Today I find several articles about Planet Oasis. It seems to be regarded as some kind of utopia.
‘A vibrant community of utopian living’ was one comment. Another suggests that Oasis is the flagship of the new empire. Now where have I heard that expression before?
Journal Entry
A visit from my father. He asks to look at my back and seems pleased with what he sees. The surgeon comes in and has a look too. I’m not used to being looked at and it feels a little odd, especially as they talk over the top of my head, about me but not to me.
‘Another couple of weeks and he’ll be ready for the next op, Mr Court,’ the surgeon says.
‘Whenever you think he’s ready,’ my father replies. ‘No hurry. The main thing is to do a good job.’
‘Yes, Mr Court.’
I am to have two more operations, one on my vocal chords to adjust the pitch of my voice and the other on the lower part of my spine to release the tendons that make my bodily movements jerky. When the operations are completed it will be time for physiotherapy and speech therapy.
The first op has gone so well and there’s been no pain so I’m not afraid; but I still worry in case something goes wrong and I’ll be stuck in a body that is neither mutant nor complete and that I won’t fit in anywhere. I must trust my surgeon my father says. He will not make such a mistake. The surgeon is quite elderly. It crosses my mind that he could be the same surgeon who operated on my father some forty years ago. That may account for Father’s unreserved trust in his discretion. How old would that make the surgeon now? Over 70? Is age a problem as far as surgery is concerned? How shaky are his hands?
My biggest worry is the same as before, that without my mutations I will lose my identity. I tell myself that I have embarked on this course and there is no going back.
Chapter Twelve
Torture
(according to Mercury/Michael)
Journal Entry
I haven’t made a journal entry for weeks, possibly months. I haven’t felt like it. The other two operations went well enough but now the pain begins. Physiotherapy. It’s torture. There’s no other word for it.
Janey, the physiotherapist, is a sadist. She’s tall, broad-shouldered and very strong. She pulls and pushes the bones and muscles in my legs, determined to straighten them, and makes me walk in a straight line, up and down the same bit of floor for six hours on the trot. Not that she allows me to trot. Oh no. Nor to dash, dart or flit. I must slow down and take long strides like a man, she says, and she plays that song by the Four Seasons, ‘Walk like a Man!’ until I could kill that Frankie Valli with his high pitched voice – if he weren’t already dead years ago.
‘Walk like a man,’ he sings.
‘Walk like a man’, bellows Janey. ‘Come on, Michael, you know you can do it.’
I don’t know. I don’t know that I can do it. It hurts to keep my legs straight instead of splaying out at the sides as I move and I’m so accustomed to doing my little dashes it doesn’t seem natural to stride out. I’m so tired and it hurts so much, I wish I’d never agreed to these stupid changes. I wish I could go back to a compound right this minute. Any compound. Preferably the one where Kali is. I want to curl up in Kali’s bunku as I did when a child. I know it’s impossible but it doesn’t stop me dreaming.
‘You must persevere,’ says Janey and, although I curse her and wish she would go away and never come back, I know she is right.
It was the operations I dreaded, but they were no problem. I felt no pain from them. It is now with the physiotherapy that I feel like giving up. I curl up in my bed at night and wish the night would last forever so that I don’t have to wake up and undergo the agony all over again.
When Moira, the speech therapist starts on me as well, it’s all too much. At least when there was only Janey I had some free time in the afternoon to surf the net on my porto-compu. Now I have no time at all. It’s either Janey, the wall, making me walk the line or plump little Moira forcing me to produce deeper and deeper sounds. My throat is raw meat. I beg to stop. She sprays my throat with some sort of oily liquid that makes me retch and tells me to continue. Hours pass and I beg her to give me something to suck. She laughs. ‘Oh we can do better than that,’ she says and makes me drink some disgusting green greasy stuff, which she assures me will do the trick.
What with the physical effort and the voice exercises, I’m half dead. The muscles in my legs ache. My throat is sore. My only pleasure is sleep.
My father hasn’t been to see me for ages. I wish he’d come. I want to complain about the treatment I’m getting.
At last he is here. Janey and Moira are all smiles. They talk to my father over the top of my head and tell him what a brave boy I’ve been.
‘He works hard and never complains even though the exercises must be a strain,’ says Janey.
‘He’s got a bit of a sore throat, but he never gives up,’ says Moira.
‘He’s making good progress,’ says Janey. ‘I’m really proud of him.’ Yes, she pats me on the head.
‘His voice is down half an octave now and we’ve almost ironed out all those squeaky bits. Just a little longer and he’ll be normal,’ Moira says, putting her arm round my shoulders and giving me a quick squeeze.
‘How much longer do you think?’ my father asks.
‘About five or six weeks at the most,’ says Janey.
‘I agree – no more than six weeks,’ says Moira.
Five or six weeks? No way. I’ll be dead long before then.
My father has no such fears. He nods and looks pleased. ‘Keep up the good work,’ he tells them.
Journal Entry
During my father’s visit today, he seems inclined to talk to me about his life, the life I will soon be sharing.
He speaks to me as if I am a child who may not understand everything he tells me. I put up with this. I’m getting used to the patronising way completes talk and write about mutant humanoids.
