Beyond Ever Blue Skies

by Clive S. Johnson

  Beyond

  Ever Blue Skies

  Clive S. Johnson

  Daisy Bank

  This eBook edition first published in 2016

  All rights reserved

  © Clive S. Johnson, 2016

  Ver 0910/2

  The right of Clive S. Johnson to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the author, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Cover by the author. Copyright applicable.

  Also by Clive S. Johnson

  Solem

  The Dica Series:

  Leiyatel’s Embrace (Book 1)

  Of Weft and Weave (Book 2)

  Last True World (Book 3)

  Cold Angel Days (Book 4)

  An Artist’s Eye (Book 5)

  Starmaker Stella (Book 6)

  Synopsis

  Morgan is a lecy-eng, one of an elite group that has responsibility for maintaining the vital systems of Rundkern. When a circuit in Agri-Prod is suspected of being responsible for a valuable crop’s sickening state, Morgan gets to discover more about the lowly agri-engs than he ever imagined.

  His tale becomes one of intrigue, love and an unexpected but frankly unbelievable discovery. But before Morgan knows it, he’s committed himself to agri-eng Stephanie and her own people’s long-held hopes about a place that seems to him little more than a pie-in-the-sky dream.

  Can there really be a “Promised Land”, and if so, will it ultimately snatch Stephanie from him? For the Promised Land is somewhere to which no lecy-eng can ever journey. But then, nor can Morgan be left behind alive in Rundkern knowing of its existence.

  A gripping SF story from a master storyteller, author of the SF/Fantasy novels “Solem” and the six volumes of the “Realm of Dica” series: all “Beautifully written books with deep, rich and unexpected tales told so engrossingly well”.

  Contents

  1 A Problem in Agri-Prod

  2 A Breath of Fresh Air

  3 Refuge Refused

  4 Private Worlds

  5 Thwarted on Many Fronts

  6 Uncle Edsel

  7 Connie-Jay

  8 The Promised Land

  9 When One Door Closes…

  10 As Busy as Bees

  11 A Few Ups and Downs

  12 Can You Hear Me?

  13 Percentages Remembered

  14 A World of his Own

  15 Whatever Morgan Needs

  16 Pulled Strings, Perhaps

  17 Rosie

  18 Freedom Trumps Pleasure

  19 Progress

  20 An Unconscionable Realisation

  21 The “Great Shake”

  22 Best Case?

  23 Truth or Dare

  24 Endgame

  25 A Threat

  26 Retribution

  27 Asunder

  28 Erebus

  29 Succession

  30 What’s in a Name?

  31 No Question at All

  32 Preparations Apace

  33 Into a Last Day

  34 A Journey Begins

  35 In the Beginning

  About the Author

  …as with the dandelion blowball or clock, where its seeds are carried upon the wind, scattered far and wide, some finding fertile ground upon which to root—but not all, or at least, not all at first.

  1 A Problem in Agri-Prod

  High notes impinged on Morgan’s awareness first, although only just, thin and wavering, indistinct. But when a muffled thump of a bass line joined in, he snapped wide awake.

  A conclusion escaped his dry lips and into the warm, almost dark room: “Urgh; this really is crap.” The strident cacophony then quickly faded to the background before a gentle and measured voice filled his hearing.

  “Good morning, Morgan. You wanted me to wake you. It’s eight-thirty, Wednesday the—”

  “Thanks, Perry; I’m awake,” and another dry-mouthed groan escaped him as he rolled onto his side and opened his eyes. “And you can kill Plasma Kittens…and for good. I think I’ve grown out of them at last.”

  When he blinked at the “Open blinds” icon at the edge of his vision, hitherto obscured morning light flooded into his small, white room. What a mess, he thought as he squinted at the blue-tiled floor strewn with discarded clothes and music cubes, with dirty plates, his perscom and tool pouch.

  The room’s shiny blank walls proved far too much. On his back again, he stretched and stared at the slightly less glaring ceiling, vestiges of his dreams dancing upon its surface: young and slim and…

  He sat up. “Shower on, Perry,” and forced himself out of bed, staggering to a cramped adjacent washroom.

  Showered, dried and dressed, he stood for a short while before the low but wide window, looking out onto a bright, narrow, blue-tiled alley two storeys below. Few folk were about: Josh opening up “Rundkern’s Finest Breakfast Bar” opposite, Mr. Galgeve slipping back in through his front door, worse for wear as usual. At his misjudged attempt to close the door quietly, though, the window blinds directly above him snapped open. It looked like a single dark cavity in the building’s wide, tooth-white grin.

  Oh dear, he’s in for it now, Morgan thought.

  Still finding the daylight too bright, he turned away from the window, picked up his perscom and tool pouch, snapped them onto his belt and went out into a short, dimly lit hallway. A couple of doors down and he was into his family’s spotless kitchenette.

  Its narrow counter surfaces almost gleamed a surgical cleanliness, four stools neatly stacked beneath, the room unoccupied. A flick of his eyes and “08:48” briefly appeared in the corner of his vision.

