Into the Light by Jane Wallace

Marik lifted the drenna to his mouth. The bottle was half-full and cloudy with spit. Unlabelled, it looked home-brewed and was probably lethal. He took a deep breath and downed it in one.

‘HO-CHA!’ he said, shuddering from the taste and brandishing the empty container above his head. ‘Let’s go to Heaven!’

‘Huzzah!’ yelled the crowd. Marik was hoisted onto a pair of willing shoulders and spun around in a victory dance while the other men clapped and shouted.

‘The bus, the bus!’ The cry went up and they stopped and stared in the direction of the lookout’s pointed finger. A blue electrobus was driving towards them. As it passed, they read the legend on its side: ‘Assama Express: your quickest way to heaven’. The men cheered, some breaking into a run after it. The bus slowed and came to a stop in a series of parking bays marked in white paint which lay a few hundred metres down from the refueller where Marik and Sevin had teleported in. Several groups of similarly attired men poured out of the terminal buildings and converged on the bus.

‘Come, brothers,’ said the giant, draping two massive arms over their shoulders. ‘Now you have taken a drink with Geroud Hamda, you are welcome to join our party. Only once a year we do this, we have to make it special. Let’s go to the bus, it’s time for our journey to begin.’

‘Ah, actually, wait a sec, I’m not quite ready,’ said Marik. He looked at Sevin across the white-shirted expanse of Geroud’s chest. ‘There’s something we have to pick up.’

‘Crucial,’ said Sevin, his eyes on the MPV. Walking between the raefnschip and the vehicle, Hauki had tried to run for it. One of the Kuhku had shot her, bringing her down.

’You want to delay the trip? Are you nervous, brother? It’s quite normal, y’know. Nothing to be ashamed of. Some of us arrive before we even get there, don’t we Farij Falal?’ The spotty teenager blushed while the other six snickered, furtively looking at each other.

‘Me, nervous? No way,’ said Marik.

‘How’s that then, berry-head?’ jeered a voice from the back. ‘When did you last get it? Can you even get in with hair like that?’

‘Yeah, pinko! When was the last time you got your rocks off?’

‘Never by the look of him!’

‘Yeah, yeah! Take him down, Geroud!’

Marik wrestled himself out of the giant’s armpit. ‘Six weeks ago,’ he cried, picking a random figure. He gave a knowing wink. ‘And she was hot!’

This declaration was met with scoffing laughter.

‘No chance!’

‘Liar, liar, liar!’ chanted a few of the men, but they were smiling.

‘And you?’ boomed Geroud, pointing at Sevin. ‘How long ago?’

The MPV was about to leave. Hauki was either dead or unconscious, Sevin had watched her being loaded into the back seat. He couldn’t get over there in time, not hampered with these jowsers. Reluctantly he turned to the circle of men. Six plus Geroud, they’d need the pulsars to overcome them and that would draw attention. His gaze drifted over their heads to the blue bus behind. Their new friends might be ugly, but they did at least have transport.

‘You want to know how long?’ He engaged the dubious eyes of every man, finally resting on the giant. ‘Too bloody long!’ he cried, raising a rallying hand high above his head.

‘Ya-heyyyy!’ Rousing cheers accompanied him and Marik as they led the troop forward and on to the waiting bus.

δ

It was an uncomfortable ride away from the space port. Atare was belted into the middle seat between Xin and Hauki, furious with herself and Sevin for letting them be captured. Stuck opposite the two sullen Kuhku, who did not respond to questions, she was helpless. Xin had given up conversing by novo about an hour ago and had retreated into a meditation. Hauki was sleeping off the effects of a tranquiliser dart which had foiled her attempt to escape, her head bumping against Atare’s shoulder as the MPV lurched between potholes.

Atare tried to position Hauki more comfortably and looked out of the windows. Inside the MPV, the envirocon was on high, a chilly contrast to the temperature outside. They were travelling through arid plains and scrubby bush. Ochre earth stretched for as far as Atare could see, a landscape peculiarly empty of crops and animals. They passed a dried-up creek where small brown boys tended some kind of domesticated birds under spindly trees. Further on they came to a village: rickety shacks which lined the pitted highway, green fruit and earthy tubers laid out on rush mats for sale. Atare didn’t see any women. It was men who moved in the fields and boys who ran out of the houses, waving at the immaculate MPV as it sped past in a cloud of khaki dust.

Half an hour on from the village, the road smoothed out and a high wall of sandstone topped with the cables of an electric fence appeared. They turned off the road at a break in the wall, halting briefly at a check point before continuing down a long drive through lush lawns to a whitewashed cube. Four stories high, it had a domed roof and no windows, its frontage empty apart from arched polypro gates – a desert fortress. As the MPV pulled up, several Yeteni men in evergreen trouser suits ran out to meet them. A tall man in a lab-coat stood in the entrance watching. He had a wide, flat face like a shovel and a beaky nose which he scratched irritably before brushing a lock of greying, chin-length hair behind his ear.

One of the Yeteni opened the MPV’s door and stuck his head inside.

‘Bring them round the side to Welcome 5,’ he told the Kuhku, then withdrew, holding the door open.

