Revolt of the Lamebren: Book 1 of the Super-Dome Chronicles

by Manjiri Prabhu

  A few minutes later, the Demarcator slid open and the Supercustodian strode out.

  ‘Right, my Superiors were equally surprised that you want to engage in such a frivolous activity minutes before the Dissolution Crypt. But I’ve managed to convince them. Ten minutes is all you shall get to perform—not a minute more—immediately after the gifts have been distributed. Ten minutes only, is that understood?’

  ‘Thank you!’ Crispin and Zinnia exclaimed, delighted.

  ‘As soon as your performance is over, the charabanc would take the lamebren to the Dissolution Crypt.’

  ‘Can we begin preparations at once? We’ll need stuff for the play, so can we go to the Dome Piazzar―costumes and other stuff?’ Zinnia asked.

  ‘I don’t see why not. Bamian has anyway opted out of the teachings till the next batch of lamebren arrives. So you have plenty of free time to prepare for the play.’

  Bamian has opted out because there was no point teaching a group of lamebren who was anyway going to be killed, Zinnia thought bitterly. Neither the Exectors, Bamian and Mirella, nor Kripton had intervened or thought it right to object to this mass massacre—Yes, mass massacre was exactly what this was of innocent lamebren! They were all just mute spectators, indifferent to the evils practiced under the name of power. But Zinnia didn’t dare voice her thoughts. She gulped them down and sealed her lips. Nothing would make her jeopardise their last chance at freedom.

  ******

  ‘Camilla and I will write the play. Cheska, you will compose the music for the play with your floflute, which you and Crispin will record later. Cylia, we’ll buy some material and you can make us some nice tops to go with these trousers. Crispin, Reed, Berk and Maisie―you will make a list of things we shall need.’

  ‘Need?’

  They were sitting by the lake in the Paramour Path and not a single Altklug was around, but still Zinnia lowered her voice.

  ‘Yes, things we shall need. We are going to escape into the Snarl. Although we know that Leo is there to take care of us, we have to go prepared.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Crispin agreed. ‘Small food items which can last us for a while, a blanket or two, other emergency stuff. We have to remember that we shall quit the high-tech comfortable Altklug Ace-world for good and move to a rather ferocious forest. We have no clue what survival there means, so we must go prepared.’

  ‘I’m frightened,’ Azalea said. ‘I’d much rather stay here.’

  ‘You would hate to be here without us, even for a day,’ Ivy scoffed. ‘Buckle up Azalea, we don’t have a choice.’

  Azalea did not respond. She looked pale and tiny and Zinnia felt sorry for her.

  ‘We’ll manage,’ she assured her. ‘Leo managed for sixty years!’

  That seemed to cheer up the frail lamebirl and she smiled. ‘I guess you’re right.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking. Why can’t we just walk out into the Snarl right now? What will happen?’ Maisie asked.

  ‘You will be hunted down and killed on the spot. Don’t forget that there are Scanners in the sky which pick up every activity in the Super-Dome. Besides, if one of us disappears the others would instantly be punished. So it will have to be all or none,’ Crispin explained.

  ‘But you’ve gone into the Snarl and nothing happened to you,’ Reed pointed out.

  ‘That’s because we returned. Had we gone missing, hell would’ve broken loose.’

  ‘But if the Altklugs don’t want us, why can’t they just let us go?’ Berk wondered.

  ‘It’s not just that they don’t want us. They want to eliminate us forever, so that more will not be born, so that all the super development that they have achieved will not go into regression. They fear that intermingling of the lamebren with the Altklugs would lead to a polluted race, and their efficiency would suffer. If they eliminate all the lamebren, they would ensure that their race would continue pure and unadulterated,’ Crispin clarified.

  ‘Which means it’s either the “grand escape” or “death”,’ Zinnia said, her gaze cruising over the reflective faces.

  They were all silent for a few moments. Zinnia was aware that their minds were churning with questions and fear seemed to gyrate between emotions of anger and hope.

  ‘I know what I’m going to do,’ Cylia said, breaking the tense pause. ‘I’ll stitch up our three sets of clothes one on top of the other, so that we don’t have to carry anything on hand.’

