Conscious Gravity
By Pasupathy Vishnu
Seventeen space pods, each with the word ‘Hope’ embossed on their hulls were drifting with a certain ethereality in an illusion of vast emptiness. They were cast together to form a pyramid, a cold star that would never shine.
Orbiting the pyramid were three white dwarfs. Three illuminated pods.
They had all ventured into this abyss for a purpose never achieved. The three survivors could afford to stay powered but to to do so, they needed gravity, strong enough to hold them together at a stable locus. Plotting that locus on any map could be considered an act of insanity.
The pod pyramid was the only solution to Mizo’s biggest fear, that of waking to find her pod isolated in some maddening void to realise that the only non-scientific bonds she shared had drifted millions of miles away in space and time.
The two other pods contained Stark and Kramer, her most valuable assets. Both were colleagues and followers. Stark had studied string theory under Mizo at Massachusetts. Kramer had taken Mizo’s Quantum Electrodynamics ahead and won the Nobel Prize three years ago. Mizo had led seventeen such persons away from cataclysm, at a cost that has caused her excruciating guilt till date.
But shhe could not ponder about the past now, survival was at stake. The pods had to be stabilized.
The little remnants of plasmid fuel left on board the Hope-17 were used to run the particle accelerator and seethe out some of the heaviest elements known to mankind. The seventeen pods were filled to the brim with these dense elements, till they could form a little planet that the three “moons” could orbit. This would ensure that they stay together even if they got hauled by the gravitational field of some distant helium giant.
“G balance attained? Conform …Hope 17…Conform, over” Stark was growing impatient.
“3 degrees” answered a stiff piercing voice. A fatigued Mizo was maneuvering with great apprehension.
There was no fuel left to set any wrongs right again. The smallest of errors could leave them in solitude for the rest of their lifetimes.
May 15th, 2020 TS2
A smooth row of long hairs fringed the edge of her eyelid, soaked and stuck to her face like seaweed on a sandy shore. Her pupils seemed dilated. Mizo had just made the decision. The eight of them had decided to wash their hands off the whole project. They were returning home. How were they to tell their families about this? Unable to digest what had been proposed, they looked out their rhombic windows. They were just 30,000 feet above the sea level, flying at close proximity to the Alps, triggering an avalanche every time the X-15 cracked a sonic boom. They all hated the way Mizo influenced them, but they were learned men who could rationalize any emotion and turn it into numbers. She had the math right.
For six continuous years, Mizo had spilt blood over what she believed would yield answers to her tenebrous obscure state of being. Hope had mystified her & it was too late to avert what the Large Hadron collider was about to reveal - the very same eventuality, which the founder of CERN (European Organization for Nuclear Research) had purposefully averted ingeniously during its inception.
Twenty years hence, a new team had now anticipated everything. Did the world want to witness the effects of the Naked singularity? That was out of the question. The mission was almost running inside a black hole, some place no human could ever fantasize. Findings from the LHD had empowered CERN with technology that could completely camouflage its identity and generate a false realm of knowledge for the rest of the world. Even to the precocious Israeli intelligence.
It was in this dire situation that Mizo had persuaded her fellows to make the penultimate escape from Earth. The decision was hard but it needed to be quick. Loved ones were taken along. Twenty pods equipped with close to infinite life supplies shot out of the Alps with remarkable stealth.
Escaping the vicinities of a familiar environment, where the material manifestation of space and time drew seemed limited. It was all going in. Into the naked singularity that would disintegrate the nature and habitat of planetary life form. CERN was digging a nebulous trap; a burrow mankind would not climb out of.
August 10th, 2020 TS2
The singularity manifested, taking with it the entire mass of the planet. At least that’s what Hope 20 observed a few light years away.
Initially Mizo had hoped that the planet might have slipped into a worm hole and reincarnated itself in another part of the universe. She had hoped that the electron blast from the collision would have ionized all the harmful gases and made her home a better place to live.
“Imagine if there were no sun, Mizo!” Kramer would remind her. The kind of rationality Mizo would immediately discard in the hope of finding her home.
July 30th, 2021 TS2.
Hope 20 loses incentive and members turn fatalistic. Lack of purpose forces them to surrender consciousness. One could not move out of one’s pod and interact with another. Every man had control over his key to life. Mizo manages to hold Kramer and Stark to their senses and continue to force a sort of syllogism that would prevent them from acting irrational.
May 18th, 2023 TS2.
The three survivors had been saturated with guilt for the past three years till this morning. Radio waves had interrupted their fantasies of a new kingdom. The waves instantly triggered cyan auroras in their minds.
A peculiar cyan that evoked the one word that their pods bellowed from deep outside. Was the wait eventually worth it? Mizo could only speculate, enough to drive her to a new orbit of insanity.
Keeping focus was paramount. The three sat down to decipher the signal. It was still striking the H-17 like an invisible beacon. Stark tried converting it into all possible outputs. Kramer stared hopelessly. There was an embedded rhythm that resonated the frequency of mankind.
Mizo strove for consciousness. Gravity prevailed.
TS2 : Terra standards for time and space
(END)
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
VICTORIAN ROCK - SNEHA KESHAV
VICTORIAN ROCK
By Sneha Keshav
Ra-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat...
*Whooooooooooooosshhhh*
What startled him was not just the sound or its proximity: just below his scapula but the fact that he could feel the steam gushing out of him.
Standing at the massive wrought iron gates of the Kohinoor mills, facing the grey, rusted streets of Mumbai, Sepoy P5’s eyes keep darting towards the sky more than the civilians he was supposed to check upon. Parallely he was computing a list of situations he wouldn’t find himself 2 weeks earlier, where he would:
Ask instead of answering the question “Kahan se aaye ho, kahan jaana hai?”
Not wince at the sight of an aimless unambitious Status 3 or below civilian.
Actually eagerly wait to meet a Status 3 mechanic named Tinker Babu
Enjoy his mechanical arm assistant despite of being technophobic
Be a Para-Sepoy
At the same time he was sending a telegraph to the Babbage Headquarters reporting the normalcy of the VI (Violence Index ) of the civilians filing in to work at the largest textile mills under the British Raj in Mumbai. Slightest deviation from the Accepted Levels would be attended to personally by one of the 25 Sepoys deployed at the mills.
“VI ACCEPTABLE. SEPOY P5” he stopped short of signing off as Amar as he would have two weeks ago. Two weeks ago he too would have seen the Sepoys like the other civilians did right now; as Her Highness’ servants in Metal and Steam and the Para Sepoys like him with an addition of flesh and bone doing their job like everyone else. Even the jobless ones of Status 1 and 2 had no particular animosity against these civil servants. Unless one speaks of rare incidents like the Jallianwala Baug massacre which are hushed up before anyone can hold a grudge.
Massacre.
The word increased his heartbeat which was now fuelled by the rotary engine embedded under the very skin of his back and the sudden activity lead to steam gushing out of his new gills above his scapula. 3 Sepoys stopped on their tracks. High stress levels are expected during Ceaseless Firing, when the resulting mist could be cut with a knife; not during VI checks. Not wanting to attract unwanted attention Amar, faked a cough and resumed checking the power function of the Mega Engine at the mill with added sincerity.
***
The final gush of defeated steam and soot rose above the mills while Amar trudged along the back alley. Two weeks ago the sludge and waste carpeting the streets would have bothered him, though with hard alloy boot coatings, he couldn’t care less now. Instead he worried more about his attachment with his life two weeks earlier; it reminded him of his son who kept clinging to his mother on the first day of school. A quick vision of the pristine charm school and his family, another gush of pent of emotion vaporising from his back and he reached Tinker Babu’s shed.
No.
Dinkar Baburao More’s laboratory.
He would not succumb to the value associations of the Status Code. He had been blinded by them all his life and it had taken him nowhere. A knock on the door and he was comforted by the familiar clunk of the grandpa gear turning in its groove, the long spike falling into the notch after 6 seconds and thus setting in motion a whole set of gears finally widening the crack of the door enough for Amar to enter. Dinkar More was not called Tinker Babu for nothing, his shed was a priceless laboratory which the Raj ignored for the sole reason it belonged to a civilian of Status 3. The steam engine, the smallest one fitting his palm used for sharpening a pencil to the largest about the size of 3 elephants to mine coal with a tall chimney compressing the amount of vapour that gushes out, addressing the clogging of mines, were all neatly tucked away in this shed in the underbelly of the city. A husky ageing voice with youthful mirth chimed,
“ Kahan se aae ho? Kahan jaana hai?”
Had this been posed back to any other Sepoy, the inquirer would get a quick taste of the AutoBaton; one reason the Raj encouraged civilians to reach Status 6 where a select few could go through Transmorphiguration to become a Para sepoy: A Sepoy with a heart. That is how they had marketed the proposition of having metal gear shoved under one’s skin, replacing bodily metabolism with external fuel to run the body. All this, just to impart a sense of involvement and appreciation for the civilians; in short, to get them to behave. It’s funny how two weeks ago he would have actually seen this proposition in a positive light. Two weeks ago.
He had now come a long way from that life.
“Dur se aaya hoon, ghar jaana hai.” answered Amar in an equal voice. A chuckle sealed the invitation into the shed. Amar walked carefully not to step on any cogs lying on the floor towards the man leaning over a blue print of what looked like yet another crazy invention.
“Yes. This time it is for the farmers”
“They won’t ever take it up, you know that.” added Amar bitterly.
“They won’t be around forever. And anyways our water deserves to be put to better use than their despicable designs.” concluded Tinker Babu as simply as if he was talking about the weather.
“Does the Babbage Engine have no idea of your skills? I don’t get it why it hasn’t upgraded you.”
A laugh that shook his pot belly and beard alike, Tinker Babu’s eyes creased with the pain
“Whoever said the Raj was fair lied. Now tell me, what happened today that your heart is so stressed.”
When all he got in reply was a surprised look, he continued “I have tinkered around thousands like you. Nothing escapes my eye. Out with it” not waiting for the reply he started moving towards Amar with a screwdriver in hand. Memories surged like bile, making Amar want to throw up. Still possible for an Automaton, he wondered. Images flashed across his mind, examining each for 1/15th of a second but taking in full measure of it. Being scanned the day his wife and son were dressed for Baisakhi, the frantic pleas with his ID card “I am a Status 6... you have to let us go...6, 6...” bullets holes, dust, spit, blood, Baug, Jallianwala, Jallianwala, Jallianwala.
There were more details to it, but he couldn’t remember them. The fact that he had already started losing out chunks of his memory worried him little less today; these weren’t incidents he wanted to re run. Not now.
Ra-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat...the hand wound crank gear brought him back to his senses.
“You really need to get a grip over yourself. At this rate there seems no chance they will post you up there.”
Amar knew this. It took him months to be able to prepare himself for the Trasmorphiguration. Tinker Babu was instrumental in calming him down and helping him wash his anger. Motive for Transmorphiguration is something the High Order looks very seriously into. It hadn’t been an easy task to fool them.
“I know. I am sorry.”
“Dont be. It is a good sign that you still remember. Cherish it till you can. And hop along now, torture Civilains, maintain law and order. Be a Sepoy good enough for them to put you on the...in the clouds.”
“What if ...what if I cross over completely before we reach the end?” Panic clutched his machine run heart “what if I can’t remember the reason I am a Para Sepoy today and not a tax paying civilian?”
Tinker Babu’s eyes bore into Amar’s shielded ones.
“Promise me Tinker Babu...that you will take this till the end. Whether I remember or not. Whether I stand besides you or against you.”
A nod of unsaid understanding, and Amar was back to being Sepoy P5.
“Development in return of Resources” the British Raj’s motto screamed from the sides of the battered train cars cruising over the city. But one look at the rotting city below, grey like a clockwork mechanism and unquestioningly punctual, one would disagree. But people were happy. The Dystopian Utopia Tinker Babu had said once. Why else would no one retch at their own living conditions? Why else would the drying up of the rivers in Punjab bother no one? So many like him were forced to leave their fields to find alternate occupations, as the sweet water that was backbone of agriculture was disappearing. The stale air below stank of coma. Again eyes darting towards the sky, this time more purposefully finding that piece of rock that was tethered to the air; the reason most were in a stupor around him.
He had regretted not paying attention to his Geophysics class in school when Tinker Babu tried to explain to him the reason he experienced more anger than the others, especially ever since Baisakhi at Jallianwala Baug.
“Emotions are amazing. Extreme ones can produce some really startling results. Ever wondered why you never felt the anger before this?”
All Amar could do was shake, his anger leaving him tongue tied.
“The Raj rules not just your country, but your minds too. Get over your personal loss and look around. We are a pile of garbage. Over-worked, under-paid, walked over, taken for granted. Yet no one flinches.”
Amar did notice how the city seemed filthier ever since he came back accompanied by an inexplicable eerie feeling.
“Ever heard of Edmund Halley, son?”
“Hollow Earth?”
Tinker Babu smiled “You did pay attention somewhere. Did the enigmatic Madam Auffrey take your history classes?” he chuckled and continued without waiting for a reply. “Halley proposed with great accuracy that the Earth is in fact hollow except for two concentric rings or belts held at a distance from each other and the surface of the earth by conflicting Magnetic forces.”
He continued seeing Amar’s confused look “Similarity repels in magnets. These rings have magnetic fields of their own. So now the rings have aligned themselves in such a way that their similar poles fund the repulsive force between them to keep than at a distance from each other and the surface of the earth.”
“And you are implying this is all true?”
“Not only true but also in practice in your homeland. The North Pole of the second ring, the one closest to the earth surface faces up and outwards right over your Punjab. And this they have used to their advantage to create their secret laboratory of sorts that cannot be detected by the locals. Underground would be risky, as mining leaves hardly any area undercover.”
“So it is something above the ground and by monopolising Aviation, the Raj has made sure that whatever it is stays undiscovered.”
“Yes. An artificially magnetised rock was launched from Punjab with its North Pole facing downwards. The repulsion between the similar poles is enough to overrule the gravitational force and propel the rock into the atmosphere. But even the repulsion wanes after a point and that’s where the gravitational pull keeps it tethered; afloat.”
“But why such secrecy? What are they planning on the rock?”
“Whatever they are doing up there, it has to do something with the inevitable world war. Yes, a war is coming and the Raj will go lengths to have an upper hand in it.”
And that explains where all the water is going: to keep that rock afloat.
It took some time for Amar to digest this. Surely people can’t be that gullible. Surely someone must have noticed this humungous rock floating in the sky.
Sensing these questions Tinker Babu continued “The Victorian Rock, as they call it, holds more than just weaponry. It conducts the people of the colony like an orchestra.
Dream Twig, a hallucinogen of sorts is injected in the clouds from the altitude of the rock. It finds its way into your system through the rain and resides in you through the water you drink. Its composition still deludes me. But it is responsible for the unquestioning submissive and almost peaceful behaviour that the people display.”
Head spinning, Amar’s grief was replaced by a sense of paranoia, disconnect and anger. Was there no way out? Were they just to be dead pawns in a game too big for them to grapple?
