Prologue
The Great Bottleneck. A cataclysm that ripped the world asunder and claimed nearly 99.9 percent of the world’s population of 20 billion.
Those who survived took upon themselves the arduous task to rebuild the world to what it once was. Ever vigilant, yet uncertain, for after so much was lost, perhaps the most consequential was the forgotten history. One for which few lessons could be learned.
The Silent Years, the Great War, the Transcendence, and finally the Great Bottleneck. All relegated to a fragmented mosaic of history and sooth that the most ardent of truth-seekers found elusive.
Now. The quarturn is 1618 A.B. The world has nearly returned to its former state. The threat of repeating the mistakes of the past has also returned, and threatens to again bring ruin to the world.
Book 1 — Chapter 1
Day: Hyningo
Date: 1
Month: Nokaokarium
Quarturn: 1618
Location: Entering the city of Ako
The colors of burgundy, gold, brown, and white danced behind Ash’s closed eyelids. Their movement was dictated by the unseen world as it passed by quickly, precipitated by the speed of the train on which she was riding.
She often made a guessing game of it. Trying to determine what elements of the surrounding environment were influencing the shadows and light. It was a game that often went without conclusion, as coaxing her eyes to open and observe was admittedly a slow process.
She attributed this to the white noise orchestrated by the train. The hum of the air as it rushed past. The light rhythmic beats as the levitation component moved from one piece of track to another. It was a continuous sound that, even contemplating it, was drawing her eyes darker and deeper into the enticement of sleep.
But as flashes burst forth in rapid succession, she felt her mouth turn to a little grin as she was keenly aware of what was passing now; the thinning of the trees letting the sun shine through them and causing the bright flickering she was experiencing.
She opened her large brown eyes to observe; she had indeed won this round of her game as the trees were thinning, giving way to the rising sun and its light. Of course, with the thinning of the trees in this part of the world, it always meant a city was nearing.
A morning groan escaped her graceful lips as she stretched her legs and arms, lengthening them as far as her body would allow in the confined space. Though to say the space was confined was not fully accurate. She had elected to spend a little extra on this portion of the trip to travel the whole of Lawan in a private seating compartment. A nice single-occupancy zero-gravity reclining seat, enclosed in a small roomlet with a lockable door; it was the only way she would be able to tolerate traveling across such a vast continent.
She again stretched her 177-centimeter body with an arch as she let out yet another prolonged groan, trying to wake herself fully for the day ahead. She reached down to her legs and began to rub vigorously, in an effort to increase the blood flow. A grin moved to her lips as she felt the pleasurable sensation of the tingles moving across her deep-warm tan skin with its rich golden undertones.
She moved to her arms and proceeded to rub them in the same fashion, again bringing a grin to her face as the sensation was always one that uplifted many of her senses.
As she finished with a brisk massage to her face, she pulled her waist length, off-black hair to rest on her shoulder and fell back into the comfort of the chair. Releasing a vocal sigh of contentment, she surveyed the terrain out the window with attention.
The trees continued to thin steadily, signifying that the next city was not too far off. Though the definition of the city, on many occasions, could be applied quite loosely in this part of the world.
This was mainly due to the particularly interesting geological landscape of Galu. For nearly all of the land north of the great Lake Omaja was a vast system of mountain ranges, all belonging to what was known as the Great Galu Mountains. These ancient, tree-covered mountains stretched for millions of square kilometers, driving to the oceans of the north and northeast with little change in their appearance. Yet, delicately fading away as they moved west, ending at the river plains of Hoba, while forming their only visible plateau, inclining directly along Lake Omaja.
Further, the Great Galu Mountains were some of the oldest mountains in the world, formed long before Lawan was a continent. These ancient mountains, once standing taller than those at present day, were eroded away to the beautifully-rounded peaks and steep valleys that moved across the sky like waves on the ocean.
With such a geological history, it was also no surprise that the mountains were abundant with minerals. It was this that led to the loosely premised cities and towns. In having such resources, Galu, many solar decades prior, had sold the land, including mineral rights, to whomever was interested. Naturally, purchasing large tracts of land wasn’t an inexpensive venture that the average person could invest in. Therefore, groups of private individuals would purchase the land and start small mining communities. The privately owned communes, if they were successful enough, would often attract more persons wishing to be part of the community and its success. This inevitably led to expansion, including stores, hospitals, and schools. Thousands upon thousands of these small communities, with only an average population of 400, were strewn throughout the mountains. Some areas were so far removed that they were easily a day’s travel by STV from their next nearest locale.
The only cities that were in the entirety of the northern region were along Lake Omaja, and they were modest in population and size.
However, despite her Tier-3 degree being in Mineralogy, it was not the mountains and their extensive resources that were bringing her to the area. It was her newly acquired Tier-2 degree in Enaid Studies.
Enaid. The souls of the enlightened peoples that had shed their biological constraints prior to the Great Bottleneck and transcended into the small energy fields that were visible to all naked eyes. These souls, which were considered by most scientists to be adhering to the physical property of surface tension, were 52 millimeters in size and were always spherical. But unlike the true application of minimal surface structure, enaid were a pure energy that defied physics conventions. They were able to pass through most matter freely. Which was both incredible to witness, and irritating to experience. As with an energy mass passing through matter, it would often short out electronics and had even been observed scrambling electrons in crystal chips. And with billions of enaid free-floating about the world, science was relatively quick, despite the Bottleneck, to come up with solutions to deter enaid from passing through certain items. Energy fields were constructed to repel them, and certain minerals were shown to almost cause them to “bounce” off. While conversely, some minerals would almost “absorb” them, given the correct usage. It was thought, upon initial study, that it was the structure of the mineral that brought about these various phenomena. However, it was discovered it had much more to do with the resonance and frequency, as it was commonly ascribed that everything that exists has a natural frequency. Apparently, this included enaid.
This is where her field of study laid. She had spent her first stage of study knowing the minerals. Her second stage of study entailed understanding why enaid were particularly attracted to certain minerals — “charming,” as it was called in more accessible terms. Most especially one of the most prized minerals in the world, morphiandum.
Ash felt her eyes roll by reflex as she thought of the word. Morphiandum. It was a word that to her stirred visions of a marketing initiative gone awry, imparting a silliness that irked her on a professional level. Though she was told that the name was given honestly, as the mineral was one that could virtually be “morphed” into some of the world’s most important applicable creations. She was further told by the same person that she needed to get over herself and lighten up.
She felt the silent chuckle move to her, as the memory of the advice was one that was given in what she coined, “jest-ious” — presented to a person lightheartedly and in jest, but quite serious in its counsel. It was counsel she accepted and was working on as, upon reflection, she probably could use a little more flexibility.
But it was a hard habit to break, as her life up to this point — now in her 28th quarturn — had been one that required resoluteness. One that was dedicated to academics.
She was raised by two deeply loving parents who wanted the best for her, and encouraged her heavily in her studies. This, accompanied by the fact she grew up in Melchior, Minu, made her keenly aware at a very early age of the need to take her education seriously.
Melchior was deemed the poorest city in the world. And while her parents were more fortunate than others in their employment, being more “fortunate” in Melchior was a low bar compared to other parts of the world.
Education was a national matter; material access was uniform throughout the country, and guaranteed through either a Tier-4 degree or Tier-3 preparatory study. She again chuckled softly to herself, thinking while the material was uniform, the facilities were certainly not. How brushing aside a bug from her desk was not uncommon. Or watching the animals that lived in the walls of the school building scurry from one hole in a wall to another. Or even the flooded classrooms that forced the classes to be held on the second floor halls. It was all part of her educational experience.
It was something that did distract and inhibit, being in such unhealthy learning surroundings. But she had a slight advantage. She was considered extraordinarily gifted. A prodigy. A genius. However, even with such a mind that should have put her well ahead of her peers, the environment took its toll, and she labored excessively to make up for what was denied to her due to her poverty and situation.
She studied hard and finished her compulsory education at the age of 18 quarturns. She was at the top of her class, and her parents had saved in order to send her to a private Tier-3 preparatory school in Se’atipo. The sacrifice by her parents paid off, as upon her completion of her preparatory studies, she was awarded a study grant along with a benefits package to the top school in Michi. For five quarturns, she worked on her Tier-3 education. Followed almost directly by three quarturns of her Tier-2 education. It was expected that she would be certainly moving forward with the final stage and procuring her Tier-1 education, but she had been advised to take some time off; she was showing signs of exhaustion that, as was said, “would serve no one if she would succumb to it.”
It didn’t take much to convince her of a short break. She had only seen her parents in person a handful of times since she had left Melchior, and missed them terribly. Further, while her benefits package was incredibly generous to the point she could significantly assist her parents financially, the donors required her to use some of her earned funding for unstructured sabbatical learning.
She was now making up for lost time and appeasing her donors while she still had the opportunity.
Though her exhaustion was perhaps more acute than she had let on.
She felt her mouth turn in concern as the recent discussion with her advisor played out in her mind. How she had confessed to him that she was feeling a significant lack of confidence in pursuing her Tier-1 studies. It wasn’t that she felt herself incapable of the work involved; she simply didn’t see it in her future. Her successes in life were based on multiple approaches and implementations. One crucial element was visualization. And for reasons that remained unclear to her, when she tried to visualize her future in those studies, her mind’s eye was unequal to the task — providing what seemed best described as visual white noise.
It was such a peculiar matter that her advisor turned his head in question upon her first explaining her thoughts. But as he considered her descriptive, he came to the advice that the lack of visualization was due to cognitive depletion; and upon exercising her extended leave, she would recover vigor and conception, placing her back on schedule for her Tier-1 studies.
She again felt her mouth turn; while she appreciated his trust in her and her recuperation, the doubt toward her studies was only becoming more pronounced.
Her thoughts came to a halt, as her attention was directed to the sound above her head. A gentle bell, rising in cadence, informing everyone on the train of an upcoming announcement.
“Seni. Taweale oe’alyema. Lahahma kae ka’eaoo…”
Ash let out a sigh of disappointment; her language skills were one of her self-perceived greater lacks.
The announcements were being issued in Attata. She could interpret only a few words and could understand even fewer of the language’s rules.
She herself spoke Basic, as most people did. It was the language of the Lost Peoples and Humes. The Lost Peoples were the largest group in the world, comprising nearly 40 percent of the world’s population, while Humes, a little over 8 percent of the population; making their shared language the most spoken. The population closest in size was the Oken, which made up a little under 30 percent of all the peoples. However, the further east you moved from the countries of Ki and Akkad, the fewer and farther between one would encounter any large Oken groups, so hearing the Oken language outside of the Far West was rare.
Attata was the default in most areas; while their population was only roughly 11 percent of the total, they were given their respects due to the cosmic neighborhood. The planet itself was properly named Jeahne, which meant “globe” in Attata.
“Mee’eea Seni…” the voice spoke overhead.
“And now Watzeen,” she thought to herself, as the announcement was not presented in the most adept pronunciation. While she had studied the language a bit herself, it was considered one of the more testing languages to comprehend. The language was quite dulcet when spoken by a practiced speaker, as the vowels were prominent. However, syllables were difficult to ascertain in written word and could easily change the meaning of the word if spoken incorrectly. Further, translation to Basic could sometimes be an exercise in synonym building. Mee’eea, she knew, translated in Basic as “heed.” Which, to follow a synonym build, would be “attention.”
Watzeen was a secondary default, as they were considered to be the first peoples of Jeahne. And while their population was less than half a percent, and they were rarely seen outside of their homes of Moree or Shuju’a, it was still a gesture of respect to include their language by default.
But as difficult as Watzeen could be, it was nothing compared to Corachal. Literally a language that could only be spoken by peoples who were Corachal, as they possessed significant differences to the vocal anatomy that produced sounds that could not be replicated by any other group. Not that people didn’t attempt such ventures, as it seemed unthinkable to not be able to communicate with a group who comprised 10 percent of the world's population. It was a guttural language, and one that relied on circular breathing to compose full sentences. But Corachals were generally thought of as quite amicable, and wouldn’t laugh too obviously at non-Corachals who attempted to communicate in good faith.
Of course there were other groups and languages, most notably Nichal and some of the Shattered Continents peoples. But like Watzeen, they were small in population, and didn’t seem to venture much from their groups.
“Attention, Seni. We will soon…”
Ash shook her thoughts aside and focused on the announcement regarding her destination. Ako.
• • •
“Couldn’t find a room, eh?” the airship pilot asked with a bit of a chuckle as she continued to load the cargo into her underfoot compartment. “You’ll have that given the holiday. But they won’t let you stay on the train?”
