Eve of Man: Eve of Man Trilogy

by Tom Fletcher

  I keep silent but I watch the woman with complete fascination. She stares at a computer screen from behind her desk, her fingers typing something on the keyboard. That’s when I notice that her fingers aren’t pressing any keys. They graze the tops of the square letter pads but apply no pressure.

  ‘Miss Silva is expecting you. You are cleared to ascend to the summit once you are through security. You, too, young man.’ She flashes me a smile and I see a small smudge of her red lipstick on her teeth. ‘How old are you?’ she asks kindly.

  ‘I am four,’ I reply proudly. She smiles.

  ‘Thank you, Stephanie,’ my father says. ‘How do you like your new job?’

  ‘Very much, Dr Wells. Thank you again,’ she replies, with the same smile. She’s young. Younger than my mother. I’ve never seen any woman like her before.

  My father walks away. I pick up my suitcase again and scramble after him.

  Security checks everything in my case. Every toy. Every book. Once we’re through, we board a lift and begin our ascent.

  ‘Ouch!’ I complain, as my ears pop.

  ‘Don’t worry, I doubt you’ll be coming and going from here very often,’ my father says, noticing my discomfort.

  ‘Daddy, the lady. Why was she different?’ I ask.

  My father smiles. It’s not an expression I’d seen on his face many times before.

  ‘Different how?’ he asks, seeming genuinely interested in me for the first time today.

  I take a moment to think how best to describe it. ‘She’s pretty,’ I say.

  My father chuckles. ‘Indeed. Very pretty for a dead woman,’ he says.

  ‘Dead?’ I ask, not understanding.

  ‘Yes. Stephanie, the real Stephanie, is dead. The person you just met was not real, just a projection of reality.’ He smiles.

  I don’t understand what he’s saying.

  The lift doors open and I step into my new home for the first time, but one question pops into my mind. Did I just talk to a ghost?

  When I open my eyes I’m blinded by an intense white light.

  It’s cold and my body itches under whatever material is pulled over me.

  ‘Sssh. I’ve nearly finished, my dear,’ a soft voice says kindly from somewhere behind the light. ‘Must have been quite a malfunction.’

  ‘Malfunction?’ I ask. The voice is female so I’m not on one of the medical floors. I can only be in the Dome.

  ‘Yes, the report says that the equipment malfunctioned in the studio during shutdown. Don’t worry if you can’t remember. It’s quite normal for some memory loss after a head injury,’ the Mother explains. I can’t work out who she is: her face is hidden behind the light she’s working with.

  ‘So that’s the spin he’s put on this little accident , is it?’ I chuckle.

  ‘He?’ the Mother asks.

  ‘Dr Wells. My father.’

  ‘Well, I’m afraid I don’t have any more information about the accident to give you, young man, but whatever happened, you need to rest,’ she orders, as she finishes the final stitch on my forehead. She switches off the blinding circular light and I finally catch a glimpse of the fine wrinkles that decorate her face.

  ‘Mother Kadi,’ I say, sitting up slightly so I can look at her properly. Her marble-like eyes have a watery shimmer, reflecting the room. It’s a magical quality, almost enchanting. Her thinning skin radiates experience and knowledge as her lips curl into a motherly smile. Her face is a story, each wrinkle a sentence written into her skin over time, beckoning you to read it, to study it.

  ‘I thought I told you to rest,’ she says.

  ‘I will. I was just wondering why I’m here and not on one of the medical floors below.’ I sound casual.

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t have the answer to that question either. When Miss Silva gives us an order we simply obey,’ she says calmly, walking towards the door followed by two other women whom I hadn’t seen in the shadows. Mothers Tabia and Kimberley. Even unconscious, beaten half to death, a man is not trusted to be alone with a woman. Especially not in the Dome. Not after the Potential Number Two disaster.

  ‘Rest. Miss Silva will be in to see you in a few moments,’ Mother Kadi says, as she leaves the room. The door hisses shut and the lock clicks, sealing me inside. She places her hand on the glass and I catch her eye as the glass begins to frost. Just before its transparency fades completely she gives me a subtle, comforting wink. I’m not sure what it means but it fills me with warmth as my head hits the pillow. I’m trying not to think about what Miss Silva’s visit might entail.

