Orth
Max Time 60.2.60
“This is it.”
Brother Richard Blomfeld, SpaceShip Pilot, stood framed in the open doorway looking back into the room. The row of colourful merit badges pinned to the left side of his sky blue Space Academy uniform jacket gave proof of his personal accomplishments, while the small silver horizontal ellipse with a circle inside of it that gleamed from where it was placed precisely on the centre of his forehead, showed that he owned Mem.
He lifted one arm bent at the elbow and glanced down at his multi-function Wristo. “Yes,” he said as raised his eyes, “it's time for me to go. No! Don't move my darling!” The plea came hastily. “Stay right there. You're so beautiful standing there the way you are now. And if you come too close I may never leave!” A wry smile gave credence to this statement. “We've already said our good byes and parting isn't easy, not for either of us. But from all the Space Pilots available here on Orth, I'm the one who's been chosen to fly off into space, and that, my dear, is an honour I just can't refuse. I'm sure I won't be gone long though. Our new X Drive is such a time saver.” Stooping, he retrieved his kit bag from where it lay on the floor beside him, swinging it over one shoulder as he straightened up. “And if ever you feel lonely, just do as I intend to do and replay this day. Or any of the other wonderful days we've spent together. For Praise be to Max, you're always with me in my Mem, and I'm always with you in yours.”
He reached to take his cap from where it hung on one of the hooks beside the door and after settling it on his head at a jaunty angle, said cheerfully, “Wait for me my darling, I'll be back.” Then, after a final reassuring smile and a wave of one hand he turned away and walked out, closing the door firmly behind him.
Max Time 5.2.70
The image of the closed door displayed on the large HoloScreen set above and beyond the altar in the Temple of Sister Anastasia the Reclaimer gradually dissolved and disappeared as the picture of a star studded velvety black night sky replaced it. Soft orchestral string music and sweet perfumes emanating from secret sources mingled together to drift through the lofty vaulted ceiling space above the heads of the witnesses sitting in the rows of pews watching. All wore several merit badges on their chests as evidence of their status, and each bore the sign of Mem. Its placement on the forehead indicated that the wearer was equipped with the standard Orth Mem device, a gift from Max the Overseer fitted soon after birth to all. Mem was capable of instantly and accurately recording every sight they saw and and sound they heard, and then transmitting the data to the storage banks of the Wristos everybody owned, before its nightly automatic downloading into permanent Max Mem. The basic models of Wristos were another of Max's gifts worn fastened round the forearm.
Three spotlights flicked on, one to pick out the altar draped in shining gold cloth and the others on the two Celebrants, both robed in plain pristine white, standing behind tall lecterns. The Brother on the right stood silent while the Sister on the left initiated the next stage of the ceremony.
“Brothers and Sisters,” she said solemnly, “we are gathered here today to mark the death of Sister Jane Blomfeld, citizen of Unity. Those were the most precious Mems of her life, Blessed be her Mem.” She rang a small silver bell in her raised left hand, while the Brother Celebrant rang a similar bell held in his right hand in unison. As the tinkling echoes faded the Sister continued with the formalities. “Behold here now the final official Mem of the will of Sister Jane Blomfeld, authorisation number three oh six bar four three seven five seven seven recorded by Max, Overseer of Unity on Orth.”
The HoloScreen brightened as the full length image of a woman, standing on a patch of evenly mown lushly green grass, surrounded by banks of flowers and gracefully arching trees beneath a cerulean blue sky smeared with wispy, pale pink and white clouds appeared. She began to speak, her amplified voice sounding clearly above the muted music.
“I, Sister Jane Blomfeld, first wife, mother of one and Class Four Agritech, of Apartment three eleven, Pyramid twenty three, Unity City East Quarter, having satisfied all legal measures of sanity, request every citizen assembled here to Mem this, my will. To my only and much loved son Alfred, I give my collected Mems in the hope that he may gain from them an appreciation of the father he never knew. To all others here, I thank them for their attendance and ask that they forgive me any personal offence I may have unknowingly committed and offer them my sincere thanks for the patience they have shown me during my long years of suffering.”
The music rose in volume as Jane clasped her hands together in supplication cast her eyes downward and said, “Freed from the flesh, I hereby surrender my body for reclamation. Praise be to Max.”
“Praise be to Max,” repeated the Celebrants.
“Praise be to Max,” echoed the witnesses as they moved to kneel on the soft cushioned pads placed conveniently on the low racks fixed behind the pews in front of them.
A choir of voices singing of the infinite gratification that accompanies final dissolution now joined in with the orchestra, while a whiff from the burning of sweet smelling incense permeated through the air. Then, as Jane's image gradually became engulfed in an increasing brilliance that spilled out from the screen in a great flood of white light down upon the rows of heads bowed before it, the sound swelled until it filled the temple with a resonating crescendo of polyphonic harmony. Just when the effects reached a peak of eye dazzling luminescence and ear punishing thunder they ceased so abruptly as to leave the kneelers in total darkness and absolute silence but for the residual reverberations ringing through their heads, and the after effect of spots marring the vision of those unwise enough not to have kept their heads down and their eyes firmly closed.
Slowly the temple lighting returned to normal and the HoloScreen reverted to its usual display, an icon of a white robed Sister Anastasia standing in the same garden as was previously shown. The two Celebrants with their lecterns had vanished, leaving behind only the altar where Jane's gift to her son secure in a regulation Mem box with her name inscribed on its lid, now reposed. As everyone settled back in their pews again, Alf stood up from his place in the front row of mourners and walked forward to the altar. Here he halted and, with straight eyebrows screwed together in concentration above intently focused on the task eyes, carefully picked up his inheritance in both hands. Hoping that no one watching noticed their slight nervous tremble, he raised the square container toward the HoloScreen icon and gave the required thanks for the Mems speech he'd recently learned for the occasion, his voice sounding somewhat high pitched and thin after the preceding tumult.
“I, Alfred Blomfeld, am truly grateful for what I have received, and give credit where credit is due. Thanks be to my mother, thanks be to the Celebrants, thanks be to Sister Anastasia, thanks be to all those gathered here. Praise be to Max.”
“Praise be to Max,” came the response.
Alf turned from the altar and with his mothers Mem box held reverently before him marched without pause or backward glance down the long aisle of the inner sanctum, through the automatically opening double doors into the smaller anteroom and across to the high arch of the Temple's doorless threshold where he exited out onto the footpath. All the witnesses, most of whom were adults near the same age as his recently deceased mother, followed silently behind him in a suitably dignified procession.
On reaching the kerb, Alf halted uncertain as to what to do next. It was late afternoon of an autumn day and although the rays of the lowering sun bathed the upper floors of the pyramid above the Temple with its rosy glow, the footpath with its overhead cover of tinted krystal canopies built to provide both weather protection for pedestrians and to gather daytime thermal energy, had become filled with dusky shadows. Even as Alf stood beneath them, the rows of small lamps fixed to the canopies undersides for lighting at night suddenly brightened, their radiance falling on Alf's short straight dark hair with its unruly tuft that stuck up in the front however much he tried to comb it flat. A number of black robed and bonneted women, witnesses who regarded themselves as having had a particularly close friendship with his mother collected about him, while the stern faced men, black suited and with their broad brimmed hats formerly removed for the ceremony now back on their heads, formed a separate group a short distance away. Alf looked hopefully toward them but didn't dare join them; for he was not yet of an age where his uninvited presence among them was regarded as socially acceptable.
Sister Maude was the first to speak. She gave a deep sigh of satisfaction as she dabbed discretely at her eyes with a delicately lace trimmed recyclable tissue available from the Temple Spenser for one token each and said, “That was indeed a truly beautiful service, one of the finest I've ever attended.”
Sister Joan smiled gently at the bereaved boy. “It certainly was. And your performance did you great credit Alf.”
The other women voiced their agreement, bonnets nodding in approval.
“I'm sure it will be noted and marked in the Mems of Max for special consideration,” said Sister Clara.
“A fitting ceremony,” agreed Sister Maud. “Especially with the showing of Jane's most precious Mems.”
Sister Jessica snorted disdainfully. “Fitting indeed! We all have Mem of her watching the final moments of Richard's departure.”
“And that's exactly how the EMPs found her. Sitting in front of the HoloScreen with her Mems showing!” Sister Joan confided, her raised eyebrows emphasising the importance of this revelation.
“Of course it was Jane's Mems of Richard that eased the pain of her loneliness you know,” said Sister Maude.
“That's so true!” Sister Joan fervently agreed. “Jane's love for Richard continued undiminished by his absence, and it was to her credit that she remained faithful to him right to the end. Life was never easy for her, being the wife of the first Orthman lost in space. One cannot help but admire such devotion.”
A sad shaking of bonnets accompanied the collective sigh that rose from most of those gathered.
“Personally I think Jane wasted her life away frozen in a bubble of time with a selected continuously played repetition of her past,” said Sister Jessica the one exception, her thin lips tight with disapproval.
Sister Joan clasped her hands before her slight bosom, her pained face expressive of her words. “She did, she did! And it was so awfully awfully sad! Richard, always Richard! Framed in the doorway, over and over again!” Another sigh escaped her. “I feel it was the unremitting anguish of a lost love that finally broke Jane's heart and there's no cure ever been found for that. She was in the EMP's medi-capsule within minutes of her Wristo's emergency signal, but it was already far too late. There they were, with all the latest in life saving equipment, and there was nothing they could do to help.”
“The remedy was available earlier,” Sister Jessica observed acidly, her tone sharpened by her opinion. “She was not unattractive and we all tried telling her to accept one of the many excellent offers she received.”
“True,” confirmed Sister Clara. “She was a sweet little thing and there were no lack of suitors after Richard failed to return. No doubt she could have made an excellent match with any one of them, but she still loved Richard so very deeply that no other man could ever replace him.”
“Then she bought her fate upon herself,” Sister Jessica stated with the firmness of self conviction.
Sister Maude placed an arm around Alf's slim young shoulders. “You must always Mem the best of your mother,” she said to him, “and think well of her. There is obviously one here among us who is too easily given over to idle criticism without proper consideration of others when they speak. I apologise for such ill manners.” She frowned at her targeted companion over Alf's head. “Our collective failure to help your mother in her sorrow does none of us any credit! But now that she has gone from us, it is the duty, and indeed the pleasure, of my husband and I to offer our home and our care to her young orphaned son.”
“So Brother Don and yourself are willing to accept guardianship of Alf?” asked Sister Joan.
“Of course we are,” Sister Maude said, and she smiled down at Alf.
“Quite rightly too,” Sister Jessica said nodding approvingly. “The boy needs a living father figure in his Mem for a healthy model of family relationships.”
Brother Don's heavier tones broke into the conversation as he and the other men joined them. “Come along now, time is passing.”
“We must get on with the duties at hand,” added Brother Tony taking Sister Jessica's hand and placing it firmly under his arm. “You have lingered quite long enough for your farewells to be spoken. Look, there's the Chaser waiting queue.”
A row of adult size tricycles capable of carrying two passengers in the wide seat behind the pedaller, stood ready nearby. There were always citizens here, coming and going from the various offices of Unity City's Administrative South Quarter, so provision had been made for their custom.
“Chaser, Brother?” the pedaller of the first vehicle called in anticipation of the request.
With many solemn ‘Max be with you's and ‘Praise be to Max's the group broke up to be carried off in the Chasers until only Alf, Sister Maude and Brother Don remained.
“Have you informed Alf of our proposal?” Brother Don asked his wife.
“It has been spoken of,” she replied.
“How do you view the arrangement Alfred?”
“I willingly accept it and thank you both, sir and ma'am,” Alf answered, “and I promise to do my very best to ensure that neither of you regret the offer.”
“I'm sure you will,” nodded Brother Don in agreement.
“A cube for your use has been officially allocated with us in apartment number one seven, Pyramid fourteen, Unity City East Quarter,” said Sister Maude.
“Thank you ma'am.”
“And you have our permission to enter,” added Brother Don.
“Thank you sir,” said Alf respectfully.
Doors were never locked in Unity for no one ever entered another persons cube or apartment without having been given leave to do so first.
“Our home is now your home so your attendance at all family gatherings is expected,” continued Brother Don.