Ash shook her head and gestured with her hands the near-universal sign of agitation as she responded.
“Apparently not. They explained it was some sort of safety liability issue. They couldn’t guarantee that people who shouldn’t be on the train wouldn’t invite themselves on while it sat in station, and in turn, couldn’t assure security. Said since it wouldn’t move again until tomorrow, we were to find alternative arrangements.”
The airship pilot again chuckled as she shook her head, sending her golden braids sliding from one shoulder to the other. But with a sudden reflection, she quickly stood from her bent position over the cargo and spoke in an apologetic tone.
“Not laughing at your predicament. Just at the almost compulsory negligence by these big companies.”
“I recognized that, no worries,” Ash offered the woman with a soft affirmation.
The woman looked at her wrist computer and began to type as she asked.
“You don’t look the type too proud to sleep on a station bench.”
Ash felt it was her turn to chuckle as she responded.
“You discerned right. As I and others were screeching unpleasantly at the staff, they informed us we had to leave all the same as they were closing for the day due to the trains halting, so we couldn’t rough it there either.”
The woman laughed at her description, but Ash didn’t give her a chance to respond and she continued, offering a small plea in her voice as she spoke.
“I’ve been all over the airfield. You’re kind of my last option.”
Ash looked hopefully at the pilot and emphasized her words in a playful cadence.
“I can pay actual relits. Not scrips. Upfront. All you have to do is make a little shift out of the way for a quick drop off in Seibiant.”
The airship pilot let out a sigh and offered a sympathetic smile.
“As tempting as the relits are, I’m gonna have to be another data point on your already shit day. Just did my preflight weather check, and it seems the storms are spiking at almost 20,000 meters. Gonna have to curve my flight path to avoid them. I’m already behind schedule and being on time pays more than what you’re offering for a seat. However, I can tell you that if you head over to Ako City Transport, they have a small section where STV and DTV drivers hang out looking for riders. There’s always people who will run you out to some of the surrounding communities. Can guarantee they will have openings at their little hotels. You know, ‘cause being the holiday, most everyone leaves the communities for gatherings in the bigger cities. The drivers do it on the cheap, too. That’s the best I can do for you.”
Ash tried to keep her internal disappointment from showing. She forced a grateful smile as she spoke.
“Understandable. Appreciate you pointing me in the right direction. Have a good holiday.”
“You too,” the airship pilot spoke with a chirp.
Ash turned on her heel and let her face release its pleasantries; she was fully dismayed that this option was not as fruitful as hoped.
As she made her way out of the airfield, and back towards the city center, she began to self-condemn the situation as partially of her own doing. While she was becoming better at acknowledging her intuitions, regarding them was another matter. She wasn’t Attata, after all.
And her instincts had told her weeks ago to be more cognizant of her travel plans for the “just in case scenario.”
Unfortunately, the “just in case scenario” had manifested as the expected two-hour layover quickly became a cancellation. Storms north of Ako had forced the closing of the bridge over Lake Omaja; the winds being so strong, that the bridge was deemed unsafe to use for the time.
This, on an average day, wouldn’t have been a problem; Ako was well established for overnight travelers. But this wasn’t an average day. It was the final day of the Cherished Triduum Holiday.
The Cherished Triduum Holiday was a beautiful three-day affair that was a sort of evocation of harvest festivals past; surviving the Bottleneck to an extent, as did most things. It was by far her favorite holiday. The first day, a beautiful solemn day of remembrance and reflection upon the quarturn passed, consisted of quiet, often solitary symbolic rituals that represented letting go of the past and embracing the future. The second day of the holiday was much more exciting, as it was shared with family and friends, focusing on being present. Perhaps, she thought to herself, that is where the tradition of exchanging offerings came from. For this day, gifts were exchanged that were meant to be ones to help the receiver thrive or achieve their goals in the next quarturn. Of course, as time had passed, the gift purpose had become loosely interpreted; even a bottle of alcohol given could be seen as “helping” the person “get through the next quarturn.” The final day consisted of a massive feast, presumably enjoying your harvest, celebrating with loved ones, and making plans and goals for the quarturn to come.
Such an occasion she couldn’t help but romanticize; it seemed fitting, even poetic, for the new quarturn to start with the autumn harvest. If you farmed, it’s what you and yours had been working for the whole quarturn — a culmination of all the work. A climax. And the celebration of that.
Additionally, it was an event that was celebrated worldwide. And while the world was predominantly Northern Hemisphere-centric, the Southern Hemisphere celebrated it just as vigorously. Granted, she thought to herself with a smile of envy, they were fortunate as it gave them twice the celebration; they celebrated a second time when their true harvest came.
But the holiday’s significance wasn’t confined to an arbitrary harvest. It was the true astronomical clock that coincided with, and signified, the planet’s Northern Hemisphere’s fall quarturn season. And for this particular celebration, the true Solar New Year calendar.
Jeahne, as it rotated around its star, took its time. As one of her earlier educators so comically put it, it moved lackadaisically along its orbital path. Of course, the star’s massive size, as well as the large orbital path, precipitated that. But even the spin of the planet seemed to give the world an easygoing feel, as a full day was 32 standard hours. Much slower than the sister planet. Much slower than some of the other planets in the galactic neighborhood. In all of this, a full solar year broke down to 1,760 days.
While this hadn’t been an issue for the first inhabitants of the planet, when Lost Peoples and Humes emigrated, the planet’s spin was a bit unwieldy for their natural clocks and their perceptions. Time’s condition and influence was still a mystery. Even the Couriers, with all of their knowledge, provided little insight. However, they knew markers were essential for survival. All things adhered to such markers, whether they knew it or not. With such in mind, the Couriers scienced the rescue. They were able to accurately point out that with the planet’s tilt, wobble, and orbital positioning, the planet experienced four unique subseasons per quarter turn around the star. This brought about seasonal primes and minors, and more importantly, the more digestible quarturns.
Quarturns. 440 days of time. Broken down into 11 months, based on the moons’ movements. Further broken down into 4 weeks per month, and 10 days per week. It had been so prior to the Bottleneck, and was adapted again once society had regained its place.
So here it was. The Solar Year 405 A.B. Quarturn 1618 A.B. Fall prime. And herself a bit stranded due to underestimating significance.
Book 1 — Chapter 2
Day: Hyningo
Date: 1
Month: Nokaokarium
Quarturn: 1618
Location: Entering the town of Udo
Ash looked at her wrist roamphone and sighed. While she was aware she was traversing deep into the mountainous area of the region, she wasn’t prepared for how unreliable the signal would be, rendering her roamphone useless.
Most wireless devices relied on satellites for their functionality, and since the Bottleneck, few countries had pursued space-based technologies, with the notable exceptions of Ki and Akkad. They seemed to corner the market of space exploration and utilization. Granted, with their prominent population of Oken, and given their personal history, it was easy to identify why they were the leaders in such. But even then, they didn’t seem to be in a great hurry to return to the stars; they had been unable, or perhaps unwilling, to escape beyond the thermosphere recurrently. Instead, they relied on low planet satellites to study and connect the world.
However, in this region of the world, so far removed from the larger populations, committed satellites to navigate the terrain were sparse.
She was forced to just shut down her wrist roamphone until she would return to Ako the next day.
She raised her head and moved her eyes forward to the driver in the front of her.
The airship pilot had been correct in her advice. When she had made it to the city transport station, there were indeed a variety of drivers offering their services. But upon arrival, she found herself one of the last to know, as many of the other stranded train commuters had been spreading out into the surrounding communities to find accommodations wherever they could. The driver she found had said he knew of one place none of his driving associates had been to yet. And while it was a considerable amount of travel, he would take her on the cheap.
Ash grinned to herself as she had felt the gratitude toward the driver and attempted to engage him with conversation. But the notably introverted man was not interested. For even when she asked about the time it would take to arrive at the destination, he had replied, “Long enough to finish my audiobook.” He then promptly closed the window between himself and her, ending any further conversation. His brusqueness amused her; grumpy demeanours always did.
But the hours of riding in the DTV were wearing on her. The winding tree-lined road became a blur, as there were few moments of scenery distinction to break up the landscape.
Further, she had begun to feel an undefined uneasiness moving over her as soon as she had left the airfield. It was so pronounced that at one instance during her walk, she had paused at a city park and inspected a semi-enclosed pavilion. She deliberated spending the night there. It wouldn’t have been the worst place she had slept during her life.
However, upon checking the weather that was to be expected that night, the storm that had caused all the issues in the first place was making its way towards Ako. And given its severity, a night anywhere without at least a roof and four walls could prove risky.
With that, it was clear she really didn’t have another option available and felt appreciative that she would find accommodations in the distant area.
That thankfulness had been at the forefront of her mind at the beginning of the ride. But the lingering anxiety was pushing its way forward, to the point she was becoming jittery, wanting the ride to hurry and end.
Suddenly, as if the Universe and Deo had heard her internal wishes, she felt the DTV quickly coming to a stop, forcing her to place her hand on the half wall in front of her, assisting her safety belt in halting her forward movement.
As she looked out the window at her surroundings, they had stopped at what appeared to be an intersection clearing.
The trees had been cut back several meters from the roads. Opening the area in all directions and giving way to a view of the literal crossroads they had stopped at. The only element that could possibly cue someone to their location via landmarks was a small shelter that stood on the diagonal of the way-stop.
Her focus was diverted as the DTV’s magnetic lift ceased abruptly, sending it to the ground with a thud, causing dust from the packed dirt road below to roll into the air and spiral into itself.
She felt her mouth purse as she heard a knock on glass that separated the front compartment from the back compartment of the DTV; the driver tapped it loudly with his knuckle.
A light, stunned chuckle left her lips as the driver initiated the automatic door to lift above her and open, not giving her the opportunity to open the door at her own behest. An encouragement to leave with rapidity, and a universally curt one at that. Grouchy personalities really did tickle her something funny.
As she gathered her bags and exited the vehicle, she hurried to the side window of the front compartment and gestured with her hands to open the window.
The driver obliged, and she bent at the waist to be eye level with him as she asked with a cadence of peppy snark.
“And we are where?”
The driver didn’t seem to notice her tone and answered matter-of-factly.
“I’m heading west from here on this junction,” he paused as he pointed toward the road behind her and continued. “Udo is about two-and-a-half kilometers up that road. Dead ends into the valley and I don’t want to double back. It’s a safe walk. They only have one main road on the floor of the valley. You won’t get lost. Head to building 42, they have rooms there. Meet me here tomorrow at the shelter around 10-ish and I’ll get you back to Ako in time.”
Ash didn’t have a chance to thank him; the window rose quickly along with the DTV as the magnetics engaged and lifted. She took a couple of steps back and watched for a moment as the DTV sped down the road heading west, leaving her to proceed on her own.
• • •
Ash felt the flush rise on her cheeks as she adjusted the shin-length, dark green, hooded, ribbed-knit cardigan she always wore; putting extra effort into covering herself.
Not that what she was wearing was by any means scant. It was her very typical outfit. Flat, knee-high utility boots in black that were met closely by a knee-length straight-line skirt. Her top, a multilayered jeweled-neckline sleeveless shirt in the matching fabric and color of the skirt. Ultimately, a very conservative outfit by most fashion conventions.
However, as she had almost made her way to Udo, she noticed several HEAGEN vehicles stopped on the road leading into town. And while most of the vehicles had appeared vacant, this last one had several female and male HEAGENs standing around outside of it. And their rowdy conversation that she beheld upon her approach had since subsided, leaving in its wake a disconcerting silence that was amplified by the HEAGENs’ piercing stares.
She didn’t appreciate their gazes, and it prompted her to sink deeper into her hood and cover herself as best she could as a form of proxy protection.
But HEAGEN had earned a reputation that elicited such reactions.
HEAGEN — or Hylatee Engineered Armed Guard Enforcement Network — was one of the many products of the corporate entity, Hylatee. HEAGEN had emerged while she was in secondary school. A security unit that had been created and flaunted as a superior rival to the common civil security. HEAGENs were not only engineered biologically to be more physically adept in many areas, but they were better equipped and better trained. To the average citizen, it was just viewed as outsourcing your protection to contractors. It was perfectly legal and overwhelmingly embraced by the public at large. And over the years, it had been implemented in countries the world over — to the point where local civil security was becoming a vestige of its past self. Indeed, tax money had been slowly filtered away from civil security and redirected towards HEAGEN services — leaving, at best, a negligible civil security force that had been extirpated from nearly all jurisdictions. Not that it mattered to most; HEAGEN were now the ones who patrolled the streets and were summoned by the public if there was a problem.