‘Michael, you’ll find life very different on Oasis. I want to prepare you a little for those changes.’
‘OK,’ I say, longing to get back on line. I’ve found a fantastic virtual battle between mutant humanoids and completes. I’m determined to make the mutants win, but suspect the game is rigged. I’m having a few less hours with Janey and Moira. They’re reducing the torture little by little. ‘Weaning me off it,’ they call it. It gives me more time online.
My father sits forward, legs apart, his hands on his knees, wondering where to start. ‘For one thing, Michael, we don’t live and work in the same building as you did in the compounds. Each family has its own home.’
I nod. ‘An apartment like in the filmograms.’
‘Nobody lives in apartment blocks any more. They were proved non-beneficial to health, both mental and physical. Living high up in the air as we do means there is plenty of space for families to create the size and type of home they would like. All our homes are different. We believe in individuality.’
He is speaking slowly, thinking about what he wants to tell me and what he should leave out. ‘You mean you live in a house?’ I say to help him out.
‘Exactly. A house, but on Oasis we don’t call them houses. We call them homes. We like to personalise them. We live in Home-Court-Jameson.’
I frown. ‘I understand Court but – Jameson?’
He adjusts the knot of his tie, does up a button on his jacket and undoes it again, clears his throat and takes a deep breath. ‘I have another family now, Michael. Stella Jameson became a widow five years ago. We’ve been together for three years. She has two children. Stuart is ten and Bella’s six. My stepchildren.’
A bit of a shock to hear that. ‘You all live together in Home-Court-Jameson?’
‘Of course. We are all one family. You are to live with us too.’
‘I’ve never met any children. What are they like?’
My father grins. ‘Little brats! But adorable brats.’
I must look confused bec
ause he says, ‘Stuart loves games of all kinds. He’s crazy about football.’
‘And compu games?’
‘Not so much. I have a job to get him to sit at a computer. He hates studying. You’ll be a good influence on him with your love of learning. As for Bella, well, she can be pretty opinionated for a six-year-old but she’s a little darling. When she looks up at me with her big blue eyes, she knows I will do anything she asks.’ His face lights up, becomes softer and more animated when speaks of the children. ‘Anyway, you’ll meet them soon enough and make up your own mind about them.’
I’m trying to process what he’s telling me. ‘What’s Stella Jameson like?’
‘Stella? Oh she’s well named. A real star. Beautiful, intelligent and a very good cook! You’ll just adore her.’
‘I look forward to meeting her,’ I say politely.
‘She’s dying to meet you. She knows how much it means to me to have found my son after all this time.’
He talks a little more about Home-Court-Jameson. I hear the odd word – ultra modern, huge windows, light, airy, comfortable body-shapers, but the description floats over me. I’m still thinking about the bombshell he’s just dropped, the ready-made family unit that is to be part of my life.
‘Will I have my own dormo-cube and bunku?’ I ask.
‘You will have your own large airy room with a window that looks out on to the garden. Forget those hard old bunkus. You’ll have a comfortable bed. Better than these hos-beds, I can tell you. Let’s call the room your study-bedroom.’
‘This big room – it will be just for me?’
‘Just for you. We can put your name on the door if you like.’
I point to the porto-compu that I’m clutching. ‘Is this mine to keep? Can I take it with me and use it in my study-bedroom?’
‘You can use it anywhere. Your own room will be fitted out with a proper workstation and giant screen.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
I try to imagine it. A huge screen, my own workstation and a comfortable bed. I imagine waking up in the morning or even in the middle of the night and using a remote to switch on the compu. Fantastic.
One further thing my father impresses on me before he leaves. My past life as a mutant humanoid must be kept secret. Stella knows. He had to tell her, but not the children. They wouldn’t understand. No one else must know. Best that he and I never talk about it, even in private. Best for me to forget my past completely. He has invented a new past for me. I have come from another satellite, Paradise Isle. He makes up a convoluted story about how I used to live with my maternal grandparents there but now they’ve died so he’s decided to bring me home.
‘Not much of a story,’ I tell him.
His mouth twitches with amusement, not offended by my criticism. ‘Perhaps we’ll think up a better story between us,’ he says. ‘The main thing is to remember that you have never been to Planet Earth and have never been a mutant humanoid. You were born and brought up on Paradise Isle and now you’ve come to live with your father on Oasis. That’s all anyone needs to know.’
Again I feel a twinge of conscience. Another lie I must learn to live with in addition to the lie that is my body, my voice and the way I walk.
Journal Entry
The torture is over. More or less. Janey puts her arm round me and gives me a big smacker on my cheek. Ugh….
‘This doesn’t mean you can sit at your beloved compu all day. You must do at least an hour of the exercises I’ve taught you first thing in the morning and you must also walk for a quarter of an hour or so for every hour – to keep your muscles from seizing up and to keep fit. Everyone has to keep fit. Promise me you’ll do this?’
I promise. I’m so pleased to have finished the physiotherapy I’d promise her anything.
‘You must keep it up or you could have a relapse and have to return to me for more – ‘she pauses then adds with a wicked grin ‘torture.’