Hauki groaned as she started to come round. Atare helped her out of the MPV and, with Xin, managed to support her between them on the short walk to the right-hand side of the fortress. Here they stopped in surprise when they saw a double railway track running into the building. It had been laid through the gardens where it disappeared into a copse of palm trees to their right. It seemed to be going in the direction of an austere tower block about two kilometres distant.

‘In there,’ said the Kuhku, pointing to autodoors in the wall between the tracks and where they stood. They entered the side of a reception area with taupe couches where a couple of male staffers in the green uniform stacked catalogues on the low tables. At the back of reception were double autodoors with a single autodoor on each side. They took the single door on the right, going into the short corridor behind it, which appeared to be a level crossing over the train tracks, and into another foyer. They entered a small room on the left with a desk and four examination beds and waited.

Three men in lab coats came in. Two were Yeteni, the other was the man who had been watching them when they arrived. They stared at him, compelled by his mismatched eyes, one was red while the other was regular blue. He was certainly tall enough to be Gharst but, under the grey layer, his hair was black. He was a mongrel, a rare breed among the Gharst who prized purity of blood above all else.

He dismissed the Kuhku and turned to his assistants. ‘Do the test now.’

‘What test?’ said Xin.

’It’s a necessary precaution. This is a densely populated facility; introducing viruses could be fatal.’

‘You could keep us outside then.’

’Morka, do what we say or you’ll be sedated like your friend. Hold out your hand.’

Xin surrendered her arm. An assistant came forward and pointed a gun-shaped scanner against the inside of her wrist.

‘Mongoloid, one hundred and eighty,’ he said.

‘Good,’ said the half-Gharst. ‘Segunda.’

The same test was carried out on Atare. The lackey frowned over the results. ‘Registering Caucasoid and … avian sequences.’

‘Interesting, very interesting. General score?’

‘Two hundred.’

‘Prima then. And that one?’

Hauki was too weak to protest. ‘Australoid, one hundred and thirty,’ said the assistant.

‘Tercera. Now, scan them.’

Xin stiffened as another assistant stroked a baton over her body. As it passed her head, it let out a small chirrup.

‘Doctor Kroller! There’s some sort of communications device in the ear.’

‘Take it out then! Check the others.’ The novos were removed and placed on the desk.

‘Scan results?’ Kroller asked the second assistant.

‘Negative all.’

‘Good.’ He pointed at Xin and Atare. ‘Take them to the House.’ He contemplated Hauki then said: ‘That one to the Comfort Block.’

The assistant slammed a panic button on the wall and the two Kuhku marched into the room. ‘Comfort Block,’ he told them, pointing at Hauki. Still woozy from the tranquiliser, it was easy for one to pin back her arms as the other cuffed them behind her back.

‘Hey! What’s going on?’ she said. The Kuhku’s answer was to barge her so she tripped towards the door. Before she could straighten up, they shoved her again and this time she fell. She tried to beat then off with her shoulders as they took an elbow each, lifting her off the floor.

‘Xin, I’ll find you,’ they heard her cry as she was hauled out of the room and away down the corridor outside.

‘You can’t treat her like that, where are you taking her?’ said Atare.

‘That’s no concern of yours.’ Kroller looked at his assistants, pointing a knobbly finger at Atare and Xin. ‘Take them up.’

ε

The pink room was full of women. Slim and willowy or short and stout, fair-skinned or dark-complexioned, they all wore the same kimono and slippers in rose-coloured silk. A group of five sat on the maroon floor cushions, reading out letters and comparing snapshots. Some did sewing or puzzles alone while others stood in pairs, chatting quietly. They gave the briefest regard to Xin and Atare who were also dressed in the powder-puff garb they’d been forced to exchange for their Infinity uniforms.

They stood uncomfortably in a corner and took in the scene. The salon comprised the entire first floor of the white fortress. In its centre was an internal courtyard, square and paved with stone on to which the higher floors looked down. Despite benches around a pretty fountain and an unlocked door to get to them, the women seemed to prefer to stay indoors. A couple of very fair girls pored over an Altan society magazine at a nearby table. As one looked up, Atare saw she had red eyes.

‘What is this place? It looks like a harem.’ Xin frowned at the offending décor.

‘It’s really bizarre, everyone seems so serene.’

‘Maybe they’re sedated. I hope we don’t have to stay here too long.’

‘Sevin knows where we are, did you hear him when we were getting off the raefnschip?’

Xin gloomily twisted the bronze bangle she had been given to wear around her wrist. It was stamped with the number 272. ‘I suppose if he can escape the Hellenhaus, he can liberate us from here.’

‘He’s got Marik and Lauden, he will.’ Atare inspected her own bracelet which bore the figure 68.

As they pondered their dilemma, a dumpy Yeteni girl with bushy eyebrows approached them.

‘Hello there, are you new to the House?’ she said.

‘How can you tell?’ said Xin, regarding the line of black hair above the girl’s top lip with distaste.

’You look kind of lost,’ said the girl, her attention captivated by Atare’s feathery head. ‘Y’know, you look really familiar.’

‘Oh really.’

‘Yeah, like someone famous.’

‘Atare seb Aremen?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Yes, I do, don’t I? Everyone says that. Are you new here too?’

‘I’m an old hand, I’ve been here two weeks! It’s all a bit much at first, isn’t it? Exciting too! But don’t worry, everyone’s very nice. My name’s Dalet, by the way. Number 435.’ She coyly displayed her bracelet.

