1

Day 39, 3^rd cycle, year 147 of Mun.

‘In the beginning was Al. Al was the essential, full, beating, amorphous, self-contained matter. It is said that in the beginning was Al because before Al nothing existed that we humans could understand. Al came close to what is intelligently conceivable, for this reason we place the origin in Al and not before Al or during Al.

‘At a given moment, Al woke up. And, by virtue of the dynamics of his own awakening, he fixed his substance and started turning. He turned around himself and also inside himself, and it cannot be said he turned around or inside anything else because there was nothing else, only Al. Al was the axis of Al, his own north, his only horizon. From Al’s awakening, his objectualization and prototypical turning, it doesn’t seem that any explanation can be drawn forth.’

The solemn voice emanated from all the screens connected to the Preferential State Multicom Channel, accompanied, in the background, by the soothing tones of flutes and strings. The screens showed fixed images of heavenly bodies, stars, planetary systems and galaxies innocently drawn by inexpert hands, at some remote time no doubt. The gravity of the words matched the gravity of the schematic and primary representations.

Suddenly, the soft music and voice were replaced by a sonorous outburst of winds and sylvatic timpani, and the screen offered a sequence of alluring images, constructed this time with almost virtuoso realism, that recreated the years when the universe was formed. Millions of eyes fixed on the screens, watching their magnetic flow, connected from every corner. In the streets, homes, factories, offices, vehicles, churches, stadiums. Calm again.

‘Al’s evolution caused the fragmentation and subsequent disintegration of the elements of which he was formed, elements that, also part by part, did not cease to be Al or to move inside Al. As each fragment distanced itself from the primitive body, there were created the universal paradigms of movement, direction and distance.

‘The matter of which Al was formed, which to begin with was unique and undefined, diversified as a result of the activity imposed after that first turn, and substances and their relationships were sown. Substances determined the properties of beings in their emerging individuality; interrelationships between substances gave rise to existence as a vertebral space between the two extremes of nothingness. And all of this happened inside an ordered, measurable chain of events, whose origin and finality we do not know, since before Al, and probably after Al as well, there existed nothing more than Al. To this chain of events we gave the name “time”, even though, as a concept, nothing is known that can oppose or explain it.

‘This is what it says in the Book of Books, and this is what happened, because the Book of Books is the fruit of the wisdom that Al deposited in us so we would recognize him and, even if we can’t understand him, also believe him.’

It was Monday, 39 of the 3^rd cycle of the year 147, 21:42 hours, this information appeared in the foreground of all the transport information boards and also the multicom receivers, creating a perimetric line together with the most recent data concerning ambient temperature, atmospheric pressure, degree of humidity, level of pollution and the most trustworthy weather forecasts. Then, positioned in various boxes according to their importance, local, provincial and state news, governmental meetings, commercial publicity and slogans for healthy living. On the multicom screens, together with all these notes of general interest, the centre was filled by the different programmes broadcast by each channel on a continuous basis for the formation, information, advice and entertainment of citizens, produced by private companies or by the government itself, under the auspices of the Central Circle. The screens were everywhere, they formed part of life, life existed on the screens. Picturesque landscapes, vivifying liquors, eudermal antiglass smocks, ministerial speeches, domestic cybernetics, accidental collisions of terramobiles, clinics for hypermusculation, manual craft competitions, civic collaboration for the creation of a history museum, new opil pills for guided fantasies, tasty, nutritious and even biopurifying meats, accessories for home decoration suitable for each level, days of pleasant psychovacations in offices for leisure management, reports on underwater mineralogy, exhibitions of sculptural bodies, how to achieve the sublime when cooking sweet ulaina pies, a new law for compulsory rest, integral temperature and air fresheners, items for maintaining standard corporal hygiene, curiosities of the world of chemistry, adventure sensocinema, academies for the sexual formation of teenagers, pet beauticians, motorway openings, family and social life, infoliterary corners, temples for the adoration of the three martyr women, autumn and melancholy, knowledge that is never too much. Striking images, attractive voices, gorgeous smells, touch experiences, a world of stimulating sensations, all generously laid out by screens with proled reach, gaseous glass, mesographite, TCC-system holoplasma. Screens, everywhere.

‘Yes, I said “book”, and not in vain. I know you would condemn me for this and, were I to find myself at your side wherever you may be, you wouldn’t hesitate to inform a glau patrol so they could arrest me at once. Because we shouldn’t talk about books, we shouldn’t think about them, because they do not exist and what doesn’t exist should not form part of our lives. Friends, I agree wholeheartedly with all of this, have no fear; I would react in exactly the same way.

‘But, in this case, it is merely a symbolic mention, forgive me for my daring, in an attempt to build a subtle bridge with the past, that time, fortunately distant, when books were considered a source of knowledge and a faithful depositary of collective memory. Why this intellectual periphrasis? you may be wondering. Because it is from the most distant past, the time when our wisest ancestors were capable of living in the barbarity of fixed letters, that we received our essential notions about the origins of the universe. Science, the treasury of knowledge we handle today, which allows us a better standard of life than ever before, had, like everything else that exists, a humble beginning. That first book, however execrable it may have been as an object, contained the basic principles of all science and knowledge, which later evolved into the wealth of details we have today.

‘Needless to say, I am not bestowing nostalgia on the period of fixed letters, since everything written back then considered worthwhile is abridged and available to everybody on a few memory plates inside the vast circuits of the uninet. What nostalgia could we feel when our own knowledge infinitely surpasses the other? In fact, the quote with which I opened my speech, taken word for word from that book that, in its time, was regarded as the most ancient book in the world, is included in various digital transcriptions you yourselves may consult at the com terminals of your homes, workplaces or social clubs.

‘There is nothing gratuitous about this quote. On the contrary, it is relevant inasmuch as it clarifies the interesting origin of a name that is one of the most oft-repeated names each day of ours, but few people can say where it comes from: the Alom. The name of the most powerful computer brain in history, which makes the high standard of living we enjoy today possible and represents the apex of technological know-how: Alom.

‘If you do not mind, let us delve deeper into this philological curiosity, which will simultaneously allow us to take a walk through the basic concepts concerning the origin and configuration of the universe.

‘This, my friends, as I’m sure you’ll agree, is knowledge that is never too much!’

The speaker was a man with an agreeable face. He looked about a hundred, though he could have been more. His skin revealed a succession of rejuvenating exointerventions and a vast amount of olive tincture, no doubt so he could exude an exotic air. The eyes had been pursed in the corners, the lashes waved, which gave him an even more mysterious appearance; the natural brown colour of his irises probably changed into a different colour each day thanks to oculochromatic dressings, on sale only at specialized establishments. Thick eyebrows under regular wrinkles suited the reflection well, bestowing an air of intelligence; a slightly aquiline nose contributed to an academic profile in the style of philosophers from the classical world. He wore a shirt and a smock, the former light blue with white, dotted stripes and delicate lace on the lapels, the latter made of deep pink silkum with golden borders and millefleurs adornments that accentuated the shape of his chest. His expression was serene, his voice warm, with an occasional hint of gravitas, and his gestures revealed a conviction that he was in possession of a knowledge worth transmitting.

