‘Come on,’ she said.
It was almost an order, so I followed her.
‘Come into the kitchen,’ she said. ‘I’ll mix us a drink.’
The kitchen was nothing like ours; old-fashioned, no proper units, just shabby cupboards and a bare table in the middle. There was an old camping stove, a cylinder thing beside it; no microwave or fridge.
The girl took several bottles from a cupboard, poured stuff from each of them into two tin mugs and handed me one.
I took a little sip. It was lukewarm, tasted sort of herby, but actually quite refreshing.
‘I’m Truth,’ she said. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Alice … I’m sorry, did you say Ruth?’
‘No, Truth.’
‘That’s a bit – unusual,’ I said. It really was the weirdest name I’d ever heard.
‘Beauty is Truth, Truth Beauty,’ said a voice.
A woman stood in the doorway. She looked exactly like Truth, just slightly older. Sister?
They both had amazing, red hair – long, curly, masses of it. And they wore similar clothes; hard to describe. You wouldn’t see them in Topshop or New Look.
Although it was August, they both wore several layers of tops and long skirts in muddy, swirly colours, as though they’d flung them into the washing-machine with a lot of different coloured dyes. They wore boots as well, and thick coloured tights.
Truth’s were purple and the woman’s were a beautiful, soft green.
I realised where I’d seen people before who looked like this – Gran’s photos of when she was a hippie. But that was in the sixties, about fifty years ago.
The woman came over to me, holding out her arms. I stood up and she hugged me.
‘I’m Beauty,’ she said.
We don’t do hugs in our family, and certainly not with strangers. I wriggled away as soon as I could.
When I looked from one to the other, I thought they must be identical twins. But Beauty was definitely older. There were laughter lines at the corners of her eyes, and her hair was grey at the roots.
‘Are you Truth’s mum?’ I asked.
They smiled at each other.
‘Yes, and no,’ said Beauty.
I felt embarrassed. I shouldn’t have asked.
‘You look so much like her,’ I said.
‘Well, I would, wouldn’t I?’ Beauty said, and they both laughed.
I laughed too, though I didn’t see the joke.
‘You’ll stay for lunch,’ said Truth.
‘Yes, do,’ said Beauty.
‘Thank you,’ I said. I wasn’t sure I wanted to, but somehow felt I had no choice. ‘That would be nice. There’s nobody at home. Mum’s at work until six.’
‘Good,’ said Beauty. ‘Now, you girls take your drinks into the garden while I prepare lunch. It’s shady under the trees.’
We sat in the shade, though I’d rather have sat in the sun.
‘Aren’t you a bit hot,’ I asked, ‘with all those layers?’
Truth looked puzzled.
‘No. I need the protection. Why are you wearing so little? You really ought to cover up.’
‘It’s summer,’ I said.
‘Exactly,’ said Truth.
I didn’t know what she meant, so I changed the subject.
‘Did you move in recently?’ I asked.
‘Fairly,’ she said.
‘Where did you live before?’
‘Oh, here and there,’ she said.
‘Which school are you going to in September?’ I asked.
She looked puzzled again.
‘Which what?’ she asked.
‘Which school?’ It seemed a simple enough question.
‘Ah – school,’ she repeated. She said it as if it was a foreign language. ‘I don’t think so.’
That’s when I decided they were definitely old-style hippies, maybe squatting, moving around a lot, so Truth didn’t go to school. I knew some people didn’t send their kids to school, but taught them at home. It all added up, even that strange herbal stuff she gave me to drink. They probably hadn’t even got a TV or computer.
We had lunch in the kitchen. It would have been nicer in the garden, but neither of them suggested that. They seemed obsessed about keeping out of the sun. It made me hot just looking at them in all those layers of clothes.
I’d prepared myself for peculiar food, but it was even worse than I’d imagined. For a start, it wasn’t very fresh. I’m sure there was mould on my bread, which was horrid and gritty; home-made I suppose. There was soup, mostly potatoes I think. Then a slice of hard, greasy cheese (hadn’t seen the inside of a fridge) and more bread.
