Professor Goldberg smiled. Obviously this question was of more interest, and Pan felt vaguely pleased she had gained approval.
‘Who has power in this world, Pandora?’ he said. ‘And please avoid a glib answer. You are more intelligent than that.’
‘You tell me.’
The Professor leaned back and put the tips of his fingers together.
‘The naive would say that governments – presidents – wield the power in our world. But only an imbecile believes someone like the President of the United States has real power. Democracy is a fine thing, but why is it the governing system of choice? Because it threatens nothing.’ He smiled. ‘There was an old saying, many years ago, when I was a student. If voting could change anything, they would make it illegal.’
‘You haven’t answered my question.’
‘True. I am justifiably admonished. I could name the twenty most powerful people on this planet and you would never have heard of a single one. These are the people behind The School, Pandora. Those who have power beyond your imagination. A consortium of like-minded people who know, as I do, that the only way to preserve humanity is to cull it. All of the students were selected carefully, based on complex criteria – ethnicity, religious beliefs, talents and skills that would mean the next generation of humanity has the best chance of survival. Your numbers will grow, but that will take time: time for the planet to heal. Hopefully, you will not make the mistakes that have brought us to this pass, and your children and their children will inherit a world where humanity can indeed grace this planet, rather than blight it.’
‘Why am I so special? In your opinion, at least.’
The Professor put his hands behind his head and smiled again. He closed his eyes for a moment.
‘Pandora, when we were on the edge of the cliff and I warned you against pushing me off. I said I didn’t have mind-reading skills – and I don’t. What you experienced was simple logic, a reading, if you like, of a person and how that person might be thinking.’ Professor Goldberg opened his eyes. ‘You, on the other hand, do have genuine skills – skills that have developed since you’ve been here. Who knows what they will develop into? You could be the key to the unlocking of unlimited potential, of wonders we can barely envisage.’
He tapped irritably on the table. ‘Here’s another mind-reading trick. You want to ask about Cara, your friend whose body you found halfway up a mountain. But you are afraid of the answer.’
Pan said nothing, kept her eyes fixed on Professor Goldberg’s.
He shrugged. ‘It’s simple,’ he continued. ‘Cara had abilities similar to yours, perhaps with even more potential. She also had her suspicions about the true nature of The School. But her mental health was not . . . stable. The night she disappeared, she walked up the steps to the Infirmary and sat not far from where we’re sitting now. It was a bitterly cold night and she was not dressed appropriately. Maybe she would have frozen to death, but she took no chances.’ Professor Goldberg sighed. ‘Cara rolled up her sleeves and opened veins on both wrists. Then she waited for death.’ When he spoke again it was in barely more than a whisper and his eyes were focused on something over Pan’s shoulder. ‘We should have known, we should have prevented it. We failed. And I vowed then that we would not fail again.’
‘You put her body up the mountain to test me.’ It was a statement rather than a question.
Professor Goldberg tapped another finger on the table. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Her death was a waste, but it wasn’t a total waste. You passed that test and, if nothing else, some good came out of that tragic episode.’
‘One final question,’ said Pan. The calmness and objectivity of her mental processes was beginning to subside and with that came an overwhelming wash of tiredness. ‘How can you implant memories?’
‘Oh, please,’ said Goldberg. ‘The technology has been around for decades, ever since neuroscientists found a way to trigger channelrhodopsins in the hippocampi of mice through laser technology. We took that idea, employed the best scientists, gave them virtually unlimited funds. Now we have the means to both erase memories and implant new ones.’ He picked up the phone, swiped the screen and tapped in a password. ‘All the students and some of the staff.’ He raised an eyebrow at Pan’s expression. ‘Ah, yes. Some staff believe exactly what the rest of The School believes about the virus. Others, like me, know everything. This applies to the residents of the village also. Don’t ask me who, Pandora, because I won’t tell you. Perhaps you can work it out yourself.’