Answers came with the glass of cool water “Only Sepoys are allowed to man this unit. They don’t even trust their own for this job. The Rock houses the Babbage Engine, it accounts for all of us and them. The Sepoys don’t care where you came from and where you go, they just ask to gauge your sense of awareness by your voice. And the usual Violence Index scans are to make sure there isn’t one toe out of line. Not one.”
But a few escaped. A handful paid the price of knowing too much, of waking up by being now recognised as status Zero; ones to be arrested/ eliminated at sight; whichever was quicker. Rebels and revolutionaries are common in every society, where the rest are in a state of flux, torn between supporting them to pure contempt. But in this case, the civilians even the jobless bums sided with the Raj in wanting these misfits exterminated. Hence the ‘awakening’ wasn’t easy for some, as once their eyes were truely open and mind cleared of the Dream Twig, they could never fit back and the society was just as harsh leaving them no choice but to go underground.
Every Sepoy had a list of the Wanted imprinted in their X-ray Vision. The Babbage Engine would be wired automatically, so a Sepoy spotting a status Zero and failing to arrest or annihilate would be tried.
It was funny how two weeks ago he had actually thought this automatic action was a splendid way of getting rid of the scum of the earth. Never had he entertained the thought that he would one day be in a position to punish these wrong-doers and actually choose not to do so.
Life might be twisted like the coil of electromagnetic motor twitching under his skin right now, but it sure comes a full circle!
(end)
By Sneha Keshav
Ra-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat...
*Whooooooooooooosshhhh*
What startled him was not just the sound or its proximity: just below his scapula but the fact that he could feel the steam gushing out of him.
Standing at the massive wrought iron gates of the Kohinoor mills, facing the grey, rusted streets of Mumbai, Sepoy P5’s eyes keep darting towards the sky more than the civilians he was supposed to check upon. Parallely he was computing a list of situations he wouldn’t find himself 2 weeks earlier, where he would:
Ask instead of answering the question “Kahan se aaye ho, kahan jaana hai?”
Not wince at the sight of an aimless unambitious Status 3 or below civilian.
Actually eagerly wait to meet a Status 3 mechanic named Tinker Babu
Enjoy his mechanical arm assistant despite of being technophobic
Be a Para-Sepoy
At the same time he was sending a telegraph to the Babbage Headquarters reporting the normalcy of the VI (Violence Index ) of the civilians filing in to work at the largest textile mills under the British Raj in Mumbai. Slightest deviation from the Accepted Levels would be attended to personally by one of the 25 Sepoys deployed at the mills.
“VI ACCEPTABLE. SEPOY P5” he stopped short of signing off as Amar as he would have two weeks ago. Two weeks ago he too would have seen the Sepoys like the other civilians did right now; as Her Highness’ servants in Metal and Steam and the Para Sepoys like him with an addition of flesh and bone doing their job like everyone else. Even the jobless ones of Status 1 and 2 had no particular animosity against these civil servants. Unless one speaks of rare incidents like the Jallianwala Baug massacre which are hushed up before anyone can hold a grudge.
Massacre.
The word increased his heartbeat which was now fuelled by the rotary engine embedded under the very skin of his back and the sudden activity lead to steam gushing out of his new gills above his scapula. 3 Sepoys stopped on their tracks. High stress levels are expected during Ceaseless Firing, when the resulting mist could be cut with a knife; not during VI checks. Not wanting to attract unwanted attention Amar, faked a cough and resumed checking the power function of the Mega Engine at the mill with added sincerity.
***
The final gush of defeated steam and soot rose above the mills while Amar trudged along the back alley. Two weeks ago the sludge and waste carpeting the streets would have bothered him, though with hard alloy boot coatings, he couldn’t care less now. Instead he worried more about his attachment with his life two weeks earlier; it reminded him of his son who kept clinging to his mother on the first day of school. A quick vision of the pristine charm school and his family, another gush of pent of emotion vaporising from his back and he reached Tinker Babu’s shed.
No.
Dinkar Baburao More’s laboratory.
He would not succumb to the value associations of the Status Code. He had been blinded by them all his life and it had taken him nowhere. A knock on the door and he was comforted by the familiar clunk of the grandpa gear turning in its groove, the long spike falling into the notch after 6 seconds and thus setting in motion a whole set of gears finally widening the crack of the door enough for Amar to enter. Dinkar More was not called Tinker Babu for nothing, his shed was a priceless laboratory which the Raj ignored for the sole reason it belonged to a civilian of Status 3. The steam engine, the smallest one fitting his palm used for sharpening a pencil to the largest about the size of 3 elephants to mine coal with a tall chimney compressing the amount of vapour that gushes out, addressing the clogging of mines, were all neatly tucked away in this shed in the underbelly of the city. A husky ageing voice with youthful mirth chimed,
“ Kahan se aae ho? Kahan jaana hai?”
Had this been posed back to any other Sepoy, the inquirer would get a quick taste of the AutoBaton; one reason the Raj encouraged civilians to reach Status 6 where a select few could go through Transmorphiguration to become a Para sepoy: A Sepoy with a heart. That is how they had marketed the proposition of having metal gear shoved under one’s skin, replacing bodily metabolism with external fuel to run the body. All this, just to impart a sense of involvement and appreciation for the civilians; in short, to get them to behave. It’s funny how two weeks ago he would have actually seen this proposition in a positive light. Two weeks ago.
He had now come a long way from that life.
“Dur se aaya hoon, ghar jaana hai.” answered Amar in an equal voice. A chuckle sealed the invitation into the shed. Amar walked carefully not to step on any cogs lying on the floor towards the man leaning over a blue print of what looked like yet another crazy invention.
“Yes. This time it is for the farmers”
“They won’t ever take it up, you know that.” added Amar bitterly.
“They won’t be around forever. And anyways our water deserves to be put to better use than their despicable designs.” concluded Tinker Babu as simply as if he was talking about the weather.
“Does the Babbage Engine have no idea of your skills? I don’t get it why it hasn’t upgraded you.”
A laugh that shook his pot belly and beard alike, Tinker Babu’s eyes creased with the pain
“Whoever said the Raj was fair lied. Now tell me, what happened today that your heart is so stressed.”
When all he got in reply was a surprised look, he continued “I have tinkered around thousands like you. Nothing escapes my eye. Out with it” not waiting for the reply he started moving towards Amar with a screwdriver in hand. Memories surged like bile, making Amar want to throw up. Still possible for an Automaton, he wondered. Images flashed across his mind, examining each for 1/15th of a second but taking in full measure of it. Being scanned the day his wife and son were dressed for Baisakhi, the frantic pleas with his ID card “I am a Status 6... you have to let us go...6, 6...” bullets holes, dust, spit, blood, Baug, Jallianwala, Jallianwala, Jallianwala.
There were more details to it, but he couldn’t remember them. The fact that he had already started losing out chunks of his memory worried him little less today; these weren’t incidents he wanted to re run. Not now.
Ra-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat...the hand wound crank gear brought him back to his senses.
“You really need to get a grip over yourself. At this rate there seems no chance they will post you up there.”
Amar knew this. It took him months to be able to prepare himself for the Trasmorphiguration. Tinker Babu was instrumental in calming him down and helping him wash his anger. Motive for Transmorphiguration is something the High Order looks very seriously into. It hadn’t been an easy task to fool them.
“I know. I am sorry.”
“Dont be. It is a good sign that you still remember. Cherish it till you can. And hop along now, torture Civilains, maintain law and order. Be a Sepoy good enough for them to put you on the...in the clouds.”
“What if ...what if I cross over completely before we reach the end?” Panic clutched his machine run heart “what if I can’t remember the reason I am a Para Sepoy today and not a tax paying civilian?”
Tinker Babu’s eyes bore into Amar’s shielded ones.
“Promise me Tinker Babu...that you will take this till the end. Whether I remember or not. Whether I stand besides you or against you.”
A nod of unsaid understanding, and Amar was back to being Sepoy P5.
“Development in return of Resources” the British Raj’s motto screamed from the sides of the battered train cars cruising over the city. But one look at the rotting city below, grey like a clockwork mechanism and unquestioningly punctual, one would disagree. But people were happy. The Dystopian Utopia Tinker Babu had said once. Why else would no one retch at their own living conditions? Why else would the drying up of the rivers in Punjab bother no one? So many like him were forced to leave their fields to find alternate occupations, as the sweet water that was backbone of agriculture was disappearing. The stale air below stank of coma. Again eyes darting towards the sky, this time more purposefully finding that piece of rock that was tethered to the air; the reason most were in a stupor around him.
He had regretted not paying attention to his Geophysics class in school when Tinker Babu tried to explain to him the reason he experienced more anger than the others, especially ever since Baisakhi at Jallianwala Baug.
“Emotions are amazing. Extreme ones can produce some really startling results. Ever wondered why you never felt the anger before this?”
All Amar could do was shake, his anger leaving him tongue tied.
“The Raj rules not just your country, but your minds too. Get over your personal loss and look around. We are a pile of garbage. Over-worked, under-paid, walked over, taken for granted. Yet no one flinches.”
Amar did notice how the city seemed filthier ever since he came back accompanied by an inexplicable eerie feeling.
“Ever heard of Edmund Halley, son?”
“Hollow Earth?”
Tinker Babu smiled “You did pay attention somewhere. Did the enigmatic Madam Auffrey take your history classes?” he chuckled and continued without waiting for a reply. “Halley proposed with great accuracy that the Earth is in fact hollow except for two concentric rings or belts held at a distance from each other and the surface of the earth by conflicting Magnetic forces.”
He continued seeing Amar’s confused look “Similarity repels in magnets. These rings have magnetic fields of their own. So now the rings have aligned themselves in such a way that their similar poles fund the repulsive force between them to keep than at a distance from each other and the surface of the earth.”
“And you are implying this is all true?”
“Not only true but also in practice in your homeland. The North Pole of the second ring, the one closest to the earth surface faces up and outwards right over your Punjab. And this they have used to their advantage to create their secret laboratory of sorts that cannot be detected by the locals. Underground would be risky, as mining leaves hardly any area undercover.”
“So it is something above the ground and by monopolising Aviation, the Raj has made sure that whatever it is stays undiscovered.”
“Yes. An artificially magnetised rock was launched from Punjab with its North Pole facing downwards. The repulsion between the similar poles is enough to overrule the gravitational force and propel the rock into the atmosphere. But even the repulsion wanes after a point and that’s where the gravitational pull keeps it tethered; afloat.”
“But why such secrecy? What are they planning on the rock?”
“Whatever they are doing up there, it has to do something with the inevitable world war. Yes, a war is coming and the Raj will go lengths to have an upper hand in it.”
And that explains where all the water is going: to keep that rock afloat.
It took some time for Amar to digest this. Surely people can’t be that gullible. Surely someone must have noticed this humungous rock floating in the sky.
Sensing these questions Tinker Babu continued “The Victorian Rock, as they call it, holds more than just weaponry. It conducts the people of the colony like an orchestra.
Dream Twig, a hallucinogen of sorts is injected in the clouds from the altitude of the rock. It finds its way into your system through the rain and resides in you through the water you drink. Its composition still deludes me. But it is responsible for the unquestioning submissive and almost peaceful behaviour that the people display.”
Head spinning, Amar’s grief was replaced by a sense of paranoia, disconnect and anger. Was there no way out? Were they just to be dead pawns in a game too big for them to grapple?
Answers came with the glass of cool water “Only Sepoys are allowed to man this unit. They don’t even trust their own for this job. The Rock houses the Babbage Engine, it accounts for all of us and them. The Sepoys don’t care where you came from and where you go, they just ask to gauge your sense of awareness by your voice. And the usual Violence Index scans are to make sure there isn’t one toe out of line. Not one.”
But a few escaped. A handful paid the price of knowing too much, of waking up by being now recognised as status Zero; ones to be arrested/ eliminated at sight; whichever was quicker. Rebels and revolutionaries are common in every society, where the rest are in a state of flux, torn between supporting them to pure contempt. But in this case, the civilians even the jobless bums sided with the Raj in wanting these misfits exterminated. Hence the ‘awakening’ wasn’t easy for some, as once their eyes were truely open and mind cleared of the Dream Twig, they could never fit back and the society was just as harsh leaving them no choice but to go underground.
Every Sepoy had a list of the Wanted imprinted in their X-ray Vision. The Babbage Engine would be wired automatically, so a Sepoy spotting a status Zero and failing to arrest or annihilate would be tried.
It was funny how two weeks ago he had actually thought this automatic action was a splendid way of getting rid of the scum of the earth. Never had he entertained the thought that he would one day be in a position to punish these wrong-doers and actually choose not to do so.
Life might be twisted like the coil of electromagnetic motor twitching under his skin right now, but it sure comes a full circle!
(end)
NEVER MESS WITH TIME - SHIVANI KABRA
Never Mess With Time!
By Shivani Kabra
It is the year 2279 on Earth. Professor Zen is an inventor who has designed a time-suit to travel back and forth in time – to the past and to the future. It has been designed for the government forces to fix any mishap or to be prepared for that that lay ahead. Though the suit has a small hitch – the travel into the future, it doesn’t function consistently. The future – meant the future beyond year 2279 real-time.
The security alarm was loud and piercing, the red light panels on all the walls were blinking furiously. Professor Zen woke up with a start, sweating in tension. He put his blue robe on and ran. He just ran.
He ran until he reached the huge hydraulic doors in the basement of his laboratory cum home. He went and checked the fingerprint and retina scan panel besides the door. It looked untouched. The door had no dents or any sign of forced opening. He took a deep breath of relief; the security alarm system might’ve malfunctioned.
His age certainly did not help in his running from the third floor to the basement in the middle of the night. He held on to the door bar for support, the press-to-open bar. In the next moment, he lost his balance, and tripped into his highly secure invention vault. The glass cylinder that held the time-suit atop the portal was spinning endlessly, without the suit.
It looked like a body without its heart. Every inch in the Professor’s body throbbed with fear and tension. A government high security weapon had been stolen from right under his nose, the thief breaking through one of the most secure protection systems.
Time should not be misused, never.
Something had to be done, and very quick.
“Doctor Xander, please report to Operation Theatre three immediately. Repeat. Doctor Xander, please report to Operation Theatre three immediately.”
Dr Xander sipped his coffee slowly and relaxed. The announcement sent a small ripple of vibration in his office with its loudness. But it didn’t really perturb him. He was in control. He knew himself – or at least he thought so. Dr Xander walked cool and calm from his office to OT three.
“Doctor, it’s an emergency! The woman has severe head injuries! You are the only specialist…” said the nurse in an urgent voice when she was cut off by Dr Xander.
“Specialist is the wrong term, Kristy. I am the inventor, the only one who knows the way to fix a brain, to do a brain transplant.” he said in a low, menacing voice through gritted teeth.
Kristy took a step back and gulped. She went and starting preparing the OT. Dr Xander entered after five minutes in his operating attire. A brain transplant was required and so the hospital’s brain banks were combed. The right brain was found and Dr Xander performed his usual ritual of overwriting the new brain’s memories with old ones. The surgery was successful as usual. Dr Xander stopped to peek from the glass window in the door to see if his patient was doing fine. She was smiling as her husband held her hand and looked at her with love.
