Level 7

“And quite quickly done.”

“I wonder what we’ll get for lunch.”

“I feel rather hungry after all that.”

“So do I.”

“Well, I don’t.”

Such were the things we said: not profound things or purposeful things, but somehow important to the people seated at the table. It was only after this spontaneous talk had erupted all along the line that it occurred to me that not a word had been uttered all the way down in the lift, along the corridors, on the escalator and finally in this dining-room. Apparently we had all been so preoccupied with the experience of going down that we had hardly noticed each other’s existence. The intensity of our brooding was revealed only after the familiar idea of lunch had jerked us out of ourselves and set our tongues free.

Now the loudspeaker addressed us again: “Attention, please! Your lunches will be served to you on the moving band of the table. Wait till the band stops. Then start eating. Eat everything you are given. You will need it. Don’t forget the pills: they are important for your diet. Don’t wonder or hesitate about the food. It was scientifically prepared to meet the needs of men and women in this new environment. Thank you.” Click.

Even before the loudspeaker had finished, the band had started to move, and I saw what the voice meant. I had not noticed before that the table was covered with a wide strip of some plastic substance which ran the whole of its length and into the slots in the end walls. As the band moved it bore dishes of food towards us from one of the holes. It moved smoothly and quite quickly, and slowed down steadily to a halt as the first dish reached the far end of the room. Now the long table was covered with identical, equally-spaced plates which—as I found when I tried—were attached to the band and could not be removed. Beside each place, on a magnetised metal disc, stood a metal cup which was further secured by a spiral wire to the plastic band. A medium-sized spoon was fastened to the band by a similar wire. In this way the cup and the spoon could be used but not taken away, on exactly the same principle as the pencils provided for customers in some offices. The magnetic ‘saucer’ stopped the cup sliding about when the band was in motion and also, I guessed, held it firm when the endless band passed upside-down through a washing machine which cleaned table, crockery and cutlery all together. I found out later that my guess had been right, and that the whole process, including doling out the food, was fully automatic.

The food—well, that was rather disappointing. If we hardly found time to say so, it was because we were so busy talking about the other astonishing arrangements. There was very little to eat on the plate, and it had hardly any taste; but somehow it managed to satisfy our hunger. It consisted of a small piece of reddish stuff (some sort of synthetic multipurpose food) which was eaten with the spoon, and three pills. The pills one washed down with the half-pint or so of yellow liquid contained in the cup.

I do not know why I am going into such detail about all this. Probably because my first impressions of the underground arrangements were particularly sharp. It quite often happens that on momentous occasions we pay most careful attention to the least significant facts. This first meal has been preserved in my mind as a memorable event, a sacrament initiating me into this holy of holes—or rather, into this hole of holes.

As soon as we had eaten our meal—which did not take long—and the band had carried our plates and cups into the other slot in the wall, the loudspeaker sounded again. We were ordered to go each to his respective department. The door to each section was clearly marked, and I soon found one saying ‘Push-Button X’. In the course of looking for my door I noticed the inscriptions on some of those which the other men and women were entering: ‘Hospital M’, ‘Administration Ad’, ‘Air Supply AS’. However, I had no time to examine all the doors. Trained to respond alertly, I turned at once into ‘Push-Button X’.

After passing through a narrow corridor, which had one door on each side, I went through another door at the end into what I recognised at once as the Push-Button X Operations Room. There was nothing strange about this room. It was exactly the same as the one back up there in the training camp. I won’t bother to describe it now, because I have already done so elsewhere in the diary.

In the Operations Room there was already another man waiting. He wore a uniform like mine, was of about the same age and build, and seemed somehow familiar—possibly because I had seen him before somewhere, possibly because he seemed to resemble me so much. Before we could say anything the door opened and two more men came in one after the other. I recognised one of them—a fellow-trainee from the PB camp—and the other one appeared to know the man who had been there when I arrived. (I learnt later that they had trained together at another PB camp.)