by Ian Shimwell
Several people, in white robes similar to Dayla’s, were walking across the square – apparently oblivious to their new visitor.
Dayla’s hand gestured towards the villagers. “These are the People of the Prime.” At that, the villagers abruptly stopped what they were doing and walked towards the stranger. People emerged from houses and through archways. They all, in a strange calm queue-like fashion, shook Harrys’ hand and welcomed him to the village.
After the last had gone Harrys said, “Even though they are all as stunningly good-looking like you Dayla – even the men, my hand is still tired. It’s shook so many hands, it’s shaking.”
Dayla laughed. “Think yourself lucky you haven’t had to greet the Prime Movers. There’s only 49 of us.”
“48 including you,” Harrys corrected. “I was counting.”
“49 including you,” added Dayla. “You are now one of us. Come on – we shall rest in my residence.”
They entered Dayla’s home. It had a simple homely quality even though there was still a mixture of styles like a plain hand-crafted vase sat next to a glass sculpture of a graceful beauty of stunning complexity.
Harrys sat down after being encouraged to do so. Dayla’s attractive body sat next to him.
“Do you know that you, the People and all this Prime stuff shouldn’t really exist. You live in a galaxy that’s not even recorded. How did you get here from Mother Earth? The same way that I did perhaps, through a portal?”
Dayla’s blue eyes seemed to soften. “What makes you think we come from your ‘Mother Earth’?”
“All intelligent life comes from Earth. It’s an established scientific fact. There are no aliens.”
“You are mistaken.”
“So you are alien?”
“We are not alien. We are the People of the Prime.”
“Then I must be the alien,” thought Harrys who then said, “What makes you think I’m one of you?”
“I don’t think – it’s simply a fact.”
“Why is it a fact?”
“The Prime has decreed it. Thus, it is fact.”
“Well in that case I won’t even bother to argue,” Harrys said ironically.
Dayla though didn’t spot the irony. “Good, you are beginning to understand.” She stood up, grasped hold of his hand and pulled him up. “I now feel the need for sexual activity. We will go to my bedroom.”
The sudden change in the conversation surprised Harrys, to put it mildly. The forthright frankness of Dayla was hard to comprehend. Bur perhaps that was normal for this culture. However despite his bemusement, Harrys found himself walking upstairs behind Dayla. His eyes wanting, but not succeeding, to look away from her shapely legs – revealed by that breathtakingly short skirt. An image of Sarnia materialised inside his mind – but how could he betray her. There was no way he could ever go back home. He was stuck here. He smiled smugly – with Dayla’s looks it wasn’t too bad. Sarnia couldn’t blame him – so why did he still feel guilty about it?
Entering Dayla’s bedroom, Harrys kissed her passionately. After their clothes had been discarded, they embraced each other in bed and made exquisite love together. To Harrys, it was pure heaven. Then they slept, although a satisfied smile remained on Harrys’ face.
Quite naturally, in the morning Harrys woke up. He looked around for Dayla but she wasn’t there. He called out her name quite loudly but received no response. Harrys washed and dressed and walked downstairs. He was pleasantly surprised to find that Dayla had prepared a breakfast for him – on the living room table. It was a collation of wheat-based cereal with milk and fruit. Harrys soon eat it all up – it was delicious.
Sitting down on the chair behind the table, Harrys began reflecting on his remarkable position. His whole life had been turned upside-down. Gone was old world of Planet 49 and Sarnia. In was the Prime – whatever that was, and its people and Dayla. She really was beautiful and was finding himself foolishly falling in love. He had only touched upon their culture here. Why were the PrimeMovers so blindingly obedient? What did the People of the Prime, in this village, actually do? Who or what is the Prime – and where is Dayla? Harrys got up. At least he could try to find the answer to his last question.
Closing Dayla’s door behind him, Harrys walked across the village square. He stopped a man who was about to walk past him.
“Excuse me, I am looking for Dayla – do you know where I might find her?”