‘To ease the explanation and avoid boredom, I shall pass over long and tiring fragments of the archaic Book of Books, fragments that develop a theoretical explanation of the evolution of Al matter, the origin of the universe, and move on to the chapter that illustrates the theme I have brought to your kind attention, inserting personal comments where relevant. It says:

‘At some point, the constant flow of Al matter stopped. Because Al was not infinite. Even though this process lasted a period of time we would not be able to formulate with words or numbers, as the corporal entity he is, he had a beginning and an end. Evolution, in its primary enunciation, came to an end when it attained the paroxysm of immanent perfection. As a result, there in the firmament are the countless constellations living in tense harmony, perfectly organized into seven cardinal spheres. Each constellation contains a summary of the whole universe, and the same can be said of each tiny atom of matter in the most insignificant particle of sand on any heavenly body. This is Al’s other vocation: everything tends to become similar while at the same time diversifying.’

With the orator’s voice in the background, various images returned to the screen, illustrating the universe, the myriad stars and organized constellations. The TCC holoimages offered a more eloquent vision of this profuse geography. Above the celestial map, coloured diagrams elucidated masses, densities, velocities, distances and all kinds of data concerning certain essential bodies. Standing out in a side box, the name of the company that had produced the report, with a short video offering other products. At the same time, on the other side, the recommended daily governmental slogan: ‘Be happy, only you can achieve this’. At the bottom, a line of small windows advertising simultaneous programmes on a dozen channels belonging to various companies on com services.

The music came back, softly again, and the cosmic scenery faded between the iridescent colours of the speaker’s ring, which the cameraman had cleverly focused on. His voice momentarily adopted a more colloquial tone:

‘The seven cosmic spheres that surround the Earth. Seven, the number of the first mystery… Did you know, dear fellow citizens, that many philosophical systems have affirmed there are seven states of consciousness through which each being passes from birth to death? Even today, at a time when philosophy has ceased to be the engine of science, we continue to classify the basic kinds of living organisms by sevens, we count the days of the week by sevens, we classify climatological typologies by sevens, we divide the continent into seven regions, and our elders have designed the organization of Atl society into seven global levels directed by a Central Circle which is similarly composed of seven concentric circles.

‘And there, as a manifest result of this path to perfection, is the Earth, the axis, the summit and measure of everything. Planet Earth signifies the first major divergence from uniformity, the only rarity that has been notably preserved, like a constant challenge from Al to himself: the Earth, the centre of the world.’

While the speaker’s expression continued on screen, alternating with shots of the female presenter and a scanty audience for ambient purposes, on the smaller screens that formed a line beneath the main one, there appeared brief images showing the tranquil, pleasant and stimulating life being led by citizens at that hour approaching sunset. A blue terramobile, with elegant, sporty lines and a collapsed roof, zoomed past a square where a somewhat aged man fed lazy geese with the remains of the meal he carried in an autothermal lunch box. Inside the terramobile travelled a beautiful woman with copper-coloured skin and a striking ponytail on her shaved head. Two neighbours chatted noisily from one balcony to another; their wives joined them, then their respective children. Floral balconies; stunning children. A girl performed mime practice exercises in a sunny, green park. Four aerotransporters full of textile workers journeyed one behind the other on the way to their homes on the Athena 14 line. Half a dozen men and women slipped into a balcane pool for a session of group sex. A restaurant on a busy street advertised tasty scrambled eggs with insect wings. A group of children chased a lurnatia, a biogenetic cross between a bird and a simian, through the park. A terrataxi stopped at the entrance to a ministerial office, the people that got out covered their faces with thaouls. A traffic guard ordered terrestrial traffic to stop so a demonstration of religious people wearing triangular symbols and shouting unintelligible slogans could pass. A pair of teenagers sitting in a square gazed at the star-studded sky. With perfect synchronization, the image focused on the starry sky and filled the screen with its splendour. The speaker, superimposed on this image and TCC-holoembodied, fell silent, as if contemplating such wonder himself. Then, without the cosmic background, he continued:

‘Allow me to remind you of the explanation of our planet that generally appears in Second-Age schoolbooks. The universe lacks limits, since outside the universe there is nothing. At a given point, which, without contradicting logic, we can call its nucleus, is the Earth, the one fixed body, which only ever turns around itself and is the basis and axis around which everything else revolves; it is, therefore, Al’s beating heart, his mark of identity inside an inconceivable, improbable hyperspace. The Earth is a large mass thousands of millions times the volume and weight of any other heavenly body. The biggest constellations could fit inside it. Now, unusually, it is ovoid, one of its vertices being noticeably wider and the other more pointed. Owing to its appearance, it looks very much like a bird’s egg, which is why the egg was a symbol of life in so many of the cultures that came before us and had access to this knowledge. The Earth’s interior is composed of heavy, inert matter, fundamentally metals of undefined condition. On the outside, it is covered in water: the sea, the vast, mysterious, nourishing ocean, is something like the shell of that primitive egg that is our megaplanet. Friends, are we really capable of picturing the dimension of this ocean that covers the whole surface of the planet of planets?… Yes, I said the whole surface, but we know it’s not that. Because Al’s creative intelligence, whatever it may have been, arranged for there to be a point at which the Earth, solid and fertile, emerged victoriously from the water with its crown of air to take into its embrace the races of highly evolved beings, those who breathe the oxygen in the atmosphere. This point, which in terms of the magnitude of the planetary ocean must be miniscule and which we imagine to occupy its widest vertex, this point is the one we call Atl, the emerging land, the continent, the cradle and fatherland of humans. As I’m sure you know, the corporative name of our government, Central Circle, refers to the rounded and perfect shape of the continent, metaphorically giving to understand, with the high level of responsibility this implies, that our leaders are in the very middle.

‘It is no coincidence that the name Atl comes from Al, with the assimilation of the infix at, which in certain languages preceding Atlian means precisely “water” and “centre”. It’s a suitable name because Atl is nothing other than the huge, unique island that occupies the upper part of Planet Earth, foundation and pillar of the universe. Marking out the surroundings of Atl and covering an unfathomable mineral mass, the perpetual ocean. That ocean which on its shores is tame, navigable and a generous source of food but, the further out we go, grows darker and more tenebrous until becoming completely impassable for our ships. The sea, principle of life and death, creation and apocalypse, order and chaos, stretching over the ovoid planet until reaching the other vertex like a continuous, unthinkable, stormy marasmus.’

Suddenly, three empty seconds and a loud blast announced the eruption of a volcano. The boiling lava flew through the air and menacingly descended mountains. Two eyes blinked in alarm against a blurred background. More eyes set in terrified faces. At once, the tremor made itself felt. With violent background music, a raging sea crashed against the cliffs. A bolt of lightning landed on a tree and set a whole forest alight. Eyes again, this time belonging to animals, equally frightened. Rivers breaking their banks. Mad dashes, shouts. For two unending minutes, in a calculated succession of images and sounds, the Earth gaped open and swallowed up lakes, mountains and cities. The desert advanced, the forest receded. The final image was of a child glancing around with a horrified expression, moving from side to side, trying to flee but, on being unable, turning into the very image of sheer panic. This effect was enhanced on sets equipped with TCC-system holoplasmatic reception.

