He touched a wall pad and a door slid open. “And this is where you’ll be sleeping for your first year.”
The six children entered the small, windowless dormitory and looked about them. There were ten ordinary beds in two rows, each one provided with a generous bedside chest and a study desk, complete with data screen. Folded neatly on each pillow was a unisex single-size nightgown. There was the usual picture of the emperor on the wall - smilingly benignly instead of the normal hard gaze, and set into the ceiling was the ubiquitous black hemisphere of a GoD receptor. It was a necessary precaution for newcomers only. After their first year at the Centre, when they had been suitably conditioned, there would be no more GoD receptors.
“Showers and toilets through that door at the end,” said Father Dadley, beaming at his charges.
“Can we have any bed, father?” asked Jenine shyly.
Father Dadley looked down at the girl. What a pretty child. An angelic, heart-shaped face, and such green eyes. One of the exceptionally gifted children. He noticed that she was clinging to Ewen’s hand, the other EG rated child. Well, that wouldn’t do any harm. It was natural - they were two years younger than their four companions. His smile broadened. His knees creaked painfully as he crouched, but he knew he was that much less intimidating if he made the effort to get down to the children’s height. These two had been through a lot today; taken away from their parents, and not even given the chance to say proper goodbyes. The terrible day seventy-years ago when Father Dadley had been taken from his mother was still etched with painful clarity among his fading memories.
“You can have any bed you like, Jenine.” He looked around at the circle of small, anxious faces. “That goes for all of you.” He wagged a bony forefinger. “But no changing your minds after tonight.”
“Like this room,” said Jenine suddenly.
“And why do you like it, Jenine?”
The lovely green eyes were large and serious. “It’s big. Lot’s of room. Bigger than my room at home.”
“You like space, do you. Jenine?”
The little girl nodded empathically. Father Dadley smiled and tousled her curls. He straightened, clapped his arthritic hands together, and pointed to the GoD symbol that was glowing bright blue on the wall. “Right. Everyone washed and showered and in bed by the time the Guardian of Destiny is burning green!”
“What happens tomorrow, Father Dadley?”
It was Ewen who had asked the question. The boy had been the most forthcoming of this group. The gaunt face looking up at Father Dadley made him feel uncomfortable. Where had he seen that face before?
“Tomorrow is Tenth Day. After church there will be a more detailed tour of the Centre, young man. It’s a big place. Fifty domes. It’ll be a long time before you’ll be able to find your way around.”
“Why not give us guardian angels?”
Father Dadley chuckled. “Technicians don’t have guardian angels, young man.”
“Will we be allowed to play on the glass pyramid?” Jenine demanded, voicing a question that had been uppermost in her mind since she had marvelled at the sight of students, with motorized auto suckers strapped to their elbows and knees scaling, or attempting to scale, a four-storey-high shining prism outside one of the Senate Houses.
“Not until you’re in your sixth year, young lady. It’s a very rough game.” My word, these two were precocious. “Right. No more talking. Everyone showered and in bed.” He turned and left the room.
“Ewen?”
Ewen glanced at Jenine. “Yes?”
“Can I have the bed next to yours?”
Ewen shrugged. Jenine’s choice of bed was a matter of indifference. At least the beds were too far apart for her to insist on hanging onto his hand all night. She had been an embarrassing nuisance that day.
An hour later Technician-Father Dadley and his assistant, Technician-Father Framson, were sitting at the main desk in the dormitory reception area going over the medical records and dietary needs of the new arrivals. One of the screens at Father Dadley’s elbow was a feed from Dormitory 6’s GoD receptor showing the six children sleeping soundly.
A fly buzzed over the desk. Father Framson snatched an aerosol from a drawer and pursued the creature across the reception area with grim determination. Flies were an abomination: creatures from hell that somehow occasionally found their way into Arama. He succeeded in knocking it down with his fourth squirt of gas. He stamped on it repeatedly, cleaned up the smear with a tissue and consigned it to a recycling chute. Father Dadley watched the performance in amusement. The zeal of youth!
“That’s the second this week, Father Dadley,” said the younger man, returning to his seat.
“And I daresay there will be more, Fram.”
Father Framson glanced sideways at the old man. “That could be interpreted as blasphemous, father. You are implying that the weakening of the GoD by the appearance of those… those things, is the norm.”
“I’m just being pragmatic, Fram. There have always been flies from time to time, and there always will be.” He yawned. “A long day.”
“A long day indeed, Father Dadley.” the younger man always showed deference to the old man by using the formal address that the social mores of the Centre expected.
Father Dadley nodded to the monitor that showed the sleeping youngsters. “A particularly bright bunch for once. Two actually selected today. Not often that happens. The girl - Jenine - suffers from mild claustrophobia according to these records. We must remember that, Fram. Right - I’m for bed. Keep an eye on them. Just in case of any nightmares.”
“If only you would agree to a whiff of Morox, Father Dadley.”
“I’ve managed for twenty-years without that stuff; I don’t intend to start-”
The soft whine of a settling cushion car outside the main entrance caused him to break off. Traffic movements were not allowed in the vicinity of the dormitory building at night. Both men looked at the screen that covered the outer area, but the picture was broken-up and flickering madly. That could mean only one thing.