The man looked thoughtfully for a moment and then said, “This is only a guess, mind you, but have you tried Romlus’ house – her next-door neighbour? I know they are about to start a Diversional together.”
Harrys was about to ask what a Diversional was, but thought better of it. “Thanks, I’ll try there first.”
He knocked on the door. Whilst waiting, for some reason, he thought back to last night – when Dayla spoke of her undying love for him during their lovemaking. The smile faded when no one answered the door. Cautiously he pushed. The door opened.
“Anybody home?” Harrys shouted.
“Upstairs Harrys, come up.”
Harrys followed Dayla’s voice, venturing upwards. He pushed open the closed door to see Dayla in bed with a man he presumed was Romlus.
“So, this is a Diversional?”
Dayla sat up. “I’m afraid not. Romlus, this is Harrys, my new love.” She looked towards Harrys. “Don’t look so surprised Harrys. I have many, many loves. It is the way of the Prime.”
Dumfounded, Harrys could only stare. And he’d felt guilty over Sarnia. Confusion, Dayla and the Prime. Harrys held onto a nearby table for support. He was starting to have that sinking feeling.
THREE
The Rebel
Slamming the door behind him, Harrys walked across the village square purposefully. Dayla, Dayla, Dayla, he thought about that girl too much. It was time he started finding out what was actually going on here. A stationary placard caught his eye so he walked over to it.
With a wry smile, Harrys saw that the legend on top declared it to be: ‘The Notice Board of the Prime’. Scanning through the various notices, Harrys sighed. Mainly the notices dealt with advertisements for forthcoming Diversionals – one of which – according to the village clock was about to start.
Harrys was about to turn away when he noticed a note on a scrappy bit of paper that was pinned right on the bottom of the board. He looked at it closely. Although it was neatly written, he could not make sense of it. A reflection of the sun caught him from his silvery pilot’s suit. (Although Dayla had put aside a set of white robes for him, he had perhaps uncourageously decided to stick with his uniform.) The reflective qualities of his suit however gave him an idea. Placing his arm next to the mysterious note, he realised that the mirror-like quality of his apparel revealed what the note said: ‘Rebel Meeting… No. 48… after today’s Diversional’.
A commotion of voices caused Harrys to turn round. In the centre of the square, a small crowd had gathered.
“The Diversional,” Harrys realised. He approached the people. Now he could see what they were looking at. It was a kind of mobile theatre that was situated on a large wooden carriage. Moving closer, Harrys saw the red curtains parting to reveal Dayla and Romlus against the painted backdrop of the forest.
They still hadn’t moved or spoke so Harrys said to the nearest person: “What time does it start?”
“Now.”
“What?”
“Prime Time.”
“Prime Time?” said Harrys. “I should have guessed.”
The Diversional began. Dayla and Romlus acted out their characters with earnest endeavour. The story illustrated Tandril (that’s Romlus) wondering what it would be like being a PrimeMover. Despite Panner’s (yes, Dayla) less than enthusiastic response to the idea. Tandril then disguised himself as a PrimeMover, persuading Panner to do likewise. The audience found this amusing especially when that put the light-brown face make-up on. Harrys didn’t think it was quite that hilarious. He thought bac
k to the Holovids depicting ancient Mother Earth. At one time during something called a pantomime, a man dressed as a woman and visa-versa to the public’s delight. Perhaps this was a similar joke – a joke Harrys never got.
The Diversional ended when after Tendril and Panner had infiltrated the PrimeMovers, their make-up had come off during a communal shower, much to their embarrassment.
The crowd roared with laughter. Even Harrys smiled.
Dayla and Romlus joined their appreciative audience. They were heartily congratulated by just about everyone.
Dayla approached Harrys. “I hope you are still speaking to me,” she said.
Harrys smiled affectionately at her. “Of course I am. And never mind about me. And about the Diversional – you were wonderful. It was evidently very funny.”
“Thank you.” Dayla’s expression though betrayed a sadness behind her eyes.