  ‘Splendid idea,’ Crispin agreed. ‘And you can add secret pockets to the insides, where we can stuff the small items.’

  ‘So you boys make a list and in the afternoon, we’ll all go to the Dome Piazzar. Please don’t forget to get your Mudra added. We’ll need all the money we have,’ Zinnia said.

  Cheska glanced at Zinnia. ‘You are confident that we’ll make it to the Snarl , aren’t you?’

  Zinnia nodded. ‘Yes I am. I am also excited and a little worried because if our plan fails, that’s the end. But somehow, deep inside I feel that some power in the Universe will look after us. All we have to do is to try to execute this plan with all our heart and soul.’

  The others looked at her with hope in their eyes.

  ‘Between the Dissolution Crypt and the Snarl, I choose the Snarl. So let’s send this message out to the Universe: I choose to live in the Snarl,’ Zinnia emphasised the last words.

  ‘I choose to live in the Snarl.’ One by one the lamebren repeated the sentence.

  ‘And every night before you sleep, repeat this affirmation at least once,’ the young lamebirl added and the others nodded obediently.

  Crispin glanced at Zinnia and smiled.

  ******

  The last and only time Zinnia had been to the Dome Piazzar, had been with Iris, when they had met Preceptor Sven. Now when Zinnia thought back, she wondered if they had met him by chance or perhaps it had been a premeditated appointment. Perhaps Iris had planned the market trip in the first place, just so that she could meet Sven there? In hindsight, Zinnia realised how naive she had been. She hadn’t fathomed the intricate workings of Iris’s mind at all.

  The lamebren stood in the centre of the huge Square, the surrounding towers rising high into the sky.

  ‘We shall have to split. Ivy and Maisie can take charge of the food items. Crispin and Cheska can get the props for the play. Reed and Berk can buy us some ring-lights, with the longest range and sharpest light. And Camilla, Cylia and I shall see about the clothes. All set everybody?’

  ‘Yes, we’ll meet at this central tower in sixty minutes,’ Crispin agreed.

  They all dispersed in different directions. Zinnia, Camilla and Cylia had to hardly wait for a few minutes, before the internal charabanc glided along and they hopped into it. A few Altklugs were seated in the front and the three lamebirls took the back seats. They passed Store No. 55 where Iris had bought her scarf and Zinnia almost smiled at the memory of the older girl’s excitement. What a blessing it was that she could smile at the memory now and not grieve at the thought of Iris.

  The clothes store was amazing. The materials were of the softest variety—the ones that breathed the best, the ones that absorbed sweat, the ones that cooled the body and the ones that warmed the body. The variety stretched as per the weather hours, a different choice for each hour. Zinnia’s head swan with the options. Finally, Cylia picked an all-purpose variety in yellow and white. They fed the cloth into the machine, wrote the number of metres they needed and pressed the green button. The automated system measured the exact cloth and cut it smooth and straight. Zinnia fed in her padlet number and the Mudra from her account were balanced against the amount. The supervising Altklug kept a sharp eye on them but did not interfere. The lamebren took their parcel and walked out of the shop.

  ‘Wow! I feel as if I have achieved a feat,’ Camilla exclaimed.

  ‘It is really a strain on the nerves―the precision, the automation and yet for the Altklugs, life is so much simpler,’ Zinnia remarked.

  ‘I enjoyed it all.’ Cy
lia giggled. ‘And I’m going to enjoy using up all this material.’

  ‘We’ll need a couple of blankets too. You have some Mudra in your accounts, don’t you girls?’ Zinnia asked.

  ‘I do―I’ve never used it. Anyway, all the Mudra would go waste if we don’t use it now. So, may as well empty the account, what say?’ Camilla said.

  Sixty minutes later, everyone met at the Central tower, armed with their shopping bags.

  ‘That was kind of fun, wasn’t it?’ Cheska asked his twin.

  ‘I thoroughly enjoyed it,’ Camilla agreed.

  ‘Shopping for the food was a little unnerving,’ Ivy remarked. ‘The sheer choice is mind-boggling!’