After a short while, the speaker’s face returned to the screens, this time inside a window that occupied little more than a quarter. On the rest of the screen, as a dominant theme, was the image of the child surrounded by new scenes showing natural disasters of all types. The spectators shuddered as they watched this violent uproar, which was only alleviated in part by the pleasant voice and didactic explanations of the orator to ensure they preserved a calm state of mind and placed all their faith in the screens:

‘Around Atl and the whole of the Earth turn the stars, as we said, ordered into seven cardinal spheres. In the first sphere, the Sun, the closest star, our primary source of light and heat, and the Moon, its counterpart that ensures equilibrium. From their perpetual, alternating movement are born the days, the nights, the seasons. In the second sphere, the eleven extinguished stars that form the Sun and Moon’s entourage, which previous cultures thought were inhabited by families of gods. In the remaining spheres, lit stars, enormous planets with their satellites, wandering asteroids with no fixed destination, tiny ghisers, nebulous galaxies, burning and frozen, and the whole structure of constellations that populate our night sky so beautifully. Everything turns around the Earth, and the Earth turns only around itself. Cosmic harmony established over the measure of time and the memory of itself.

‘Since Atl is the centre of the Earth, and the Earth the centre of the universe, the obvious conclusion is that human society, which dominates Atl, is the maximum and definitive expression of Al’s evolution, his paradigm, dimension, reference and horizon. We are the memory, the intelligent consciousness, of the universe. So, inasmuch as Al is the origin, we are the Om – that is to say, the end.

‘And this is the second part of the explanation of the theme we wish to present to you today, my friends. The generic name of our race, human, derives precisely from this term that is halfway between the absolute and the void: Om. This ties in with the idea of a genuinely powerful creature that has yet to reach the high point of its evolution, but is on its way to doing so, and enjoys every prerogative in the universe for such a task, as we can tell in the state of evolution we are at, the highest ever achieved, and therefore the closest to absolute perfection, to Om.

‘The egg. The ovoid Earth, the intangible nucleus, the eternal matrix of the world. Children, we ourselves, learn this at school without, logically enough, being able yet to discern the profound significance of the magnificent symbolism veiled behind the concepts we have been discussing during this infoconference. But now we can. You see, the ovoid represents distortion, variability. If the universe, as we predict, is infinite and spherical, the ovoid becomes a finite object and a regular deformation of the sphere, its most elementary variation. At this point, we could introduce other geometrical shapes which, in their extreme evolution, would bring us back to the sphere. Uniqueness and variation, convergence and divergence. The universe and the diverse, these are the correct terms. In other words, the beginning and the end: the Al and the Om.’

The small box occupied by the speaker had almost imperceptibly grown over the catastrophic scenes and body of the child, which had been relegated to the background. The emphasis on the image was highlighted by the firm, serious tone in which the speaker brought his conference to a close, easing off towards the end in a studied gesture of complicity with the mass of spectators:

‘There were perhaps some who didn’t know the explanation as to why Atl’s electromagnetic brain par excellence was called Alom. Now they’ll be able to understand. Om, beginning and end. The Alom. It doesn’t seem out of place that the state supercomputer, this extraordinary creation of human intelligence that summarizes the advance of all science, art and philosophy, the powerful machine that makes our civilization possible and keeps us bound to the spiritual world through the Divine Lady’s emanation, should bear the name of the two concepts it stands for, the beginning and the end: Alom. It is also this, among many other conveniences, that allows me to be talking to you from Studio 16 of the Preferential State Multicom Channel and you, at home, to be watching me, hearing me, smelling me, touching me even – if your set is equipped with TCC-system holovision. The wonders of harmonious and beneficial progress under the wise guidance of the Central Circle and with the Divine Lady’s blessing.’

A sudden fade-to-black and on the screen, against a white background, a view of the child from before, this time wearing a beatific expression. He was looking around and pointing to small windows that opened one after the other and showed a beautiful lady dressed in iridescent veils, practically translucent, the same on every screen, walking over the lava from the volcano and making it stop and go out, floating over the ocean waves and reining in their fury, drawing the terrifying bolts to herself and turning them into rain so the forests could sprout once more, bringing the river that had overflowed back to its banks, blowing on the desert and turning it into an oasis in which animals and plants flourished, sealing the chasms of the recent catastrophe and, with her hands, reshaping the lakes, mountains and cities. The image of the boy filled the screen, the windows disappeared and beside him, as if appearing out of nowhere, the body of the beautiful, wonderworking lady took shape. In the background, a melodious voice: ‘Every day, every minute… in every corner… the Divine Lady is with us. Feel her.’

Another quick fade-to-black, followed by a close-up of the speaker’s face. He leaned back in his polyplast chair and again adopted a grave, didactic tone:

‘This is how the circle is closed, the spiral of creation that was opened on that distant day when Al matter began to turn. Today, more than ever, we can glimpse the moment when human knowledge will overcome the barriers of the fragile material nature that keeps it going, the point at which an understanding of the universe will enable us to transform it in thought, number and pure beauty. The day when creation and the idea of creation will merge and become one and the same. Then the turn will be complete, and universal matter will go back to the beginning, to a lethargic, amorphous, impenetrable state oblivious of time and space, the essential, perfect state.

‘Dear friends, we cannot know how much further we have to go, we cannot know whether we are on the correct path or have wandered down a sidetrack which future generations will have to correct, we cannot know what the future provided by the total conquest of Om will be like. Now, for example, we live with a real, physical threat that comes from the vault of heaven. A threat, the discovery and prevention of which, if you’ll forgive my lack of modesty, was due largely to this humble professor addressing you at the moment. Let us never doubt that the authorities, majestically inspired by the Divine Lady, will know how best to shield us from this danger. This certainty is derived not only from the conviction that we have the best government possible, but also, and above all, from the fact that we trust in an exquisite destiny for humankind, a destiny that cannot be prevented by a simple accident, albeit a cosmic one. History has taught us that, at various stages, men suffered huge mortality rates in fratricidal wars justified only by a thirst for power and a culture of plunder. We can even bring to mind total destructions, empires that fell as a result of cataclysms, illnesses or curses provoked by the action of man or the hand of nature. All of this is over. The end of the division of the human race into hostile nations that led to the creation of the Universal Single State was an enormous achievement in the establishment of the right conditions for peaceful cohabitation; and the scientific progress favoured by this situation means we do not have to fear natural threats of any kind. Today, nature is our ally and faithful servant. So we can certify that the misfortunes of the past, in particular those derived from an utterly random event, will not happen again. This is our conviction, and yours too. I’m sure you will already have received the Divine Lady’s comforting clarification in these terms in each of your homes. So I repeat: we do not know what the exact appearance of an ever-closer future will be, but we can be sure that this future will arrive and will be better than we can imagine.

