Cloud Cuckoo Land Page 11

  There were signs wired to the fence, presenting information in an assortment of languages, the way it is on ingredients labels: Arabic, Hindu, German, French, Spanish and English.

  The door of the guard hut ahead opened, two soldiers stepped out and walked towards Leonard. They were wearing black combat clothes, body armour and helmets with full-face protection.

  ‘Halt! Stay where you are. Raise your hands above your head!’

  The first soldier had his gun levelled at Leonard’s chest. He covered the second soldier who switched a piece of hand-held equipment on, and approached Leonard.

  ‘Are you tagged, sir?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do you not understand the question, sir?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  As soon as he had given this wrong answer Leonard was pushed to the ground and told not to move. The first soldier screamed out.

  ‘Scan him.’

  The second soldier moved the scanner back and forth over Leonard’s head and shoulders. It was some sort of detector, a bar of metal with ultra violet light shining from it, the fly killing colour. He took it away and read a number that came up on a screen.

  ‘OK, he’s numbered.’

  The first soldier dropped the assault rifle and they both eased off.

  Leonard offered his papers.

  ‘Get up, you idiot. Why didn’t you tell us you’d been tagged?’

  ‘I don’t know, I couldn’t think straight.’

  ‘Why didn’t you just sit tight? You’re not supposed to turn up like this, unannounced. We come and get you when the time is right. That’s our job!’

  ‘I’m sorry, I…’

  ‘Alright, now just follow the road up to the intake hall. They’ll check you in.’

  The soldiers turned their backs and walked away, Leonard didn’t think they were supposed to do that, not ever.

  The building up ahead was a rectangular mass of concrete with a recessed entrance; it was lit up low and wide by large spotlights sunk into the ground. Leonard stood and waited as the door slid away to one side, then he entered, and his shivering stopped as heated air washed around his body.

  The floor was covered in a thick layer of sponge rubber, the pimpled texture of a professional table tennis bat. There were illuminated clues beckoning him forward, a flashing orange rectangle was obviously the place to head for, so he walked forward into the large featureless space. Thankfully there was a human presence, albeit behind thick, green tinted glass. Another soldier stood off to the left, unarmed this time and with his face revealed. All he did was to wave Leonard towards a second flashing light above an arched structure in the centre of the room. It was another scanning unit, maybe a metal detector. Leonard passed through and out the other side. The soldier waved him on again and Leonard did as he was told.

  The wide reception area narrowed to a point where Leonard had to step onto a moving walkway, a rolling conveyor which whisked him out of the first area. The artificial light cut out as the conveyor moved into a warm and moist enclosure, the air perfumed by natural smells; tropical, night-flowering plants. Leonard was moving through a glass-roofed structure, a greenhouse filled with foliage.

  On the other side of the room, there was another door with light spilling in around the edges. The conveyor stopped, Leonard stepped off and walked through the door.

  On the other side of the glasshouse, a woman received him, an attractive woman in her late twenties. She directed him towards a middle-aged man, who was sitting behind a computer at a wooden table. His face was broad and tanned; he was dressed in a short-sleeved, white shirt, a striped tie and black trousers. He stood to welcome Leonard.

  ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘Aren’t they all. But we can’t have you wandering around like that, now can we? Get yourself a shower as soon as possible. But first of all, perhaps you’d like to take a seat.’

  Leonard had to ask a question first, though; it was something that had been bugging him.

  ‘They said that I’m tagged, the soldiers. What does that mean?’

  ‘You don’t know what that means? How odd, most people seem to remember that they’ve been shot in the mouth.’

  Leonard felt like he’d just made it into a friendly embassy after crossing through the badlands.

  His details began to scroll down the screen.

  ‘Ah, there is a mistake here, but not a big one. We don’t have your history on file but that’s not a problem. I see you’re North 4?’

  He looked for Leonard’s confirmation.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right. Do you need my paperwork?’

  ‘No, I have what I need right here on the screen. How are things in the city?’

  ‘Well, it’s a pretty unpredictable place.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure. That’s a southern accent you’ve got there, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, my mother was from the South.’

  ‘I see. Well, go through and relax, you’re in good hands now.’

  He stood to shake Leonard’s hand. It was the training course reflex, the mark of modern customer care.

  ◊

  Leonard was given his own room, a single room for a single man. A large and comfortable cube of living space with grass cord flooring and maple-wood furniture. After being shown in, he was experiencing that rare luxury of being left alone. Nothing surplus to requirements here, an en-suite bathroom, a television, a desk, a service intercom, but no need for a telephone or a window.

  Leonard sat and soaked away the aches and pains in a hot and bubbly bath. He peeled the plasters off his elbows and rubbed small pieces of grit out of the grazes in his knees. He was in bits really, his back ached and he felt so exhausted that only a good night’s rest would put him back together again. The buoyancy was comforting, but when he pulled the plug, his body weight returned and gravity took hold of him again. He got out and sat on the edge until a sensation of dizziness settled. He stood, stared into a mirror and managed to smile at himself. The vomiting diesel trick was a stroke of luck and the fact that he hadn’t been arrested as soon as he presented himself at the gate was unbelievable.