The black haired boy with thick-rimmed glasses suddenly flashed in front of his eyes. His science teacher had doted over him, the child prodigy. But she had no idea that behind those thick-rimmed glasses was an orphan boy who longed for his parents, for someone who would love him, someone who would hold him close to the heart and make him feel secure. He grew up feeling this loneliness and insecurity, with only science to keep him company.
And then, Adriana came like an angel in disguise, the love of his life. But the forces of nature could not be fought in his life; Adriana died of brain hemorrhage just before he invented the brain transplant surgery. He promised to take revenge on an unfair life, an unfair world.
The atmosphere was tense and urgent at the Nakaro Special Defense Forces headquarters. ‘Operation Tick Time’ has begun. The time suit had to be found before anyone could misuse its powers.
Dr Xander sat in his lab, his eyes gleaming and gloating over his new invention – the Brain Freeze. This extraordinary liquid could be put into bombs, laser guns or just used raw to numb anyone’s brain. Dr Xander had his platinum mask to protect his brain during a Brain Freeze attack.
His plan for revenge was about to begin. His humans were well trained and hypnotized to follow his plan. The plan was to eliminate every happy family, and there was an abundance of those. His areas of attack were chalked out neatly.
Professor Zen’s time suit had added an exciting dimension to his plan – the convenience of having his own army. He went in the stolen suit to the early 2000s and captured humans and brought them to 2279, hypnotizing them to make them follow his instructions.
“Let me gooo! Let me go!!” screamed an angry loud voice. Dr Xander’s ears pricked up, the sound was coming from the top of the tower. It had to be one of his humans. He ran upstairs to check only to find one of them trying to break free from the chains that bound him.
What are you doing?” asked Dr Xander in a steely voice.
“Leave me alone, who are you?” said the human.
“I am your master and you are going to follow my instructions and Brain Freeze whoever I ask you to! You will do as I say!” screamed Dr Xander.
“I am not doing anything you say, nothing at all.”
Dr Xander pulled out a small pocket pistol and shot him right in the centre of his forehead.
“No use for the useless” he murmurs to himself.
The Nakaro comb the invention vault in the Professor’s lab with no luck when the junior officer spots a shiny object inside the glass cylinder. He walks up and opens it. It’s a fine silver chain with a little pendant. It’s a small photo pendant. He opens it to find the picture of a beautiful woman. He takes it to his senior for further examination. The senior officer rips the pendant apart. When he flips the little photo of the woman there’s another one stuck to it. He carefully separates the two photos. His eyes pop out in shock. His phone starts buzzing.
“Ricky here”
“Sir, there’s been an attack, the entire Sequin harbor area. It’s a strange substance that has made all the victims unstable. Their brains aren’t working anymore. It’s left some crystally white thick smoke in the entire harbour lingering in the air.”
“I’ll be right there, we have a lead. In fact we know who the time suit thief is. And I have a strange feeling that this is linked.”
Dr Xander’s army continues to create havoc all around the city. He is sitting alone in his lone space when he starts choking. He starts coughing till his nerves hurt with the force. Finally a huge blood splat comes out of his mouth. He looks at it in horror and confusion. Next his legs start getting unstable and his joints hurt. There’s a small cracking noise from the kneecap and then excruciating pain. In this while, his army has already numbed people living in more forty acres of houses. His confusion rises and he goes to his communication panel and summons all his army at his house.
In the meantime, an extensive Nakaro team headed by Sr. Officer Ricky is slowly spreading around the perimeter of the house.
“Dr Xander, you have been surrounded. You are required to surrender to the Nakaro immediately. Dr Xander we know you are here and we know you are responsible for the attacks.”
Dr Xander’s left eye twitches as more pain hits him. The announcement is useless. He, Dr Xander, can’t lose. He can never lose. He had to do the final act himself. He was waiting for this moment. He knew it would come up to this. His bombs were ready.
Like a leopard who is about to catch its prey, he walks up to the roof of his house in his bullet proof suit. A shower of bullets hit him not noticing the 4 white bombs full of brain freeze falling in each direction. There is no noise. Just chaos as suddenly smoke fills up the place. Next, no one knew. Just thick white crystalline smoke.
As senior officer Ricky wakes up, he’s confused. He’s lying on the ground surrounded by the entire Nakaro force it seems. Everyone is waking up and is looking equally confused. Why is he still alive? Where is Dr Xander? His phone buzzes.
“Sir, it’s magic! It’s magic!”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong sir! Everything is just perfect! All the attacked areas have just healed. Just magically healed! There is no sign of destruction! None of the victims have any memory of the incident. They think we are some conked off officers questioning them! You have to see it to believe it! Oh by the way, has Xander been caught?”
“He is nowhere to be seen. Strange. This place seems untouched too.”
There are a lot of puzzled faces all around Ricky looking at him expectantly as if he has a secret to share.
Senior Officer Ricky walks to Dr Xander’s house. The house looks strangely old and nothing like the lavish white mansion of the Doctor’s’. He walks in with a few other officers in tow, unable to handle their curiosity. But all they are greeted with are more faded walls and empty rooms. There is nothing at all.
“An illusion….Sir?” asks one of the officers in tow.
“How can it be an illusion, Officer Morgan?!...” Ricky replies in a stern voice
“…Are you trying to suggest that the whole city had an illusion at the same point of time?”
“Sir, everything is working the way it was before, I think it is possible” says officer Morgan just as he takes two steps backwards with Ricky’s glare.
Suddenly Ricky’s eyes widen and he starts fumbling for something in his pocket.
“Uhhhh” he says in frustration as he can’t find it.
He storms out of the house to where he had fainted and starts searching on the ground there.
“Are you looking for something, Sir?” asks Morgan who had been following him.
“I have evidence, physical evidence that Xander existed! I am going to find him…haha…I know he exists…haha…he can’t run away from me, he can’t!” Ricky says in an almost maniacal tone as he crawls across the ground, trying to find that pendant.
“Sir please calm down..Sir!” says Morgan with a look of alarm on seeing his Senior officer lose it slowly.
The human that Dr Xander killed with the pistol was his ancestor. He nullifies his own existence by killing his past.
So how can he find the pendant? How can he find any evidence? – When Dr Xander’s existence is in question? How to differentiate between the illusion and reality?
He never existed or did he?
No wonder they say – “Never mess with time.”
(end)
By Shivani Kabra
It is the year 2279 on Earth. Professor Zen is an inventor who has designed a time-suit to travel back and forth in time – to the past and to the future. It has been designed for the government forces to fix any mishap or to be prepared for that that lay ahead. Though the suit has a small hitch – the travel into the future, it doesn’t function consistently. The future – meant the future beyond year 2279 real-time.
The security alarm was loud and piercing, the red light panels on all the walls were blinking furiously. Professor Zen woke up with a start, sweating in tension. He put his blue robe on and ran. He just ran.
He ran until he reached the huge hydraulic doors in the basement of his laboratory cum home. He went and checked the fingerprint and retina scan panel besides the door. It looked untouched. The door had no dents or any sign of forced opening. He took a deep breath of relief; the security alarm system might’ve malfunctioned.
His age certainly did not help in his running from the third floor to the basement in the middle of the night. He held on to the door bar for support, the press-to-open bar. In the next moment, he lost his balance, and tripped into his highly secure invention vault. The glass cylinder that held the time-suit atop the portal was spinning endlessly, without the suit.
It looked like a body without its heart. Every inch in the Professor’s body throbbed with fear and tension. A government high security weapon had been stolen from right under his nose, the thief breaking through one of the most secure protection systems.
Time should not be misused, never.
Something had to be done, and very quick.
“Doctor Xander, please report to Operation Theatre three immediately. Repeat. Doctor Xander, please report to Operation Theatre three immediately.”
Dr Xander sipped his coffee slowly and relaxed. The announcement sent a small ripple of vibration in his office with its loudness. But it didn’t really perturb him. He was in control. He knew himself – or at least he thought so. Dr Xander walked cool and calm from his office to OT three.
“Doctor, it’s an emergency! The woman has severe head injuries! You are the only specialist…” said the nurse in an urgent voice when she was cut off by Dr Xander.
“Specialist is the wrong term, Kristy. I am the inventor, the only one who knows the way to fix a brain, to do a brain transplant.” he said in a low, menacing voice through gritted teeth.
Kristy took a step back and gulped. She went and starting preparing the OT. Dr Xander entered after five minutes in his operating attire. A brain transplant was required and so the hospital’s brain banks were combed. The right brain was found and Dr Xander performed his usual ritual of overwriting the new brain’s memories with old ones. The surgery was successful as usual. Dr Xander stopped to peek from the glass window in the door to see if his patient was doing fine. She was smiling as her husband held her hand and looked at her with love.
The black haired boy with thick-rimmed glasses suddenly flashed in front of his eyes. His science teacher had doted over him, the child prodigy. But she had no idea that behind those thick-rimmed glasses was an orphan boy who longed for his parents, for someone who would love him, someone who would hold him close to the heart and make him feel secure. He grew up feeling this loneliness and insecurity, with only science to keep him company.
And then, Adriana came like an angel in disguise, the love of his life. But the forces of nature could not be fought in his life; Adriana died of brain hemorrhage just before he invented the brain transplant surgery. He promised to take revenge on an unfair life, an unfair world.
The atmosphere was tense and urgent at the Nakaro Special Defense Forces headquarters. ‘Operation Tick Time’ has begun. The time suit had to be found before anyone could misuse its powers.
Dr Xander sat in his lab, his eyes gleaming and gloating over his new invention – the Brain Freeze. This extraordinary liquid could be put into bombs, laser guns or just used raw to numb anyone’s brain. Dr Xander had his platinum mask to protect his brain during a Brain Freeze attack.
His plan for revenge was about to begin. His humans were well trained and hypnotized to follow his plan. The plan was to eliminate every happy family, and there was an abundance of those. His areas of attack were chalked out neatly.
Professor Zen’s time suit had added an exciting dimension to his plan – the convenience of having his own army. He went in the stolen suit to the early 2000s and captured humans and brought them to 2279, hypnotizing them to make them follow his instructions.
“Let me gooo! Let me go!!” screamed an angry loud voice. Dr Xander’s ears pricked up, the sound was coming from the top of the tower. It had to be one of his humans. He ran upstairs to check only to find one of them trying to break free from the chains that bound him.
What are you doing?” asked Dr Xander in a steely voice.
“Leave me alone, who are you?” said the human.
“I am your master and you are going to follow my instructions and Brain Freeze whoever I ask you to! You will do as I say!” screamed Dr Xander.
“I am not doing anything you say, nothing at all.”
Dr Xander pulled out a small pocket pistol and shot him right in the centre of his forehead.
“No use for the useless” he murmurs to himself.
The Nakaro comb the invention vault in the Professor’s lab with no luck when the junior officer spots a shiny object inside the glass cylinder. He walks up and opens it. It’s a fine silver chain with a little pendant. It’s a small photo pendant. He opens it to find the picture of a beautiful woman. He takes it to his senior for further examination. The senior officer rips the pendant apart. When he flips the little photo of the woman there’s another one stuck to it. He carefully separates the two photos. His eyes pop out in shock. His phone starts buzzing.
“Ricky here”
“Sir, there’s been an attack, the entire Sequin harbor area. It’s a strange substance that has made all the victims unstable. Their brains aren’t working anymore. It’s left some crystally white thick smoke in the entire harbour lingering in the air.”
“I’ll be right there, we have a lead. In fact we know who the time suit thief is. And I have a strange feeling that this is linked.”
Dr Xander’s army continues to create havoc all around the city. He is sitting alone in his lone space when he starts choking. He starts coughing till his nerves hurt with the force. Finally a huge blood splat comes out of his mouth. He looks at it in horror and confusion. Next his legs start getting unstable and his joints hurt. There’s a small cracking noise from the kneecap and then excruciating pain. In this while, his army has already numbed people living in more forty acres of houses. His confusion rises and he goes to his communication panel and summons all his army at his house.
In the meantime, an extensive Nakaro team headed by Sr. Officer Ricky is slowly spreading around the perimeter of the house.
“Dr Xander, you have been surrounded. You are required to surrender to the Nakaro immediately. Dr Xander we know you are here and we know you are responsible for the attacks.”
Dr Xander’s left eye twitches as more pain hits him. The announcement is useless. He, Dr Xander, can’t lose. He can never lose. He had to do the final act himself. He was waiting for this moment. He knew it would come up to this. His bombs were ready.
Like a leopard who is about to catch its prey, he walks up to the roof of his house in his bullet proof suit. A shower of bullets hit him not noticing the 4 white bombs full of brain freeze falling in each direction. There is no noise. Just chaos as suddenly smoke fills up the place. Next, no one knew. Just thick white crystalline smoke.
As senior officer Ricky wakes up, he’s confused. He’s lying on the ground surrounded by the entire Nakaro force it seems. Everyone is waking up and is looking equally confused. Why is he still alive? Where is Dr Xander? His phone buzzes.
“Sir, it’s magic! It’s magic!”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong sir! Everything is just perfect! All the attacked areas have just healed. Just magically healed! There is no sign of destruction! None of the victims have any memory of the incident. They think we are some conked off officers questioning them! You have to see it to believe it! Oh by the way, has Xander been caught?”
“He is nowhere to be seen. Strange. This place seems untouched too.”
There are a lot of puzzled faces all around Ricky looking at him expectantly as if he has a secret to share.
Senior Officer Ricky walks to Dr Xander’s house. The house looks strangely old and nothing like the lavish white mansion of the Doctor’s’. He walks in with a few other officers in tow, unable to handle their curiosity. But all they are greeted with are more faded walls and empty rooms. There is nothing at all.
“An illusion….Sir?” asks one of the officers in tow.
“How can it be an illusion, Officer Morgan?!...” Ricky replies in a stern voice
“…Are you trying to suggest that the whole city had an illusion at the same point of time?”
“Sir, everything is working the way it was before, I think it is possible” says officer Morgan just as he takes two steps backwards with Ricky’s glare.
Suddenly Ricky’s eyes widen and he starts fumbling for something in his pocket.
“Uhhhh” he says in frustration as he can’t find it.
He storms out of the house to where he had fainted and starts searching on the ground there.
“Are you looking for something, Sir?” asks Morgan who had been following him.
“I have evidence, physical evidence that Xander existed! I am going to find him…haha…I know he exists…haha…he can’t run away from me, he can’t!” Ricky says in an almost maniacal tone as he crawls across the ground, trying to find that pendant.
“Sir please calm down..Sir!” says Morgan with a look of alarm on seeing his Senior officer lose it slowly.
The human that Dr Xander killed with the pistol was his ancestor. He nullifies his own existence by killing his past.
So how can he find the pendant? How can he find any evidence? – When Dr Xander’s existence is in question? How to differentiate between the illusion and reality?
He never existed or did he?
No wonder they say – “Never mess with time.”
