by Gary Starta
Mavra did not realize the mainlanders were oblivious to Alzabreah’s creation. They were never told about the drones. Alzabreah and Quan managed to keep their work a secret, even from Quan’s parents. They knew such a radical idea just might set off a war. The mainlanders glad to be free of the radical coalition gladly sold the island to Alzabreah. The sale nearly siphoned the last of Alzabreah’s money. For that reason, she continued to trade with the mainlanders, exporting large quantities of genetically grown fruit in exchange for computer and laboratory equipment.
A strange feeling gripped Mavra so tightly she didn't realize she was referring to Thorpleen as if he were an object. She swore a strange, small voice was subliminally electing her to right Alzabreah's wrongs. Mavra's face fell into a cationic glaze as she listened intently to the sounds of the meadow. She was only able to mumble a few more words, which instructed Thorpleen she would again rendezvous with him in 24 hours.
Her intention had been to instill some confidence in the man she felt irresistibly attracted to in mind, spirit and body. She had failed miserably at this task and more tragically, Mavra did not even realize it. Thorpleen had wandered off in silent confusion. A chill ran up and down Mavra's spine as she headed back to the village. She would probably never forget the images of Alzabreah's icy cold stares that cut through the flickering flames of last night's remembrance ritual. Mavra felt she had danced in the honor of a fallen sister all alone.
The night felt cold, strange as it may be, because the nightly temperate of the tropical island rarely fell ten degrees cooler than the highest temperature of the day. Could Mavra be imagining this? She watched Alzabreah speak about the tragedy, giving her rapt attention just as she done months ago, when the first group of disciples joined Alzabreah’s Coalition for the Betterment of Women. In time, the name of the movement changed, just like the way Mavra perceived Alzabreah’s intentions. The coalition was renamed the New Order. But just months ago, Mavra trusted Alzabreah with her very life. How had she been duped? Deep down, she knew. Her parents had been a catalyst. She recalled a conversation before her departure.
“If you go with her, don’t come back here. I will not have you.”
Mavra’s father railed at her. He had frequently displayed disappointment with her before. But this time, his tone was filled with anger and hate.
“I am going to become a whole person, to better myself, father. Why can’t you understand?”
“I understand this woman is manipulating you. She is independently wealthy - thanks to her parents. She doesn’t see reality.”
“And all you see for me is a life filled with bearing children and living subservient to the whims of an uneducated Olvidian male.”
“Is that how you see me? Uneducated?” Mavra shuddered. Spittle flew from her father’s mouth. What would he do next to surprise her? Hit her?
“You see.” She pointed at her father, voice trembling. She cast her eyes downwards. “You threaten us when we question you. Don’t you see all Olvidian males are the same? Do you want me to wind up…”
She couldn’t finish the sentence. Her father hovered over her, daring her to complete her sentence, his shadow, reflected against the backdrop of a wall appeared to swallow her body. No. She wouldn’t let him take her soul, to make her voluntarily hand it over to any one of the rough and callous Olvidian men content to treat their women as if indentured servants. She had to draw the line.
“Okay, I’ll say it. Like Mom.”
Her mother could only gasp. She turned on her heels and left the room. Her father spoke to her.
“We’ve done everything we could for you. We spent our lives working for you.”
“That’s just the point. You cater to their system. You believe your leaders. You don’t realize all men and women are capable of growth. The Olvidian parliament has stunted you, convincing you to colonize on a new world where it would be even easier for them to manipulate you. I don’t want to live with your choice, father. I just want an alternative. I want to be somebody, not just some woman who lives as if she were dead, catering to a man she doesn’t love, devoid of any means to become independent or to better herself.”
Her father could say no more. He was more stunned by her speech than her ideas. She had finally stood up to him. Lacking self-confidence, her father believed Mavra had simply become a fool for Alzabreah to manipulate. He didn’t realize she had conviction and could express her desires in a logical manner. As much as he hated it, he had to admit there was logic in her words. He had always demoralized her, equating her shyness and silence with ignorance and rebellious intent. In a way, Mavra would reflect upon her relationship with Alzabreah in much the same way.
