Jenine’s fingers dipped into the bowl. “You have to, Ewen. All you have to do is think up some sort of useful project to convince Fram. Personally I don’t think he’ll need much convincing after the scene just now.”
Ewen thought for a moment and brightened. “Yes there is something.” He outlined his idea to Jenine.
She considered and popped another capsule into her mouth to help her think. They were addictive. “Dress it up a bit to make it seem worthwhile, and it might just work.” She stood and moved to the door. “You’d better make a start on drafting something, but first, your apology to Fram.”
Ewen held out the ration packs. “Don’t forget these. And don’t show them to anyone else. No-one knows I smuggled them in.”
Jenine grinned and took them. She patted her stomach. “You know, I don’t think I’m going to have room for my proper lunch.”
3.
“Seismology?” Father Framson queried, looking up from his desk.
“The study of ores and mineral deposits,” Ewen explained with a certain economy of definition.
“Yes. I’m aware of that,” Father Framson replied acidly. “A dead science, I believe?”
“Deadish.”
Father Framson consulted the papers Ewen had placed before him. “Last applied two-hundred years ago. I call that dead.”
Ewen agreed that perhaps it was.
“Why should I sanction your using the Centre’s valuable resources for a year on a project that harnesses a dead science?”
“It means not having me in the eleventh year asking awkward questions.”
The lecturer caught the look in Ewen’s eye and couldn’t help smiling. “A small grain of truth,” he conceded.
“Also I’m not ready for the eleventh year.”
“A large grain of truth.”
“So I’d like to spend a year on seismic research.”
Father Framson shuddered mentally. Research was virtually a taboo word. All the designs for equipment used by society, and all knowledge, came from the Revelation Centre. The people had neither the incentive or will to introduce innovation. If a new design or modification was required, which was rare, it had to come from the Revelation Centre.
“I mean search for ores,” Ewen added hastily, seeing Father Framson’s worried expression.
“We have a stable population, Ewen. Everything gets recycled. We don’t need ores. I believe the old mines are filled-in.”
“But there are still losses. Metal is worn away. Think of the worn treads on the travelators. And the amount of valuable metals lost in the battle caverns is staggering. I’m not proposing to dig up ores: just pinpoint likely seams, analyze them for quality and quantity, and prepare lists. A survey. I’m sure it’ll be useful within the next hundred years.”
Father Framson weighed up his options and came to a decision. “Very well, Ewen.” He reached for his stylus and signed the authorization.
4.
The cavern which housed the Centre’s main foundry was a hellish place.
Ewen, wearing the mandatory ear defenders and hard hat, scrambled down the catwalk ladder after the technician-manager whom he had spent a day tracking down. Beneath them a huge press was stamping out travelator sections. Each time the mighty die hurled down, the entire workshop quaked. Added to that were the blinding showers of sparks from laser cutters, the harsh yammer of spark erosion machines, and the roar of arc furnaces. The heat was suffocating.
“What is it you want us to make?” the manager yelled.
“A seismoscope!” Ewen yelled back.
The manager leaned over the rail and bawled instructions at the men manning the gargantuan press. He spared Ewen a brief glance and headed up another ladder. “What does it do?” he yelled over his shoulder.
Ewen did his best to keep up with the manager while clutching a datapad that had been loaded with all the drawings and specifications necessary to make the seismoscope. “It sends pulses through the rock!” he yelled back.
“All drawings issued by the Revelation Centre? A proper revelation certificate and all that? I’ve had trouble with you students before, wanting us to make things that weren’t approved.”
“It’s an approved design!” Ewen shouted, ducking as a glowing girder swung overhead.
“Why aren’t they in stock?” the manager demanded.
“An old design!” Ewen explained, following the manager up another ladder. His throat was getting sore from the heat and shouting. “No-one uses them anymore!”
The manager reversed without warning and trod on Ewen’s fingers. “What did you say it was called?”
“A seismoscope.”
The manager frowned. “Sounds familiar.”
Ewen looked questioningly at him. “You mean someone has ordered one before? Who?”
The manager shook his head. “No… Must’ve been before my time.
“Could you check your records, please?” Ewen begged. “It’s most important.”
“And so is my time. Which I can’t spare. If you want one of these seismo-thingies, dump the drawings into the pad on my desk, and I’ll take a look at it when I’ve a moment.”
Heat boiled up from a cauldron of molten steel, crisping Ewen’s eyebrows. “Seimoscopes are very delicate instruments. Do you think you have the resources to make such a thing?” “Resources’ seemed a more diplomatic word than “finesse”.
The manager looked indignant. “Give us the drawings and we can make anything! We’re good at precision engineering!”
The cauldron tipped. A searing stream of molten fire poured into the mould of a gearwheel whose diameter was equal to the height of three men.
5.