‘Dear fellow citizens, we should live this moment of the splendour of our race as is befitting, with optimistic faith, with pride, with heads held high, as our leaders have asked us in their messages. Because, if you’ll permit me to finish with an almost poetic digression, who knows whether the place that produces the threat of destruction won’t also offer us the hope of an even better, more blessed, more complete future? The definitive realization of the human ideal can originate from many places, including the cosmos.

‘My friends, I should like to express my thanks to the management of Knowledge That Is Never Too Much, Studio 16 of the Preferential State Multicom Channel, for having invited me once again to take part in their series of pedagogical programmes, and to you for your kind attention. May the Divine Lady protect and guide us all.’

A round of applause, a fade-to-black and, accompanied by festive music, a succession of governmental slogans: ‘Your happiness is our concern’, ‘Live life to the full, you can do this today’, ‘We are who we want to be’. At the end, an image of the Divine Lady hovering over the Central Circle’s anagram, with a polyphonic motto: ‘The Divine Lady, ever closer to you’.

2

Silence. A long, inner silence in the midst of the darkest shadows. I cannot feel myself, I cannot feel anything, I am nothing. Just a vague recollection. I remember my name, but am incapable of pronouncing it because I do not have a mouth, I do not have a throat or lungs. I have words that are not words, they are birds flying inside an unreal head. I think my name, I think I exist, I move between being and nothingness. Am I dead? They say the dead neither think nor remember, that is why they are dead. But they may have a name. What are ‘birds’? What is being dead?

I was alive once, some time ago. At that time, I had a head, and words were words. I belonged to a family, had things to do, opinions, a life project. The world revolved around me in recognizable ways. All of that has now been reduced to a fragile plank I cling to in order not to vanish. A piece of flotsam on a lake between two unreachable shores. A dark and silent lake I form part of.

Except when I have memories. From time to time, something happens that makes me change my prostrate state and recognize sensations, forms and thoughts. Slowly, like the blossoming of a flower. I can then reconstruct flowers, for example. Their fragrance, their colours. In desperation, I cling to the nearest flower and say my name before forgetting the flower again, which quickly disappears the way it came. It was just a pulse, a beat, the vibration of something on my skin. Because I do have skin, I am a skin as well. I sometimes discover parts of me and then become aware I am someone.

Suddenly, a needle pierces my flesh and injects a wounding liquid. Pain. And my name, which leaves. Silence again, blackness and loneliness. But I know something about myself.

I hear voices. The darkness grows lighter. Echoes of voices and beams of light that cleave the lake and reach my head like tiny flashes. A sign I also have a head. That is how I find words to refer to what I feel, what is happening to me. I wake up. Am I waking up? I recognize this sensation I’ve experienced before. Yes, I am waking up. As on each of these strange days I find myself in. Little by little, I go back to being myself, my lungs, my feet, my throat. Words whose meaning I recover. But oddly also lose. Memory, I lose track of memory. I cease to be who I am, I break up, many memories go away. Or they don’t go away, they remain in my dream, that dark, silent lake I have just emerged from. The noises increase, metallic voices, the voices of an electronic apparatus. They massage my body, move me, or I move myself. And planes above my head. What are planes? What is a head? I have many words at my disposal, but few meanings. Something or someone holds my memory back. I definitely do not have a name. Who am I? What am I? Where am I? Why? Questions. Questions. Questions.

3

Day 43, 3^rd cycle, year 147 of Mun.

At 17:00 hours, the standard working day came to an end at the SCRDSI, the State Centre for Research into the Development of Science and Industry. Like lines of ants, hundreds of workers swarmed on to the outer platforms in search of the collective aerotransporters waiting on the piers. The ordered traffic was only interrupted by the civil servants in charge of maintenance, arriving from the opposite direction and ready to take up their posts on the following shift. Above the murmur of conversations could clearly be heard the melodious voices of the multicoms which, located at various points around the aerodrome, broadcast the programmes of the main public channels without stopping. Other workers, for the most part departmental managers and medium and high-ranking officials, stayed longer inside the building, busy ordering files, checking protocols, modifying systems, announcing results, programming work for the next few days or simply chatting to colleagues.

One such official was Dr Heriberto PC 173H12, a renowned biologist specializing in neuromechanics with a categorial post on the Emim programme for the generation of motive power from mental impulses. In technical room number F28-104, he remained seated in front of his com terminal, his eyes fixed on the middle row of monitors. As soon as his auxiliary staff had left, he had turned down the ambient com as low as possible; they generally worked with a connection to the Preferential State Multicom Channel, whose programmes, as well as providing information, created a relaxing atmosphere and inspired optimism, but Heriberto had recently learned to appreciate the silence and tranquillity that allowed him to think about things. He was a man of medium stature, slim, with firm, serene features. He wore the typical uniform of line managers: a long, eudermal boldo coat, which in his case was white with a gold and green fringe on the lapel, flanked by the polyhedral anagram of the SCRDSI.

The doctor stayed still, almost without blinking. On the gaseous-glass screens, three simultaneous graphics produced repetitive, constant readings, only occasionally modified by a fourth graphic that coincided with the renewal of data on other screens dotted around the room. Every time there was a change, he would glance first at the thermograil, supplier of compensatory caloric fluids, then at the CTK, a device for decoding oneiric activity developed by his own team from the base-plate of a seismic simulator, and back again. His expression remained the same.

Technical room F28-104 was shaped like a hexagon, with windows on to the street in two of the walls. Elsewhere was a mass of equipment, cables, shelves, screens and desks. One door gave access to the line manager’s private office. The door was made of calphram, which made it possible to see from the inside out, but not the other way around. Directly opposite, a transparent partition divided off a smaller, adjoining room. The centre of this other room was occupied by a fixed stretcher connected to the other installations by a mesh of cables. On top of the thick polyplast mattress, motionless and lying on his back, lay the body of an individual technically identified as AN, the principal subject of study being directed by Dr Heriberto, which is how he got his name: AN line or analyses of neuromnemonics. The purpose of this line of work was to investigate the structure and functioning of basilar memory, forming part of the complex layout of the Emim programme. AN was completely naked, his head shaved and his gaze distant. From different parts of his body emerged tubes that converged, by means of guides attached to the stretcher, in the general network of the technical room. White, grey and green were the dominant ambient colours, which barely contrasted with the lively tones of the monitors, the logos on the machines and the symbols that separated the various parts of the installation.

As if waking from a deep sleep, the doctor shuffled in his seat. He stood up slowly and approached the crystal partition. Without a doubt, his reflections had not sufficed to shed light on the transcendental mystery of the situation of human beings in the world, either individually or as a whole. When it came to the most complex expression of the problem, he was intimidated by the contradiction of knowing he lived at the highest stage of evolution in the most perfect place and yet finding himself assailed by questions all the time. This state of perplexity, which he had recently been sinking into quite often, was so arduous, however, that he immediately rejected it in order to focus on something more immediate: the fact he couldn’t control the experimental subject within the flurry of coordinates the geomental aspect of the line in its fourth phase had turned into: ‘AN,’ Heriberto said to himself, ‘a short, aseptic term for someone it seems some of the great scientific projects of recent times depend on. Where are you, my friend? Why can’t I reach you?… Why do you flee?’ Finally, having traced a bitter smile, he changed his coat for an outdoor smock and left.

