‘The residual energy is fading,’ said 55-A-2, flashing her co-supervisor a pointed look. ‘Our theory is thus proved incorrect.’
Keagan sighed. Did this mean he was going to be stuck in this strange world of boring sameness?
55-A-2 ran her fingers across the plastic. The readouts changed.
‘55-A-3, 4 and 5 are running further diagnostics,’ 55-A-2 announced. She studied the readouts then continued. ‘New theory. The closing of one portal may trigger the opening of another.’ Her fingers moved in a blur across the plastic. ‘Residual energy in Corridor HD07 extinguished.’ Fingers continued to tap away. ‘New energy signature detected.’
Keagan inhaled sharply as he felt an odd tugging feeling inside him. That was strange, he thought. Was it simply the hope of possible escape, or something more? Something to do with the doorway?
‘New fluctuating energy signature detected outside the parameters of this city,’ said 55-A-2. ‘It is weak, but potentially a portal.’
Keagan felt a surge of hope. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Negative,’ said the clones. ‘We cannot leave the city.’
‘Why can’t I leave?’ demanded Keagan.
‘Conditions within the city are controlled,’ said 55-A-1. ‘Atmosphere, temperature, bacteria are all at optimum levels. Conditions outside the city are not controlled.’
‘I need to get to the doorway,’ pleaded Keagan.
‘There is no guarantee that the theory is correct,’ said 55-A-1, glancing at the other clone.
‘It is,’ said Keagan. ‘I don’t know how I know, but I can feel it. There is a way home.’
Matilda said something about being ‘led home’, thought Keagan. Maybe this was it.
‘We cannot leave the city,’ said 55-A-1.
‘You will proceed alone,’ explained 55-A-2.
‘That’s fine,’ said Keagan, relief washing over him. ‘So I’ll go alone.’
‘We will take you to the conduit.’ The clones turned and walked away.
Keagan followed, deep in thought. Was it a waste of an opportunity to go straight home? Here he was, in an incredible, unbelievable world. Should I explore? he wondered. I should want to explore. Even though he was in another world, he was too worried about his home and what the darkness may or may not have done to it.
This time their journey took them back through the open area with the children. They were all the same. Identical clothes. Identical features. And they were standing around in groups of five.
‘What are they doing?’ asked Keagan, because it appeared like they weren’t doing anything. They were standing in silence, staring at nothing in particular.
‘They are learning,’ said 55-A-1.
‘Really?’
‘Yes. This is one of the Generation 63 learning centres. Information is streamed directly to their brains.’
‘Oh.’ Keagan continued to gaze around. He tried to imagine what it would be like to have Maths jumping into his brain, without having to study. It would make school way easier … and even more boring.
As these thoughts went through his mind, Keagan noticed the grown-up clones – five of them behind a window on the far side of the area. Three of them were working at a set of complicated instruments, the other two standing behind them, observing. ‘What are they doing?’
‘They are controlling the information,’ explained 55-A-2.
‘You’re big on control here,’ noted Keagan.
‘Control is necessary,’ said the clones together. ‘Perfection cannot be achieved without control.’
‘Perfection?’ Keagan was surprised.
‘Indeed,’ said 55-A-1. ‘The environment is at optimum levels. Gene processing units produce to exact standards. Cloning process is 98.53 per cent accurate. Impurities are removed.’
‘Removed?’
‘In order to maintain perfection, imperfect clones are removed,’ said 55-A-2. ‘Perfection must be maintained at all costs.’
‘Riiight …’ Keagan felt uneasy. Removed? He didn’t like the sound of that. The clones kept going on about perfection. But this place seemed far from perfect to Keagan. Everything controlled. Everything the same. No room for individuality. That wasn’t perfection. That was … kind of frightening.
As the clones continued on, Keagan noticed one of the kids staring at him. He smiled and waved, but the child looked away.
More identical corridors led them to another white room. The black-clad clones waited outside. Inside were more clones, younger than 55-As. Three of them stood in front of a rigid plastic computer screen that extended from the wall like a tabletop. The other two were nearer the door, watching them enter, as if they were expected.
