Voices rise and overlap as they argue. ‘They’re not planets but man-made satellites.’ ‘Don’t be pedantic.’ ‘We should attack Oasis, capture it for ourselves.’
‘Impossible.’ ‘We should share Oasis, share their cities, live side by side with them.’ ‘You must be joking. We’d be second class citizens.’
‘We should stay on Earth. Rebuild cities here.’ ‘How the hell do you think we can do that?’
‘Get them to help us.’ ‘Why should they do that?’ ‘To recompense us for contaminating Earth.’ ‘For locking up us.’ ‘Now you’re being unrealistic.’
A cacophony of sound fills the confer-cube as they continue to argue.
Just as I’m about to make my presence felt, bring this motley crew to their senses and show them who is boss, a huge screen behind us lights up. For a moment I think Ra is about to appear, risen from the dead, but instead a woman appears on the screen. She’s a complete, power-dressed in a Dallas blue suit with padded shoulders sporting gold epaulettes. Matching blue shoes with gold-spiked heels complete the outfit. Her voice, smooth, sweet but cold, resounds throughout the confer-cube.
‘My name is Stella Jameson and I live on Planet Oasis. I believe that by now most of you have heard of this satellite. At least one of you has made an attempt to visit it.’
She appears to look directly at me, but I do not react. As far as I know only Athene knows of my abortive trip to Oasis and I don’t want the others speculating on what happened there.
‘We are still holding your warriors hostage but I want you to know that they are in good shape. We are taking care of them until we feel the political climate is favourable to release them. One of the purposes of my visit today is to make it clear that uninvited guests are not welcome on Oasis.’
At that moment, an amazing thing occurs. This Stella Jameson steps forward, out of the screen into the confer-cube. We all gasp. How can we not? It’s a miracle far beyond our technology. Is this a hologram or a real person? She seems real enough and smiles at our incredulity before continuing to speak to us.
‘I do realise that I am an uninvited guest here today and apologise for interrupting your meeting, but please allow me to explain why I feel justified to be here. I am the Owner and Managing Director of Worldwideculture.inc and it is in this role that I wish to address you.’
She has our undivided attention now and begins to tell us the history of Worldwideculture, about her ancestor, Rebecca Harfield, the members of her family who succeeded her and their continued aim to improve and enrich the lives of the humanoids in the compounds.
This Stella Jameson talks about the initial fight to get permission to install computers and the setting up of targets to encourage creativity and innovation. She explains that it has long been the philosophy of the company to encourage self-rule and that she wishes that practice to continue. The Chief Executive Officer and the heads of each sectoid have always been and continue to be mutant humanoids. It is not her policy to interfere with the decisions made by the CEO, but she is always available for consultation if needed.
Stella Jameson’s face darkens and her voice deepens. ‘Following the death of Ra I have noticed that there’s been considerable unrest among you, a jockeying for power, which I will not, cannot tolerate. It must stop. The new leader will not be determined by a wrangle for power, a takeover or even a majority vote. The appointment of Chief Controller, the CEO of Worldwideculture, has always been and will continue to be the right and the responsibility of the Managing Director, in this case myself.’
This statement causes a bit of a stir and there are a few mutterings, but Stella raises her hand and silence prevails.
‘I wish to assure you that I intend to be as fair as possible in my choice of CEO. I have the advantage of being able to judge objectively who would best serve the interests of Worldwideculture and of your fellow humanoids. The CEO I select must have a clear philosophy based on solid values,’ she glances at Brahmin, ‘whether religious or secular, and should have a clear vision about how to deal with future changes.’
She pauses. ‘I am offering you a chance to talk to me individually about your ideas. I say again, it is my job to choose the Chief Controller but whosoever I choose will have complete autonomy. I have no desire to interfere with the running of the sectoids, although, as I said before, I am always available for consultation if needed.’