“And rations will be ready within the hour,” Sister Maude smiled.
“Thank you sir and ma'am. I'll not be late.”
There was just enough time for Alf to collect his property from the transients accommodation complex where he had been lodged ever since the apartment he formerly shared with his mother had become the scene of a minor tragedy. Tucking his mother's Mem box securely under his arm, he set off on foot across Central Square past the statue of Brother Smith, Chief Architect of Unity City, whose larger then life likeness holding a block of clear krystal in one cermic, stone still, outstretched hand, stood atop a column in the middle of the square reflective pool in front of the South Quarter Administrative pyramid and Tower.
Orth's basic standard linear measure of one bit was stated to be the exact distance between the tip of Brother Smith's cermic nose and the bright spot of eternally shining light in the precise centre of the block he held aloft. Orth used an eight base counting system because although other number bases were known and taught, the eight base interfaced directly with Max, and it was Max who kept strict account of all things on Orth. So eight became ten and the numbers eight and nine were omitted from the Orthian count. Their system of calculation multiplied the basic standard of one bit, so that ten bits equalled one ubit, one hundred equalled one tubit and one thousand equalled one qubit. Brother Smith used these measures when designing Unity and the citizens gave him much credit for having so cleverly devised the harmonious magnificence that surrounded him simply by counting the bits.
The site for the city, a broad sparsely treed plain between five round topped hills, had been selected for its solid rock base and natural evenness. Brother Smith planned Unity on a regular square grid of streets with a single step pyramid covering each block, and a twenty block empty space in the middle that he named Central Square. Two broad avenues crossed at right angles here, dividing the city up into its four districts; East, North, West and South Quarter according to its physical orientation. It was built well above the flood level of a near by river which for most of the year merely dribbled it's meagre contents out through boulder strewn multiple mouths into the sea. Only in the spring, when the snow on the distant mountain peaks thawed did the trickles turn into flooding torrents allowing for ample supplies of fresh water to be piped from upstream into the reservoirs hollowed out from the solid rock beneath each city block.
The pyramids were all designed round the basic two bits a side cube stacked seven levels high with a square atrium in the middle. Constructed from stylox beams with cermet panels and clear sheets of krystal, cubes were prefabricated to a uniform standard in outlying settlements where the raw materials were available. They locked together in various configurations according to requirements, slotting into the already erected pyramid shaped skeleton of beams and accessing internal fittings for shared services such as ducted heating and cooling, water, power and waste disposal. Pyramid tops were not stepped but slanted and fitted with an arrangement of krystal panels which could be opened, closed or covered to allow for light and air to enter. Movable mirrored surfaces inside reflected the gathered photons back down into the interior atrium making any artificial lighting unnecessary during a normal day. Where ever possible, solar energy gathering panels covered the exterior sides of the pyramids, while their internal spaces served a variety of uses; apartments, offices, schools, shops, small assembly plants and so on.
Citizens of Unity were each allotted a living space of two cubes for personal use, plus a shared equivalent in the apartment complexes. These were never situated above the fifth level of the pyramids or below the first, with the exterior step design allowing them to be set back one above the other. This gave all the apartment occupants a view plus access to the outdoor area formed by the roof of the apartment on the level below. Being partly or completely covered over with krystal and/or solar panels, meant that this common usage space proved popular for the growing of a great variety of plants in containers. The large inner atrium of the pyramid provided sheltered access, both vertical and horizontal, to all levels and room for plants.
City blocks were designed to function independently as far as was possible, having only the underground rapid transport system and freight distribution tunnels to connect them. In the hollowed out caverns beneath each, power was accumulated and distributed, water and other supplies were stored, and waste processing, reclamation and recycling took place. They were also used for the cultivation, under carefully controlled conditions, of suitable plants which, when augmented by supplies brought in from outlying settlements, allowed for the production of the basic, freely provided, nutritious rations essential for the adequate feeding of the citizens.
Every Quarter had its own management centre and because Unity was a city devoted to flight, the East, North and West provided apartments and workrooms for individuals skilled in the three associated areas; engineering, fabrication and communication. The South Quarter was reserved for general administration, public amenities, and living quarters for the citizens involved in their operation. Most of the pyramids' gleaming tops were identical in appearance except for those furthest from the centre of the city at the four outer corners, where bright flags flew from poles poking up from open structures at their tops; yellow for East, red for North, green for West and blue for South. The Administration pyramid, situated on the inner corner of Central Square in the South Quarter was also different, uniquely so in fact. It displayed the tallest most imposing tower of all because Max the Overseer of Orth and the four Elders who attended to the everyday functions of the entire city were located here. Visible from nearly everywhere in Unity, the four slanting tapering faces that sprouted skyward from it's centre were lavishly decorated with symbols indicative of the four Quarters of Unity and instead of flying a flag, a great orb filled with softly glowing light was delicately balanced on its fine, needle point apex. So ingeniously devised was this wonder, that from whatever direction it was viewed a huge eye always appeared to be gazing directly back at the beholder.
Alf hurried past the Administration tower's splendour without a second glance. He didn't want to be late entering into his newly arranged cube allocation, for the Wrights were an exemplary family. Brother Don was a Second Class East Quarter Master while Sister Maude worked as an Educational Mem compiler, and Peter, their son, was a school friend. Though still sadly aware of the absence of his mother, Alf now felt that he had something to look forward to.
Max Time 57.10.72
Five of them, two adults and three children, were gathered in the Wrights apartment for the Yearsend WinterFest. Brother Don and Sister Maude sat opposite each other at the two ends of the table while their daughter Angela was seated on one side and their son Peter with Alf next to him on the other. Alf's addition to the family meant that it now exceeded the usual size. Population numbers were strictly regulated on Orth, allowing no increase above that which the limited planetary resources could adequately sustain. This meant that prospective parents had to have prior permission before having any children.
Following immediately on upon a child's birth and its gift of perfect Mem, both parents and infant took their assigned places in a local communal creche where trained assistants could give advice and help as and when needed during the baby's developmentally crucial beginning of life experience. Once they had achieved a sufficient level of competence in the task of small child rearing, families were allotted cubes in apartments alongside others with young of a similar age. As soon as they were able to walk, the children began attending classes for longer and longer periods at Mem Learning Institutions. Eventually, as they grew older, they resided for most of the year in these institutions, sharing cubes and being cared for by teams of dedicated teaching professionals and returning to their personal home cubes only for weekends and the four seasonal Fests. Angela was at the present time receiving her education at an MLI for girls, while Peter and Alf, who were both two years older then her, had attended the same MLI for boys up until their recent graduation. Next would come their training for whatever profession they wished to enter provided their recorded aptitude deemed it suitable.
This particular day of the year was the one when every boy and girl on Orth was freed from the rigours of learning to join with their parents in the customary farewell of the past and greeting of the future marked by feasting on traditional Yearsend Winterfest Special Krusty Korner rations and oranges. Alf and the Wrights sat with backs stiffly straight, hands folded in their laps and eyes downcast toward the laden table, as Brother Don solemnly intoned the prayer of gratitude.
“For the rations that we are about to receive, may we all be truly thankful. Praise be to Max. Peace be on Orth.”
“Praise be to Max. Peace be on Orth,” the family repeated.
This was the signal for them to begin consuming their KKs and because they were all rather hungry, everyone had thoroughly masticated and swallowed several delicious mouthfuls before anyone said anything.
Brother Don opened the conversation. “Tell me now, how have you been spending this past year Peter?” he asked.
The question was a pertinent one as tomorrow, the last day of the final month of the year, was the time of Reckoning when all the tokens in circulation were returned to the Administrative Headquarters for the annual counting and replacement if wear or accidental damage deemed it necessary. Max, whose mathematical skills were a model of summary perfection, undertook this task. Although the every day basic needs of everyone on Orth, accommodation, sustenance, clothing, education, transport, utilities, medical services and so on were freely provided, tokens were also used. Distributed weekly and graded in number according to the status and age of the recipient, Orthians used this allowance for the purchase of personal requisites and those extras that expressed individual character and preference.
Peter looked up from his ration. “I'm confident of a good balance, father,” he replied. “I made full use of my surplus tokens in the purchase of oranges for my MLI tutors, a pleasurable experience all round.”
Those Orthians who ended the year with neither credit or debit were rewarded with a Badge of Balance, an essential qualification for those wishing to attain or maintain a place in the upper echelons of Brother or Sister hood. Those of high status who failed to gain an annual BoB were demoted, so Brother Don, in his position as a Second Class East Quarter Master, took great care in ensuring that his token account always remained perfectly balanced. “Excellent, excellent,” he smiled. “Another BoB will count well toward your receiving the Student of the Year award in your class during the ceremony tomorrow. It's Space Academy for you my son, no doubt about it.”
Many students applied for training in the Academy but only the highest scholastic achievers were admitted. Theirs was the privilege of receiving instruction in aero- and astro-nautics, as pilots were always needed for the aircraft carrying freight and passengers to and from the small outlying settlements as well as for flying up to and down from Trinity Space Station which during its fixed orbit around Orth, passed directly over Unity at regular intervals. Every Academy graduate also hoped that when the SpaceShip was ready they might be chosen to make Mem history by visiting another world.
“Speaking of space,” said Sister Maude. “I understand that probe seven has signalled back some interesting news.”
“Now where on Orth did you come across that information?”
“From the HoloScreens 'What's New Today' show of course,” replied Sister Maude. “It's an excellent way of keeping up with current affairs, and just recently they devoted a whole programme to the latest developments in the search for intelligent life among the stars.” She smiled at her husband.
“Is it true then father? Has something been found?” asked Peter.
Brother Don paused to sip from his sqube of Special Yearsend WinterFest Tonic before saying, “It's true that probe seven has returned what might be considered as positive data, but the analysis is not yet complete. Promising as it may appear, it would be a grave error of judgement to read too much into it.”
“How exciting!” Sister Maude said happily. “I can hardly wait for the day when the Mems from such a venture become available. What a glorious era of new educational enlightenment it'll be for all of us here on Orth!” She smiled happily, well pleased at the thought of such a bright future.
“But what of the new SpaceShip father?” asked Peter. “Do you know when it might be ready?”
“Progress is being made my son, I have that on reliable authority,” Brother Don answered. “Right now, we're waiting for the technicians to complete their adjustments to some minor problems they found in the Astronautical Continuum Calibrators which are, unfortunately, proving to be something of a lengthy problem. When one takes into consideration the setbacks resulting from past mistakes, one soon realises how essential it is that the new ship be proven completely safe before our best are sent off Orth in it. Which could take some years they say.” He gave a small sad sigh, before brightening up again and saying, “Mind you Peter, the delay could be to your advantage.”
“How so father?”
“Because it might well give you enough time to graduate from Space Academy right on cue, and then, just think of it. There you'll be, Peter Wright, the first Orthian to set foot on an alien planet!” Brother Don looked expectantly toward his son, hoping to see an excited reaction.
“I'm thinking of it father,” said Peter, politely but a little distantly.
He sat facing the far end of the family living quarters, his unfocused gaze fixed on the HoloScreen which stood there. Standard to all apartments in Unity, it displayed an artfully constructed and pertinent to the season image of Sister Abundacia the Generous dressed in her quaintly styled long green gown. She was smiling and holding out, in the universal gesture of offering, the perfect golden globe of a ripe orange balanced on the palm of her open hand.
There was a small silence while everyone except Peter, who was still thinking about what flying away into space might really be like, continued eating, before Brother Don, having finished off several more flavoursome mouthfuls, spoke again. “That's a wonderful piece of work my dear,” he said nodding toward the five meticulously sculpted oranges in the middle of the table.
The women of Orth used short blunt knives furnished with sharp V shaped notches of differing sizes in the blades to demonstrate their skill at cutting intricate patterns of varying depths into the fruits orange outer skin so as to expose the inner shades of pale orange to white pith. Orange Carving was an art taught at MLIs to every girl on Orth. “Don't you think mother's done well, everyone?” Brother Don glanced round the table at the children to encourage the correct response from them.
“Yes. It's really beautiful mother dear,” offered Angela.
Peter woke from his unsettling dreams of space exploration. “It certainly is mother. I've been admiring it all evening.”