The mass of material in the library covering the “outdoors’ was formidable. There was too much to be accommodated in a datapad so Ewen contented himself with sitting in a booth and reading everything off the screen set into the desk top. Had there been anything of real interest he would have copied it into his pad, but there was nothing. The bulk of the material tended to underpin the old nursery thymes. It consisted mainly of stories about mythical characters who had rejected the word of the Guardian of Destiny and whose doomed spirits had been condemned to wander for eternity in the dark caverns of the outdoors. Occasionally he came across long, rambling treatises by long-dead technician-theologians on the subject. Mostly they were 100% speculation dressed up to look like the results of factual research. Nevertheless he spent two days ploughing through all the tedious discourses in the vain hope that he would stumble on something. Paradoxically, this was the stuff that he’d eventually have to grapple with during his 11th year.
On the third day in the library, his brain was so numb that the words were passing before his eyes without their meaning registering. The chime of the communicator and Father Framson’s anxious face appearing on the screen was a welcome diversion.
“Ewen… I wish to see you in my office at your earliest convenience.”
“Does that mean now, father?”
“Yes it means now,” Father Framson replied testily.
The screen went blank. Ewen left the booth and went into the library toilets to shave. He had to shave three or four times a day now to be certain that he bore no trace of a beard. He used the dry razor that Corporal Nive had given him. If anyone entered he could quickly slip it into his pocket. But he was not disturbed.
“Ewen,” Father Framson began when the student was seated before him. “I’m very sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but the casualty details for last month have just been released by the Department of Defence… Your brother’s name was on the list.” He looked up. There was hurt in Ewen’s eyes, his hands moved fitfully on his lap. The technician returned his gaze to the safety of a picture of the emperor.
“Has my mother been informed?” Ewen asked at length.
“Your mother and stepfather will have been told first. There’s to be a commemorative service in your home sector tomorrow. You could go home for a
few days.”
The thought of returning home and having to live a lie with his mother both frightened and appalled Ewen. “Do I have to?”
The question surprised Father Framson. Ewen had many failings but callousness was not among them. “Of course not, but I think you should.”
“I’ll think about it.” He rose to leave.
“Is there anything you want to talk to me about, Ewen?”
His tone alerted Ewen; it suggested that he knew something. He turned from the door and regarded the technician. “Why should you think that, father?”
“No second thoughts about not taking your 11th year? It’s not too late.”
“None at all, father. Why the concern?”
“You were very close to Technician-Father Regen Dadley?”
Ewen nodded, guessing what was coming.
“I’m very sorry to be the bearer of two lots of bad news on one day, Ewen. But he died yesterday.”
Ewen looked at the floor and said nothing.
“He was very fond of you,” Father Framson continued. “He would have been disappointed to hear that you’re not taking your 11th year.”
“Is there anything else, father?” Ewen wanted the interview over.
“No… Yes - there is something. Waste management have reported an unusually high through-put from your recycling bin meter. As though you’re not eating all your food.”
“I’ve been writing out and scrapping a lot of notes recently.”
Father Framson smiled and nodded. “Ah yes - of course. Your seismology project. How’s it going?”
“At a standstill at the moment until I get the seismoscope I’ve ordered.”
“In that case, visiting home seems like a good idea, wouldn’t you say?”
Ewen left the senate building with an uncomfortable feeling that Father Framson knew a lot more than he pretended.
He walked slowly, wishing that he had paid Father Dadley a visit. His route to the residential block took him past the glass pyramid. Teams of noisy students kitted out with motorized suction pads on their knees and elbows were scrambling up the smooth sides. There was a good deal of cheating with water pistols from those higher up. Part of the game was spraying opponents’ routes and sending them slithering to the foot of the pyramid to start again.
“Ewen!”
It was Jenine. She had reached the needle-sharp apex - an uncomfortable and precarious perch - and was defending her hard-won position with wild kicks and shoves at four opponents who were trying to dislodge her.
Ewen waved.
Jenine’s return wave cost her her prize. She slid down the glass, trying to arrest her descent with the suction pads, but her body had built up too much momentum. She arrived at the foot of the pyramid, laughing amid a welter of arms and legs belonging to other students whom she had brought down with her.
Ewen helped disentangle her. She was flushed with excitement and accepted the congratulations of her team mates.
“I don’t know why you play this silly game,” Ewen commented. “You’re obviously not very good at it.”
“It’s wonderful on the top.” Jenine declared, ignoring the dig while unstrapping her elbow pads. “The feeling of spaciousness. Anyway, I managed a minute. That’s an extra ten bonus points. I think my thigh muscles are getting stronger.”
Ewen knelt down and helped unfasten her knee pads. She was wearing shorts and a white T-shirt. He had never paid much attention to her legs before but now they stirred a strange emotion. They were exactly as he had pictured them in his dream: so smooth and supple that he allowed his hand to linger on her thigh longer than was necessary. Her shorts were tight; the front seam was pulled taut, revealing a faint but exciting valley-like outline. There was a little sting of guilt when he realised that his gaze had dwelled on her for too long.
He straightened abruptly, and looked up at the glass pyramid’s soaring peak. “Okay,” he conceded. “You’re getting to be an expert.”
Jenine pouted. “I am an expert. Only four people have higher scores than me.” She took his hand in the innocent way in which a child would take the hand of another child. “Come on. This rabble can manage without me. I need a shower. I’ll use your shower room. It’s a bit bigger than mine.”
