Evolution (5 page)

The thin face looks at me a little oddly. The broad face says, ‘Make sure they rehearse everyday. I’ll be back from time to time to teach them new choreography, but I’ve got to spend most of my time here, designing the amphitheatre and overseeing the building of it.’

I go to say ‘Goodbye’ to Athene. She glides round her workstation and looks up at me, her deep blue eye piercing my middle one. ‘We’ll see each other soon, Heracles. I’m going to miss you.’

‘I’ll miss you too,’ I say dutifully. I give her a sly grin. ‘Kata-Mbula told me you are going to dance with him at The Big Event. Is that true?’

She lowers her eye-lid and gives a little laugh. ‘You’ll have to wait and see – just like everyone else. But it would make a fantastic climax to the event, don’t you think?’

As Sati and I step out of the teleport, our first impression is of a blaze of colour accompanied by a mighty noise. The colour emanates from the swaying floor length robes of red, blue, silver and gold displayed by what seems to be the entire workforce of C97. The noise comes from the banging of drums competing with humanoid cries of ‘Hi,’ ‘Welcome,’ and ‘Great to meet you!’

A tall, dark-skinned female in a black and gold caftan heads the group. She raises her hands above her head. The drumming and voices cease. The robed figures stop swaying.

‘I am Bathsheba,’ proclaims the imposing figure, her deep voice resounding around the entrance hall. ‘Delighted to make your acquaintance, Heracles. We have heard so much about you from our beloved Kata-Mbula.’ She turns to Sati. ‘How beautiful you are, my dear! Welcome to Compound Creative.’

Sati and I exchange a look. This Bathsheba is keen to show us she’s in charge.

At a gesture from Bathsheba the music starts up: drums, cymbals, violins and some sort of wind instrument. Hips sway, mouths open wide and everyone bursts into song, the most amazing sound I’ve ever heard. The acoustics of this hall or theatre, whatever it is, make the voices soar.

At the end of the song Sati and I applaud and everyone joins in, clapping, cheering and laughing.

Bathsheba raises her arms again and opens them wide. The crowd splits into two sections leaving a central passageway for us to walk through. Moses crossing the Red Sea has nothing on us. As we pass through, I take the opportunity to demonstrate my athlete’s roll.

The singing and clapping continue. Sati holds her two heads high and takes dainty steps on the tips of her toes. Hands reach out to touch us as we pass.

Bathsheba leads Sati and me to our adjacent aparto-cubes. Detailed tapestries hang on the walls, each depicting mythical stories, based on the culture of the countries of the members of this sectoid.

‘Their ancestors knew these stories and we try to keep them alive in embroidered wall hangings, carpets and paintings, as well as in our theatrical performances,’ Bathsheba informs us. ‘Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be back to show you around later.’ And off she stalks. Good riddance.

Sati tiptoes around her aparto. I lean on the doorframe and watch her. She takes off her shoes and sinks her toes into the fake fur rugs in the shape of tigers, leopards and lions. There have been no animals on Earth for several hundred years, but someone has taken the trouble to research what they were like.

Sati lies on her stomach on a double shaper and runs her hands through the soft white fleece cover, closes her eyes and breathes in deeply. She springs up and flings herself on top of the red and blue striped velvet bunku-spread, kneels up and draws the matching curtains around the four-poster. She parts a curtain to make a small gap. A provocative blond head peeps out. She pulls the curtain closed again, but a moment later the other head, dark hair pulled seductively over one shoulder, takes a peek at me.

She stands tall on the bunku and drapes a curtain round her lovely body: Cleopatra in a carpet. I grin. She can be fun when she chooses. When she’s tired of playing peek-a-boo, she pulls the curtains wide open, jumps off the bunku and runs her fingers over the decorated surfaces of the carved statuettes in the corners of the cube.

‘These must be their gods,’ she says. ‘Or kings and queens. The humanoids who live here must be very talented to carve these.’

‘They must indeed,’ I say, almost as impressed with the quality of the arts and crafts as she is.

Sati goes into the lavat-cube. I hear her quick intake of breath. She peers round the door with both heads.

‘Come and take a look, Heracles. It’s like a garden.’

The walls are painted with trees, leaves and flowers and there’s a huge shower comparto with a double spray.