But the past couple of solar years had seen HEAGEN take a turn from their promised inception. They had become volatile and unprincipled, and were known abusers of civilian rights, especially in certain areas of the world.
It was something she hadn’t experienced firsthand; by the time HEAGEN had revealed their more devious natures, she had already moved to Michi, which still had a traditional civil security. She had been spoiled by the civil security of Michi; considered one of the best in the world, they were only outdone by Saettee in their professionalism and competence. All her interactions with them had been amazing, to the point she could see why they were universally revered; she was an ardent admirer as well.
But HEAGEN had garnered a seriously tarnished reputation; one friend had labeled them “company bruisers.”
As she passed, she kept her face forward and only glanced from the corner of her eye toward the HEAGENs to see what they were doing.
Their eyes remained on her in earnest, as one HEAGEN moved to press a headset microphone closer to her mouth and speak into it quietly.
She returned her eyes forward and spoke firmly to her mind to retain her pace, not to quicken it and impress that she was not where she was supposed to be. “Deep breath, Ash, you’re almost there,” she encouraged herself, as she was finally beginning to see signs of the town of Udo.
• • •
Ash approached the cashier at the counter and asked with an apologetic tone.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Sena, but am I in the right place?”
The young man looked up from the clipboard he was examining and smiled brightly with a warm, comforting expression.
“I don’t know,” he responded with a hint of tease in his thick northern accent. “Where you fixin’ to be?”
She felt the laugh come forward with mild embarrassment, as she really had not articulated herself very well. She shook her head and spoke around her continued titter.
“Excuse me, I’m brimming with confusion and stating myself poorly. I was told to come to building 42 for overnight accommodations.”
The man’s eyes brightened with understanding as he took an open mouth breath that brought with it an “Ah.”
“Yes. You’re in the right place.”
As he put his clipboard down, she felt the need to explain herself further.
“Good. I was confused, as obviously this is a grocery market.”
“And café,” the man added with a hint of pride behind his voice.
She again giggled and nodded at his words.
“And café, thank you. It threw me off that this would also be an inn.”
“Understandable,” the man responded as he bent over to look behind the counter for something and continued. “We’re a small town, so having a whole building as a dedicated inn just ain’t efficacious. So the inn is on the third floor of this place.”
“That makes perfect sense,” she responded.
She watched as the man stood, his expression taking on its own confusion. He paused a moment before he offered an explanation to his appearance.
“Our compcon is down, so I can’t take your information that way. Trying to find the old analog book. Could you pardon me for a breath?”
She nodded with a smile as he walked from behind the counter and left.
Letting out a sigh of relief, she glanced around the grocery market. It was relatively well-sized, given the town’s population, but still quaint. It was visually appealing and seemed homogeneous with the rest of the town. Upon first inspection, the community had charmed her with its clean, humble, and sweet presentation.
As she had finally made her way down the road, a cutting curve that was situated between two mountains offered a notch to which to proceed. Upon rounding the curve, the geography revealed itself along with the town. The surroundings consisted of a very long and distinctly steep wedge-shaped valley that was clean of the majority of the trees that inhabited most of the region. The single road on the floor of the valley was lined on both sides by small, yet sturdy, brick multi-story buildings. Most of the buildings she had passed featured large glass windows that showcased the businesses and the many Triduum Holiday decorations that appealed to her idealized holiday esthetics. The walls of the valley seemed to feature what looked to be more residential buildings; they rose in a scattered pattern towards the ridges, though they didn’t abut them.
The only evidence that appeared to indicate that this was a mining community was at the far end, at the impasse of the valley; the natural wall featured some conspicuous mining equipment.
But two aspects of the town really surprised her during her initial observation. First, most valleys, as such, featured rivers or streams; they were the precipitators of the vertical erosion that makes these geographies possible. Yet there were none to be seen. The second aspect was perhaps the most fascinating — the valley floor, from mountain base to mountain base, couldn’t have been more than 40 meters wide. Furthermore, the slopes of the valley were so steep that standing on the roof of one of the valley floor buildings could allow one to jump over to the adjoining slope with ease. It emphasized the brilliance and tenacity the community must have exercised in etching out a living on such terrain.
She felt her smile widen as she pondered what went into such endeavors and how people really could be amazing.
But her attention was diverted from her thoughts as the man returned with a regretful tone.
“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. Everything is a mess and can’t find the analog book.”
She felt her eyes move instantly into worry. One, it seemed, the man recognized, as he gestured in a calm manner and continued before she could reply.
“But no frets. I’m not denying you a room. I just won’t be able to log your stay proper. It’s more an issue on my end than on yours, because I’m sorry to say I can only accept scrips.”
She felt the tension leave her shoulders as they slid down; her body relaxed as she responded.
“I see. I understand scrips are very particular when it comes to accounting for them; and a piece of random paper can go missing, and then you don’t know how to explain where some scrips came from, which can cause significant problems.”
“You do understand perfectly,” the man offered with another warm smile.
“I have friends who are brave enough to own businesses,” she responded with a chuckle.
The man shared the chuckle and nodded knowingly as he spoke.
“Brave indeed. So the room will be 750 scrips.”
Ash felt her eyes widen and her mouth fall agape as she registered the price he gave her.
The man read her expression and seemed to be slightly embarrassed as he offered.
“It’s below the common rate for a room. And it comes with two meals from the café.”
Ash shook her head away from the shock and regained her composure as she spoke.
“Oh no, please don’t take the expression as an umbrage toward you. I believe you entirely. I’ve just not had recent experience with scrips, only dealing in relits. Shocked at the inflation rate. Really shocked. But 750 scrips is fine. I can pay. Upfront.”
The man seemed relieved, as his smile quickly returned, grasping her unfamiliarity. He nodded and spoke in an enthusiastic pitch.
“Wonderful. But hold the scrips as I’m just going to grab my girlfriend …” he paused as his nose scrunched in what seemed to be a gaffe on his part. “Sorry. Really unprofessional there. Request the produce lady to make up the room for you.”
She again felt a laugh move forward, as the man was so kind and contrite. She only nodded in recognition of his words as he again hurried away.
Left alone to her thoughts, she still could not believe how expensive the room was via scrips.
Scrips, like HEAGEN, were a development of Hylatee.
Hylatee was the world’s largest company, and had begun its business in waterborne transport and shipping in Melchior. In fact, it was their exit to Hylaton that had contributed significantly to Melchior’s downward spiral into poverty.
However, by the time the company city of Hylaton had been created, describing Hylatee as the largest company simply did not do the company’s reach enough justice. They were a colossus that was composed of six separate “industries.” Waterborne shipping. Retail. Manufacturing — industrial, general, and consumable. Farming and Resource Acquisition. Research and Development — their flagship being medical sciences. And security in the form of HEAGEN.
The scope of their range was so complete that even as a student in Michi — a country that had restricted Hylatee’s influence — she inevitably worked in conjunction with subsidiaries, as their breadth was impossible to circumvent.
In that, given how massive Hylatee had become and how many persons they employed, Hylatee had decided that an “in-house” form of currency was something that could be mutually beneficial for employer and employee alike. A way for workers to purchase goods and services from the company directly; and do so at a cost that would undercut the common world currency of relits. It had been strategically encouraged so thoroughly that soon after the scrips’ inception, employees were being paid in scrips only. This, in turn, forced the hand of the relits treasuries to economically concede and agree to an exchange rate. This pushed scrips even beyond Hylatee, to taxes and government spending in some areas.
But like HEAGEN, scrips were showing systemic flaws.
With relits, each bill contained a corresponding “vein” of minerals to secure its value. But scrips were unsaleable in that they had no commodity worth to them. The perceived worth was solely based on what Hylatee set their rate at, citing their own backing that wasn’t open to public scrutiny. With this, it was becoming increasingly evident that scrips were most certainly inflated. This left the exchange rate paltry, which only exacerbated many of the problems they were causing around the world. Further, it had been suggested the “self-taxing” nature that was lauded was actually the epitome of a tax dodge, as areas around the world were seeing public works and services suffer from the gross inflation.
With those pronounced factors, it was a wonder that scrips continued to remain a legitimate currency. But perhaps there were determinants she wasn’t aware of, as she wasn’t particularly well versed in economics. Or perhaps it was just a matter of “in for a relit, in for a scrip” — an acquiescence to the world of “you’ll have that.”
As she let the sigh of her own acceptance to the matters at hand move from her slightly parted lips, she looked out the window to observe the town.
She felt her brow furrow gently as she stepped back to achieve a better view of an adjacent building. While she couldn’t, at first glance, ascertain the purpose of the building, it most certainly was popular; at least a couple dozen people stood outside its doors and moved in and out.
Her furrowing only increased, as the expressions on the faces of the people were not ones of expected holiday contentment, but ones of anger, doubt, and fear.
“Sorry for the wait, yet again.”
Ash felt herself bounce as she was jarred from her fixation on the people. She turned her attention back to the man.
“Not at all,” she responded with a smile and a quick tilting of her head.
The man showed his warmth again as he spoke.
“The room is being prepared for you as we speak. As a token of goodwill for the holiday, can I bid you a complimentary meal from the café?”
She felt her own warmth rise as she spoke with a cadence of gratitude.
“Deo, yes. Thank you.”
Book 1 — Chapter 3
Day: Hyningo
Date: 1
Month: Nokaokarium
Quarturn: 1618
Location: The town of Udo
Ash stepped out the door of the market and onto the street to find it visibly busy as a significant number of people were moving with haste from one building to another, all with purpose unknown.
She felt her irritation rise as some people were guiding children along with them in a less-than-patient manner; this was something that grated her on a whole other level. However, it seemed it was done not out of malice, but of fear; it was as if there was an urgency behind their movements. It was a sight that was eliciting her own growing stress.
The tension, which had been ebbing and flowing in her throughout the day, had returned as soon as she had awakened from a deep nap.
The late morning has been an enjoyable one. The kind market owner had fed her well whilst her room had been prepared. Once it was ready, she had paid her fees, went to her room, and made herself at home. Though her chance to enjoy the cozy room and its generous amenities would have to wait, as she slipped into a deep nap that seemed to be a necessary recovery from the morning’s events.
She had awakened with a panic. Not because anything had startled her, exactly. Her fear resided in that she felt so refreshed. She worried how long she had slept; as it was almost too good a sleep for a simple nap.
But the unfounded alarm made a lateral move, as she still wasn’t clear about the actual time. For when she had gathered her senses, she became aware that the electricity had gone out, rendering the deskclock unworkable. Too, with her wrist roamphone off and unconnectable, it couldn’t provide information, either.
She had chided herself for letting small matters feed into her anxiety and decided to alleviate them by venturing out and exploring the town. So she dressed, grabbed her crossbody bag and some regional snacks she had bought in the market, and told herself the kind market owner would most certainly clarify and ease.
However, that did not happen. As upon making her way downstairs to the market, she found it completely empty, fueling the distress.
She again rebuked her senses; it was most likely midday rest. The market was closed, and they had simply left the door open for her to come and go without the need to mind her actions.
But now that she was on the street and seeing the unrest, her mind moved from admonishing herself for her nerves, to not taking those instincts seriously.
As she walked down the street towards the entrance of the town, the people moved quickly past her, their hurried voices and calls across the street from one another forced her breath to hasten. Not that the pierce of yelling, in general, bothered her. Some of the cruelest words ever uttered to her were presented in hushful tones. But with hollers of concern, confusion, and command, it was becoming a tumult that made it difficult to distinguish any accurate information.
She swallowed around the lump that was forming in her throat and focused her attention towards a woman on an STV who had stopped to talk to a man in front of her.
“They cut off the notch, ain’t lettin’ anyone pass,” the woman spoke in an intimidated anger.
“What do you mean they ain’t lettin’ anyone pass?” the man asked, his own quiver apparent in his voice.
“Just what I said,” the woman responded. “I’m head’n to the house, grabb’n the BOB, and goin’ over the ridge. Something ain’t right and I ain’t sticking around to find out what’s wrong. You do the same.”
As the woman seemed to notice her listening in on their conversation, she turned her attention to her, looked her in the eyes, and spoke with firm persuasion and concern.
“You press on, too.”
The woman didn’t wait for an answer as she sped off down the street. Nor did the man the woman was talking to linger, as he turned and moved past her, giving her no time to ask him any questions directly.