“It's the perfect centre piece ma'am,” Alf added.
“Why thank you everyone,” said Sister Maude in acknowledgement of their compliments. “It gives me great pleasure that you all appreciate my orange carving skills.”
Brother Don nodded his satisfaction and said, “By the way, dear wife, I've been meaning to ask. How are the oranges this year?”
Sister Maude responded by speaking at length on the subject of oranges. After exhibiting her encyclopaedic knowledge of the qualities of the fruit, she finished off with, “They say down at the markets that there was heavy snow on the mountains this year and the cooler weather's the reason for the decrease in supply.”
Brother Don nodded wisely. “Yes, that's global cooling for you. The weather monitors have warned of the possibility of another El Bimbo event and if that's the case we could be on the brink of an ice age!”
“I certainly hope not!” said Sister Maude looking somewhat alarmed.
“Not to worry,” countered Brother Don and he smiled cheerfully at her. “Experts have been wrong before, my dear. Personally I'm of the opinion that no one ever truly knows what the future holds. Why, we may be in for the warmest age on Orth for all anyone can tell.” He took another mouthful of his meal, chewing and swallowing it before saying, “Change is a constant, and that's a proven fact, yet I must admit, my dear wife, that your ration preparation skills have never varied from their original unsurpassed excellence. Peter, take a word of advice from one who knows and find a talented female like your mother when the time comes for you to seek out a wife.”
Sister Maude blushed with pleasure.
Angela looked up from her Individually Graded for Size and Balanced for Nutrition ration of Special KKs. “What if Peter goes off into space?” she said. “Wouldn't his wife be lonely without him? If I had a husband I think I'd prefer him to stay home with me.” She frowned across at Alf from her side of the table and asked, “Are you going to be a Space Cadet too and disappear faster than light?”
“I'd certainly like to be one,” Alf replied, “but when I was small I made a solemn promise to my mother that I'd train to serve as an EMP and never ever apply for a place in the Space Academy. So no.” He shook his head ruefully. “I'll not be vanishing off into the void.”
Sister Maude finished off her ration, placed her recyclable knife and fork neatly side by side on her recyclable plate, picked up her peeler and selected an orange. Carefully she removed the remaining skin from it, dropped the pieces of rind into a separate receptacle to be collected later for recycling, and gave it to Angela to pass down the table to Brother Don. One by one she peeled and handed oranges out to Angela, Peter and Alf, keeping the last one she prepared for herself.
“May the sweetness of the orchard fruit continue to delight us,” she said and they ate their oranges.
A short while later, when they had all finished, Brother Don wiped his fingers and mouth with one of the moist recyclable napkins from the krystal container of them placed on the table for just this purpose and stood up to signal the end of the meal. Everyone followed his example, wiping and standing and then helping to clear away the remnants of their repast into the reclaiming chutes.
“Time for the greatest story ever told,” said Brother Don. “Today they're showing Episode One of Regenesis. It's the latest version by Stanley Stone, so I'm really looking forward to it.”
He folded the table neatly away while the others ordered the chairs into an arc facing the HoloScreen in readiness for the family to enjoy the customary Yearsend WinterFest entertainment. As they selected their chairs, Angela contrived to sit on the one next to Alf.
“I like watching the HoloScreen,” she confided to him, “when it's something that I haven't seen a hundred times already. At school it can be really boring when they keep showing us the same stuff over and over again. If I have to watch any more educational Mems of worthy Earnest Messenger Professor Sisters, I think I may need respite in a Hospice for the Uneasy.”
“Hush now,” said Aunt Maude, as with the sweet chimes of tinkling bells Sister Abundacias image disappeared from the HoloScreen to be replaced by that of Sister Celeste, the information bulletin reader.
“Yearsend WinterFest greetings to all,” she said. “Today, it gives me great pleasure to announce that due to recent advances in food technology, our ration producers will begin the coming year with the distribution of New Nutritionally Improved Krusty Korners. Starting from the day after tomorrow everyone on Orth will be able to enjoy the tastiest rations ever made. Praise be to Max. Peace be on Orth.”
Her picture faded as that of a young boy appeared holding a packet of Krusty Korners. As the boy ripped it open he sniffed the air, smiled and said, “Mmm . . . Marvellous! How I love the smell of KKs in the morning.”
For a few moments longer he continued to smile at the audience before his image faded away and the HoloScreen darkened to a soft velvet black oval.
With a thunderous crash of sound the single word suddenly sprang into existence. Written in tongues of white-hot orange-tipped flame it hung there before them unsupported in mid air, the flickering radiance overwhelming the room and the audience with its brilliance. Then a series of low rhythmic beats pulsed from the sonic emitters and the flames dwindled away, dying down to nothing as the credits written in gleaming gold replaced them.
A picture of swelling blue-green waves tipped with flecks of pale foam appeared gradually advancing upward from the bottom of the HoloScreen until it washed the words completely away. As the water rose, the viewpoint slipped under the surface into the light bright shallows of the heaving sea. Here multitudes of colourful fish swam in twisting darting shoals through the clear turquoise waters among the swaying beds of seaweed, the smallest swiftly fleeing frantic with fear from the gaping snapping jaws of the larger flesh eaters that pursued them. Down into the inky depths of an underwater canyon the picture then sank, down to where strange creatures pulsating with glowing colours floated, and where the great dark shapes of unknown monsters loomed up through the gloom before vanishing silently into the dimness again. Swiftly the scene shifted, rising suddenly upward above the seas sunlit sparkling surface to focus on where a series of rolling waves crested and broke, seething against a stony beach at the foot of towering cliffs. At dizzying speed the sea rushed past below as the HoloScreen view zoomed in on its steep craggy face where screeching birds soared through the air, squawking and squabbling over nesting rights on narrow ledges of dark rock splashed white with their droppings.
Coulter W's sonorous tones rang out above the sounds of their battle. “Long long ago, in the Age of Waste and Inequality, creatures of every size shape and colour fought for their very existence.”
The scene changed abruptly to that of a steaming tropical jungle where, amid a dense tangle of vegetation, numerous unnamed extravagantly exotic flora and fauna preyed upon each other in an endless struggle for survival.
“The inhabitants of these darkest of times were corrupted by a contagious madness. Some starved,” Coulter W continued as the picture changed again to show a trash filled landscape swarming with thin hairy creatures gnawing on nasty scraps scavenged from the putrefying piles of noxious leftovers, “while others had more than they needed.”
Here, a crowd of enormously corpulent males all dressed in the near identical curious costumes which symbolised their power were seated round great tables heavily laden with fabulous foodstuffs. They were guzzling overflowing tankards of colourful potations and gorging themselves on the bewildering assortment laid out for their pleasure.
“Disgusting,” Sister Maude sniffed. “How could they possibly eat so much?”
“Ooh, look!” Angela squealed. “Is that dead animals they're swallowing?”
And it was. Great mouthfuls of greasy gobbets, its origin clearly recognisable by the telling shapes and gruesome bloodiness, dribbled trails of insalubrious juices as gaping jaws chewed and grisly lumps disappeared down baggy throats into hugely distended stomachs.
“Yuk!” said Peter and he pulled his mouth down at the corners to show his aversion.
“Good thing we've already eaten,” Brother Don remarked cheerfully. “Enough to put anyone right off their rations, that is.”
“It was into this world of gross consumption,” said the narrator, “that Beverlee Hills was born.”
The view shifted to show the interior of a maternity hospital's delivery room, where a cone of cold blue light from above bathed the scene beneath it in harsh detail. A semiconscious, piteously moaning female, near naked with a starched stiff green sheet draped over her bulky middle, lay flat on her back on a hard high table. Her legs, both bent at the knee, were clamped wide apart onto two vertical metal rods fixed to the corners at one end. The circle of masked figures hovering close around wore loosely gathered green caps on their heads, matching roomy tops, baggy green trousers and big, white rubber boots. Long aprons were tied at their fronts to protect them from the soil of their practice and the viewers could see clearly see the wickedly gleaming assortment of sharp metal instruments held in their deathly pale gloved hands as they peered down through magnifying lens goggled eyes at the helpless mound of flesh lying in front of them. Menacing banks of burbling and beeping grey metal machines festooned with bundles of thick wiring and sprouting coiling pythons of black concertina folding tubing lurked in the shadows behind them.
“How did they manage without a birthing chamber?” Angela asked.
“Not very well by the look of it,” her mother replied. “Thanks be to our provider for giving us joy instead of pain. Every child on Orth is born in comfort and safety, Praise be to Max.”
The pitiful cry of a new born sounded as the masked monsters bent together, mercifully concealing their dubious activities from the viewers.
“Mother's gone,” growled one of the hunched figures.
Angela's small hand reached out to touch Alf's as the scene faded and Coulter W. continued with the story.
“Beverlee grew up in the sumptuous surroundings of her wealthy father's home, waited on by obsequious servants and educated in the select schools of the privileged. At the age of seventeen she was hailed as a great social beauty.”
A series of glimpses from Beverlee's childhood showing her growth and development accompanied Coulter W's words, culminating in an image of her beside the family swimming pool in the briefest of costumes.
“She hardly looks real,” Sister Maude commented.
“She probably used enhancements,” Brother Don informed his wife. “I learned something about it from the unverified historical Mems when I was in MLI. Curious custom that,” he added thoughtfully, “rearranging themselves as they pleased by adding to their bodies in some places and subtracting from it in others. It seems they cut and stitched at their flesh as if it were clothing!”
Sister Maude shuddered. “Barbaric!”
The familiar story of Beverlee Hills continued on uninterrupted by comment, until Coulter W. told of her meeting with the handsome, incredibly rich, multi-trillion millionaire media mogul, Lord Randolph Hoyst at a cocktail party.
“What's a cocktail?” asked Angela.
“An alcoholic drink. One of many toxic mixtures of mind affecting substances they apparently indulged in,” replied her father.
“Hush now please,” said her mother. “You may ask your questions later.”
They watched in silence as Beverlee and Randolph fell in love at first sight, their passion for each other surmounting every obstacle placed in its path by Beverlee's wicked stepmother, the beautiful but evil Druscilla who wanted Randy as a mate for her own frumpish daughter. Druscilla's attempts to thwart true love with all manner of devilish devices including poisoned underwear, exploding shoes and sharks in the swimming pool, always somehow went astray. Finally, with Druscilla caught in the act of tampering with the brakes on Beverlee's racy red sports car and subsequently being locked securely away in a barred cell, the newly married Lord Randolph and Lady Beverlee Hills-Hoyst celebrated their nuptials together along with hundreds of guests at a grand wedding feast.
It was a magnificent scene. There was the sumptuously decorated dining hall, the long tables draped in white linen piled high with a plenitude of platters filled with exotic foodstuffs and elegantly shaped bottles of the costliest varieties of beverages ever seen. The wedding guests, dressed in finery of the grandest and most expensive available in order to display a recognisable measure of their personal wealth, were obviously enjoying themselves, laughing and talking together without actually saying much of any importance while musicians played popular undistinguished airs that none were positively listening to and a host of uniformed white gloved servants attended to their every consumptive choice.
Just as Beverlee's rather red-faced and corpulent father rose from his chair with a fragile glass full of foaming liquid in one hand intent on proposing a toast to the future happiness of the newly wed couple disaster struck. An explosion rocked the great hall where the joyful throng revelled, and in an instant the picture was changed from graciously opulent splendour to chaotic blood drenched horror.
As the final tableau of Beverlee, her beautiful face stained by tears holding the mortally wounded Randy slumped limply in her arms faded from the HoloScreen, the words ‘TO BE CONTINUED' were superimposed upon it. A long list of credits rolled rapidly past, followed by excerpts from the next episode in which Beverlee was to find her true calling in life by selflessly ministering to victims of the countless catastrophes that were soon to destroy the world as she knew it. All over Orth viewers entered their personal satisfaction rating of the evenings entertainment into their Wristos for instant tallying. The numbers displayed moments later far exceeded last years Pleasure Received score.
“Look at that,” Brother Don smiled. “Another success for Stanley.”
Sister Maude switched the HoloScreen over to a tranquil scene of a moonlit shore where the only sound was that of the gentle waves lapping on its smooth white sands.
