9: PRODUCTION GETS UNDERWAY

At lunchtime Peteru and Uretep ordered their usual algal steaks, toast and coffee. While eating they couldn’t help wondering if remaining in their old apartment had been a sensible decision. The food looked similar to that served at breakfast, but there the resemblance ended. Bland and insipid were not qualities to tempt anyone to eat more than necessary.

‘Probably a good thing,’ Peteru muttered. ‘If we ate like them we’d soon look like them.’

‘You never know, a pot belly, pimples and love-handles might suit you.’

Peteru pushed his half-eaten plate away. ‘They’re suspicious,’ he muttered abstractedly. ‘I can sense it. Did you see the look Ishbel swapped with Fabien?’

‘Yes. He’s a nasty piece of work that one. And this had better be the last time we speak about any of this. He’s not head of enforcement for nothing. We’ll be under constant surveillance from now on, so button your lips. You really have no idea of diplomacy, have you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Every time you open your mouth you put your foot in it—you’re either critical or handing out ridiculously exuberant praise. You are so transparent!’

‘Mmm. Sorry. Lucky you’re there to smooth troubled waters.’

‘I don’t think I soothed anything at the end. They just left us out there!’

‘Too late now. Come on, let’s get the stuff; mustn’t keep the luscious Ishbel waiting—she fancies you.’

‘Please tell me you’re kidding!’

‘She was drooling in lust while offering to take your sperm sample. Do you think you could screw her?’

‘Have to find the hole first. Stop it, I feel sick. Come on!’

Ishbel’s decision to keep all the engineering staff ignorant of the true purpose of what they were building was based on long experience. Even the most reliable and intelligent engineer is tempted to offer advice and even secretly make changes to plans if he knows the purpose. Too often an inventor’s concept is corrupted by a would-be genius convinced he can improve on the design. However, when he has no idea what he’s making he’s forced to follow the plans to the letter.

Back in Ishbel’s apartment, Peteru and Uretep entered drawings, plans and specifications into the central engineering computer. As Chief Engineer she wanted to maintain overall control. When everything was completed to Peteru’s satisfaction, all three descended to the engineering level where Ishbel introduced them to the Aristocrats in charge of the project—short, pale, pinched Alger; and chunky, stolid Begum whose face gave as little clue to her sex as her body.

‘Alger and Begum have the joint responsibility of organising the workforce, procuring all materials, and following your orders during the life of this project, which has temporarily replaced every other undertaking of the engineering department. At all times they will unquestioningly obey you both and follow your instructions and plans with one hundred percent accuracy,’ Ishbel announced gravely before turning pokerfaced to her head engineers. ‘No questions. No mistakes. Your life and that of everyone who works for you is on the line.’

Both bowed slightly. ‘Yes, your Worship.’

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

‘There is no limit on the numbers of people you may employ, or the amount of equipment you may use if it furthers the project and speeds up completion. Peteru and Uretep will oversee your work. Theirs will be the final word in any question or dispute no matter how trivial. You will not offer advice; only follow instructions. Do you understand the significance of that?’

Another bow. ‘Yes, your Worship.’

Alger’s blue eyes studied the young men coolly; Begum was unable to hold her tongue.

‘But, your Worship! They’re Vassals! You can’t expect us to listen, let alone pay heed to their nonsense.’

Ishbel’s smile was calculated to curdle blood. ‘They are not Vassals.’

‘But they’re black! I can’t. I really can’t!’

‘They are not black, they are dark brown and if you can’t...’ her sigh was theatrical, ‘then so be it. You can’t. There are several people ready to replace you—literally!’

Literally shaking with both fear and dismay, Begum threw herself on the floor at the Mage’s feet, kissing them and grovelling until her face was thrust away with the toe of Ishbel’s less that pristine sandal.

‘How do we address these… people?’ Alger asked in an attempt to divert his Chief’s anger.

‘By their names,’ Ishbel grunted before turning and leaving them to it.

Tears were streaming when Begum hoisted herself upright, avoided her new bosses’ eyes and left the room. Thoroughly chastened, Alger politely suggested they meet the rest of the team and start work.

Feeling slightly sick, Peteru and Uretep followed the engineers. They’d never met them before, yet even in front of Ishbel they’d treated their new bosses with contempt, proving what they’d recently realised, they looked like Vassals. Scientists who had known them their entire lives considered them not worthy of respect, and now engineers who’d never met them were doing the same. Such is the power of childhood indoctrination.

For the next three hours Alger, Begum and a dozen Freemen technicians studied the plans, nodded at explanations, and discussed every aspect of constructing the apparatus that would mass-produce the chips, mats, main computer and wireless terminals. Eventually Alger stood, grudgingly conceded it looked OK on the plans, and after a short consultation with Begum asked if it would be OK to start setting up the system first thing in the morning. Uretep and Peteru agreed and promised to be there.

It was too late to start visiting the rest of Oasis but too early to go to bed. They didn’t want to be entertained. They wanted to do something, but for the first time in years they had nothing to do because NumbaCruncha was temporarily out of their hands.

‘Let’s check for surveillance bugs,’ Uretep whispered in the corridor before returning to their apartment.’

Silently, they scanned every nook and cranny, and discovered fifteen new vidspots that would cover ninety percent of their rooms. Ten minutes later, interference programmes that would show a silent, empty room were disrupting any attempt to spy.

Satisfied they were safe for the present, and curious to test the Mages’ story about their origins, Uretep cast caution to the ether and allowed himself to be persuaded to join Peteru on a visit to the virtual archives to see for himself the origins of their world.

Comfortable, on body-form divans they pulled soft black caps over their heads. Senses intertwined, darkened, then awareness of a vast, dim cavern hewn from the bedrock, walls lined with what were probably primitive electronic devices.

‘These are what the Elite reckon are ancient toys brought by the first arrivals to keep their offspring quiet on the long voyage.’ Peteru’s thoughts were as clear as speech. ‘Instead of humans coming from a less hostile planet in another galaxy and getting trapped here, the records in these gadgets prove the opposite. Everything’s in chronological order and simple to hack into once you understand the process. Just focus your attention on the one furthest to the left and we’ll soon skip through them.’

They focussed. Peteru unlocked the code and images flooded brains at speeds beyond comprehension—well beyond their power to process. An hour later they surfaced with barely enough energy to remove their caps. Levering themselves off the couches they went out into the corridor, remotely turned off the vidspot interference, then re-entered the apartment. For the next two hours they lay on their bed in a semi coma that looked as if they were sleeping as their brains processed the information.

After regaining consciousness they wolfed down a snack of algal nuts and fruit, then pretended to leave the apartment, remote starting the vidspot interference as they closed the door. Re-entering, they relaxed once more on their divans. With eyes closed and electrodes attached they shared and compared the sounds and visions unfolding in their heads as the history of their world was revealed…..

An incandescent sun blazed in a transparent blue sky as they swept over forests and water...

An hour later Uretep dragged off the electrodes and sighed softly. ‘You were right. Humans evolved on this earth—but destroyed the environment in the vain hope of creating a better, safer, easier world. This life isn’t natural—it’s as unnatural at it’s possible to imagine.’