‘A particularly stifling day,’ he remarked to Isendra, the inspector of relations, in the Unit of Radiowashing, which they were obliged to pass through before exiting the SCRDSI’s architectural complex.

‘It’s been a strange spring. So much heat is not normal,’ she added. ‘And as for this sky… That blasted meteorite will end up driving us all crazy.’

‘Ah, Hipercang. It certainly seems we have a problem overhead.’

‘You don’t sound too worried.’

‘Why should I be? The government is watching over our safety, isn’t it?’

When the door’s luminous indicator turned green, Heriberto placed his right palm on the optical reader. The PIC located under his skin allowed the two leaves of the door to open. Isendra did the same and followed him out.

They shook hands in the parking lot for private aerotransporters. Heriberto jumped into his two-seater, a privilege extended by the SCRDSI to its medium and high-ranking officials. He started the engine by placing his PIC on the ignition, checked the circulatory previsions provided by Alom and inserted a booking for a route along the third corridor of the Avenue of Equality, linking with Pegasus 9 in the direction of the sector Mount Sky. As soon as he received authorization, he took off.

Gazing at the streets of Medburg through the vehicle’s transparent floor settled his mind, tired after an intense day and the difficulties involved in his work as the person responsible for the AN line, one of the most important not just in the Emim programme, but in all areas of work in the SCRDSI related to study of the human body. The Emim programme had the ambitious aim of using energy from mental activity to produce physical reactions with motive power in an individual’s surroundings and perhaps, during a second phase, at a distance; this was something that, for now, only existed as an attribute of certain characters in children’s infoliterature and pagan mythologies from the past. Its first and immediate application would be a new wave of computer services in which thought would replace the human voice as a sufficient impulse to perform an operation. Emim was organized into various sections, subsections, lines and sublines coordinated by the SCRDSI’s Department of Anthropobiology. The AN line, in particular, was centred on the structural and functional analysis of basilar or deep-seated memory as a force capable of instigating actions separate from the will. Its relevance was derived from the thesis, fixed as a guideline by the highest authorities, that the activity of the subconscious could condition conscious activity to the extent of guiding bidirectional thought by means of intuition, a form of energy that could be converted into mechanical flow. Heriberto, who had received his doctorate in neuromechanics from Medburg Central University with top marks and gained varied experience as a researcher, had enthusiastically agreed to direct the AN line on account of its profile as innovative work with generous provisions on the staffing and financial fronts. But now, when five and a half cycles had elapsed since the study’s outset and the pressure for results was beginning to be felt, he was assailed by numerous doubts of all kinds, personal and professional, some more defined, others more abstract, that made him feel uneasy.

The tall buildings passed under the two-seater as if on the screen of a senso-cinema. The flashing rays of sunshine reflected off the glass of the long windows and the edges of the eaves to fall like arrows on to the stone pavement. Despite the time, the truncated pyramidal buildings gave off slight shadows; only the tops of flourishing palants, omnipresent in the gardens, offered shelter to the geese, lurnatias and lazy stray dogs. A considerable network of fountains, located at busy interchanges, went some way towards replenishing the air’s humidity. Pedestrians were affected by the general feeling of laziness and walked close to the walls, being spattered by the drops unleashed by a sudden snowstorm. Comfortable air macrobuses, stylized microbuses and simple individual aerotransporters passed quickly and methodically at various heights between the buildings, creating lines that criss-crossed incessantly. On the streets, visible under the areas of crystal paving, travelled terrestrial vehicles of mixed appearance, by their movement helping to maintain a sense of stable dynamic order.

On the two-seater’s com receiver, automatically connected to the Preferential State Multicom Channel’s audio station, a programme of new music was coming to an end, to be followed by a talk show on which the so-called Hipercang Sortilege would be discussed by various experts. By way of introduction, a voice recited several excerpts in solemn tones:

‘… and so the time is coming when the spirit of true life will descend from the sky in the form of a death cart and burst into flame in the hearts of men in order to reveal prophecies that have yet to be fulfilled, which will complete the cycle. Get ready, because the day is near; blessed the eyes that see its light, when the sortilege of Hipercang, the traveller, the prophet, the faceless one, will be fulfilled and the scriptures will turn into facts, and facts will not be the tips of spears, or blades of axes, or poisonous ointments, or fires, or earthquakes, but only words, dark, powerful words written on the forbidden paper of our ancestors. The signs will reach our senses by means of the sky and earth, and all of us, from the first human to the last, will tremble with fear. Then the cart of death will arrive from the infinite and land among us, enter our chests, open wounds in our sinful hands and burn our eyes to open them to new light. From the cart – blessed they who can see it – will descend the eighty-one king-gods, nine times wise, nine times powerful, nine times blessed, who will govern the Earth through all the years to come…’

With a gesture, Heriberto decried what seemed to have turned into the most important public affair on Atl in the last few months: the detection of an asteroid coming from the third cosmic sphere, which threatened to collide with the Earth right at its only emerging point, Atl. At home, in the workplace, on streets, in commercial establishments, on methods of transport, wherever it might be, he was pursued by the pseudo-transcendental messages of Hipercang announcing a universal cataclysm across all media like a capricious shadow: ‘So many years of science and progress,’ he pondered, ‘so many advances in communication techniques, and we end up using media to repeat the nonsense of a madman lost in the confines of history.’ At the same time, the doctor knew he was different from others because of his way of thinking. In Medburg, as on the rest of Atl, at this precise moment, there were millions of people, all with their attention focused on this or another programme, receiving the multicoms’ transmissions as if they were the air they breathed. Not long ago, when information technology had been less advanced, people used to talk and discuss important issues, to share different opinions that sometimes even had an impact on governmental guidelines. This didn’t sound negative, quite the opposite. But Heriberto wasn’t sure this was true. It was something he remembered his father mentioning, one of the few memories he had of him. He kept this thought present and even consulted the Divine Lady about it on his domestic altar, obtaining, as always, a wise if ambiguous response: ‘Dear son, truth is born not from the opposition of different ideas, but from the absence of different ideas. If you wish to pursue the truth, search inside yourself, but don’t become blind: truth is surrounded by reasons that make it unique and necessary.’ He didn’t wait any longer, but pressed the controls for personal tuning and gave orders to switch station. The private Commercial Avenue Channel’s back-to-back advertisements were more appealing at that moment than the unintelligible waffle of the prophet and his followers.

The Avenue of Equality led to the enormous thoroughfare Pegasus 9. Heriberto gained height in order to join the traffic travelling southeast-northwest, sector Mount Sky, normally intense at the final hour of the working day. He was eager to reach his family home in the district of Discoverers as soon as possible and share reading time with his wife, Zaradia, with whom he didn’t always coincide, since she was subject to a shift regime in her position as vice-director of quays in Medburg’s Port for the Transport of Passengers.

