MANJIRI PRABHU
Readomania Publishing
A division of Kurious Kind Media Private Limited
466, DDA SFS Apartments, Pocket 1, Sector 22, Dwarka,
New Delhi – 110077
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email: [email protected]
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First Published in 2018 by Readomania
© Copyright Manjiri Prabhu
Manjiri Prabhu asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this book.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events or locations, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted (including but not limited to photocopying, scanning, cyclostating) or stored (including but not limited to computers, external memory devices, e-readers, websites etc.) in any kind of retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Dedicated to my sister Sonia Prabhu,
for her inherent strength, love and support...
Prologue
If I don’t write it down, it could all get lost. I don’t have a Memory Porter like the Altklugs that would accumulate memories in digital capsules, for generations to refer to. All I have is a pen and some paper, a very limited stock mind you, but still it has to suffice to create a record. Frankly, it isn’t entirely my story to tell and I don’t even know where to begin…. With a background of the Altklugs and the way they function? With a description of their Ace-world you have to see to believe? With the Altklugs themselves who are miniature representations of us, but with the brain power of hundreds of us? Or quite simply, a sketch of the deep Snarl, where I am right now, struggling with the imagery and the sheer existence of untouched wilderness, in abundance all around me?
I think I’ll begin by sharing with you an extract from an article by Preceptor Amadeus, which appeared in the Altklug Thermiodical:
It couldn’t be called the end of civilisation yet, but if this continued, it soon could. I know that I may be penalised for saying this, or even sent to the Dissolution Crypt, but I will speak out. I am a Thinker and it is my duty to tell the world of Altklugs—to change their way of thinking.
I was right there, in front of the Dissolution Crypt yesterday when the current batch of lamebren was sent in. To some they may look like over-sized, gangling creatures. But to me, they looked like frightened lamebren, pitiable, unaware of their fate and more of a danger to themselves than to the Altklugs. When the Siren announced their departure, I was startled. I had no idea that the scene would stir such strong emotions within me. In bare minimum words: it felt wrong.
Why can’t the Governor approach this problem differently? In today’s advanced age, when we have total control over emotions, maturity, nature, knowledge and technology, why should Age Progression be such a threat? Why should the lamebren be such a threat to our existence? Can’t we experiment? And by that I do NOT mean using the lamebren in the labs to experiment on, as is the latest hot topic of debate! I mean, why can’t we give the lamebren a chance?
Please, this is my appeal to all the Altklugs—those with political clout and power as well as those with the civil consensus—please, awaken from your rigid models of mechanism and give nature a chance.
The day this article appeared in the Thermiodical, Preceptor Amadeus received a legal Thermiotice. He was accused of disrupting the peace of the Altklug Super-Dome and threatened with dire consequences if he continued such practices. I have no idea if Preceptor Amadeus paid heed to the warnings or showed any caution, however, I do know that while he was trying to create awareness of an important issue that could save many lives, there was someone else, just awakening to the need of self-preservation.
She was No. G23 and though known by that tag for all purposes, her name was Zinnia. A lamebirl in an Altklug world, Zinnia is unlike any other lamebirl I know. She is incomparable and in many ways remarkable. This is as much her story as that of every lamebren. I have gathered it all together, in bits and pieces. Sometimes I was a witness to the events while at most times I wasn’t, but in all essence, this is definitely Zinnia’s brave struggle for justice and survival of lamebren.
Map of the Altklug Super-Dome
Altklug Ace-World Hierarchy
1
First, it was the siren just as the snowflakes began to fall uncharacteristically outside the window. And then later, it was the kiss.
The siren wailed and moaned, creeping into the tiniest slits of the Altklug Super-Dome, like a living, breathing entity. It swept into the Dome Piazzars, into the Job Galleries, into the Labs, through the Governor’s Central Quarters and even through the Paramour Paths. Like a snake that had escaped from the Zoelter, slithering between the tiny snowflakes which had no business falling at that hour of the day and through the conscience. For some precious moments, the Altklugs paused in their work, fleetingly disturbed into a hush. Then they resumed their tasks, their minds already occupied with more pressing matters.
Inside the Ret Cabana, Zinnia couldn’t bear it. The siren continued for a whole minute and it pierced her head like a painful laser beam. She clapped her hands over her ears to block the torturous sound but it filtered through her small fingers and wrapped around her brain, squeezing out all tolerance. A scream rose from her heart and she wanted to beg for the siren to be stopped. But it mourned obstinately, sucking at her insides, till the tears streamed down her cheeks.
When it finally ended, the echoes of the siren refused to ebb from her head. Outside, the snowflakes hugged the ground like a smooth, fluffy carpet, the fall concluding its journey as unpredictably as it had been activated.
Later in the day, it was the kiss. Zinnia felt as if she was swirled in mid-air and slammed into a dark pit of thorns. She had felt dizzy, shaken and mentally bruised. And that was when she realised something was really wrong with her...with everything...