  I’m standing on the Drop, dangling my feet over the edge as I look down at the distant city below. My shoes swing back and forth as I watch hundreds of workers study each pixel on the screens, cleaning and replacing them in preparation for Eve’s first day in the Dome.

  As my foot swings back it catches on the bottom of the metallic ledge and my shoe slips from my small foot, falling into the world below.

  Suddenly it stops, hovering in mid-air just a few metres below the Drop, caught in a seemingly invisible force field.

  The workers are too busy to notice. I turn to see my father and Vivian speaking at the other end of the walkway, arguing, it seems, from my father’s flushed cheeks.

  I look back down at my floating shoe. I think I can get it. I climb over the railings that surround the Drop and stand on the polished metal but my sock slips and I fall. Although I’m aware of the illusion, my body still reacts as though I’m plummeting to my death. It’s an awful sensation and I let out a small yelp.

  I hit the screens hard and the ones I’m lying on flicker under my weight. I look up. No one has noticed. The team of lab-coated men obsessively polishing the screens are too preoccupied with their task. I stand and take a step. Then another. I’m walking across the fake sky, each step feeling unnatural as my feet shatter the illusion they are building for Eve. I reach down and pick up my lost shoe.

  ‘Bram!’ a distant voice calls. I look around and see no one.

  ‘Bram!’ it calls again, as I slip on my shoe. The voice seems familiar.

  ‘Bram!’ Vivian screams, or is it my father? Perhaps both. I look up and they have seen me. The game is up. I’m in trouble now.

  ‘BRAM!’

  I sit up in shock.

  ‘Bram!’ Vivian Silva is standing at the foot of the bed. ‘Bad dream?’ she asks, as I try to calm my breathing.

  ‘Yeah, one of those that feel real, when you don’t remember falling asleep,’ I explain.

  ‘Those are my favourite,’ she replies, running her fingers across the metal bed frame. ‘Those dreams are the only escape from this reality sometimes.’ She looks troubled. I’ve not seen her like this before; it doesn’t suit her.

  ‘Your father is a complicated man.’ She changes the subject abruptly, not looking me in the eye.

  I’ve known Miss Silva since I was a kid, when she first employed my father and we moved to the Tower, but I don’t see her much now. Of course, she’s a busy woman. Being responsible for halting the extinction of the human race has made her the most powerful person on the planet. Governments obey her, royalty bow to her, religious figures fear her. Getting a meeting with her is near impossible, so spending quality time with me is hardly at the top of her list of priorities. It means I don’t know her like I used to, but I can still sense when something’s not quite right.

  ‘I know he does things sometimes that are –’

  ‘Crazy.’ I interrupted her, which I’ve never done before. I don’t think many people interrupt her.

  ‘– out of line,’ she continues calmly. ‘Sometimes his actions are uncalled for, his temper uncontrollable, and the way he treats you can be unacceptable. But he’s trying his best to deal with the pressure we all face. Unfortunately, as his son, you get the physical fallout of that pressure.’

  ‘Yeah, and I’ve got the scars to prove it,’ I say, pointing to the bandage covering my forehead.

  Vivian looks away, as
though she’s almost ashamed to see me like this.

  ‘You know your father better than anyone, Bram. He likes to control things, for life to be planned and predictable. When events don’t go smoothly, when life isn’t the way he planned it, he finds it difficult to deal with. Particularly when that involves you, Bram.’ She swipes her hand and audio starts playing. It’s Holly’s voice. My voice, as Eve hears it.

  ‘My father is … controlling. Our relationship is difficult. ’

  Vivian swipes again and it stops.

  I bow my head in shame. Not only did I break protocol, I criticized my father openly for everyone watching to hear.

  ‘I imagine those words would be difficult to take from your son,’ Vivian suggests. ‘They are also potentially extremely damaging for Eve.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry,’ I say honestly. ‘It won’t happen again.’