“You know Alfred,” said Brother Don, “that if you're in need of advice regarding your future training, I'm always available for consultation. Perhaps we can find a way to fulfil your dream of becoming a Space Cadet.”
“Why thank you sir. Do you really think it might be possible?” Alf asked.
“One never knows. Seeking a path toward it can certainly do no harm.”
Alf could barely conceal his impatience. “When may I consult with you please sir?”
“I'm on duty tonight, so tomorrow afternoon in the QM's office would be most suitable,” replied Brother Don as he retrieved his hat from where it hung on its hook beside the door.
“You work too hard, my dear,” Sister Maude chided him gently. “All those long hours you put in.”
“Organisation my dear, organisation. Day and night the work must go on. It's the collective responsibility of all Quarter Masters to ensure that the peace and tranquility of our citizens lives remains undisturbed by any problem in Unity's operational systems. Be assured my dear wife that I'll be back in bed beside you before the night is over and besides, it's only one more week now before I return to day-shift.” Sister Maude smiled happily at her husband on hearing this. “So sleep well everyone,” he continued, “and Alfred, I expect to see you in the QM's Office at precisely fourteen hours tomorrow afternoon.”
Then, after giving Sister Maude a kiss on the cheek he left for work, his Quarter Masters hat perched squarely on his head.
Max Time 51.2.72
The orchard lay two hours travel by air from Unity City, in a broad sheltered valley among the foothills of the Mountains of the Moon, close to where a permanent spring of fresh water suitable for irrigation bubbled freely up out of the ground. The complex consisted of a central compound where an arrangement of cubes housed the workers and the equipment necessary for the growing of oranges all year round, and ten enormous greenhouses. Covered with ospylex, a type of krystal which allowed sunlight to enter in carefully measured doses, they radiated out like giant splayed fingers from the centre buildings. Each long, high roofed, climate controlled, irrigated finger was large enough to contain several carefully spaced rows of orange trees. They were used on a rotational basis, with two greenhouses for trees needing pruning, two for those needing rest and fallow feeding, two for flowering and hand pollinating trees and two for those bearing fruit.
Brother Damon and his wife Sister Leticia supervised the operation of the orchard with the aid of a several experienced Brothers and their Sister wives. It was their duty to care for the male transgressors sent to the orchard to work as labourers for a measured time. This was one of the approved ways sinners might earn redemption for their recorded indiscretions. Their days were strictly ordered. Every morning when the bells rang at five they rose from their beds and after washing themselves and dressing, marched to the mess hall for a breakfast of plain Krusty Korner rations washed down with squbes. They ate in absolute silence while the big HoloScreen at one end of room played out the daily lesson, usually an educational story taken from official historical Mems based on the lives of the most admirable Brothers on Orth. Afterward they lined up in the compound where Brother Damon gave out the instructions regarding their duties for the day.
On his first morning at the orchard Alf was assigned to a fruit picking crew with six others, all fully grown men much bigger and stronger looking than Alf. They ranked themselves in a row according to height and Brother George, their crew leader, led them over to the store where they queued up to receive the equipment needed for their designated task. Alf, being the shortest, was first in the line.
“One protective over-shirt - long sleeved insulated; one pair gauntlets - indicating; one helmet - insulated; two pouches - left and right; and one folding stepladder - lightweight,” said the Brother in charge of supplies as he piled up the selected items on the counter in front of Alf. “Take care of your issue as you'll be held responsible for any damage to, or loss of, same.” He bent slightly toward Alf and smiled. “That's the standard caution lad. I'm obliged to say it for Mem recording purposes. Then none can say they had no knowledge of the warning. Now off you go, your carrier's waiting outside.”
“Thank you sir,” said Alf.
The Brother straightened up and called out, “Next please!”
Alf picked up his bundle, carried it out to where the carrier waited with its train of pick-boxes strung behind, climbed into the cabin and took a seat on one of the benches fixed onto both long sides of the interior. After the other labourers had arrived and all were seated, the doors were closed, the electric battery powered auto-drive clicked on and they were away. As the carrier trundled toward the finger where the oranges were ready for harvesting, Brother George addressed them from his rear facing seat at the front.
“Welcome to crew number six,” he said. “I see that most of you are new to the orchard although there is one old hand among you.” As they all turned to look in the direction indicated by his nod the man dropped his gaze to stare at the floor between his feet. “Before you begin working,” Brother George continued, “it's my duty to give you some advice regarding the picking of oranges. Number one; oranges grow on trees with thorns, so the long sleeved over-shirt you've been given must be worn at all times. It's provided for your protection. Number two; pick only ripe oranges. The sweetness indicators embedded in the tips of your gauntlets will light up on contact to tell you which ones they are. Number three; remove the fruit from the stem carefully. A gentle twist will prevent damage to both the fruit and the tree. Number four; please pay careful attention to the Educational Mem I'm now going to play for you. It shows precisely how oranges must be harvested.”
He folded down a small HoloScreen from the roof and it immediately lit up with a picture of four men standing beside an orange tree laden with fruit. Swiftly they fixed their ladders equally distant around the base, climbed up them and whenever their gauntlet tips glowed red they deftly picked the oranges and dropped them gently into the pouches hung at their sides. After the tree was stripped of its bounty they descended from their ladders and emptied the harvested fruit carefully into a waiting pick-box. When the demonstration ended Brother George folded the screen away and resumed his seat at the front.
The carrier soon came to a halt at the far tip of the covered finger and the crew, following Brother George's example put on their over-shirts, pouches, helmets and gloves. Then, one by one, carrying their ladders, they clambered out of the transport to stand under the high vaulted roof where the trees stood waiting in orderly rows, their fruit hanging ripely ready, glowing gold against the glossy green leaves. Alf was assigned to work with three others, beginning on the first tree in the nearest row. It wasn't as easy as it had appeared on the Ed. Mem. Their cooled helmets and insulated over-shirts were designed only to ease rather then prevent the pickers feeling the effects of the essential heat maintained for the ripening of oranges. They also had to move the ladders quite frequently, which meant a great deal of climbing up and down to do so, and these exertions combined with the warmth soon began to sap the workers strength. Two hours later, the first ration break came as a welcome relief. Thankfully the workers climbed back into the cooled comfort of the carrier where with helmets, gauntlets and pouches removed, they could relax on the benches and refresh themselves from the Spenser installed inside. Alf drank two whole squbes before biting hungrily into his KK ration.
Brother George leaned back in his seat beside Alf, his food already eaten. “You're doing well so far Alf,” he said. “Don't be afraid to admit if the pace of picking is too fast for you. Like most tasks it takes a bit of practice and watching learning Mems can never give you the actual experience of hard physical labour.”
Alf could feel the strain of the unusual exercise in his twitching calf muscles.“I certainly agree with you there sir,” he said as he bent to massage them.
“Yes,” said one of the other pickers. “Hard the labour certainly is, but it's the way we must pay for our errors.” He paused to gaze thoughtfully at Alf. “I'm Brother Cal and I know well what my fault was, as we all do.”
The other men nodded in agreement. They had been fully informed of their transgression when they were picked up by the EMPs and they were all required to attend individual rehabilitation sessions with Brother Damon on a regular basis in order to mend their ways.
“I was guilty of greed,” said Brother Cal patting his rather too well rounded belly with a wry chuckle. “The temptation of too many tasty rations was difficult for me to resist.”
“I'm Brother Ned and I attempted to cheat on my token balance,” said one ruefully. “But of course Max caught me out in the count.”
“I'm Brother John and I slept while on duty.”
One by one the men confessed to their misdemeanours; bullying, ill temper, envy, immoderate behaviour and so on until the last one, that same man whom Brother George had identified as an old hand, said “They call me Brother Reth and a lack of respect for the benefits provided by Max is what they say I'm guilty of.”
“Tell me Alf,” said Brother Cal. “What have you done at your tender age to put you here among us offenders?”
“I've begun Space Cadet Training sir,” replied Alf,” although I made a promise to my dear now dead Mother when I was younger, that I would never do so.”
“Breaking ones promise is definitely a sin,” observed Brother George.
“So what's the length of your penance?” asked Brother Reth.
“I'm to spend every Fest during my five years of training tending the trees in the orchard sir.” Alf couldn't help but sound rather sad for that was how the knowledge of what he would miss away from the fun of the celebrations that always took place in Unity City, made him feel.
“Break over,” called Brother George with a glance at his Wristo. “Time to return to work, Space Cadet,” he added smiling at Alf.
It was much later in the day when Alf's energy seemed to have sunk to its lowest and his picking to its slowest that he saw her, a sweet faced girl dressed in spotless white strolling through the avenue of trees. His fatigue instantly forgotten he turned to Brother George who was perched on an adjacent ladder helping his crew with the harvest. “Who's that please sir?”
“Brother Damon's daughter,” came the reply. “Stella's her name and she usually spends the Fests here with her parents.”
The tips of the gauntlet worn by the sinner guilty of immoderate behaviour who happened to be picking from the ladder on Alf's other side showed red for ripe as he expertly twisted a fruit from its stalk. “Tasty bit of fruit that,” he said with a sly wink in Alf's direction as he dropped the orange into his pouch.
Having immediately resolved that he would ask Brother Damon if he might make Stella's acquaintance, Alf found enough courage on the very next day during his rehabilitation session to voice the request.
“By all means you may converse with Stella,” Brother Damon smilingly replied, much to Alf's delight. “I'm sure she'll appreciate having someone near her own age to talk to. She'll be in the communal hall this evening to watch the next episode of Regenesis, so if you come on over I'll formally introduce you before the viewing.”
This was the beginning of a new aspect to life such as Alf had never experienced before. Stella was everything he admired in a female, being both beautiful and intelligent, and they had so much in common. The two of them sat together engrossed in their conversation, oblivious to the knowing winks and smiles of the adults who had Mem of their own youthful attractions to the opposite sex.
“A Space Cadet! How wonderful!” Stella's soft clear voice was filled with awe when Alf told her of his ambition. “Oh how I wish I were able to do such as you and train to soar high above Orth up into the sky.”
Alf's attentive gaze was devoted to the delicate features of her face. “Well if that's how you feel then why don't you apply?” he said enthusiastically. “There's always room at the Space Academy for those with an acceptable scholastic record which I'm sure your's must be. And personally I'd rather enjoy having your company during the long years of training ahead.”
He felt his neck redden with embarrassment at the temerity of that last remark, yet Stella didn't seem to mind. She merely gave a sweetly dimpled smile of understanding and said, “Why thank you. I always enjoy receiving a compliment but I must confess that my school marks aren't quite good enough to qualify me for the Academy. I've never been able to master an understanding of such things as Truscott's Theory of Infinite Relativity and without a First Class pass in Basic Universal Mathematics, which I don't have, learning to fly is a destiny bound to remain forever beyond my reach.”
There was a small silence before Alf spoke again. “Tell me about your ambition then,” he asked. “What are you in training for?”
“I'm newly enrolled at the Earnest Messenger Professors Academy,” Stella replied. “There's always a need for Sisters in the service.”
“How worthy of you to follow in the tradition of Earnest Messenger and become one of his Professors,” said Alf, quite besotted with admiration.
“It wasn't an easy choice,” Stella admitted. “I felt the need to do something useful for the community and there were so many options available! Children's Mem education, Hospices for the Old or the Uneasy, all very laudatory.”
“They certainly are!”
“In the end it was the challenges provided by the profession that helped me make my decision. I found the Mems of EMP Sisters experiences quite fascinating and that's how I made my final selection.”
“How strange that you should choose that particular vocation.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I too originally planned to train as an EMP. In fact it's the reason for my working in the orchard here now. You see, when I was young my mother asked me to promise her that I'd never become a Space Cadet. My father was the first SpaceShip Pilot to be lost in the past and she didn't want to lose me too.”
“Of course! You're Brother Richard Blomfeld's son! How stupid of me not to make the connection before.”
“You weren't to know. But you can understand why my mother wanted me to stay here on Orth.”
Stella nodded solemnly. “Oh yes, indeed.”