  He grabbed a thick towelling robe from its hook and wrapped it around his body, then he pulled on the shaving mirror which extended laterally on a length of chrome trellis. The bathroom cabinet contained a complete kit of toiletries, own label shampoos, tooth brushes, hair gels.

  This was the sort of place where you needn’t have a care in the world, there was a restaurant nearby or there was room service, a swimming pool, gym, piped-in music and not one mention of the bill, not a whisper of how much all of this was costing.

  After his shave, Leonard rolled onto his bed. He ordered and ate a freshly cut sandwich and then he fell into a sound sleep.

  ◊

  Leonard looked up from where he sat in the middle of the road. There were long, white vapour trails running from east to west in the sky, from horizon to horizon. A cloud-burst of asteroid fragments, spelling chaos in the atmosphere. He felt heat on the left side of his face and when he turned he saw bright flames wrapping themselves around the soldier’s car. It was upside down in a ditch and blazing out of control. The soldiers had managed to bail out and were now limping towards Leonard. They stopped halfway and picked up a huge, flat rock which had been lying by the side of the road. They heaved it up to shoulder height and slow-marched it, like pall-bearers, toward him.

  Leonard couldn’t move, he couldn’t get clear. The soldiers were close enough now, they slammed the rock down onto Leonard, which killed him outright. They removed their hoods, and then congratulated themselves. It was Ian and Tony.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Adeline had this way of looking at things that made you want to watch her looking at the thing, whatever it was, whatever was holding her attention. Tony watched, he liked to use her as an object of focus, a diversionary mind game that pushed the fate of the world into the background. She was moving around the be
droom, animating the place, picking up enough laundry to make a full machine-load. What made her so fascinating was her own focus on what she was doing: it was complete and utter. She sorted and shook out the whites only, held them bundled at her breast. The moment she walked out through the door, the stagnation returned and Tony remembered how he’d been becoming morbid, how he’d been thinking that everyday now had this sour aftertaste. Tony felt that because of these unforeseen solar circumstances, he could no longer catch up with the way his life should be going and he, along with everybody else, was moving into a penalty clause. Just lately, the consideration of death was at the front of his mind. He’d been trying to come to some understanding of this strange arrangement. He had been noticing how it was possible to learn about death in the nighttime, when all those scattered segments of the day were being jumbled up and tied together, mismatched into dreamed sequences.

  The thing was that while he was sleeping, his investment in the dream was total and everything in it mattered, but the next thing he knew was how easy it was to let go of all those concerns in the moment of waking. What was troubling Tony was how easy it may be if at death we can look back at all our connections to life and untie them as easily as we can discard the fading importance of the dreamed world. What if it was like that? What if? Was that a comfort? Why wasn’t that at all comforting?

  ‘Are you going to lie there all day?’

  Adeline was back again and doing the colours now.

  ‘Sounds like a pretty good idea.’

  The seam of her black skirt was split over her hip and the thin white band of her knickers showed through. She handed Tony a cup of tea and he reached up from his prone position but his coordination was off, he spilt the tea onto the quilt and couldn’t hide it from her.

  ‘You idiot!’

  ‘Don’t call me an idiot, shit head!’

  ‘You jerk!’

  ‘I said don’t!’

  ‘Prick!’

  ‘Tart!’

  There was a knock at the door so Adeline had a look out of the window.

  ‘It’s the postman.’

  Tony rolled off the bed.

  ‘I’ll pay the bastard.’

  ‘What with?’

  ‘Booze, what else?’

  Tony ran down the stairs, picked up a bottle from behind the bar and opened the door to the postman. He was a new man, a big guy with a helmet and visor.

  ‘Letters from overseas.’

  ‘Right, what do I owe you?’

  ‘What you got?’

  The whisky did the job, and Tony watched him go back to his van and pass the bottle through to his driver, then they both drove a short way up the road to make the next delivery.

  Tony was disappointed; it was another letter from Adeline’s mother. Always when the letters came, Adeline would take herself off for hours to study the thing and then there would be new spells, new trials and tests around the house. This time maybe, it would be better if he dealt with the correspondence, so he slipped his finger in and tore a ragged split in the seam. To start with, it smelt good, the envelope was full of lavender flowers and the writing was in English and legible too.

  Daughter,

  I hope this letter finds you well.

  My spirits can’t decide but how are yours, high or low? I’ve been trying to see all of life as glory and light but it doesn’t seem to work anymore. I have been digging deep into my notebooks for some fundamentals and I have found something for you, something fitting this oddest of occasions. Please promise me you will make this spell, promise me so that I may sleep at night.

  Tony was about to read on but he could hear the descending footsteps and felt spooked.

  Adeline arrived at the bottom of the stairs and turned to pick up a dropped sock.

  ‘Well?’

  Tony stuffed the letter into his back pocket.

  ‘Nothing, he asked me if I would take a parcel in for next door, but would I pay and sign receipt? No bloody way!’

