Kaleem fidgeted. The room was annoying him. He had
been sitting in the uncomfortable, old-fashioned chair for what seemed like
hours. Some of the suggestions the others were making really irritated him. Why
didn’t they think? He wished he didn’t have to be here. He’s much rather be
back at home, working on the dataserve
his mother had at last managed to buy for him.
His eyes strayed to the window. That was some compensation
at least. A relief from the gloom of the
caves. The sun was shining brightly, catching the reds and oranges of the
leaves from the now sixteen-year-old trees. A squirrel jumped on the tree
nearest the window, making its branches shake.
‘So, Kaleem, why do we consider it important to preserve all
forms of life on Terrestra?’ Maggie
Johnstone’s voice was piercing and high pitched. This lot was enough to make
anyone nervous. ‘Including squirrels, if you like,’ she added. From other
teachers, that would have sounded sarcastic. From her, though, it was just a
gentle tease.
‘Oh, Maggie, it’s cos he lives in a cave!’ answered Stuart
Davidson.
‘Yeah, look at him!’ Erik Svenson joined in. ‘He’s not so
pure himself.’
Kaleem blushed. He was only too aware that his skin was browner
than that of the other white members of his class, and his hair was blonder.
‘Yeah, Goldilocks day dreaming again!’ giggled Rozia
Laurence.
That one hurt. She obviously didn’t think much of him. But
she was absolutely gorgeous. Sleek black hair and a pale face. The perfect
Terrestran looks, in fact, if you couldn’t be respectably yellow or black .
‘Now, come on folks,’ said Maggie, blushing herself a little
too.
Kaleem suddenly felt sorry for Maggie. She was trying really
hard to make them think for themselves and to include everybody in the
conversation. She wasn’t much older than them. She probably hadn’t been doing
this very long.
‘You do know about throw-backs?’ Maggie continued.
‘What’s that then?’ asked Pierre LaFontaine.
‘Look,’ continued Maggie. ‘Kaleem can’t help the way he
looks. Occasionally, genetic information comes through from generations ago.
Before Terrestra became a One World, there were several nationalities that had
skin which tanned easily and fair hair. The Swedes, for example. They coped
less well with the cave life and gradually died out.’
‘Sounds like a vegetable!’ sniggered Erik.
‘Hey, Kaleem’s a turnip!’ laughed Stuart.
Kaleem slumped down further in his seat.
‘What do you mean different nationalities?’ asked Rozia.
‘Well,’ began Maggie. ‘There used to be ….’
Suddenly the large datascreen lit up. The face of Rajud Hepman, the coordinator of their
schooling group, appeared on the screen.
‘Miss Johnstone,’ said Rajud. ‘A word, please. Students, you
may dismiss early.’
Maggie blushed deep red now. Rajud Hepman’s voice sounded
stern. A shame; she had been trying so hard to be fair to everyone.
‘Throw back!’ scoffed Erik as made their way to the
transports.
‘You going straight home?’ asked Pierre.
‘Yes, but I want to walk,’ answered Kaleem.
‘You’re strange, man,’ said Pierre. ‘It’s cold out there!’
‘But I like the fresh air!’ replied Kaleem.
Pierre’s
teeth were chattering.
They both knew the real reason, though. Kaleem just didn’t
want to go back home. The colours up here were such a contrast to the grimness
of the caves and they were so much more alive than the ones on the screen of
his dataserve. No, he never wanted to leave the cosiness of the cave, but once
he was out, he never wanted to go back down.
The two boys made their way across the square towards the
park. There weren’t many people about today. Just an older looking man, who
seemed to stare at the two boys.
‘He’s a bit creepy,’ said Kaleem.
‘No, he just thinks we’re nuts for being out here,’ replied Pierre.
‘So why’s he out here then?’ asked Kaleem.
‘Cos he’s nuts as well?’ suggested Pierre.
Kaleem shrugged. He stared at the old man. Although he was
still quite a distance away, Kaleem could tell that he was staring back. Kaleem
shivered.
‘Come on then,’ said Pierre.
‘It’s too cold to stand still. He’s probably getting near to switch-off.’
Kaleem watched the man turn and start walking away from
them. The park was deserted now. Most people just did not stay outside for very
long. They preferred the controlled, even temperature inside the buildings.
The grass in the park was damp, and there were dried leaves
covering the paths. They crunched underneath their feet.
‘Breathe that air, man,’ shouted Kaleem. ‘It’s rich, rich,
rich!’
‘It hurts if you breathe too hard!’ laughed Pierre. ‘Look, I’m getting frost bite here. I’m
going to hop on to a transporter when we get to the other side.’
As soon as they arrived at the station, a transporter glided
in humming and hovered gently as its doors opened. It was one of the old ones
that used to run through the caves. There weren’t many people in it. People
preferred the quieter ones with the seats which moulded themselves to you to
give the maximum comfort. They would let these relics from the below-ground
life go by.
‘Coming?’ asked Pierre.
Kaleem went to get on. Stuart Davidson and Erik Svenson were
grinning sickeningly though the window of the carriage that stopped in front of
them. Rozia was with them.
‘I think I’ll walk,’ muttered Kaleem.
‘Suit yourself,’ said Pierre.
‘Only don’t blame me if your fingers fall off!’
The doors of the transporter slid shut. Pierre waved. Rozia smiled at him. Erik and
Stuart were whispering. They pointed at him and laughed. Just as well he couldn’t
hear it. It was probably not at all nice.