“I happily gave my word at the time but later when I grew older and my tutors told me I had a clear aptitude for Space Cadet training I began to regret what I'd done. I often dreamt of flying yet it seemed impossible, until the death of my mother and the appointment of my guardians.” Alf went on to explain how Brother Don's advice had altered his career path. “So I work in the orchard when I'm not at the Space Academy, in order to earn my redemption,” he finished.
“And eventually you'll graduate a fully fledged SpaceShip Pilot able to enjoy all the privileges that such an important position holds,” said Stella smiling at him.
Here was someone whom Alf felt that he could talk to forever, but at that point the HoloScreen lit up and their conversation stopped.
“Long long ago, in the Age of Waste and Inequality, creatures of every size shape and colour fought for their very existence.” Coulter W began. “The inhabitants of these darkest of times were corrupted by a contagious madness. Some starved while others had more than they needed.”
Alf had some difficulty in keeping his attention focused on the unfolding drama with Stella sitting so close beside him. Fortunately for him it was a repeat episode, the story of a child who became an orphan after his father became ill and lost his job and he and his whole family, father, mother, five brothers and seven sisters, were tossed out into the street for non-payment of a financially crippling mortgage on their home, only to become victims of a pestilent epidemic which raged through the substandard vermin infested slum they took shelter in. It was a terrible affliction, marked by delirium, pus filled boils, vomiting, diarrhoea and other revolting symptoms discretely depicted on the HoloScreen so as not to overly disturb the viewers. Without money to buy the expensive medicines that might have saved their lives, all of the family excepting the child died most horribly. He miraculously survived but was forced to join the social rejects eking out an existence on scraps painstakingly gathered from an enormous rubbish dump on the outskirts of a crowded metropolis until a faceless multi-national corporation in need of room for a new superhighway and hyper-shopping-mall destroyed even these meagre pickings with giant bulldozers. The last shocking scene, when a mean mouthed judge wearing a dusty grey wig and dingy black robe sentenced the child to twenty years hard labour for begging on the cold dark streets of the uncaring city without a permit came far too quickly for Alf because it meant that he would have to part from Stella.
As the credits followed by scenes from episode four, in which having served his sentence and after a series of catastrophic disasters the now fully grown child found his true purpose in life, were being shown on the HoloScreen, Stella turned to Alf.
“Life must have been a dreadful back then there,” she said. “How fortunate we are that Praise be to Max no child on Orth lives in such appalling poverty.”
“Praise be to Max,” Alf reiterated automatically.
“The hour is late, my parents are waiting and I must leave. Shall we meet again tomorrow? Same place, same time?”
“Definitely,” Alf happily replied.
Max Time 1.1.77
Brother William, Space Academy Master, stood behind the lectern in the Grand Hall looking down at the noisily chattering cadets seated in rows before him. He cleared his throat loudly to gain their attention and when they had quietened said, “Welcome back girls and boys to Unity Space Academy for your fifth and final year of instruction. In your first four years you have all proven yourselves excellent students and everyone of your instructors and the Elders are well pleased with your progress. Congratulations.” A fleeting smile passed briefly across his normally stern countenance. “The next ten months of your training schedule will continue as usual until the end of the year, when a crew will be selected for the next Mission into space.”
The small ripple of excitement that disturbed the audience on hearing this news was quickly suppressed as Brother William continued speaking.
“Yes you heard me correctly. Thanks to the industry and proficiency of the technicians involved, it is now my agreeable duty to inform every cadet here, that the SpaceShip's construction is close to complete. There are now only the few final essential touches to be added and of course the necessary checking and rechecking of all systems before the first flight, scheduled to take place in one year's time, will be made.
Furthermore, firm evidence of life as we know it, a civilisation of beings not unlike ourselves on a planet very much like Orth, has been received. I can tell you no more about it right now as further details are not yet available. However, during this last year of your tuition you will all be given the opportunity to prove yourselves worthy of the task of Mem recording for the people of Orth a truly novel venture. The SpaceShip will be manned by a crew of three, so from this moment on you will train in crews of this size. Ratings will be awarded not only on an individual ability basis but also, and most importantly, on your co-operation with each other. In the interests of fairness and equality the crews will consist of randomly selected cadets from all Quarters.”
Brother William paused while he picked up the sqube placed handy on his lectern and took a small sip from it.
“As you leave the hall, please tear off a ticket from the roll in the dispenser box placed at the exit. They are numbered in sets of three in a non-sequential order and which ever one you receive will direct you to the other members of your crew. Keep up the good work and obey the rules as set down in your Space Academy Cadet Guidance Mems. Classes will recommence at four tomorrow, until which time you are all dismissed. Praise be to Max.”
The four broad avenues leading out from Central Square in the middle of Unity City were named for their destinations. Sea Avenue went south east down to the port facility set on the edge of the sea, while to the north east Air Avenue ran across bridge over the river out to the airport. Land Avenue went north west toward the distant mountains, passing by wind and solar energy farms on its way to the smaller inland settlements, and Space Avenue ran south west out past Black Water Lake then up a steep rise to the large flat plateau on which the Space Port was situated. The Space Academy occupied the whole first floor of a South Quarter pyramid beside Space Avenue, while the O-Bar, the cadets favourite place to relax and enjoy a few invigorating squbes together, was on the ground floor of an adjacent pyramid facing out onto Central Square. This was where they gathered after being dismissed, mingling at will rather than by order to celebrate the beginning of their final year.
The O-Bar was a large room more then sixty cubes square, liberally furnished with tables and chairs and a large HoloScreen at the back used for showing important programmes or bulletins. Running the length of one side wall was a long counter with high stools in front of it and several genial barkeeps behind, ready to serve the O-Bar's Special squbes and KKs for the customers' pleasure from the Spensers set in the wall. The interior was decorated in a theme appropriate to its clientele and its proximity to the Space Academy. Models of spacecraft, ranging from simple saucers, finned rockets and glistening globular sleekly smooth balls, to craft of curiously irregular shapes and intricate surfaces bristling with multiple antennae hung suspended from the high ceiling, and holograms of mythical space travellers were fixed to the walls or stood as full size figures placed singly and in groups here and there about the interior.
Loud music and excited voices punctuated with laughter greeted Alf as he entered the room through the double doors. He threaded his way between the hopeful future space pilots to where Peter was perched on a stool in the sound clear zone at the counter beside a full size statue of Brother Whom holding his ultrasonic screwdriver, and sat down next to his friend.
“Which number did you draw?” Peter asked.
“Six,” replied Alf. “What about you?”
“I drew number one,” Peter informed him. “You know,” he continued, “I find it hard to believe that the SpaceShip will be ready in such a short time. It's been promised for so long that, curiously enough, I never seriously considered that the opportunity for space adventure would actually be ours.”
“You'd better start seriously considering it then,” said Alf, “because if none of the older graduate pilots are chosen, then one of the crews in here right now will be going on the Mission.”
“Provided they pass the tests still to come.”
Alf gave a small smile of confidence. “No difficulty there. Have you ever heard of any Space Cadet failing?”
“No,” Peter replied. “But that doesn't mean it's impossible. With the Mission looming in the near future the testing might well become rather more rigourous.”
“So here you are!”
Alf turned from his friend and saw that it was BB who had spoken. He and Chan, the other two members of Alf's crew, were standing with squbes in hand directly behind him.
“Crew number six now complete and ready for action,” Chan added snapping her heels together as she came to attention.
“We were beginning to think you'd got lost,” BB grinned amiably.
“I stopped off to contact a friend and tell her the news,” explained Alf.
“Well you're here now. But where's your drink?” Chan frowned in mock severity. “You know the rule! No cadet can inhabit these premises without one. It's an offence punishable by eviction. Barkeep, give this cadet an extra sqube as penalty for dereliction of duty.”
“Wait up,” Alf laughed. “I've not had time for my ration yet.”
He took a token from his pocket and gave it to a barkeep who slipped it into the slot of the KK Spenser. Seconds later, a Krusty Korner with its O-Bar special filling popped out onto the tray, warm and sterile in it's sealed pack. The barkeep handed it to Alf who immediately ripped the pack open letting loose the savoury smell of the KK.
“Anyone else for a KK O-Bar style?” the barkeep asked.
“Now that's a great idea,” said BB as he following Alf's example and handed over a token.
He tore his pack open and the doubly delicious KK aroma filtered into the air causing the empty stomachs of other cadets to register their complaint. Tokens entered Spenser slots, KKs were distributed and the noise level dropped as mouths were filled with what many of the cadets judged to be the tastiest rations in Unity. Just as Alf finished chewing on the last delectable, crustiest corner of his KK a loud voice sounded from somewhere in the room.
“The best rations I ever ate were round.”
The four cadets turned from the bar as the Brother who had made the remark moved forward from his position beside two statues of mythical space explorers, one sporting pointed tops to his ears and both wearing two-toned tight fitting uniforms with triangular emblems on the left chest, coming to stand with arms folded across his chest before them.
For a moment the cadets regarded the maker of this strange observation regarding rations in surprised silence until Chan, one eyebrow raised in disbelief said, “Excuse me sir, but what good would a round KK ration be? It wouldn't fit into the Spenser!”
The Brother seemed not to have heard Chan. “They were made with real meat on fresh baked buns with sauce that would run down your chin and real people made them right there for you and served you with them too.”
Turning his face slightly away Peter spoke from behind the hand he held beside his mouth. “Disgusting! Do you think he might have that disease that makes you demented?”
“No,” BB replied. “That's Glastonbury fever, and if he had that he wouldn't be able to stand, let alone speak.”
“Maybe he's just making a joke,” said Alf, who by now had recognised the stranger as Brother Reth from the orchard. “Let's talk about something else.”
Chan was not to be sidetracked. “Is that supposed to be a joke sir?” she asked.
Brother Reth ignored her again. “You youngsters don't know what it's like to eat real food, do you?”
“Sir, we eat delicious and nourishing food every day,” Chan stated, raising her voice to a level where her remark could no longer go unnoticed.
It had the desired effect, for this time Brother Reth appeared to hear what she said. Shaking his head sadly he looked toward her saying, “That's because you've never tasted a king size T-bone steak seared brown on the outside and pink and juicy in the middle or a heap of fresh fried salt sprinkled hot potato chips with a squirt of tommy sauce for dipping them in.” He looked toward Alf. “Or an orange picked from a tree growing open to the sky, free from the impositions of controlled production? No. None of you have ever eaten real good food in your lives!”
“Apart from the oranges, if that's a description of what you call real good food sir, then I for one am glad that we don't,” retorted Chan. “The very thought of consuming dead animal flesh all loaded with toxic bacteria, poisonous impurities and prionic matter is absolutely revolting! And on top of that, what you said about letting other people handle your food when serving you is a proven way of spreading any number of very nasty diseases!”
“That's right,” agreed Peter. “Wasn't that the cause of a plague back in the age of waste and inequality? Thanks, but no, I'd rather eat rations from the Spenser. Only a machine can be truly clean.” These were the exact words posted on every Spenser on Orth.
“Clean!” Brother Reth snorted contemptuously. “Damn right it's friggin' clean! It has to be to fit in with all this friggin' over ordered uniformity! Let's drink to Unity's Krusty Korners, the source of perfect nutrition, where artifice has conquered variety and choice is lost to standardisation.” He drank deeply from the sqube in his hand and had just tossed the now empty container into a nearby reclamation chute when two EMPs with Dazers holstered at their hips strode in through the double doors of the O-Bar. “Well now, what a friggin' surprise!” Brother Reth's tone was heavy with sarcasm. “My escorts have arrived right on time. Farewell my friends, I bid you all farewell,” He gestured dramatically in the air with one hand while placing the other at his waist and bowing deeply.
“Come along now,” said one of the EMPs. “You're creating a disturbance here.”
With a resigned shrug of his shoulders Brother Reth meekly gave himself up to them.
“See you later,” he said as he was marched past Alf. “I'm off to the orchard again.”
“Do you know him from the orchard?” asked Peter as the doors closed behind them.
“Only slightly,” Alf replied.
“I wonder what he was talking about?” BB said staring thoughtfully after him. “I mean, all that stuff about our food not being real.”
Chan shrugged her shoulders. “Who knows? The poor thing is obviously under the misapprehension that there's something wrong with our rations. Which is absolute nonsense because we all know that people in the past ate the awful sort of rubbish he was raving on about and it did them absolutely no good. Some starved while others grew grossly fat and they all died from acute malnutrition.”
