Evolution (11 page)

‘Mercury! It’s great to see you. How long is it now? Years and years. Grab a shaper and come and sit by me,’ I tell him, although this hard backed, rigid thingammy-whats-it can hardly be called a shaper. No body could ever fit that shape.

He skips across the room and sits astride it, his arms and hands resting on the back.

‘Let’s look at you,’ I say. ‘You’ve changed a bit. Older I suppose. Not much taller though.’

‘You’ve changed too,’ he says. ‘More grown up. And fatter.’

‘There’s a reason for that,’ I tell him rolling my eyes.

He grins. ‘I realise that.’

‘Well, we’ll leave you to it,’ Janey says, reluctantly.

‘Enjoy your reunion,’ says Moira.

They wave at us and walk off, giggling.

‘Silly old cows,’ I tell him. ‘I’m glad they’ve gone. Now we can talk properly.’

But we are not quite at ease with each other.

‘Well, Merc,’ I say, ‘What have you been up to?’

‘Same old, same old,’ he says.

‘Still the same old clever clogs, sitting at a compu all day, learning things?’

‘You’ve got it.’ He gives a nod at my large tum. ‘I don’t need to ask what you’ve been up to.’

‘My life has taken a turn for the better. I fell in love and this is the result. Take a look at this.’

I hand him the fotogram and watch his face as he stares at it. He seems to be totally scrutinising it. I’m amazed he’s so interested.

‘I’m trying to get used to the idea,’ I tell him.

‘That your baby is a complete?’

‘That’s she’s female. I’d so got it in my head that I would have a son.’

‘The main thing is that she’s healthy,’ says Mercury, sounding more like the old nurse who looks in on me from time to time; the one in charge. Gertie. ‘The gender is unimportant.’

‘You’re right. It’s just taking me time to get used to the idea.’

‘Some people take longer than others to process things,’ he says.

‘Well, you know me. I’ve never been that quick.’

‘You’ll love your baby whatever. Nothing to worry about.’ Now he sounds like Odysseus. They’re both know-it-alls.

‘What did the doctor say about the scan?’ Mercury asks.

‘Nothing. He didn’t show it to me. The nurse did. Gemma. She’s real cute Gemma is. She was a bit surprised the doctor hadn’t shown it me, so she took herself off to the lab and found it for me herself.’

‘She got it from the lab, you say? Just a minute. I’ll go and check. There may be more images, taken from different angles.’ And he’s off, moving quickly across the cube and
out of the door, but without the jerky skips that I remember. His voice is different too. Deeper. I suppose he’s all grown up now. That’s what makes the difference.

When he comes back, sure enough, he’s holding more fotograms of my baby. He seems excited. Who would have thought he would take such an interest in what after all are female concerns. He studies each fotogram carefully and hands them to me.

‘There are no mutations, as far as I can see. No doubt they will examine her thoroughly after she’s born, do lots of tests to make sure, but, from the scans, it looks as if she’s a perfect complete.’

‘I was rather hoping she would have an extra arm like me and five extra tiny fingers.’

‘Doesn’t look like it.’

‘Is it a good thing that she’s got no mutations?’

‘Some might think that.’

‘What do you think?’

He wrinkles his forehead. ‘Depends. In the long run it’s good. It means that, in the future, in all probability, every baby will be a complete, now that the contamination from the plague has been eradicated.’

‘And that would be a good thing?’

‘For the future of the world, yes, but….’ I can see he’s trying to tell me something, but he asks me a question instead.

‘Has Dionysus got many mutations?’

The question shocks me a bit but as it’s Merc I answer him. ‘When he’s dressed, in uniform and that, you’d can’t see anything different about him. A bit like you really. I don’t mean you look alike but you both look more like humanoids used to look in the time before.’

‘And out of uniform?’

I feel myself blushing. ‘He’s just perfect. Strong muscles
on his chest, arms and legs. He works out a lot you know and all that marching is good exercise.’