She continued to walk down the street, though she realized her steps were becoming slower and slower, as if each step seemed heavier and hindered her pace.
After several meters, her steps had ceased as her attention was drawn further down the street to where easily several dozen people had gathered. Beyond them, holding them in their place, were a handful of HEAGEN vehicles.
Her mind paused and asked, “Is this really any of your affair? Go back to the room and let these people deal with their own matters. What can you do?” The thought lingered for a moment, almost convincing her as she took a step back, preparing to turn on her heel. But out of the corner of her eye, her attention was drawn to a very little girl, standing in the middle of the street, clutching a stuffed toy in visible fear.
The girl was indeed little, as she couldn’t have been more than 94 centimeters tall. Her long, black-brown hair moved down the back of her coat in soft curls. The girl’s eyes, large and black, released tears onto her warm-undertone sepia-hued skin.
She felt her breath pull with pity as the little girl’s tears increased, sending her tiny shoulders bouncing with the physical preparation of the wail to follow. Her heart pulled and her mind knew she couldn’t allow that.
She moved over to the little girl, but kept a distance; she bent over at the waist to catch her attention as she asked.
“Hello, sweetness. Are you okay?”
The little girl turned her attention towards her with an expression of what appeared to be release.
“Kind of,” the little girl offered as she dried her tears with her hand.
Ash moved closer and knelt down to meet her at eye level as she spoke in a reassuring tone.
“Everything is going to be okay. Now I’m sure you’re super smart and know this, but it isn’t safe to be standing in the street. People are a little upset. They might not see you and might hurt you by accident.”
The little girl nodded as her breaths puffed from the tears before she spoke.
“I am smart. That’s why I’m standing here. Out in the open so my brother could see me; find me.”
Ash felt her lips rub together with the instant joy the little girl brought her in such an uneasy moment, and held back a little chuckle as she responded.
“And that is a good idea in general. But given how people are very distracted, it might be dangerous; I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I know,” the little girl spoke with soft certainty.
Ash again felt her joy rise as she stood and offered her hand out as she spoke.
“My name is Ash. Would you like me to help you find your brother?”
The little girl immediately took her hand and grabbed firmly as she responded.
“I’m Naira. Thank you, Ash.”
As she led Naira away from the middle of the street to the pedestrian side, she spoke in a playful cadence to help ease her.
“Naira. That is a very pretty name. Well Naira, now to find your brother. Could he have gone to your home?”
“We don’t live here,” Naira responded, as she then pointed down the street towards where the crowd was gathering and getting larger by the minute. “He went down there.”
She felt her shoulders drop in dismay, as her thoughts of avoiding whatever was occurring hadn’t been internally resolved. But now, with this tiny hand in hers trusting her to help, any apprehension could not be appeased.
Ash brought into her a deep, determined breath. One that wasn’t meant to deny her concerns, but one that was to remind herself she was capable. She was intelligent. She was skillful. And whatever was occurring, she would navigate it.
As she and Naira began walking down the street, she kept her pace slow so as to let Naira walk at her own rate. She looked down at Naira and asked.
“What’s your brother’s name?”
“Wayra,” she responded with almost an exclamation.
“That’s a very nice name, too,” she said, minding to keep her voice steady and confident so as not to scare Naira.
“What does he look like?” she asked.
She looked down at Naira, who looked up with a strange expression, as if the question had taken her aback. Naira seemed to ponder the question for a moment before she spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.
“He looks like my brother.”
Ash quickly moved her attention forward as her laugh nearly burst. She again rubbed her lips together and let the joy roll over her. Naira wasn’t only adorable, she had spirit. Further, Naira was technically correct; in most circumstances, a brother would share identifying features such as skin tone, hair and eye color. Of course, there was always an exception to rules, but this didn’t seem to be the case here. And what tickled her most was Naira’s delivery of surprise in what appeared to her to be a stupid question.
She felt the happy sigh escape her lips as she responded.
“Of course he does.”
But the joy that had been instilled by Naira quickly evaporated. They had made their way closer to the back edge of where what looked to be nearly a hundred people had gathered by the HEAGEN vehicles. Her brow again furrowed as she scanned over the mass of people, looking for anyone who could fit Naira’s “description” of Wayra. But the crowd’s movement was continuous, preventing any sincere observation.
She felt the vexation come to her as she let a breath out that made her shoulders drop.
As she turned to face Naira, she bent at the waist and attempted to move her voice into one of jest and comfort.
“Your brother is very good at playing hide and seek.” Naira giggled at her tease, which stirred a smile as she continued. “I’m going to ask a couple people if they know where Wayra is. Can you stay here on this stoop, so you don’t get bumped around? I’ll be right back.”
Naira nodded and pulled her stuffed toy closer to her chest as she took a couple of steps back.
She offered her a reassuring smile and stood straight to begin her search.
As she moved away from Naira, she kept herself at the back edge of the crowd, scanning and assessing. She came across a particular man, who was only a couple of people deep within the crowd, who caught her attention. She moved towards him, gently pushing her way in and to his shoulder.
“Sena? Sena?” her voice rose, trying to distinguish herself from the amalgam of people around her.
The man’s attention had not been acquired, forcing her to tap on the man’s shoulder as she again spoke.
“Sena?”
The man turned around and looked at her with an angry scowl. She wasn’t exactly surprised by his expression; the environment was conducive to such a reaction. But she leaned in to his ear, in an attempt to make certain he could hear her clearly.
“Excuse me; are you Wayra?”
The man’s appearance of annoyance only increased as he shook his head no and returned his attention forward without a word.
She lifted her finger again and considered asking if he might know Wayra. But she decided against it, as the man moved deeper into the crowd. And with that, she turned and pushed the opposite way, trying to extract herself, and return to the back edge.
As she slightly tripped away from the crowd, she looked over to Naira to give her a reassuring smile that she would continue to look. But Naira was not there. She felt an alarm move into her and quickly made her way to the spot where Naira had been before she began the search.
However, before she reached the stoop, her hands moved up to her ears in reflex as suddenly an ear-piercing reverb penetrated her senses. She continued to wince as her attention was drawn to the HEAGEN vehicles. She turned in full as the voices of the crowd, all of whom had suffered the same ear pain, moved to quiet murmurs. Her eyes focused on a male HEAGEN, as he seemed to be the one who had perpetrated the sound, as he held in his hand a box microphone.
The male HEAGEN seemed to chuckle and cast his eyes down towards another HEAGEN, perhaps directing them to adjust the volume so he could make an announcement.
Ash felt her blood pressure instantly rise, taking the already ringing ears to another level. Not from the sound she had just experienced; but from the sight of two additional HEAGENs flanking the male HEAGEN, holding percussion guns.
She began to hear her breath; it was vocally heaving forward as her fear was irremovable.
Since its emergence after the Bottleneck, the World Council — in an attempt to keep the tragedies of the past from repeating themselves — had decreed that projectile weapons were illegal, with only a few cultural exemptions. It was welcomed the world over, as all countries had adopted the mandate. However, Hylatee had found a bit of a loophole with the percussion gun. The gun used compressed air that, with the help of a power cell, would cause the particles to speed up. Hylatee hailed it as a non-lethal form of security control, one that also didn’t break the technical aspect of the law; while it did fire, no physical projectiles were released. However, this didn’t lessen its potential as a deadly weapon; even a shot meant to stun could severely burn a victim that could lead to infections and death.
And now, before her, were the guns at the ready.
Her eyes moved back to the male HEAGEN, as he spoke into the box microphone again.
“Can everyone hear me? Okay. I understand many of you are very upset and not understanding what is happening. That’s to be expected as you’re all a bunch of backwoods simpletons.”
Her mouth fall agape, as she couldn’t believe what she just heard. She was not the only one, as angry voices from the crowd moved forward, protesting what had just been said. She really couldn’t fathom why the HEAGEN could feel so emboldened to speak in such a disrespectful manner. But her shock came with a strike of terror at a realization. She felt her limbs numb, as the male HEAGEN gestured with his hand for everyone to calm as he continued.
“Now I’m not saying anything that isn’t true. I could have said it all in Watzeen and none of you would have understood a word. Like saying…”
The male HEAGEN paused as an evil grin pulled at the side of his mouth. She spoke in her mind as she knew what was coming. “Deo, please no.”
“Vumizui sushui,” the HEAGEN spoke with a vile hiss.
“Oh Deo, please no!” She spoke aloud as it seemed several of the people in the crowd could speak Watzeen and knew exactly what the HEAGEN said as their voices raised in terror too: “Kill them.”
Suddenly, the sounds of people screaming and percussion gunfire began to fill the valley and her mind. But she remained frozen, as she couldn’t reconcile what was happening. It couldn’t be real. It had to be a nightmare.
Her mind erupted into the present as her shoulder was slammed into, turning her about-face from the impact. She felt another body hit her with force that sent a burning sensation through her, especially her trembling legs. She felt herself being in motion, but she was not moving on her own. The crowd was rolling like a river, and she was being washed up in it. She looked to her side and saw a man staggering. He had obviously been shot by a percussion gun; nearly the whole of his clothing in the back had been burned away — along with a large part of tissue missing, letting blood gush from the wound.
Her instinct was to reach out and help him, but before she could even try, he fell to the ground and the wave of people kept moving her forward.
Suddenly, the sound of breaking glass near her illustrated how close the percussion guns were, and with that, she found her legs and moved on her own. Her mind went into autopilot. She ran. Ran for her life.
As she started to pass people, her mind was formulating a plan; she just had to find the opening. Suddenly, she saw the space among the buildings and ran between them; she decided she could try to make it up the side of the mountain and over the ridge, as the woman on the STV had declared earlier.
But as she made it to the slope base, her plans were shattered, as several people were sliding down the hill towards her. One man yelled as he was coming down.
“Go back! HEAGENs are comin’ down from the ridge, too!”
She felt the frustration move from her lips as she yelled wordlessly, and began to run back to the street.
Coming to the street, she looked down towards the natural wall where the mines were. Another idea began to form in her mind as her legs pushed her forward. But she was no further than a couple of meters when the crowd in front of her appeared to be sweeping back towards her. She heard a woman scream as she passed.
“Go back! Go back! They're up on that end!”
She turned around and looked at where she came from. People were still falling. She looked up the street to where she wanted to go. People were running and screaming from that direction. She panicked, as she didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know where to go. It was becoming clear that she was going to die here.
But her thoughts were effaced as she felt arms wrap around her waist from behind, lifting her up. She began to yell and kick, trying to fight off the person who was lifting her off the ground and pulling her back off the street, but her position was compromised and she had no leverage to fight. She screamed for help, but no one noticed her. No one heard her cries.
As she was pulled into the building, the person who had held her released their grip, giving her the opportunity to move quickly away from them. She looked around, realizing she was in a hardware store, and moved to grab something to protect herself, when a small voice stopped her action.
“Thank you, Wayra.”
Ash looked at the man, who was locking the door to the building as the realization was coming to her. The man who had pulled her back was Naira’s brother, Wayra. And he did, indeed, look like her brother.
Wayra pointed to the back of the store and spoke in a commanding manner.
“Naira, get into the storage room now.”
Wayra’s attention turned to her as his voice remained commanding.
“We’re getting out of here.”
She nodded and began to follow Warya. Suddenly, the glass windows of the store shattered and products fell from their shelves, as several bursts from a percussion gun were directed towards them.
As she fell to her hands and knees, she crawled quickly between the shelving rows, trying to hide her presence.
She felt her breath coming in short bursts, as if she were about to hyperventilate. Her eyes squeezed shut by reflex. She could hear glass being walked on slowly as it crunched and slid; a HEAGEN had moved into the store.
“Whoever is in here, come out now,” the HEAGEN demanded.
Ash opened her eyes and laid flat, pressing her face to the floor in an attempt to see if she could ascertain where the HEAGEN was. She felt her breath pull as she could see them, and they were slowly walking towards the back of the store. She again looked to see where Wayra and Naira had hid, but could see neither.
She pushed herself back up to her hands and knees and crawled towards the front of the store. She told herself that Naira would not come to harm on her watch. If she could get the attention of the HEAGEN and get them to follow her out of the store, it would give Naira and Wayra a chance to escape, and she would accept any ensuing fate.
As she made it halfway to the front, she again lowered her face to the floor, noticing the HEAGEN parallel to her, only one aisle away. And they didn’t seem to be able to see her over the tall display racks. She looked out the now-shattered window and could see people were still trying to flee, but in much smaller numbers. She could still hear screams and percussion guns, but they seemed muted, as if the HEAGEN were now moving from building to building.