  Maisie giggled. ‘Finally, we just turned off our thoughts and chose every alternate packet.’

  ‘And we’ve bought the best ring-lights of the Ret Cubicle,’ Berk declared proudly.

  ‘That’s right. A bit expensive but well worth the money,’ Reed supplied.

  ‘So then, we are now all set. We return to the Cubicle and begin work on the play immediately,’ Crispin announced.

  ‘Yay!’ The twins grinned, showing their crooked teeth and a general wave of excitement and anticipation passed through each one of them.

  The lamebren threw themselves into the preparations of the drama. Zinnia and Camilla wrote and rewrote the script. Cheska practiced several tunes for the background score. When Camilla gave him the song, he tried to compose a nice catchy number. Crispin and he tried to record the tracks on a chip. The timing had to be perfect. Cylia and Azalea stitched hard, making deep, stretchable pockets that could hide small articles, like pocket lights. Zinnia realised that Cylia was a miracle with her needle; she could convert a harmless-looking piece of cloth into something amazing. Reed, Ivy, Maisie and Berk collected and organised the props for the play. They slit open the blankets and filled them out with more clothes and another blanket. But they were careful not to overload or make it bulky. Cylia then stitched it up again and it looked as good as new.

  The lamebren began rehearsals with Zinnia directing the play. Their excitement was laced with anxiety at first, but gradually as they began to get engrossed in the performance, their nervous energy was converted into positive activity. The play had diverted their attention from the impending death appointment, and for some precious hours during the day, they almost forgot the goal behind the performance. Even Azalea seemed to be roused from her pessimistic frame of mind to actually display some enthusiasm. She seemed weaker than ever and Zinnia was careful to keep her away from any stressful conversation.

  Not for long however. A momentary lapse and reality came rushing back to them. Zinnia did her best to keep those moments at bay. She prodded them into thinking, charged them with affirmative thoughts and filled them with funny, joyful emotions. She was grateful for the play―it served perfectly in alleviating the pain and grief that inevitably accompanied the countdown to their death. Or countdown to freedom―whatever transpired.

  Crispin noticed that a couple of Humanoids were appointed at the Ret Cubicle and warned his friends. Under Bosco’s instructions they seemed to be patrolling the Cubicle at odd hours. Lorde kept a safe distance from all of them, but his hawk-like mean eyes missed nothing. His presence made Zinnia nervous, even more than the Humanoids.

  With a week left to go for the festival, Zinnia and Crispin slipped into the Snarl. The clearing where they usually met Leo was deserted. Crispin picked up the stick and played the rhythm code that Leo had taught them. Dhun, dhun, dhun-dhuna-dhun—the sound of the drum reverberated through the trees, lifting with the wind like an echo deep into the forest. Crispin and Zinnia waited for a few minutes then repeated the code. Fifteen minutes later, Doodle came prancing up to them, woofing happily. Leo appeared in the clearing.

  ‘Hello there!’ the old man greeted cheerfully.

  ‘Wow, this actually works,’ Crispin said, amazed.

  ‘What did you think young boy? Communicating non-verbally and with whatever tools available―that is the real meaning of survival,’ Leo remarked.

  ‘Right Sir,’ the lamebroy accepted, with respect in his voice.

  ‘So are you all set? How are the children holding up?’ Leo asked.

  ‘Better than we thought,’ Crispin replied. ‘The play is fun and everyone is involved, so it takes their mind off the real thing.’

  ‘You suggested this play on purpose didn’t you?’ Zinnia asked with sudden insight. ‘So that all of us would be too involved to sit and brood over the death penalty?’

  Leo chuckled. ‘Sort of...it helped, didn’t it?’

  ‘It certainly did. Now we are all geared up for the play and the grand escape.’ Crispin grinned.

  Leo nodded. ‘On our part, we are all set too.’

  ‘You mean you and Iris?’

  ‘We—there are some others involved too,’ Leo said briefly. ‘But you don’t have to know who. The less you know the better, in case something goes wrong. Good luck! And keep up the great work. We’ll be there at the appointed time, so fear not. Just believe that you will succeed...’