That day, however, the traffic was more relaxed, and thoughts of work came back into the neuromechanic’s mind. The aerial view of the complicated network of streets and squares made him think of Angel Nebulae lost in a chaos of paths somewhere completely unknown, full of doubt, alone and exhausted by the effort. Angel Nebulae was the affectionate nickname, coinciding with the initials AN, ‘analyses of neuromechanics’, his colleagues had given the experimental subject, since his real name and ID were hidden even from top project managers. In agreement with the attributes of angels in ancient legends and the evanescence of nebulae, it struck them as a suitable name, given his beatific, defenceless appearance in that permanent state of induced sleep they kept him in.

Heriberto recalled when he’d been brought to the unit. He was a handsome young man in his early twenties, with a pleasant face, tall, fair-skinned, deep eyes and long hair gathered in a ponytail. Even though he wasn’t allowed to talk to him, it said in the reports he’d been chosen after a strict selection procedure from almost fifty candidates, who had undergone the cognitive, psychosomatic and physical-resistance tests laid down in the line’s protocol. The exact results were not supplied, but the chosen subject had received top marks in each area. The report did not include his first name and, what was even more unusual, his PIC had been deactivated, a somewhat incomprehensible state of affairs, although this did not disqualify him as an ideal subject to be turned into the human basis of the AN line. His condition as an adoptstate was given, however, and Heriberto maliciously thought this circumstance had no doubt worked in his favour almost as much as the selection tests. ‘Adoptstate’ was the name given to children who, because of their parents’ separation or demise, had been taken into the State’s care. Given that he was an adoptstate, should there be complications during the experiment, there would be no need to fear complaints from the family, which were always complicated; the government itself would take responsibility. His excellent academic results had also been taken into account in the selection procedure, obtained during the fourth year of Agricultural Science, as well as his manifest interest in accumulating credits so he could take part in programmes of agricultural training in real fields of work. In fact, university credits, in addition to a net amount of 10,000 Atlians, was all he would receive in return for exposing his body, over an undetermined period of time, to the effects of electroimpulses, to the ingestion of strange substances, to the alteration of somatic behaviour, to diverse methods of observation and analysis, and to the conversion of his memories, desires and intimate thoughts into public knowledge. ‘Small reward for the advance of science under the oft-repeated argument of collective benefit,’ the doctor reasoned.

Heriberto’s thoughts were interrupted by the com’s impersonal voice announcing the arrival of a phone call from his wife. Once the communication had been accepted, the string of adverts gave way to Zaradia’s soothing tones:

‘Darling, will you be home soon? You have a visitor.’

‘A visitor?’

‘Doctormax Leonardio.’ Heriberto mixed an expression of surprise with one of satisfaction. He couldn’t imagine any particular reason for this meeting but, all the same, the old doctormax was always welcome. Zaradia went on, ‘He doesn’t want to come into the house, he says he’ll wait for you in the garden and won’t keep you long.’

‘Don’t worry, my love, you know what he’s like. I’ll be there soon.’

‘I think he’s admiring your beautiful roulies.’

‘He’s a clever man. He recognizes a deserving piece of work when he sees one. Are the children back from the academy?’

‘Half an hour ago. Emiliano picked them up, and they’re just getting washed. I’m also here: heeeelloo!’

‘Yes, I’m dying to see you.’

‘Too late, you’ve lost your chance. By the way, our assistant said technicians from the State Communications Network were here this morning. Is there a problem with the multicoms? We’ve just had them renewed with standard upgrades and the incorporation of TCC-system holoplasma. My word, darling, we’re going to be the envy of the neighbourhood.’

‘Well, I can’t understand it. They must have detected anomalies in the local delegation. Anything else?’

‘Yes, stop looking at my tits and concentrate on your driving.’

‘I’m not looking at your tits, clever clogs. I don’t receive images when I’m travelling.’

‘I know. But you’re still looking at them. Come quickly.’

‘I love you too.’

Determined to erase anything to do with work from his mind for the rest of the day, Heriberto concentrated on guiding the aerotransporter, which, while under Alom’s automatic control, required the driver’s involvement for a certain number of operations.

Under his feet could now be seen Medburg’s maritime sector, no doubt the most active sector in the capital and, according to travel infoguides, possibly in the whole of Atl, the only competition being the intermodal park in Bratslev, in the province of the same name, which in a thousand hectares of terrain contained numerous junctions for terrestrial, subterranean, aerial and maritime forms of transport, making it an astonishing paradigm of mobility. Bratslev occupied a geographically privileged region, though its climate was harsher than Medburg’s, and had long been considered an active commercial enclave. It was located at the other end of the continent, while between Bratslev and Medburg there were five intermediate provinces. Despite the relative distance, however, both capitals had been able to complement their respective transport hubs so they could virtually monopolize the distribution of passengers and merchandise throughout the continent. Heriberto had had occasion to travel to Bratslev twice and recalled with admiration the sense of grandeur that had overwhelmed him when faced with the monumental capacity of human beings to surpass themselves in the field of construction and organization. All the same, Medburg, Atl’s administrative capital, possessed a spectacular, particularly laborious port, with the added charm of the fishing and craft traditions it kept alive. The rows of ships docked at its piers gave the area an epic air quite different from the nervous productive structure of other sectors. A few ships came in or out, on their way to other ports. Often, when he was passing this point, Heriberto would remember his old fondness for the profession of sailor. He recalled how, when he was a child, he had wanted to embark on a ship as an apprentice, but his parents, both professionals in the pharmaceutical industry, and the promising data of his genuine mental quotient, which all boys and girls were legally required to have measured when they reached the age of seven, had stopped this dream coming true. By now, Heriberto no longer lamented the fact his life had followed the path of science, but the sense of freedom and adventure suggested by a view of the sea always helped to alleviate, albeit temporarily, the stress of daily activity.

After that, on the artificial ground of the Reedbeds, the industrial estates specializing in domestic technology, which were geometrically arranged; and, occupying a large part of the Angalm delta, the great Park of Enchanted Islands, a romantic enclave inherited from times past and stubbornly kept in a state of neglect by the environmental authorities, which made it a beautiful, but inadvisable tourist destination. That said, this wild expanse held a curious attraction for certain individuals, and specialized glaus from the state police would often have to go and rescue hikers who had wandered down its channels and inextricable paths.

The centre-north part of the city was characterized by wide avenues full of traffic, forming part of larger networks linked with different levels of altitude and stretching to the horizon. Having passed Dryness, an area of real estate destined for offices, he could make out, majestic and inaccessible in the distance, the imposing architectural complex that housed the Central Circle, the state government, the all-powerful single command of the continent, and therefore of the planet. The complex, which was itself called Central Circle, consisted of a total of seven concentric circular buildings. From a distance, it resembled a pyramid, the outer circle, which was about forty metres high and two thousand metres in circumference, forming its base and the inner tower, two hundred and ninety metres high, forming its apex. The seven buildings were raised on potent pillars of iron and IV concrete driven into the bottom of a lake and were connected by numerous radial corridors located at various altitudes. The tower, with a vaguely ovoid silhouette, like a point around which the other six circles turned at different heights, housed Alom, the electromagnetic brain par excellence and the matrix of all digital networks. The continent’s computerized life depended on Alom and so, since eighty-eight percent of public and private activities had already been automated, it could be said that practically the whole of human life depended on it. This presidential compound, Atl’s true heart and brain, was impregnable to any violent attack thanks, firstly, to its own essence as the basic organ of life on Atl and the source of all functioning artificial intelligence and, secondly, to a sophisticated cupola of clustene fibre, which, though invisible to the eye, was effective against any form of conceivable weapon.