Her father gave her his blessing as best he could.
“You may go.” That’s all he could offer. Olvidian males were not known for tact. They usually spent the better portion of their day tending to their livestock. Their inadequate social skills were of no surprise.
Mavra bid her parents goodbye that day, sure she was leaving a life where she would only find union with a man incapable of passion. Now, months later, she feared a cruel trick had been played on her. Yes, she was in the arms of a passionate man, but a man incapable of love. And love and passion must be united or both may die. Mavra continued to reflect, recalling the first rally she attended for the Coalition of the Betterment of Females.
The brochure promised a way for lower class females to better their lives by freeing themselves of a choice-less society.
“You currently have no choice. Civilized beings should always have choices, means to develop themselves, avenues to take to not only better themselves but all beings of their planet.”
Alzabreah’s words mesmerized Mavra, as they did each and every one of the young woman seated around her. She had talked with these women, learning they too had suffered deteriorating relationships with their parents. They had also found Olvidian men to be unfulfilling sexually, because their initial passion usually flickered out within weeks of a relationship. “They don’t respect us,” one female named Elinga charged. “Yes, that’s right,” another one said. Mavra intervened. “Are you talking about our parents or the Olvidian males?” Laughter erupted at the irony. Alzabreah laughed, keeping her eyes trained on Mavra. “You are wise, young one. Join our coalition. Help me give choice to all Olvidian females.”
Her promises sounded so grand - so humanitarian - so selfless.
“Don’t become your mothers.” Alzabreah paused. “Don’t do this because I want you to, do it for yourselves.” Applause erupted.
“Don’t let yourself becoming a willing part to a life where work bleeds all desire for romance out of your souls. Deprogram yourself. Your parents can’t be blamed. They were engineered by ideals – to work for a system that eventually drained all desire and romance out of their souls. It was as if this system genetically altered the populace, by thought alone, negating the jubilance of youth, diluting the fascination for life, the wonder of beauty, turning your parents into soulless creatures. And don’t worry if you don’t make the leap overnight. This will take time. We must band together and unite our efforts. We can make changes too, not so much with ideas but with action. There are scientific methods being kept from you, avenues you can take with your newfound freedom which will help correct the impurities of all us - in time.”
Alzabreah concluded the speech, talking about how all the women should devote their lives to the study of eugenics. “It is just as important as giving birth. In fact, I think it’s more important. I will find a way for you to produce offspring that won’t diminish your capacity to become more than the sum of your parts. Men will no longer sap your strength. You will become a whole person, the strong, self-sufficient person you should be. The person nature intended for all us to be. But it’s up to us to give nature a hand. Your study will make a dream become reality. Join my coalition. Leave your trappings behind. Free your mind. Free your soul.”
Mavra couldn’t resist the ideals, the t
one of Alzabreah’s alluring voice, the emphatic way she presented herself, full of self confidence, never allowing one shred of self doubt poison her. Mavra wanted to become that person standing before her at the white podium. She would enlist in the coalition. Become part of the eugenics effort to help rid Olvidians of their disease. To help the colonists truly experience what a new world feels like, because a new world is not just a new home or space, but the embracing of a new ideology. Mavra now realized the attitude and logic had been instilled in her via Alzabreah, weeks before she had her final confrontation with her father. She now wondered if she truly been the person standing up to her father. Or was she simply a reflection of Alzabreah, standing before her father like a puppet, manipulated by a master of persuasion?
* * *
Mavra could not help but wonder if she had misjudged Alzabreah from the beginning. Alzabreah’s behavior at Katyana’s Remembrance Ritual further solidified her fears. The deceased woman's own flesh and blood seemed preoccupied only with the ramifications of the death. It was as if Alzabreah had been programmed to deal with success. And if that were true, Katyana's demise signaled failure.
