silence all around him, the strangeness of the house. Seeing the terracotta city walls earlier, across the olive green countryside, the steep road weaving up the hill Gax feels overcome with a flood of emotions, his exhaustion having broken down his protective barriers. Gax lies face down, sobbing, feeling deserted. Finally he calms down, realising how dirty and dusty the top blanket is. “That’s gross,” he says, his automated servant quick to agree with him. He pushes himself up, feeling a bit ashamed at his outburst. “This won’t do Gax, it really won’t do for an operator to cave in at the slightest hitch,” he says sternly to himself then giving a snort, as he actually made his voice sound just like their team leader’s voice, accent and all. Gax drags himself off the bed, feeling spent after the outburst, and goes downstairs to pick up his Bergen. Once everything is put away neatly, he peels off the grey top blanket, finding perfectly clean sheets and another thin blanket underneath. He folds the dusty, spidery blanket up, wondering what people do with their dirty washing in this place. He knows from studying the city map that there is a laundrette, an excellent place and opportunity to
mingle with the locals.
Gax decides that as there is nothing else to do until the working day has ended, he will lie down on the bed, listen to the music Yulra has picked for him and read his Book. The Book is very small, its soft cover a maroon red. He had packed it in the bottom of his Bergen, wrapped in a shirt. Before he lies down on the large bed, he searches for a hiding place for his Book. It might never be necessary, maybe he is being overly cautious, but Yulra has made him suspicious.
Also, Gax can still feel the odd sensation he had last night on top of the Amphitheatre hill, the feeling he was being watched. He wants somewhere to hide his Book. Somewhere Yulra can’t see, he thinks, that doesn’t make a noise. Not under the mattress, too obvious. Gax circles round the room, searching, wondering, discarding one idea after another. Then he sees a spot that will do. The back of the wardrobe has a little ledge, and his Book just leans on it, without falling down. Gax tries it out. It’s perfect, as long as nobody rattles or shakes the wardrobe. He will need to find a safer spot, but not today. Sitting up comfortably on the bed, music playing in the background, beautiful warm sunlight streaming in, soft mattress and thick downy pillows and his precious Book. Soon Gax is engrossed in his Book, lost to the world, any world. The silence in the small house is intense, only broken by Gax’s exclamation of fear in response to the metallic voice.
“Your music choice has ended. Do you wish for more music?”
Chapter 4
Gax scolds Yulra for scaring him, and after her polite excuses he yawns, “What time is it, I wonder?”
Straight away the clever Yulra answers, “The time is now 17.10. That is ten minutes past five.” Gax blinks, he really hadn’t expected an answer and for a moment he wonders which is scarier, lights and music turning on, or Yulra answering his questions.
He licks his lips and then asks Yulra, “So smart one, at what time does work finish then?” Part of him is enjoying this, but he still feels worried, wondering if Yulra is going to turn out to be his weakest link.
Yulra answers him, “Most people work nine till five. This seems to suit most people’s physical constitution. The exception is emergency services, gymnasium staff, catering staff…”
“Yes, thanks, Yulra, that will do,” he interrupts the metallic voice. “I think I got the picture.” He almost added that it’s the same sort of hours for people almost everywhere, but as he still doesn’t know how much Yulra actually records, he stops the words from rolling out. He yawns again, stretches, decides to take the plunge and head to the little store. From his house it’s a short but steep climb uphill, although the road takes a gentler, longer route past fields. He has no idea what the locals think of people taking shortcuts though, so he decides to do the civilised thing and go by road. From his wardrobe he retrieves his brown leather sandals, apparently made according to the latest fashion. He hopes this is true, as he isn’t keen on sandals at the best of times. Who wants to see other people’s toes? He has to blend in though, so hopefully these aircon trainers will do the job. Once they’re on Gax pulls a face. It’s not that they’re uncomfortable and he has been wearing them a bit already to get used to them. They just feel strange, his feet feeling draughty and exposed. He wriggles his toes, then abruptly picks up his empty Bergen, and walks downstairs, telling Yulra over his shoulder to switch off the music and the lights.
The heat outside hits him in the face, instantly burning his nose and mouth, like a sauna. He hates saunas and this heat doesn’t cheer him up at all. He only takes three brisk steps, then, sweating, he slows down. Taking deliberate steps he walks along the road, following the curves and hairpin bend. After the first bend he stops for a moment, his throat parched already. It’s mid Spring, and this hot? He wonders how they do Christmas in this heat, I mean, you can’t have outside candles, you’ll have spontaneous combustion! Then he grimaces. Of course, no Christmas here. He swallows, half coughs, reminding himself to buy stuff to drink at the shop. From where he stands he can see huge swathes of countryside, the green fields turning yellow against the green, with darker olive trees and bushes. Far in the distance is the lighthouse, the tall structure somehow connecting him with back home.