(end)
ENGULFED - SHAILEE ADKE
ENGULFED
By Shailee Adke
Friday, 21st August 2009 – 8:30 AM
Phil sat at the table across his girlfriend Kate, having his breakfast. He looked tired, from all the hard work that he had been doing since a couple of months. It had been long since he had spent time at home. Kate was thinking about spending some time with her cousins and was about to ask him if he was free over the weekend when the phone rang.
She went to receive it.
“Hello… Hi Sandra, how’ve you been?” She smiled, “Oh nothing much… Yeah, just a second. Phil!! Sandra’s on the line!” Kate got him the phone.
Phil took the phone and left the table. “Good morning Sandra. Tell me.” He walked toward his room as he was talking. “Oh, is it? That’s great news. Yeah… I’ll be there right away. See you!” He picked up his bag and the car keys and almost ran towards the front door calling out to Kate, “Honey I gotta rush. Sandra says its working! This is going to be big! I’ll check and call you from the lab. Bye!” And he was gone before Kate could respond.
Four months ago -
Dr. Phil Stevens, 30 and his partner Dr. Sandra Baker 28, both scientists at the Center for Biogenetic Research and Development (CBRD) had been working on an experiment for almost a year. This experiment, if successful would be a really useful one for the environment and solve a lot of ecological problems.
The two scientists were working on isolating a bacterium that could eat plastic. Plastic bags are very popular in our daily lives and have a harsh environmental impact on our ecosystems. Every year, approximately 500 billion plastic bags are used worldwide and billions of those are dumped into the oceans. Countless wildlife, including sea-lions, whales, birds and turtles ingest the plastic bags and die every year. These bags, made out of polyethylene (PE) have very high durability, persisting in the environment for 20 to 1000 years before they decompose.
In May 2009, Sandra started with the idea that if plastic bags are being degraded by microorganisms in nature, it should be possible to isolate them. She collected a few soil samples from a local landfill site and mixed them together to create the final enrichment culture (FEC) which she wanted to use as a source of potential PE degrading microorganisms.
At this stage, Sandra reasoned, if there were bacteria of interest, there should be enough of them to make a measurable difference. She then decided to begin her experiments and approached Phil, who had been her research partner in a few earlier projects at CBRD.
Friday, 21st August 2009 – 8:50 AM
Phil parked his car at the CBRD parking lot and ran toward the elevator. He was really excited about the first positive result of their experiment and hoped that everything Sandra had said was true and not just a false alarm. As soon as the elevator came to a halt at the third floor where his lab was, he scrambled out of it and entered the lab. He hurriedly threw his bag on his desk and looked for Sandra. He found her in the inner room, looking at a flask, a bright smile on her face.
“What’s happening?” Phil asked Sandra. “Have you weighed it? Is there a difference?”
Sandra had made a few notes which she brought to show him and added “Yes! Minimal medium with PE as the sole carbon source. There’s turbidity in the flask which means the organisms are using PE as their carbon source. Phil lets get down working… Now!”
“Yeah, LB agar plating! Let’s get going. We need to observe the morphology and the amount of microorganisms in the FEC. God; I can’t believe this is actually happening!”
They subjected the FEC to a series of dilutions and plating out on Luria-Bertani agar plates and waited for the results. It took them two days to figure out what they were trying to find. The agar test revealed four distinct colonial morphologies, suggesting the existence of at least four different microbial strains in FEC.
Sunday, 23rd August 2009 – 7:00 AM
Now that the experiment was gaining pace, Sandra and Phil couldn’t afford to waste any time. They worked non-stop for hours together. Kate had to carry on her weekend plan without Phil because he wanted to go check on the results at the lab.
“Wow! Four! This is good!” exclaimed Phil. “Let’s isolate and test them separately now.” He picked up the colonies of each microbial strain and asked Sandra to re-suspend them in a salt solution. “0.2ml of 0.85% NaCl should do for each. Streak them out on LB agar and keep doing it till you get pure strains. I’ll just get back in a while. I need to note all this down.”
Sandra repeated the process till evening and showed the pure strains to Phil. They preserved each strain on LB agar and decided to test the isolated microbial strains individually for PE degrading ability. They carried out individual tests, using three flasks for each strain and headed home, to come back the next day and look at the results.
At home, Kate had been waiting for Phil to be back. When Phil reached home, she had already served dinner and they both ate together, telling each other bout how the day was.
Kate was really excited about how she had spent the day with her cousin Martha and her husband and kids. “Martha and Joe said they would have loved to have you visit them too. We had a lot of fun with the kids. I ran around so much, I’m exhausted. They’ve really grown up since we met them last! Anna has started walking now and Ted recites the alphabet so well! Joe was asking about your experiment. How is it going, by the way? Did it work?”
“Oh yes”, said Phil. “Sandra and I have isolated four different strains of microbes and we shall get to know bout their individual abilities tomorrow. And yes, I shall give Joe a call and tell him I shall meet up with him some time soon.”
They were both tired after the busy weekend and went to bed soon after dinner. Phil was supposed to go to the lab early next morning.
Monday, 24th August 2009 – 7:30 AM
Sandra had already started making charts with the results when Phil reached the lab. She had noted the PE film strip weight loss for each flask and was now calculating the average weight loss for each strain. “The second strain shows an average PE weight loss of approximately 22%. The first, third and fourth show 5%, 1% and 3%.” She showed him the chart. “Should we try combinations now? I’m sure it’s going to be much more effective than individual strains”
Phil beamed. “Go ahead, Miss Baker!”
Sandra was so enthusiastic about the project now; she wasted no time at all. She quickly made combinations the second strain with each of the other three strains and carried the test and noted the results.
“Phil! Here you go. Strain 1 & 2 together show almost 35% PE weight loss. Both 2&3 and 2&4 show approximately 23% loss. How is that?”
“Great,” replied Phil. We’ll have to figure out why though. Can I take these charts home with me? I’ve made a few notes here and I’ll take your notes too. I guess we should both take a break from the lab. I’ll study the notes at home and get everything back on Wednesday. This is going good! Oh, would you like to join Kate and me for dinner tonight? It would be a nice change”
Sandra agreed that they needed a break from the lab and also that he could study the notes and figure out stuff at home. “Oh and I forgot to tell you, I did the Gram staining for strain 1 and 2 and I’ve noted down my observations. I’ll study those at home and tell you my conclusions when I’m done. About the dinner, well I already have plans for tonight. Maybe some other time! Thanks though. Tell Kate I said hello. See you on Wednesday then. Goodnight.”
Phil went home and told Kate how happy he was with the progress of the project. He explained to her about where they had reached and how this was going to be one of the biggest projects of his career at CBRD. Kate was really happy to know everything was going smoothly, but she still seemed quite uncomfortable about how much time Phil spent working. Phil told her it was just a matter of a few weeks and the project would soon be done with. Then he could take a vacation and spend quality time with her.
The next day, Phil stayed at home, reading the notes he and Sandra had made, along with some reference books in his study. By evening, he had figured out something really interesting and decided to call Sandra and tell her about it.
“Sandra! I found something,” he said when she received his call.
“What?” she asked excitedly.
“I figured why strain 2 gives better results with 1.”
“Why?”
“Because strain 1 produces a biosurfactant that emulsifies the PE oligomers. And the emulsified oligomers are taken up and metabolized by the microbial cells.”
“Makes sense!” Sandra agreed.
“Also, I think strain 1 helps strain 2 reproduce.”
“Cool! I’ve done my research too with strain 2. They’re Gram-negative cells, rod-shaped with rounded poles. And the LB agar shows deep-yellow pigmented colonies. Also, they did not grow in anaerobic conditions.”
“I guess I know where you’re getting. Did you take the glucose acid production test? ” he asked.
“Yes. Negative for glucose and positive for catalase and oxidase,” she replied promptly. “So that makes it Sphingomonas.”
“Yes,” Phil agreed. And what about strain 1? Did you find out yet?”
“Yup. That one’s Pseudomonas.”
Phil was happy with whatever both of them had found out. “Great! Tomorrow, we’ll carry out other tests on the combination and observe the effects, so that we can come up with our final report. See you at 7 then. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” said Sandra and hung up.
Wednesday, 26th August 2009 – 7:00 AM
Sandra and Phil carried out various tests with the combination of both the strains they had identified, for optimizing the PE degradation and observed that temperature, inoculum size and other such factors affected the degradation positively. They had now obtained a microbial association capable of PE degradation and had also been successful in isolating bacteria belonging to the genus Sphingomonas and Pseudomonas. They achieved a higher degree of PE degradation by combination of the two strains. The degradation that took place released water and minor amounts of carbon dioxide.
They carried out various experiments to genetically combine the two strains and came up with a new bacterium which they wanted to use on an industrial scale. They worked on the final report of their project to be presented to CBRD after a week. The presentation received a lot of appreciation and everyone at CBRD agreed that this new bacterium be given a name and released in the environment in order to rid the world of the menace created by waste plastic. This would save the lives of millions of wildlife species and save space in landfills.
One month later
Sandra and Phil’s plastic-eating bacteria had been named Landfilia phagi. They had grown the inoculum in fermenters, and the liquid medium was now ready to be introduced in the environment. The inputs were cheap, maintaining the required temperature took little energy because the microbe produced heat as it worked, and the only outputs were water and tiny levels of carbon dioxide; each microbe produced only 0.01 per cent of its own infinitesimal weight in carbon dioxide. It was surely going to be a huge step - using nature to solve a man-made problem.
Soon, CBRD released substantial amounts of the inoculum in nearby landfills and Landfilia phagi begun its job!
One year later
The microbes had been working pretty well on the landfills and almost all the plastic had been consumed. Landfilia phagi gained energy from engulfing plastic and multiplied at a faster rate, thus enhancing the degradation substantially. Tweaking nature to solve a man-made problem was actually working in favor of CBRD’s scientists. Phil and Sandra were being appreciated around the world, for their outstanding achievements.
Monday, 4th October 2010 – 10:00 AM
Phil reached the lab with a worried look on his face. Sandra was sitting at her desk, reading some papers. She saw him enter and asked, “What’s wrong, Phil? Why do you look so disturbed?”
“It’s the bacteria. Our very own Landfilia phagi!” he replied in a panicky tone. “They’re multiplying faster and faster. The plastic really helps them grow!”
“Well of course,” said Sandra. “We knew that, didn’t we? And what’s the problem? It’s good they’re multiplying faster. It will only help us degrade all the waste plastic sooner!”
“Fast multiplication is not the issue, Sandra! The issue is they no longer feed on plastic alone. It seems they have been mutating. The oligomers have caused them to mutate.”
“What?” exclaimed Sandra. “Oh God! And what has the mutation caused them to do?”
“Well, plastic’s not their only food anymore! They’ve started eating other stuff!”
“Other stuff? What do you mean?”
“I mean, we are in deep trouble! The bacteria now feed on steel, cement, glass, nylon. You name it!”
“No way,” cried Sandra. “Are you trying to tell me that our bacteria feed on anything that’s man-made?”
“Yes, Sandra. That is exactly what I’m trying to say! Man-made bacteria they are, after all!”
“What do we do, Phil? We’ve got to stop them. How much damage has been done?”
“Not much yet, but just as eating plastic made them multiply faster, eating the other stuff makes them grow unbelievably faster. They’re going to destroy everything! We have to stop them, NOW!”
Both of them frantically started looking through their notes. They wanted to analyze the characteristics of the bacterium they had engineered, before taking any step to stop the disaster it was going to cause.
They took a few weeks to complete their research and came up with a possible solution. By then, Landfilia phagi had eaten up quite a bit of man-made stuff and everyone was in panic.
Saturday, 6th November 2010 – 8:00 AM
Phil had decided to release protozoa in the landfills, which would destroy the plastic-eating bacteria. Protozoa are one-celled animals which engulf bacteria. He knew this would work. Sandra protested saying that releasing protozoa into the environment could cause diseases. But Phil had done his research. He considered only non-pathogenic protozoa, so that no further harm could be caused to humans or to the environment. He chose Trichomonas hominis, a flagellate parasite found in dogs, primates and humans. He knew it would not cause any harm because it was non-pathogenic. Sandra and the rest of CBRD accepted that Phil’s suggestion was safe and they had no alternative but to execute it.
“Is the inoculum ready?” Phil asked Sandra as soon as he entered the lab. “Yes,” she replied and they set off, to save the world from their own creation.
They had messed with nature and nature, in turn had messed with. It was time to use nature to rectify another man-made mistake, but this time, they used it in its pure form!
Friday, 24th December 2010 –
“Kate! Hurry! We’re already late. Just lock the door and come!” Phil shouted and honked thrice. He was in the car, waiting for her. They were about to leave for the much awaited vacation with Martha, Joe and their kids, to celebrate Christmas and New years’ at Joe’s new farmhouse.
(end)
By Shailee Adke
Friday, 21st August 2009 – 8:30 AM
Phil sat at the table across his girlfriend Kate, having his breakfast. He looked tired, from all the hard work that he had been doing since a couple of months. It had been long since he had spent time at home. Kate was thinking about spending some time with her cousins and was about to ask him if he was free over the weekend when the phone rang.
She went to receive it.
“Hello… Hi Sandra, how’ve you been?” She smiled, “Oh nothing much… Yeah, just a second. Phil!! Sandra’s on the line!” Kate got him the phone.
Phil took the phone and left the table. “Good morning Sandra. Tell me.” He walked toward his room as he was talking. “Oh, is it? That’s great news. Yeah… I’ll be there right away. See you!” He picked up his bag and the car keys and almost ran towards the front door calling out to Kate, “Honey I gotta rush. Sandra says its working! This is going to be big! I’ll check and call you from the lab. Bye!” And he was gone before Kate could respond.
Four months ago -
Dr. Phil Stevens, 30 and his partner Dr. Sandra Baker 28, both scientists at the Center for Biogenetic Research and Development (CBRD) had been working on an experiment for almost a year. This experiment, if successful would be a really useful one for the environment and solve a lot of ecological problems.
The two scientists were working on isolating a bacterium that could eat plastic. Plastic bags are very popular in our daily lives and have a harsh environmental impact on our ecosystems. Every year, approximately 500 billion plastic bags are used worldwide and billions of those are dumped into the oceans. Countless wildlife, including sea-lions, whales, birds and turtles ingest the plastic bags and die every year. These bags, made out of polyethylene (PE) have very high durability, persisting in the environment for 20 to 1000 years before they decompose.
In May 2009, Sandra started with the idea that if plastic bags are being degraded by microorganisms in nature, it should be possible to isolate them. She collected a few soil samples from a local landfill site and mixed them together to create the final enrichment culture (FEC) which she wanted to use as a source of potential PE degrading microorganisms.
At this stage, Sandra reasoned, if there were bacteria of interest, there should be enough of them to make a measurable difference. She then decided to begin her experiments and approached Phil, who had been her research partner in a few earlier projects at CBRD.
Friday, 21st August 2009 – 8:50 AM
Phil parked his car at the CBRD parking lot and ran toward the elevator. He was really excited about the first positive result of their experiment and hoped that everything Sandra had said was true and not just a false alarm. As soon as the elevator came to a halt at the third floor where his lab was, he scrambled out of it and entered the lab. He hurriedly threw his bag on his desk and looked for Sandra. He found her in the inner room, looking at a flask, a bright smile on her face.
