‘How,’ intoned the Prof, ‘do we preserve individual liberty, provide the kind of personal incentives that are the driving force of technological and, indeed, artistic progress whilst at the same time protecting the humanitarian principle of “from each according to his ability, to each according to his need”?’ He smiled and waved a hand in the air. No one replied, though someone near the front farted loudly.
‘Consider this, then . . .’ Professor Goldberg droned on, apparently content that the only one engaging with his thought processes was himself, happy with his audience of one.
Pan thought about the problems of hang-gliding. As far as she understood it, it was like being suspended under a giant kite, the only difference was that nothing tethered it to the ground. Would she actually have the guts to do it? And it’s not even as if the hang-glider is tried and tested, she thought. Jen is cobbling together a homemade kite. For all I know the whole thing will fold immediately.
Then there was the climb up the cliff face to consider. That was at least as terrifying a prospect as throwing herself off the cliff. At least they would be climbing at night and she wouldn’t be able to see the drop. But climbing a steep cliff in the dark, without equipment . . . Pan’s stomach lurched as she thought about it. Jen’s words came back to her. Do it or go crazy. Stay here and listen to the Prof. Move stones. Play guessing games with Dr Morgan. Run endless circuits of the track. Eat porridge, take cold showers and surrender to the dreams that come at night, never knowing whether the world she once lived in was still out there. That cannot happen, she thought. I will do this.
‘Class dismissed,’ said the Prof, but it took a few moments before the students realised they were being released. Then there was a rush for the doors. Pan got to her feet and joined the throng.
‘A word in your shell-like ear, Miss Jones?’ said the Prof as she passed his desk. Pan stopped. She was surprised he knew her name. Then again, she had made herself notorious recently. And she still believed that it was the Prof who had interrogated her when she came round after being tasered in the village. The Prof who had asked the questions that she had no choice but to answer honestly. Yes, everybody knew her name.
Professor Goldberg waited until the last of the students had filed out and then turned his eyes on Pan. He remained seated behind his desk and stroked his beard.
‘Did you find my little talk interesting?’ he asked.
‘I think I understand the importance of the topic,’ Pan replied.
The Prof nodded. ‘I believe,’ he said, ‘that you were the only student who actually listened to anything I said. You are probably surprised I noticed. The general feeling appears to be that the Professor notices nothing outside his own mind, but this is not so. I pay attention. I could probably even make a fair estimate of the decibels produced by that splendid example of flatulence we were privileged to hear.’ The Prof wrinkled his nose. ‘And smell, I’m unhappy to report.’
Pan felt herself to be on the border of a smile, but she kept her face straight. She did not trust Goldberg. Then again, she trusted no one on the staff. So she waited.
‘I have learned one thing as a teacher,’ he continued. ‘You cannot force students to learn. You can only offer a gift and some may choose to accept it. Most will not. I believe you appreciate gifts of this nature and that, for me as an educator, is sufficient. I think I have made you think. That pleases me enormously. So you see, Miss Jones, we have exchanged gifts.’
‘Is that all, Professor?’ said Pan.
‘You may not realise this now,’ said the Professor, ignoring her question, ‘but when you are out there building a new world, some of these ideas may be useful. While others are hunting, gathering and planting crops, you may consider how people can actually live together, how societies can function. Though I will have been a long time dead, it is good to know I may live on and do some good, simply because I have put ideas in your head. It is ideas that drive us. It is ideas that elevate us above the rest of the animal kingdom.’
He looked at her, tilted his head to one side. Pan didn’t know what she was expected to say, but then she had an impulse to tell the truth. She suspected Goldberg already knew, so there was little point in concealment, and she was tired of the verbal fencing and parrying.
‘I don’t believe the old world has gone,’ she said. ‘You know that, don’t you?’
The Prof smiled.
‘Yes. I am aware of your . . . theories.’
‘And?’
Goldberg got to his feet, wincing slightly as he did so. He gathered up his papers and one large textbook. Tucking everything under his arm, he regarded Pan one more time.