‘Hi.’ Keagan waved at the clones. The three clones at the computer screen ignored him. The other two tentatively lifted their hands as if to return the wave.
‘Prepare for expulsion,’ said 55-A-2.
The clones lowered their arms and turned towards the plastic tabletop. As if responding to unspoken commands, they began tapping at it. Lights, readouts and controls flickered into life across its surface.
55-A-2 tapped on her small plastic sheet before handing it to Keagan. ‘This tech-screen has been programmed to home in on the energy signature.’
Keagan looked at the sheet and saw a map with a pulsing light in one corner. He moved his fingers across the screen and discovered that he could zoom in and out of the map. It was like operating a tablet. Cool!
‘Now please stand at the far end of the room.’
Keagan moved into place and a glass partition slid down to separate him from the clones. Keagan could see his reflection on the surface. He studied his features: scrawny, ginger-haired, freckled. So different to the clones beyond the glass.
‘If everything is so perfect,’ Keagan asked on impulse, ‘why do you have security guards?’
‘Guards?’ asked 55-A-1.
‘The security escorts,’ said 55-A-2, ‘ensure removals are carried out.’
Keagan was about to ask how many clones needed to be removed, when he felt the floor lurch. He was going down, concrete walls replacing the plastic ones below floor level.
‘Where is this taking me?’ he called.
‘Out of the city,’ said 55-A-1.
‘Please be aware that this is a one-way journey,’ said 55-A-2.
As the floor lowered, Keagan lost sight of the clones above.
‘What?’ he called, with mounting panic. ‘What do you mean one way? What if the doorway doesn’t work?’
No one answered.
‘Wait!’ shouted Keagan, heart pounding in his chest. ‘Please, wait.’
The elevator continued down into the dark shaft.
Down, down, down, Keagan plunged below the city.
His heart was racing and his hands were sweating. This wasn’t at all what he had expected. He assumed he would be going outdoors, not underground.
Looking up he could see the tiny square of light that led to the city above. A shiver ran through him. He had been eager to leave the weird world of clones … but a dark, underground world wasn’t where he wanted to go either.
The floor lurched again and stopped. Keagan was in a room a bit like a concrete bunker. He stepped off the smooth, white platform that had brought him here, and it rose, pushed up into the shaft on a hydraulic metal pole. An acute sense of loneliness hit Keagan as his access to the world of clones was taken away.
The area was lit by a dim panel of glass set into one of the walls. There was an old rusted hatch in the floor … and nothing else. It reminded Keagan of a submarine hatch. The room was quite a contrast to the gleaming city above.
Sighing, Keagan tucked the tech-screen inside his shirt and tried the hatch. It was rusty and it took a lot of effort but, after grazing several knuckles, he managed to turn the handle. Pulling it open, a loud clang reverberated through the room and a bad smell hit him.
A rusted metal ladder led into darkness. Was it a sewer?
Wha
t am I getting myself into? he wondered.
‘Well, here goes,’ he said out loud, trying to ease his loneliness. He then lowered himself through the opening, which widened out into a spacious shaft.
There was no handle on the inside of the hatch, so he left it open. Even though this was supposed to be a one-way journey and the platform had gone back up, he felt better knowing he could return through the hatch if he needed to.
He climbed down, one tentative step at a time, led by the desire to return to his own world. Just as there had been a yearning need pulling him towards the doorway to this world, a new need was now leading him home … or so he hoped.
The dark descent was scary. The rungs were slippery and it seemed to take forever. But, after a while, Keagan realised that he could see. There was a dim light filtering up from below. He could see that the ladder ended in a few metres. He quickened his pace and, skipping the last few rungs, jumped down.
Foul-smelling water splashed up around him. He was standing in a couple of centimetres of stagnant liquid and it stank like a public toilet.
I hope it doesn’t wreck my new sneakers, he thought. Then he laughed. Given all that had happened, his sneakers were the least of his concerns.
