The Eggs of 113

By Sarah McEvoy

A short story celebrating the power of the human imagination in a dystopian future setting. Uldar, a political prisoner, receives a visit from a psychologist intent on convincing him that his "heterodoxy" (which takes the form of an interest in ancient languages) is dangerous to society. But the psychologist gets considerably more than he bargained for when Uldar starts to show him the collection of imaginary eggs which, paradoxically, helps to keep him sane.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sarah McEvoy
• Release date: Sep 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301951765

Sarah McEvoy

Sarah McEvoy was born in Kendal, and wanted to be an astronaut when she grew up until she realised that would mean being more sporty than she was at all interested in being. She now lives in Yorkshire with two cats and a large number of books. She has a varied range of interests including website building, baroque music, translation and needlecrafts, and every now and then she seems to end up doing something a little out of the ordinary. In 2013 this will involve directing a production of Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor for Opera Seria, Manchester. She never leaves the house without a hat, and, this being England, usually also an umbrella. If there is a real-life Mars colony in her lifetime, she would like to volunteer to live in it.

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The Eggs of 113

By Sarah McEvoy

Copyright 2012 Sarah McEvoy

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To Paul D, with thanks for the original inspiration

* * * * *

Unit H51 wasn’t called a prison, because it mattered very much what things were called. Besides, a casual observer walking through it could very easily have taken it for a residential or business sector of the Mars-Two complex. The corridors were as bland and faceless as they were anywhere else, the soft even lighting casting no shadows, and the sliding doors which led off them into the separate rooms were the same dull, uniform metallic grey. There were guards on duty, naturally, but no more than there were in any other part of the complex. After all, they were hardly needed. The difference between Unit H51 and the rest of the complex could only be seen from the inside of one of the rooms.

There was the usual button to open the doors on the outside. But on the inside, there was none.

One of the doors slid open. Someone walked in. A middle-aged man, who was lying on his inadequate bed staring contemplatively at the ceiling, regarded his visitor with mild interest.

Ah, he observed, quite cordially. You aren’t one of the regulars. Welcome to the job.

The visitor was taken aback. It wasn’t the kind of reaction he had expected. "I’m not