******
They were in Aerobut’s class. It was a small room, white-washed and uncluttered, except for the glass cabinets which lined the front wall from top to bottom and the high-tech toys and miniature spinners that sat at the other end of the room. The latter were the favourites of the younger lamebren but Zinnia didn’t quite fancy them. She was rather fascinated by the glass cabinets which stocked all kinds of amazing information in hundreds of tiny capsules. It was a thrilling world filled with answers to questions she couldn’t even dream of. She longed to open them and pour over them, but they had been sternly requested to stay away from the cabinets. This wasn’t because the capsules were for exclusive access of the Altklugs. But mainly because the lamebren were considered too ill-equipped to even operate them, let alone browse through them.
Aerobut referred to none of these capsules when he taught them. He interacted with them through the mini-K. Sensors attached to their desks. Even with the little lamebroy No. 205 or Juju as Zinnia liked to call him, who was quick to learn stuff. Zinnia was particularly good with her poems and recited them one after the other. Aerobut, sturdy-looking with a beard which Zinnia thought looked bizarre on such a short person, appeared pleased.
‘Well done No. 201. You have a sharp mind for a lamebirl.’
‘Thank you,’ Zinnia replied, primly.
She was in awe of Aerobut because he was so exceptionally clever. He devoured capsule after capsule from the K. Bank and his face shone with all the information crammed in his head. Zinnia felt like a naïve fool at times. He was only e
leven, a year older than her and yet there wasn’t anything he did not know.
‘Sir...can I ask you something?’ she ventured.
‘Yes. But make it quick.’
‘Sir, what was that sound we heard this morning? The creepy sound...’
‘Oh that―that was the Siren of Departure,’ the tutor replied, briefly.
‘What is the Siren of Departure?’
Aerobut threw a quick look at the other lamebren bent over their mini-K. Sensors.
‘It is a sign of termination. It is for the knowledge of the Altklugs that there have been some...departures from the Super-Dome,’ Aerobut explained calmly.
‘So, every time someone dies, the siren rings?’
Aerobut hesitated for the briefest moment. ‘No, the siren rings only at the death of the lamebren.’
Zinnia stared at him, struggling with incomprehension. The others glanced up curiously.
‘But...’
‘That’s quite enough No. 201. Now, please feed in the numbers up to ten thousand and rhyme the following words,’ Aerobut continued, staring at the rest of the students.
The three lamebirls and the lone lamebroy hastily bent their heads over their K. Sensors and jotted down the dictation. In their black demi-legos and demi-sleevers, they looked earnest. Zinnia felt a rush of affection for them. They all tried so hard and yet she knew that they were not up to mark. That was the reason they were specially tutored and did not attend a proper K. Port like the rest of the Altklugs. She was aware of this, but there was so much more that was obscure and beyond her comprehension. Aerobut was very patient with them and Zinnia was grateful for this. Unlike their Supercustodian, who regarded them with a strange scorn—as if they were creatures from another Super-Dome.
The Siren of Departure, even the name sounded ominous...
‘Lamebirl No. 201, kindly report in my bureau at once,’ a voice ordered in the air startling Zinnia out of her reverie. That was the Supercustodian, asking for her. Never had any lamebren been called away from the class before. What could it be? She rose uncertainly and glanced at Aerobut for permission.
‘Sounds urgent…I think you had better go,’ he said. A frown marred his face.
Zinnia knew that he was wondering too.
Although the voice had been amplified throughout the Ret Cabana, she couldn’t gauge the direction of the sound. She never could. She had searched for long hours trying to figure out where the Sounders were placed but had come up with nothing. Asking her Cabana mates was totally useless as they were a bunch of frightened kids, much younger than her, who barely uttered a word. Finally, out of sheer curiosity, she had asked the Supercustodian, who had shaken her head at her curiosity and told her briefly that they were ‘embedded in the walls’ of the Ret Cabana and Zinnia had to be content with that.
******
The Supercustodian was seated in her revolving, glass chair and table, with a Thermionic paper in her hand. She was talking to the multi-D screen on the wall opposite her, ‘Channel 24 and volume to 14.’
Instantly, channel 24 detached from the TV and appeared in multi-D before the Supercustodian. It was the news in a minute. The screen filled with several options: Debate over the Paramour Path; Governor Tisya’s new policies; Change in the day schedules of the Altklugs; Discussion of the outdated system of Cloning and its reintroduction and relevance in the present day; The miracles of a four-month Altklug and his ability to do brain-mapping...
‘Excuse me, Ma’am,’ Zinnia interrupted hesitantly
‘Lamebirl No. 201?’ Supercustodian confirmed without glancing at her and still staring at the multi-D screen.
‘Yes.’ Zinnia nodded and thought to herself, as if she didn’t know. There were only five of them at the Ret Cabana.
‘Get your things together, you’re leaving.’
‘Leaving?’ Zinnia was confused.
The warden, who was the same height as her but thrice her size, threw a sharp look in her direction, through her rim-less glasses.