Turning her attention back to the HEAGEN, she saw they were well past her position, and her opportunity to run was now.
But before she could jump and run, the voice of Warya penetrated the silence of the store as he spoke.
“Okay, we’re coming out.”
She quickly turned and noticed Wayra slowly standing from behind the sales counter. His hands were raised in defeat. She jumped from her kneeling position to a crouch as she was still determined to catch the HEAGEN’s attention.
She crouched over to the corner of the display rack, looked up, and could see the back of the HEAGEN as they lifted the percussion gun towards Wayra.
“Wayra, no!” Naira cried out in fear.
Ash turned her attention to Naira, seeing she was now standing in the doorframe of the storage room.
But along with her, Naira had also taken the attention of the HEAGEN, who quickly aimed his percussion gun at her.
Ash felt the rage explode in her; she quickly grabbed a spade that had fallen to the floor, stood up, and swung with all her might.
As the spade struck the HEAGEN’s head, the call of anger she released by reflex was drowned out by the subtle, but distinctly powerful noise of metal against bone. Her breath pulled and ceased and time seemed to slow for a moment, as if a surrealness had set into her. The sensations of contact began to move up the spade and into her arms in waves, causing bright flashes to explode in her eyes. She looked down as she hadn’t noticed the HEAGEN had fallen. Fallen at her hand.
In her mind she asked, “What have I done?” She was jerked from the slow motion she had been experiencing, as she felt Wayra’s hand firmly on her upper arm.
She looked him in the eyes and he spoke.
“You saved our lives.”
As she finally let go of the breath she was holding, Wayra guided her away from the fallen HEAGEN, and spoke again in a firm manner.
“Don’t drop that, your prints are on it. Naira, down the stairs, now.”
As Wayra ushered her through the storage room door, she realized she still wasn’t fully present, as a white halo was now framing everything she saw. Her mind didn’t seem to be making conscious decisions or observations, as it took her several minutes to realize the sound that was touching her ears was a generator somewhere, which explained why the lights were still on in the building. Her eyes moved to Wayra, as his gloved hands locked the door and pushed a couple of items against it in an effort to prevent it from being opened with ease.
She looked at him as he spoke.
“You’re okay. Give that to me.”
She didn’t feel her arms reach out as he took the spade from her and quickly affixed it to his backpack. Once done, he again steered her as they made their way down a set of stairs.
As they reached the bottom of the stairs, she noted the heavy metal door before them and wondered where it led.
But her dazed thoughts did not linger, and suddenly she felt a weight on her back and tiny arms wrap around her neck. She turned to watch as Wayra gathered her knitted coat at the bottom and wrapped it around herself and Naira, creating a secure sling for Naira to sit in.
She looked at Wayra; he offered an expression of compassion as he spoke.
“We’re almost out of here, but we have a walk ahead of us. This will make sure your arms are free and you can keep your balance.”
“Wayra, they’re coming,” Naira spoke with a whine of fear in her voice.
Wayra pulled from his pocket two lightsticks and shook them to activate. He handed them both to her and turned his attention to the door before them. With what seemed to be a concerted effort, Wayra pulled open the door just enough for them to fit through.
As Wayra quickly guided her through first, she shined the lightsticks around and examined the platform in the area she had stepped into. And here it was, the answer to one of her questions — the water that had forged the valley was underneath the town. Like Melchior, it seemed the town had built itself above the stream and constructed a drainage system that moved the water away from the town to prevent flooding or worse. She looked around; the assembly was professional-grade, with walls and curved ceilings made of brick. The walls were certainly worn with age and slippery with the slime that often finds homes in environments such as these, but there was no question about its sturdiness.
Her attention was pulled as she suddenly heard a noise in the distance, as if the door that laid up the stairs in the hardware store was being broken. But the noise ceased immediately, as Wayra pulled the door closed. She stepped back slightly, giving Wayra room to move past her and to the side of the door, to which he picked up what looked to be a large piece of metal. He slid it through the door handle and pushed it firmly into the wall, barricading the door closed.
She watched as Wayra, wasting no time, jumped off the cement platform and into the water with a splash. She could easily see the water come up just below his knees, and with him being taller than her, it certainly would meet her mid-thighs.
“Wayra,” she said, taking his attention and handing him the lightsticks.
With her hands free, she quickly pulled up her skirt and tucked it into itself, hoping to keep it from getting wet.
She looked at Wayra as he offered his hand and spoke.
“Take my hand, Ash.”
She nodded and took his hand as she jumped from the platform into the ice-cold water. She gasped as the water immediately began to numb her body. But nothing was stopping her.
With no further words, Wayra led them down the drainage tunnel and away from danger. She closed her eyes for a moment as now, with safety on the horizon, her mind was beginning to truly process what had transpired. She felt the emotions, the sights, and the sounds finally starting to register in her. Her heart was pounding, and her eyes were welling with tears that bubbled to the surface because of all that had befallen them.
Book 1 — Chapter 4
Day: Hyningo
Date: 1
Month: Nokaokarium
Quarturn: 1618
Location: The city of Hylaton
Miles pulled the air into himself with such momentum, it forced his neck to lengthen, his shoulders to jerk upwards, and his back to arch. But as his eyes shot open toward the ceiling above, he immediately realized it wasn’t a hypnagogic jerk, or a bout of apnea that had sent his body thrusting, but a pair of enaid that had passed through him.
“Fuuuuu …” he breathed out loud, still trying to gather his senses.
He brought another breath into himself, this time slowed and controlled, in an attempt to center and rouse his more conscious thoughts.
As he let the breath out, with it came a soft scolding to the enaid as they slowly continued to rise above him.
“Damn it, you two. Why did you do that?”
As he pushed himself up to sit from his lying position on the bed, he released a soft chortle from his nose. For now that the initial shock had passed, his thoughts were moving toward a more self-deprecating humor in light of his response — including his insistence to talk to enaid aloud.
He took another breath and examined the enaid; they were now at eye level with him, bobbing up and down rhythmically, as if riding on unseen waves.
“What are you two looking at?” he asked in almost a whisper. “What did you see when you were in there?”
He let out a chuckle, as again his mind moved to self-ridicule. Though it wasn’t as if he took those thoughts too seriously; it was the rare person who didn’t poke fun at themselves at least a little. Further, he was more than cognizant that his words were for his own benefit; the enaid would not be hearing them.
He lifted his hand toward the enaid; they, too, moved up in unison, keeping a distinct and even space between themselves and him. He continued to move his hand, sending the enaid right and left, up and down, seemingly conducting their movements. All the while, the space between them remained, as if there was a magnetic force pushing them apart.
“Oh, now you’re too good for me,” he spoke with a laugh.
As he returned his hand to the bed, he watched as the enaid began to slowly slide away as he studied them. Their white luminousness with the delicate green-blue hues always fascinated him. They were technically semi-transparent, yet he could never really gauge light behind them, only from them. Their ability to pass through matter was another source of enchantment. But it really shouldn’t have been. There were many things that were known to pass through matter. From simple concepts like photons, to more advanced studies such as neutrinos and veiled matter. All passing through him as he sat and contemplated.
However, the enaid were distinctly different compared to the others.
First, the enaid were far more perceivable. Granted, the eyes could technically detect photons; they were sensitive enough to detect a single photon due to the rhodopsin in the rods. But such a photonic perception was achieved in a controlled scientific setting. The enaid didn’t need such. They were present for all to observe, with no primer needed to perceive them.
Second, while neutrinos and aspects of veiled matter passed through him with no discernible perception, an enaid passing through a person was most certainly physically detectable.
Miles thought to himself that he really should have known it was an enaid before his eyes opened. For as an enaid passed through you, it seemed to take the whole body with it. It would take your breath, seize up your muscles, and — for many who had experienced such — leave your mind with phantom “voices.” These voices were not conspicuous like what an Attata would experience. But, as in his case, they were distant sounds that echoed in the mind; an intonation that was reminiscent of a speaking voice.
This was part of the reason that he personally subscribed to the theory that enaid were truly the souls of the transcended. For while he had never had the privilege, there were more than a few — Attata and non-graced alike — who swore they heard distinct words as an enaid passed through them. Naturally, it was all cast aside as anecdotal evidence. But he was a firm believer that anecdotal evidence — after being experienced independently by untold numbers — does, at some point, become evidence.
“That’s not very scientific of you,” he thought to himself. But he quickly dismissed his self-condemnation; he considered that while it would be an accurate statement in the solid-sciences, the fluid-sciences would have created a complete system around a concept with less evidence.
But before his thoughts could go even further, the enaid again forced him to breathe in suddenly. Only this time by observation, as they were getting dangerously close to his crystal chips that he had forgotten to place in their protective case.
“No, no, no, no, no!” he called out in a plea to the beings that again, could not hear him.
• • •
“Social interaction!” Miles called out in an exaggerated tone, as he exited his room to the commons area of the apartment.
He laughed as his roommate, Dacoth, who was seated on the couch reading, tossed her head back and groaned with dread.
“Ugghhh. I thought I was alone.”
“I’m fine, thanks. How are you?” he responded, emphasizing his sarcasm.
As he moved toward the kitchen island to sit, he kept his eyes on Dacoth, as she chuckled to his mock before her eyes returned to her book. Her chuckle brought with it a smile of his own, as he always did enjoy when he evoked laughter from someone. Upon taking a seat, his voice continued its energy.
“I’m glad you’re here. I figured out a neat piece of trivia I’m desperate to share with someone.”
“Okay, enlighten me,” Dacoth responded with feigned interest.
“So I read with the solar year census, they estimate, sans the Shattered Continent, there are now 555 million people in the world. And while I know this is not how the distribution works, when you consider there are 33 countries, that would average out to 16.81 million per country. The quarturn; 1618. The million of people; 16.81.”
Dacoth looked from her book and chuckled as she spoke.
“I see what you’re doing there, and you’re looking way too deep into it...”
“Ope!” Miles exclaimed to stop Dacoth’s words. “I’m not claiming any sort of correlation. Nor am I suggesting you should see one either. Just pointing out a similarity in the numbers.”
“Sure you’re not,” Dacoth responded in an unconvinced tone, before she moved to a chuckle and commented, “You said ‘ope.’”
He chuckled and tipped his head back from side to side quickly as he admitted.
“Eh, my northernness comes out from time to time.”
As Dacoth set her book down, she moved her legs from the couch and stood with a stretch as she spoke around it.
“Speaking of quarturn 1618; happy holiday.”
She let her arms fall to her side as she gestured with her head, pointing with her chin.
“The boyfriend is doing family stuff today for the holiday. He sent me back with a bunch of food he made. Help yourself if you want some. But if you see him, don’t tell him you had any.”
As he reached for the tray of food, he pulled it closer and lifted the waxed fabric. His eyes inspected the samples as he asked.
“Why can’t I tell him I had some?”
His attention returned to Dacoth as she placed her hands on her hips, preparing to explain.
“New boyfriend. Was needing space. Told him everyone was gone for the holiday. And…”
She paused for a moment, as she seemed to consider how to speak her thoughts gently.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but he doesn’t like you. It’s not personal, mind you, because he doesn’t know you. But the few times you’ve been here while he was here, it made him self-conscious. Because … you know …” she gestured toward him with her hand, moving up and down as if painting the space he occupied.
He felt a quizzical expression come to his face, though it was a half-hearted one; he was fairly certain he knew of what she was speaking. But he feigned ignorance all the same as he spoke.
“No, I don’t know.”
She rolled her eyes with a chuckle, as she responded in a mock irritation.
“Fishing for compliments, are we?”
“Absolutely not,” he exclaimed. “That’s an appalling personality trait.”
As Dacoth laughed, she waved away his response before she continued.
“You’re offensively good looking, body and face. It gave him a complex.”
He felt the quizzical expression come again to his face, but this time in full sincerity as he asked.
“Wait. This is the part-Corachal boyfriend, right?”
“Yeah,” she responded with a nod.
“Part Corachal,” he said again, emphasizing the “Corachal” part of his words, imparting the implication with them.
Dacoth seemed to clearly understand what he was implying, as she rolled her eyes and nodded.
“Yes, I know. Corachals are famed for their gorgeousness. And he’s no exception. It’s the Oken in him. We’re famed, too. Only, ours is for our ability to disparage ourselves to illogical extremes.”
As Dacoth moved off toward the bathroom, Miles let the laugh come forward with vigor, as her humor always struck him well.