In the gloom he could see a high concrete tunnel extending to either side, water dripping from the ceiling. Lights were placed at random intervals in little alcoves chipped out of the concrete walls.
Keagan was about to pull out the tech-screen to check the map, when he had a sudden urge to go left.
Can it be this easy? he wondered. A kind of feeling leading me home?
A sound echoed in the distance and he froze. He couldn’t tell which direction it came from. He gulped and continued on, jumping at shadows as he went.
Another, closer sound. Keagan stopped. The sound stopped also.
Wet, splashy footsteps? Was he being followed by someone … or something? He hoped it wasn’t rats. A vision of a giant rat roaming sewage tunnels, searching for food sprung into his mind. He pushed it away and continued, trying to keep his movements as quiet as possible … which was a bit difficult when walking through water.
CLANG! Keagan froze again.
Up ahead, he saw a metal hatch slide back in the ceiling, releasing a torrent of water and waste. The stench slammed into him like a wall. By the time it had finished, water was flowing past him at calf level. He held his breath, trying not to gag, as it subsided down to a couple of centimetres again. His shoes and pants were soaked in something he didn’t want to think about.
He sighed and continued on.
CLANG!
The sound came from above him, but before he could look there was another sound from behind him. Splashing footsteps. Keagan whirled around.
There was a flash of movement. Keagan was shoved forward and pushed further down the tunnel until he tripped and crashed to the wet ground.
A wave of stinking water washed over Keagan, getting into his mouth and nose. Coughing and spluttering, he wiped his eyes and saw a face staring down at him.
Keagan was too stunned to move.
Dirty blonde, matted hair framed a gaunt face with large, bright blue eyes. Smudges of dirt were smeared across her cheeks and forehead.
‘Your eyes,’ she whispered in awe. ‘They’re green.’
‘What?’
The girl grinned, displaying straight white teeth.
‘Glad that you’re alive,’ she said, her voice now loud and cheery. ‘Get up and come with me.’
‘What happened?’ asked Keagan.
‘You were standing under a disposal chute,’ explained the girl. ‘It’s mostly water and soft waste … but every now and then, they’ll dump a bunch of hard rubbish as well.’
‘Huh?’ said Keagan. He glanced down to see a piece of poo float by. ‘Soft waste … Ew … gross!’ He scrambled to his feet, spitting the residual taste from his mouth.
When he was finished, Keagan realised the girl was staring at him. She reached out and touched his ginger hair. Her hand hovered over his face. He froze.
‘Dots!’
‘Freckles,’ Keagan corrected.
She poked at his face and rubbed his cheek.
‘They don’t come off.’ Keagan chuckled.
‘You are … different,’ said the girl.
Keagan shrugged. ‘If you say so.’
‘How did you turn your eyes green?’ she asked.
‘Huh?’ Keagan felt confused by this strange girl. ‘I didn’t choose the colour. I was born like this.’
‘Born.’ The girl said the word with great care, as if trying it out for the first time. ‘Hmm.’ Then she grinned again. ‘Eone!’
‘Um … what?’ asked Keagan.
She was about his height and very thin, her ragged grey clothes hanging from her. And there was stuff in her hair – bits of computer innards attached to mats of hair with twisting wire. He figured they must be decorative. He guessed she was about the same age as him – thirteen.
‘Eone,’ repeated the girl. ‘It’s my name.’
Keagan frowned at her. ‘Eee-wun. That’s an unusual name.’
‘My designation was 62-E-1,’ she said. ‘E … one. Eone.’
She’s a clone, Keagan realised. Dirty, ragged and underfed, but with the same blue eyes and delicate features as those in the city above. What’s she doing down here?
‘Okay.’ Keagan nodded. ‘My name is Keagan.’
‘Key-gan,’ said Eone, as if it was a difficult word to say. ‘Key-gan … you should follow me.’ She set off, calling back, ‘And if you hear a clanging sound from above, get out of the way.’
Keagan followed. What else could he do?