‘Thank you,’ I said when we’d all finished. ‘That was very nice, but I’d better be getting back now.’
‘Don’t go yet,’ said Truth.
‘No, stay a bit longer,’ said Beauty. ‘It’s nice for Truth to have company of her own age.’
And they both smiled their identical smiles.
‘Come up and see my room,’ said Truth.
The room was bare; no bottles, jars, or tubes of make-up, no jewellery or stuff; no TV, computer, CDs or DVDs. A couple of long skirts drooped from wire coat-hangers on the back of the door. There wasn’t even a bed, just a sleeping-bag on the floor; beside it a pile of books. I picked up the top one: Albus Potter and the Fatal Prophecies – Albus Potter?
‘It’s wonderful, isn’t it?’ said Truth. ‘I’ve read it six times already. I couldn’t wait for it to come out. I can’t believe that’s the end of the series.’
I flicked it open.
‘Haven’t you read it?’ she asked.
‘Not yet.’
I turned over the title page: First published in Angleland in 2038 –
I dropped the book.
I had to get out of this house.
‘Must go,’ I said, ‘Mum’ll wonder where I am.’
‘But you said she wouldn’t be home until six,’ said Truth.
‘Could we go out in the garden then?’ I asked. ‘I need some air.’
Beauty was in the kitchen, making bread, sleeves rolled up, pummelling the dough. From a distance, I couldn’t see the laughter lines or the grey hair. She looked exactly like Truth. People say I take after Mum, but not to that extent. They were identical.
‘Just going outside,’ said Truth.
I followed her down the path to a bench under an apple tree.
‘I hope you don’t mind me asking,’ I said, ‘but is Beauty your mum?’
Truth smiled.
‘I’ve been wondering about you,’ she said, ‘ever since you asked Beauty that. I guess you are one of the very few remaining Non-Clones. There aren’t many of you left.’
‘What are you talking about – Non-Clones?’
I’d vaguely heard of cloning, Dolly the sheep and all that stuff. Science fiction, really.
‘Ninety-five per cent of the population’s cloned now,’ said Truth, ‘since the Twenty-Twenty Act.’
‘Twenty-Twenty … what?’
‘The Act of 2020 making human cloning compulsory.’
‘Compulsory! It’s not even legal!’
‘You’re behind the times, Alice,’ Truth said. ‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Living my life here and now,’ I said, ‘not in the year 2020.’
‘No, nor me,’ said Truth. She laughed. ‘I wasn’t cloned until 2023!’
‘How old are you?’ I gasped.
‘Fifteen.’
‘You’re saying this is 2038?’ I said. ‘It can’t be. I’d be forty-four.’
‘The same age as Beauty, old enough to be my mother!’ said Truth, laughing even more.
‘I’ve got to go,’ I said.
I ran back into the house and through the kitchen. Beauty wasn’t there, thank goodness. The front door was closed. I pulled at the handle. It wouldn’t move. I shook it. I had to get out. I didn’t want to be stuck in 2038. I turned to go back to the garden. Maybe I could climb a wall or something. As long
as Truth didn’t try to stop me.
Beauty came down the stairs.
‘Are you going?’ she asked.
‘Got to feed the cat,’ I gasped.
‘That’s a shame.’
Would she open the door, or not? She leant across me. I thought she was going to grab me, but she only reached across to release the catch on the lock.
‘See you later, then,’ she said, smiling.
I nodded, but I was concentrating on getting out of the door, down the path and out into the street. I glanced behind me. She stood in the doorway. I could see the brass number, thirteen, glinting in the sun, just behind her mass of red hair.
I started to run. I think she called out to me, but I just kept going.
When Mum asked about the cat food, I realised I’d left it at number thirteen. She insisted I went back to get it.
No way was I going anywhere near that house again. I nipped upstairs to get my purse. I’d just have to buy some more out of my own money.
I walked on the other side of the road on my way to the shop. I didn’t even glance at the house. But coming back, still on the opposite pavement, I had a quick peep.
Nineteen, seventeen, fifteen, eleven – that couldn’t be right. I double-checked. There definitely wasn’t a number thirteen.