‘Where do you come from, Dalet?’

‘Here of course! Typical Yeteni, huh?’ She flipped a coarse plait of hair at them. ’I’m from Tariah, a town by the coast, a long way from here. The garden of the East, they call it, ’cept it’s not really. That green, I mean. There’s a little bit of farming and stuff, but it’s very dry and so difficult to grow anything. Where are you from?’

‘I’m from Andalia and my friend Xin here is from Tian, originally.’

‘Uh-huh,’ said Dalet, floundering over the unfamiliar names.

‘Why are you here?’ asked Xin. ‘I take it it’s not for the free clothes?’

Dalet tittered. ‘The robes are a bit weird, aren’t they? No, I’m here for same reason as everyone else. Five thousand munits is a fortune to my family! I was a burden to them, that’s what Dad said, just another mouth to feed. If only I had been a boy, things would’ve been so much easier.’ Her features saddened before perking up again. ‘As it stands, I’m one of the lucky ones. Only a Segunda, mind, but I still get my choice of three.’

‘Three what?’ said Atare.

‘Husbands, silly!’

‘Husbands?’

‘I’m here to get married, we all are!’

‘To who?’ Xin was incredulous.

‘To a Yeteni! Don’t you know?’ asked Dalet, equally puzzled. ‘Don’t they have marriage on your homeworlds?’

‘They call it partnering and we have a wider selection than three farmers.’

‘Oh.’ Dalet stepped back at Xin’s negative tone.

‘What’s wrong?’ said Atare.

‘You must be co-opted. They told us about you, people like you, that we could meet some. They said that you think you’re forced into it and, and, you’ll say some bad things about the marriage and the Ceremony, that you’ll try and con us out of it. But we must close our ears to you, cos really it’s for our own good, for your own good. You just don’t know it.’

Xin snorted.

‘So everyone wants be here?’ Atare scanned the room understanding the painted faces and styled hair for the first time.

‘Of course! Well, some of them take the contract, y’know, some of them is criminals.’ Her eyes rested briefly on the two Gharst girls. ‘Not the really psycho ones, obviously. Good gods above, you wouldn’t marry one of those into your community - place would be a horrorvision! No, no. Thieves or conners, or maybe some people they don’t want around cos they speak out. Is that what you are, diss, dissa …?’

‘Dissidents? Yes, I suppose so,’ said Atare.

‘Getting hitched has to be better than time in the Hellenhaus, yeah?’

‘Just swopping one prison for another,’ said Xin.

Dalet looked upset. ‘I knew you’d say that, being co-opted and all. But you’re wrong, really. Our kids will get all the best school and healthcare and everything. Don’t matter if they’re girls or boys, they’ll get the same amount of food and lessons. It’s a better chance than I ever got.’

She was interrupted by a male staffer carrying a tray of coloured drinks.

‘Here’s our vitamins,’ she said, selecting a beaker of magenta liquid. ‘Three times a day we get this.’

‘This is all part of the care, is it?’ asked Atare, taking the turquoise drink the waiter indicated.

‘Yes. Papa wants us to be healthy and fertile for our husbands.’

‘Papa?’ asked Xin.

‘Dr Kroller, it’s just his nickname, we call him that cos he’s a sweetie.’

‘Yes, that was my impression,’ said Xin, reaching for a turquoise drink. The waiter moved the tray out of her reach.

‘Turquoise is for the Prima girls,’ said Dalet. ‘You’re Segunda like me. We get the pink one.’

‘I’ll pass, thanks.’ Xin stared at the waiter until he went away. ‘What about the Tercera women?’ she asked. ‘There were only two colours on the tray. What do they get?’

‘Tercera?’ Dalet looked blank. ‘I never heard of Tercera. There’s only Prima and Segunda in the House.’

Atare read her own thoughts on Xin’s face. She summoned all her public relations training and beamed at the younger girl.

‘You know, maybe it is the best thing for us, to do the marriage. We’re prisoners of war, we can’t really expect anything better. I wonder what my husband will be like?’

‘So do I!’ said Dalet, her eyes scrunched up with the anticipation. ‘Only two hours to go! I can’t wait to find out, I’m counting every minute!’

‘Two hours? Will everyone find out then?’ said Xin.

‘No, only twenty of us. We heard it yesterday, that the short list’s been done. Maybe there’s some changes – usually with the men cos sometimes they find better matches at the last minute. But it’s pretty much decided who’s going. We’re so looking forward to it. It’s been such a long wait but it’s nearly over.’

Dalet turned her head to the door as a bell tinkled. ‘There! That’s the bell for the final talk. After that, we’ll be off to the Surgery for a final check. We get our Ceremony dresses there too. Mine is so cute! I had it fitted last week. Then we’ll go to the Registrar and then – married!’

She sighed, straightening her kimono. ‘Hope it works out well for you. Goodbye now!’

Xin watched her waddle away and join hands with another unattractive Yeteni girl. They both squealed and bounced on their toes before hurrying off to another part of the salon.

‘Brainwashed,’ Xin said. ‘We can’t wait for Sevin, we’ll have to get out by ourselves.’

‘And find Hauki. I don’t want to think about what they’ve done with her.’