“That's true,” BB agreed.
“Of course it is,” said Peter. “And oranges are certainly real. You can vouch for that, can't you Alf?”
“They do grow on trees which is perfectly natural,” Alf replied, but his friend was no longer listening having just caught sight of where the other two in his crew, Wang and Branco, stood looking in their direction.
“Come on over and join us!” Peter called to them.
With their arrival the subject was changed, turning quite naturally toward the SpaceShip and their own future training.
“I'm looking forward to the new Shuttle simulator,” said Wang. “Have any of you seen it yet?”
“I have,” Alf told him and the incident with Reth was quickly forgotten in the ensuing conversation.
Max Time 7.4.77.
Alf, BB and Chan, wearing space travel suits and helmets with the visors open, sat squeezed and clamped by safety harnesses into chairs in the landing Shuttle's cabin. The bank of HoloScreens fixed to the inside surfaces before them showed the exterior view of the great curve of Orth far below, its atmosphere glowing bright against the endless night of space.
“Checklist complete, plot the entry path,” ordered Alf whose turn it was to pilot the craft.
Pictures and symbols danced across the screens as Chan's fingers flew over the buttons on the board set before her. “Path computed and checked,” she said.
“Load path,” Alf said.
“Path loaded,” Chan replied.
“Power-up,” Alf ordered.
“Power up, all systems on line,” said BB noting the information evident from the rows of coloured status lights superimposed on the screen directly in front of him.
Above the soft sighing of the air circulation pumps, a low hum could be heard, faint at first but building to steady drone.
“Systems reporting minor interference,” reported BB. “Source not identified.”
“Thrusters on. Begin entry on synch . . . one . . . two . . . three . . . now!” commanded Alf, and the cabin began to move, tilting under them as the engines drove the Shuttle forward into the start of its long downhill glide to the surface.
At first everything was fine. The craft sank Orthward taking the optimal trajectory allowed for safe entry into the upper atmosphere until suddenly a loud explosion startled the occupants, the cabin jerked roughly thrusting them forward hard against their harnesses, and one after another the status lights began turning an alarming red. As they plunged downward at an ever increasing angle the scream of tortured structural components became almost painfully loud.
In spite of the voice amplifiers and receivers built into their helmets BB had to raise his voice to be heard over the noise. “All auto systems down!”
“Manual control over-ride on!” called Alf flicking a switch above the emergency control handles and taking hold of the hand-grips which reacted immediately, bucking and twisting in his grasp as if they were live things. While the other two became furiously busy frantically reaching out to touch buttons and slide knobs in the hope that such action might alter the frightening data they were reading from every screen in sight, he was engaged in a desperate wrestle trying to subdue the Shuttles wild gyrations.
Chan viewed the path they were taking with mounting concern and her raised voice rang sharp with urgency. “Pull up! We're going in too steep!”
“Not yet!” shouted Alf. “We're too high. We'd bounce.”
“One minute reserve power remaining,” called BB.
Half a minute later, with the altimeter showing that this was their final window of opportunity, Alf knew that it was now or never. He hauled on the handles with all of his strength and ever so slowly the Shuttle responded. As its angle of entry altered its nose rose and suddenly they punched through into the thickening atmosphere. Just as Alf began to feel that congratulations for a job well done would be his due, an alarm suddenly began whooping loudly in a series of panic inducing shrieks.
“Hull breech!” Chan shouted the warning over the noise. “Overheating left rear!”
“Re-route power to hull cooling!” yelled Alf.
“Power re-routed,” called BB.
Their helmet visors automatically snapped shut, the cabin became hot and hazy and they watched with mounting despair as the hull temperature gauge rapidly climbed toward the danger zone. For a few moments it looked like they might make it for the red line seemed to slow a little as it neared the top of the scale. Then the cabin shook once, the lights went out, and as the view on the HoloScreens turned to a flat grey, the words 'simulation terminated' appeared in glowing scarlet letters in a neat box positioned on their centres. Gently, the cabin sank down to an even keeled rest, the air swiftly cleared and the lighting returned to its normal pre-flight mode.
“Wait a minute!” Alf said angrily as he yanked off his helmet. “That can't be the end! I'm sure we could've made it down!”
Chan removed her helmet and shook her head sadly. “No way! That hull damage finished us. Face it Alf, we were wasted.”
“It's impossible! I've seen the performance ratings on the Shuttles skin and anything big enough to do that amount of damage would've been automatically voided out of existence,” Alf retorted.
Chan paused from the task of unbuckling her safety harness. “Right enough, but unfortunately we had an all auto systems failure,” she pointed out.
“I realise that!” Alf's irritation was evident. “I just don't get it though. With all the multiple back ups in place how could everything fail?”
BB took off his helmet. “It's a fair question,” he agreed.
“Besides which,” Alf went on, “I've completed all the required practice at making landings without engaging the auto pilot. In fact, I reckon I could fly the whole thing on manual, just like they did back in the old days.” A faint tinge of pride permeated his words.
“Which under the circumstances we encountered, with a big enough hole in the hull to cause critical overheating is an almost useless talent,” stated Chan. “In fact, I reckon we might've done better if you'd ordered another scan following the report BB gave of an unidentified interference before you attempted to make a landing.”
A stentorian voice trumpeted loudly, “Clear the simulator!”
Alf and BB unbuckled themselves and all three climbed out from the cabin. Helmets in hand they crossed the large ten cube room to the debriefing cube and sat down around the table inside where the source of the loud voice, Brother Alwyn, who was in charge of Shuttle simulator training, stood waiting.
“Well?” he said, looking down at the cadets. “What do you have to say about the test?”
“Excuse me from saying this Sir, but I feel it was totally unreasonable” Alf replied. “I mean, what could possibly cause every auto system to go down at the same time?”
“I think we'd all like to know that sir,” added Chan.
“And the hull being damaged like that as well sir. Wasn't that pushing the disaster angle a bit much?” Alf asked.
“It was rather extreme sir,” agreed BB.
Brother Alwyn raised his hand. “I admit that having an all systems failure was an extreme situation, yet it's not an impossible one. Likewise with the hull damage. Although all possible impact objects the scanner picks up should be vaporised by the automatic destructor, there's still a finite chance it could occur.”
“I understand that sir, yet surely there's also a finite chance that we could have made it down,” said Alf.
“Only as a rain of flaming wreckage,” observed Brother Alwyn. “You have to accept that your survival in such a situation would be problematic. A miracle at best.”
“If that's the case then I suppose I must agree sir.” Alf sighed unhappily. “Although I do wonder why the exercise was programmed to the point of complete failure.”
“For the experience of course,” replied Brother Alwyn. “It's hoped that having Mem of a total disaster may teach you to make use of avoidance strategies should a similar event at some time in the future ever threaten your continuing existence.”
Max Time 14.4.77
SummerFest was the time for the Procession of the Promised in the West Quarter. At precisely midday the musicians would begin playing the first bars of the stately tune that signalled the start of the march through the West Quarter of Unity to the local Temple of Joy, where the obligations of the betrothed would be reaffirmed. Every couple engaged to be married, wearing traditional costumes of a design based on historically unverified Mems of ceremonies that may have taken place in the past and were now used as a cultural identifier for the West Quarter, stood in a double line that stretched the length of half a block. The North and East Quarters of Unity indulged in similar identifying practices. Chan waited with her future bridegroom Lee beside her, wearing the stiff and heavy ankle length robes embroidered with intricate patterns, the tall headpieces and the platform footwear that made any forward movement other than a slow march near to impossible.
While they were standing idly waiting, Chan's thoughts drifted off into consideration of a problem concerning warp fields posed by Brother Isaac during a recent electro-gravitics class. It was a subject of deep interest for her and she had just begun to think she might possibly be on the right track toward finding a solution, when suddenly she became aware of Lee's silent displeasure evident by the pained expression on his face. He was staring hard at her and she knew immediately that he had been speaking to her about something and now expected a reply to whatever it was he must have asked.
“Um, I'm so sorry,” faltered Chan. “I'm afraid I must've missed that. Would you please repeat the question for me?”
“No I will not! You weren't interested enough to listen in the first place so why should I repeat what you don't care to hear!”
Lee was very annoyed with Chan because, as usual, he'd just wasted his breath and time attempting to settle on the details for their planned wedding ceremony when it took place sometime soon. Her lack of attention when he tried to talk with her was becoming an all too frequent problem for him of late.
The marriage contract had been drawn up by their parents when they were new-born, a not unusual custom in the West Quarter where such links to the mythical past were treasured by some of the citizens, so gifts had been exchanged and arrangements had been made for the two infants mutual future. Chan had grown up accepting it as what was to happen in the distant far away whenever, but now, as the time for the union grew closer she wasn't at all sure that it was the right thing for her to do. Her problem was that Lee's interests were so entirely different from her own that she found his attempts at conversation incredibly dull. When he wasn't giving extensively detailed, overly long reports concerning his work as a Grade Four Freight Clerk, he was rambling endlessly on about his favourite HoloScreen show 'Space Rangers' the adventures of a SpaceShip captain who episode after episode rescued yet another distressed damsel from an alien monster while at the very last minute managing to save his crew and his ship from whatever calamity threatened. Chan, who at Lees insistence had watched the show with him a couple of times considered it quite ridiculous and had since managed to avoid repeating the exercise. Another of Lee's unfortunate habits, was that of repeating himself, telling her the same thing over and over again without apparently noticing that he'd done so. All of which was bad enough, but not the worst. His voice was that. Always, whatever the topic, he spoke in the same dull, droning, dreadfully nasal monotone which inevitably destroyed any interest Chan might have had in what he was saying.
“It's time you learned to pay attention,” Lee scolded her.
“I would pay attention if you'd talk about things that interest me.”
“I was speaking about our wedding.”
“Exactly.”
“What do you mean, exactly?”
“I've heard you speaking about the wedding so often, and lots of other things too for all it matters, that my mind just automatically turns off when ever you start talking. I'm sure if I were to compare my Mem of what you said a few moments ago with what you've said so many times before, it'd be identical. You keep on repeating yourself telling me the same thing over and over in the same dreadfully dull way and that's why I find what you say so horribly boring! In fact I sometimes think you're the most utterly boring person I know!” Even as she said this Chan regretted making the observation but it was too late.
Lee's tone of voice was icily polite. “That remark was totally uncalled for. Boring I may be but at least I'm not ill mannered!”
Just then, the opening chords of the slow march sounded and their loudness drowned out any apology Chan might have attempted to voice. As the musicians started forward those at the head of the column followed their lead, moving off in time to the measured beat of a deep bass drum counter pointed by the tinkling of bells and the metallic clashing of cymbals, and when it came their turn, Chan and Lee too stepped forward in perfect unison as was expected of every matched pair in the regulated ranks of the West Quarter's Procession of the Promised.
Max Time 30.6.77.
Crew six stood beside the stack of equipment piled on the ground watching the air carrier that had brought them to this spot fly off toward the rising sun. The steady throbbing sound of its motor was swiftly swept aside by the stiff breeze that blew, and its shining body became smaller and smaller, shrinking down until it became lost from sight against the suns increasing brightness. Then it was gone, all trace of it's presence completely swallowed up by the vastness of the sky above The Big Empty.
Chan was the first to speak. “I didn't realise how big . . .” Her voice trailed off into silence the observation unfinished.
“Big is right,” BB agreed softly, quite overwhelmed by the amount of not very much to see apart from the inverted bowl of the heavens above and the almost flat near empty encircling plain where only sparse scrubby patches of low twiggy bushes grew to break the bare monotony.
“Nothing around for qubits and qubits,” added Alf.
“I can't even see the horizon,” said Chan, squinting toward where she knew it must be in the vague shimmering far away distance.
“That's because of the fluctuations that mark the boundaries of uncertainty,” BB informed her solemnly.
For a long moment they were all silent, dwarfed by the immensity of nothing very much.
“Yahoo!”
A sudden shout shattered the spell. Chan and BB turned to stare in surprise at Alf, who was madly leaping and prancing about while laughing and yelling at the top of his voice, “Free! Free! Free!” He continued in this fashion for some minutes until his breath ran out and he collapsed, to lie in a panting sprawling heap on the ground.
