Sputnik Caledonia

by Andrew Crumey

  They sipped together, and Robert watched the physicists, who seemed very agitated over something called zero-point energy. ‘Is it true Kaupff never comes here?’

  Vine nodded. ‘He’s not gregarious. The life of the College suits him perfectly; he thrives on isolation.’

  ‘Perhaps there are other reasons why he doesn’t come. Maybe he disapproves.’

  Vine looked at him with eyes skewed by alcohol. ‘Disapproves? I’d hardly call Heinz a prude.’

  ‘But the women in there are prisoners …’

  ‘No, Robert, they all volunteer freely. Some are Category O, it’s true, but working in the Blue Cat isn’t part of their compulsory duty – they want to earn some extra money, and who are we to criticize? I tell you, the women like it, otherwise they wouldn’t do it.’ He grinned. ‘Your objections seem a little belated, given that you’ve already spent what I can only assume were a very enjoyable twenty minutes in there.’ Robert felt a flush of shame, which Vine noticed. ‘Ah, post coitum omne animal triste est. Have your fun then punish yourself with regret later. Don’t be a fool, Robert; the sexual instinct is the most natural thing in the world, and the Blue Cat exists precisely so that high-level workers at the Installation won’t be bothered by frustration, and hence can be more productive. I’m a happily married man and I don’t have any need of the girls here – though strictly between you and me, I might occasionally make use of them – but for lads like you and your fellow recruits, it’s a stark choice between prostitutes, masturbation, or propositioning women in the street, and as you realize, there aren’t enough of them to go round. So, enough of this hypocrisy. Come here and discharge yourself whenever you feel the call of nature, and think no more of it. There are matters of far greater importance which need to be discussed.’ He grew more serious. ‘I heard about your score in the telepathy test today.’

  Robert looked across the room and saw Davis staring steadily at him. ‘I’d better go back …’

  ‘No,’ said Vine, calmly patting Robert’s arm. ‘When he wants you he’ll let us know.’ Davis’s eyes were on someone else now; Willoughby was returning, and squeezed himself into the space the recruits made for him, looking flushed and overheated.

  ‘Hope he doesn’t have a heart attack while he’s here,’ Vine said sardonically. ‘But tell me, how long have you been aware of your telepathic ability?’

  Robert shrugged. ‘I’d never noticed it before. I’m completely surprised.’

  ‘From what I hear, that’s quite normal. According to Rosalind, if we did regular tests and visualization exercises in schools, we’d probably find that as many as ten per cent of children have strategically useful skills. She’s certainly come up with some remarkable data from her work so far – I’m truly amazed. You know, I’m a physicist of the old school, and I always thought of mind-reading as nothing more than a music-hall trick.’ He leaned closer to Robert. ‘Did you really play fair, or was there any cheating?’

  ‘I give you my word, sir …’

  ‘This mission is very important, you know that. Careers are the smallest thing at stake.’ Vine nodded towards the distant figure of Davis, who was ordering more drink or sex from a waitress at their table. ‘When they send a Party man to keep watch, you know they mean business. And it’s always the same; they say there’s a spy on the loose, so that we’ll all suspect one another, and if the mission fails they haul away one of the team and put a bullet in his neck for espionage.’

  ‘You’ve seen it happen?’

  ‘Many times,’ said Vine. ‘When I was on the Pluto project, the head was accused of sabotage and relieved of his duties. Not long afterwards it was announced that he’d died of a heart attack.’

  Robert looked across at Willoughby’s rosy face; the writer was agreeing to some new proposal from Davis. ‘Do you think the academician might be in line for one?’

  Vine tutted at Robert’s naivety. ‘If he croaks it’ll be because of some mistake made on the outside. No, if anyone should worry it’s Kaupff, Simmons, Bradshaw, me. We know how it’s done. The head of Pluto was given a hero’s funeral, his widow got a huge pension. So you see, Robert, I’m not particularly concerned with niceties like the ethics of prostitution. I simply want to know if you’re a psychic or a charlatan, because good men’s lives depend on it.’

