The Rainbow Maker's Tale (6 page)

At first it was very simplistic
– I was only eight years old after all – but I actually got better
rather quickly. It seemed perhaps that my brain had some particular
talent for working in this logical way. And so it was that after
exhausting all of the available routes of investigation, I began
looking at some of the less obvious ones.

I was probably twelve by the
time I graduated to full-blown espionage. Before then it was mainly
sneaking into any open utility systems I could find and wandering
around every part of the Family Quarter looking for clues. Father
was an Engineer, working regularly on projects and repairs in the
Family Quarter and, to my intense delight, during one of my outings
I discovered that in the office at our apartment he kept a stock of
tools, along with data cartridges containing blueprints, floor
plans, utility routes and heavy plant operating manuals.

After discovering this hoard, I
regularly
borrowed
items that were useful in gaining access
to areas that had previously been closed to me. Then there were the
data cartridges themselves, from which I learned about a very
different side to the space station. Through a combination of
specialist tools and information, my understanding of how the
Family Quarter operated blossomed rapidly. Soon I was able to
access whatever I wanted, whenever I chose, limited only by the
scanner system tracking my whereabouts. .

One day, rummaging through the
contents of a tool kit – searching for a particular kind of
transmission board – I’d sliced my finger open on something sharp
at the bottom of the box. After rinsing the small wound and
dressing it with a protective sleeve, I’d returned to Father’s
office and carefully began removing the contents of the box to find
what I’d cut myself on.

At the very bottom of the box,
lying flat against the black plastic base was a square sliver of
some unusual material. It was so thin you would barely notice it,
except that I must have moved it somehow to expose one of the sharp
corners to have cut myself. This time I removed it carefully,
pressing the thin material between my bandaged finger and thumb. I
lifted it towards my face to get a closer view.

The piece was grey-silver in
colour, approximately two inches square with an odd surface finish,
part-shiny, part-matt. I was certain it wasn’t any kind of plastic
or resin, which I knew virtually everything else in the Family
Quarter was constructed from. As I cautiously pressed my fingers
along the edge of the piece it flexed slightly: not as easily as a
fabric, but certainly it was not as rigid as plastic.

For several minutes I continued
testing the movement and feel of the square, being careful not to
damage it as I considered what it could be. Finally – although I
could barely believe it – I concluded it must be some form of
metal.

From everything I’d been
taught, to find a piece of metal here – however small – should have
been impossible. We had always been told that it was only used in
the outer construction of the space station and was not present in
any of the habitable quarters. At one point in my life, I would
have been shocked by this discovery; but, by that stage I knew that
what I found when I investigated was very different to what I’d
been told.

One of my first discoveries had
been when I’d calculated that the space station could not have the
gravitational field we were told it did, if it was laid out in the
manner we were told it was. Our astro-engineering lessons taught us
that we lived on a space station designed as a giant, rotating
wheel, which recreated the natural gravity field of Earth. If that
was the case, based on the size of the Family Quarter alone, it
would require the Retirement and Married Quarters each be thirty
times bigger than the Family Quarter in order to create a ship
large enough to generate the right levels of gravitational
pull.

The calculations did not match
with what we were taught about the station itself: that the Family
Quarter was the largest of the three habitable zones. There was
supposedly a minimal amount of uninhabitable space within the
station, as well.

To my mind the combination of
these elements left three options: the external design of the space
station was different from what we’d been told; the other two
Quarters were
much
bigger than we were told; or there were
other parts of the ship that existed – very large and completely
unknown – that we were told didn’t. However, you looked at it,
there was something strange going on.

So – even though I knew I
should not be able to find metal in Father’s tool kit, when he had
always maintained that he worked only within the boundaries of the
Family Quarter, that didn’t mean that it wasn’t possible. As I had
turned the small fragment around in my fingers, I’d wondered
whether my Father lied about where he worked on the station, or
whether metal was used somewhere else other than the external ship
structure. It was an interesting distinction – even if it meant
lies both ways – and I filed it away for future research.

I came to the conclusion that
whatever the truth was, my Father must not have realised that this
fragment had found its way into his tool kit, because I was sure
that if he had, it would have been removed. And so, certain that I
would not be discovered if I took it I slid the small piece of
metal into my pocket and packed the tools back into place, where
they had been before my discovery.

In secret I was able to
experiment with the metal over the following weeks, using chemicals
borrowed
from the school labs and tools from Father’s
office. Finally, I determined that it was a form of aluminium:
lightweight, but strong. Once I knew what I
had
I wanted to
find out what it could
do
and so next came a series of tests
to try and find some use for the metal. But there was nothing. It
did not affect the viewing screens or data centres, nor was it
useful in manipulating the electronic access systems which
locked-down areas of the quarter (and were therefore one of my main
targets). It was only as I was about to give up and relegate it to
the jumbled stash of items I kept buried in Park 42 that I found
out what it
could
do.

My final test was to see if the
metal had any effect on the scanner network. I’d tried every one of
the major systems operating within the Quarter and this was the
only one left. When it affected nothing as I passed it in front of
the sensors – they still recognised and scanned the identity mark
on the inside of my wrist passing my whereabouts back to the
central information system – I was sourly disappointed. About to
dismiss it once and for all, a last second spark of inspiration
told me to place the metal sliver over the mark itself and try
passing the scanner again.