“What’s happening?” Phil asked Sandra. “Have you weighed it? Is there a difference?”
Sandra had made a few notes which she brought to show him and added “Yes! Minimal medium with PE as the sole carbon source. There’s turbidity in the flask which means the organisms are using PE as their carbon source. Phil lets get down working… Now!”
“Yeah, LB agar plating! Let’s get going. We need to observe the morphology and the amount of microorganisms in the FEC. God; I can’t believe this is actually happening!”
They subjected the FEC to a series of dilutions and plating out on Luria-Bertani agar plates and waited for the results. It took them two days to figure out what they were trying to find. The agar test revealed four distinct colonial morphologies, suggesting the existence of at least four different microbial strains in FEC.
Sunday, 23rd August 2009 – 7:00 AM
Now that the experiment was gaining pace, Sandra and Phil couldn’t afford to waste any time. They worked non-stop for hours together. Kate had to carry on her weekend plan without Phil because he wanted to go check on the results at the lab.
“Wow! Four! This is good!” exclaimed Phil. “Let’s isolate and test them separately now.” He picked up the colonies of each microbial strain and asked Sandra to re-suspend them in a salt solution. “0.2ml of 0.85% NaCl should do for each. Streak them out on LB agar and keep doing it till you get pure strains. I’ll just get back in a while. I need to note all this down.”
Sandra repeated the process till evening and showed the pure strains to Phil. They preserved each strain on LB agar and decided to test the isolated microbial strains individually for PE degrading ability. They carried out individual tests, using three flasks for each strain and headed home, to come back the next day and look at the results.
At home, Kate had been waiting for Phil to be back. When Phil reached home, she had already served dinner and they both ate together, telling each other bout how the day was.
Kate was really excited about how she had spent the day with her cousin Martha and her husband and kids. “Martha and Joe said they would have loved to have you visit them too. We had a lot of fun with the kids. I ran around so much, I’m exhausted. They’ve really grown up since we met them last! Anna has started walking now and Ted recites the alphabet so well! Joe was asking about your experiment. How is it going, by the way? Did it work?”
“Oh yes”, said Phil. “Sandra and I have isolated four different strains of microbes and we shall get to know bout their individual abilities tomorrow. And yes, I shall give Joe a call and tell him I shall meet up with him some time soon.”
They were both tired after the busy weekend and went to bed soon after dinner. Phil was supposed to go to the lab early next morning.
Monday, 24th August 2009 – 7:30 AM
Sandra had already started making charts with the results when Phil reached the lab. She had noted the PE film strip weight loss for each flask and was now calculating the average weight loss for each strain. “The second strain shows an average PE weight loss of approximately 22%. The first, third and fourth show 5%, 1% and 3%.” She showed him the chart. “Should we try combinations now? I’m sure it’s going to be much more effective than individual strains”
Phil beamed. “Go ahead, Miss Baker!”
Sandra was so enthusiastic about the project now; she wasted no time at all. She quickly made combinations the second strain with each of the other three strains and carried the test and noted the results.
“Phil! Here you go. Strain 1 & 2 together show almost 35% PE weight loss. Both 2&3 and 2&4 show approximately 23% loss. How is that?”
“Great,” replied Phil. We’ll have to figure out why though. Can I take these charts home with me? I’ve made a few notes here and I’ll take your notes too. I guess we should both take a break from the lab. I’ll study the notes at home and get everything back on Wednesday. This is going good! Oh, would you like to join Kate and me for dinner tonight? It would be a nice change”
Sandra agreed that they needed a break from the lab and also that he could study the notes and figure out stuff at home. “Oh and I forgot to tell you, I did the Gram staining for strain 1 and 2 and I’ve noted down my observations. I’ll study those at home and tell you my conclusions when I’m done. About the dinner, well I already have plans for tonight. Maybe some other time! Thanks though. Tell Kate I said hello. See you on Wednesday then. Goodnight.”
Phil went home and told Kate how happy he was with the progress of the project. He explained to her about where they had reached and how this was going to be one of the biggest projects of his career at CBRD. Kate was really happy to know everything was going smoothly, but she still seemed quite uncomfortable about how much time Phil spent working. Phil told her it was just a matter of a few weeks and the project would soon be done with. Then he could take a vacation and spend quality time with her.
The next day, Phil stayed at home, reading the notes he and Sandra had made, along with some reference books in his study. By evening, he had figured out something really interesting and decided to call Sandra and tell her about it.
“Sandra! I found something,” he said when she received his call.
“What?” she asked excitedly.
“I figured why strain 2 gives better results with 1.”
“Why?”
“Because strain 1 produces a biosurfactant that emulsifies the PE oligomers. And the emulsified oligomers are taken up and metabolized by the microbial cells.”
“Makes sense!” Sandra agreed.
“Also, I think strain 1 helps strain 2 reproduce.”
“Cool! I’ve done my research too with strain 2. They’re Gram-negative cells, rod-shaped with rounded poles. And the LB agar shows deep-yellow pigmented colonies. Also, they did not grow in anaerobic conditions.”
“I guess I know where you’re getting. Did you take the glucose acid production test? ” he asked.
“Yes. Negative for glucose and positive for catalase and oxidase,” she replied promptly. “So that makes it Sphingomonas.”
“Yes,” Phil agreed. And what about strain 1? Did you find out yet?”
“Yup. That one’s Pseudomonas.”
Phil was happy with whatever both of them had found out. “Great! Tomorrow, we’ll carry out other tests on the combination and observe the effects, so that we can come up with our final report. See you at 7 then. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” said Sandra and hung up.
Wednesday, 26th August 2009 – 7:00 AM
Sandra and Phil carried out various tests with the combination of both the strains they had identified, for optimizing the PE degradation and observed that temperature, inoculum size and other such factors affected the degradation positively. They had now obtained a microbial association capable of PE degradation and had also been successful in isolating bacteria belonging to the genus Sphingomonas and Pseudomonas. They achieved a higher degree of PE degradation by combination of the two strains. The degradation that took place released water and minor amounts of carbon dioxide.
They carried out various experiments to genetically combine the two strains and came up with a new bacterium which they wanted to use on an industrial scale. They worked on the final report of their project to be presented to CBRD after a week. The presentation received a lot of appreciation and everyone at CBRD agreed that this new bacterium be given a name and released in the environment in order to rid the world of the menace created by waste plastic. This would save the lives of millions of wildlife species and save space in landfills.
One month later
Sandra and Phil’s plastic-eating bacteria had been named Landfilia phagi. They had grown the inoculum in fermenters, and the liquid medium was now ready to be introduced in the environment. The inputs were cheap, maintaining the required temperature took little energy because the microbe produced heat as it worked, and the only outputs were water and tiny levels of carbon dioxide; each microbe produced only 0.01 per cent of its own infinitesimal weight in carbon dioxide. It was surely going to be a huge step - using nature to solve a man-made problem.
Soon, CBRD released substantial amounts of the inoculum in nearby landfills and Landfilia phagi begun its job!
One year later
The microbes had been working pretty well on the landfills and almost all the plastic had been consumed. Landfilia phagi gained energy from engulfing plastic and multiplied at a faster rate, thus enhancing the degradation substantially. Tweaking nature to solve a man-made problem was actually working in favor of CBRD’s scientists. Phil and Sandra were being appreciated around the world, for their outstanding achievements.
Monday, 4th October 2010 – 10:00 AM
Phil reached the lab with a worried look on his face. Sandra was sitting at her desk, reading some papers. She saw him enter and asked, “What’s wrong, Phil? Why do you look so disturbed?”
“It’s the bacteria. Our very own Landfilia phagi!” he replied in a panicky tone. “They’re multiplying faster and faster. The plastic really helps them grow!”
“Well of course,” said Sandra. “We knew that, didn’t we? And what’s the problem? It’s good they’re multiplying faster. It will only help us degrade all the waste plastic sooner!”
“Fast multiplication is not the issue, Sandra! The issue is they no longer feed on plastic alone. It seems they have been mutating. The oligomers have caused them to mutate.”
“What?” exclaimed Sandra. “Oh God! And what has the mutation caused them to do?”
“Well, plastic’s not their only food anymore! They’ve started eating other stuff!”
“Other stuff? What do you mean?”
“I mean, we are in deep trouble! The bacteria now feed on steel, cement, glass, nylon. You name it!”
“No way,” cried Sandra. “Are you trying to tell me that our bacteria feed on anything that’s man-made?”
“Yes, Sandra. That is exactly what I’m trying to say! Man-made bacteria they are, after all!”
“What do we do, Phil? We’ve got to stop them. How much damage has been done?”
“Not much yet, but just as eating plastic made them multiply faster, eating the other stuff makes them grow unbelievably faster. They’re going to destroy everything! We have to stop them, NOW!”
Both of them frantically started looking through their notes. They wanted to analyze the characteristics of the bacterium they had engineered, before taking any step to stop the disaster it was going to cause.
They took a few weeks to complete their research and came up with a possible solution. By then, Landfilia phagi had eaten up quite a bit of man-made stuff and everyone was in panic.
Saturday, 6th November 2010 – 8:00 AM
Phil had decided to release protozoa in the landfills, which would destroy the plastic-eating bacteria. Protozoa are one-celled animals which engulf bacteria. He knew this would work. Sandra protested saying that releasing protozoa into the environment could cause diseases. But Phil had done his research. He considered only non-pathogenic protozoa, so that no further harm could be caused to humans or to the environment. He chose Trichomonas hominis, a flagellate parasite found in dogs, primates and humans. He knew it would not cause any harm because it was non-pathogenic. Sandra and the rest of CBRD accepted that Phil’s suggestion was safe and they had no alternative but to execute it.
“Is the inoculum ready?” Phil asked Sandra as soon as he entered the lab. “Yes,” she replied and they set off, to save the world from their own creation.
They had messed with nature and nature, in turn had messed with. It was time to use nature to rectify another man-made mistake, but this time, they used it in its pure form!
Friday, 24th December 2010 –
“Kate! Hurry! We’re already late. Just lock the door and come!” Phil shouted and honked thrice. He was in the car, waiting for her. They were about to leave for the much awaited vacation with Martha, Joe and their kids, to celebrate Christmas and New years’ at Joe’s new farmhouse.
(end)
PROLOGUE TO A NOVEL - SAYANTINI DASGUPTA
Prologue
By Sayantini
What was the use of fetching the girl of one’s dream the sun when she was going to leave you anyway?
He sat on an empty crate, alone, as dust settled down for the day amongst the digs. The dying sunlight made his melancholia more pronounced. None of this helped the sudden deluge of loneliness swamping him from all corners. The shadows lengthened along the narrow corridors, and the birds had stopped chirping. The quiet was almost unnatural. The colours that surrounded him transformed into the demons of his mind, and he almost shuddered. The busy day did not allow for illogical fancies, with the noise of two hundred workers chipping and dusting their way down into whatever came next. The mind could not handle excitement and trepidation at the same time, contrary to popular belief. But as the day ended, the demons came out, to play with the ghosts of the past, disturbed before their time, as they wandered aimlessly looking for facets of lives lived and dead.
It didn’t matter anymore, he decided. It only made it easier to take the decision, with one factor under consideration, actually the main factor under consideration, being eliminated. He wasn’t juvenile enough to go into a rant about how he shouldn’t have paid attention to a girl in the first place, mostly for the simple reason that somehow he couldn’t bring himself to regret the love that he had felt. It surpassed everything that he had known, be it the glory of holding the jewellery of a lady from some ages past, imagining it against her actual skin as she dressed for the evening, or discovering a complex of caves where some long forgotten monarch lay in slumber forever, his peace kept by the lapse of the memory of men.
He remembered the day he had walked, absent minded, into a section of the digs he did not remember being documented, and discovering the curious bronze pillars, seemingly in perfect condition. They had runes on them, unlike the pictographic script that covered other artefacts discovered. And they glowed as he had approached, his absentmindedness shaken off by the inherent curiosity he was endowed with. There were shadows here, he had noticed, moving shadows, flitting between the bare walls and the pillars, though none save him seemed to be there. It seemed like he had stepped into a separate dimension, one where his own civilisation had ceased to exist.
Something between the pillars arrested his attention as he circled around them, examining the runes, the likes of which he had never encountered before. He thought the air between the pillars rippled. Yet he had dismissed the thought as an aberration of a hyperactive mind. But it did ripple. And it proceeded to do so, until there formed a transparent wall of something which looked like glass. As he walked up to the sheet of rippling yet tangible air, his hair moved with some invisible wind. It glowed now in a soft and ethereal fashion, and as he had reached up to touch the surface, an almost spiritual awe came over him.
It had felt slippery to his touch, though his hand did not get wet. It was made of a substance he couldn’t name, and yet his curiosity and amazement forced him to push further in. He kept moving, like he was compelled to, by some unseen force, until he discovered that his face had permeated through the membrane. But he did not find himself staring at old and crumbling mud brick walls, but at brick walls coloured a vivid earth red and bordered with chalk designs, and looking almost freshly painted. Sacks of grain stood leaning against them, and instead of the musty smell of the damp dereliction of the past, it smelt of a store room, with a faint whiff of sandalwood and rose. His body stood bathed in the dirty white light of a cold day, but his face was in a place where golden sunlight filtered through reed blinds. And he had walked into that comforting scent, determined to prove to himself that he was not going mad.
He shook himself out of his blind reverie, and stood up with a sudden movement that bordered on jerkiness which spoke of sudden resolve. The letter he held in his hand he folded again neatly, with infinite care and placed it above his heart. And with equally sudden movements he left the dig site where he had been lost in brooding, and moved to his car parked fifty feet away from the excavation.¬¬ He pulled out a silver cellular phone from the car dashboard and dialled a number which seemed to be programmed into his speed dial.
“Susan.” He greeted. “You can tell David he’s got himself a volunteer. A permanent one.”
And he drove off, the girl who had made him sit and brood in the shadows of the ruins already slipping out of his mind, making space for thoughts of the preparations that were needed for what lay in front of him.
******
The Indian Museum, Calcutta. April 22nd 2002.
“Sir, the heads seem to have a tendency to roll.” Said Ramanuj Aich.
“Ram, its only common sense to give triple wrappings before packing artefacts in Styrofoam! I don’t know what they teach at the course at the University! Why do I seem to get assistants who don’t even know this!” said an irate Subhash Ranjan Chakravarty in reply. “A basic wrapping is necessary before anything is moved! It always takes care of these problems!”
They moved down the isle on the second floor of the museum, passing rows and rows of wooden cabinets and crates packed with straw. If there was a chart of what makes for a museum store room, this would be a fine example indeed, he thought. The dust was everywhere. He remembered someone saying that it lent the artefacts and the museum character. What a bloody nincompoop! But unfortunately, government grants didn’t seem to be enough for the curator to hire specialised cleaning crews to maintain the vast collections of artefacts.
The Indian Museum had the largest inventory of historical artefacts, collected first by the British and then by Indian successors who had confiscated larger quantities from the departing colonists. It followed that whatever was on display in the huge colonial museum building, that dated back to more than a century, was only a fraction of what remained in the store; some of it forgotten because of the lack of documentation and the general incompetency of the Indian bureaucracy.