  ‘I told you,’ said Robert, ‘I give you my word. Rosalind held up the cards and I wrote down what I thought – red or black.’ He saw Forsyth getting up to follow another girl to the brothel; Forsyth saw Robert, too, and again gave his jubilant thumbs-up before disappearing. ‘This whole mission is inside people’s heads,’ Robert said to Vine. ‘The only way I’ll ever see space is by telepathy – the capsule’s a charade, isn’t it?’ The musicians on stage were accepting the feeble applause of the crowd as their shift came to a welcome end.

  ‘You’re wrong,’ said Vine, putting his glass on the table and stroking its stem. ‘The capsule’s real – we don’t think we can detect scalar waves adequately from the Earth’s surface, though obviously we’re trying. I’d happily show you how we’re calculating the frozen star’s radiation flux – an elegant idea initiated by one of Kaupff’s former students, a fellow called Hawkins – but I see it’s time for you to return to your table.’

  Davis had given the signal. Robert rose, glanced at his watch and saw from the glint of its brass hands in the low light that the time was almost midnight. ‘Do you always stay here so late?’

  ‘The nights are our pleasure,’ said Vine. ‘We make them last as long as we can. Sleep is something most of us have learned to do without.’ He looked over towards Davis’s table. ‘Now go and be nice to the commissioner. If he asks, tell him my heart is in good working order and I hope it has another ten or fifteen years of patriotic work left in it. My liver, of course, is another matter.’ Vine drained his glass and beamed, but in his eyes there was sadness.

  Robert found Davis, Willoughby and Harvey sitting quietly together, their conversation exhausted but their escape still not in sight. His return prompted Willoughby to break the silence. ‘Behold the brave pioneer!’ he said as Robert sat down beside Harvey. ‘Do you know the poem?’

  ‘It sounds familiar.’

  ‘Familiar!’ Willoughby rolled his eyes, then looked towards Davis, whose attention was elsewhere. ‘I really must have a word with the Inspector of School Literature and Ideology.’ Willoughby began reciting some lines that sounded to Robert as if they could have been sung by the mediocre band, though Willoughby declaimed them with a pedagogic lyricism which implied them to be high art.

  Davis ignored the poetry, and when it was finished swung his gaze towards Robert. ‘Was she good?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you come inside her?’

  Robert wondered whether to lie, but the sheer hatred he felt for Davis left him unable to invent. ‘I got a bit too excited.’

  Davis laughed. ‘An eager young prick! I’ll bet you shot far.’

  The commissioner glanced at Willoughby as if for support, but the writer appeared to share Robert’s distaste. He scratched his beard and declared, ‘I’ve had a great time but now I need to sleep.’

  Davis nodded brusquely and said he would order a car, then looked at the two volunteers. ‘Your absent friend is doing all the fucking for you tonight – why not go and join him? Even if you’ve got no spunk left, you could watch and see what a real man does.’

  Both recruits stared at the table, neither able to meet Davis’s eyes. Robert said, ‘I also need some sleep.’

  ‘Me too,’ Harvey added immediately.

  ‘I see,’ said Davis, as a girl arrived at their table. Robert recognized her – a plump brunette whom he had seen naked in a cubicle not long before.

  ‘Is there anything I can do for you gentlemen?’ she asked brightly.

  ‘Go and speak to George,’ Davis instructed her. ‘We need two cars.’

  ‘I don’t mind walking,’ Robert interrupted. ‘I’m sure it won’t take more
than twenty minutes, even if I get lost a few times.’

  Davis stared at him suspiciously while the girl stood waiting. ‘Why do you want to walk?’

  ‘I need the air, that’s all. But I don’t want to break any rules.’

  Davis maintained his penetrating study of Robert’s demeanour, as if performing a mental feat more intricate and challenging than anything being undertaken by the night school of physicists at the other side of the room. ‘Your request surprises me. But you’re perfectly free to walk if that’s what you wish. The Town has no curfew, and as long as you can show your papers if you’re stopped by security, you’ll be home soon enough. Turn right when you go out of here and you’ll soon find the main street.’