Moira says more or less the same and gives me a hug. She holds me against the soft pillows of her breasts for far too long. I squirm until she lets me go.
She laughs, turns serious and tells me that I must continue practising breathing from the diaphragm and humming to keep my voice forward and I must practise projecting the vowel sounds to deepen the tone.
Half an hour every morning is her prescription. If I’m careful and produce the sounds correctly and breathe correctly I won’t get sore throats. Just in case, she gives me a bottle of spray and a special jar of the green greasy stuff. I think I might leave the latter behind, accidentally on purpose.
The A-team stand in a row, the surgeon, the nurses, the orderlies and my two torturers, Janey and Moira.
I am to take off my shirt and display my scar-less back. The exclamations of wonder are praise for the surgeon, not for me.
I have to demonstrate my improved motor skills by striding up and down and round in a circle.
‘Walk like a man,’ mouths Janey.
I stride along as I’ve been taught, but at one point I stick out my foot at an angle and perform a quick little dart. That will pay her back for all she’s put me through.
Janey is mortified. Her hands fly up to cover her face.
‘Just kidding,’ I say and continue walking with the big, measured steps she has taught me. Janey does her best to take the teasing well and laughs.
Finally I make a little speech to show off my new voice. I thank all the staff for their expert work.
‘Don’t forget to breathe,’ whispers Moira.
I have a fit of coughing. She’s not taken in by my play-acting and shakes her head slowly from side to side.
I take a deep breath. ‘You’ve all been fantastic,’ I say, in my toned-own voice. ‘Even my torturers, Janey and Moira, have done a pretty good job, I think you’ll agree.’
Everyone laughs and applauds. Father beams, his warm smile stretching wider than ever before. I smile back. I am ready to go to Planet Oasis to begin the next stage of my adventure
Chapter Thirteen
Heracles Unlimited
(according to Heracles)
‘Heracles,’ calls a booming voice, ‘I didn’t expect to see you back here.’
Thor, as tall and broad as I am, strides across the dino-cube and clasps me in his arms as if we have been mates for life.
‘I didn’t expect to be back here either,’ I tell him, patting him on the back.
It’s true. Being placed in Compound 99 is usually a reward for good service. I can’t imagine why Ra should reward me, considering the way I messed things up last time. Besotted with that bitch, Sati, I spent every moment I was here either with her or, once she’d left, trying to find her. Waste of bloody time. Though I did learn a lot about hacking and code-breaking, useful skills for someone as ambitious as I am. No doubt about my luck being back. Life is easier here in this sectoid with all its facilities from sports halls to disco-cube, not to mention the state-of-the art technology.
‘Let’s have a snack and a chat,’ says Thor, marching me up to the food counter. Eating is a social activity here and the food much tastier than in C55 or Headculturedome. We take a plate of synthetic ham and reconstituted noodles and find ourselves a table. ‘Tell me all. What’s been happening, man? Did you find Sati?’
‘Don’t talk to me about that bitch.’
‘I tried to warn you, but you wouldn’t listen. Led by your prick as usual. Not the sort of female to get involved with.’ He throws back his huge head and laughs, his two mouths, one above the other, wide open. I wonder, not for the first time, which one he uses to kiss the female mutant humanoids. Both I suppose. Double whammy.
I don’t need his advice, but he’s right. I’ve already decided that love them and leave them will be my motto from now on. Here in C99 there are plenty of hot mutant females. I catch sight of a few, chatting together at a table not far from ours: a two-headed blonde, a brunette with three boobs and a redhead with a huge mouth. Hmmm. Any one of them wo
uld do for a start. I haven’t had sex for months. Tonight I’ll go the disco-cube and see what’s on offer.
‘See that one with the three big knockers,’ says Thor. ‘She’s a real goer. I had her last night. I’m thinking of putting a thoroughly recommended memo on auto-mail.’
‘Are you allowed to do that?’
‘Course not. There’s quite a strong feminist faction here. Thing is most of the women in C99 are intelligent with minds of their own or they wouldn’t be here – so we have to be a bit careful. Most of them aren’t looking for a serious relationship. That’s a good thing for us, eh?’ He winks at me, finishes his snack and pushes the plate away. ‘That Sati’s done all right for herself, becoming head of C55.’
I don’t want to talk to Thor about Sati. The image is always with me of her orgy with smug Jason, short-arsed Apollo and creepy Merlin. Ugh. Sati’s method of getting power was to seduce the workforce. Zeus! Makes me want to puke. I don’t intend her to get away with it. I’m going to launch an attack. Not a half-hearted one like last time. What were we thinking? That Sati would be intimidated by the sight of her three sister-wives in battledress and give up without a fight? Crazy. What I need now is a viable plan, followed by specific action. I tried to talk about it to Kali in Headculturedome but she was so down in the dumps she couldn’t think straight. Since we’ve been split up I’ve had no contact with her. I’m not supposed to know where she is, but I do. There’s not much I don’t know about what goes on in the compounds. When I’m ready, I’ll get in touch with her again but at the moment I’m keeping a low profile. I don’t want to attract attention to myself, just in case Ra changes his mind and chucks me out.
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