My aparto next door is very similar but more masculine. Every single tapestry, painting, rug and carving is distinct. Originals. When I worked in the histo-lab with Odysseus we had many original artefacts, all from the past; but this is contemporary work. There’s a double four poster in here too, but my bunku-spread and curtains are in earthy colours, brown, terracotta and green, the colour of the jungle, and the jungle theme continues in the lavat-cube, with huge trees and giant tropical plants. How imaginative of these humanoids to bring the outside world inside in a windowless space.

Bathsheba returns and asks imperiously. ‘What’s the verdict?’

‘Stupendous,’ says Sati. ‘I could live here.’

‘I certainly hope so,’ says Bathsheba. ‘And you, Heracles. What do you think?’

I don’t want to sound too enthusiastic. ‘I think you’ve gone to a lot of trouble to prepare these apartos for us. Very
gracious of you to decorate them with examples of your best work.’

Bathsheba chuckles deep in her throat. It is only at that moment that I notice her mutation: three extra fingers nestled round her neck. She may have more mutations than these of course, but the long black djellabah covers the rest of her body. I am reminded of Athene’s long white robe and what it conceals, the ever-changing bodily patterns that come alive when she dances.

What secrets does Bathsheba’s gown hide, I wonder?

I have little desire to find out. If I ever do rip off her clothes and take her it will be to teach her a lesson, to make her realise who is boss. I don’t fancy her at all. I find myself shivering.

‘Cold?’ asks Bathsheba with a toothy smile. ‘Come, I’ll show you the rest of Compound Creative and you can judge for yourself the general standard of our artistry.’

All the art and craft on show is of a similar standard to the items in our apartos. No wonder Bathsheba chuckled when I suggested the apartos were decorated especially for us. I’m knocked out by everything I see, but try not to show it, determined not to encourage Bathsheba’s superior attitude by giving her cause to gloat.

She points to a particular painting and proudly informs us it is her creation. It’s a powerful piece, dark and forceful. Again I feel sceptical about this female. How much power does she have? Is she friend or foe? She shows us a large dormo-cube that contains a series of double bunkus. ‘Some of our members prefer to sleep in communes.’ She allows the door to slide shut quickly as she moves us on.

I take Sati’s arm and steer her away, remembering the disruption she caused with her love-sex orgies in Kali’s compound, C55. Better not to give her any ideas.

Bathsheba slides open another door. ‘This is Kata-Mbula’s office. Yours now, Heracles.’

The office is laid out with specific care. It has less carvings and paintings than the other rooms and only one tapestry. I fail to understand why Kat’s office should be so basically equipped. He is, or was, their leader. You’d think he’d want to demonstrate his power by exhibiting a generous amount of artefacts and paintings.

Bathsheba explains Kat’s viewpoint. ‘Kat displays ten new pieces of creative work each week. It’s a competition that everyone wants to win.’

‘Good motivation for the workforce,’ I remark. ‘Plus he is able to assert his power by selecting the ones he likes.’

Bathsheba frowns. ‘It’s not like at all. The members vote for the ones they like best and he accepts their choices.’

My turn to frown. ‘But suppose he doesn’t like the pieces they choose?’

‘He only has to look at them for a week before the next ten arrive.’ She strolls to the door. ‘In any case, Kat is not one to spend much time in his office. He likes to be out there working alongside his colleagues.’ She gives me a sidelong look. ‘Athene says you’re a bit of a whiz on the compu. Not a skill many possess here, so I guess you will have your uses.’

A snide remark, belittling compu skills as an art form and suggesting I won’t be much use at anything else. I have no wish to join in with this acting lark, but I am determined to show her I’m in charge. On the surface she seems to be helping us settle in but I sense her resentment. She thinks the sun shines out of Kat’s arse and is determined to make me feel incompetent.

I see that I shall have to make myself felt as a different kind of leader.

‘From now on I shall choose which pieces I want to decorate my office.’

Bathsheba opens her mouth to protest, changes her mind and closes it firmly. ‘As you wish,’ she says, her voice cold.

Before the tour finishes, Bathsheba takes us outside. The creativity of these humanoids apparently extends to the making of a garden on ground that has been barren for years. The flowers are grouped artistically in groups of colour. I don’t know the names of the plants, but I do know the effect is striking. One of the borders features yellow and lavender coloured flowers, another orange and magenta and there is a square of green lawn, surrounded by bushes and what I believe is called a hedge.