“Yes sir, sorry sir, I had forgotten.” apologised the chastised Ram. “ Sir, I don’t think Harish and Subodh are coming today.” Harish and Subodh were the curator’s other assistants, and in this case very necessary manual labour for the task ahead.
“What’s new about that?” said the curator, his voice now tired in defeat. “Alright, Ram. Let’s get started. Just because most of the country cannot be efficient, doesn’t mean we cannot be either.”
They set up sheets of tarp and Styrofoam and laid open industrial size wooden crates lined with straw, and opened cabinet number 1062/A. A cloud of dust escaped revealing that it had been quite a few years since someone had bothered the ignored slumber of the heads of Gautama Buddha that lay within. The irritation that previously seemed to have been bothering the curator seemed to visibly disappear in an instant. It did not matter how many times he saw these things, the awe and the excitement remained the same over the years, in spite of being involved with too many expeditions and digs. This, he knew, was true love. He gingerly touched the first head, feeling the cold stone, slightly slippery because of the damp that stone sculpture inevitably yielded to over the passage of time, and slowly brought it out, holding it like a baby or a ticking time bomb.
Ram realised that this would be one of those rare days that the curator might launch into one of his impromptu lectures; talks which any PhD student would kill to attend, and thanked his stars that he worked where he did. Ram wasn’t as incompetent as the others. He was just younger. Also unlike the others, he was actually interested in history.
“Look at the sculpting,” Subhash whispered, as he traced the eyebrows of the head of the Buddha, “the Gandhara were famous for it, the mix of Greco-Roman techniques mixed with unique Indian sensibilities. No modern machinery can ever hope to achieve this depth and the perfect balance achieved by a simple chisel. If we try today, it will be obvious it was machine made. That’s why modern sculpture is such rubbish. They don’t resemble anything at all. Because somewhere in the subconscious of every artist is the knowledge that they can never hope to reach the level of the expertise and craftsmanship of these long dead artists.”
The work continued, with the curator describing where each stylised head of Buddha had come from. They wrapped the heads in three layers of bubble wrap before wrapping each again in multiple layers of Styrofoam and finally packing them amongst the hay in the crates, no more than four heads per crate. Gradually the inventory of the cupboard depleted, and soon there was only five more heads to go.
Ram stopped with a startled gasp.
“Sir, I think there is something behind them” he said.
“Of course there is,” replied the curator irritably, busy packing a bundle with Styrofoam.
“No sir, it’s not a sculpture.” He said, peering between the objects, “I think it’s a box.”
The curator was slightly curious in spite of himself. He kept the bundle in his hands aside and peered in beside Ram.
“Hmm. Yes, that is curious.” He muttered now. “There isn’t supposed to be boxes here. I wonder which fool took upon himself to be so disorganised….” He trailed off, as he carefully removed the heads obstructing the box. He pulled out the box. It was roughly one foot across in size and made of wood which glowed with the amber used to polish it. There were stylised floral designs carved into the surface, perfect whorls and leaves, and the box’s brass latch was fixed with crimson lacquer, petrified with age.
“Late Mughal period,” he noted, now completely oblivious of his assistant. “1690 to 1710 AD. I wonder why it wasn’t opened…”
He reached into his pocket for his ever present pocket knife and in one smooth stroke broke the seal. The cover fell open scattering dust along with pieces of rusted metal, revealing a journal, cover made of what seemed like aged leather. He reached in and touched the surface, and nearly jumped away in shock.
“That’s not leather! Touch it.” He commanded.
Ram reached in and touched, and replied, “Its rexine, sir!”
“I thought so too.” And now he boldly reached into the box and brought the journal out and with a greater sense of urgency, opened the cover, to read the first line, which after two seconds he realised was written in modern English.
There, right at the centre of the first page, in discoloured sepia ink, lay the words:
THE OZYMANDIAS PROJECT: project documentation One.
He turned the page to the main text and read:
July 10th 1702
Arrived at predestined time. The wormhole portal held. The need for timed clothing is very strong. I seem to be sticking out like a sore thumb. It’s so easy to forget jeans had yet to be discovered in America. They are still working like cows under the British regime. Levi Strauss hasn’t been born yet……
“Is this some kind of a joke?” he whispered. His eyes told him something and his logic formed at looking at the other elements said something else.
“Send this in for carbon testing. And I want the results in two days.”
****
Agra 1702, July 12th.
I didn’t expect to come so close to achieving my objective as early as this. It came as an exhilarating but annoyingly scary surprise to be caught unawares. And I was absolutely unprepared. The surprise was more acutely felt because I had thought that it would take more time to be able to see the Emperor, especially since my cover here is that I am a noble man fallen on hard times and being in all express purpose, a part of the bourgeoisie, my elaborate background only a cover up for the shortcoming of the University only to teach the pure aristocratic dialects of Persian and Urdu rather than the more local ones.
But I have seen Aurangzeb.
He is everything that I imagined him to be and more. He is approaching his eighty second year, and yet he still exudes the raw power of a man of a different breed from his now gaunt frame; his face having sunk in to his cheeks and his eyes slightly protruding, as prone to in his family. This I had got from Hakim Kabir Mastani, a local of the area where I had taken my one room quarters. He had apparently been around for some of Jahangir and some of Shah Jahan’s reigns. Something to do with the rotting Chengis genes, he said.
The Aurangzeb I first saw came out of nowhere. I was wandering in the bazaars of Agra proper, right beside the fort. It’s an Agra fort which sparkled. The red sandstone set off with lapis, an unusual combination at any given time, but amazing on ones eye as the sun glinted off it. The market surrounding the fort is a mixture of jute awnings and smells of rich spices from kebabs which aren’t made anymore where I hail from. It made me wonder if there is such a thing as the quality of meat being purer here, at this time. The constant bustle, though, hasn’t changed much. I believe that is what makes for the agelessness of India. All that remains to show for the passage of time is the intricacies of language and the clothes one wears. The basic nature remains the same.
As it is, it didn’t show that the empire was in deep debt from the market. That Aurangzeb had at that point gone on his mad rampage to drain his Imperial Treasury of its very last resources to finance his seemingly unending thirst for conquests, wasn’t something that was too deeply thought about by the people, it seems. Or maybe true damage was only done to the Indian money making enterprise with the advent of the British, and that is yet to happen. Until then, nothing was irreversible.
I had been wandering in the market for some time now, absorbing, observing. I think after half an hour into my random wanderings, the word had spread around that there was a spaced out mystic type on the loose, harmless, but not completely in control of his faculties. I believe the general consensus was to humour me. Also, my constant scribbling in a notebook did not help. To them, I looked like a madman trying to write with a short rod of metal. It occurred to me only lately that these people had never seen a ballpoint pen. I had understood the need to not get a camera, but I had misunderstood the importance of an insignificant thing like a ballpoint pen to this time.
All of a sudden there was a hush, and then a general rush towards the end of the market, which opened towards the fort. I followed the direction of the crowds, and found myself lodged between two uncomfortably well built men in Pathani costume, which by the way, also hasn’t changed as the ages passed. Some thing about the isolation of the mountains maybe.
There was a party of about a hundred making their way from the gates. There seemed to be a clear hierarchy. First came the men soldiers. They weren’t garbed in battle gear, but their tall and weighty build and the naked swords in their cummerbunds gave it away, as it was meant to. These numbered about twenty five, and ten of them were tailing behind at the end. This, then, was the front and rear guard. The body of the party consisted mainly of men, dressed gloriously in various shades of white and cream linen and cotton. Nobles, then. And in the centre of it all, borne on a palanquin shouldered by seven men of impossible heights, rode a man, shrunken to look at from afar, so clear was his age. He had no sign of nobility at all. His clothes were simple, and his bony and carcass like fingers held a simple string of wooden rosary beads. Yet there was no mistaking the light in his eyes or the expression on his face. His eyes would bore into whatever it looked at, and his face held an expression a complex mixture of hauteur and imperious character, yet, defined by something which I couldn’t put a finger on. I believe it will take more time to understand what that is, if it is anything other than the burden of age.
So, this was Alamgir.
The man beside me had noticed something by way of the expression on my face, and told me in a hushed whisper that this was new for the emperor. When he was younger, his mind had been only set on land and murder was in his heart. He never had time to roam the city as he did now. The only time people got to see him, was either at the other side of the battle field, as the enemy, or as he and his procession of soldiers went of to battle. These days, it was said, his mind had turned, and he begged his son not to do as he had done, and yes, he took turns out of the fort at approaching dusk.
I had a sudden revelation about how I would send back my reports of investigating the wormhole in the Gujarat digs back into our time……
(To be continued)
By Sayantini
What was the use of fetching the girl of one’s dream the sun when she was going to leave you anyway?
He sat on an empty crate, alone, as dust settled down for the day amongst the digs. The dying sunlight made his melancholia more pronounced. None of this helped the sudden deluge of loneliness swamping him from all corners. The shadows lengthened along the narrow corridors, and the birds had stopped chirping. The quiet was almost unnatural. The colours that surrounded him transformed into the demons of his mind, and he almost shuddered. The busy day did not allow for illogical fancies, with the noise of two hundred workers chipping and dusting their way down into whatever came next. The mind could not handle excitement and trepidation at the same time, contrary to popular belief. But as the day ended, the demons came out, to play with the ghosts of the past, disturbed before their time, as they wandered aimlessly looking for facets of lives lived and dead.
It didn’t matter anymore, he decided. It only made it easier to take the decision, with one factor under consideration, actually the main factor under consideration, being eliminated. He wasn’t juvenile enough to go into a rant about how he shouldn’t have paid attention to a girl in the first place, mostly for the simple reason that somehow he couldn’t bring himself to regret the love that he had felt. It surpassed everything that he had known, be it the glory of holding the jewellery of a lady from some ages past, imagining it against her actual skin as she dressed for the evening, or discovering a complex of caves where some long forgotten monarch lay in slumber forever, his peace kept by the lapse of the memory of men.
He remembered the day he had walked, absent minded, into a section of the digs he did not remember being documented, and discovering the curious bronze pillars, seemingly in perfect condition. They had runes on them, unlike the pictographic script that covered other artefacts discovered. And they glowed as he had approached, his absentmindedness shaken off by the inherent curiosity he was endowed with. There were shadows here, he had noticed, moving shadows, flitting between the bare walls and the pillars, though none save him seemed to be there. It seemed like he had stepped into a separate dimension, one where his own civilisation had ceased to exist.
Something between the pillars arrested his attention as he circled around them, examining the runes, the likes of which he had never encountered before. He thought the air between the pillars rippled. Yet he had dismissed the thought as an aberration of a hyperactive mind. But it did ripple. And it proceeded to do so, until there formed a transparent wall of something which looked like glass. As he walked up to the sheet of rippling yet tangible air, his hair moved with some invisible wind. It glowed now in a soft and ethereal fashion, and as he had reached up to touch the surface, an almost spiritual awe came over him.
It had felt slippery to his touch, though his hand did not get wet. It was made of a substance he couldn’t name, and yet his curiosity and amazement forced him to push further in. He kept moving, like he was compelled to, by some unseen force, until he discovered that his face had permeated through the membrane. But he did not find himself staring at old and crumbling mud brick walls, but at brick walls coloured a vivid earth red and bordered with chalk designs, and looking almost freshly painted. Sacks of grain stood leaning against them, and instead of the musty smell of the damp dereliction of the past, it smelt of a store room, with a faint whiff of sandalwood and rose. His body stood bathed in the dirty white light of a cold day, but his face was in a place where golden sunlight filtered through reed blinds. And he had walked into that comforting scent, determined to prove to himself that he was not going mad.
He shook himself out of his blind reverie, and stood up with a sudden movement that bordered on jerkiness which spoke of sudden resolve. The letter he held in his hand he folded again neatly, with infinite care and placed it above his heart. And with equally sudden movements he left the dig site where he had been lost in brooding, and moved to his car parked fifty feet away from the excavation.¬¬ He pulled out a silver cellular phone from the car dashboard and dialled a number which seemed to be programmed into his speed dial.
“Susan.” He greeted. “You can tell David he’s got himself a volunteer. A permanent one.”
And he drove off, the girl who had made him sit and brood in the shadows of the ruins already slipping out of his mind, making space for thoughts of the preparations that were needed for what lay in front of him.
******
The Indian Museum, Calcutta. April 22nd 2002.
“Sir, the heads seem to have a tendency to roll.” Said Ramanuj Aich.
“Ram, its only common sense to give triple wrappings before packing artefacts in Styrofoam! I don’t know what they teach at the course at the University! Why do I seem to get assistants who don’t even know this!” said an irate Subhash Ranjan Chakravarty in reply. “A basic wrapping is necessary before anything is moved! It always takes care of these problems!”
They moved down the isle on the second floor of the museum, passing rows and rows of wooden cabinets and crates packed with straw. If there was a chart of what makes for a museum store room, this would be a fine example indeed, he thought. The dust was everywhere. He remembered someone saying that it lent the artefacts and the museum character. What a bloody nincompoop! But unfortunately, government grants didn’t seem to be enough for the curator to hire specialised cleaning crews to maintain the vast collections of artefacts.
The Indian Museum had the largest inventory of historical artefacts, collected first by the British and then by Indian successors who had confiscated larger quantities from the departing colonists. It followed that whatever was on display in the huge colonial museum building, that dated back to more than a century, was only a fraction of what remained in the store; some of it forgotten because of the lack of documentation and the general incompetency of the Indian bureaucracy.
“Yes sir, sorry sir, I had forgotten.” apologised the chastised Ram. “ Sir, I don’t think Harish and Subodh are coming today.” Harish and Subodh were the curator’s other assistants, and in this case very necessary manual labour for the task ahead.
“What’s new about that?” said the curator, his voice now tired in defeat. “Alright, Ram. Let’s get started. Just because most of the country cannot be efficient, doesn’t mean we cannot be either.”
They set up sheets of tarp and Styrofoam and laid open industrial size wooden crates lined with straw, and opened cabinet number 1062/A. A cloud of dust escaped revealing that it had been quite a few years since someone had bothered the ignored slumber of the heads of Gautama Buddha that lay within. The irritation that previously seemed to have been bothering the curator seemed to visibly disappear in an instant. It did not matter how many times he saw these things, the awe and the excitement remained the same over the years, in spite of being involved with too many expeditions and digs. This, he knew, was true love. He gingerly touched the first head, feeling the cold stone, slightly slippery because of the damp that stone sculpture inevitably yielded to over the passage of time, and slowly brought it out, holding it like a baby or a ticking time bomb.
Ram realised that this would be one of those rare days that the curator might launch into one of his impromptu lectures; talks which any PhD student would kill to attend, and thanked his stars that he worked where he did. Ram wasn’t as incompetent as the others. He was just younger. Also unlike the others, he was actually interested in history.