‘The spinner will be here at 1700 hours. You have sixty minutes to pack your belongings.’
‘But, where am I going? And when will I return?’
‘You’re not coming back. And lamebirls don’t ask questions. They just follow orders.’
‘Not coming back? I don’t understand...I don’t want to leave. I...I can’t dream of living anywhere else!’ Zinnia exclaimed.
The Supercustodian passed her a stony look as if she was spouting expletives and not her concern.
‘Dream? What do you mean? What kind of a word is that?’
Zinnia faltered. Dream...how had she come up with that word? How could she explain it to the Supercustodian? But mercifully, she didn’t have to. Supercustodian had returned her gaze to the screen.
‘Play me, Governor Tisya’s new policies!’ she barked.
Instantly the image flickered and the Presenter made an appearance. She was so real, that Zinnia felt she could lean over and touch her physically. But of course it was only an image.
The presenter began pleasantly, ‘Good Afternoon, this hour’s news: This morning Governor Tisya had a meeting with her core group, Commander Hertz was also a part of this group. The Governor introduced her set of new policies in the meeting...’
Zinnia knew she was dismissed. It was useless asking the Supercustodian anything, anyway. She had always been a tight-lipped woman who had nothing to say to her.
With her heart thumping with anxiety, Zinnia returned to the classroom.
Aerobut glanced up at her, ‘Well, what was so urgent?’ he asked.
‘I have been asked to pack. I...’ she couldn’t say more.
For a moment, Aerobut looked surprised. Then the look was replaced by a frown.
‘Oh, I see. It’s your turn perhaps. You should go and pack then.’ His matter-of-fact tone was so dry, that for a moment Zinnia was perplexed.
‘My turn? For what? Where am I going?’ she asked, but her heart was beginning to slam in her chest.
‘Well, you’ll find out soon enough,’ the Exector replied, airily.
All the four Cabana mates were now staring at Zinnia with wide eyes.
‘But Sir...’
‘Lamebirl No. 201, I don’t think you should waste any time. Time is of utmost essence in the world. You may not understand it right now, but you will one day. I advise you to hasten to your room and get ready.’
‘I will Sir.’
Aerobut nodded and returned his attention to his palmtop. Zinnia threw a last look at the classroom. She felt snubbed—not even a goodbye from Aerobut or a mention of her hard work, or the fact that he would miss her in class. After all she had been a good student, hadn’t she? But his indifference pinched some corner of her heart. She was just another lamebirl to him, whatever that meant.
On an impulse, she turned to him. ‘Sir, one day, when I do understand, will you sit down and listen to me? Will you ask me what I felt when I left the Ret Cabana forever?’
Aerobut raised startled eyes to her, ‘Certainly.’
‘Thank you and…goodbye.’
******
She climbed the staircase to the room she had shared with the others. A bag had been placed on her bed for her belongings, not that there was much—a set of clothes that was given to her every year and a furry dog, a stuffed toy that had been with her all her life. It had been a parting gift from her parents.
The other lamebren entered the room one by one.
‘Aerobut gave us an off,’ Lamebirl No. 202 informed.
‘Are you going somewhere?’ No. 203, a six-year old lamebirl, asked shyly.
Zinnia nodded. She had named the two lamebirls Jinny and Arry. In fact, she had a name for each one of the four lamebren, which had instantly added a sense of familial belonging between them.
‘Where?’ Jinny asked.
‘Wish I knew,’ replied Zinnia with a sigh.
Arry appeared worried. ‘You are coming back, aren’t you?’
Zinn
ia turned to face her and the other three kids. ‘I don’t know.’
‘But this is your home!’ Jinny exclaimed.
It was true that this was the only home she remembered, this small box-like white house, with a circular garden and no flowers, where every room seemed like a replica of the other to her befuddled mind. She was three years old then but surprisingly, she still remembered parts of that tearful parting with her mother. The puzzlement, the fear and the sense of insecurity she had experienced when she had been dragged away from her Altklug parents still sparked and clouded her memory. And although, over the years, the intensity of the feelings had reduced, the bafflement had continued and perhaps even augmented and only now begun to be replaced by flashes of vague understanding. Since then she had met her parents only twice every year and this year they hadn’t visited at all. Was it perhaps because of her candid observation on their last visit?
Zinnia had jumped with happiness when they had appeared and she had shouted joyfully, ‘Look mama, I am taller than you!’
Something changed in that instant. Her father, Radley, had withdrawn visibly and her mother, Vera, had appeared flustered. Almost as if she had said something wrong.
‘Shh….don’t you utter such things aloud! It is bad enough as it is, must you draw attention to the fact?’ Vera had admonished.
‘Draw attention to what? What is bad enough?’ Zinnia had asked puzzled.
‘Come on, we’re late. Take care little girl,’ her father had wound up hastily.
Revolt of the Lamebren: Book 1 of the Super-Dome Chronicles Page 1