On the lawn sit several humanoids holding pieces of paper. ‘Learning their lines,’ explains Bathsheba. ‘I’ve told them they must be word perfect by tomorrow.’ That’s her way of telling me that she’s in charge of rehearsals.

‘As with the other sectoids, we can decide to leave the compound if we wish, build our own houses and live separately. But we choose not to do that. Why? Because we are a close-knit community, used to living together and working together on our creative projects.’

‘’It will take time for most of us to get used to living outside,’ I agree, ‘but in the future I assure you we shall all live in houses and flats, just as human beings did in the past.’

‘Not the humanoids from Compound Creative,’ insists Bathsheba.

I smile. Not worth arguing about. I’m going to make it happen. Against the skyline, I note a dome-shaped building. That must be C98. Between these two compounds, I will build my city.

I screw up my three eyes and look across the wide space that once was the wilderness and visualise it. First The Heracles Tower, then houses, shops, cinemas and sports grounds. My original plan B.

Plan A was to build the tower and the city on a satellite in the sky, but I will build a city here first.

‘Thanks for showing us round, Bathsheba,’ I say,
dismissing her. ‘I am going to spend some time in my office now.’

She smiles. ‘That’s fine. I’ll look after Sati. I have something very special for her to do.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Suffice it to say that we are going to prepare for the party this evening. See you later.’

First we’ve heard about a party. Sati prances off with Bathsheba and I sit down at Kat’s compu and look at his files.

Designs for stage sets, costumes and masks, notes on choreography and ideas for theatre productions: nothing of any importance.

I plug in my drive-saver and upload my files.

When I return to my aparto I hear excited voices and laughter next door. I knock and enter and there is Sati surrounded by a group of females, some kneeling at her feet, others standing, others sitting watching. Is Sati up to her old tricks, initiating some kind of love fest? No. They are making her some new clothes, dressing and undressing her as if she is one of those Barbie dolls seen in old adverts. Two of them are winding a long sheath of scarlet silk round her body, drawing it neatly over her breasts and pinning it on one shoulder. The kneelers are tacking up the hem.

‘What do you think?’ asks Sati, pushing the women away and giving a twirl. ‘Does it suit me, Heracles?’

I stand in front of her nodding and grinning and the females start to clap in rhythm as Sati spins. I join in – the clapping that is, not the spinning.

‘You next,’ they say and although I protest it makes no difference. Two or three of them approach me holding a long sky blue piece of cloth and begin fitting it over the jump suit I’m wearing.

‘Just a minute,’ I say, pushing them away and handing back the swathe of material for them to hold. I strip off, letting the discarded jog suit slip to the floor. I kick it away and stand there naked, my wide shoulders, strong chest, three muscular legs, penis and testicles exposed. Nothing to be ashamed of: I’m well hung and happy in my skin. I lap up the stares.

I grin. ‘Come on, then.’

The two females with the fabric come towards me, a little tentatively at first, but soon their professionalism takes over. They drape the length of material over one shoulder and begin to adjust, pin and tack it together. Others have been putting the finishing touches to Sati’s costume. That’s what these are – stage costumes. Nothing is real here. We’ve entered a fantasy world.

In the other compounds we take little notice of what we wear. Joggers and T-shirts arrive regularly and we put them on and take them off with little thought of fashion or aesthetics. In Compound Creative it’s quite different. Everyone wears long robes, which, apart from looking elegant and colourful, also serve to hide most of their mutations. I’m not saying they look like completes. Some have extra heads or eyes and such mutations cannot be hidden under a robe. But let’s say one is less aware of the mutations here than usual, because of the caftans, sarongs, djellabahs or gowns. When we next meet these creative humanoids we shall be dressed like them.

A special supper has been arranged for us. No food packoids or nutri-rations tonight. Apparently one of the skills my new workforce possesses is the ability to prepare tasty food. I have no idea what the ingredients of this meal consist of, but everything tastes and smells delicious. Not only that, it is presented artistically too. Attention has been paid to colour and the arrangement of the food on decorative serving plates in the centre of a giant table. A great deal
of effort and imagination has gone into the preparation. I glance at Sati. She arches her four eyebrows and licks her two pairs of lips.

I’m not sure how we are supposed to eat this meal so keep an eye on the others. They eat with their fingers as we do but they don’t thrust the food into their mouths. They eat in what I can only describe as a delicate manner, holding their fingers with elegant precision. They don’t snatch at the food but take a little at a time and bite small pieces off before chewing and swallowing.