We sat down on the crest of a dune, facing the ocean. Annia traced patterns in the sand with her foot and invited us to guess what she was drawing. Jax prodded a nest of sand-ants with a piece of fence-wire. The twin suns hung vast and golden over the city to our backs, and a cooling breeze blew off the water, tempering the late afternoon heat.
I suddenly found myself thinking that this was a precious moment which I would always look back on with fondness. I wanted to grasp the entire scene in my mind’s eye, to make a mental photograph of it, absorbing every image so that it would forever be imprinted on my memory: colours, postures, contours, light and shade, the smell of the air, the pressure of the breeze on my face, the grainy sand beneath my palms. I felt compelled to record everything in as much detail as possible; yet even as I did so, the idea struck me as strange, for it seemed that I was less involved in experiencing the present than in shaping a fragment of the future—ossifying experience into memory even as it occurred.
On the return journey we rode three abreast, discussing what we should do next. Various possibilities were considered: a trip to the theatre to see a mime-play; a visit to Monmouth Stadium to watch the soccer tournament; a return to the saloon for further bottles of wine. We could not decide. We had done all these things on previous visits and we wanted to try something new. Usually, when there was no consensus, we let Annia choose, but she was comparatively silent, and made no suggestions.
Surrendering our bicycles, we wandered back towards the city centre. A militia man stood at the head of Roanoke Drive, diverting traffic. A suction-cleaner was at work, thrumming down the road, drawing dust from the choked gutters into the vents along its flanks. A gaggle of young children ran in its wake, yelling with glee as a mist of water sprayed over them from the rear of the vehicle.
“Let’s visit a dream parlour,” Annia said.
I didn’t like this idea. Erik, one of our wardens, mistrusted the parlours, claiming that they had been built under M’threnni orders to subvert human minds. Although I was sure that this was nonsense, I felt nonetheless that there must be a good reason for his censure.
“Well, David?” Jax said.
“We aren’t old enough,” I said.
“We could still get in.”
“What about money? We don’t have enough.”
“It’s a public holiday,” Annia said. “Admission prices have been reduced.”
“I don’t know. Erik warned us not to go near them.”
“Who’s going to tell him?” Jax said.
“Come on,” Annia said. “Let’s give it a try.”
I took out my purse. “I’ve only got seventeen checks.”
Annia and Jax emptied theirs. They had worked longer and harder in the fields than I and had earned more money. Between us we had seventy-seven checks.
The Vista Dream Parlour was a large establishment in an arcade off Columbia Street, Entrance prices had been reduced from sixty to twenty-five checks and there was a queue of about twenty people outside the door. Most of the people were from the poor quarters of the city, their faces thin and etched with weariness.
We took our places at the end of the line. Annia released the clasp on her pony-tail, letting her blonde hair fall about her shoulders. It had the desired effect: she looked two or three seasons older than she was. Jax and I leaned against the wall with an affected casualness, but no one took any notice of us and within a half-hour we were at the entrance.
The doorman sat in a cubicle to the left of the turnstile, looking dishevelled and bored. Annia put four columns of coins on to the counter, mostly five-check pieces, and said: “Three, please.”
The doorman scooped the money away without counting it and gave us only the most perfunctory of glances before releasing the lock on the turnstile.
We stood in a lobby at the head of a long, dimly lit corridor interspersed on both sides by an irregular series of doors. The walls were painted a dour brown; the doors cream. Street-dust littered the sallow parquet-tiled floor, and the air smelt faintly of stale sweat.
“You are all together?”
The question, delivered in a harsh, resonant tone, came from a speaker in the centre of the ceiling.
“Yes,” said Annia.
“Your age?”
“Sixteen seasons.”
“This is your first admittance?”
“Yes.”
“Your names and birth numbers please.”
Annia winked at us, then gave the names and numbers of three dorm-mates who had recently attained majority. Jax grinned back, enjoying the game; I prepared to bolt for the exit.
“Cubicle fourteen,” the voice said.
We went down the corridor and found the appropriate door (both numerals were missing but we could see their imprint). The cubicle was small and unadorned. Three metal couches stood along one wall, and above each was a hemispherical headpiece connected to an instrument panel set high on the wail.
“Please lie down on the couches and put the headpieces on,” the voice directed us in its neutered, expressionless tones.
I took the middle couch, Annia the one to my right, Jax the one to my left. I pulled the headpiece down. It was too large for me, but some inner band of metal contracted until it fitted me snugly.
“Please close your eyes and relax,” the voice said.
Already the neon globe at the centre of the ceiling was dimming.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to compose myself. The headpiece began to exude a subtle vibration which at first increased my uneasiness. But then the tension ebbed away to be replaced by feelings of warmth and security. I wanted to look at Annia and Jax, but it was too much trouble to open my eyes or turn my head. I felt languid, drowsy; my thoughts blurred, began to dissipate…
I floated in a sea of pearly mist, like a disembodied swimmer moving through deep water, I had no impression of physical presence; I was a spirit, restless, searching. After a time, the mist before me began to thin and I saw two dim, naked figures. One was a man, the other a woman, and they stood, hands clasped, shrouded in a vaporous haze so that their features could not clearly be discerned. I had the impression that I knew them, yet simultaneously I was aware that I had never seen them before.