Something was wedged against the wall, half-way between numbers fifteen and eleven. I crossed the road. There were two plastic bags, just like the ones I was carrying, full of tins of cat food.
Mum was pleased, though puzzled, when I arrived home with four bags. Later that evening I asked, as casually as I could, ‘Mum, who lives at number thirteen?’
‘There isn’t a number thirteen,’ she said. ‘Never has been.’
The Neronian Box
by Alan Durant
The Neronian Box
by Alan Durant
There had been war on Mundus for ever. Well, it had been there long before Agon’s birth fifteen years ago, and before his father’s birth too. It had claimed the lives of both of Agon’s parents when he was barely two years old. He had been brought up by his grandfather, who spoke sometimes of a time long past when their world had lived in peace and the Neronians had been distant, indifferent neighbours, not the all-too-present foes they had since become.
Agon had often asked Grandfather Eng about those old times. The world he described was so different from the one that Agon knew. He spoke of trees, bushes, flowers, grass, of walking through fields, on hills or over sandy shores – of fresh air. Agon found these things difficult to imagine, despite his grandfather’s loving and detailed descriptions. They were sights he had never seen and never would. The Archive Heritage Bank, where images and living sensory data of the past was stored, had been destroyed before Agon’s birth in one of the most devastating Neronian strikes on Mundus. Now the people of Mundus had to rely on the memories of the Elders for knowledge about the past.
Fresh air was something that Grandfather Eng recalled with particular fondness.
‘You mean you just breathed it in?’ Agon once asked, amazed.
‘Indeed we did,’ his grandfather nodded. ‘We walked in it. It was all around us. When the wind blew, we felt it rush through our lungs.’
‘But surely, it made you ill?’ Agon wondered.
‘It wasn’t poisoned then,’ said his grandfather sadly. ‘In those days, we could walk in the open air, enjoy the great outdoors. We lived above ground then, not in this warren.’
‘But we have air,’ Agon protested.
‘Filtered air,’ Grandfather Eng snorted. ‘Not the same thing at all.’
The Mundians had been forced to build a new world underground when the radiation from the frequent Neronian nuclear attacks had made the planet’s atmosphere deadly to all living things. It had destroyed the vegetation and all creatures, apart from the Mundians themselves – though a good many of them too had perished. But they had continued to defend themselves, in spite of their losses, and the Neronians had also suffered many casualties.
No one seemed to know just why the war had started. This was something about which Agon had often quizzed his grandfather. He said he believed it had something to do with an insulting remark made by one of the Mundian Rulers to a Neronian Ruler at an interplanetary conference – though he was not sure this was so, and he had no idea what that remark might have been.
‘It just seemed to flare out of nothing,’ he said. ‘One day we lived in peace; the next we were at war. And so we have remained all these years.’
‘But has no one tried to make peace?’ Agon inquired.
‘There is too much bitterness on either side,’ his grandfather sighed. ‘Both have lost so much and neither will yield. In the eyes of our Rulers, to sue for peace would be a sign of defeat.’
There was no reason to suppose that the war between Mundus and Neron would ever cease. Now and then, however, Agon did wonder how it might be – and what it would have been like to live back in the days before the war. On his bedchamber wall was a picture of a tree, as produced by Grandfather Eng’s mindscanner. (‘Mundus was famous throughout the galaxy and beyond for its beautiful trees,’ Grandfather Eng had told Agon.) It was such an odd-looking thing: the brown, wooden trunk, the branches and the green leaves above, so unsymmetrical and seemingly random, such a contrast to the order and exactness of the Mundian world of today. Agon liked the tree, though. It made him smile to look at it. Imagine a world full of extraordinary things like that – things that weren’t made, but grew as people did.
One morning – and it was a morning that no one on Mundus would ever forget – Grandfather Eng woke him with momentous news.
‘The Neronian warships have gone!’ he cried excitedly. ‘They beamed a message through this morning to say they no longer wished to fight us. The skies above our world are clear. They’ve gone, Agon, they’ve gone!’ His eyes were teary with joy as he embraced his grandson.