  “Still too early for mum and dad,” he told himself as he opened a cupboard and took an apple from its compartment. It was in his pocket by the time he let himself out into a shared, brightly lit stairwell, quickly clattering down to ground level.

  Josh was chalking up the day’s menu on the blackboard beside his breakfast bar’s front door when Morgan stepped out into the alley. Without turning, the man called over, “You nothing better to do than work?”

  Morgan gave way to a couple of their neighbour’s daughters as they jogged past in their sweatbands and lycra, then went over and stood behind Josh. Meticulously, Wednesday’s choices were slowly progressing down the board.

  “Looks good,” Morgan enthused.

  Josh only squeaked another line of stark white lettering.

  “Hey, gumbo; my favourite.”

  “I can always pour you some to take, before I finish up here if you’re in your usual rush.”

  Morgan heard the click of blinds and looked up at the Galgeves’ bedroom window. The blinds had closed: the cavity filled. A wry smile started across his lips, but then something drew his gaze higher. There, past the windowless upper storey and curved roofline all properties had, a small, dark patch now stained an otherwise blue sky.

  Another one, Morgan thought, narrowing his eyes against the brightness and quickly counting. “Definitely a hexagon.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Oh, nothing, Josh,” by which time the patch was already flickering blue—then it was gone. “Er, thanks for the offer, but…no thanks. I’ve a lot on. Maybe later, eh?” and Morgan could see, even standing behind the man, the bulge of Jos
h’s cheeks that marked a widening grin.

  At the end of the alley, Morgan turned onto a broad and largely empty avenue that ran into the far distance in both directions. White walls faced one another across its blue-tiled width, their windows almost mirroring one another but for their being offset. The alleys he passed were likewise out of step, “JAC311” coming up on one side before “JAC211” on the other.

  Morgan turned into JAC208 and soon came to the first door along. Beside it, in white on a blue background, a small sign announced “J-Section Lecy”. A glance into its reader and the door clicked open, letting him in.

  Straight up the steps from a small entrance lobby and he was into a brightly lit but deserted first floor corridor, aiming for the seventh identical door along. Clipped into a small frame at eyelevel, its sign read “Morgan Travis — Junior Lecy-Eng”.

  Inside, an untidy workbench ran the short length of the wall opposite, the sills of two small bare windows at either end on a level with its largely clutter-hidden surface. Between them rose an array of screens, all brightly coloured by displays of assorted graphs, tables and pie charts. A pictorialized list glared from one screen, one of its entries continuously flashing.

  Morgan refrained from putting on any lights, preferring the room’s white walls to be lit by what little daylight came in at the windows. He found his cup buried on the bench, dry stained by dark rings of innumerable coffees. On a cabinet against one side wall stood a dispenser, under the nozzle of which Morgan placed the cup.

  “Coffee, please, Perry.”

  “I’m sorry, but the dispenser is not handshaking my request.”

  Morgan scowled at the unit before powering it off and back on again. He eventually sat down at the workbench, his freshly charged cup once again in its usual place amongst the clutter.

  “I know my refresher’s overdue,” he moaned at the flashing message, flicking his eyes at it to mark it as read as he sipped his coffee. The list then scrolled up and down until Morgan sighed and leant back in his chair. About to steel himself to tackle the long overdue test, he heard footsteps coming down the corridor and sat up straight, one of the screens soon looking busy.

  “Why am I not surprised?” an older man’s voice came in at the open door.

  “Morning, Mr. Craytov. I’m… I’m just catching up on my refresher.”

  “Ha! The one that’s already three weeks overdue?” Morgan only lowered his head. “It’s now so urgent you’ve had to come in specially to crack on with it, eh? despite having no work on.”

  Morgan started to protest, but Mr. Craytov shook his head. “And don’t tell me otherwise; I happened to have a look at your queue yesterday—and it was empty.”

  He let out a long exasperated breath and came into the room, pushing back the mess on Morgan’s bench before perching his backside on the edge. For a moment he looked down at Morgan, but then a brief smile crossed his lips before he glanced at the screens.

  “So…what were you going to be filling your time with today, then, Morgan? What can be more interesting than going for a run or hanging out with friends? You do have friends, I take it. Eh, Morgan? Not that I ever remember you mentioning any, and you don’t exactly have the sort of build that shouts its thirst for exercise, now do you?”

  “I’ve… Well, I’ve had this…this idea,” but Mr. Craytov only stared at him, inscrutably. “I was wondering if there was a way of combining exception heuristics.”

  “Oh yes?”

  “You know, to get better failure predictions. To cut down on outage times.”

  “You were, were you?”

  “It’s just an idea.”

  “And?”

  Morgan lifted his gaze to a larger screen off to one side and on which a number of graphs appeared. “These are the predictions for all the inter-avenue domestic lighting systems in our section, each one driven by its own unique history.”

  “Yes, I do recognise them, Morgan.”

  “But…that’s just it, Mr. Craytov.”

  “What is?”

  “Unique histories… Unique!”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  “Well, as all inter-avenue layouts are the same, it should be possible to combine them, to get better failure predictions for them all.” But Mr. Craytov’s eyes remained empty long enough for Morgan’s spirits to sink. He quietly sighed then turned back to the screen. “I suppose I’d better get on with this test, then,” he finally said in a subdued voice, clearing the graphs with a blink.