He thought to himself about her description of Okens, and their ability to disparage themselves. It wasn’t something he had seen in overwhelming frequency. But that’s how stereotypes worked. An assertive minority narrating for the passive majority. It was an affliction that Humes shared as well. But Okens and Humes had a couple of things in common.
Okens, like Humes, had immigrated to the planetary neighborhood some millennia prior, finding particular ease in acclimating to Jeahne and Mother World. Though it made sense, as with the notable exception of Watzeen and Corachals, Okens weren’t all that physically distinctive from some of the other peoples of the world. But they had some unique attributes.
All Okens he was aware of claimed the same facial structures. An always handsome, heart-shaped face with wide cheekbones, a narrow jawline, and a pointed chin. Their upturned almond-shaped eyes were always beautifully framed by their long singular set brow that arched gracefully from eye to eye, only enhancing the heart shape of the face. Their eye color was distinctive — a striking red-amber that was not only exquisite, but also provided Okens with the ability to perceive further into the ultraviolet and infrared spectrums. However, perhaps their most conspicuous trait was the set of horns that rested on their heads.
Miles recalled he had read that the original evolutionary purpose behind the horns was unclear, and that at this point, they were vestigial at best. But that did not detract from their beauty. The horns varied in size and number, but were all soft and rounded at the top, growing larger in circumference at the base. The horns began their protrusion near the frontal bone of the skull and followed in a single line along the sagittal suture, becoming more diminutive as they passed over the occipital bone before disappearing into the spine. Further, they were a golden-medium hue that fully matched the average Oken skin tones. Aside from that, Oken hair was indiscernible; it was usually deep brown and straight. But it was something that Okens took great pride in; as it was popular to weave their hair in and around their horns in complex twists and braids. A practice that was a cultural experience for them.
His thoughts were dispersed as Dacoth emerged from the bathroom speaking aloud.
“You know, that’s actually kind of interesting about the population. Was thinking about how it’s more amazing that there are still various genetic peoples. One would think we all would have homogenized by now. Then again, the theoretical 20-plus million post-Bottleneck isn’t a small population seed to maintain genetic diversity. But isn’t it the lore your ancestors were the ones on the Astray Ship?”
Miles shrugged, as he wasn’t certain of the accuracy of said lore.
“So some believe. Arrived just after the Bottleneck, apparently we missed the great planetary convergence, so the Couriers just dumped us all here. I suppose when you have such a massive influx, it helps in population growth and diversity.”
He watched as Dacoth sat on the couch and brought the book back up to read. As it occurred to him she was reading from a paper book, he felt himself exclaim.
“Paper book! How vintage. What’s the subject matter?”
Dacoth smiled at his comment, as she turned a page to seemingly emphasize the paper aspect of the book. But as his question lingered, she answered in a general tone.
“Oh, a kind of scholarly book. It’s supposed to be the most comprehensive book written on Oken history, or what the authors could piece together. Reading about the ruins of Fynyddi.”
“Oh, is that an Oken word?” he asked with sincere curiosity.
“Could be. It sounds Oken, if that’s even a thing. Perhaps one of the lost dialects,” Dacoth paused as she moved her eyes from the book to the ceiling and spoke in a voice of astonishment. “It’s really kind of raw if you think about it. In all Oken areas, they estimate there were close to 93 different dialects. But because of the Bottleneck, only nine remain, and many of those are filtering out due to technology and converging. Like, for example, the people in Ki are experiencing a vowel shift that’s changing the languages there. It’s wild to me. If the dialects alone were so wholly lost, you can imagine what happened to most of the languages that used to be spoken here.”
“Especially with the Lost Peoples,” he added.
“Too right!” she exclaimed to his comment.
But a language observation came to his mind as he asked.
“Is that why ‘Ki,’ ‘Akkad,’ shit… even the word ‘Oken’ have the basic ‘que’ sound? I mean, I speak some Oken and I have never heard that in the current language.”
“Because it doesn’t exist in the current language. It’s believed to have been in one of the lost dialects, if not a whole lost language attached to the Oken peoples,” Dacoth returned her eyes to the book as she continued with a bit of a chuckle. “Does have a ‘true story’ feel to it.”
He shared her chuckle, as the way she emphasized ”true story” struck him as humorous. But his curiosity was still piqued as he asked.
“So, what was Fynyddi?”
As Dacoth turned the page, she paused for a minute, as if she were finishing a paragraph. Her eyes remained on the book as she spoke with divided attention.
“Apparently a trading post, as trade was a thing. Though that’s not important, listen to this.”
She paused again, her eyes visibly moving across the words. Then, as she came to a stopping point, she directed her attention to him and spoke.
“So, this is one of the stranger aspects of Oken history. Apparently, for the longest time, we used to work on a system scholars refer to as credit hour. It was supposed to be a way to ensure equality among all. Everyone, no matter what job they did, earned the same amount of credits per working hour, and they traded those credits for goods and services. So if you were a teacher, or an artist, or a retina specialist, you all received the same credits per hour. Even students, when they advanced from their compulsory education, were paid in credit hours. It was thought that if you were studying to, let’s say, become a doctor, your study would be a longer investment; therefore you would be credited the same, but longer accordingly.”
He felt the grin come to his face as he interjected.
“So where was the incentive?”
He felt himself laugh; Dacoth’s eyes widened, and a smirk came to her face as she pointed to him directly and spoke with vigor.
“There it is! There’s the twist! That’s why it was abandoned. I mean, it actually sounds like a great system on the surface, until you start considering the input-output conditions. It was a good system that paid people to study and become productive members of society. And too, it did encourage people to pursue what appealed to them, which helps in productivity because a healthy-happy worker is a productive worker. But they observed that less desirable jobs were going unfilled. They cited mining in the book, saying there was evidence that with the high labor energy input, the high fatality rate, and the residual after-employment issues, they were to where they were conscripting people into it. And they’re not wrong; who would want to work in such a high-input job when there is no incentive for a higher output?”
As her eyes returned to the book, she finished her thoughts with a hint of derision.
“Shame it didn’t work. Shame, too, trade didn’t survive, either. Much better than the weird capitalistic system the Lost Peoples and you Humes are so damn fond of and subject the rest of us to.”
Miles felt his eyes roll, and chuckled as he argued.
“But that’s what capitalism is. It’s trade. Regulated. It helps quantify what is not tangible. Like work hours. Plus, it does provide incentive and reward for the input-output conditions.”
“Does it really, though? Don’t make me gesture towards Melchior,” she responded with a genuine ire in her voice.
He sighed aloud; he had to resign himself to her words as he spoke.
“I will fully cede to you that no, it doesn’t fairly reward the input-output conditions. I’m well aware of that. But you of all people should know that it’s difficult to measure worth, as there isn’t always a consensus of what makes one endeavor more essential than another. You own a cleaning service. Your employees work their asses off. I’ve heard you say you want to pay them more. But you’re bound, as you have to balance the workload with not charging yourself out of business. The current system, it’s not perfect. But nothing’s perfect.”
He felt the grin pull at the corner of his mouth as he spoke with a taunt.
“Though, one could argue that if you were really that invested in how much you pay your employees, you could move to Anahita, as the cost of living is cheaper than the vanity-driven Hylaton.”
Dacoth’s eyes squinted with pique to his tease, causing him to laugh loudly at her expression. Her voice moved with aggravation as she stated.
“Ha ha. Very funny. Ass. I mitigate that by having shitty roommates who irritate me to no end.”
As his laugh increased to her harsh words, she also giggled at the exchange. Though, her face quickly moved into one of conception as she offered.
“Maybe we should put sensors on everyone that measures the amount of physical energy they expend per job, and reward them based on that.”
“But what about the jobs that are fully cerebral? How do you measure that?” he asked.
“Deo. You really are just the worst,” her eyes rolled as she gibed. But her tone shifted as she continued. “However, I really do like that old system of commerce. It has serious merit. I don’t know; maybe there’s a hybrid system out there between our old system and the current system that finds that brilliant sweet spot, benefiting all.”
“There is. We’ll figure it out. Things will always get better in the end,” he offered with sincere optimism.
Dacoth smiled with an air of regard as she remarked.
“That’s very Hume of you to say, and I respect it. The tenacity of the Hume genes. Maybe if Okens were a bit more tenacious, we wouldn’t have had to abandon those systems of commerce. Or wouldn’t have had to even settle here.”
Her expression moved to one that showed a sense of wistfulness as she continued.
“But what do I know? The old world could have made this place look like a paradise. I’m just having a bout of farsickness.”
Miles smiled and nodded knowingly. Unfortunately, he couldn’t empathize with Dacoth’s thoughts. He had no such past. His inclination was to always be moving forward, always looking ahead, in the hopes of one day finding a place that would instill such nostalgia.
His thoughts were quickly dispersed as his roamphone came to life with a ring. He pulled it from its wrist sheath and answered.
“Miles Doru speaking.”
“Sena Doru. My name is Sena Hebar. I’m calling from preliminary scheduling for Hylatee. We are calling to inform you that you will be receiving a call within the next two hours from central scheduling concerning a project you have submitted. Will you be available for the call?” the masculine voice asked.
He felt confused as he put forth.
“But, it’s a holiday.”
“So it is. Will you be available?” the voice asked again.
He shook his head as if to release the confusion as he explained.
“I’m sorry. I’m only surprised. Didn’t expect Hylatee to have a full working day given the holiday and was concerned I was being scammed.”
The man’s voice let out a vocal sigh, as his professional cadence moved to one of informality.
“Yeah. And this is where I’m supposed to say something promoting the company’s work ethic and efficiency, but I’m so far down the chain and my supervisor isn’t in to monitor my call, so I’m checked out today. So imagine I said something impressive that convinced you to sit around on a holiday, waiting for a call that might not bring anything good with it.”
Miles responded around his chuckle towards the man’s apathy.
“My imagination is composing as we speak. And yes, I will be available for the call. Thank you.”
• • •
Miles took a deep, calming breath as he sat on the bed of his room and observed the large desk that filled most of his space.
Not a centimeter of the surface area remained bare; it was filled with his computer equipment and tools — the macro computer, the micro-wrist computer, and the crystal chip maker that brought a small grin to his mouth as it hummed and put out a soft scent of warmed soil. The crystals were manipulated and chemically patterned for the purpose of nanoscale data storage through light reflection. It was perhaps his most prized possession. But all of his equipment was prized; computing was one of his greater passions, in all of its aspects. From hardware to software, he could allow himself a great deal of credit that he was more amply well-versed than the average-educated computing user. It was a long road of study and dedication that brought him to his keen abilities. And he knew, despite not having a degree, that his prowess was going to pay off very soon; if not that day.
His nerves were rising. He reached his arms high above his head and stretched, letting out a deep, contented sigh from the muscular draw that was quite invigorating.
He moved his hands to his knees and rubbed, as if he were trying to rub away any detrimental thoughts and emotions that were trying their best to discourage what he knew he had and what he was capable of.
As he paused his movement, he examined his hands. His light, neutral-toned skin easily showed the redness that had appeared from the friction of the fabric.
He placed his hands on the bed and diverted his attention again to the desk in front of him.
A sigh moved past his lips as he caught his reflection and recalled Dacoth’s words. His supposed handsomeness.
It wasn’t something he considered to be an objective truth. His 176-centimeter-tall body housed a frame of mid-teens body fat that, he admitted, did showcase his muscles well. And while his face had features that were ascribed as conventionally attractive — a strong jawline, soft lips, and “hunter’s eyes” — it lacked a reality of substance in his mind. Even his thick, curly blond hair — which he left relatively short, so it only met the nape of his neck — wasn’t anything special in his mind.
But if there were any of his physical features for which he would allow praise, it would be his eyes. They were lavender, with blooms of indigo around the iris. Even he had to admit to their charm.
But charm aside, it wasn’t something he was proud of. It was a strange matter to him, to be proud of one’s physical appearance. And he never could wrap his head around people who were.
Granted, he took a measured approach on his opinion. He fully understood why someone who lifted weights and trained their body would be proud; it was a well-earned pride that was indeed fitting of worth. But to be proud of something that was “gifted” to you by chance? Why? It was so strange to him.
But as his thoughts wandered to why he was even having such an internal monologue, the answer came to him quickly, as did the burn on the back of his neck. For he also had to admit, if it wasn’t for his perceived good looks, he would not have been sitting there at that moment.
Suddenly, he was pulled from all his thoughts; his roamphone sprang to life with a ring. He took a deep breath with rounded lips and blew out with force, pushing all anxieties out with it.