14.7 lans on the Holde scale; as inspector Isendra had said, one of the highest temperatures that spring. The sector Mount Sky formed the northernmost part of Medburg. A periphery devoted above all to residential complexes for medium and high-to-medium families. The district of Discoverers was one of the most densely populated residential areas, in this case for civil servants from grade CL to grade CS. It spread over a privileged enclave on one of the steepest slopes in Mount Sky. The views were splendid; you could even make out the sea behind the city’s tallest skyscrapers, the distance to the centre being only twenty minutes on days of heavy traffic.

All these special conditions made the district of Discoverers a coveted and not always accessible region. Heriberto and his family had moved to their current house, module 27L, eight cycles earlier, having spent eleven and a half years in a somewhat scanty apartment located (its only virtue) halfway between the SCRDSI and the port. The death by euthanasia of the previous user, an engineer in the field of textile production who had come down with a case of germolaria, and the removal of her husband, a currently inactive sensocinema actor, to a social centre for aged people, had enabled them to lay hold of this residence, which was their pride and joy. The roulies on the terrace, which blossomed at the beginning of spring, reflected the care with which they cultivated the small garden. It was no surprise Doctormax Leonardio had been impressed by their colour; he would be bowled over when the peaches, cherries and delicate ulainas gave their first fruit, thought Heriberto.

What was the reason for his old friend’s visit? Superintendent Doctormax Leonardio BQ 141T04 currently occupied the post of state delegate director of the founding commission of Medburg’s National History Museum, an old project that had constantly been delayed in the offices of the Subdirectory of Universities, but had finally been given the go-ahead with the support of SCRDSI management and, in a personal capacity, high-ranking officials in the Ministries of Social Affairs, Directories of Leisure and Tourism, and Communication. In reality, Leonardio, like all attached superintendents, had no particular function in any branch of government. They were persons of reference, without subordinates but also without bosses, as they defined themselves, halfway between knight commanders and consultants on a given theme. Directly appointed by the General Directorate for Research, which oversaw the SCRDSI, on whose governing board they had a permanent seat, they were normally ex-presidential directors who had reached retirement age in full control of their mental faculties. In this way, the State put their experience and discernment to good use, sometimes even handing them important missions. This was the case of Doctormax Leonardio, who had been presidential director of the Institute for Historical Research, under the umbrella of the General Subdirectory of Universities, and was now fully devoted to the laborious task of founding the worthy National History Museum the capital of Atl lacked. How could Heriberto help him in this mission, if his scientific specialty was so far removed from humanistic disciplines?

With such questions in his head, he reached the height interchange and descended to the entrance of his residential quarter. On the huge gaseous-glass panel appeared data for ambient temperature, 14.3 lans, degree of humidity, 29 faria, level of pollution, middle-to-low with a preponderance of ferric monoxides, and governmental publicity slogans like ‘We are happy because we are’, ‘What do we desire today?’ and ‘Your well-being is everyone’s well-being’. From time to time, the date, day 43, 3^rd cycle, year 147 of Mun, and the hour, 18:25.

4

The wolves. The first thing I hear is their long, whining howls piercing my ears. They come from far away, it might be said there’s enough distance between the animals and me for them not to reach me, but this doesn’t calm me down; fear is faster than they are. I slip down a dark, stinking alley without cars, without people, without a blade of grass to sway in the wind. I quicken my pace. I’m tired of running, my body demands a rest, a shelter. But I cannot stop. I come out into a wider street, although it’s also abandoned. What must once have been proud buildings full of life are now empty shells given over to dust and misery, and on the verge of falling down. Broken windows, dirt, invasive vegetation, silence. From time to time, a terrestrial vehicle shoots by. I move away. I’m not bothered by the terramobiles, I’m bothered by the noise of their engines, characteristic of oil-based energy systems from the ancient era, since they imitate the sound of the tiny planes that have been pursuing me ever since I arrived in this city.

I’d almost forgotten about them, but it was just an illusion. Barely an hour without seeing them, without them seeing me. Planes that pursue me relentlessly, and I don’t know why, nor can I shake them off. I run for a bit, hide, they disappear; I carry on walking cautiously, and suddenly they turn up again, fast and thundering between the houses.

The last time I saw them was on an avenue of the last inhabited district I visited. I was walking under the arches like an ordinary citizen when they appeared on top of the roofs. They’re little planes, toy planes, made of wood or tin, that fly skilfully between people, probably remote-controlled. Surprisingly, no one but me was frightened by their presence, I had the impression only I could see them.

After an hour’s tranquillity, they reappeared, this time in front. I didn’t have time to hide. I counted between ten and twelve of them. They were beautiful, their backs painted in bright colours, with a polyhedral anagram that was somehow familiar clearly visible on their wings and tail. I search in my memory, I search. On a screen, always on a screen. Wherever I search, I always see screens. A geometrical multivolume that changes shape and continually re-forms. Pyramids, prisms, cones, spheres, star shapes. And letters that dance all around. Letters that come and go. S, D, C. S, R, D, C, I. Mobile, coloured letters under a polyhedral anagram. In the city I’m in, the letters do not move, they’re not on a screen. They’re fixed letters on walls, like beautiful, unsettling drawings. People are letters as well. I have to have a name, but I can’t remember, my memory escapes me. And the planes return. Why do I call them planes?

Airborne toys in a world in ruins I reached without knowing how. They attack me. I start running again. I seek shelter in the basement of one of these dismantled buildings. It’s an old bar without automated service, without screens. With fixed letters. Cobwebs carpet the counter, tables and shelves. Some planes have followed me in. Another door leads to the back. The doors are opened by applying hands to a pin, pressing down on a pin. I find myself in another basement, but this time it’s a garage with half a dozen cars as dilapidated as everything else in this quarter. Why do I call them cars? What’s a garage? My memory gives me no answers. I have words, but no meanings. I want to open a terramobile, this time the movement of hands doesn’t work. Nor does the PIC because I don’t have a PIC, how is that possible? Nobody exists without a PIC. I crawl underneath one and look out. Two planes shoot through the air next to me. In their cabins, tiny, uniformed aviators scan the surroundings with a penetrating gaze. I wait until the noise of the engines has died down. I emerge carefully into the street and continue on my way. In the distance, I can make out a tree-lined avenue that has been invaded by tall grass, brambles and moss. I suppose there’ll be rats. Rats without a PIC, which don’t exist. I head in that direction.

5

Day 43, 3^rd cycle, year 147 of Mun.