  Adeline had nothing to say. She walked past Tony and on through the doorway towards the whirling washing machine.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The morning was slow to start. Leonard lay in bed clueless, half expecting a knock on the door, but it never came. Eventually he got up, stood beside the closet and sliding the door to one side, flicked through the clothes. Lots of grey marl sportswear, one size fits all stuff, several light coloured shirts, dark trousers, a navy blue, waterproof jacket. There were several pairs of shoes in the bottom of the closet: polished black dress shoes, blue Goretex trek boots and plump white trainers. He slid the door back the other way to reveal shelves and boxes containing folded sweaters, rolled socks and assorted underwear. All of these things were still packed in their cellophane wrappers. Leonard unwrapped a pair of blue jeans, T-shirt, sweatshirt, and the blue jacket; smart but casual, ready for anything.

  The mirror was kinder today; his hair was conditioned and he had some colour in his cheeks, his gaze was steady and measured.

  Out in the hall, sunlight washed in through a glass ceiling as he slung the blue jacket over his arm and headed in the direction of the restaurant. The corridors felt something like hospital walkways; they were a similar dimension and had the same plastic slap-shut double doors. The route to the restaurant led onto a mezzanine level, then down a fast escalator running past a wall of glass. The restaurant door opened automatically for Leonard and he crossed a highly polished wooden floor to an area that smelt of fresh coffee.

  A few linen-covered tables were placed beside a row of rectangular windows. The tables were decorated with yellow, Ikebana flower arrangements in glass jugs, and filled with clean water.

  Five or six solitary figures sat spooning jam onto toast or sipping orange juice. Leonard crossed to the self-service bar and took what he wanted. As he walked back and sat down, he took in the view out of the window and had a clear sight of the valley with the sun glancing into it. He could see the domed construction hangars with their chrome flue pipes carrying bright exhaust vapours into the still, cold air.

  He didn’t know how much longer he should keep himself to himself. He supposed that the best thing would be to play along like he understood the drill and gather any relevant information.

  The man sitting closest to Leonard was sipping orange juice. Dark skinned and curly haired, he looked Greek and he had that air of a business magnate, an opinionated but off-duty bore. He was wearing a tan leather jacket and dark glasses, brilliant white shirt cuffs with gold links sticking way out of the armholes.

  On the next table, a woman in her late thirties, tapping into a hand-held organiser, lifted her head and met Leonard’s stare without a flicker. She looked as long as she wanted, and without expression, lowered her eyes back to the machine again.

  The people at the other tables seemed to be more like staff than guests, they were short-sleeved men with slicked back hairstyles and thick glasses. They stared into their food and kept the fork moving. They were quiet and focussed, like they were taking a break from something far more hectic. They reminded Leonard of NASA personnel, grabbing a break from mission control.

  Leonard peppered up his Kedgeree and ate it while it was still hot.

  ‘Ah, there you are!’

  Leonard swallowed and dabbed his lips with a serviette.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Yes, good day. Settling in OK?’

  ‘Yes, I have everything I need.’

  ‘Good. Now I had a look at your papers and it seems everything is in order. You have a tour pass, yes?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Well, you must be guided around, and that will be my pleasure. My name is Patrick.’

  Leonard shook Patrick’s hand.

  ‘Bear with me a moment while I deal with the formalities.’

  Leonard looked the guy over: mid-sixties with a bald crown half-heartedly covered with a throw of hair. He had watery, jellied eyes, a brush stroke of red on his cheeks and a small, smiling mouth. He
wore gentrified clothes, cords and brogues, cashmere woolly over the top of a pink, pinstriped shirt. His head hoola-hooped very gently clockwise, like a brushed cotton dog in the back window of a car; maybe this was the first sign of Parkinson’s disease.

  ‘First of all, let’s be clear that nothing I tell you and nothing you observe, can be communicated to a third party, by any means whatsoever.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘And so then, as matter of protocol, I must ask you to sign this legally binding document.’

  ‘Of course!’

  Leonard signed. Patrick grinned then stood up.

  ‘Let’s be having you, then! You’re from North 4, aren’t you, down around Boston? Is everything running smoothly there?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  ‘You think so? Tut tut, you should yes or no, so.’

  Leonard followed Patrick, and Patrick started to explain. He led the way out of the restaurant and down a flight of stairs.

  ‘Of course, what you have to realise is, the first thing the designers were instructed to do, was to break down the stages of the event. They didn’t have to worry about such things as selection, or indeed secure intake, that was and still is, a military matter. They had to think only of the safety of the passengers and cargo.’

  Patrick pushed down on a steel door handle and they were outside standing in the short grass.

  Leonard was looking and learning, trying not to be distracted by Patrick’s running commentary.

  ‘So then, let’s not beat about the bush. The point is, the Ice Moon and how to survive it! It’s really a question of the degree of impact and the consequent aftershocks. Now in the past, survival structures have been based solely upon the idea of a large protective enclosure, say like the hull of a battleship. This worked well enough in certain environments but with the problem we faced, this was no longer the case. A large and autonomous single structure is completely vulnerable if its outer shell, or hull, is damaged or holed. Indeed in such an instance, the integrity of the entire vessel is lost and the structure will cease to offer any protection.’