  ‘It won’t. It mustn’t,’ Vivian commands, suddenly seeming more like the woman I know. ‘This is a warning, Bram. Not from your father, from me. I won’t play games with you. I won’t hit you. But if you break protocol again there will be serious repercussions for you and for Hartman. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Silva,’ I say, like a naughty schoolboy in front of the headmistress.

  ‘Once you have recovered you will be escorted back to your dorm and today’s event will not be discussed with anyone.’ She walks towards the door, which swishes open automatically.

  ‘Rest, my boy,’ she says, as she disappears into the Dome. The frosted-glass door closes and locks behind her. She’s never spoken to me like that before. Years of running this place have made her cold, but I guess even the thickest ice has cracks.

  17

  Eve

  My step is lighter, yet more determined, on the stairs leading up to my room after dinner. For days I’ve had this heaviness hanging over me, but sending Mother Nina off today and being able to thank her has left me less encumbered with guilt and sadness. Hope begins to regrow.

  The questions that have formed over the last few days invigorate me into moving forward. As does my Holly. I’ve become increasingly aware of how much I value that friendship and enjoy being with her. The knowledge that she is Bram hasn’t drifted far from my mind, so I want to start figuring out what is going on in this building.

  It’s because I’m feeling like this that I go to my bed and reach beneath my pillow.

  I pull out my mother’s notebook, my fingertips stroking the front cover. Opening the page I reread the first entry, then turn to the next.

  I’ve been here before. Not with a girl, but with a boy. Seven boys, in fact. I’m sad to say that each of your brothers died in utero. I birthed them all and wept while I held their frail bodies in my arms before they were taken from me. I was so heartbroken. The grief overwhelmed me. I’d failed at being a mother even though I never got to do the things that mothers should, like changing nappies, worrying over when to give solid food or hearing my children tell me they loved me. Instead I got nothing but dispiriting loss.

  Our dream of having children began to appear impossible, even though no one could tell your father and me what was happening and why we were having to say goodbye to those tiny souls so prematurely. We gave up hope. We couldn’t risk the same thing happening again and again. My body was considered useless, so my doctor and the team at the hospital wrote me off, like an old car with a faulty engine. We said we were happy not to try again, to leave it there. I couldn’t face another goodbye. I couldn’t face another midwife giving me ‘that look’ at yet another routine scan. I couldn’t bear to go through another fruitless labour. I felt weak, unhappy and empty. I had to let go of that dream.

  It wasn’t easy, but once the decision was made I felt relieved not to be consumed with longing. Your father and I fell deeper in love, something I’d never thought possible. He loved me in spite of my flaws and failings. He loved ME. We’ve been happy. Really, so very, very happy.

  A month ago I went to the doctor. I was constantly bloated, my breasts were hurting, I was having regular mood swings and was often a little nauseous. A lot of my girlfriends have been going through ‘the change’ so I’d been putting it all down to that, but I was worried it was something more and wanted to know for certain.

  I laughed so hard when the doctor handed me a pregnancy test – your dad said he heard me from the waiting room. I dutifully peed and headed back to the doctor without waiting for the result. I even handed it to her with an air of ‘This is ridiculous.’ I didn’t expect her to say ‘Yes, just as I thought,’ and send me off to be scanned, but that was exactly what happened.

  In that moment I felt fearful and anxious as I collected your father and went to the specialist. Pregnant again. I cried. Your father did too. We were in shock. Then, within seconds, we were laughing in each other’s arms, unable to believe this had happened when we hadn’t planned it. It felt like a gift.

  I held my breath as the technician glided her ultrasound stick over my skin while looking at the screen in front of her. I know I was preparing myself for the worst, because that was what I knew from past experience – all hope and joy eradicated when she muttered the inevitable ‘I’m sorry.’

  But the stick kept moving and she kept clicking away at the keypad, locking in numbers and measurements.

  The gasp was almost comical. ‘I’ll be right back,’ she said, all fingers and thumbs, the stick wobbling out of her hand and landing on the floor. Your father and I looked at each other in confusion. It didn’t feel like she was about to tell me my baby had died. It felt special. And it was. Five minutes later four other members of staff entered the room and watched the technician repeat the scan.