The ceremony produced not a single tear from Alzabreah’s eyes.
Mavra watched in stunned silence, enraptured by the same hypnotic tune, played at every New Order gathering. A flute carried the melody, accompanied by harp and oboe. But it was the underlying beat that kept Mavra entranced. Underscored with a bass, the rhythm repeated the same sequencing pattern continuously during the song alternating between a three and five beat syncopation.
Da Da Da – Da Da Da Da Da – Da Da Da – Da Da Da Da Da
Suddenly an epiphany hit Mavra. The beat was all about control. But whom was it designed for? She doubted the song could alter her decisions, even though its soothing melody nearly put her in a catatonic state. She would spend the remainder of the evening wondering about its message, worrying about Thorpleen’s safety and cursing Alzabreah’s placidness. But underneath her façade of calm, Alzabreah swore, making a pact with herself and vowing she would never again taste the bitter fruit known as defeat.
* * *
Mavra met with Alzabreah as soon as she returned to the village. The high priestess remained stubbornly silent forcing Mavra to speak first.
“High priestess, I come here to request a fair trial for Doldruss. Hearings on the mainland require the proof of guilt before sentencing.”
“I don't need you to recant the law. My New Order is no longer under the jurisdiction of the mainland. I am judge, jury and executioner on this island.”
“What do you mean by executioner? Is he on trial for his life? Surely, the New Order is not that barbaric.” Mavra made sure she cast a sarcastic undertone to the words “New Order” - a tactic that did not go unnoticed by the high priestess.
“I will grant your precious Doldruss a trial. But as soon as he is pronounced guilty I will alter his genetic coding. Just as he growth spurt was engineered to take only eight months, so will his aging process. In nine months, he will have aged to the equivalent of a 200-year-old male Olvidian.”
“You said gene manipulation cannot work on a live subject? Or was that just another lie?”
“I should punish you for your blasphemy, Mavra. You are insolent. I run the order not you. But I will forgive your emotional outburst as a natural flaw. If you bothered to study my teachings more diligently, you would know all about the re-sequencing procedures I will use to one day to rid us of all our shortcomings.
“So is that all I am to you, now? Am I just another weed you need to pull from your garden?”
“Why don't you spend your energies praying for Thorpleen? Wasn't it he who led you to this disobedience? You must understand I am only acting in accordance with the calling of a higher power – a voice which obviously has not spoken to you.”
Mavra's complexion turned bleach white. The lack of sleep conspired with this latest confrontation to make her legs feel like wet noodles. Her head swam as she tried to fathom the viciousness of Alzabreah's so-called higher power. “Where is the benevolence of this higher power?” Mavra charged with anger.
“The New Order is benevolent, Mavra; but you are too blinded with passion to see it. To prove my intent is good, I will also grant a fair trial for Thorpleen. I cannot ignore the evidence. I have proof that you illegally engaged in passionate acts with him while my sister was being murdered. You see some of those pretty birds that fly overhead are equipped with surveillance cameras.”
Mavra could not speak. She turned and ran for the meadow. Sadness and anxiety conspired to make her hyperventilate. As soon as she reached the meadows, she dropped on the ground and rested her back on a tree in an attempt to catch her breath. Mavra inhaled and exhaled deeply until her pulse resumed its normal pace. Grasping handfuls of sand she swore to herself that she would defeat Alzabreah. She cast white granules into the air for a few minutes going over her options. Should she seek help from the following? And if she did, what could they do? It was very probable that the majority of the Olvidian women would never act to overthrow the high priestess despite the reality of her crime. They had been brainwashed and sometimes, Mavra sadly realized, this was sufficient to overcome free will when self-esteem was involved. As she looked for Katyana's processing unit, Mavra realized a drone could never have thrown anybody or anything over the sea cliff. The force field would have stopped the penetration, Mavra deduced. It was becoming more and more evident that Alzabreah had killed her sister. Evidence retrieval had just become Mavra's most important task in life. Without it, she thought, there was little hope of saving her lover or bringing a murderer to justice.