Pan attempted to stay focused, but it was difficult; the tiredness threatened to overwhelm her. But she fought against it. After this, she felt – she knew – there would be no further opportunities, that Professor Goldberg would never give her another interview. Time was against her, like so much else, and she struggled to keep a hold on the moment. Keep asking questions, she told herself. Keep this interview going.
‘What about Nate?’ And as soon as she spoke the words, she knew it was the right question. Professor Goldberg’s face clouded, and in his eyes there was . . . such a range of emotions it was difficult to distinguish them. Yet, at the core was love.
It took only a second for the Professor to compose himself. He smiled.
‘I thought you had asked your last question,’ he said.
Pan kept quiet.
Professor Goldberg laced his fingers together and placed his chin on the prongs of his thumbs. ‘Nathaniel is my grandson,’ he said. ‘I told you that.’
‘Yes. But where does he fit in?’
‘That should be obvious.’ The Professor appeared irritated and controlled himself with effort. ‘The world is on the brink of destruction. He is family. The only family I have left. Of course I would protect him. In fact, it was a condition of my involvement in this . . . project.’
Pan tried to read Professor Goldberg’s eyes and body language, but he was closed to her now.
‘So, Nate’s part of the inner circle, is that what you’re saying?’ she said. ‘He knows everything you know. You gave him the mission to stick close to the members of my group – to monitor us, and ultimately to betray Jen and me on the ship. Is that right?’
Professor Goldberg met her eyes.
‘He has worked for the benefit of everyone,’ he said. ‘You will not see him again, Pandora. Not until you go out there into the ruins of civilisation and pick up the pieces.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘I know the feelings you have for Nathaniel,’ he added. ‘And his for you. Maybe there’s a future for those feelings. I don’t know. But that future is not now.’
‘You haven’t answered my question.’
‘It’s the only answer I’m prepared to give.’
Pan nodded. There was more to this, she knew.
‘So what will happen to me now?’ she asked.
Professor Goldberg spread his palms. ‘Nothing. Why should we do anything? You will return to The School, continue your lessons, prepare for the new world. Your little escape has not altered anything. We continue, Pandora . . . as you will, as you must.’
‘You won’t get away with this.’
This time the Professor laughed.
‘Let us ignore the cliché for a moment. Why won’t we get away with this? Indulge me.’
‘Because Jen and I know the truth. If you don’t kill us, we will tell everyone. All the kids here, they think their parents, families and friends are dead. But they are not. They’re alive. Can you imagine the anger when they discover what we know? The students will rip you apart.’
Professor Goldberg picked up the phone, tapped in the password again and frowned at the screen.
‘I mentioned a video, Pandora. I suggest you watch it.’ He tapped the screen and then passed the phone to Pan. It felt strange in her hands. Almost painful, a reminder of a world gone forever. It has not gone forever, she reminded herself. It’s still out there. Nonetheless, the crisp digital display looked alien. As she turned it in her hands the screen rotated, and her heart pounded.
/> The image was frozen on Jen’s face, her head turned to the side, a half smile on her lips. Pan tapped the play button and Jen’s face became animated.
There was a huge storm.
The voice from the phone sounded strange, tinny and artificial. Jen rubbed her nose.
We thought we were gonna die, me and Pandora.
What happened?
The voice was distorted by the recording, but recognisable. Gwynne. The camera remained fixed on Jen, who shrugged.
The storm went on forever. She saved me, you know? Pandora. I owe her my life.
Jen wiped her eyes, but it was so sudden it was easy to miss.
When the storm passed, we were in deep shit. The boat was sinking. We hung on as long as we could, but the boat just . . . disappeared beneath our feet.
And then?
Gwynne’s voice was devoid of emotion.
We swam. What else?
Jen laughed.
Out there, in the middle of the ocean. Just the two of us, swimming like we had somewhere to go. But I reckon both of us thought we were gonna die. Pandora had set off a distress beacon, but nothing happened. I mean, if the world was out there, as Pandora thought, then a rescue chopper should have been all over us like a rash. But, zilch. Every minute that passed was a nail in the coffin of her theory. It was kinda sad.