  ‘See?’ she said, looking up at them.

  They all turned to me and your father. Their expressions were priceless. Honestly, I’ll never forget those gaping jaws.

  Eventually Vivian stepped forward and introduced herself, then said something along the lines of ‘Rather remarkably, Mrs Warren, you’re expecting a girl!’

  Your dad nearly fainted on the spot, but I just cried. Let’s blame the hormones. Instead of sending us home they asked us to stay in for a few days so I could be monitored properly. Given my history and the fact I’m having a geriatric pregnancy (geri-bloody-atric), I said yes without the slightest hesitation. That was a month ago and I haven’t left since. They haven’t forced me. In fact, it was me who said I wouldn’t mind having regular scans and being taken care of. Plus it’s gone crazy outside. Your dad tried to go home one day to grab some things, but there were floods of people downstairs wanting to talk to him, all asking questions about me and you. The world’s gone nuts. I think we’re happy here. It’s safe, and Vivian’s been a great help in dealing with everything so that we don’t have to.

  So here we are. It’s my eighth pregnancy, I’ve been here before, but this time it feels completely different.

  It is completely different.

  I can’t believe I’m six months pregnant with a girl. I hope this is the start of things changing out there so that you can have a happy and fulfilled future.

  I love you so much already, and am doing all I possibly can to get you here safely.

  Love,

  Your Mumma Xx

  It’s a story I’ve heard before, but it’s so much better reading my mum’s account of it. It’s heart-breaking yet funny. I wonder if this is how she’d have shared the account every birthday if she were still here. Would she still go on about not having a clue she was expecting me and make me laugh by reenacting the sonographer’s shocked reaction? And would she bridge the gap between Vivian and me? Mum seems to have been glad of her support, even welcoming it. She didn’t seem bogged down with the pressure of what was expected of her. Instead she sounds like a mother excitedly awaiting the birth of her baby. Another baby she would never watch growing up as she had dreamt of doing.

  I close the book.

  That’s enough for now.

  18

  Bram


  I’m feeling better but I’m still signed off from piloting Holly. The last three days I’ve spent inside that small room in some obscure corner of the Dome have felt more like imprisonment than recovery. I guess it was a prison. I was sent there to keep me silent, to protect my father. Sending me down to medical would have raised too many suspicions. The Mothers were the safest option. It broke protocol but they don’t ask questions.

  I’m pleased to be back in the dorm, back with Hartman.

  ‘Dude, it sucked. They’ve not let me leave the dorm,’ he explains. ‘For three days! ’ He notices my lack of sympathy.

  I point to the small red mark on my forehead from my father’s beating, which is now little more than some barely noticeable scar tissue, thanks to Mother Kadi’s expert sewing. Of course, if I’d been sent to medical there’d be no trace of anything, thanks to the technology they have access to, but I’ve never been shy of scars. I run my rough fingers over the pale, bumpy skin on the back of my left hand.

  I’m ten years old again and my father lashes down on my knuckles. My tears don’t stop him.

  ‘You must never speak about yourself to Eve,’ he growls through his clenched teeth. ‘You are not Bram when you are with her. You are not my son when you are with her.’

  You are not my son.

  You are not my son.

  I’m back in our dorm rubbing my hand. Eve’s not the only one with a physical reminder of her father.

  ‘Jeez, he hit you hard this time, Bram,’ Hartman says, lowering his voice.

  ‘They all hurt the same.’ I shrug.

  A slip of paper slides under the thin gap beneath our door.

  Hartman and I look at each other. An assignment? Are we allowed to get back to work at last?

  ‘Briefing, tonight nineteen hundred hours,’ Hartman says, reading the single line of typed instructions from the paper. He looks at me and smiles. ‘I guess we’re back!’

  The briefing room is alive with the usual whispered excitement that follows any unforeseen event in the Tower. That Hartman and I have been mysteriously absent for three days has not gone unnoticed.