‘But….’ Mercury prompts me.

‘I don’t know if you’d really call it a mutation but he has three nipples on his chest.’

‘Nothing else?’

‘Nothing I’ve noticed.’

‘And your only mutation is your little extra arm.’

‘I don’t think of it as a mutation. With a bit of practice I’ll be able to knit more quickly than patients with only two hands.’

‘Knit?’

‘Baby clothes. I’ll show you. Look.’ I get out the wool and needles from the cabinet by my bed and attempt to demonstrate. ‘I’m not very good at it yet, but with a bit more practice I’m sure I will be. Both Bridie and Gemma think I’m lucky to have been “blessed” as they call it with three hands. They’re totally envious.’

Mercury isn’t really listening. He’s deep in thought. At last he starts to tell me what’s on his mind.

‘If your baby is indeed a complete you need to be prepared for a few things. For one thing, the Symposium – the Oasis government – are unlikely to let a complete go back with you to live in a compound full of mutants.’

‘What’s it to do with the government? She’s my baby and I’m going to take her to C98 whatever they say.’

‘I’m just trying to warn you that there may be some resistance to you doing that.’

I stare at the tiny blurred figure on the fotograms. ‘I think I’ll call her Penelope. That was my mother’s name. At first I hated her for dying and leaving me all alone. I tried not to think about her. But lately, since I’ve been pregnant, I’ve begun to remember all the good things about her, how much she loved me and all that.’

I clasp my hands together. ‘I wish she could be here now. She’d be a good grandmother. Still, I have to count myself lucky that little Penelope will have a grandfather.’

Mercury looks puzzled.

‘Odysseus. He’s my father. Didn’t you know? Odysseus and Penelope. Get it? That’s why I was sent to C55 when my mother died.’

‘I didn’t know. Didn’t realise.’

‘He didn’t twig either. Not for years. For all you’re both so blinking clever with your heads in books and on compus, there are some things you just don’t get. Either of you.’

Mercury gives me his cheeky grin. ‘Quite right, as usual, Isis.’

‘I’ll tell you something else. Thanks for the warning, but I can assure you that there’s no way any doctor or Sympo-what-sit will ever separate me from my baby.’

Just before he leaves, Mercury gives me another bit of advice. ‘Get Dionysus – sorry Osiris – to come as soon as possible. He should be here for the birth.’

‘And if he can’t come?’

Mercury hesitates. ‘I’ll stay with you. Just in case there’s any trouble. I won’t leave you alone.’ And then he’s off.

I’m not sure what he means by alone but it occurs to me that he means alone, except for completes. But they’re all so nice and friendly. Is he really afraid they’ll take my baby away from me?

I sit on the side of the bed struggling with the knitting. The wool is in knots and the bit I have done is a tangled mess. I throw the whole caboodle across the cube. Damn the bloody thing!

It was good to see Mercury. He’s like a brother to me, but it’s Osiris I need, my golden warrior, my lover, husband and father of little Penelope. Where is he? Why hasn’t he come to see me? I put my head in my arms. I think I’ll have a little cry. That will make me feel better.

No, I must pull myself together. I think about Mercury’s visit and remember that I didn’t ask him anything about his life. All we talked about was me. How selfish I am. Me, me, me, that’s all I think about. And the baby of course. I didn’t even find out what compound Mercury is in now or if anything interesting has happened to him. I don’t suppose it has. He’s not the type to have an adventure. I expect he’s just jogging along like before, spending hours on his compu, studying hard for no reason at all.

He and Odysseus have a lot in common. They both love knowledge for its own sake. Odd that.

I should have asked him where he lives. Taken an interest, like.

A gush between my legs. It feels as if the bottom part of my body has broken off. Oh, don’t tell me I’m going to lose this baby. I press the buzzer as they’ve taught me to do in an emergency and the old nurse, Gertie, comes in straightaway.