  ‘I’ll walk with you,’ Harvey told Robert.

  ‘You make a lovely couple,’ Davis said with effortless malice, then told the girl, ‘Only one car, going to the Lodge.’ She left to do his bidding, her hips swaying as she went to speak with the doorman. Davis stood up. ‘Now, if you three gentlemen will excuse me, I shall go and see the entertainment next door. I wish you all a good night.’

  They watched Davis proceed stiffly and without any sign of intoxication across the room, pausing only to exchange a few words with Vine. ‘Let’s go,’ Robert told Harvey. ‘Goodnight, Mr Willoughby.’

  ‘See you tomorrow,’ the writer replied with a sleepy nod, and Robert wondered if Rosalind was still in his bed at the Lodge, awaiting the great man’s alcohol-scented return. The two volunteers lifted their coats and made their way to the exit, where the doorman stood at the foot of the stairs blocking their way.

  ‘Your car isn’t here yet, sirs.’

  ‘We’re walking,’ said Robert.

  The doorman, who had the fist-sculpted face of a prizefighter, looked puzzled. ‘Why walk?’

  ‘We want to,’ Harvey insisted, buttoning his coat.

  ‘I hope you know the house rules.’ The doorman managed to sound both benevolent and threatening.

  ‘There’s no rule against walking home.’

  ‘I mean about the girls,’ said the doorman. ‘Are you meeting any? They’re only allowed to do business here, not outside. If they want to give you a free fuck it’s up to them, but it has to be in your own bed – no knee tremblers against a wall.’ Even the simple act of walking, Robert reflected, was tainted in these people’s minds. The Blue Cat was supposed to be a way of freeing men from sexual need but had exactly the opposite effect. ‘I wouldn’t want you lads getting into any trouble,’ the doorman continued. ‘It’d give me a lot of bother, you understand.’ Then he turned to lead them up the steps to the locked door. ‘So you promise me you’re not doing business?’ With a jangle of keys he let in a welcome waft of cold night air. The recruits stepped outside, and the doorman’s craggy features hardened. ‘’Cause if you do, it’s the girls that come off worse. Don’t make problems for them. There’s always as much snatch here as you could want – you can even spend the night if you need to. And if you want it outdoors, let me know and I’ll see what I can do.’

  They wanted only to get out, and after giving their assurances once more, the door closed behind them and they made their way in grateful silence, walking beside the featureless brick wall of the large warehouse from whose crowded basement no sound or glimmer was permitted to leak. White floodlights at the top of the warehouse lit their way, but the opposite side of the street was dark and appeared to be waste ground where buildings had once stood, a few pale slabs of concrete bearing testimony to their demolition. Robert followed Davis’s instructions to turn right, but there was no sign of the main street; only a further succession of warehouses, leftovers from an earlier Installation project, empty and derelict in appearance. It was an eerie place, and although neither man wished to talk, both felt compelled to. ‘Did you really do it?’ Harvey asked.

  Robert knew what he meant. ‘She tossed me off.’ Harvey took in the information but said nothing. ‘How about you?’ Their footsteps were echoing in the quiet street and they spoke in what was almost a whisper.

  ‘I couldn’t do it,’ said Harvey. ‘I told you what happened today with Rosalind, when she stood outside the toilet. She made a switch come on inside my head and I was like an animal. But then she must have switched it off. I couldn’t do anything with Beth. She’ll tell Davis.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Robert, but he knew how feeble his assurance must sound. When Davis had left them it was to receive a full report from the girls.

  ‘Do you think it’s true, what Davis said about my mum? How could he know? Do you think Mr Wilson was really spying on us when he used to come and give me extra reading lessons?’

  They rounded a corner and Robert recognized the bowling alley. They were in a familiar part of Town now. Soon they came to the park; both knew their way from here, though they had to go in separate directions. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, John,’ said Robert, then watched his friend walk off into the darkness. The sky was still as cloudless as when they had looked through Kaupff’s telescope. Robert savoured the stars as he walked with his hands pushed deep inside his coat pockets.