Xin shuddered. ‘Why don’t you take a look upstairs while I go around here. Talk to some others and see if they’ve got any information on the layout of this place. I’ll meet you back here in one hour.’

ζ

The heavenly express dropped them by a dour tower block which reared twenty stories from the desert floor. It had been built for functionality not aestheticism: flat surfaces mirror-coated to reflect the glare of the broiling sun. The dozen other coaches following them from the space port decanted large groups of high-spirited Yeteni men into the baking heat. They moseyed around the dusty forecourt, talking and slapping each others’ backs.

Sevin had relaxed when he saw they were taking the same route as the MPV. From the conversation around him, he guessed they were headed to a brothel and he left Marik to play cards and drink more with Geroud and his minions. It was easy to imagine why his female crew were being taken in the same direction; he was almost relieved when the MPV turned off the road and stopped at a check point in the perimeter wall of the complex they were passing. The men around him fidgeted in their seats, some standing to get a better view out of the windows – they were nearing the end of the journey. As there was nothing but sand and rock in any direction, Sevin assumed they and the MPV were headed for different areas of the same destination.

’Not exactly my idea of heaven,’ said Marik as they got off the coach and walked towards the entrance of the tower block. ‘I thought it’d be a garden, maybe a beach. I am like so completely dying for a drink of water.’ He brushed fresh beads of sweat from his forehead.

‘It’s my kind of hell,’ said Sevin. ‘It’s hot enough.’

Inside the block was just as busy. Hundreds of men thronged the atrium, slowly forming into lines which were being channelled through six booths at the back. Around the hall were kiosks selling soft drinks and snacks and a selection of eateries, reeking of fried food. The single storekeeper of the drenna stall was serving a crowd ten deep.

‘Let’s queue up at the booths,’ Sevin said.

They joined the nearest line behind a trio hanging off each others’ shoulders. All the men waiting had pieces of red paper.

‘They’ve all got tickets,’ said Marik. ‘How are we going to get in?’

Sevin surveyed their line. Each man held on to his voucher as if it were life itself. They would not be parted willingly.

‘Charm,’ he said. ‘Or pick-pocketing.’

The line was moving quickly and they were nearly at the booth.

‘We’ll have to try charm,’ said Marik. ‘We’ll start a riot if we take someone’s chit.’

‘Agreed.’

The drunken trio in front went through the turnstiles and it was Sevin’s turn. He forced a smile at the bored-looking clerk inside the polypro box.

‘Tickets,’ droned the amplifier in the window.

Sevin leaned towards the microphone. ‘I’m really sorry, we’ve lost them.’

The clerk shook his head wearily. The speaker made a tsking sound.

‘I’m devastated,’ said Sevin. He jerked a thumb at Marik. ‘It’s the first time he’s been here as well.’

‘And it’s my birthday,’ said Marik.

The clerk sighed. ‘You’re the twentieth today, what’s wrong with you people? Can’t you hold on to a piece of paper? Gods save us. Alright, name?’

Sevin glanced behind him. Geroud was talking at a handful of cronies in the line some way back. He pointed at Marik. ‘Farij Falal. I’m Geroud Hamda.’

The clerk input the names. They waited for an eternity until the till printer whirred and the clerk ripped off two receipts.

‘You’re in. Don’t do it again, though.’

‘Thanks. We won’t!’ said Marik.

‘Step into the scanner for the health and security check.’

Sevin placed himself in the white sarcophagus next to the booth and his hand on the palmprint on its inner wall. A red light flashed.

The voice of the clerk grated irritably through the ceiling. ‘Personal security items are not allowed inside Assama. Put it in the drawer and take the docket, you can collect it at the exit.’

Reluctantly Sevin put his pulsar in the indicated slot and went out, waiting for Marik on the other side. As Marik joined him, the turnstiles in front unlocked and they passed into paradise.

Heaven had been decorated with a little more thought than its waiting room. The foyer was painted an inoffensive magnolia and adorned with inoffensive artworks. The hardwearing linex of outside had been replaced with nondescript carpeting. An all-male staff guided clientele towards the three elevators at the back. Marik and Sevin took the middle one and got off as directed at the fifth floor.

‘Section E?’ Another aide took their tickets and they followed him along a narrow hallway of closed metal doors until they stopped outside numbers 20 and 21.

‘You can go in straightaway, just one hour though,’ said their guide, turning away with a conspiratorial grin.

‘Are we going in?’ Marik hovered by his allotted door.

‘Of course.’ Sevin jabbed the entry button of number 21 with his thumb. ‘Six weeks is a long time, right?’

‘Er, yeah.’

Marik threw open his door and stepped inside, Sevin opened his more cautiously. Behind it was a modest suite fitted out in neutral colours with a door on the right leading into a white-tiled bathroom. A large swirling mural in reds and oranges hung on the left-hand wall over the padded headboard of a double bed. A round table with two ladder-backed chairs was positioned underneath the single small window. A Thalian woman of about forty was flopped on one of the chairs like a discarded shirt. Her blond hair was caught in an untidy bun and she wore no maquillage on her pasty skin which was almost green from lack of sunlight. She wore a plain red shift dress askew over bony shoulders. She left it until Sevin was standing by her seat to look at him.

‘Hi there make yourself at home want a drink?’ she said, unable to focus her washed-out eyes.

‘What have you got?’