  “We’ve always worked from separate histories, Morgan; you know that. It’s the way it’s always been done. There’s no—”

  “But I just thought—”

  “The role of a junior lecy-eng doesn’t include thinking, Morgan. Well? Does it?”

  “No, Mr. Craytov, I don’t suppose it does. I’m sorry.”

  “Anyway, as it happens, I’d hoped you’d be in. I have something…well, something a bit out of the ordinary to assign you,” and Morgan’s spirits nudged a little higher. “We were at a rather tedious social event last night—me and Mrs. Craytov—and I was collared by one of the other guest’s niece; pretty young thing if a bit scrawny… Anyway, she works in…in Agri-Prod, of all places. Do you know it? The other side of the park.”

  Morgan said he did.

  “She was telling me about a problem they have.”

  “A problem?”

  “She wondered if it might be an issue with one of our systems.”

  “In Agri-Prod? I didn’t know they had any.”

  “Neither did I, but she was adamant they did. So, I want you to see if you can find their circuit on the system, then, if there really is one, go and take a look.”

  “But what about my test?”

  “Given its result’s a foregone conclusion, I’m happy to waive it in this case,” and Mr. Craytov grinned. “Then go and enjoy yourself for the rest of the day; get some exercise and fresh air; tone yourself up a bit, and get rid of that peaky look.”

  When Morgan didn’t respond, Mr. Craytov said he’d go and set up Morgan’s job sheet, then rose and stood in the doorway until Morgan nodded.

  “I’ll get on with it now, then, Mr. Craytov,” and a vast network diagram already filled the large screen when Morgan turned back to face it.

  2 A Breath of Fresh Air

  It turned out that Agri-Prod did indeed have a lecy circuit, although not a large one. Morgan could find no record of it ever having had an exception, though—so maybe it was long overdue a failure. For a moment he’d even wondered whether it would be possible to combine all Agri-Prods’ heuristics… But then he remembered Mr. Craytov’s reaction and thought better of it.

  Now, what’s this agri-eng’s name? he thought as he left the lecy workshops behind and came out of the alley and back down the avenue.

  Aloud, he asked, “Perry?”

  “Yes, Morgan?”

  “Splash up my job sheet, would you?” and he scanned through the details now superimposed on his vision. “Stephanie Chandry; that was it.”

  He turned into the next alley, towards the park, everywhere much busier now. Blinking away the details to avoid bumping into anyone, he was soon into the next avenue along and to the back of a throng of people. Jogging on the spot, they were all clearly impatient to get in through the park’s narrow entrance, beyond the long, tall, blank white walls that surrounded it.

  Once through its perfumed foyer, out beneath a further arch and into the park, Morgan made straight for the exit at the other side. He felt distinctly out of place amongst so many fine physiques. But then his feet hit the grass and he stopped, staring at its gently undulating expanse and the clumps of trees with which it was studded.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been here. It could even have been when he was still at school, chivvied out with his classmates to enjoy the wonders of physical exercise. That was just it, though, he marvelled, the others really did seem to have enjoyed it.

  “Morgan Travis? Is that reall
y you?” and he snapped back to the present.

  A statuesque young woman stood before him, hands on hips and breathing heavily, almost gasping in air. Morgan furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes.

  “Ellie? Ellie Fawshrop?” and he could see her fourteen-year-old image before his mind’s eye.

  “So it is you,” Ellie panted as her wide-eyed grin smeared a little. “Still not one for the body-beautiful, I see,” and she bent at the waist, rapidly touching her toes a number of times.

  Morgan felt an uncomfortable warmth suffuse his cheeks. “Never saw the point,” he mumbled. “And anyway, you look like you’re whacked yourself—body knackered, if you ask me.”

  Ellie smiled, lopsidedly, then came nearer, now seeming to tower over Morgan as she never had at school. “For some reason,” and she lowered her face to his, “I kinda always liked you,” and she kissed him briefly on the lips, his cheeks now feeling almost aflame.

  “You’re right, though,” she said, stepping away and again touching her toes. “My times are getting worse.”

  “Times?” Morgan could barely squeak.

  “For doing a circuit,” and she gestured expansively. “I seem to be going backwards,” and she flicked her eyes to one side and blinked. “Yep, twenty seconds worse than last week’s average, eighty-seven down on a month ago. It just seems to be getting harder. That ain’t right, now is it? Not for an eighteen-year-old.”

  Morgan shook his head, aware he was out of his depth.

  “I’m not alone, though,” and again she drew in close, Morgan quickly pressing his lips tighter together. “Quite a few others have said the same,” she loudly whispered. “Anyway, what’s Morgan Travis up to these days?”

  Morgan managed to keep their chat and some childhood reminiscing to a minimum, promising to look her up in the near future—something he knew he would never do—and finally got away. That impromptu kiss bugged him, though. Then he remembered the embarrassing occasion, and his cheeks once again suffused with a warmth not entirely excused by his leisurely walk across the park and out through its exit.