-Shadows-
She had viewed the tapes over and over. Someone was there, watching if only for a second. Rewind. Rewind. Replay. Replay. She watched it over and over again. Same image. Same girl. She bore an exact likeness of a disciple named Nessa. The image haunted Alzabreah. She succumbed to fits of panic, then rage, then panic again. How could she remedy the situation? There was only one way. She had designed a drone for such an event.
Elzeba carried a special gene inside of him - 0ne making him incapable of resisting Alzabreah’s orders. He was designed not only for lovemaking, but also for killing. An assassin might make this whole mess go away. As it was, control was already beginning to slip away from Alzabreah despite her elaborate control center, despite her genetic manipulation, despite her unshakeable self- confidence. Katyana’s death might be to blame. Perhaps, murdering her sister in cold blood unleashed some kind of karmic fate. Maybe framing an innocent drone unleashed a negative vibe. But a witness, that called for major damage control. She couldn’t just equate a witness with bad karma or a negative vibe. No, the witness changed the whole dynamic. If the witness could pin the murder on her, no force field or video cam could rectify the situation.
She realized there might be other options. She could stick to the original plan and have the drone murder Nessa. Or she could abduct Nessa. Let Doctor Quan use her skills to erase Nessa’s short-term memory. There was no guarantee of success and she really didn’t want to get Quan involved. Murder offered a tidier solution. She could always blame Elzeba for the murder later, just as she had Doldruss. All she would have to do is simply explain a defect caused the poor drones to murder. Doctor Quan would verify her findings, promise the disciples the anomaly was identified and corrected and everything would, hopefully, be back to normal.
But how could things be back to normal? Alzabreah’s conscience nagged at her. She killed her sister, plain and simple. But Katyana had given her no other choice.
She remembered standing on the cliff, arguing with Katyana….
“I’ll tell all your disciples. They’ll know what you did. I have the proof now. How could you do this to me, your own sister?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. If this is about Jodek I’m sorry I failed you.”
“You purposely failed me, Alzabreah. He awoke from the operation with a chang
e of heart. Care to enlighten me as to how this happened? How Jodek could wake up one day, and simply stop loving me? I’d love to hear your version. In fact, I demand to, because if you don’t I’m exposing your secret – not only to the disciples but to every Olvidian mainlander.”
“Don’t do this. This is a misunderstanding. You’ll shut us down. Our work to free Olvidians from their genetic shortcomings will end. You’ll condemn everyone over one man. Katyana – I implore you. Rethink this before you bind every Olvidian female in chains.”
“I might reconsider if you tell me the truth. Admit what you did.”
“I freed you, Katyana. You should be thanking me.”
“So you do admit it? But an insinuation is not enough. I want the truth, out with it, Alzabreah.”
The two women stepped closer to each other. Alzabreah extended her arms, feigning a desire to take Katyana in her arms.
When she had Katyana in reach, she pushed her away.
“I’m sorry…”
Those were the last words Katyana would hear. She didn’t hear her sister finish her sentence.
She somersaulted, backwards, head over heels, descending over the cliff in a freefall, heading straight for a rocky shoreline.
The island of light fell dark.
Alzabreah finished her sentence.
“…I had to kill you, sister.”
Why hadn’t the girl talked? She could be scared for her life. She had every reason to. Alzabreah finally concluded the girl in the video was indeed Nessa. Another casualty in the name of science, the New Order would miss her. But the needs of the many still outweighed the lives of the few.
“I want you to make love to Nessa. Don’t raise her suspicions. Get her in a vulnerable position and then take her life. I know I’m asking a lot from you Elzeba. But she’s guilty. I saw it on the tape.”
“Then you’ll free, Doldruss?”