A few more murmurs. Stella raises her hand again. ‘If you have any concerns, please discuss them with me, face-to-face during our private meetings. I am happy to consider any one of you as a candidate for CEO. If you do not wish to take on this very demanding position, please inform me now, before we start.’
I look round the table at my colleagues. No one speaks. I think Odysseus is about to say something, to tell her that he thinks he’s better suited to be curator of the museum than CEO, but he does not say a word. Neither does Brahmin, nor Kali. I thought Kali might be content to stay in charge of C55, her beloved compound. It seems I have underestimated the appetite for power inherent in all of us, whether mutant humanoid or complete. Stella herself seems to be enjoying her power over us and it seems that all the assembled delegates want to put their names forward as prospective replacements for Ra.
Before installing herself in Athene’s office for the interviews, Stella assures us that she will listen to what we say and consider carefully who will be best suited to take on this important post. We will have her decision in twenty-four hours.
I have no idea what transpired during the other interviews but Stella was certainly thorough, spending a long time with each of us. She certainly listened carefully to my two proposals: the building of new cities on Earth and the alternative plan of creating a satellite of our own. She nodded to express her understanding of what I was saying but made no comment as to the viability of either scheme. It was near the end of my session that she managed to surprise me.
She stood up, moved round the workstation, perched herself on the edge of it, her legs neatly crossed at the ankles. A very confident woman. ‘I understand that while you were on Oasis you thought you saw a fellow mutant humanoid.’
‘I did see him and he saw me. In the museum.’ I could add, where I was caged and gawped at like an animal in the zoo, but I resist the temptation to provoke her. I have the feeling that this Stella is a woman it would be better to have as a friend than an enemy.
‘You are sure about that?’
‘Oh yes, quite sure. It was Mercury. I believe he was instrumental in securing my release. I was sent back to Earth the very next morning. If you happen to see him please be kind enough to thank him for me.’
‘I’ll do that – if I ever meet him.’ She looks at me closely and at that moment I realise that she does indeed know him but wants to hide that fact from me.
‘I can’t help wondering,’ I say, ‘if Oasis is just for completes, why he is there.’
‘I have no idea.’
‘My interrogator wanted to know that too.’
A flash of fear flicks on to Stella’s face but her calm exterior returns quickly enough. ‘You don’t happen to know the name of your – interrogator?’
‘He said his name was Orlando Wolfe, a member of the Symposium of Oasis.’
Her lips push themselves together in what I take to be apprehension.
‘May I ask what exactly you told Mr. Wolfe?’
‘Nothing at all. I had no idea why Mercury was there. I hadn’t actually seen him then – only caught a glimpse of him online, going into the university.’
‘Did you tell Mr. Wolfe that?’
‘No. I didn’t tell him anything. He lent me an auto-pad and asked me to write down his name and anything else I knew about him and said he’d collect it the following morning. That didn’t happen because I’d been transported back here by then.’
‘What happened to the auto-pad? Did you bring it with you?’
‘No. I must have left in the cell.’
Stella thinks about tha
t. ‘Had you already begun your notes about this humanoid – Mercury? I wouldn’t like it to fall into the wrong hands.’
It’s my turn to think. ‘I might have written something. Are you suggesting that you wouldn’t want this information to land in this particular politician’s hands?’
‘It’s better that no one knows. My concern is for the safety of your colleague. All of you are my concern.’
But particularly Mercury, I suspect, and wonder how they are connected. I determine to find out.
‘That’s good to know,’ I tell her. ‘We need someone to be on our side.’
She gives me an odd look, stands up and shakes my hand.
‘It was very interesting talking to you, Heracles.’
‘And to you too – Stella.’
‘I’ll be in touch soon.’
‘I’ll be in touch soon,’ she said. I have a gut feeling that she’s impressed with me and that she won’t have too much difficulty making her decision about the appointment of the next CEO.