Chan, having waited patiently until the last paroxysms of Alf's excitement subsided, spoke in what she hoped was her most sanely reasonable tone of voice. “Excuse me for asking, but what was that all about?”
Alf grinned happily at her as he sat up. “Don't you see where we are?”
“I certainly do. We're in the middle of a desert surrounded by nothing much at all.”
“Exactly,” Alf agreed. “Nobody here but us! Nothing to restrict us, no-one to tell us what to do! It's wonderful! I love it!”
“I'm glad you feel like that,” said Chan. “Your enthusiasm is very invigorating. I can even understand something of what it must seem like to you after having been locked away in the orchard so often. My only criticism is that you forgot to say no speedy emergency aid either. If we get into trouble out here there's no EMP with a handy medi-capsule available just round the corner so perhaps you'd do better to save your energy for the task at hand. We've got to walk over three hundred qubits in six days carrying all these supplies if we want to survive.”
BB said, “Chan's right you know.”
“Fun over then,” Alf said soberly, standing up and dusting himself off.
“Good,” said Chan. “I think we should check over what we've been given first and divide up the loads between us.” She bent to sort through the pile, separating the provisions out for counting. “You count the rations please BB and you the squbes please Alf. I'll make sure of the rest.”
BB finished first. “KKs all counted and correct.”
Alf was frowning down at the containers ranked before him. “How many squbes should we have?”
Chan told him. “one hundred and ten altogether. Six containers for each of us to carry with four squbes in every one because that's our daily allowance. Why?”
“We're missing two containers.”
“Missing? Surely not.”
They counted them out together.
“You're right,” Chan conceded. “We're ten squbes short.”
“They probably did it on purpose,” said Alf. “You know. Like the simulator crashing. For the experience.”
“Perhaps.” BB shrugged his shoulders. “Not that it matters. All it means is that we'll obviously just have to drink less.”
“Right,” said Chan. “What say we drink only three squbes per day for six days. That's twenty two each which makes sixty six squbes altogether.”
“And we've got one hundred,” said Alf.
“Which leaves us twelve squbes over for emergencies,” said Chan.
“And if we drink one sqube each now,” continued Alf, “it'll give us less to carry. Talking about cutting down on drinking has suddenly made me really thirsty.”
“And I'm hungry too,” added BB. “How about we have a KK before we start. It seems like ages since we had breakfast.”
Chan was agreeable to Alf and BB's suggestions so after extracting a KK and a sqube each they sat down on the ground in a small triangle for their meal.
“I propose a toast,” said Alf raising his sqube. “Here's to a successful venture into the unknown.”
They drank to that, then ate and drank some more, squeezing the empty squbes flat for later recycling and packing them away. Next came the job of dividing up the loads.
“One sleeping bag, one rope, one spammer and one share of the supplies each,” said Alf, “and I'll take the extra container because I'm used to carrying loads of oranges,” he grinned.
“I'll take the farscope, the director and the distance counter because I'm scheduled as leader for today,” said Chan.
“I'll carry the shelter and the hold fast spikes,” said BB.
“Which leaves the camper lamp with the Eternity Battery and the accident emergency kit for me,” said Alf.
Once loaded up they set off in single file, marching westward toward the distant designated pickup point at a steady pace. Using the director to navigate, Chan took the lead, while Alf tramped along directly behind her. BB took up the rear position, humming a cheerful little tune in time with his marching feet.
Chan called the first break at noon. Their pace had slowed, BB had stopped humming and in spite of their well insulated suits the wind blowing warm and dry somehow managed to suck the moisture right out from them. “Halt,” she ordered and all three sank down to sit on the ground, gratefully unbuckling their loads and easing them from off their shoulders. As they drank another sqube each, she looked back along the way they had come. There was little sign of their passage on the bare windswept surface. “If I didn't know better,” she said, “I might've thought that we were in exactly the same place that we started out from.”
“The scenery is rather unremarkable,” agreed BB.
“And only another five days plus of nothing to go,” added Alf.
Chan put away her empty sqube and picked up her load. “And the sooner we get moving the quicker nothing will be over,” she said.
Alf and BB followed her example and they marched on again, falling into a rhythm of following one foot after another without thinking too much about it until the wind died away and the angle of the suns rays striking Chan full in the face warned that their first night in the Big Empty could not be far off. She looked at the time on her Wristo and halted, saying, “It's fifteen forty and I think we've come far enough for our first day.”
BB and Alf were happy to agree. Thankfully they removed their burdens, letting them fall to the ground and dropping down beside them. A few minutes later, having recovered enough, they began preparing their camping spot.
Choosing a roughly level space, BB unfolded the shelter from its restraining clasps and it instantly popped up into shape. Just as they finished spammering its hold fast spikes into the ground, the sun which had blazed high in the sky above them during the day, swollen now to a dust hazed scarlet giant, touched down on the western horizon and stood poised there for a moment before dropping swiftly out of sight. As the chill shadows of night raced across the empty plain to engulf them, a cold breeze sprang up. Alf retrieved the camper lamp, turned it on and cheered by it's light and warmth they wasted no time in grabbing the remainder of their equipment and scrambling into the shelter.
Max Time 31.6.77
It was Alf's turn to lead the way through the empty desert until mid morning when they arrived at their first major obstacle. They had been told that there was a real desert out there and they had noticed the sand that lay in the hollows and dips and drifted together to form low ridges across their path, so when they came over a low wind swept rise and saw nothing but a towering sand dune before them it was not that much of a surprise. It crossed their path like a giant wall, standing much higher then their heads and completely blocking their path westward.
Chan being the lightest discarded her load and taking the farscope from Alf climbed to the top. The expression on her face was grim as she returned, sliding down the steep side in a slither of falling sand. “We'll have to make a detour round them,” she said. “From what I could see of the dunes they might as well go on forever.”
“North or south?” asked Alf.
“Take your pick,” Chan replied. “It looked the same in both directions.”
“I'll toss for it,” said Alf, having Mem of this method of choice from watching Regenesis. “I've got a token here.”
Chan and BB agreed that it was as good a way as any to decide.
“Brother Smith north, Max south,” Alf called as he flipped the token up into the air. It landed with the symbol of Max's pyramid with its tapering tower facing up, so they set off in a southerly direction marching parallel with the dune and camping that evening at its sandy foot.
By late afternoon they had flattened out to become mere low ripples over a firmer footing, so they veered round to head west again. Gradually the ground beneath their feet rose until they were climbing upward over a sloping rather treacherous surface of variegated horizontal layers of weathered rock, and on pausing for a moment to look back they were astonished to see the dunes lying far below them away to the north. It was a slow work carrying their loads uphill when at every step crumbling layers of rock disintegrated under their weight causing them to slip if they weren't extra careful. The light was fading when having scrambled up over a small steep shelf they finally reached the flat top, so this was where they camped that night.
Max Time 32.6.77
Next day with BB in the lead they continued west over an extensive plateau of ancient rock fissured with innumerable vertical crevices, most of which they managed to cross by walking along their rims until they found a point narrow enough to leap over.
It was just before noon when they reached the western limit of the plateau. As they approached the horizon was visible way off in the hazy distance beyond the sharp outline of rock at its edge. Suddenly they were standing on the brim of an incredibly high precipice with a sheer drop plummeting near vertically straight down in front of them. A strong wind blew up into their faces as they peered cautiously down into the void. BB used the farscope to search both ways for an easier way down.
“It's south again,” he reported. “Looks like the cliff might be lower that way.”
Upon reaching the dip in the escarpment they found that although it provided them with some advantage, climbing down would still require a great deal of care. They fixed some of the shelters spare hold fast spikes firmly into the solidest rock they could find at the top and with ropes tied together for extra length fastened securely to them lowered their equipment down before making the hazardous descent one at a time themselves. It was a long, arduous and sometimes frightening task with loose chunks of rotten rock frequently falling away from under their boots and by the time all three had safely reached the base they were too exhausted to go much further so they camped a short but safe distance from the cliff face, well clear of the rubble piled at its foot.
“We don't want anything coming down on us during the night do we?” said Chan.
“That's for sure,” agreed Alf. “I really don't want to wake up dead.”
Max Time 33.6.77
On day four they made good progress. With the plateau in the past they were now marching across a plain dotted with large clumps of tall spiny grass and a scattering of trees with twisted gnarled trunks supporting low spreading branches furnished with tiny dull green leaves and numerous small green fruit. Drifts of small white brittle fragments which on close inspection appeared to be the bleached skeletal remains of tiny creatures long since dead crunched underfoot.
They were marching in single file behind Chan when BB, who was last, stepped slightly off the track and into the next obstacle. One minute he was treading on firm ground and in the next it broke beneath his weight leaving him standing ankle deep in sticky smelly mud. Chan and Alf helped pull him out from the mess standing on the edge of what they could now see was a bog hiding beneath a thin dry surface layer.
“That's it!” said BB. “I'm not going any further until I get rid of this stuff. It's all over my boots and I reckon it must be the worst smell on Orth!”
Alf sniffed loudly. “How I love the stench of swamp mud in the morning,” he said with exaggerated relish.
The others laughed at his misuse of the HoloScreen bulletin for breakfast KKs, then BB sat down in the sparse shade of a nearby tree and gingerly removed the offensive items from his feet.
“I vote for some rest and refreshment while they dry out,” he said placing them some distance away in the sun.
“Fine by me,” agreed Alf. “It'll give us time to work which way to go again. Personally, I don't fancy trying to walk through that stinking muck.”
After a short rest, a sqube and a KK, Alf was impatient to continue. He jumped up and taking a dry stick from the ground, walked along the edge of the swamp, probing at it every so often to measure its extent. Finally he come to the conclusion that it would be impossible to continue marching west as they had been, since the evil smelling ooze totally blocked their path in that direction.
“South again it is,” he said when he arrived back. “I could see what looks like higher and most likely drier ground that way.”
BB banged his boots together to knock off the dried mud, put them back on again and they set out. It took them another two hours of travel keeping well clear of the swamp before they reached the point where it oozed out from beneath a great ridge of stones and shingle.
“It's higher then it looked from a distance,” Alf said gazing up at the barrier before them, “but nowhere near as high as the precipice. We can climb it easy.”
Easy it was not. The shingle shifted with every step, making their ascent slow and difficult. When they reached the top it was nearly dark so that was as far as they went that day.
Max Time 34.6.77
Next morning in spite of the bright sun the wind blew icy cold on them as they packed up their gear. In the light of day they could see the huge area covered by the swamp to the north, while to the south lay a whole series of sloping ridges just like the one they were on, stretching in curving rows across a plain strewn with immense boulders away off to where a distant snow tipped range of mountains peaks gleamed white on the pale horizon. It was hard going tramping along when the loose surface of the ridge constantly moved underfoot but as the swamp continued on the north side for many qubits, it was not until the late afternoon of that day that they were able to descend from it. Alf led them out onto a broad area of flat sandy desert, quite bare but for some massive outcrops of curiously eroded rock that jutted randomly up from it and this was where they stopped for the night.
Max Time 35.6.77
On the sixth day the air was still and the sun shone down warmly on them from a cloudless pale blue sky as they marched forward to the north west with BB leading the way.
“We should reach the beacon tomorrow,” he said cheerfully as they took their noontime break.
“That's good,” said Chan. “Three squbes is all I have left, and there is only one spare.”
He uttered near the same optimistic phrase as before. “We can do it easy.”
Max time 36.6.77
That night as they slept a north westerly wind blew up, growing gradually in strength until shortly before sunrise they were woken by its buffeting at their shelter. On venturing outside they found the air filled with stinging clouds of dust and sand whipped up by the gale, which made the job of packing up much more difficult then usual. Knowing how close they were to the beacon they initially attempted to march straight into what was rapidly becoming a near blizzard but after fighting their way forward only a few bits.
Chan, who was leader that day, reluctantly concluded that any real progress against an increasingly aggressive attacking force which seemingly wanted to blast them into oblivion was impossible. She could just make out one of the rock outcrops a short distance away off to one side looming up through the increasing gloom and in hope of finding some shelter on its lee side where they could wait out the storm.