Why didn’t you die?
Pan couldn’t tear her gaze away from the screen. She waited for Jen’s words, her mouth dry, a sickly squirming in her stomach.
The School chopper picked us up.
Jen smiled.
One moment, nothing but water – the next, the helicopter hovering. They winched us up; Pan, then me. I couldn’t believe we were safe. We said nothing for ages, just too stunned, I guess, to trust our voices, and then we started to laugh.
You flew back to The School?
Not right away. First the helicopter guy – he didn’t say anything, by the way. The man seriously needs to develop some social skills. He took us to this city, about half an hour’s flying from where we were picked up.
What city?
No idea. Like I said, the guy wasn’t a talker. But it was huge, sprawling. And he hovered over the CBD.
Jen frowned, bit her lip and gazed off beyond the reach of the camera lens. The silence lengthened.
What did you see?
Jen shuddered, as if awoken from a bad dream. Her smile this time was lifeless.
Death, she said. Everywhere. Bodies in the streets. Some little more than bones, others like . . . Christ . . . animals had been at them, what was left of them. The stench. It was . . . hey, can we not talk about this? I’d just got over those nightmares and this ain’t helpful.
Okay. Then you came back to The School?
Jen brightened.
Yeah. To the Infirmary. Pan was in a bad way, but I was in pretty good shape, physically at least. The Doc told me Pan would be kept in for a week to make sure she fully recovered.
And you?
Me? I’m back down in The School tomorrow.
What’ll you tell the other students?
The truth. What else? We escaped, we were rescued, we saw what was out there. And now we’re back.
The image froze and Pan let the phone slip from her fingers. It clattered on the table. Professor Goldberg reached out and picked at the leather case with one slightly dirty fingernail. He sighed.
‘Your name is reminiscent of one mythological character, Pandora,’ he said. ‘But this situation reminds me of another. Have you heard of the prophet Cassandra?’ Pan didn’t reply, but the Professor appeared not to care. ‘She was a tragic figure, really. Her curse was that she had the ability to see the future, and always see it accurately. Everything she told people was the truth.’ He chuckled. ‘The trouble was, she was destined never to be believed. That was her curse, Pandora: to tell the truth, but be known universally as a liar. I suspect it might be your curse also.’
Professor Goldberg stood and picked up the phone.
‘It destroyed Cassandra,’ he said. ‘Be careful it doesn’t destroy you, Pandora.’
And then he left her alone with the bruised sky, the grey rocks and the lonely wail of a distant bird.
Chapter 2
Pan didn’t want to go back to The School, but she didn’t want to stay in the Infirmary either. After a few hours of battling despair, she longed for simple movement. A clean uniform lay at the end of her bed and she dressed quickly. Then she left by the French doors and made her way to the flight of steps carved into the rock that led to The School grounds below. The SRC student was still on guard, but he moved aside as she approached. He didn’t glance at her as she began the long climb down.
Her mind was now completely clear, though under the circumstances she wasn’t sure if that was an advantage. Her situation was hopeless. The only person who could corroborate her story was going to be doing the exact opposite, and she couldn’t even feel resentment towards Jen. All that Jen would do was tell the truth as she saw it – the ‘truth’ The School had implanted in her brain. And how was she going to counter that? Hey, Jen, you know how I said they were implanting memories in our heads? Well, guess what? They did it again. Everything you remember about a helicopter, that was fiction. I’ll tell you what you should remember . . .
Pan already had a reputation for harbouring bizarre conspiracy theories. If she challenged her friend’s version of events, no one would believe her. She’d seem crazy. If there had been an ounce of charity in her mind, Pan would have given The School credit for silencing her. But why hadn’t they implanted the same false memories in her head as they had put into Jen’s?
Punishment, she thought. Emotional torture.