Gax carries on and by the time he reaches the little store he is exhausted, dusty and dripping wet with sweat. He pushes the heavy door open, using the metal handle. Inside it’s lovely and cool. Gax looks round without being too obvious. Of course, the owner will know he is new, the place is very small, but hopefully he will blend in nicely. He suddenly feels nervous about meeting anyone. He has worked hard on the accent, but… His heart stops, for Gax just remembered that he talked to Yulra in his normal voice. Should he change that? Yulra worked just fine, but what if he has a visitor and he changes the way he speaks? Will Yulra betray him? He grits his teeth. That’s not a question for now, all things in order, mate, he admonishes himself.
He grabs a basket and looks around the shelves. Bread, he needs bread. There doesn’t seem to be any prepacked bread, and nothing to put the fresh round bread in either… He hesitates then decides to wing it, and maybe explain that he forgot he needed bread, so forgot the… What do people put bread in? Cloth? Paper? Never mind, he’ll think of something. Fruit is expensive and Gax decides on some strange, round looking pears. Again, no bags are provided, so he leaves the cherries where they are. He buys a large cabbage and some strange purple carrot shaped vegetables. Gax is relieved to see the aisle with household goods, noting the glass containers. He buys a rather large one, then fills it with wheat, ready milled. He has no idea how much is in the container, but it does look enough to make a good breakfast for the next few mornings. He buys a glass bottle with oil, a jar with honey and some dried figs which he stores in another glass container. He walks to the till, his head spinning, knowing he hasn’t even got half the things he wanted or needed.
The young man at the till looks like a bodybuilder, his huge hands closing round the basket handle, narrowly missing Gax’s hand. Gax quietly clears his throat and explains in the most lilting way he can that the glass containers are new, and the two filled ones are new too. The hulk grunts and raises his chin, making a sound like “Oh arr,” which Gax always felt was his favourite word in the new accent. He doesn’t dare smile though, worried that the young man will take it the wrong way. He half hides his own hand behind his back, as he almost stuck it out to the young man to greet him. When the young man raised his chin in greeting, Gax remembered the weird custom. He rubs the back of his neck, tired and nervous, as there are so many ways to slip up in this place.
He counts out the coins, glad he had familiarised himself with them, relieved to see some of the heavy ones go. The shopkeeper grunts something else and pushes one of the coins back with not exactly a warm smile. Gax feels himself getting hot again, in spite of the aircon doing its best. Of course, ninety five doesn’t need the extra ten Libs. “Been a long day,” he lilts, trying to smile, but the man merely raises his chin, looking over Gax’s head to the young woman behind him. Gax nods at her, but she looks straight through him, whilst Gax has to force himself to peel his eyes off her. She seems older than him, but is stunningly beautiful. He hastily beats a retreat, regretting his quick exit as soon as the heat hits him.
Gax slowly breathes out a very long drawn out breath, feeling relieved that his first encounter with the locals is over. It didn’t go too badly, he thinks, apart from being thrown by the lack of packaging. What do people do when shopping in a rush, or on your way home from somewhere? He sincerely hopes there will be a larger store in the city itself, and that it will be better organised in prepacked food. Gax wonders if his kitchen cupboards have some containers as well. He really fancies some fresh fish, but how is he going to get that home in this heat? It’ll save cooking it at least, he thinks, grumbling light heartedly. Going downhill is easier and the sun seems to have gone a long way down in that short time. Gax is hungry and feeling accomplished he walks more quickly, only mildly irritated by the flip flapping noise of his sandals.
After a good solid meal, made so much better by the beef jerky from his ration packs, Gax checks the cupboards, relieved to find more glass bottles and containers. They all have rubber seals, and only one of the container’s rubber bands has dried and cracked. Gax sits down and starts on a shopping list, in order to know which containers to take with him. Looking at the list he decides that he might have to do some hill walking or running, as he will be walking up the steep hillside to the city with a load of glass containers in the morning. Next Gax gets his little notebook out. He starts on the first page, writing the day and writes Dear Diary, laughs and scribbles that out. He turns serious again, after all, he has been entrusted with this mission. He is alone in strange territory, unknown territory and most likely hostile territory. Documenting everything might help him succeed by not getting caught out in the detail.
Gax feels the responsibility but excitement makes the pen wobble across the paper. He describes the house and Yulra, the heat and dry dustiness outside and the little shop. He knows there is a little bistro at the back of the shop, but the whole shopping experience was enough for a first time visit. He describes the man behind the counter and the beautiful woman, wondering in the margin whether they are typical for the city.
At the end he leans back, feeling satisfied. “It’s been a great day, Yulra,” he grins, then laughs when the automated servant tells him she is very pleased for him. He yawns, the long hike and stress catching up with him. Normally there would be friends, meetings and activities. Now it’s just him and the Voice. “So Yulra, what will the weather be like tomorrow?” he asks, as any conversation is better than none, even if it’s with an automated servant.
Walled City (The Elabi Chronicles Book 1) Page 2