They opened their arms to me and smiled.
“Welcome, child,” they said in unison. “Welcome.”
“I greet you,” I replied, in words which did not seem to be mine.
“We are pleased to see you.”
I was about to reply: “And I you.” But this wasn’t what I wanted to say, so I pushed the impulse aside and instead asked: “Who are you?” My voice boomed through the mist.
“We are your parents. The givers of the sperm and egg from which you were conceived.”
I peered harder, but I could not make out their faces.
“What are your names?”
“We have no names. Father and Mother. Mother and Father.” Their speech was slow and precise, as if they were addressing a very small child.
“You must have names,” I insisted.
They merely smiled back at me. I felt a desire to approach them, to draw them to me and bury my head in their breasts. I did not move.
“Won’t you come to us?” they echoed. The mist played about their faces, continually blurring their features.
I hesitated, then moved fractionally forward. Their faces grew closer, but still they were hazy, as though viewed through frosted glass. Their smiles seemed hollow, devoid of any real emotion.
I drew back.
“Come,” they said, beckoning again.
“You are not real.”
“You don’t believe in us?”
“I cannot see you fully!”
“First you must believe.”
“No,” I said. “You don’t exist.”
I retreated further and their images receded, grew fainter.
“Come to us,” they implored, stretching out their arms.
“You are phantoms,” I cried.
/> The vision dissolved into blackness.
I opened my eyes and looked around me. The cubicle was still in darkness but the instrument pane! above my head gave off a bluish glow which enabled me to see Annia. She was still asleep, and a faint smile played on her lips. Jax, too, appeared to be experiencing pleasurable dreams. I removed my headpiece and sat up, waiting for them to wake.
Perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes passed. I was beginning to grow concerned about the safety of my sleeping friends and was about to remove Annia’s headpiece when the cubicle began to lighten.
Annia and Jax roused in distinct stages. First they opened their eyes and simply lay there, blinking occasionally. Then they sat up and looked around the cubicle as if they had never seen it before. Gradually they seemed to become aware of their surroundings. They removed their headpieces, peered at me, at one another, smiled. Their movements were measured and tentative, like blindfolk exploring unfamiliar surroundings.
The cubicle was now fully lit, and the voice said: “You may leave.”
As I ushered them out, they moved like sleepwalkers, but by the time we had emerged on to the street they seemed fully recovered, though still possessed by a kind of reverential glow.
The alleyway was filled with dusky shadows.
“What time is it?” I asked the doorman.
“Seventeen-thirty,” he said without consulting his watch.
A half before sunset! We had lain in the cubicle for the good part of an hour.
“It was wonderful,” Annia said, as we hurried along the streets to make our rendezvous at the shuttle terminus. “I met the M’threnni and talked with them. They were just like human beings, only calm and friendly. Their homeworld is covered with forests and lakes and streams.”
“I went fishing,” Jax announced proudly. “I was the captain of a fleet of trawlerfoils, and we sailed right across the ocean to the Antipodean Isles. My crew were three beautiful women and each of them was so strong they could pull a net in single-handed.”
“The M’threnni live at the centre of the galaxy,” Annia said. “At night, the skies of their homeworld are ablaze with stars so it’s never dark.”
“I fought with a sea-monster,” Jax countered. “It rose from the depths but I speared it with a harpoon.”
They exchanged further details of their dreams until my silence became obtrusive.
“What did you see, David?” Annia asked.
My stomach was hollow. “I saw ghosts.”
“Ghosts?”
“Yes. They were not real, Annia. Your M’threnni, Jax’s crew. All dreams conjured up to entertain us. What were the M’threnni called? What were the names of your crew, Jax?”
Jax eyed me curiously. “We know they were just figments, David. But it was still fun to dream.”
I bowed my head, embarrassed. Why was I so upset? I knew that the parlours merely enhanced fantasies conjured up by the dreamer’s mind. Had I expected some great revelation? Had I imagined that hidden truths would be revealed?
“David wears an armour of reason which nothing can penetrate,” Jax observed wryly.
Annia smiled, and touched me on the arm, “It’s a shame you would not let yourself dream, David. Sometimes surrendering to what is not real makes us appreciate more what is.”
The last passengers were boarding the shuttle when we arrived at the terminus. Naree was standing at the foot of the gangway.
“Just in time!” she called as we approached. She peered closely at us and noticed my black eye and Jax’s swollen lip. “What mischief have you been up to?”
We told her the story, hastily but without embellishment. At its conclusion she clapped her hands together.
“Gallant heroes!” she cried. “I wish that I had had two strong men like yourselves to defend me when I was a youth.”
Although there was a hint of good-natured raillery in her tone, Jax and I both revelled in her description of us as “strong men”.