‘Just cha, nothing but cha, there’s some over there if you want to make some.’ She waved a finger at the drinks dispenser next to the bathroom door.

‘Right. And what else?’

‘What else? Oh you mean…’ She sighed. ‘Rexadrin. Not available to you.’

‘Rexadrin?’

She suddenly connected with his gaze. ‘Rexadrin. Keeps us under control, you know.’ Then the lucidity left her and her head lolled forward.

Sevin went to the drinks machine and selected the most heavily caffeinated option. He brought back the beaker and put it on the table.

‘Hey, hey! Drink this.’ He shook her hard then sat opposite and watched her lift the cup to her mouth routinely. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Yolo.’

‘Where are you from?’

‘Thalia.’

‘How long have you been here?’

‘Long, too long.’

‘How did you get here?’

She started laughing, high-pitched and irrhythmic. ‘I was a sergeant in Space Command, can you believe? I was taken prisoner by the Gharst, after Kazalou, the final push into the valley. We didn’t know but the gribs’d mined the whole lot. It went up and we bailed out, running and running until we thought we were safe, except we weren’t. They came out of nowhere, sturmgangers. They shot my corporal, my unit. All of them dead, apart from me. I wish they’d got me too.’

She hiccupped then stared at him. ‘What’s it to you? Who are you anyway?’

‘My name is Sevin. Tem Sevin. I need some information.’

Her eyes slid towards the doorway. ‘They’re watching us, you know. If you don’t get on with it, they’ll get suspicious.’

‘Who’s watching?’

‘The guardians, the guys in green. The camera’s in the wall by the door.’

‘For security?’

‘In case the hits get out of control. It happens, you know, they are deprived for so long, sometimes they get violent. Then the guardians will come in, after a while. There are so many rooms, they can’t monitor them all of the time so the hits have to be really knocking us around for them to notice. If it gets really bad there’s an alarm. We get punished if we use it unnecessarily.’ She pointed at a red pullcord on the wall beside the bed.

‘How many men come through here?’

‘Eight a day, every day.’

‘Gods above.’ Sevin was appalled.

‘This is the Comfort Block. Us few women are on our backs for an entire planet of men who were too stupid to recognise that breeding out the other sex might cause a few problems longer term. Assama.’ She spat out the word. ‘No heaven for us.’

Sevin fought back images of what Geroud and his friends could do with a defenceless woman in a locked cell.

‘The female members of my crew, Xin Xiaoli, Atare seb Aremen and Hauki were taken by Yeteni customs officials to this complex. Do you know what’s happened to them?’

‘No.’

‘I think you do.’

‘I don’t. And don’t ask any more questions. If they see us just talking, I’ll get into trouble. Can you just get on with it?’

Sevin stood up abruptly, grabbed her skinny hand and walked to the bed, dragging her behind him. He pushed her protesting to the floor and then sat on the edge of the bed so his back was to the camera.

‘Put your head in my lap.’

She cowered in front of him.

‘Put your head in my lap. They can’t see through me, they’ll think you’re giving me a bit more than lip service.’

He pressed her head against his thigh. ‘Now listen and answer. What have they done with my crew?’

‘I said, I don’t know.’

He pulled her hair, hard. ‘Guess then.’

‘Ow! Whe-ere do they come from? How old are they?’

He told her.

‘If she’s young enough, the Cascorian could be Prima.’

‘What’s that?’

‘They’re the most physically perfect, the most fertile. Doctor Kroller makes the selection. They get married off to Yeteni men. Owww! It’s a sort of arranged contract.’ Tears trickled down her cheeks. ‘Same with the Segunda but they are usually Yeteni. It’s a colour thing. Foreign white women are Prima.’

‘And Hauki?’ Sevin thought with alarm of her dark skin.

Hauki’s probably at the end of her cycle. And she’s Tarangan. If she’s infertile, she’ll be put in here like me.’

‘Where do they keep the Prima and Segunda women?’

‘In the House. Over there.’

She motioned towards the window. Sevin could see a white building in the distance.

‘What happens to them?’

‘They get taken to the Surgery. I think they give them a fertility drug. Then they go to the Registrar for the Ceremony.’

Treated like farm animals, Sevin could not countenance the idea of that happening to his team. ‘How do I get to the House?’

‘There’s a train, it goes out the back of here, round to the House.’ Her chin slipped off his leg and she slumped to the floor. He rolled her face upwards, her eyes were closed.

‘Can’t escape. You’ll get caught, killed. Don’t bother … jus’ keep taking the …’

Sevin held her head as she passed out. She weighed little and he lifted her easily from the floor and laid her on the bed in the recovery position, smoothing the brown coverlet over her. He put a hand on her shoulder.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘If we find a way out of here, we’ll come back for you.’

Sunk into a narcotic torpor, she did not reply. A bell rang and Sevin checked his timepiece: the hour was up. He took a last look out of the window, noting the path of the train tracks between their block and the distant House, then went outside, closing the door firmly. After a few moments, Marik joined him.

‘What happened?’ he asked.

Marik shook his head, saying nothing. Sevin could see he was deeply disturbed.

‘We need to find the others. Xin and Atare are in the House, wherever the House is.’

‘And get her out of there.’ Marik pointed at the closed door of number 20. ‘It’s desperate, just desperate.’