‘It’s exactly what I was talking about. You have ideas. You think differently. If I didn’t detest the phrase so much, I would undoubtedly say that it is an example of thinking outside the box. Such skills will be of immense value in the future.’
‘You haven’t said anything about whether my “theories” are true.’
The Prof walked towards the door and spoke over his shoulder. ‘Here is one thing that you can absolutely trust, Pandora. When you leave here it will be to build a new world. I am glad you are to be a part of it. It gives me hope for the future of humanity.’
Chapter 15
Miss Kingston took them on an extended run around The School. The instructor pointed out that the running track had been fine for building up general levels of fitness, but stamina was going to be the focus for the next series of sessions. Pan was glad, although the soles of her feet were still painful and the prospect of a ten-kilometre run made her uneasy. It was what pain barriers were for, she reminded herself. To push through them. Just to make sure, she filled the pockets of her pants with stones. Jen watched her do it and smiled.
‘From wimp to Wonder Woman,’ she said. ‘I feel privileged I was here to witness it. They should make a movie about you, Pandora.’
‘Shove it, Jen,’ said Pan, but she smiled as well.
She surprised herself when she came in second, only fifty metres behind the winner. Jen, naturally. Miss Kingston pulled her to one side after the session.
‘You have come a long way, Miss Jones,’ she said. ‘But there is still more to do. In particular we need to work on your upper body strength. Come and see me tomorrow and I’ll give you a personalised program.’
At four-thirty, Pan climbed the Infirmary steps for her personal development session with Dr Morgan. She had to sign in at the entrance, which was guarded by the same huge boy from the SRC she had encountered before. Pan scribbled her name on a sheet of paper and the boy entered the time. Pan assumed he would check her name off when she left, and enter the time again. The School had obviously decided it needed to heighten security to protect its secrets.
As it was, Pan left the session early, pleading a headache and the inability to concentrate. Sure enough, the boy glanced at her as she passed through the front doors and entered something on his clipboard. No one could get into the Infirmary without raising the alarm, especially since the steps appeared to be guarded twenty-four/seven. But it didn’t matter. Pan didn’t intend to be at The School for much longer.
Jen was waiting for her outside Hut 21, as arranged. It was six-twenty. They were early in case Sam’s tutor decided to let the class out ahead of time. Obviously, she hadn’t.
Jen curled her hand into a fist and cocked her thumb towards the hut’s window.
‘Weaving,’ she said. ‘If you do well, do ya reckon they move you on to advanced flower arranging?’
‘You shouldn’t be so sarcastic.’
Jen grinned. ‘Ah, brave new world,’ she said. ‘Taming the wild frontiers with guts, determination and origami.’
‘Jen . . .’
‘Don’t worry. I’m cool. Actually—’
The door to the hut opened and a group of students spilled out. Most of them, to Pan’s slight disappointment, were girls, though there were a few boys. Karl was one. He and Sam came out the door at the same time, engage
d in earnest conversation, and Jen stepped forward to intercept them.
‘Hey, guys,’ she said. ‘Stimulating session?’
Sam raised her eyebrows and started to frame a reply, then she closed her mouth and said nothing.
‘You said you’d point out this Janine Abbott to us,’ Jen continued.
‘Oh, yes.’ Sam gazed around. ‘There she is.’ She pointed to a group of students who were wandering towards the distant canteen. ‘Hey, Janine,’ she called.
One girl stopped and turned. She was small, with long dark hair. Probably no more than thirteen years old. Fourteen, tops.
Jen hitched her pants and smiled. ‘Hi, Janine,’ she said. ‘Can we have a word?’
The girl didn’t say anything, nor did she smile. She cast an anxious glance at her friends. Jen smiled more broadly, but that didn’t appear to make Janine feel any more at ease. Jen’s intimidating, Pan thought. Even when she’s trying to be friendly. Especially when she’s trying to be friendly.
They walked over to the girl, who looked down at her boots.
‘Hi, I’m Jen. And this is my friend, Pandora.’
Janine looked from one to the other. ‘Pandora Jones?’ she said.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Jen. ‘She’s not as crazy as everyone says, are you, Pandora?’