“This way,” she yelled above the roar of the wind, signalling for them to change direction slightly in order to reach it. It was a struggle but they were soon huddled away from the storm in the slight shelter of a shallow hollow.
Having noticed how the wind whistled past them into a narrow crack in the rock at their backs, Chan retrieved the lamp, switched on the light and shone it into the gap.
“There could be more room inside,” she shouted loudly enough to be heard above the noise.
They squeezed through into a slightly larger passage which angled sharply first left and then right before opening out into a cavernous space. It was a relief for all three of them to get away from the roar of the wind into it's stillness. Chan flicked the beam of the lamp up and across the arching roof high above, then around the walls and down onto the smooth sandy floor. As the flurry of fine dust disturbed by their feet settled something caught the light and reflected it back up at them.
“What's that?” Chan wondered aloud and kneeling down she brushed some of the fine sand away. “Look! It's a corner of a krystal cube that's buried in the sand.” She tried to pull it out but it was too smooth and slippery for her to get a grip on. “Help me dig it up,” she ordered.
A few minutes of scrabbling in the sand and they had it out a perfectly square shiny blue tinted block measuring roughly one hand width on every side. After a few seconds of fiddling Chan managed to open the box and reveal it's contents, several flat, gleaming gold discs held vertically by slots on the sides. She popped one out and examined it curiously. It was remarkably light in weight and they could see how a puzzling structure of fine lines filled one side, glittering and gleaming in a rainbow of colours as they spiralled tightly round about the small hole in the centre.
“Looks like one of those ancient recordings to me,” said Alf.
Chan agreed. “Certainly does. Most likely something somebody lost ages ago. I Mem from the unverified history that the Ark was supposed to have originally landed somewhere out here. It could date back to that time.”
“Perhaps it's a log recording the Ark's travels through time and space in their search for a promising landing spot,” said BB. “A great discovery for which we,” he gestured grandly to include himself and his crew, “will always be revered!”
“Or it's a treatise for beginners called One hundred common problems of Ark Management and their Simple Solutions,” suggested Alf, “and seeing as it was of no use to them after they arrived they threw it away.”
BB laughed, and said, “It's probably a completely unimportant recorded disc of music.”
“You mean tunes of the I liked it before but it sounds horrible now why did I ever bring it along I'll just leave it here instead of carrying it any further type?”
“Exactly,” agreed BB. “A lost interest.”
“Or perhaps,” said Alf, “they're recordings from pre-mem times with pictures of family and friends doing stupid things on them. Like those on Regenisis that time when they were I Mem from Regenesis how they used to like making those sort of things.”
“And then again,” said Chan “They could be a valuable artifices from the past and seeing as we don't know what's on them, I intend to ask the experts when we get back.” She carefully tucked the cube away into her load.
After that they resigned themselves to waiting in the cave while carefully eking out the last of their squbes because they didn't know how long the storm might last. Fortunately Alf had brought along a pack of cards with him so they spent some of the time playing Unity's latest popular game, Onus.
Max Time 37.6.77
Next morning Alf ventured out at dawn to check on the weather and finding the sky clear the air fresh and clean and the wind completely died away they continued on with their journey. As the day wore on, in spite of an increasing thirst they made good progress and in the middle of the afternoon, when they were down to sharing round their last sqube, Alf spotted their target through the farscope, a tall finger of rock jutting up from the surrounding flatness with the beacon fixed on to its top.
“There it is!” he cried pointing excitedly. “Not more than an hours march away.”
“No stopping now!” said BB. “We can make it even if I have to carry you two!”
It took them a little longer than the hour Alf had reckoned it would but as the evening of the tenth day closed in they reached their goal and activated the beacon to call up their transport. Then they sat down on the ground and leaned back against the rock to wait for its arrival thankful that their ordeal in The Big Empty was over.
Max Time 55.6.04
BB strolled through the AutumnFest market inside one of the North Quarter pyramids with Holly, a girl he had met at the SummerFest. BB enjoyed her company and the way they looked together. She was a trainee clothing designer in one of the North Quarter's fabrication plants and her appearance confirmed this occupation. As she stepped lightly along beside BB, her brightly coloured dress made of panels of fine floating fabric which fluttered about her feminine curves like the wings of an exotic butterfly made stark contrast with the heavier measured tread he thought fit well with the dignity of his sky blue uniform unadorned but for it's badges of merit.
Holly regarded speech as a prime necessity, so she talked most of the time. BB didn't mind it too much. He'd quickly learned to only partially tune in to what she said without losing track of the topic - right now it was her work.
“So Sister is giving us all the chance to forward our designs for a show next Fest and I'm thinking of doing something really far out, you know, a sort of futuristic style . . .”
Her voice trailed off into an unusual silence as she suddenly halted. On every side, bright signs, symbols, and pictures flashed, telling those who cared to take heed of the messages, exactly how their tokens might be spent. BB had passed them by unread, while Holly had mentally noted them without any pause in her conversation, until now. The words glowed like molten gold from on a banner above a curtained doorway, 'PERSONAL FUTURES TOLD HERE.'
“How cosmic! Just as I was saying . . .” Holly grabbed BB's hand and pulled him toward the attraction. “Come on now! I'd love to hear about my future, wouldn't you?”
“I know my future,” BB stated. “I'm a space cadet.”
“I know you are,” said Holly. “And I also know that you might fly off into the unknown. But then again you might not!” she countered. “And I know I might become a famous clothing designer! But then again I might not. It's only a little entertainment for a token each.” She put her arms around his neck and brought her face close to his. “Pretty please?”
Powerless in her embrace, he was unable to refuse her. Two tokens clinked into the slot by the door and together they entered. The circular room inside was lit by the gentle orange glow of several ornate boat shaped lamps suspended from the deeply shadowed ceiling. Richly coloured silken curtains hung rippling on the walls, while soft piping music and a strange spicy perfume filled the air. Trumpets sounded and a HoloScreen set before the drapes on the back wall lit up to show a rather short plump male wearing flowing bright blue robes covered with mysterious symbols embroidered in silver and gold thread. A matching turban was wound about his head and a small growth of quaintly fashioned hair adorned his chin.
“Look at that!” Holly giggled holding one hand up to cover her mouth. “He's got a beard!”
“Filthy idea,” said BB stroking the clean smoothness of his own chin while at the same time wondering how such an embellishment would feel.
“I am the Wizard of Watt,” the apparition said in a deeply sonorous voice, “and it is my duty to give all those who seek my counsel a forecast of their possible future for personal guidance.”
For a brief moment the HoloScreen dimmed as a disclaimer of future blame for actions not yet taken by the petitioner flashed across it. Then the image of the Wizard returned, smiling and bowing as a disc, half a bit in diameter set in the floor in front of him, lit up with an orange glow.
“Please stand in the petitioners circle to receive your prediction,” he said.
Holly pushed at BB's unsuspecting back. “Go on.You can go first.”
Half stumbling he stepped forward to stand on the spot.
“Greetings,” said the Wizard, giving a smile and another bow. “I see before me a young man of remarkable talent and courage whose Mems will remain in Orth's historical archives for many ages to come!”
“Thank you for the compliment sir,” said BB. “Mind you though, all our Mems are routinely archived by Max. You'll have to do better than that for a token.”
“I see you going on a long journey in the future,” stated the Wizard.
BB grinned. “I hope so sir. As a Space Cadet I'm in training to travel. You can tell that from the merit badges I'm wearing.”
“I see you travelling far far away searching for seeds.”
“Searching for seeds sir? What sort of seeds?”
“Oranges,” replied the Wizard.
This reply puzzled BB. Frowning in bewilderment he asked, “Excuse me sir but what have oranges got to do with seeds? They don't have any.”
“I also see the shine of silver as you shoot a friend in the back.”
“Shoot a friend in the back sir? Why that's even sillier than searching for oranges with seeds! What on Orth are you talking about?”
“I can tell you no more. Next please.”
“No! Please Sir! Just one more minute! BB begged. “I don't understand. What has shining silver got to do with oranges? And I know absolutely nothing about shooting so firing at a friend is a ridiculous idea!”
The Wizard folded his arms firmly above the prominence of his rotund belly and stood mutely unmoving, his gaze fixed straight ahead. “Next please,” he repeated.
“My turn,” said Holly.
Reluctantly BB moved back off the disc to make room for her. As she stepped forward on to it the Wizard suddenly sprang back to virtual life, smiling and bowing again.
“Greetings princess,” he said.
“Princess sir?” Holly laughed happily. “I don't ever Mem being addressed as that before, but what a fantastic idea! The royal look! It could be the basis for a completely new style in clothing!” She stepped off the circle of light, which instantly vanished along with the HoloScreen image of the Wizard of Watt. “Not exactly the same as the fashions of the past,” Holly continued, “rather more sort of futuristic yet based on the costumes they used to wear. I Mem some of them from the unverified history! Beautiful silks and satins and velvets in absolutely gorgeous colours. And those furs and feathers and gold and silver. And jewels too! Red rubies and green emeralds and yellow topaz and pearls. There must be pearls. All softly gleaming white, like snow! I'll ask Sister Marjorie for permission to access the old Mems. Come along,” she said as they exited through the silken draped doorway. “I know exactly where to go.”
Eagerly she led the way straight to the jewellery section of the market where she proceeded with excited 'oohs' and 'ahs' to spend many tokens on a shopping spree buying every sort of sparkling ornament she thought suitable, including a glittering tiara, with BB all the while following patiently in her wake. At last, when she was satisfied with her purchases they left the market and went out into the sunny open air of the central square.
“Wait a moment BB, I've something for you to wear too,” she said halting in the shade of one of the carefully nurtured trees growing there.
“Thank you Holly, I appreciate the thought but I'm really not much into wearing jewellery.”
“I know, I know. It's just that I've a really great idea. One of the other girls in my class, Sharon's her name, had her image recorded with that of a friend in a Holographic Studio. They both dressed up as early settlers on Orth for it, and I thought it would be such fun if we did much the same thing only we could look like royalty so I bought you something to wear for it.”
“Well what is it?” asked BB a little suspiciously.
“Ta-ra!” With a theatrical flourish Holly produced the gold crown she had held concealed in one hand behind her back. “You only have to put it on your head for the recording that's all. After that, if you don't want it I can always use it for a style sample along with the rest of the things I bought.”
BB looked down at the glittering bauble. “I don't mind wearing it for a Holographic recording,” he said. “Though afterward I think you might have more use for then I ever will.”
A short time later, when it was over and they were out in the square again with the resulting Hologram, BB had to admit that it was rather good. When the button on one side of the base was pushed, images of Holly dressed as a princess with a tiara on her head and BB as a prince wearing a crown on his, popped up. They stood surrounded by a field full of flowers and as sweet music sounded the two tiny figures danced together, twirling endlessly round and round until the button was pushed again whereupon they vanished.
After admiring it sufficiently he smiled hopefully at Holly saying, “Now your royal highness, do you think we might find somewhere to eat? I'm absolutely starving!”
Holly sighed and shook her head from side to side in mock dismay. “Typical of the male species that is!” she said. “Never a thought in his head but for that which concerns his rations.”
“It's the thought of the lack of them that concerns me!”
She pouted prettily. “You poor skinny starveling! Can I count your ribs?”
BB couldn't help but laugh as she expertly tickled him, ruining his air of solemn dignity and hers of pseudo nobility. As he attempted to reciprocate in kind she darted away from him beneath the trees, staying temptingly just out of reach until finally surrendering by allowing him to catch her. As her small shrieks and their amiable scuffling together finally subsided, Holly straightened up her skewed tiara and rather breathlessly said, “All right, . . .I agree, . . . it's time to find somewhere to eat . . . Do you think we might try the West Quarter rations for a change? They make KKs in lots of different flavours so there's heaps to choose from. Selena went there the other day and she told me that the number five KK is absolutely delicious! After we've eaten we can go to the dance, we have a whole hour to spare before it begins. Which reminds me, have you heard about the new band that's going to play tonight? They've been practising an entirely different type of music, something quite unique to Unity.”
Holly slid her hand through BB's arm and continued talking to him non-stop while at the same time walking sedately as she thought a princess might beside him.
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