Footsteps approached. It was their guide walking down the hallway towards them. The pair exchanged looks. Marik gave a tiny nod.

‘Alright, gentlemen? I trust you enjoyed yourselves? That’s set you up for supper, I’m sure. This way is the exit,’ said the guide. He dropped to the ground with a thunk as hard as the chop Marik had applied to the back of his neck.

‘Get his clothes off, quick!’

Marik helped Sevin strip the guide of his suit and trade it for his own outfit before they stuffed the unconscious man in a nearby cupboard. The exit sign at the end of the passage glowed green in the semi-darkness. Sevin pointed to it.

‘Ground level,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a train to catch.’

η

Xin and Atare reconvened in the corner of the pink room.

‘What did you find out?’ said Xin.

’This place is really creepy. Everyone seems so happy, they’re all thrilled they’re starting this new life. But there’s something under the surface, something we don’t know about Xin, something evil.’

‘What’s upstairs, is there any way out?’

‘There’s three floors of dormitories and a refectory above here. It’s all enviroconned, the windows don’t open.’

‘Any fire escapes?’

‘Two, but they only open when the fire alarm sounds.’

‘Great, a sealed box. If only we had the breakers.’

‘There must be a way out, there’s always a weak link somewhere. What’s down here?’

‘More of the same. The only access is the main stairs and they go into reception. There’s the front gates and the side entrance we came in, security everywhere.’

‘Doesn’t anyone go outside?’

‘One hour in the morning, supervised exercise. They’re told they need to be watched for their own protection, in case some desperate or substandard men assault them.’

Atare was quiet. ‘What about the train?’ she said suddenly. ‘The tracks we saw when we came in. They go out the other side too, I saw it from upstairs. They go to another building west of here.’

‘It must run right through the House.’

‘Maybe behind reception?’

The conversation around them increased in volume as their section of the room began to fill up with girls. The women sitting on the floor stood up to form a semi-circle around the single door which gave access to the internal courtyard. The atmosphere was alive with expectation.

‘What’s going on?’ Atare asked a blonde girl who had pushed in nearby.

‘It’s selection time. They’re going to read out who’s going to the Registrar today. Here they come!’ The girl stood on tiptoe to watch a Yeteni official in a lab coat thread through the women to the empty space in front of the door.

‘Good morning, everybody. As you know, I’m here to read out the results of this week’s selection committee. I’m sure by now you all know the routine! The candidates will immediately proceed by train to the Surgery for the final medical check where you will also pick up your gowns.’

Excitement rippled through the listening women.

‘Then you will be accompanied to the Registrar where you spend the afternoon meeting your three potential partners. After supper with them, you will have a whole night to make your final decision and then … the next morning is the Ceremony!’

Applause broke out on all sides and there were catcalls from the back.

‘Quiet please, quiet,’ the official continued with a paternal smile. ‘Now, if your number is called, please come to the front. There are twenty lucky candidates today and they are 156, 373, 120, 35, 68…’

‘That’s you, Atare!’ said Xin.

‘487, 396, 272 …’

‘That’s you as well, Xin.’

Xin thought for a minute. ‘This could be our exit route, come on, move forward.’

They shuffled through the stationary women to the front rows where the successful candidates were hugging each other. Looking back into the audience, Xin caught a hostile stare. It was Dalet’s friend. She stood with her arm around the sobbing Dalet’s shoulders. Xin realised their numbers had not been called.

‘Your effects have already been packed and sent on ahead, so we can go straight away to the Surgery. Lunch will be served after the gown fitting,’ said the official, raising his voice over the hubbub. ‘Congratulations to our successful candidates and may your future married lives be filled with the happy gift of many children! Follow me, please.’

With beatific smiles, the elect troupe trailed after him, waving at friends who stood back to let them pass. Atare and Xin took up the rear, Xin scowling at the well-wishers.

‘Should we run now?’ whispered Atare as they descended the stone staircase to the ground floor.

‘No, the Registrar’s our best option. There has to be transport to the outside from there and security probably won’t be as tight.’

‘I don’t want to get married though.’

‘That is my least favourite option.’

They followed the crocodile of women to the double doors at the back of reception. The official pulled up the crossbar between the doors and they drew apart. Behind was a platform where the three coaches of an electric driverless train waited. They boarded the last carriage and stood next to the doors. The train rumbled out of the House and chugged in a leisurely promenade through well-kept lawns and vibrant flower beds, surprisingly succulent scenery for a desert climate. As the track began to bend right, a group of low-rise pavilions surrounded by lily ponds came into view from the right-hand windows.

‘The Registrar!’ they heard someone call out.

Before they could reach the water gardens, the train halted at its first stop, a six-storey construction of ferronium and glass which, apart from the two-metre long red cross affixed to its façade, would not have looked out of place in the commercial district of a city.

‘That didn’t take long, we could have walked,’ said Atare.

‘They don’t want us outside,’ said Xin.

They alighted on to a platform in front of the building and passed through an elegant revolving door to a pink-painted atrium dotted with burgundy and cream seating. Two welcome desks with male flunkies were placed before a row of elevators which serviced the upper floors. Standing between them were three women. They wore the ubiquitous evergreen uniform with golden sashes tied round the waist. They were dark-haired with red eyes.