Chapter Twenty-three
Brave New World
(according to Michael)
Journal Entry
Guess what? Jonathan Dowell is in love. He spends more time with that lanky Susie than he does with me. To tell you the truth I’m a tiny bit jealous. Not that I fancy her or him for that matter. Please don’t think that. It’s just that I miss him. I’ve never had a friend before, someone to chat to, exchange ideas with and now I’m back to square one. On my own. When I suggest a walk in the park or even to see what’s happening in the Projects he says he’s busy. Oh well, I’m used to my own company. I don’t care. So, dear Journal, you remain my confidante.
That’s not altogether true. About being on my own, I mean, because I have a girlfriend too. Well, she’s a girl and a friend and I like her very much. I’m not in love with her. Not yet. But I like her very much and can imagine a day when….
The first date. I wait for her at the arranged meeting place. She’s late. Or perhaps I’m early. I don’t think she’s going to turn up. She arrives, a small figure skipping along towards the Obelisk on the edge of the Project. I’m convinced she’s a born dancer, the way she swings along, her body as flexible and fluid as running water. There. I’m becoming quite lyrical. When she sees me waiting for her she slows down to an easy, casual walk. She’s wearing the same dress as before but it looks different. As she gets nearer, I suspect she’s washed and ironed it, especially to meet me. I feel chuffed about that. We’re both a bit shy. I have no idea what to talk to her about or where to go. We stand looking at each other. Neither of us can stop smiling. It’s going to be all right.
‘Shall we go to the park?’ I ask her at last.
She doesn’t answer.
‘It’s my favourite place. I’m sure you’ll like it.’
‘I’m not supposed to go out of the Project,’ she says. ‘Not unless I’ve got a job interview or something.’
I frown. I didn’t know that. ‘Do you have a park in the Project?’
She shakes her head.
‘Or any open space with plants and trees where we could walk?’
‘Nah. Nothing like that here. Only boring streets with rows and rows of houses.’
And her brothers, watching us, I think.
‘Can’t you pretend you’ve got an interview?’
‘No papers,’ she says and when I look puzzled she adds, ‘you have to have the right papers to prove where you’re going. In case you’re stopped.’
‘You won’t be stopped,’ I say with all the brash assurance of a young male with his girl. ‘Not if you’re with me.’
She laughs, a pretty, trilling laugh that makes me feel good. ‘They’ll still know where I’m from if they look close.’
I haven’t a clue what she’s talking about. She rolls up her sleeves, puts her arms out in front of her and on the back of both hands and way up her arms are printed the words OASIS PROJECT in huge letters. She lifts up her fringe and the same words have been tattooed in the middle of her forehead. I can’t believe it. She’s been labelled as if she’s a criminal. I haven’t felt this angry since the incident with the mutant humanoids in the museum. I want to crash my way into the Symposium and tell those smug politicians what I think of them. How can they subject people to such humiliation?
‘Can’t you get rid of them somehow? Paint over them or something?’
‘Not allowed. If we do that we could lose our house and we can’t afford to do that. My Dad hasn’t got a job. Neither have my brothers.’
‘Can’t they get work?’
She shifts from foot to foot. ‘No one wants to employ folk from the Projects, Mr. Darcy.’ She gives a mischievous grin.
‘My name’s not really Darcy. It’s….’
She places a finger on my lips. ‘You’ll always be Darcy to me.’
‘OK. Darcy and Elizabeth it is.’
‘Lizzy.’
‘Lizzy. How long do you have to keep these – whatever they are – tattoos?’
‘They erase them in Hos-sat when we leave the Project. If we ever do.’
‘You mustn’t think like that, Lizzy. Of course you’ll leave.’ She hangs her head, not wanting to talk about it. ‘Are you still at school?’
She nods. ‘That red brick building where we met, that’s our school. I was on my lunch hour yesterday but today I’m taking the whole afternoon off.’
‘Won’t you get into trouble?’
She shrugs. ‘They can’t do much. I’ll be sixteen next week and then I’ll be finished with school for good. What about you? Are you free all afternoon?’