They walked along at a steady pace before coming to a wall with a ladder. The wall reached halfway up the height of the tunnel. They climbed over it. The ground was dry here.
‘We build these walls in the tunnels to keep the water and waste out of our home,’ explained Eone.
Keagan started to move forward but Eone stopped him. ‘You can’t come in unless you wipe your feet.’ She wiped hers on an old mat that lay on the ground. Keagan did the same.
Eone laughed. ‘You need more than that.’ She grabbed a ratty piece of material from a hook on the wall and tossed it to him. ‘You are so wet.’
Keagan dried off as best he could, although he still felt damp and his sneakers squelched as he walked. He was beginning to regret leaving the perfect, and dry, world of the clones above.
Not far ahead, the tunnel opened up into a junk-filled chamber. Keagan’s mouth hung open. Around the perimeter, through the scrap, he was able to get some idea of just how massive the place must be. But mostly, all he could see was a hotchpotch of unwanted garbage. He was filled with awe.
Broken pieces of furniture; bits of computer equipment; wires and circuit boards; random bits of plastic and metal – all jumbled together. And from deep within, twinkling lights. It was like some weird, gigantic Christmas tree ornament.
Right in front of them was something that Keagan thought looked like the side of a vehicle, with a door and tinted window.
Eone opened the door.
‘Wow!’ said Keagan. ‘What is this place?’
‘Home,’ answered Eone, ducking down and stepping inside.
Keagan entered the junk pile. Inside, a rough tunnel led deep into the scrap. Eone leaned past him and closed the door.
‘This way,’ she said, heading off.
Keagan had to stoop so as not to bump his head.
The walls were made up of all sorts of things, many of which Keagan could not put a name to. They weren’t solid, as the junk did not slot together neatly, rather it seemed like a jigsaw puzzle that had been forced together in the wrong way.
Keagan could see through gaps in the walls. Naked globes, flashlights strung up on wires, glowing tubes and LEDs were scattered within the stuff, providing an uneven light.
Walking along the tunnel felt like navigating through a bizarre rabbit warren. It zigza
gged, went up and down, and grew tighter or wider at random intervals. Keagan would not have been surprised to come across robot bunnies hopping about the tunnels.
He was startled to see a pair of blue eyes staring out at him from the junk as he passed. And another pair. And another. He could also hear people moving about.
Eone came to a stop. ‘Home,’ she said again, as she opened a small round door, a bit like the front of a washing machine. ‘My nook.’
‘This is where you live?’ asked Keagan, pointing through the door.
‘Yes.’
‘What is this place?’ Keagan’s voice was full of wonder. ‘I saw people looking out of the junk as we went along the tunnels. Who are they? And who are you?’
‘This is the Dumping Ground,’ said Eone. ‘And we are the Refuse.’
‘Dumping Ground? Refuse?’ Keagan tried to make sense of it all.
‘This is the place, below the city, where the Perfect dump everything they don’t want,’ explained Eone. ‘Garbage. Junk. Sewage.’ She paused for a moment, a hint of anger on her face. ‘People.’
‘People?’ Keagan was horrified. ‘They dump people?’
‘Well … the lucky ones get dumped,’ said Eone, her anger turning to sadness. ‘Anyone who’s sick, or deformed, or different. Anyone who isn’t … perfect. They’re not wanted up there.’
Keagan wondered if this was what 55-A-2 had meant by imperfect clones being ‘removed’.
‘That’s horrible,’ said Keagan.
‘Isn’t that what happened to you?’ asked Eone.
‘No,’ said Keagan. ‘I’m not from … around here. I come from a different world. I’m here by accident … well … sort of. And I’m trying to find my way home. The clones up there helped me. They found the doorway … back to my world. It’s down here somewhere. And they let me come down. Well, they wouldn’t come with me.’ Keagan paused for a moment and thought about it. ‘They did seem eager for me to leave. And they said I couldn’t come back. So … maybe I was dumped?’
‘How did they send you down here?’ asked a harsh voice.
Perfect World Page 3