Pan reached the bottom of the steps and looked around the familiar landscape. To her right was the running track, the place where Miss Kingston tormented her pupils in the name of fitness. In the distance was the canteen and beyond it Pan’s dormitory, an unremarkable building among the clusters of classrooms. Dominating the setting was the dark bulk of the wall, the six watchtowers jutting into the sky. Pan shuddered.
The School was deserted. Classes were in progress. Students would be bent over rustic machinery, learning about ploughing techniques and organic fertilisers, or being trained in hunting skills. Maybe Gwynne was conducting a lesson on self-defence. The entire School population would be preparing for a world that didn’t exist. Yet.
Pan knew she would have to join that world of delusion, but she couldn’t face it yet. What she needed was time to think. Off to her right, nestled under the sheer plane of the cliff that led to the Garden and the Infirmary, was the cairn students had built to commemorate the deaths of Cara and Nate. The supposed death of Nate. She wandered over and sat at its foot, her back against the stones. The cliff provided shadow from a sun that had warmed up since the last time she’d been there. She gazed out over the running track. So many memories. Miss Kingston, the tough fitness instructor, watching as Pan’s group ran around the track, Nate in the lead, his limbs fluid. Cara walking slowly, painfully, far behind. Both of them gone.
There is nothing you can do about the past, Pandora, she thought. But as for the future . . .
She shook her head. As far as she could tell, there was nothing she could do about the future either. Her against the massed ranks of The School and the formidable powers that lay behind it. One girl. No allies. It was impossible. And then she thought about her brother Danny.
She couldn’t simply sit in a pool of despair, counting off the seconds, minutes, hours and weeks until he started coughing. Until everyone started coughing. Pan probably couldn’t succeed against such terrible odds, but she couldn’t forgive herself if she didn’t try. Three months. It would go by in a heartbeat. There was no time to sit against a pile of rocks while the clock of the world ticked down. She had to move.
Pan got to her feet and brushed off her pants. Then she started down the track towards the canteen. I have to do something, she thought. The trouble was, s
he had no idea what that might be.
The canteen was filling up and Pan’s group sat at their usual table, heads bent over their bowls. Pan stood at the doorway and let her eyes adjust. No one appeared to notice her entrance. Wei-Lin was scraping the inside of her bowl with a chunk of bread. Her head was tilted to the side and she smiled as she spoke to Sanjit, the quiet boy from Darwin. Opposite Wei-Lin were Sam and Karl, shoulders pressed against each other. Although they weren’t actually speaking, Pan could tell their relationship was still alive, that, if anything, their bond had deepened. It was in the cast of their bodies and their casual affection. The new boy – what was his name again? Eric. The flame-haired kid with a predilection for setting fires and blowing things up. At least, that’s what he had claimed, but Pan had had no time to find out the truth before she and Jen had escaped. And finally . . . Jen. Pan’s throat tightened.
Her friend was leaning over the table, talking to Eric. She was jabbing the air with her spoon, making a point in her customary forceful fashion. For a moment, Pan felt the need to lean against the door frame, her legs rubbery. So many memories, so many shared experiences. The knowledge that Jen no longer remembered the most important revelation struck her as a physical blow and despair threatened to overpower her. It took a minute before Pan could trust her legs; then she walked towards the table.
Almost immediately a hush spread through the canteen. Pan kept her eyes fixed on her group’s table, but she knew students nudged each other as she passed. Silence followed her, like a bow wave, but she sailed on regardless. When Jen glanced up, her eyes widened. The spoon fell from her fingers and she stood.
Jen said nothing, but she spread her arms.
Pan tried a smile. The situation seemed to call for it, but the act felt artificial, a hold-it smile at a ceremony she was emotionally distanced from. The others in her group stood also, and someone off to her right started to applaud. The clapping was reserved at first, but others took it up and the sound swelled. Jen pushed past Eric so violently he stumbled and had to steady himself against the bench. And then Jen had Pan in a bear hug, so strong Pan wondered if her ribs could withstand the pressure.
Pandora Jones: Reckoning Page 2