A sadness that Harrys was quick to pick up upon. “Why the look of sorrow? You should be thrilled.”
“This is my first ever Diversional,” explained Dayla with care. “I wanted so much for my father to be here. He would have been so proud.”
“Has your father passed away?”
“He was executed.”
Harrys was horrified. “Executed, why?”
The population of the Prime should only number 749. With being the oldest, he had to die because the Prime prophesised your arrival. He was executed yesterday morning – just before you arrived – to make way for you.”
“That’s terrible, unbelievable.” Harrys was furious at the senseless narrow minded attitude – the waste. “Why 749?”
“It is the way of the Prime,” Dayla blindly intoned.
Dayla then went on to greet her mother. At least she is still alive, thought Harrys. Her mother was holding hands with another man. They certainly don’t waste time on Prime.
Harrys found himself outside house 48 –the rebel headquarters. Try as he might, the idea of rebels in this land of the Prime was annoyingly amusing. But although this seemed an orderly, peaceful world with its PrimeMovers and the People of the Prime, you only had to look at the PrimeMovers’ blind dedication to duty and Dayla, talking of her late father, to realise that there was something seriously wrong here. Something to seriously rebel against.
He knocked on the door which was opened from within. Harrys entered a room of darkness. The light was turned on. Facing him was one person. Harrys introduced himself.
“My name is Roebel, the Rebel of the Prime. The meeting is due to commence in a couple of minutes. Would you care for a cup of tea?”
Harrys sat down. “Tea? Yes of course.” As Roebel went into the kitchen, Harrys said to himself, “Roebel the rebel, I see.”
After a few minutes, Roebel brought in the cups of tea. Harrys thanked him and began drinking. The lovely traditional taste brought back a forgotten memory from a lost world. He last had tea many years ago on Mother Earth. It tasted just the same – from a civilisation he would never see again.
Roebel put his tea down. “Right, it’s about time the meeting began.”
Harrys looked nonplussed. “Aren’t you going to wait for the rest of the rebels?”
“The rest of the rebels? There are no other rebels. In fact you Harrys are the first person to ever come to one of my meetings.”
“You mean every rebel meeting you’ve previously had has been just you alone?”
“It has.” Roebel clasped his hands together. “And on my own, the rebellion has been ineffectual, but now with your help, we can strike.”
A tone of caution resonated from Harrys. “Before we do too much striking or rebelling, I need to know what we’re rebelling against.” Roebel seemed lost in contemplation, so Harrys continued, “I can understand the contribution of the PrimeMovers, but what of the People of the Prime?”
“The purpose of the people is to entertain the Prime with their Diversionals. Also there are a number of carpenters, builders and engineers between them. Naturally, they use a couple of PrimeMovers or so, to do the heavy work.”
“That makes sense – but why exactly Roebel are you a rebel of the Prime?”
“It’s simply because the Prime seems to be everywhere – we have no freedom.”
Finally believing he was getting somewhere, Harrys asked, “Roebel, what is the Prime?”
Roebel stared blankly. “The Prime is the Prime.” He then seemed to shake it off. “You want answers Harrys, perhaps we can find some in the library – come on.”
Together they left the house and walked across the square which was now empty after the Diversional.
“Roebel, we must fight the Prime. I believe it’s evil. Do you know it had Dayla’s father executed?”
“I know,” said Roebel sadly. “Both my parents were murdered in the name of the Prime. I suppose that’s the real reason I became a rebel.”
Harrys stopped and decided to change the subject. He pointed to some larger buildings to the right of him. “Those are obviously not houses, what are they?”
Roebel explained that the nearest building was the Library; next was the Consul of the Prime which ran the day-to-day affairs of the People of the Prime. The strange cone-like building was the House of Execution.
“Where does the Prime live?” Harrys asked almost casually.
Roebel smiled. “All in good time, my friend. First we go to the Library.”
Harrys studied him perceptively. How much of a rebel really was Roebel?