‘Something terrible has happened,’ I tell her. ‘I feel as if everything has collapsed down there.’

She slips her hands under my robe. ‘Everything’s fine. Your waters have broken. That’s all.’

She slips some sort of instrument inside me. ‘You’re almost fully dilated. That is one little baby in a hurry to come into the world. We must get you to the theatre immediately.’

‘I'm relying on you, Bathsheba to keep me informed on everything that happens in my absence,' Kat told me before he left for C99, ‘It must be private – a communication that no one else can read.'

An auto-mail can be read by anyone, but a personal coded memo – a pcm – is a private device that no one but the recipient can read. That is how he wants me to communicate with him while he's away.

I'm honoured that Kata-Mbula has chosen me as his informant. I'm not officially his deputy. He prides himself on treating all members of our sectoid as equals, but I know that deep down he regards me as such. The pcm is easy to use. He sets up the code and, with one click I can write normally and, with another click it transforms itself into the pers-code he has set up.

I'm ready to begin, but am not sure how to address him.

My Beloved Kat,

I delete that greeting and start again. I try alternatives:
My beloved Kata-Mbula, Beloved Kat, Dear Kata-Mbula
and even a simple
Dear Kat
but none of them feel right. So, at the risk of upsetting him – not that he is ever upset, he's the most composed person I know – I go back to the first version. Why? Because, although it is not a quite accurate
description of our relationship, it is how I think of him. To me he is and always will be
My Beloved Kat
.

I'm aware that this intimate greeting might bother him with its possessive undertones. He doesn't like shows of possessiveness. I have come to terms with that – or like to believe I have. He doesn't always share his innermost thoughts with me, just as he doesn't always share my bed. I try not to picture the intimacies we share being enacted with other partners.

But this propensity to share is part of his philosophy (and ours) in Compound Creative. We are all dedicated to community living and for this to extend to our sex lives seems quite natural.

I've noticed that Kat's affairs often begin during early rehearsals of a piece of theatre or dance and come to a climax (forgive the terminology) towards the end of the production and fade out soon afterwards.

From what I've read on line, I understand that these short-term relationships are quite usual in the world of the theatre. Intense all consuming passions at the time but after the last performance, the participants of these arrangements – let's call them arrangements – cease to operate and each half of the couple moves on without rancour.

This type of theatrical infatuation is a mixture of fantasy and reality, a confusion of the role and the actor who plays it. In the past, actors were likely to move on physically to act in different productions in different companies, possibly in different towns. Separation was inevitable and so the affair ended. In rehearsals with another group of actors another short-lived affair might start.

It's different for us. We remain here in the same compound and have to suffer the emotional hurt of witnessing our previous lover move on to someone else as a new play goes into rehearsal. We all, both males and females, have to cope with that rejection with varying degrees of success.

If the lover in question happens to be Kat it is somewhat different. In spite of our egalitarian beliefs, Kata-Mbula is our undisputed leader. There is honour in being sought out by him and after his affairs – some with females, some with men, some short-lived, some longer lasting – he moves on.

His partners do not. Or only rarely. And not easily. There is no taboo against this. We are, as I said before, believers in egalitarianism.

But the fact remains that most of Kat's partners do not make new alliances: or if they do, not until considerable time has passed. It's as if we keep ourselves untouched by anyone else ready to receive his attentions again should he decide to return. No compulsion. It just happens. Out of respect for him. And desire. We remain open to his needs.

To engage in an intimate relationship with another humanoid after knowing Kat would be less than satisfactory. Perhaps I'm exaggerating this tendency, imposing on others my own feelings, but I believe I'm sensitive to the emotions of Kat's ex-lovers, because they have known what I have known.

“Save your love for me,” goes the old song. That's what I'm doing and that's what I suspect these others – especially the females – are doing too. I am saving my love for him and that's what I mean when I address him as “My Beloved Kat.”