‘Not quite,’ said Pan.
‘We wondered if you’d mind answering a few questions,’ Jen continued.
Janine lowered her eyes. ‘About what?’ she muttered.
‘What does AIS mean?’ asked Pan. ‘Or it could be ALS.’
Janine shifted from one foot to another. ‘It’s the Australian International School,’ she said. ‘In Singapore. Where I went to school, before . . . you know.’
‘Okay,’ said Jen. ‘That makes sense.’
‘Can I go now?’ said Janine.
‘It’s okay,’ said Pan. ‘Seriously. We’re not forcing you to do anything, but we think you can help us out. You won’t get in trouble.’
Janine said nothing, but Pan’s words didn’t appear to provide much comfort.
‘This might sound weird,’ Jen continued, ‘but we want to ask you about a dress you used to wear. A summer dress. Short. Just above your knees. Don’t know what colour it was, but it had small flowers all over it.’
‘It was blue,’ said Janine. She had a hint of a smile on her face now, as if finding solace in memories. ‘I got it in Sydney. Used to wear it all the time.’
‘Do you remember a photo of you wearing that dress?’ asked Pan. ‘You were eating an ice cream.’
Janine’s smile faded.
‘How do you know about that photograph?’ she said.
Pan and Jen exchanged glances. They hadn’t discussed how to respond to that particular question. How would they know about that photo?
‘Please,’ said Pan. ‘If you don’t remember, then it doesn’t matter, does it? If you do, then I promise I’ll explain.’
‘My dad took it. In Sydney, just after I bought it. He’d taken me to the zoo.’ She smiled again. ‘I was ten and Dad would take me places when it was his turn to have me for a weekend. It was Dad who gave me the money to buy the dress.’
‘One more question,’ said Jen. ‘Were you wearing that dress when you were rescued? You know, after the virus.’
Janine’s brow creased and for a moment her eyes filled with pain. Then she almost imperceptibly shook her head as if wiping away unwelcome thoughts.
‘I hadn’t worn that dress for two years,’ she said. ‘It was way too small for me. I think Mum gave it to the Salvos.’
‘Were you carrying that photo when you were rescued?’
‘I thought you said one more question.’
‘Please?’
‘No, of course I wasn’t carrying the photo. I’d almost forgotten it entirely until you mentioned it.’ Janine put her hands on her hips. ‘So why did you mention it?’
‘We saw the photo in a file,’ said Pan. She couldn’t think of a reason to lie. ‘In the Infirmary.’ The School knew she had been the one to break in. There seemed little point in hiding it.
‘The Infirmary?’ said Janine. ‘Why would they have that photo in the Infirmary?’
‘Ah,’ said Jen. ‘That’s a helluva good question.’
Wei-Lin introduced the new boy at dinner. He sat bolt upright, eyes darting everywhere, shovelling food into his mouth as quickly as he could. Pan remembered that when she first arrived she couldn’t bear to even look at the food. Obviously, this boy was made of different stuff.
‘This is Eric,’ Wei-Lin said. ‘The newest member of our group.’ She introduced everyone and the boy lifted a hand at each one in turn. Pan remembered him from the Infirmary, but he seemed subtly different now. His hair was still a vibrant red and his skin colour appeared to have improved. And he was animated. He was alive.
Pan thought back to the conversation she’d overheard while hiding under the boy’s bed. Why now? thought Pan. What are the reasons behind waking him and allowing him to join The School now? She believed, more than ever, that standard medical concerns played no part in the time students spent in the Infirmary. Other factors were at work.
‘If it’s okay with you guys,’ said Wei-Lin, ‘I’ll give Eric his orientation privately. I think he needs . . . time to fully understand our new situation. But Sanjit, I’d appreciate it if you showed Eric the dormitory and talked him through the shower arrangements. You know the drill.’
Sanjit nodded. ‘Do you have any specific talent, Eric?’ he asked. Then blushed. ‘Sorry, Wei-Lin,’ he said. ‘That was probably something you were going to go over in orientation.’