‘I can be. I can please myself, more or less. I’m a student at the uni. Perhaps when you leave school you could apply for a place there.’
‘No way. Studying costs money. My family can’t afford it. Anyway I’m not that clever.’
‘You’ve read Pride and Prejudice and are obviously a Jane Austen fan.’
She grins. ‘Not read it. I’ve seen the film.’
‘You should read the book too. I’ll lend it to you if you like. Austen’s a ruthless writer, highly critical of the society in which she lived.’
‘I’d like that. Thanks. And Emma – have you got Emma?’
‘I have all the Jane Austen novels.’
Her eyes light up in anticipation of a reading feast. ‘I wish I could afford lots of books.’
It must be awful to be short of money. On Earth we didn’t use money. Food and clothes and even compus were provided and here, on Oasis, Father supplies whatever I need.
‘Don’t you have a library here in the Project?’
‘There is a library here but the only books are instruction manuals aimed at teaching us skills to train us for jobs.’
I think about that.
‘What about your father? Maybe I can help him find some work. Has he any particular skills?’
She shakes her head. ‘Even if he could get a job he wouldn’t earn enough to keep us and rent another place outside the Project. Dad says it’s better to have a roof over our heads so he’s stopped looking for work. So have my brothers.’
‘Lizzy, don’t you think it’s better to have a job than live off….’ Oh Zeus, what am I saying? I’ve been dependent on others all my life and now here I am telling her what her father should do. He’s caught in a trap. He has to think of his children. But what quality of life do they have here in the Project and what happens to his – and their – self-respect? The philanthropy practised by the privileged members of society seems to have turned into something rather sour. Whether by bad management or deliberate sabotage I have no idea, but I intend to find out and do something about it.
Lizzy has noticed how quiet I’ve become. She touches my arm. ‘If you don’t want to be friends with me, it’s all right. I quite understand.’
‘Don’t say that. Of course I want to be friends. From the moment I saw you, I…’ I find myself blushing and bite my lip. I’m not used to paying compliments to girls or
to talking to them. I take a deep breath. ‘Today, I’m going to take you to the park in the city centre. That is, if you’re up for it. If anyone asks any questions, leave it to me to answer.’
Her eyes light up but then she frowns. ‘Dad will murder me if I’m caught. If we lose any more points we’ll lose the house.’
‘You won’t get caught and you won’t lose your house. I promise. Do you want to come or not?’
‘Of course I do.’
She yanks up the hood attached to the back of her dress and pulls it right over her head, almost covering her eyes to make sure the inscription on her forehead doesn’t show. Then she tugs down her long sleeves and plunges her hands deep into her pockets. She looks like a pitiful orphan out of a nineteenth century workhouse. She’ll be picked up immediately if she goes on the streets of Oasis looking like that.
‘You look as if you’re trying to hide something.’
‘I am,’ she giggles.
‘You have to look as natural as possible if you don’t want to attract attention to yourself. Come on, off with that hood, keep your head held high, look happy and hold my hand. Then everyone will believe you’re my girlfriend. No one will notice your tattoos. After all I didn’t see them until you pointed them out. I couldn’t take my eyes off your pretty little face and sparkling blue eyes and that’s all anyone else will see. Believe me.’
She takes her hands out of her pockets, lifts her hood and lets it rest on her shoulders, pulls her fringe down to hide the inscription on her forehead without taking her bright eyes off my face. My heart beats faster as I feel her soft little hand clasp mine. She looks nervous but I smile at her and she smiles back and we set off for a stroll through the city to the park. No one stops us. A couple of times we rush to shelter from a torrent of rain but that just adds to the fun. She frets that the wet hair sticking to her forehead will expose the inscription but the fringe soon dries, becomes fluffy again and hides it.
Being with Lizzy is not the same as being with Jonathan. There are no intellectual discussions – but I love being close to her and sharing her joy in everything I show her: the flowers, the river, the statues and buildings, things she’s never seen before. For once I am the mentor with a student keen to learn.
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