He knows I'm waiting. He knows I'm faithful to him and that I have never moved on, never taken another lover.

I also know that he relies on me. He trusts me to let him know what is happening in Compound Creative. This sectoid is more important to him than all his lovers – including me. I accept the limitations of his feelings, am pleased with the task he's given me and intend to carry it out to the best of my ability.

So – here goes. In spite of the opening greeting, I know I mustn't write a love letter.

These personal coded memos are to give him news about what's going on in Compound Creative and there's plenty to tell him without burdening him with personal matters.

My Beloved Kat,

I miss you. We all miss you. I'm sure you know that. We do our best to keep our spirits up, but without you here beside us, it is not easy.

I need to tell you about some of the problems we are encountering here, but I want you to know that we are coping with them. This is not a plea for you to return, much as we would all like that. We are aware that the work you are doing in C99 is important and will benefit us all in the long run.

Firstly, I must tell you that the arrival of Heracles and his sidekick, Sati, went off well, without mishap. You would have been pleased with the welcome we gave them, both the feast and the show afterwards. They were overwhelmed by the hospitality awarded them, so superior to anything they experienced before.

They arrived wearing what looked to us like sports-gear, the sort of sweat pants and tops that athletes in olden times would wear after physical exercise of some sort. I organised some of the women to make them more suitable garments before the evening's festivities. Sati and Heracles more than complied. They seemed delighted with the attention afforded them and their transformation. I've arranged for other costumes from our store to be at their disposal. Sati in particular has made full use of this facility. Her beauty and sexuality is much admired by both males and females and she has a good eye for choosing the costumes that suit her.

A word about Sati. There is something about her I don't
entirely trust. At first I thought she and Heracles were an exclusive couple and gave her a dormo-cube next to his. She uses this cube as a base, mainly to rest during the day. No doubt to get over her nightly exertions in the communal dormo-cube.

Heracles seems to accept her promiscuity. Mind you, he is not without other lovers himself, but – call me old-fashioned – I've always thought it more acceptable for a male to vary his bedfellows.

If you remember, we initiated the commun-dormo-cube in keeping with the spirit of the community we were building. Members of a theatre or dance group could develop relationships begun in rehearsals openly. This practice might cause suffering for the rejected partner, but a bit of anguish was considered a suitable price to pay for the sake of the play. The freedom awarded these new alliances, has worked well for the most part in spite of a few outbursts of jealousy. We consider this methodology, not an excuse for licence or promiscuity, but another method of “getting into the skin of the character.” Exploring the sexuality of each other means the new couple could immerse themselves more deeply in their roles.

With the coming of Sati the original purpose of the commun-dormo-cube seems to have been forgotten. Sati, as her name suggests, is insatiable. As a lover she is voracious. As a female, she feeds on being the centre of attention.

I'm not sure of the ultimate purpose of the roles she is playing, but I have come to realise that it is not good for the health and growth of our creativity. There have been several falling-outs and several examples of non-attendance at rehearsals. A certain lethargy has set in as far as work is concerned. In my opinion, although I have no positive proof of this, Sati is determined to ruin the collective loyalty that we have worked so hard to achieve. I have no positive
proof of this, because, as you know, I do not participate in the activities of the commun-dormo-cube. That is not my style. Nor is it my desire.

I'm afraid to have to tell you that there have been other problems in Compound Creative due to the change in leadership.

Initially, Heracles appeared amenable to my suggestions and agreed to consult the council before making any changes, but lately, he ignores its advice and mine. He laughs when I gently intimate that a change of policy might cause problems. For example, he no longer allows the competition for creative works for your office (now his) to be chosen democratically. He selects the winners himself and takes pleasure in announcing them in public. This causes great distress in some quarters. His choices tend to be – again in my humble opinion – not based on the best-executed work but on whether he fancies the artist who created it. There is talk of a “casting couch.” Between the two of them, Sati and Heracles, seem to be turning our beloved sectoid into a den of debauchery. I am sorry to be the bearer of such bad news, but feel you should know what is going on.