“Look at the sculpting,” Subhash whispered, as he traced the eyebrows of the head of the Buddha, “the Gandhara were famous for it, the mix of Greco-Roman techniques mixed with unique Indian sensibilities. No modern machinery can ever hope to achieve this depth and the perfect balance achieved by a simple chisel. If we try today, it will be obvious it was machine made. That’s why modern sculpture is such rubbish. They don’t resemble anything at all. Because somewhere in the subconscious of every artist is the knowledge that they can never hope to reach the level of the expertise and craftsmanship of these long dead artists.”
The work continued, with the curator describing where each stylised head of Buddha had come from. They wrapped the heads in three layers of bubble wrap before wrapping each again in multiple layers of Styrofoam and finally packing them amongst the hay in the crates, no more than four heads per crate. Gradually the inventory of the cupboard depleted, and soon there was only five more heads to go.
Ram stopped with a startled gasp.
“Sir, I think there is something behind them” he said.
“Of course there is,” replied the curator irritably, busy packing a bundle with Styrofoam.
“No sir, it’s not a sculpture.” He said, peering between the objects, “I think it’s a box.”
The curator was slightly curious in spite of himself. He kept the bundle in his hands aside and peered in beside Ram.
“Hmm. Yes, that is curious.” He muttered now. “There isn’t supposed to be boxes here. I wonder which fool took upon himself to be so disorganised….” He trailed off, as he carefully removed the heads obstructing the box. He pulled out the box. It was roughly one foot across in size and made of wood which glowed with the amber used to polish it. There were stylised floral designs carved into the surface, perfect whorls and leaves, and the box’s brass latch was fixed with crimson lacquer, petrified with age.
“Late Mughal period,” he noted, now completely oblivious of his assistant. “1690 to 1710 AD. I wonder why it wasn’t opened…”
He reached into his pocket for his ever present pocket knife and in one smooth stroke broke the seal. The cover fell open scattering dust along with pieces of rusted metal, revealing a journal, cover made of what seemed like aged leather. He reached in and touched the surface, and nearly jumped away in shock.
“That’s not leather! Touch it.” He commanded.
Ram reached in and touched, and replied, “Its rexine, sir!”
“I thought so too.” And now he boldly reached into the box and brought the journal out and with a greater sense of urgency, opened the cover, to read the first line, which after two seconds he realised was written in modern English.
There, right at the centre of the first page, in discoloured sepia ink, lay the words:
THE OZYMANDIAS PROJECT: project documentation One.
He turned the page to the main text and read:
July 10th 1702
Arrived at predestined time. The wormhole portal held. The need for timed clothing is very strong. I seem to be sticking out like a sore thumb. It’s so easy to forget jeans had yet to be discovered in America. They are still working like cows under the British regime. Levi Strauss hasn’t been born yet……
“Is this some kind of a joke?” he whispered. His eyes told him something and his logic formed at looking at the other elements said something else.
“Send this in for carbon testing. And I want the results in two days.”
****
Agra 1702, July 12th.
I didn’t expect to come so close to achieving my objective as early as this. It came as an exhilarating but annoyingly scary surprise to be caught unawares. And I was absolutely unprepared. The surprise was more acutely felt because I had thought that it would take more time to be able to see the Emperor, especially since my cover here is that I am a noble man fallen on hard times and being in all express purpose, a part of the bourgeoisie, my elaborate background only a cover up for the shortcoming of the University only to teach the pure aristocratic dialects of Persian and Urdu rather than the more local ones.
But I have seen Aurangzeb.
He is everything that I imagined him to be and more. He is approaching his eighty second year, and yet he still exudes the raw power of a man of a different breed from his now gaunt frame; his face having sunk in to his cheeks and his eyes slightly protruding, as prone to in his family. This I had got from Hakim Kabir Mastani, a local of the area where I had taken my one room quarters. He had apparently been around for some of Jahangir and some of Shah Jahan’s reigns. Something to do with the rotting Chengis genes, he said.
The Aurangzeb I first saw came out of nowhere. I was wandering in the bazaars of Agra proper, right beside the fort. It’s an Agra fort which sparkled. The red sandstone set off with lapis, an unusual combination at any given time, but amazing on ones eye as the sun glinted off it. The market surrounding the fort is a mixture of jute awnings and smells of rich spices from kebabs which aren’t made anymore where I hail from. It made me wonder if there is such a thing as the quality of meat being purer here, at this time. The constant bustle, though, hasn’t changed much. I believe that is what makes for the agelessness of India. All that remains to show for the passage of time is the intricacies of language and the clothes one wears. The basic nature remains the same.
As it is, it didn’t show that the empire was in deep debt from the market. That Aurangzeb had at that point gone on his mad rampage to drain his Imperial Treasury of its very last resources to finance his seemingly unending thirst for conquests, wasn’t something that was too deeply thought about by the people, it seems. Or maybe true damage was only done to the Indian money making enterprise with the advent of the British, and that is yet to happen. Until then, nothing was irreversible.
I had been wandering in the market for some time now, absorbing, observing. I think after half an hour into my random wanderings, the word had spread around that there was a spaced out mystic type on the loose, harmless, but not completely in control of his faculties. I believe the general consensus was to humour me. Also, my constant scribbling in a notebook did not help. To them, I looked like a madman trying to write with a short rod of metal. It occurred to me only lately that these people had never seen a ballpoint pen. I had understood the need to not get a camera, but I had misunderstood the importance of an insignificant thing like a ballpoint pen to this time.
All of a sudden there was a hush, and then a general rush towards the end of the market, which opened towards the fort. I followed the direction of the crowds, and found myself lodged between two uncomfortably well built men in Pathani costume, which by the way, also hasn’t changed as the ages passed. Some thing about the isolation of the mountains maybe.
There was a party of about a hundred making their way from the gates. There seemed to be a clear hierarchy. First came the men soldiers. They weren’t garbed in battle gear, but their tall and weighty build and the naked swords in their cummerbunds gave it away, as it was meant to. These numbered about twenty five, and ten of them were tailing behind at the end. This, then, was the front and rear guard. The body of the party consisted mainly of men, dressed gloriously in various shades of white and cream linen and cotton. Nobles, then. And in the centre of it all, borne on a palanquin shouldered by seven men of impossible heights, rode a man, shrunken to look at from afar, so clear was his age. He had no sign of nobility at all. His clothes were simple, and his bony and carcass like fingers held a simple string of wooden rosary beads. Yet there was no mistaking the light in his eyes or the expression on his face. His eyes would bore into whatever it looked at, and his face held an expression a complex mixture of hauteur and imperious character, yet, defined by something which I couldn’t put a finger on. I believe it will take more time to understand what that is, if it is anything other than the burden of age.
So, this was Alamgir.
The man beside me had noticed something by way of the expression on my face, and told me in a hushed whisper that this was new for the emperor. When he was younger, his mind had been only set on land and murder was in his heart. He never had time to roam the city as he did now. The only time people got to see him, was either at the other side of the battle field, as the enemy, or as he and his procession of soldiers went of to battle. These days, it was said, his mind had turned, and he begged his son not to do as he had done, and yes, he took turns out of the fort at approaching dusk.
I had a sudden revelation about how I would send back my reports of investigating the wormhole in the Gujarat digs back into our time……
(To be continued)
ONSET OF WINTER - SARGAM GUPTA
ONSET OF WINTER
By Sargam Gupta
It was difficult to stand up, but Bani could no longer curb the urge to throw up, and rushed to the bathroom. She felt completely drained of energy, and turned to the mirror to see how much the deterioration of her health showed on her appearance. But to her utter disbelief she could not have looked healthier. She felt confused. She noticed that the slight discolouration of skin that she had had since childhood had vanished. Nervously she brushed off imaginary dust from her arms. With great effort she made it to the living room where she had stationed herself right next to the window. Parth would be here any minute now, and she would be saved. She didn’t want to die. She was barely twenty eight years old. Her thoughts wandered to the morning where all of this had begun. It had been exactly one week ago.
Being a typical Dehradun morning, there was a slight mist outside, confirming the onset of an early winter. Bani grabbed a shawl from her cupboard and made her way to the door, the carpeted floor subduing the sound of her brisk footsteps. Casting one last look at the sparsely furnished living room, she went out of the house, wrapping her shawl tightly around her tiny waist.
It had been two years since she had been working for BRAT, which was a humorously tweaked acronym for the Botanical Research and Technology Centre. It was a government funded company dedicated to the development of herbal medicine using upcoming technology.
BRAT had been testing the extraordinary strengths of carbon at nano scale, which meant that the size they were dealing with was less than one-fifth the diameter of a hair. The carbon nanotubes were being developed as vessels to carry herbal drugs to specific destinations in cancer affected patients. However, recent reports had revealed the toxicity of the nanotubes and the progress had come to a halt. This is where her contribution came in.
She reached the fading BRAT signboard which had cracked in parts, revealing the tube light beneath. She walked past it to the small building that was her office, with brick walls and slanting roofs blending perfectly with its surrounding architecture. Had she not been working there, she would never been able to imagine what was inside.
A single elevator stood in the far end of the hall inside the building. She walked towards it and placed her thumb on an inconspicuous screen next to the elevator. The doors automatically slid open and she stepped inside. Just when the doors were closing, they reopened to let in a tall lanky man she didn’t know. He gave her a brief nod, glancing at his watch. They were both silent. As the elevator moved down, they were both engulfed by a strong wind was circulating upwards. Bani was used to this, but her new companion seemed to have been taken in by surprise. He held onto a railing for support. “WHAT IS THAT ALL ABOUT?” he yelled over the deafening sound of the air suction. Looking sceptical she said noncommittally, “It is a cleaning up routine, to get rid of dust particles and dirt.” He joked about having had a bath in the morning, but she ignored him.
The elevator came to a halt and as soon as the doors slid open, the man rushed out, heaving a sigh of relief. The man looked at the lab in absolute awe. She did not blame him, the same had happened to her two years ago when she had first come here.
The basement was a huge hall, with countless passageways and steel pipelines covering every nook and corner of the ceiling. A wall projected the view outside, and the whole office was buzzing with activity and energy that is seldom seen in Dehradun. There were several compartments separated by double line perforated glass walls, with vacuum ducts inside for air circulation and suction. Few knew of the basement’s existence since the lab dealt with a lot of hazardous material, and it was best left alone.
“Parth! Here you are! How do you like the lab?” Yuvan greeted the tall lanky man and turned his gaze on Bani. “So you have already met one of our finest employees have you? Mind you she is not easy to please.” He laughed at his own sense of humour. Bani shot him a disdainful look which wiped the lopsided grin off his face. “Erm...Bani this is Parth, he is here to give us some insight on emergent behaviour in nanoparticles, and will be joining us from today.” Yuvan was her immediate senior who was rather pompous in his demeanour and usually strutted around the lab giving uncalled for input that rarely anyone paid heed to. Yet, nothing could go forward without his approval. He continued, “So, should we meet in my cabin in fifteen minutes and see what we have got so far?” “Sure Yuvan, we will be ready in fifteen minutes.”
Bani had been working with the increasingly popular concept of emergent behaviour in nanoparticles and her efforts went into looking for possibilities in nature itself. This made coding and computer processing much simpler, and there were lesser rules to define. Mimicking nature was exciting, and gave room for unexpected and innovative behaviour. In Africa codes have been applied to thermostats in buildings that mimicked the way termites divide their labour and build cool temperature homes.
Bani clicked on her headset and said, “Subhi...Subhi are you there? Have you got the nano tube samples ready?” A squeaky voice responded, “Yes. Presentation at Yuvan’s office?”
“Right. In fifteen minutes.”
“Ok. See you there.”
It was by far her worst meeting. All the hard work they had put in together for the last one month was dismissed in the most insolent fashion. Parth turned out to be just the way she thought him to be. He was a good for nothing arrogant jerk that had nothing constructive to say, and treated everyone else around him in an almost condescending manner. Yuvan was livid because they had failed to impress him. Bani had never seen him so angry. Apparently Parth was one of the top microbiologists in the country with an extensive knowledge of computer programming and BRAT’s reputation rested in his hands.
Feeling miserable, she sat in her cabin alone, her head tilted slightly to the right. However much she detested Parth, she could now see clearly how their propositions could not work. She needed to use something that would not harm the human body but would completely destroy the toxic particles emitted by the carbon nanotubes. But then what? Her thoughts were interrupted by weight conscious Subhi who walked in with a big tub of curd. “Bani, have some probiotic curd, it is supposed to be really healthy,” For a few moments, Bani stared at it disbelievingly. “Bani..? Why you staring at this tub like that?” Bani looked up at her, her face glowing with excitement. “I got it! That is it!” “What did you get?” Subhi looked utterly bewildered, her eyebrows knitted together. Bani went on impatiently, “The probiotic bacteria are perfect for making carbon nanotubes perfectly safe! Subhi, do you realise what this means?” Reaslisation dawned on Subhi which resulted in a tiny yelp. “This is brilliant! I will go fetch Yuvan right away!” Bani lifted up her hand, motioning her to stop. “No, I want to be completely sure before we propose this. Can you ask Bhumika to come here immediately? I may need some technical help.”
With that she put on her gloves and mask, and bent down over a microscope, testing various samples, and accessing the database for all the information required on probiotic bacterium. She looked quite comical with her tongue half stuck out when she was concentrating on something. The next few hours flew in developing sample nanoparticles that mimicked these bacteria. The code was not foolproof yet, but it would do for now. “Bhumika, take these samples to the biomimicry lab for retesting. I will just take this test tube...”
She was so unaware of where she was going that she walked right into Parth who was standing at the doorway with an amused expression on his face. She lost her balance, and as she was trying to hold on to something was support, the test tube filled with the bacterium nanoparticles broke, and a piece of broken glass cut through her glove. Suppressing a cry of pain, she steadied herself, looking at Parth incredulously. With swift and experienced movements, Parth took out the piece of glass from her finger and cleaned up the wound with his handkerchief. Bani tried to resist, but Parth did not let go. She was taken aback by his firmness.
She would have to do everything all over again, she thought miserably. Parth finished cleaning the mess and said “I think the probiotic bacteria could definitely be the solution here. I went through the code. It just needs a little more detail in terms of curbing self reproduction and some minor details, and who knows, you have brought yourself much closer to a breakthrough that everyone has been waiting for...” He smiled. Reluctantly, Bani reciprocated.
Little had she known then what was to ensue. Could the consequence of one accident be of so paramount? Now, as she sat alone in the living room, trying to overcome restlessness and avoid the thought of death, she realised how everything had come crashing down with that sneeze.
A few days after she met Parth, Bani was losing her appetite, but she ignored it under the pretext of being a side effect of stress. She had barely slept in the last few days. Parth turned out to be as much of a workaholic as her and she had become rather fond of him, and contrary to her initial impression of him, she saw just how intelligent he was, and how accurately and curiosity driven his scientific inferences were. They had both been sitting together discussing the developments of the bacteria nanoparticles, when she sneezed.
Bani looked at her handkerchief in disbelief. She had just let out black nanoparticles in her phlegm. The reason was clear. She must have infected herself with the nanoparticles when she had cut her finger. What petrified her was the fact that the coding was semi-done, and had not provided for curbing self production of the bacteria nanoparticles. These nano particles in her body could be doubling up by the second now, and the effects of that could be lethal.