Pressing the cool metal against
my skin and holding it firmly in place with my fingers, whilst
still allowing the smooth surface to be exposed, I stepped
cautiously towards the scanner. In two more steps I’d passed the
sensor and was now standing just inside the entrance to Park
42.

This time there was nothing. No
beep
as the sensor distinguished the individual strokes that
made up my unique mark. No
beep
to let me know that it had
registered my presence moving from the residential zone and into
the park. There was nothing. And nothing was fantastic.

* * *

Pulling myself back to the
present from my recollections of how I’d come to own the metal band
I was about to put to use, I found myself standing in the small
plaza before the Red Zone Library and Information Depository. The
building had four levels and was identical to the two other
libraries that existed in the Blue and Black Zones: transparent
resin outer walls provided a clear view of the people milling about
inside. Some were seated at workstations, some reviewing the
information cartridges that filled the near endless shelves of the
depository. In a nod to classical Earth architecture, tall Roman
columns flanked the entrance. The columns were the only
distinguishing feature of the building. They were modelled in resin
with a tiny grey-black speckled effect running through it, to make
them appear like marble – doing this only made the attempt at
replication even more contrived.

Putting aside my gripes on
construction materials, I trudged forwards. Plastic or not, this
was the perfect place to get
lost
for a few hours. Wrapping
my fingers around the familiar band in my pocket I casually passed
through the main entrance to the library, listening for the
distinct
beep
as the scanner read my mark and registered my
presence in the building.

Once inside, I passed the
assistants at the reception desk and made my way to the staircase
at the back of the building. Springing up the empty steps, I kept
going until I reached the top floor. It was usually busier here
than the other levels because the information stored here was
geared towards recreation and entertainment. I smiled to myself
when I saw that many of the workstations were occupied, with a
steady stream of people waiting to use them.

Perfect
. I grinned and
headed off in search of some data cartridges.

The queue of people reduced
quickly and before long I found myself seated at a workstation with
a stack of five data cartridges clenched in my hands. With a
cursory glance at the occupied stations around me – as usual no one
was paying me any attention – I reached below the workstation and
began feeding the cartridges into the waiting slots. Once all five
were securely loaded I loosened the ties on my school sack and
rummaged around until I found what I was looking for at the bottom:
another data cartridge. Pulling it out, I slipped the final
cartridge into place in the data unit and then sat up.

Another swift peek around the
room told me that nothing had changed in the ten seconds it had
taken me to load up the machine. Everyone nearby was still absorbed
with whatever was on their workstations and paying me no attention
at all. Pulling the lightweight keyboard towards me I ran my mark
over the integrated scanner and began logging in to the system.
Once the initial login had completed, my fingers flew across the
keys typing in a range of commands to activate the data cartridge
I’d brought with me.

The screen flickered once –
barely visible – as the program inside my data cartridge took over
the workstation operating system. The camera built into the
workstation viewing screen activated and began filming me. I sat as
still as I could so that the images being recorded could be easily
looped over one another to create the impression I was sat at the
screen quietly reading. Allowing my eyes to flicker slowly from
left to right over and over again, the camera continued recording
me for three minutes before clicking off and switching from the
live feed to the recorded images now stored inside the data
cartridge.

First step completed
. I
nodded to myself as my fingers found the keyboard again. I entered
the command string to begin running the second stage of the
program, that would activate the cartridges I’d picked up from the
library. It would begin slowly running through the various data
files saved onto the cartridges; combined with the camera
recording, it would give the impression that I was sat here,
reading the contents. Five cartridges would keep anyone occupied
for a good few hours.

The program began and I watched
the screen as the first couple of text files opened before me.
Nothing changed for thirty seconds and then the next stage of the
program kicked-in. The image of the text files disappeared, to be
replaced by the message OUT OF SERVICE in large white letters on
the blank screen. This was the standard holding page that indicated
a piece of equipment was not functioning and had been flagged for
repair – the program code for this was a nice acquisition from one
of my numerous excursions into Father’s office – and never drew any
attention.

“Oh no,” I muttered softly as
though to myself, but really for the benefit of anyone overhearing
me. “This system’s malfunctioned,” I added, as I pushed my chair
back from the now inoperable workstation that was running my hidden
program behind the standard breakdown notice.

No one was listening, or even
turned towards me as I stepped away and walked to the back of the
room. Perfect execution
,
I thought as I descended the stairs
and slipped the waiting metal band from my pocket onto my wrist.
Even if my parents bothered to wonder where I was this afternoon –
which I didn’t think they would – they would see that I was being
as studious as ever, happily occupied at the library.

Passing back through the main
entrance, alongside three others, I allowed myself a small smile
when the scanning system met my presence with silence. The
wristband did its job and I was free to go wherever I wanted. I
could do whatever I wanted – safe in the knowledge that I was truly
invisible.

My earlier conversation with
Cassie was still distracting me, and I knew I needed some time to
get distance and perspective. Instinctively, I headed in the
direction of my second home.

The busier streets fell behind
me as I made my way deeper into the residential avenues of the Red
Zone. Taking the path between the edge of the zone and the full
height wall that divided the Family Quarter from the Married
Quarter, I saw no one. I couldn’t imagine anyone using this pathway
to get home as I was walking past the back of the apartment blocks.
The solitude was familiar. Being alone again felt natural…normal.
Almost normal, I corrected myself. I could not ignore the odd
niggling sensation that I’d felt since leaving Cassie in Park 17.
This time I didn’t bother with my list of reasons as to why I
shouldn’t feel this way. It was pointless telling myself lies.