“Miles Doru speaking,” he answered.
“Sena Doru. My name is Ameeli. I’m one of the members of the precursory technical committee. I’ve decided to circumvent central scheduling and invite you to meet with us today concerning your project submission. In about 20 minutes. We, of course, will allot you a 10-minute buffer to account for any traffic delays. Please report to the south entrance and check in with reception. They’re already expecting you.”
He felt his eyes widen, as the shock of how quickly everything was unfolding took him aback. It was something that seemed to be apparent, as his lack of response prompted Ameeli to interject.
“I’m sure this is sudden for you, but I cannot guarantee this opportunity will be available again in the future.”
He let out his breath and spoke factually.
“This is indeed sudden. Not unwelcomed, I can affirm. And I will be there as long as you have no reservation about me presenting in non-conventional attire.”
“That will not be an issue,” Ameeli assured. “We only care about what you can offer Hylatee.”
Book 1 — Chapter 5
Day: Hyningo
Date: 1
Month: Nokaokarium
Quarturn: 1618
Location: The city of Hylaton
Miles paused as his eyes were drawn skyward, examining the building before him — Hylatee headquarters.
It was, by far, the largest building in the world. Along with its surrounding campus, its footprint spanned nearly a quarter of a square kilometer.
The main building, with its 101 floors, consisted of three distinct tiers. Its first tier and the base of the building, which comprised the 1st to 40th floor, was composed of four massive cylindrical towers that moved into each other, forming a large quatrefoil with little overlap. The four lobes were purposely positioned so that each face pointed towards a cardinal direction. The second tier, which comprised the 41st to 80th floor, mimicked the base, with its cylindrical towers forming the quatrefoil. However, this tier was significantly set back from the one below. This was repeated in the last tier, and comprised the 81st to the 101st floors; quatrefoil-shaped cylindrical towers that were recessed back from the tier below.
From what he understood, the tapered design helped with stabilization. Yet to him, that was the only interesting quality of the structure. In his eyes, it was actually an ugly building. For one would think, using round lines for the form, it would have taken on a graceful appearance. However, the towers imbued an aggressiveness with their bare structural elements. The large yet oddly constrictive windows, the frames with their markedly sharp edges that jutted out from the building face, and the unpainted concrete that revealed its fire-resistant composition. It was a peculiarity, for Hylaton had some beautifully-designed buildings, and it was strange to see the largest was not among them. Perhaps the building was built in haste. Or the exterior was an afterthought. Nevertheless, it looked “off,” which only helped fuel his ever-growing nerves.
He took another deep breath to extinguish those nerves, and pushed himself forward towards the south entrance as he was instructed.
As soon as he had closed the call, he changed his sweater, freshened his scent, put on his outdoor shoes, and was out the door. He was thankful that traffic was light; he was able to reach the building, find parking, and make it to the entrance within 15 minutes. But he was already appreciating the 10-minute buffer that was allotted to him. For as he moved through the door, he was met with a measurable queue for a security check.
“Appreciate the time. Use it wisely,” he told himself, as he sincerely could use every moment possible; for he had yet to decide which presentation he was going to give.
• • •
Miles felt the burn rise on the back of his neck. Not because his time was running short; the queue was moving promptly. But standing in line was providing him with more opportunity to observe those around him. And in that, he became increasingly aware that he should have taken a couple more minutes to choose his clothing. For despite what Ameeli had said about his attire not being relevant, it was becoming perceptibly relevant to him.
It was an interesting function of the business, political, and class world. For the most part, what one wore wasn’t exactly apparel by requirement. Generally speaking, as long as the garments were clean and roughly conservative in coverage, you could wear what you pleased. However, there was one requisite that was always adhered to — anything worn must brand oneself as belonging to said group.
To do this, everything was dependent on the details. Accessories, even if worn in minimalism, were carefully curated to express one’s status. Stylization — for something as simple as how you tucked a shirt or rolled a cuff — was indicative of having the latest insight into trends that were not minded by lower classes. Fabric was always made of the finest materials, so that the untrained eye could easily discern its elite quality. And the fit was the superior indicator of wealth, as each garment would shape as if it were tailor-made for them. Moreover, it most likely was. Because again, while wearing what you pleased was acceptable, expressing your wealth and status through it was demanded.
His thoughts moved laterally, as he noticed a man passing him on the exit side of the hall, wearing a similar sweater to his. As he regarded the stylization, he quickly tucked the front of his sweater into his pants and folded, letting it slightly flare out at the sides and in full at the back. He pushed the sleeves up and drew at the edging near the elbow, trying to achieve a triangular shape. He quickly pulled at his hair, parting it on the side, and tugged at the curls to fluff them, inducing height. As he looked himself over, he thought about an adage he had heard years ago — “imitation until vindication.” He was just going to have to feign belonging in the superficial until he belonged in the consequential.
• • •
“My name is Miles Doru. I was told to check in with reception for a meeting.”
The woman behind the large reception desk moved her eyes over towards a detail he could not see due to the privacy element, perhaps looking for his name.
His head bobbed from the tension that was rising in him. The queue to get through security was indeed quick, and almost a little underperformed; the HEAGEN who searched his messenger bag didn’t seem too invested. He still was ahead of schedule. But his decision had not yet been made, and it was weighing on him heavily. Which presentation to give?
He again didn’t have time to come to a conclusion, as the woman who he addressed spoke with a chitter.
“Ah, yes. You’re checked in. Here. Keep this with you at all times,” she instructed as she handed him a visitor’s badge and continued, “Your appointment is on the 42nd floor, room 4295. Now there are two sets of elevators available; the inward and the outward. However, the inward, while they go straight up to the top floors, are always very busy. In fact,” she paused as she looked over to a screen before continuing, “looking at the elevator monitoring system, at present it’s going to be a seven-to-ten-minute wait before it reaches this floor. Cannot guarantee how long the ascent will take because of the other passengers entering and exiting. I recommend taking the outward elevators, as there is only a 30-second wait time. However, it’s a little tricky for the uninitiated, so pay close attention.”
Miles nodded and felt his brow curl in concentration as she proceeded and gestured, illustrating her directives.
“Now, you’re going to follow those signs that will show you to the outward elevators. Once you get on, you’re going to take them to the 40th floor. When you get off, you’ll be in a small atrium. From there, you’re going to walk straight ahead until you come to Hall 30:10. They are labeled and it should only take you a minute or so. You’ll turn left and should immediately see the next set of elevators. Get on them and…”
“Excuse me,” a masculine voice spoke over the woman.
Miles turned his attention towards the voice, as did the woman. The man, standing next to him, smiled faintly as he offered.
“Pardon my interruption. I’m Sena Metofa, Ameeli’s assistant. I was sent down to escort Sena Doru to the meeting room.”
Not waiting for a reply, Metofa gestured with his hand and put forth.
“This way, Sena Doru.”
He nodded and offered his own smile of appreciation, for he was certain he was going to get lost with the directions. As he turned to thank the woman at the reception desk, she had already moved on to greet the next person in line.
• • •
Miles felt the sigh move from his lips, perhaps more vocally than he intended. But it wasn’t unwarranted in his opinion, as his discomfort was fully fixed.
It had not started as such. Metofa had led him through the elevators and winding halls, speaking little, only informing him that his presentation was moved to another room to accommodate his technical needs. Though, Metofa was kind enough to make a small stop at a general working area to print off individual copies of his project history; he also put them in folders for each of the committee members to review. From there, he was escorted to the room, shown the equipment, and given access to the presentation apparatus.
And this is where the discomfort mounted, due in part to the surroundings. The room itself was tiny with a low ceiling, two awkwardly small doors, and nothing that aired natural light, adding to its penning feel. This, too, was exacerbated by an oval-shaped table that took up most of the space. The table, however, was a professional one. It consisted of individual workstations at each seat that featured embedded pop-up monitors and under-the-table keyboards to ensure privacy; for some people were talented at reading input strokes. The chairs were also professional, as they were designed for comfort in long meetings. They were also functional, as they allowed for remote control over various factors, such as light and projections within the room.
His podium was basic in technology and only allowed him to present the material to the individual monitors at the workstations. He was allotted a very basic, almost aggressively uncomfortable chair at which to sit. And sit he did, as he had now been waiting over 80 minutes for the committee to arrive.
Granted, Metofa too had been in the room with him. But his comfort was assured, as he was sitting at the oval table, in the cushy chairs, working as he waited.
But as much time as had passed, it had given him the opportunity to decide on which presentation to give.
He had brought with him two. A full one and an abridged one. The full one consisted of very telling details of his work; ones he had been vacillating on if he should share. This was, after all, a lesser committee, and he imagined they would want a summary of the project. But more so than that, were the words of a close friend of his, Dagda, that kept repeating in his mind. Words warning him to protect his hard work.
The advice weighed on him and won. He loaded up the abridged presentation and kept the full presentation — along with the full project — on a crystal chip tucked inside a pendant that hung from his neck.
His mind wandered to the technology that laid on his chest. It was so far removed from the technology that once was. The technology before the Bottleneck. And while so much was lost in the Bottleneck, what had been discovered illustrated a significant technology gap from the past to the present. However, this was done by design.
The World Council had decided nearly a solar century ago — as society began to rise again — that in an effort to keep the past from repeating itself, technology would be heavily regulated. They adopted a belief that the use of mental ability must not degrade with the rise of technology. That people would have to prove they could evolve alongside both intellectually and ethically. Even more so, people would have to prove they could wield technology that wasn’t created by them, as more and more pre-Bottleneck tech was discovered. They seemed to take a page from the Couriers in this. For while the Couriers could use technology to traverse the Universe and save people, they were not eager to share the technology that allowed such.
His concern was with the degradation of critical thinking and logic.
He thought about how one of his other roommates, upon discussing a factual matter with him, was insistent on an aspect of it not existing, and would not take a moment to look it up on his wrist computer to verify. It was mystifying to him, and even a little scary that technology was already enabling people to become indolent in their thoughts. Though, it also seemed to be a trend for people to be confidently and demonstrably wrong about the most unambiguous subjects, as if they weren’t interested in the reality of facts.
He would never fault someone for any ignorance. He was fully cognizant that he was unlearned about a great many things. However, it was failing to correct those ignorances or doubling down out of ego that he found reprehensible. With his personal words to live by; he may have been ignorant, but he wasn’t stupid.
But in all of that, he empathized with what the World Council had done. The fear of repeating the near-total destruction of the world prior was something that no amount of memory loss could impede. The scars could be seen on DNA and truly experienced in the subconscious. People everywhere would wake up in cold sweats over it, even though they had never experienced it directly. It was woven into their being.
Of course, as in any clause, exceptions were made by the World Council — most notably in the areas of biology, chemistry, and essential healthcare fields. Within those realms, it was more flexible; and that was part of the reason he was there.
His thoughts ended as his attention was drawn to an interior door; it opened and a man and a woman entered, chatting with a laugh. He stood, feeling some relief. The wait was over, as the intolerable seat was now out from under him.
Upon standing, he received the attention of the woman, who smiled lightly and offered a nod of acknowledgment. She placed several binders on the table and spoke across it.
“Sena Doru. Sorry to keep you waiting. I understand you were right on time. I’m Ameeli, we spoke on the phone. And please address me as Ameeli; my surname is Corachal and near-impossible to pronounce, as you can well imagine.”
He returned the nod with a light bow, as he responded.
“Thank you. I will.”
The other man, who sat closer to him at the table, offered a slight bow as he spoke.
“Sena Doru, a pleasure to meet you. I’m Sena Thopiean,” he paused as he turned toward Ameeli and asked, “Is this the algorithm project?”
“No. That is tomorrow. This is the HEAGEN programming project,” Ameeli responded.
“I’m all kerfufflated,” Thopiean commented with a chuckle, “It wasn’t supposed to be a working day, but the powers that be called everyone in. Someone messed up, and we all have to pay for it.”
“Indeed,” Ameeli added with a sigh before she continued, “Sena Metofa, please wait outside.”
He watched as Metofa quickly cleaned up his space and exited without a word.
As the exterior door shut, Ameeli spoke as she took her seat.
“We are just waiting for the rest of the committee. It will be conducted by our head member, Sena Burceer.”
Miles felt his breath pull with a little extra force, as he was familiar with the name. He told himself to calm; it wasn’t an uncommon name, and could very well be someone different.
But his attention was diverted as Thopiean, who was looking over his project history, asked informally.
“Miles, is it? Well, young man, what do you think of algorithms?”