The transporter vanished. Pierre was right. It was cold. But he just
couldn’t have faced those Muppets. Perhaps he should log a request for another
transporter?
No, that would mean he would be back in the caves within
minutes. If he walked, he would have at least half an hour ‘outside’. It was
good to see so much colour.
Kaleem set off. He walked smartly and that kept him warm,
though the ends of his fingers were numb with cold.
They ought to bring back gloves, he thought. They’d
had them before the poison cloud arrived. But nobody bothered enough with
outside. Only the people whose job it was to maintain the new parklands and
gardens. They wore gloves all right. But those were to protect their hands from
spiky plants and dirty soil, not to warm them.
Kaleem’s thoughts soon turned from gloves to the questions
which always bothered him when he had time to think. Why did he and his mother
live in the caves? Why were they so poor? Why wouldn’t she go out? She had no
contact with the outside world. She never used the movie screen and she only
used any of the communication systems for essentials - ordering food and
discussing Kaleem’s schoolwork. Where and who was his father? Why did he look
so different from the others? He was different. He felt different…as if he knew
some things and understood some things about which the others hadn’t even the
seed of an idea.
All too soon, he was at the mouth of the cave. He cursed
himself for forgetting to enjoy the view. He took a last look round. It was
getting dark now, and even the outside colours were beginning to fade to the
similar monotones that surrounded him inside the cave. The setting sun was
glorious though. Pink cotton wool clouds floating on a sea of gold. Even though
they had a skylight in the apartment, and even though the plastiglass had been
replaced with veriglass, it wasn’t the same, seeing it from the inside, as it
was seeing the whole of the sky in one go as he could now.
Kaleem stared a few moments and watched the sun fade
completely. He was about to go down in the artificial blue light and pale
concrete of the caves when he saw someone move in the distance. They moved slowly and deliberately, obviously
someone quite old. Was it him again? Whoever it was stopped and turned and
waved to Kaleem. Kaleem shivered again.
Minutes later he was opening the door of their apartment.
‘Hey Kaleem,’ called his mother. ‘How was it?’
He daren’t answer that one truthfully.
‘Ok,’ he called. ‘You should see the sunset! That’s why I’m
so late. I had to watch it all the way down.’
‘I saw it,’ she replied.
She was pale. A little too pale perhaps. It must be because
she spent all of her time in this dull apartment. And she worried. He knew that
she didn’t sleep well at night. He’d heard her prowling about.
‘So, what happened at the meet?’ She stared at him from her
dark circled eyes.
‘Oh, usual stuff,’ mumbled Kaleem. Usual arguments, usual
hot air about nothing. ‘Some people just don’t have anything sensible to say.’
He remembered the conversation about the Swedes and turnips.
He couldn’t help smiling to himself. Of course, it was a pain, putting up with
certain people’s interpretation of that, but yes, it was funny, if he was like
a Swede, or maybe, even a turnip….
Then he remembered then what had happened to Maggie
Johnstone.
‘Mum, do teachers ever get fired? For saying the wrong
thing?’
‘Mmm?’
‘Well she was saying something about the Old Times. When
there were different nationalities. All because they were having a go again
about my hair.’
‘Oh, Hidden Information,’ she said. She paused, and stared
out in front of her, a deep frown cutting through her forehead.
What was she thinking about now?
She shook her head. ‘Anyway, why do you want to know about that?’
she asked, looking straight at Kaleem now.
He told his mother more of what had happened.
‘Well, I guess Rajud Hepman will at the very least take her
off the programme for retraining,’ said Maria.
That was a real shame. Maggie Johnstone was one of the most straightforward
adults Kaleem had ever met. He was sure he was learning something with her.
‘Well, sweetie,’ said Maria. ‘I’ll get something to eat. Why
don’t you relax a bit while you wait?’
But Kaleem didn’t want to relax. There was something he wanted
to check out.
He went to his room and told the dataserve to come on. He
asked for information about other planets. He wanted to know just exactly what
was so special about Terrestra and the people on it.
At least that’s
allowed, he thought. That’s not Hidden Information surely? Only about other
nationalities before we became a One World planet.
He wondered for a moment about Hidden Information. He was
certain that some of the people in his group used it. He’d heard one or two
whispering about it. What was it, really? What did it do to you if you got hold
of some of it?
‘Request denied,’ sang the tinny voice of his dataserve
after a lot whirring and chuntering to itself. No matter what Kaleem asked, the only
information he could obtain about any other planet was its size, the name of
its inhabitants, what the planet produced and which other planets it traded
with. Nothing about what the people were like or what they believed in. No
mention of trading with Terrestra, of course. That’s what the seminar at the
meet had been about today.
The smell of leek, potato and quimnet soup wafted into his
room. He hadn’t realised just how hungry the walk back to the caves had made
him. He started to set the machine to stand by.
‘Supper’s ready,’ shouted Maria.
Kaleem was about to command the dataserve to close down all
programmes, when a Wordtext file suddenly appeared on the screen. It looked
like complete gibberish, with words he could not understand, though he had
mastered Wordtext four years ago. This was not Terrestran English. In fact, it
appeared not to be English at all. Apart from the odd word here and there, and
over and over again, Peace Child
Project.
It must be a mistake, thought
Kaleem. It’s probably meant for someone
else.
‘Hey, not hungry then?’ Maria called out.
Kaleem stared for a few seconds more at the screen. The file
was still loading. Then he made his way to the communal space. The machine
carried on working.