The doors to the Library simply pushed open. There didn’t seem much need for locks on Prime, reflected Harrys. The corridor opened out into a large room that was predictably adorned with plenty of books along its walls.
“Where shall we start?” asked an eager Roebel.
“I was hoping you could tell me,” Harrys replied. Much to Harrys’ surprise, Roebel then went on to say that he had never set foot inside the library before. The Prime frowned upon idle curiosity. The only people the Prime approved of using the Library were craftsmen and people studying to perform a Diversional.
As such, the only subjects Harrys could find in the many books was either scripts for the seemingly thousands of Diversionals; manuals on house building and such-like – and some on elementary consul procedure. Roebel could only find the same. After a time, Harrys felt like giving up. He was fed up. But then his mind thought back to those favourite murder-mystery Holovids from ancient Mother earth. They always seemed to find a vital clue from a book on the top shelf.
“Roebel, fetch that ladder, will you?” Roebel fetched and Harrys climbed up the ladder. The books on top seemed equally unimportant, although there was a red one right at the end. He stretched to look at it. The PrimeShip was written on its spine. Harrys pulled the book out and looked inside – all of the pages were blank. But the removal of the book had sprung a hidden lever. The whole bookcase swung backwards revealing a hidden passageway. Harrys fell into it. Roebel came running after him.
“A secret passageway – how exciting,” Roebel enthused.
Confirming that he was all right to Roebel, Harrys climbed to his feet. They were in a small room with a small bookcase. Every book on the bookcase had the same title displayed on its spine: The PrimeShip.
With interest, Harrys studied the books. After Roebel had helped slightly with the complicated dating system, Harrys began to piece together the secret history of the Prime. Aeons ago, the Prime launched a spaceship to travel to a different galaxy; the spaceship contained a gift – but what? Eagerly Harrys reached for the next volume. Maybe he could escape from this planet after all.
“Harrys,” called Roebel.
“Not now Roebel, I think I’ve nearly uncovered the secret of the Prime.”
“Harrys,” called Roebel again.
Obviously not listening, Harrys carried on. “Perhaps then, armed with that secret, we can defeat the Prime and free this world.”
“Harrys.” This time the voice was female – Dayla’s.
Harrys swung rou
nd. There was two burly PrimeMovers behind her.
“The Prime has decreed that you are now a potential threat. You shall be executed immediately,” Dayla said with that same casual air.
“Dayla,” cried Harrys imploringly.
“We will manage with only 748 persons until the next childling is born. It is the will of the Prime.”
Harrys’ hand reached inside his pocket and he deftly palmed a piece of paper. “I’m afraid it’s goodbye then, friend Roebel.” He shook his hand and the paper changed hands.
The two PrimeMovers held each of Harrys’ arms. He was taken to the House of Execution.
“Goodbye my love,” Dayla said sweetly as Harrys was thrown inside. This time the bolt was slammed home, locking the door solidly.
Stood in the centre of the metallic floor, Harrys looked up, unwittingly mirroring Dayla’s father before him. Through the hole, Harrys could see the blue sky turn black. Thunder suddenly roared – and fork-lightning hit the opening and the end of the tube. Harrys watched in horror as the pulse of lightning spiralled towards him.
He had dared to question the Prime. He realised he was against everything the Prime stood for. But what was the Prime? Now, he would never find out.
The lightning struck the floor.
Harrys screamed.
FOUR
The Prime
The scream of death turned into a scream of life as Harrys jumped into the air. The lightning subsided as Harrys landed.
A sly, clever grin enriched a smug Harrys face. “Simple really, just one jump to beat the Prime.” His smile though was wiped clean away when the sky darkened further still and the rolling thunder became angrier.
A petrified Harrys could only watch as an incredible array of lightning forks struck the roof in rapid succession. It was as if the Prime was annoyed – and this time he was making sure. Round and round, the series of lightning pulses coiled down. A jump wouldn’t save him this time – this time he needed to fly.