Wei-Lin smiled. ‘No worries, Sanjit.’ She turned to the new boy. ‘We’re encouraged here at The School to develop any talents we might possess. Is there anything you are especially good at?’
Eric stopped chewing and smiled.
‘Me?’ he said. ‘Oh, yeah. I’m really good at two things.’
‘Yes?’ said Wei-Lin.
‘Blowing things up.’ Eric loaded up another spoonful of stew, brought it to his lips and paused. ‘I’m something of an expert at that.’
There was silence.
‘And the other thing?’ said Sanjit.
Eric smiled. ‘Setting shit on fire.’ He put the food into his mouth. ‘I’m a pyromaniac. A good one, according to the prosecutor in my last case.’
No one said anything. Wei-Lin toyed with a piece of bread. She seemed unsure how to respond to this information.
Jen came to her rescue. ‘That’s great, Eric,’ she said. ‘Just what we need at The School. A certifiable lunatic.’
Eric grinned.
‘Hey, Sam,’ Jen continued, pointing her spoon across the table. ‘I’m thinking of signing up for that course you’re doing. You know. The weaving thing.’
Sam put down her spoon and fixed Jen with a hard stare.
‘Okay, Jen,’ she said. ‘And?’
Jen spread her arms. ‘What?’
‘I’m waiting for the punchline.’
‘I’m serious,’ said Jen. ‘Yeah, okay, I might have been taking the piss a little before . . .’
‘A little?’ said Sam.
‘. . . but I’ve been thinking about it. How we need to develop new skills to pass on to future generations. And you’re right. I mean, I’ve no idea how electricity works, for example. I just flick a switch and there it is . . . well, there it was would be more accurate.’ Jen wiped the inside of her bowl with the remainder of her bread. ‘And that’s true of almost everything in the old world. Food? Go to a fast food joint. Clothes? Go to a shopping centre. Information? Go online. But now all those things are gone, and I realise I took ’em for granted. I don’t know how they worked. I wouldn’t have a clue how to recreate them. So, yeah. I’m serious. I think it’d be cool to make something creative with my own hands.’
Sam relaxed a little, but she was wary.
‘I thought you were into martial arts,’ she said.
�
�Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have to do that all the time,’ Jen replied. ‘I mean, I do metalwork. Why shouldn’t I find some time to do weaving? I’m guessing you develop other skills as well?’
‘Like?’
‘I dunno.’ Jen stroked her chin. ‘You probably do things like sewing, don’t you? Learn to weave, sure, but material still has to be made into clothes.’
‘Yes,’ said Karl. He was animated as he took over from Sam. ‘We have sewing machines. Not electric, of course. But Miss Potter – she’s our tutor – well, she has these old machines that operate with a foot pedal. And she’s teaching us how to use them.’
Pan could see that Jen was on the verge of laughter, and she was probably the only one who could tell how much it was costing Jen to keep it under control. But keep it under control she did.
‘Fascinating,’ said Jen.
Pan coughed and turned her head away from the table.
‘And I guess there’s plenty of material to practise with?’
Sam took over from Karl.
‘I don’t know about plenty, but there are bolts of cloth that we can use.’
‘Different types of cloth?’ asked Jen.
‘Sure,’ said Karl. ‘I’ve been into the store cupboard. There’s actually a lot of material in there. Denim, cotton, polyester.’
‘Excellent,’ said Jen. ‘I’m gonna check it out tomorrow.
Miss Potter, you said?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Brilliant. If the course is no good, I’ll get Eric here to blow up the building. Or set fire to it.’
Eric smiled and raised a hand in acknowledgement.
Immediately after dinner, Pan sought out Jen. ‘You’re going to steal fabric from Miss Potter’s stores? For the hang-glider?’
Jen twisted her mouth.
‘You could call it stealing, but I prefer to call it borrowing.’ She grinned. ‘I’m really good at borrowing, Pandora. It’s what got me into juvie in the first place. Tellya one thing, though. I might have a chequered past, but I reckon I might be a rank amateur compared to our new friend Eric.’
Pandora Jones: Deception Page 13