His mind was divided on how to answer. Respond honestly? Or respond vaguely in hopes of not slighting Thopiean’s own opinion? He let out a breath and decided on honesty.
“To be perfectly straightforward, I’m not a fan in the least. There is potential, but at present, it’s highly flawed. Susceptible to significant biases and blind spots, including those of the programmer.”
Thopiean chuckled and shook his head, as if disbelief washed over him. He looked at him directly and spoke.
“That’s putting it mildly. Let me tell you a story. My department in the computing division is analytics, so I get a first row seat to see the results of some of their nonsense. The kids in the programming department got a ‘big-brain’ moment and pushed some new predictive algorithm toy they had to all the hospitals in Melchior as a test run. A screening tool, supposedly to help decide whether certain patients were at risk for medication abuse, especially pain medication like Parseo, which, as you may know, is one of Hylatee’s signature medications. The program started scouring everything from medical records, educational records, housing records, even criminal justice data — including if you were the victim of a crime. The damn thing was ascribing a score to people based on things like history of depression, if you lived in a rural area at one point in your life, or if you’re a female victim of sexual abuse; compiling a score based on a highly speculative correlation risk. I’m telling you, the dataset we got back was rife with scores that were ascribed along biases of peoples, class, and gender.”
Thopiean leaned forward and gestured, impressing how serious and deeply angry he was with the information he was sharing.
“You have a population down there that has a 0.3-percent prescription abuse rate, despite the issues. With these scores, there was a 76-percent increase in medication denial. They’re telling women they can’t have medication they need because they were victims of abuse and it raised their score. Or denying a Nichal because their nomadic lifestyle raised their score of pill shopping. It’s outrageous. It really hit a head as right before the holiday, we got chewed out by one of the government representatives as she received the same data plus what reports they get. Found while there was a huge downturn in things like Parseo prescriptions given, they had an upturn of 32-hour repeat patients, arriving in worse shape and having to be hospitalized. Had a report of a poor woman; she passed out from pain, hit her head on the way down, and died from traumatic brain injury. All because of a shit algorithm. I have three daughters, it got personal when I heard that. I nearly went down to those kids and beat them with my shoe.”
Miles felt the contrasting emotions weave around him. On one hand, he wanted to sincerely laugh at Thopiean’s desire to enact punishment on the programmers in such a manner, as it struck him as amusing. On the other hand, he shared the frustration at the truly senseless incompetency of the programmers. Further, why would the hospitals even allow an untested non-peer-reviewed program to dictate such? He suppressed his less serious emotions and offered a more empathetic response.
“These matters have real-world consequences. It might be an oversight to us programmers, but it can have life or death repercussions. I’m sorry to hear that. I hope they’ve learned from their flat-out egregious shortcomings.”
Thopiean nodded knowingly and chuckled as he spoke.
“Good man. Well, Miles, you’ve already won me over. Whatever you’re selling, I’m buying.”
Miles shared in the laugh, though Thopiean sighed with resignation as he spoke.
“I wish I could hire you right now, but I only have a fraction of a say on this committee.”
However, before any further words could be spoken, the interior door opened as a group of seven people all quickly steered in.
Miles felt the back of his neck burst into a burn of ignominy, as he immediately recognized Burceer from his previous employment. He took a deep breath and reminded himself to remain professional and focused.
As he moved to prepare the equipment, he observed out of the corner of his eye that Burceer had paused as well upon seeing him. Though Burceer grinned, raised his eyebrows, and shook his head in almost disbelief. But that was not a new response, and one he was certain he could navigate.
As everyone took their seats, Burceer pushed the folder aside that contained his project history and spoke in a dismissive tone.
“We’re already running late. I don’t think it’s of any consequence for everyone to be introduced to Sena Doru. Myself and Ameeli will be the spokespersons; let’s get this over with.”
Miles observed Ameeli, whose expression showed one of confusion as she looked to Burceer, seemingly noting his tone. But she returned her attention to him as she asked.
“Sena Doru, what do you know about HEAGEN’s implant chips?”
He lifted his head as he responded with confidence.
“In short, the device is a semi-neural implant located near the foramen magnum. Its known primary function is as a subpass that uses the chips to collect physiological data on things like stress, physical exertion, and general system functions. I understand there is an input role from the chips as well. Though that information is classified, it’s listed as supplemental nutrition, and the result of how said nutrition affects the individual.”
“How are you privy to this information?” Burceer asked with an air of misgiving.
“As you will see in my project history, I worked closely with Seno Lisemada, the inventor of the new dimensional chip architecture. I was one of the programming testers. I was tasked to program software that was to be written as poorly as possible, in a manner to test the viability of the hardware’s architecture. She knew of my personal work, how it could potentially relate to the chip’s limitations, and recommended I submit my project to Hylatee.” he replied.
“I see you partake in formulating your own crystal chips. And while crystal chips would alleviate our issues, you do know HEAGEN’s implants cannot use those?” Ameeli spoke with a quick concern.
He nodded as he answered.
“I’m well aware. But I have a perfect solution, nonetheless.” He began typing at the podium presentation equipment as he asked. “If you would please open your monitors, I will show you what I can offer.”
As everyone moved to lift their monitors, he paged through several presentation slides quickly as he spoke.
“I had prepared this presentation for a novice group, but because you are all well versed, I will bypass the introduction and get right to the point. The chips you are using for HEAGEN inserts do not need a physical upgrade — they need a programming upgrade. When examining the spec codes that were provided to the public, I discovered there were a myriad of redundant strings, variables, subroutines, and statements, as you can see here, highlighted in purple.”
He paused for a moment, as he gave time for the committee members to look over the data he had on the slide. Once it seemed they had all digested the information, he moved to the next slide as he spoke.
“As you can see here, when this code is executed as it is currently written, it takes 5.41 seconds to formulate the result. However, even when the code is refactored, the results are sped up, but only to 4.17 seconds. The refactoring additionally comes with a savings of only 0.2 kibs. Granted, I don’t have access to the full code on those chips. Therefore, I could not accurately speculate how much space and processing could be saved in its entirety.”
He switched over to the next video clip and smiled to himself as he spoke with conviction.
“However, I can guarantee that whatever could be improved, I can improve it far more. Please watch.”
He felt a great deal of pride wash over him as he looked around the room at the members, who were all paying close attention to the short clip as he elaborated.
“As you can see, the two monitors are both performing the same function. The one on the left is the refactored code from the previous clip, coming in at roughly 7.9 kibs. The one on the right is the code I have designed and written, performing the same intensive calculation in 0.68 seconds, and coming in at 0.37 kibs. The code I have invented is not only faster, it takes up much less space and is cross-reference-friendly. I have, for lack of a better phrase, ‘taught it’ to ‘talk’ with all current major coding languages in use. I will be forthright and say the code requires a great deal more work from the coder. It’s not what some would call intuitive, unlike the general languages currently in use. But because of that, it will significantly reduce the number of operations, making it much more efficient in every way possible. Please, take your time to review the next ten clips at your leisure to examine what my code can accomplish.”
Miles looked around the room and felt his stomach turn with excitement; an unnamed member gasped as she spoke, “Utterly fantastic.”
The members took several minutes watching the clips as they engaged their keyboards to talk amongst themselves via the internal messaging systems. He tried to keep his rising hope from hastening his breath and making it conspicuously vocal.
However, as several more minutes passed, looks between the members turned into glowers. Further, the strikes on the keyboards became heavier — a non-verbal cue that the committee members were becoming testier. He again tried to regulate his breathing — only this time because of the concern rising in him.
His concern peaked as suddenly, Thopiean stood from the table and yelled toward the other members.
“I’m apparently not needed here and will see myself out!”
Thopiean turned to him and added in a softer tone.
“Young man, wishing you the best in all your endeavors.”
“Thank you, Sena,” he responded with his stunned emotions clearly present in his words.
As the internal door slammed closed behind Thopiean, Ameeli sat back in her chair and spoke.
“Moving on from that outburst; this is most impressive, Sena Doru.”
“Thank you,” he returned.
“However, such proprietary work has in the past been looked at with a great deal of reluctance, as so often promises are made that cannot be fulfilled. Which wastes resources and time on our part.” Ameeli spoke with a voice of caution.
He nodded to her concerns, but tried to alleviate them as he spoke.
“I understand, of course. I was only prepared for this initial meeting, to get my foot in the door. To undertake such a major project, I’m sure I would have to go through many channels to get approved.”
But his words weren’t convincing, as Burceer spoke in a bothered tone.
“I think the best way to move forward on this would be for you to turn over the code, source, assembly, and so forth, so that our programmers can look it over themselves and test its validity.”
Miles felt the chuckle come to him as he looked at the floor and shook his head.
“I’m not comfortable with such requests. I’m more than willing to submit many more samples. Or, if you are willing to guarantee the …”
Burceer interrupted with a cadence of indignation.
“That is not how this works. We don’t guarantee anything. We’re not going to send you before another committee unless we can properly vet your work. Do you have the full code with you?”
He began to feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention, accompanying the burn that he knew was most likely visible. He shook his head as he lied.
“No. I would never carry such with me.”
Burceer smirked a little, as if he knew he may have been lying as he spoke.
“Smart man … and smart man.”
He offered a nod. But his thoughts didn’t have time to calm, as Ameeli encouraged.
“Of course you must understand, trust is a reciprocal action, and in this case, an obligation.”
“Again, I did not have any illusions that this committee would be the only one I would present to. I appreciate the time you have given me today, but without any guarantees, I feel it best to protect my intellectual property until the time is right,” he responded, feeling his own irritation beginning to rise in light of their words.
“Then that time would be now. You can turn over what you have or lose your chance here,” Burceer added with a shout.
Miles felt both anger and relief wash over him. Anger, because he was realizing every manner of manipulation that they were trying to exercise over him. And relief, because he was happy he listened to both his intuition and Dagda about not giving his full presentation. He calmed his mind to not let the manipulation get to him as he responded.
“I know what I have.”
Burceer chuckled and mused.
“Obstinance at its finest. Where was this Sena Doru so many quarturns ago?”
Miles felt a light flush move to his face, but it did not surface; it was quelled by the surprise of Burceer tearing up his project history and standing with a huff as he rebuked.
“We’re done here. Thank you, Sena Doru, for wasting our time.”
As he nodded in acknowledgment, he focused on remaining collected. He moved forward and removed his presentation from the equipment, paying little attention to the loud rumbling of aggravation from the members, who hurried out of the meeting room via the internal entrance. Upon returning the components back to his messenger bag, he looked up to meet Ameeli’s eyes; she offered a more sympathetic expression as she spoke.
“You’re obviously quite brilliant, and what you have offered is what we want and need. But again, you have to be willing to work with us.”
“And that, I’m willing to do. I just don’t believe that simply leaving my intellectual property without any promises, contracts, or the guaranteed protection of said property is the reciprocal nature you are wishing to exercise. I haven’t made any requests that are atypical,” he offered candidly.
Ameeli’s brows raised as she responded with affront.
“You seem to be implying that we would steal your work, Sena Doru.”
He shook his head as he finished his preparations to leave.
“That’s not my intention. I’m sorry if you interpreted it as such. I’m confident in what I have, in its value, and I only wish to protect my self-interests.”
Ameeli studied him for a moment, but as her thoughts seemed to produce no response, she only gestured for him to leave out the external door.
As he stepped out, he was met by a standing Metofa. His attention turned back to Ameeli, as she again advised.
“You do realize the committee will be filing a report of this meeting? In that, I will have to be honest and say you weren’t flexible in your cooperation. This will all but bar you from any further Hylatee attention. Your name will be flagged in our hiring system, and any time it crosses our project submissions again, it will be immediately thrown out.”
Miles felt his anger prodding at his temper. But his control remained. He nodded and simply responded, “I understand.”
This seemed to vex Ameeli, as her mouth pursed and her face contorted with its own anger. She spoke firmly as she instructed Metofa.
“Please see Sena Doru out.”
He didn’t wait for any further engagement as he turned and walked away. His pique was now decidedly foremost in his mind. He sincerely could not believe the blatant manipulation they were imposing on him. It was insulting.
From the start, the machinations were at play. The demand to arrive at their beck and call. The waiting in the confined room, with its uncomfortable surroundings. Their significant delay in meeting with him. All designed to wear him down and make him more malleable.
Further, he wondered if Burceer had impressed upon them in private that he would be an easy mark. It was just another point on why he detested his previous work. For what that job failed to show was this Sena Doru was there the whole time.