  He embraced the two lamebren, patted them a little awkwardly on the head and smiled warmly at them. ‘See you on this side of the world soon.’

  There was one thing that Zinnia knew she had to do, before the big day of the festival. One morning, three days before the play, she caught the early morning charabanc. All through the ten minute ride through the skyways, her mind was filled with trepidation. Would she find all of them there? The little lamebren, Peeta, Aerobut...it had been almost a year since she was transferred to the Ret Cubicle. A year was a long time in Altklug years. Would Peeta still be there?

  The Ret Cabana looked just the same―square boxes and cold. Hesitantly, she entered the small hall and approached the kitchen. Four little heads were bent in silent concentration over their breakfast. Jinny, Arry, Lily and Juju―their solemn, innocent faces brought on a rush of affection in Zinnia.

  ‘Hello!’ she greeted cheerfully.

  Their heads shot up and for a moment they stared.

  ‘Zinnia!’ Arry cried out in recognition and all at once, four little bodies flung themselves at her and clung to her in joy.

  The next few minutes passed with such a criss-cross train of excited questions that it sounded garbled. Zinnia had a hard time understanding and calming down the excited lamebren. She was a good deal taller than them now. She recalled how immature and innocent she had been at the Ret Cabana. So confused and puzzled. So much had changed since then. Here she was, a completely new person, perhaps meeting these little lamebren for the last time.

  ‘Zinnia, you look so pretty now!’ Lily admired.

  ‘And your hair’s grown long and lovely,’ Jinny added.

  Zinnia laughed. ‘Thank you, sweethearts. Look, I’ve got some gifts for you...’

  She passed them the pic-chips that she had picked up at the Piazzar―little stories which came alive around you and the characters took you along in the story.

  ‘Thank you!’ they chorused in delight.

  ‘Oh I love these, thank you.’ Juju looked happy.

  ‘But how have you been?’ Arry enquired.

  ‘Where do you live now? Can we come visit you?’ Lily stared at the older lamebirl.

  Zinnia tried to respond to the best of her ability. She didn’t want to reveal too much, nor keep them totally in the dark. After all, very soon, it would be their turn to be transferred to the Ret Cubicle. The thought sent a chill down her spine and she shuddered....

  ‘Where’s Peeta? I want to meet her,’ Zinnia said.

  The lamebren flashed quick looks at each other.

  ‘Last month, she said goodbye to us...said that her time had come and that she was not returning to the Ret Cabana. On her last day here, she specially prepared a delicious meal for us and said that she wished she could’ve met you one final time. We told her that we could call you...but she refused. Said she did not want to disturb you in your new life...but there wer
e tears in her eyes when she left us. After that we never saw her again...’ Juju replied.

  Never saw her again because she must’ve been dispatched to the Dissolution Crypt, Zinnia realised with a bitter jolt. Since the life of every single individual hinged on efficiency, was it at all surprising that Peeta had reached the end of her road?

  ‘We miss her...’ Lily added. ‘The new Cook is not at all nice. She says it’s a waste of time feeding us...’

  Zinnia stared at the naive faces before her―clueless of what life held for them, isolated in their solitude, unloved and treated like disposable items. A padlet-sized lump rose in her throat and she couldn’t speak. These poor lamebren...Peeta no more...the thought stabbed her in the heart and a tide of grief overcame her but the tears refused to fall. They had congealed into the Snow Hour by now.

  ******

  ‘All lamebren in the hall, at once!’ the amplified voice was stern and cold.

  Now what? Zinnia wondered. It was the evening before the festival. Tomorrow at eleven forty-five in the night they would perform and set the plan of the grand escape into motion. Even the thought made the hairs on her arm rise. If all went well, the day after, at this time in the morning, they would be free birds, with no looming shadow of the Altklugs over their lives.

  Zinnia stepped into the hall where the other lamebren had already gathered. The mirrors on the wall, multiplied the lamebren into double and Zinnia was glad that it was just a reflection.

  Colonel Kripton strode in, followed by Bosco. He looked grimmer than usual. He was holding a thermionic paper in his hand. For a moment, his intense gaze flicked over their faces.