The statement surprised Ewen. Ultra-conservative Jenine was the last one he imagined would ever flout the customs of the Centre. It was not a strict rule, and many ignored it, but students were not supposed to use each others toilet facilities.
“Saw you coming out of Senate House,” she commented as they entered the residential block. “What have you been up to now?”
He told her in the lift about the commemorative service for Tarlan.
“Are you going?” she asked.
Ewen looked undecided. “I don’t know.”
“You have to go,” said Jenine resolutely. “You’re all your mother’s got left. For you not to be by her side at the service would only add to her grief. Is that what you want?”
They entered Ewen’s bedroom. Ewen dropped into a chair and watched Jenine appreciatively without making it obvious. He liked the translucent quality of her skin; the graceful way she moved; even her cross, little frown when he said something that annoyed her. Just being with her was a privilege. He had never felt this way about her before and he wondered why.
“Well?” Jenine prompted.
“No of course not.”
She sat opposite him on his bed with their knees almost touching. There was a scent about her: a mixture of sweat and something else that he could not identify. Whatever it was, it caused strange, almost frightening stirrings. He had only to reach out to touch those fascinating legs…
“So call her and say you’re coming. You’ve got to face her sooner or later. You can’t go on putting it off.”
“I suppose not.”
“So you’ll go?”
“You won’t give me any peace unless I do.”
Jenine looked satisfied. “Good. That’s settled. Can I have some more of those snack packs?”
“Sure. Pass me one of those bags under the bed.”
She went down on all fours with her back to Ewen and dragged one of the kitbags from under the bed. Sensing something, she turned suddenly before Ewen had a chance to avert his gaze. The bright, animated expression that always seemed to illuminate her face disappeared. He expected a withering blast of invective but her expression was more concerned than angry.
“Why were you looking at me like that?”
Ewen assumed a puzzled frown. “Like what?” He took the kitbag from her and took out two ration packs.
Jenine looked crestfallen and miserable. “It shows, doesn’t it?”
“The bruise from falling off the pyramid?”
“I’m gaining weight. How can that happen?
“Your legs look different,” Ewen admitted. “Not so thin.”
She pulled her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs as though she were trying to hide them. With an effort, Ewen managed to divert his attention from her thighs. It was some moments before she spoke.
“I think I’m losing my faith like you, Ewen. I listen to the lectures about heaven and the evils of the outdoors and Diablo, and I find myself questioning everything. In all the previous years, I could accept everything. The GoD power; how to repair things; it was all straightforward. But now… Since you found out what you did about Diablo…” She shook her head. “And I’m changing in other ways… Maybe it’s a punishment… The GoD is taking my uniqueness away and making me like the others.” A little shudder entered her voice as she uttered the last word.
Ewen frowned. “What are you talking about?”
She jumped up suddenly and beckoned him to follow her into the shower room. She pulled her T-shirt out from her shorts and yanked it off with one swift, decisive movement. She turned to face him. “I have to wear this. It’s meant for sprains.”
Ewen stared at the broad, tight bandage that bound her chest. “What
is it?”
“I stole it from the sports centre medical supplies room.” As she spoke, she released the bandage’s clasp and allowed the material to uncoil onto the floor. Ewen had only a moment to register small, pointed breasts that were marked with ugly red wheals caused by the tightness of the bandage. Jenine grimaced with shame and turned her back on him. He realised, with a little shock, that her tough, dependable facade had deserted her and that she was trying not to cry.
“I first noticed what was happening a week ago,” she whispered, struggling to keep her voice under control. “Every day they’re bigger… Ewen, I feel so ashamed.”
Ewen stepped close to her but she kept her back to him. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said haltingly. “Something similar is happening to me.”
“And that’s not all,” Jenine continued. “There’s been other changes… I’m growing…” She broke off and wheeled around suddenly, her self-consciousness forgotten, her eyes round with horror. “You’re growing breasts?”
Ewen unfastened his tunic and pulled it open. Jenine stared at the new growth of fine dark hairs across his chest. “And I have to shave several times a day,” he said. He took her hand and rubbed it on his face. “And down here.” He guided her hand under his waistband. Her fingers closed on a strange, alien hardness.
They stood like that for several seconds until Jenine threw her arms around his neck and clung tightly to him with a strength born of despair. “Oh, Ewen,” she cried. “I’m so frightened!” the tears she had been trying to hold back were a sudden flood. “What’s happening to us?”
6.
The place the people of Arama knew of as the Revelation Centre, but had never seen, was a bronze-tinted tower block that shone in the sun like an ingot of polished gold. Deep inside its lowest basement, below a massive screen of concrete and depleted uranium to protect it from the sun’s occasional explosions of deadly heavy particles, was a sealed room in which Caudo Inman slept. His bed was a sealed, transparent capsule that resembled a sarcophagus. It was the hibernarium in which he had spent a total of 595 years of the preceding 600 years. The length of the periods he spent in suspended animation depended on the stability of Arama. The longest had been a year between selection days. Some periods had been a matter of months. This period, soon to end, would prove the shortest.
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