Released from Alom’s control, Heriberto had to perform a delicate approach manoeuvre in order to land next to Doctormax Leonardio’s single-seater, an old model that was soon to be withdrawn. Although it was normal for visitors to land at one of the district’s multiple collective aerodromes, the doctormax had chosen to exercise his symbolic authority by occupying part of his friends’ parking space. He wasn’t seated next to the roulies, as Zaradia had said, but under the tingalo vine. From the air, Heriberto had spotted him concentrating on the contents of the black, leather briefcase he always had with him, in which he would be carrying a personal com terminal befitting his rank. As soon as he heard the sound of the engine, Leonardio closed the briefcase and stood up.

‘My dear Heriberto, how lovely to see you again! Looking as healthy as always.’

‘Doctormax, your visit is an honour.’

‘Now I understand why we can’t get you to visit us from time to time in our small Friends of the Museum club. You live in a kind of paradise, why would you want to leave?’

‘Please don’t make fun of my humble garden.’

‘Will you allow me to cut some roulies for my house? I just love natural flowers.’

‘I shall choose the best ones for you.’

Leonardio gazed at him with a touch of irony. Unlike Heriberto, he was a thickset man, but with refined manners.

‘You won’t. There’s no point tending this garden in order to cut the best flowers so you can indulge the whim of just anybody.’

‘You’re not just anybody. Shall we go in?’

The conversation continued inside the house in the same tone of affability. Heriberto’s residence was an elegant, spacious place equipped with standard services for C-category country residences. The furniture, carefully selected by the couple, gave a sense of the tenants’ level: with a clear inclination towards the colonial style, it combined delicate curves with robust materials and had a basically functional purpose. Some ancient objects, all bearing the stamp of the National Historical Service’s Catalogue, gave the residence a more solemn air with their mysterious, cultured presence. In a prominent corner of the south wing, the Shrine or Divine Lady’s Altar.

‘Antiquities are not our thing, but they formed part of the previous residents’ adornments. Zaradia thought they would contrast nicely with the com screens, and so we left them.’

‘They’re fine specimens. Kaolin ceramics, a coffee grinder, a decanter… And look at this desk from a time when people used to write with feathers in their hands, see, it still has the ink stains… How touching! Mahogany inlaid with marble, mother-of-pearl and silver. An excellent piece which would suit the museum very well. Won’t you let me have it?… The Shrine isn’t the most modern I’ve seen. Did you inherit that too? I know Our Lady doesn’t pay attention to the carpets we place before her, but all the same…’

Heriberto laughed. Deep down, the praise of an art specialist filled him with pride, but he wasn’t going to be taken in by his old friend: the desk would stay where it was.

Taking advantage of the fact Zaradia had joined the conversation, Heriberto led Doctormax Leonardio to the sofa by the arm. His wife, Zaradia, Personal Identification Code CL 185R61, had blond hair; she was very fair-skinned, a little taller than her husband, slim and spontaneous in her gestures. Dressed in a comfortable, home-made haimper, she welcomed Heriberto with a peck on the cheek and the doctormax with a polite handshake, placing her PIC next to his. She offered them both tsai accompanied by nut liquor and mint and cream biscuits.

‘Doctormax, allow me first to congratulate you on your conference last Monday on the programme Knowledge That Is Never Too Much. I simply love that programme, it’s so… didactic… I found your explanations very interesting indeed.’

‘Infoconferences are the last recourse we are given in retirement to balance our meagre salary of 2,800 Atlians. Did you follow me as well, Heriberto?’

‘Certainly. The ending was a bit dark, don’t you think?’

‘Good analysis. Yes, deliberately dark. One mustn’t be explicit on such themes, the public needs a little uncertainty. If you want to pass yourself off as an elder, you have to be a little dark.’

‘That’s not very scientific,’ replied Heriberto.

‘No, but it is human. Our sophisticated civilization appreciates brushstrokes of humanity.’

After a short silence, Zaradia again intervened:

‘By the way, there was no need to wait for my husband outside, doctormax. You know our home is your home.’

‘In which case I’ll have the desk.’

‘The desk?’

Zaradia, who was unaware of their previous conversation, gave a look of horror that made the two friends laugh. The doctormax continued:

‘You’re very kind, you’re both very kind to me. That’s precisely why I’m here. Let us say I should like to take advantage of the friendship you show me to ask for a favour – to ask you, Heriberto.’

‘If it’s in my hands…’

‘I wouldn’t ask if it were not.’

Zaradia gave the multicom instructions to turn down the volume, since it was broadcasting a report on a motorball competition which no one was interested in. The main screen, with TCC holoimages, occupied a whole wing of the living room. As was obligatory, there were screens in every room, albeit with selectively flat images. The residence in general was equipped with lively technological dynamism.

The doctormax took a sip of boiling tsai. Next to him was the black briefcase with golden corners he never let out of his sight. Zaradia held out the tray of biscuits:

‘Try them. I cook them myself, following special recipes. We have a small culinary club in the district and try out our own inventions. My friends say they’re pretty good.’

‘She’s lying,’ Heriberto corrected her. ‘They say they’re excellent. Though she’s better at cherry squish. She has a real talent for home cooking. And for other things. In sessions of social sex, she’s the most sought after.’

‘Really? You must be very proud.’

‘I am. She also organizes cooperative games for all the children changing cycle.’

‘You might find it hard to believe, doctormax, but we share many aspects of life here in the suburbs, far away from the traffic and pollution of the city centre. Are you sure you won’t have one?’

‘Thank you, but I must watch what I eat. The years are unforgiving. And how are you, Heriberto? We haven’t spoken in a while. How’s your work at the SCRDSI? Are you satisfied with the results?’

‘I must admit I would like to be a little more satisfied than I am.’

‘Really? Why’s that? I know you can’t go into details, but… Anyway, I was expecting a little more optimism in the house of such an important line manager.’

‘I’ve come across all sorts of difficulties. To start with, some of the initial parameters were incorrect, and it took us weeks to realize; as a result, we had to redirect the plan on several occasions. Then the subject was incorporated later than expected, with tensions owing to the interference of organisms outside the SCRDSI that seem to have an eye on our research. On top of that, the resources at our disposal are not always efficient, it’s as if there is a boycott against us. All of this means the work hasn’t quite got off in the right direction.’

‘All work is encumbered with difficulties; no one was expecting it to be easy.’

‘Yes, but people want results, and we can’t get them. I don’t know what to do. I’ve recently been considering the possibility of requesting a temporary cessation, so that we can redesign the line and start again. I also have doubts about my ability to direct the study. That’s how things stand.’

‘Nonsense!’ intervened Zaradia. ‘Heriberto is always more worried than he should be. His indecision drives me crazy. There should be an extra wage for wives who have to put up with the neuroses of geniuses, don’t you think? Ha, ha, ha…’

‘I would support that motion without a moment’s hesitation, ha, ha, ha… Are you not having any tsai, Zaradia?’

‘Later perhaps. I prefer to see to the children first, they’re getting washed with the assistant. Working shifts, I don’t always get the chance to enjoy bathtime.’

‘Of course, the children! How are they? They’ll be grown up by now, I imagine.’

Text © Manuel Lourenzo González

Translation © Jonathan Dunne

Other books by Manuel Lourenzo González are available to read in English – see the page “YA Novels”.