“Damn!” Father Dadley muttered softly. “Now what in the outdoors does he want at this hour?” An icy hand closed around his heart when a memory of ten years ago jostled for attention.
Father Framson was perplexed. “Who is it?”
“It’s a selection day,” said Father Dadley with uncharacteristic savagery. “He’s never seen for months at a time, but he’s always around on selection days.”
7.
Caudo Inman was Supreme Representative of the Guardian of Destiny; First Secretary to the Emperor of Arama; Chairman of the Emperor’s Advisory Committee; Vice-Chancellor of the GoD Training Centre; and Supreme Vice-Commander of the Armed Forces of Arama. He was every bit as imposing as his many titles. He was tall - the tallest man Father Framson had ever seen. And he was gaunt. So gaunt that his facial skin appeared to be parchment stretched so tightly over his skull that there was no slack to permit even the faintest of wrinkles, and certainly none for a smile. Caudo Inman was not noted for his smiles. He wore no regalia, no medals of office. Not even the Grand Master-Technician’s medallion that he alone was entitled to wear. But he carried a long gold staff that was crowned with a fist-sized diamond that caught the subdued lighting of the dormitory block’s reception area and turned it to a dazzling kaleidoscope of blazing hellfires within the gem’s faceted depths. It was the Grand Mace of Arama. His cloak, flaring out as he strode purposefully towards the desk, was as black as his thunderous expression. His rimless spectacles glittered menacingly at the two technicians who had jumped hurriedly to their feet as he made his entrance.
“Your excellency,” said Father Dadley, bowing deeply in unison with Father Framson. “This is indeed a great hon-”
The sentence was cut short by Inman impatiently tapping his staff’s titanium ferrule on the hard floor.
“Dadley isn’t it?” the question was snapped out.
The elderly technician bowed again. “At you
r service, your excell-”
““Sir” is sufficient in private, Dadley. You’re getting forgetful in your dotage. You have had an intake of six selectees today. Correct?”
“That is correct, sir.”
Father Framson was rigid with shock. He was actually in the presence of the man who ruled all of Arama! True the Emperor was the titular ruler but this was the man who had, for many decades, held the power of life and death over everyone, and who communicated directly with the Guardian of Destiny. Had Inman spoken to him, Father Framson was sure that he would have stuttered in panic. It was astonishing that Father Dadley could sound so calm in this forbidding presence.
“One of them is named Ewen Solant,” said Inman curtly. It was a statement rather than a question.
“That is correct, sir,” Father Dadley replied smoothly, meeting Inman’s hard gaze without flinching, much to the admiration of Father Framson who was on the point of fainting.
The tip of the gold staff waved at the screens.
“Which one?”
“Dormitory Six, sir.”
“I know that! Which bed?”
Father Dadley seemed to hesitate for fleeting moment before resting his finger on a screen. “That one, sir.”
“Thank you. I know the way.”
A swirl of black and the apparition had vanished down the corridor. Father Framson recovered his senses and was horrified to see that his colleague was tracking Inman’s progress by switching in different screens. To spy on the First Secretary was unthinkable.
“I want to know what he’s up to,” said Father Dadley grimly in answer to the younger man’s protest.
Father Framson saw the skeletal figure enter Dormitory 6 and quickly averted his eyes. But Father Dadley didn’t take his mistrustful gaze off the First Secretary for an instant. Inman stood staring down at the sleeping form of Ewen for some seconds. The elderly technician wished that he could see the man’s face. As though reading his thoughts, Inman suddenly spun around and stared straight at Father Dadley via the GoD receptor. His eyes blazed balefully, causing the technician to recoil instinctively from the screen. Inman waved his staff at the receptor. The diamond flashed fire and the screen went blank.
The two men contemplated the dead screen. Father Framson fiddled with the controls.
“You’re wasting your time,” said Father Dadley. “Even if you tried to photograph him, you’d end up with a fogged hologram. His image has never been captured.”
“Why should he be interested in a selectee?” Father Framson whispered, fearful that he might be overheard.
Father Dadley’s finger trembled as he called-up the results of Ewen’s selection tests that day. It was as he feared: the boy had scored the maximum number of points. A plus sign against every result indicated that the scores could have gone even higher had the scales been adjusted.
Ewen’s self-portrait test had been brilliantly executed according to the notes, although the blue background had raised a small question concerning his mental balance, which had been dismissed because the boy had made a joke about it.
Father Dadley felt sick. It had been the same ten years before with Simo Belan. A brilliant boy in whom the First Secretary had shown an unusual interest. And Simo had vanished a few years later before his ordination ceremony.
And there had been others before Simo… Many others according to the Centre’s records.
A shadow flitted across the desk. The two men looked up in time to see the cloaked figure vanish into the night. There was the soft hum of a ground car lifting onto its air-cushion.
Father Framson let out a long sigh of relief and looked questioningly at his older colleague. The furnace that was burning in the old man’s usually kindly eyes frightened him. “Why, Father Dadley? A seven-year-old boy? What possible interest could the First Secretary have in him?”