You have probably heard about the coup at our neighbouring compound, C98. Jagadgauri has been replaced by the previous leader, Durga. As expected Durga has reinstated the golden warriors and they are practising their war games again as avidly as before, with the added advantage of being able to extend their marching and war games to the outside of the compound. Because of the previous rivalry between Durga and Heracles – she was after all his prisoner – not to mention between Durga and her so-called sister-wife, Sati, I just hoped that there would be no trouble coming from that sectoid.

With that in mind, I decided to attend Brahmin's funeral to restore good relations between us, but Heracles forestalled
me, asked me to stay and hold the fort here so to speak while he and Sati attended the event in my place. I spent the entire day worrying about the dreadful things that might occur – but am pleased to say that nothing untoward appears to have happened. I did not receive any ill reports about the visit. I conclude Heracles was just checking up on the changed status quo.

Heracles continues his high-handed treatment of our colleagues, re-arranging the rehearsal schedules for no known reason and insisting on giving what he calls motivational speeches at the beginning, in the middle or at the end of rehearsals. Needless to say we are not used to such a cavalier approach and some resentment is apparent. No overt protests at the moment but there's an undercurrent of bitterness that is far from conducive to a good working atmosphere. All I can say is that his so-called motivational speeches do not have the intended effect. He seems to offend more than encourage. I have had words with him about it, but he laughs and tells me to “lighten up” whatever that means.

Another change. He wanders into rehearsals and sits at the back, usually with his arm round one of his favourite females and whispers to her, throughout. The other day a poor girl missed her cue and was scolded by Jeronimo, the Stage Manager. Heracles then undermined the SM's authority by telling him in front of the cast and stage crew that he should keep things in proportion. What he actually said was, ‘don't get your knickers in a twist. After all, it's only a play.' Only a play!

How can someone with such insensitivity be in charge of Compound Creative? Even though it is only a temporary appointment, he acts as if it is a permanent one. Do reassure me by telling me that his power is limited. It will be disastrous for us all if he stays here much longer.

I'm sure you will think I'm exaggerating the gravity of the situation, but I swear I'm not. I'm sorry I haven't better news for you.

Meanwhile, I promise you that I will do everything in my power to make sure he and Sati don't ruin all your good work.

I hope everything is going smoothly with the design and construction of the new stadium and that Athene appreciates your extraordinary talent as much as we all do.

You know without me telling you that you have all my love and support.

Your ever loyal
Bathsheba

My beloved Kat,

I hope all is well in C99 and that your plans are progressing smoothly.

Over a week now and no answer from you. I expect you're busy. Just because you haven't replied doesn't mean that I won't continue with my reports. You must be informed of what is happening here. It's just unfortunate that there is very little good news to tell you.

Things are a little chaotic here at the moment due to changes in routine and several problems in personal relationships concerning members of the cast.

The dancers, Dali and Lucretia, have announced that they are no longer a couple. Or rather Lucretia has. That's fine, in principle. Everyone is entitled to move on, but Lucretia is refusing to be in the same dance troupe as Dali. She says he's the guilty party and he must leave. She cannot bear to be in the same rehearsal room with him, can't bear to see his
ugly face or see him prancing about like an arrogant pig as she puts it.

Dali tells her that if she feels that way she must be the one to leave, that he's not going anywhere. She stamps her feet and screams abuse at him.

As you know, Dali is the better dancer and we really can't afford to lose him. There's always a shortage of good male dancers and there's no one available to replace him; whereas it wouldn't be too difficult to find a substitute for Lucretia. I've tried to have a quiet word with her and have offered her another part in Troupe Two, but she turned her fury on me and told me she had no intention of dancing with “those losers.” Where did she learn such language? I've never heard anyone use the word “loser” in Compound Creative before.