‘Hello everyone,’ called out the middle one as the women from the House assembled in the hall. ‘Welcome to the Surgery. My name is Kalina and I’ll be looking after you today with my assistants Tawath and Ralat. If you have any problems, please do ask me or either of them for help. Now’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for – the final fitting. This way please!’

The women followed her through a doorway on the right and into a dressing room with a thick ruby carpet. Cubicles partitioned with heavy cream drapes lined both sides, running to a mirrored section at the end with a spotlit dais. Each cubicle contained a crimson velour bench and, hanging from a single hook lovingly encased in white tissue, was a pink beaded gown marked with the number of each bride-to-be.

The women pounced. Paper shreds floated in the air as the dresses were torn from their packaging. Kimonos were shed and hurled into corners as the women tried on the new outfits, crying for help with difficult fastenings, nipping a sleeve or primping a skirt.

‘Steady, steady! There’s plenty of time,’ said Kalina good-humouredly, circulating with a tray of long-stemmed glasses. She offered one to Atare.

‘What is it?’ Tiny bubbles were streaming to the surface of the clear liquid that was the colour of dried straw. ‘It looks like angevin.’

‘It is. Try some!’

Atare looked from Kalina to the tray. In this light, her eyes were a kindly mahogany.

‘Thanks.’ She picked up a glass and held it under her nose. The flowery bouquet took her straight back to the conservatory of the Summer Palace, deep in the countryside surrounding Tarfals, what had been the first city of Cascor. Lanterns and copious displays of wild blooms would always be placed on the ancient dining table, blackened with age and polish. There she would eat a simple supper with her family, usually fresh fish and seasonal fruits from the grounds. They seemed so far off, those sunlit days, playing with her brother in the forest, laughing with her parents and splashing in the nearby river in the hot weather.

She closed her eyes and took a draught of the angevin. It tasted the same too. Sighing, she manoeuvred around a red-haired girl trying to close a friend’s zipper and found the cubicle with the dress numbered 68. It was next to Xin’s, the dividing curtain between the two gathered back with a tasselled tie. She sat on the plush bench and contemplated Xin who was admiring the neckline of her own, untouched, gown.

‘The quality is excellent, it looks hand-finished,’ said Xin, finishing her drink with a flourish.

‘How did they know our sizes?’

‘The scan Kroller did probably picked it up.’ Xin yawned suddenly.

‘Tired?’

‘Yes, very.’

‘It could be the alcohol – we’ve had no food for a while.’

‘I feel hungry too.’

‘I think they said something about lunch after the fitting. Shall I help you put yours on?’

‘It’s not necessary, we won’t be weariing them.’ Xin sat down with a thump and leant against the wall.

‘We should join in, just for appearance’s sake.’

Xin closed her eyes. ‘I’d rather rest.’

‘Xin, you can’t have a nap here, we’ve got to stay alert!’

‘Just for a little while.’

’Xin!’ Atare watched in disbelief as Xin’s head sunk into her chest and she toppled forward on to the floor. Atare tried to stretch out an arm to her but it wouldn’t move. It took a decade for her to turn her head and see into the cubicle opposite where Kalina was pulling a surgical smock over the head of an unconscious girl. Before she could protest, she started falling. She watched herself, as if from a distance, slide to the floor and into the soft embrace of the carpet.

θ

Despite some bemused frowns at Marik’s hair and work clothes, Sevin and Marik proceeded uninterrupted to the train platform at the rear of the Comfort Block.

‘Technical support,’ Sevin told one particularly curious passer-by with a wink, jerking a thumb in Marik’s direction.

‘Ah-ha,’ was the reply, the Yeteni nodding as if Marik’s outlandish appearance now made sense. The handful of other passengers, male staff, left them alone on the train and remained seated when it drew into the House. Sevin and Marik alighted and walked smartly across the platform, through the open autodoors and into the back of reception.

‘Dr Kroller’s office, please,’ Sevin asked one of the men on the front desk. ‘Technical support – they’ve reported a problem.’

‘I’ll see if there’s someone available,’ the man replied, lifting a handset. Sevin counted the beats of his heart against his ribs as they waited for a response.

The receptionist put the handset back in its cradle. ‘There’s no answer.’

‘That’s strange,’ said Sevin, ‘it sounded serious when they called. We were told to come immediately.’

‘Yeah, the whole system’s crashed, they said,’ Marik added.

The receptionist looked between them. ‘The office is probably open. You better get started while I try and find Dr Kroller or one of his assistants.’

‘Good idea,’ said Sevin. ‘Where is it?’

‘Through the door to the right of the train platform and down the corridor, then on your right.’

They set off in the direction he indicated, passing some men in lab coats who hurried by without noticing them, seeming to be focused on a higher purpose. They went through the single autodoor into a passage which bridged the train tracks and out into another foyer. On the right was a half-closed door with a brass plaque engraved with the name of Dr Jekult Kroller ABD, GeP.

Sevin knocked and pushed the door open.

‘Technical support,’ he said.

The overweight Yeteni at a cluttered workstation in the corner opposite jumped up from his seat and turned to face Sevin, dislodging a sheaf of papers.

‘Technical support, ah, is there a problem?’ he said, straightening the thick-lensed spectacles on his nose.

‘There’s something wrong with the server. We were told to come at once.’