There was no reply. The old man was lost in his thoughts, his hands clasped tightly together, knuckles white with tension.
“Father…?”
The senior technician stirred himself. “How old do you think the First Secretary is?”
The question puzzled Father Framson. “I don’t know. 55? 60?”
“Much older.”
“Well I suppose he could be approaching 70.”
Father Dadley shook his head. “Look up the history of Arama, Fram. Caudo Inman was First Secretary when I first came here at the age of seven. And that was seventy years ago. And there were old technician-lecturers then who remembered Caudo Inman when they were children.”
The younger man looked stunned. “It’s not possible!” he exclaimed.
“He uses children. Always the very clever ones. They train for a few years and then disappear. I don’t know what he does with them, and I’m almost too frightened to guess… I’m an old man, Fram… I don’t have many years left, and little strength… But, by the outdoors, this time I’m going to use what strength and time I have left to stop him.”
PART 2. Training.
1.
Jenine jerked her feet off the floor of the three student communal living room, and hauled herself onto the couch. “Ewen! Will you please stop that!”
Ewen gave up trying to tickle Jenine’s feet. He rolled over onto his back and stretched his long legs, the result of a growth spurt the previous year. He liked lying on the floor. Harsh, white daylight streamed onto his face through the open window of the study apartment that he and Jenine shared with another 10th year student. It was midday. The batteries of zargon discharge lamps that were trained on the inside of the Centre’s Dome 16 were at maximum intensity. From outside came the cries, cheers and yelps of the warring teams climbing the four-storey high glass pyramid. The Communications and Transport Faculty that Ewen and Jenine belonged to was playing against Energy Conservation, an inherently lazy team who, for once, were putting up a spirited defence.
“Okay, Jenny next question.” He always called her Jenny when he wanted to annoy her.
She administered a kick. “It’s Jenine! I’ve given up a practice session on the pyramid to help with this revision. The least you can do is behave.”
Ewen closed his eyes. “Yes, Jenine. Sorry, Jenine. Next question, Jenine.”
The girl settled her datapad on her lap and called up another set of examination questions. Apart from her height, she had changed little. Her blonde curls were a little darker, but she still had the same angelic, heart-shaped face that had so captivated Father Dadley when she had first entered the Centre. “A travelator develops an intermittent fault on the low speed band. It occasionally matches speed with the intermediate speed band, and sometimes stops altogether. Give the corrective steps you would take, and in right order.”
“Step 1 close the travelator.”
Jenine gestured impatiently. “Ten out of ten. Next?”
“Step 2 open the access cover to that section’s controller.”
“Oh, for goodness sake, be serious, Ewen. If you start giving answers like that in this year’s finals, you’ll have to take them all over again.”
“So?”
“So that will mean me moving onto the final year without you. I’d hate that.”
“No one to bully and dominate?”
“Exactly.” To Jenine, the idea of being without Ewen was unthinkable. During their ten years at the Centre, their study careers had moved in quarrelsome parallel.
Ewen regarded the girl through half-closed eyes. She was staring anxiously down at him with those green eyes, and he immediately regretted teasing her.
“Okay,” he said. “The fault is probably with the controller unit.”
“Probably is sloppy!”
“Probability of a controller unit fault 80 per cent! All right?”
“Go on,” Jenine prompted.
“Remove the controller board, test IC258 for correct logic activity on line 10. If IC258 is within spec, repeat test on IC389.”
“Very good,” said Jenine grudgingly, looking at her datapad. “Word for wo
rd. And if IC258 and IC389 are working?”
“Then it’s a 90% probability that fault is an intermittent failure of the GoD power to the slave motors.”
“An interruption of the GoD power,” Jenine corrected.
“What’s the difference?”
“The difference is between your wording and the wording in this answer. A difference that could cost you several points. Father Hilyad has warned you before about using that word. God power never fails. It is interrupted.”
Ewen gave the girl a mischievous half smile. “And if it’s not a GoD power interruption, then a faulty slave motor or motors is a 100% probability. Replace all slave motors in that section, test in accordance with Public Safety Specification PSS/104A, and return motors to the nearest maintenance depot for recycling or repair.”
“Tools required?”
“Uh… I’d go for Toolkit 108.”
“Not bad.”
“What do you mean “not bad”? That was perfect!”
“It would be perfect only if you use the right wording and don’t try to be clever all the time,” Jenine retorted.
“I don’t have to try to be clever,” Ewen fired back. “And your constant bullying undermines my self-confidence.”
Jenine laughed at that. She sat up and held out the datapad to Ewen. “Now you test me.”
Ewen did just that by tickling her feet. She responded by giving an indignant cry and tucking them out of reach again.
“Why do you do that, Ewen? Does it give you pleasure to annoy me?”
Ewen flopped back on the floor. The burst of cheering from outside when the Communications and Transport Faculty got a team mate to the top of the pyramid changed to groans when their man was dislodged from the apex. There was a loud squeal as the contestant used his suckers to break his slide to the base. “No… But why does it annoy you, Jenine? Just because we were taught in our first year that touching was wrong? That was ten years ago.”
Mindwarp Page 4
