chapter one

The Uracil Centre for Advanced Science was perhaps fifty-one square kilometres outside of Westbank, but it seemed seven thousand for all the differences. It was very clean and quite large and very, very secretive. All that John and Theresia knew about it was that it had never once been unable to cure something except for AIDS. But Fordo didn't have AIDS, of that they were sure, so no one was particularly worried.

Except Fordo. Something about the overly clean rooms and the secretivity of the place made him cold inside. But he couldn't tell his parents. Their relief showed quite visibly and he wasn't about to take away their hope. So Fordo kept his fears to himself and watched the Uracilians (as they had dubbed themselves) carefully. Something was wrong and he intended to discover what it was.

Fordo was placed in a somewhat small room with a window overlooking the courtyard. the walls were white and the water closet neat and organised. Over the primly made bed was a computerised picture of an ocean. The shores and waves were too perfect and fake. Fordo stared at it fiercely.

'It's a fractal, Mr. Summers.' He flailed around and saw a woman in a nurse's uniform watching him. 'It's programmed mathematically to produce graphics. Lovely, isn't it?'

'Indeed.' His voice was intentionally emotionless. 'Are you Nurse Rebecca?'

'That I am, Mr. Summers. Would you care for some tea?'

'No thanks.'

'Coffee?'

'All-right.'

'Cream? Sugar?'

'Black.' She gave him a puzzled look, perhaps protesting that sixteen-year-old boys shouldn't drink coffee black. Yet she smiled overly enthusiastically and left the room.

Fordo went to the bed, tossing down his bag and looking through his belongings. Levi's, double shirts, high-tops. He refused to dress up for the Uracilians--especially now. His winter coat, articles and boots were currently on his personage, so he wasn't worried about that. He also pulled out several volumes of Dickens, Poe, Tolkien and Marx and set them on the counter beneath the window.

Finally, he produced from his pocket a box of tacks and a newspaper clipping. He tacked it to the wall above the bed and hoped the maids wouldn't take much notice to it. He laid back for a moment, reading the print once more. 'WHO IS COSMO SCHNEIDER? NEW RESEARCH RELEASED'.

Rebecca had returned. 'Here's your coffee, Mr. Summers. And your mother insisted you eat something.' She set down the tray onto the counter and headed out, leaving Fordo to do whatever he so chose. He got up, wandering over to the counter, and surveyed the tray. Jell-O, some meat-like substance, brussel sprouts and chips. Do all Uracilians eat like this? Fordo wondered. He took the chips, coffee and Jell-O back to the bed and began devising an escape plan.