‘The server? No, no, there’s no problem. At least, I don’t think there is, not this morning anyway. I haven’t reported anything. I don’t think anyone else has either, come to think of it.’

He wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his lab coat and gave a cursory glance around the other desks which, like his own, were crammed against the long sides of the windowless office and loaded with files and dirty plates. ‘Perhaps Doctor Kroller did.’ His gaze shifted to the boxed-off section at the end where a viewer and touchpad sat on an otherwise clear desk.

‘We definitely got the call,’ said Marik, closing the door then moving towards the young scientist. ‘Perhaps we could take a look?’

‘Ah, okay,’ he said, backing away. ‘I don’t think there’s anything wrong though.’

Marik sat down in the chair and fiddled with the touchpad.

‘Ah yes, the SND interface is corrupted. Gods above, will you look at that! Unreal, I’ve never seen anything like it. Take a look,’ he said, getting up and offering the seat to the scientist.

‘I never heard of it - SND interface, what do you mean?’

‘In the subsidiary drive, just there.’

As he sat down to investigate the malfunction, Marik grabbed him around the neck.

‘Eh, eh,’ he choked, wriggling like a grub on a hook.

‘We want some information,’ said Sevin, squatting down to the level of the spluttering man. ‘You’ve got some friends of ours here and we want to know where they are and what you’ve done with them.’

‘Eh, eh!’ said the scientist. Marik loosened his grip around the man’s throat momentarily. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Their names are Xin Xiaoli, Atare seb Aremen and Hauki. They came in today.’ Sevin gestured at Marik to apply more pressure.

‘Okay, yes! I’ve seen them. They’ve gone to the Surgery already.’

‘To do what?’

‘The final health check, before the Ceremony.’

‘There is no health check. There’s a full-scale medical centre in that building. You’re doing something else in there, what is it?’

‘Nothing, there’s nothing else,’ he whined.

The flat of Sevin’s hand smacked against his face. ‘Tell me what they do at the Surgery.’

He sniffed back the blood that had begun to trickle from his nose. ‘They’re reovarated.’

‘What?’

‘Implanted with eggs.’

‘What eggs?’

‘It’s alright, they don’t know it’s happening. It’s actually very simple and almost painless. When they come around they don’t feel any different and don’t remember anything at all…’

‘What eggs?’ Sevin’s voice was dangerously low.

‘Well, er, new eggs. They take over the old ones. Kuhku we call them – well Dr Kroller anyway, it’s his brainchild. You get these swarm cells, you see. We create them in the laboratory. It takes ages, you know, it’s very hard work to make them grow.’ He was gabbling now, the words tripping over each other in a hurry to get them out. ‘Then, then we introduce them into the vagina and they whizz through into the ovaries, like a sort of super-semen. When they get there, they attack, well, not attack as such, but kind of take over, the existing eggs and substitute their own genetic instructions.’

‘You mean they kill the original eggs?’

‘Ah, sort of but not quite. It’s a bit more complicated than that. Dr Kroller is a genius, he really is. It’s like the woman ovulates as normal, releasing one of the Kuhku eggs. Then it gets fertilised by the husband’s sperm and may take on some of the Yeteni attributes, most of the husbands being Yeteni, of course. And actually, although it’s not perfect coding, we have to do that otherwise the foetus could be subject to inbreeding problems initially, although that would phase out over time, you know the Gharst gene is very aggressive over the generations.’

‘The Gharst gene?’

‘Of course. It will phase out the Yeteni characteristics over time, especially if matched with another Kuhku.’

‘So all the people around this place with the dark hair and the red eyes – they’re Kuhku?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re creating Gharst mutants?’

‘Not mutants! They’re human, just with certain shared variables.’

‘Like what?’

‘Well, it’s hard to say…’

‘It’s not,’ said Marik, squeezing his neck harder.

‘Ah, a predisposition for violence and obedience to authority,’ he coughed out. ‘The sensitivity to pain is lessened, of course. And then there’s the electroreceptors.’

‘The what?’

‘Electroreceptors. They are cells which detect electromagnetism, like sharks have. You know, they can sense objects in the water without seeing or hearing them. Through the pores on the chin. My design, all my own work, it took me years that did, isolating the shark gene.’

‘That’s how they found Atare and Lauden,’ said Sevin to Marik.

‘It won’t be as hard as that avian one though,’ the scientist prattled on, ‘that’ll be really tough.’

‘Avian?’ Sevin tensed.

‘Yes, we had a new case in today, a Cascorian with highly advanced vision. Dr Kroller is really excited. He thinks we can isolate that gene and add it to the type 22 variant. He’s working on the preliminary implant for this afternoon’s procedure right now.’

The torrent of sentences jarred to a halt as he finally understood the connection. ‘Oh, she’s ...’

Sevin nodded at Marik whose hands swiftly shut down their source of information. Marik pushed the chair with its unconscious incumbent close to the workstation then caught a lab coat which Sevin threw at him, snatched up from another desk. He put it on as they moved to the exit.

Before they could reach the door, it flew open. Two Kuhku with blasters stood in the entrance, the receptionist hiding behind them.

‘That’s them,’ he said. ‘That’s the imposters.’

Unarmed, Sevin and Marik were helpless. They put up their hands reluctantly and let the Kuhku hustle them out of the office and back towards the train platform.