  After a while he heard a noise; he turned but saw no one. He walked on, still thinking of the night’s strange catalogue that had included the rings of Saturn and a woman’s lips. Tomorrow he would buy her a pair of furlined gloves, some meat …

  When he heard the noise again it was already too late: he was being grabbed from behind. Something hit him hard between the shoulders; he staggered and swayed then fell to the ground as a kick impacted on his side. It was only when a hood was put over his head that he began to think clearly: they’re going to kill me.

  15

  There must have been something inside that hood; Robert could still feel its sickening aftertaste when he regained his senses and found himself unable to open his eyes, a blindfold having been secured tightly round his head. His hands were bound on his lap and he was sitting on what seemed to be a rickety wooden chair. His immediate thought was that he had been brought back to Davis’s interrogation room, but the chemical in the hood had failed to knock him out completely, and he was sure it could only have taken his attackers a minute or two to bring him here.

  ‘Can you hear me, Robert?’ a man was saying to him through the darkness. ‘We’re your friends, we don’t want to hurt you. We only need information.’ Robert felt a hand on his shoulder; startling at first, but its pressure was light and somehow reassuring. The fingers moved towards his face and gently lifted his chin. ‘Can you breathe freely? Do you need water?’

  ‘What do you want?’

  Another man spoke more harshly. ‘Did you have a good time in the brothel? Which girl did you rape?’

  ‘Quiet, brother,’ his softer-voiced companion interrupted. ‘Robert, we know why you’ve come to the Installation. We know about the mission.’

  ‘The Red Star?’

  ‘That’s right, Robert, we know about the Red Star. And the radio signals. We know the Red Star is beaming messages to Earth.’

  ‘Is it?’ said Robert.

  His interrogator paused.

  ‘He’s lying,’ the other man said.

  ‘Maybe not,’ countered the first. ‘Robert, what frequency are they searching?’

  These were the spies Davis was pursuing. ‘Who are you?’ he asked. Then suddenly his head was spinning and it was as if he had been hit by a rock. The blow to his left cheek sent him flying towards the floor; his fall was broken by the arms of one of his captors.

  ‘Brother!’ the first man hissed, cradling Robert from further injury. ‘We are on the Lord’s side and ours is the way of peace!’

  ‘The Lord is a man of war,’ the second replied, and Robert felt himself being hauled by him back onto the chair. ‘You’re going to tell us everything we need to know, Coyle, otherwise I’m going to kill you. I set before you life and death: choose life.’ The man’s grip loosened and he stepped away on the creaking floor, leaving the other to resume his questioning.

&n
bsp; ‘What’s the frequency? Please don’t fear us, Robert, we’re good people.’

  Robert’s military training had included a session on just this sort of eventuality: the enemy capture you know will never happen. The simulation, he now realized, had been about as realistic as a plastic dummy in a resuscitation class.

  ‘This is a waste of time,’ the second man snarled. ‘We’ll get nowhere without some persuasion.’ Robert felt something push against the side of his head. ‘Want me to put a bullet in you?’

  He was sure he was about to die, but it wasn’t his life that now rushed before his bound eyes. Instead all he saw was a woman’s delicate hand, her nimble fingers, a jet of fluid and the Milky Way spreading across the sky. He chose what he intended to be the last word he would ever say. ‘Dora.’

  ‘Who?’

  He had managed to live another second. ‘I wanted to help her. I hate everything there.’

  ‘That’s right!’ It was the first man who spoke again; the gun moved away from Robert’s head. ‘We have to put an end to evil, and closing down a brothel is only the tiniest part.’ A door opened; Robert heard footsteps coming into the room, light but firm as they approached, filling him with even greater fear. ‘We live in dark times, Robert,’ his interrogator continued, ‘but we can overcome evil with good. You want that, don’t you? How are we going to help Dora and the others?’

  Robert remembered what she said: get a machine gun and kill everyone. ‘Are you trying to start a revolution?’

  ‘We’ve already begun. But you need to tell us the frequency.’