Agon did not know what to think. For a moment, he wondered if he were dreaming, and even when he knew he wasn’t, he felt bewildered.
‘Why?’ was all he could say, as he sat up in his bedpod.
‘I don’t know,’ said his grandfather. ‘I’ve been summoned with the other Elders to a council meeting in the citadel.’
‘Take me with you,’ Agon begged. ‘Please, Grandfather.’
Within an hour they were in the executive transporter depot. Moments later, they had arrived at the citadel itself. Everywhere there was noise and excitement. People shook hands and embraced one another. Everyone was smiling – even the Elders, who were usually so grave, as if weighed down by the knowledge that they were the generation that had caused the war. Now, at last, that burden was lifted. Peace had returned.
While Grandfather Eng joined the rest of the ruling council in the chamber of decisions, Agon sat in one of the data docks, watching newscasts from around the planet.
‘It is time to end the war and make peace, say the Neronians,’ announced one cast.
‘Let the sins and enmities of the past be in the past,’ said another.
‘This historic day is the start of a new and beautiful era,’ declared a third.
There was talk also of a box that had been left by the Neronians. But no one knew what this box contained, or why it had been left. Agon was intrigued.
He asked Grandfather Eng about the box when he came out of his meeting.
‘I am going now to look at it,’ said Grandfather Eng. ‘Come with me, if you wish.’
Agon did wish. He walked with his grandfather through the inner corridors, to which only members of the ruling council and their guests had access. They alone, through their DNA patterns, could open the frequent security doors along the way.
The box was on a podium in an isolation shell. They looked at it through the transparent walls of a viewing gallery. It wasn’t much to look at, thought Agon. It was plain, black, metallic – old-fashioned too, with its lock and key. The key was in the lock, waiting to be turned in order to lift the
lid and open the box. This was ancient technology – not really technology at all. Even Grandfather Eng thought it odd.
‘The Neronians are the most advanced race in our universe,’ he said, ‘yet they choose to leave a box such as this.’
‘When will they open it?’ was what Agon wanted to know.
‘That is for the Council to decide,’ said Grandfather Eng.
‘What is there to decide?’ Agon persisted.
‘The Neronians have been our sworn enemies for many decades,’ said Grandfather Eng. ‘There are many among us who do not trust them, or their words of peace, or this gift they have left us.’
Over the following days, the box was scanned and X-rayed to discover what it was made of and what lay inside. But the scans were unsuccessful. As Grandfather Eng told Agon, the box was made of some material unknown on Mundus and no equipment was able to uncover its mysteries.
A great debate took place. The council was split in its opinions. Some thought the box should be destroyed and never opened. Some believed it should be opened as a sign of faith in the Neronians’ declaration of peace. Others that it should be kept, but not opened. Opinion was split likewise among the ordinary populace of Mundus. In domiciles, workstations and leisure outlets all over Mundus, the box, what might be inside it, and what should be done with it was the topic of everyone’s conversation.
Grandfather Eng thought the box too dangerous to be opened. He told Agon an ancient, primitive myth about a box in which had been imprisoned all the evils that could plague the world, such as old age, sickness, madness, spite and rage. This box was never to be unlocked. But a vain and foolish woman named Pandora did open it, with catastrophic results.
‘To open this box, I fear, may be equally disastrous,’ Grandfather Eng concluded.
‘But that’s just an old myth, Grandfather,’ Agon argued. ‘The world’s moved on.’
He was desperate for the box to be opened. A new age was starting, an age of peace – and this box was its symbol. Opening the box would be like the opening of a brighter, happier future.
Eventually, a vote was taken in the council and a decision was reached. By a narrow majority, it was decided that the box should be opened and the moment cast live on screens all over Mundus. As an Elder and representative of the ruling council, Grandfather Eng was one of the official witnesses to the opening – and to his great excitement, Agon too was invited. The Rulers wanted all the generations to be represented, Grandfather Eng explained.
Sci-Fi Stories Shade Shorts 2.0 Page 2