“I think I should reward you for your bravery,” Naree said. “Come closer.”
We huddled around her and she began to whisper. “Two of our passengers have decided to extend their stay in Helixport. So, there is a vacant seat for the return journey. Do you think the three of you could squeeze into it?”
We nodded eagerly.
As soon as we were airborne, we undid the seatbelt and pressed our faces against the window. All our previous visits to Helixport had been made in the enclosed hold, and now, for the first time, we were able to see the city stretched out beneath us, its roofs and towers tinged gold by the dusklight. As we passed over the river, we gazed in wonder at the alien freighter terminus on Round Island, dominated by the white spiral tower of the M’threnni which had presided over the city since its birth and in whose honour the city had been named; There the mysterious aliens resided, hidden from human eyes. It was the first time we had had a clear view of the tower, and we stared at it as if we would never see it again. Little did I realize that before too long both the tower and the aliens would loom large in my life.
The shuttle banked over the Tamus estuary, passing above Needle Point, the southern lip of the rivermouth, then bisected the harbour which nestled under the hooked nose of the northern coastline. We headed inland, westwards over the hinterland plain. Soon the land of the cereal farmers lay beneath us: fields of green, fields of cream, fields of brown, a great mosaic of fields, crossed by canals and dotted with commune buildings.
Darkness was falling rapidly, and by the time the shuttle had begun to climb the foothills of the Low Valleys, only the gleaming thread of the Tamus and the occasional solitary light burning atop the entrance to a dorm building could be seen.
I dozed sporadically, sometimes waking when the shuttle stopped to disgorge passengers. A litany of names flittered through my half-conscious mind: Dulcet, East Bend, Camden Heights, New Kentucky, Dennerton, White Mountain, Milesville. The shuttle continued to climb, zigzagging up the valleys. Finally I heard Naree say: “Silver Spring. Last call.”
She was addressing the three of us, for all the other passengers had debarked at previous stops.
Annia and Jax were both sound asleep. I shook them gently and said: “We’re home.”
Chapter Two
The toll of the morning bell drew me from sleep. Caril was moving down the central aisle, swinging the bell with a deft movement of her wrist, as if she was brushing dust from the air. I stumbled from bed, still feeling tired; it had been well past midnight when we had arrived back at the dorm and I had had less than ten hours’ sleep. Wearily, I pulled on my shirt, watching as Caril stopped at Tim’s bed opposite and tapped her bell against the metal headrest. Tim, who would sleep all day if given the opportunity, sat bolt upright with a start.
“Dawn,” said Caril with her gentle, mocking smile.
Jax had already departed for the dining-room. I tidied my bed and went after him, I could not see Annia amongst the stragglers who were emerging from the girls’ sleeping quarters, but when I arrived at the dining-hall I saw that she was sitting next to Jax and that they had reserved a seat for me.
Over breakfast I was morose and uncommunicative; the prospect of spending the morning labouring in the fields was distinctly unappetizing after the delights of Helixport. Annia too seemed somewhat subdued, whereas Jax was as boundless in energy as ever, attacking his food with gusto and giving everyone within earshot a detailed and glamorized account of our battle with the two boys at the baths. No one else in junior dorm had ever visited Helixport, and they always greeted Jax’s tales with a mixture of awe and reverence. He painted a picture of a city filled with thieves, rogues and bullies, and it is little wonder that the younger members of the dorm regarded him (and, to a lesser extent, Annia and me) with the admiration one would afford to an explorer of strange lands. His swollen lip and my bruised eye added an extra touch of drama and veracity to his tale on this occasion.
As much as I disliked working in the fields, I was glad when breakfast was over
and we dispersed into the compound. I went down to the perimeter fence and looked up the valley towards the snow-capped peaks of the Crescent Mountains. A veil of mist was retreating up the mountainsides under the ripening heat of the suns, revealing the chequered, sun-bleached fields and plantations. Olives, russets and golds predominated, the colours of our Summer fruit crops. In Autumn, when all the oranges and butterfruit had been harvested, the darker shades of red and brown prevailed as berries and vine plants cloaked the hillsides. During Winter, when rainstorms harried the valley, the fields lay ash-brown and fallow, and our work was primarily maintenance; tending seedlings in the cloistered, humid atmosphere of the hothouses; spreading fertilizer; collecting water for storage in the cisterns. In Spring we would plant root-crops and legumes, and the valley would blossom with a hesitant greenness before Capella sucked the soil dry once more.
“Gather! Everybody gather!”
Erik had emerged from the dormitory and was crossing the compound, clapping his hands together. He was a short, overt weight man, his burgeoning girth the subject of much surreptitious humour amongst the youth of the dorm. He stood at the centre of the compound, waiting for the knots of children to disperse and reassemble into five ragged lines, according to their season. Erik and Caril had been wardens at junior dorm for over four cycles. I preferred Caril to him, for she was gentler and more, appreciative of the individual, but he treated everyone fairly and was no ogre.
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