She looked at Parth helplessly who took the handkerchief from her and carefully put it under the microscope. He then turned to face her with a grim expression on his face. “Bani...you” unable to say anything more, he stopped mid-sentence. Sounding braver than she felt she said, “What is it Parth? Just tell me, I will have to face it sometime or the other.” Taking a deep breath he continued, “The nanoparticles are self reproducing at an alarmingly fast rate. If this continues, you could...Bani you could d-d- die.” Pausing for a brief moment before he continued, “I think there is a solution. I do not know if it will work, but it is the only chance we have got. The river Ganges has healing powers...”
“ARE YOU OUT SERIOUS? You think that holy waters will heal this infection?”
“Of course not. The Ganges has healing powers because its water has a variety of phages that destroy bacteria. I will have to go to Rishikesh and bring a sample, study it, and make a swarm of nanoparticles that mimic it. They will act like an antibiotic, and kill the excess probiotic nanoparticles in your body. I think I should leave for Rishikesh right away. You go back home and rest. I will be back in a couple of hours.”
In the few hours that had elapsed, Bani’s condition had changed drastically. No one in her office except Parth knew what had happened. They had both decided it was for the best. She felt really weak, and threw up nanoparticles every now and then, but nothing in her appearance betrayed that. On the contrary, she had never looked better. Her face had a faint reddish glow, and the dark circles and bags around her eyes had reduced. Her features looked sharper, and her skin felt soft. What kind of an absurd situation had she got herself into? She looked healthier than ever, but the insides of her body were slowly being gnawed by a swarm of self reproducing bacteria.
It was quite late into the night when Parth reached her house with the sample of water from the Ganges. He looked bewildered at the sight of her. “Bani, you look way too healthy and beautiful to be under the threat of death... I do not understand...”
“I don’t either. I feel so unwell, but it’s having an opposite reaction to my physical appearance. I don’t know what is happening Parth. Please, I want to be normal again. How long will it take to develop the phage?It has only been a week since I met you, but I cannot think of anyone else I caould rely on.” But Parth looked distracted. He was barely listening to her, and it seemed as if he was trying to solve a mathematical problem. “But how is this possible? We need to find out...maybe we should wait. Maybe you will be fine. Maybe we should do some tests and find out why this is happening the way it is...It could be a miracle, and I could see further into this new development.”
Bani was losing her patience. “ARE YOU OUT OF YOU MIND? I could die Parth! Am I a mere experiment to you? What are the chances that I will survive by tomorrow? ” She had exhausted all the energy she had, and sat down on the carpet.
“I am so sorry. I do not know what got into me. It kills me when I cannot reach the root of a problem. I will go prepare the phage right away. It will take about two hours.”
“I will be waiting”
__________
Bani saw her reflection on the window pane. Her features were as sharp as ever, her face glowing. The only thing that gave away the pain that she was experiencing was her eyes. She had been waiting for four hours now, and she could feel her life slowly slipping away. Events of the last few hours kept flashing in her mind like a badly edited film. She could not stop thinking about Parth. She loved it when he took responsibility and showed concern. She loved his obsession over science, and how he prioritised science over everything. He had said that it killed him if he didn’t reach the root of the problem. He had wanted to wait. His scientific mind had wanted to experiment. She imagined herself dead, being cut open in the pathology lab. She dismissed that thought with a shiver. She felt alone. No one knew what was wrong with her. No one knew she was dying. No one knew, except for Parth. She did not want to die.
Why was he not coming? Where was he? She tried calling him, but his phone was switched off. He should have been back with the phage more than an hour ago. She lost track of time. Should she call Subhi? She was going to call her but at that very moment her battery went out of charge. By the time she could charge it, it would be too late.
She dragged herself out of the house, and sat down on the steps that led to the door. She reassured herself that he would be here any moment now. The mist was denser. The cold chill of winter felt nice. She rested her head on the damp wall behind her. Taking one last deep breath, she closed her eyes.
(end)
By Sargam Gupta
It was difficult to stand up, but Bani could no longer curb the urge to throw up, and rushed to the bathroom. She felt completely drained of energy, and turned to the mirror to see how much the deterioration of her health showed on her appearance. But to her utter disbelief she could not have looked healthier. She felt confused. She noticed that the slight discolouration of skin that she had had since childhood had vanished. Nervously she brushed off imaginary dust from her arms. With great effort she made it to the living room where she had stationed herself right next to the window. Parth would be here any minute now, and she would be saved. She didn’t want to die. She was barely twenty eight years old. Her thoughts wandered to the morning where all of this had begun. It had been exactly one week ago.
Being a typical Dehradun morning, there was a slight mist outside, confirming the onset of an early winter. Bani grabbed a shawl from her cupboard and made her way to the door, the carpeted floor subduing the sound of her brisk footsteps. Casting one last look at the sparsely furnished living room, she went out of the house, wrapping her shawl tightly around her tiny waist.
It had been two years since she had been working for BRAT, which was a humorously tweaked acronym for the Botanical Research and Technology Centre. It was a government funded company dedicated to the development of herbal medicine using upcoming technology.
BRAT had been testing the extraordinary strengths of carbon at nano scale, which meant that the size they were dealing with was less than one-fifth the diameter of a hair. The carbon nanotubes were being developed as vessels to carry herbal drugs to specific destinations in cancer affected patients. However, recent reports had revealed the toxicity of the nanotubes and the progress had come to a halt. This is where her contribution came in.
She reached the fading BRAT signboard which had cracked in parts, revealing the tube light beneath. She walked past it to the small building that was her office, with brick walls and slanting roofs blending perfectly with its surrounding architecture. Had she not been working there, she would never been able to imagine what was inside.
A single elevator stood in the far end of the hall inside the building. She walked towards it and placed her thumb on an inconspicuous screen next to the elevator. The doors automatically slid open and she stepped inside. Just when the doors were closing, they reopened to let in a tall lanky man she didn’t know. He gave her a brief nod, glancing at his watch. They were both silent. As the elevator moved down, they were both engulfed by a strong wind was circulating upwards. Bani was used to this, but her new companion seemed to have been taken in by surprise. He held onto a railing for support. “WHAT IS THAT ALL ABOUT?” he yelled over the deafening sound of the air suction. Looking sceptical she said noncommittally, “It is a cleaning up routine, to get rid of dust particles and dirt.” He joked about having had a bath in the morning, but she ignored him.
The elevator came to a halt and as soon as the doors slid open, the man rushed out, heaving a sigh of relief. The man looked at the lab in absolute awe. She did not blame him, the same had happened to her two years ago when she had first come here.
The basement was a huge hall, with countless passageways and steel pipelines covering every nook and corner of the ceiling. A wall projected the view outside, and the whole office was buzzing with activity and energy that is seldom seen in Dehradun. There were several compartments separated by double line perforated glass walls, with vacuum ducts inside for air circulation and suction. Few knew of the basement’s existence since the lab dealt with a lot of hazardous material, and it was best left alone.
“Parth! Here you are! How do you like the lab?” Yuvan greeted the tall lanky man and turned his gaze on Bani. “So you have already met one of our finest employees have you? Mind you she is not easy to please.” He laughed at his own sense of humour. Bani shot him a disdainful look which wiped the lopsided grin off his face. “Erm...Bani this is Parth, he is here to give us some insight on emergent behaviour in nanoparticles, and will be joining us from today.” Yuvan was her immediate senior who was rather pompous in his demeanour and usually strutted around the lab giving uncalled for input that rarely anyone paid heed to. Yet, nothing could go forward without his approval. He continued, “So, should we meet in my cabin in fifteen minutes and see what we have got so far?” “Sure Yuvan, we will be ready in fifteen minutes.”
Bani had been working with the increasingly popular concept of emergent behaviour in nanoparticles and her efforts went into looking for possibilities in nature itself. This made coding and computer processing much simpler, and there were lesser rules to define. Mimicking nature was exciting, and gave room for unexpected and innovative behaviour. In Africa codes have been applied to thermostats in buildings that mimicked the way termites divide their labour and build cool temperature homes.
Bani clicked on her headset and said, “Subhi...Subhi are you there? Have you got the nano tube samples ready?” A squeaky voice responded, “Yes. Presentation at Yuvan’s office?”
“Right. In fifteen minutes.”
“Ok. See you there.”
It was by far her worst meeting. All the hard work they had put in together for the last one month was dismissed in the most insolent fashion. Parth turned out to be just the way she thought him to be. He was a good for nothing arrogant jerk that had nothing constructive to say, and treated everyone else around him in an almost condescending manner. Yuvan was livid because they had failed to impress him. Bani had never seen him so angry. Apparently Parth was one of the top microbiologists in the country with an extensive knowledge of computer programming and BRAT’s reputation rested in his hands.
Feeling miserable, she sat in her cabin alone, her head tilted slightly to the right. However much she detested Parth, she could now see clearly how their propositions could not work. She needed to use something that would not harm the human body but would completely destroy the toxic particles emitted by the carbon nanotubes. But then what? Her thoughts were interrupted by weight conscious Subhi who walked in with a big tub of curd. “Bani, have some probiotic curd, it is supposed to be really healthy,” For a few moments, Bani stared at it disbelievingly. “Bani..? Why you staring at this tub like that?” Bani looked up at her, her face glowing with excitement. “I got it! That is it!” “What did you get?” Subhi looked utterly bewildered, her eyebrows knitted together. Bani went on impatiently, “The probiotic bacteria are perfect for making carbon nanotubes perfectly safe! Subhi, do you realise what this means?” Reaslisation dawned on Subhi which resulted in a tiny yelp. “This is brilliant! I will go fetch Yuvan right away!” Bani lifted up her hand, motioning her to stop. “No, I want to be completely sure before we propose this. Can you ask Bhumika to come here immediately? I may need some technical help.”
With that she put on her gloves and mask, and bent down over a microscope, testing various samples, and accessing the database for all the information required on probiotic bacterium. She looked quite comical with her tongue half stuck out when she was concentrating on something. The next few hours flew in developing sample nanoparticles that mimicked these bacteria. The code was not foolproof yet, but it would do for now. “Bhumika, take these samples to the biomimicry lab for retesting. I will just take this test tube...”
She was so unaware of where she was going that she walked right into Parth who was standing at the doorway with an amused expression on his face. She lost her balance, and as she was trying to hold on to something was support, the test tube filled with the bacterium nanoparticles broke, and a piece of broken glass cut through her glove. Suppressing a cry of pain, she steadied herself, looking at Parth incredulously. With swift and experienced movements, Parth took out the piece of glass from her finger and cleaned up the wound with his handkerchief. Bani tried to resist, but Parth did not let go. She was taken aback by his firmness.
She would have to do everything all over again, she thought miserably. Parth finished cleaning the mess and said “I think the probiotic bacteria could definitely be the solution here. I went through the code. It just needs a little more detail in terms of curbing self reproduction and some minor details, and who knows, you have brought yourself much closer to a breakthrough that everyone has been waiting for...” He smiled. Reluctantly, Bani reciprocated.
Little had she known then what was to ensue. Could the consequence of one accident be of so paramount? Now, as she sat alone in the living room, trying to overcome restlessness and avoid the thought of death, she realised how everything had come crashing down with that sneeze.
A few days after she met Parth, Bani was losing her appetite, but she ignored it under the pretext of being a side effect of stress. She had barely slept in the last few days. Parth turned out to be as much of a workaholic as her and she had become rather fond of him, and contrary to her initial impression of him, she saw just how intelligent he was, and how accurately and curiosity driven his scientific inferences were. They had both been sitting together discussing the developments of the bacteria nanoparticles, when she sneezed.
Bani looked at her handkerchief in disbelief. She had just let out black nanoparticles in her phlegm. The reason was clear. She must have infected herself with the nanoparticles when she had cut her finger. What petrified her was the fact that the coding was semi-done, and had not provided for curbing self production of the bacteria nanoparticles. These nano particles in her body could be doubling up by the second now, and the effects of that could be lethal.
She looked at Parth helplessly who took the handkerchief from her and carefully put it under the microscope. He then turned to face her with a grim expression on his face. “Bani...you” unable to say anything more, he stopped mid-sentence. Sounding braver than she felt she said, “What is it Parth? Just tell me, I will have to face it sometime or the other.” Taking a deep breath he continued, “The nanoparticles are self reproducing at an alarmingly fast rate. If this continues, you could...Bani you could d-d- die.” Pausing for a brief moment before he continued, “I think there is a solution. I do not know if it will work, but it is the only chance we have got. The river Ganges has healing powers...”
“ARE YOU OUT SERIOUS? You think that holy waters will heal this infection?”
“Of course not. The Ganges has healing powers because its water has a variety of phages that destroy bacteria. I will have to go to Rishikesh and bring a sample, study it, and make a swarm of nanoparticles that mimic it. They will act like an antibiotic, and kill the excess probiotic nanoparticles in your body. I think I should leave for Rishikesh right away. You go back home and rest. I will be back in a couple of hours.”
In the few hours that had elapsed, Bani’s condition had changed drastically. No one in her office except Parth knew what had happened. They had both decided it was for the best. She felt really weak, and threw up nanoparticles every now and then, but nothing in her appearance betrayed that. On the contrary, she had never looked better. Her face had a faint reddish glow, and the dark circles and bags around her eyes had reduced. Her features looked sharper, and her skin felt soft. What kind of an absurd situation had she got herself into? She looked healthier than ever, but the insides of her body were slowly being gnawed by a swarm of self reproducing bacteria.
It was quite late into the night when Parth reached her house with the sample of water from the Ganges. He looked bewildered at the sight of her. “Bani, you look way too healthy and beautiful to be under the threat of death... I do not understand...”
“I don’t either. I feel so unwell, but it’s having an opposite reaction to my physical appearance. I don’t know what is happening Parth. Please, I want to be normal again. How long will it take to develop the phage?It has only been a week since I met you, but I cannot think of anyone else I caould rely on.” But Parth looked distracted. He was barely listening to her, and it seemed as if he was trying to solve a mathematical problem. “But how is this possible? We need to find out...maybe we should wait. Maybe you will be fine. Maybe we should do some tests and find out why this is happening the way it is...It could be a miracle, and I could see further into this new development.”
Bani was losing her patience. “ARE YOU OUT OF YOU MIND? I could die Parth! Am I a mere experiment to you? What are the chances that I will survive by tomorrow? ” She had exhausted all the energy she had, and sat down on the carpet.
“I am so sorry. I do not know what got into me. It kills me when I cannot reach the root of a problem. I will go prepare the phage right away. It will take about two hours.”
“I will be waiting”
__________
Bani saw her reflection on the window pane. Her features were as sharp as ever, her face glowing. The only thing that gave away the pain that she was experiencing was her eyes. She had been waiting for four hours now, and she could feel her life slowly slipping away. Events of the last few hours kept flashing in her mind like a badly edited film. She could not stop thinking about Parth. She loved it when he took responsibility and showed concern. She loved his obsession over science, and how he prioritised science over everything. He had said that it killed him if he didn’t reach the root of the problem. He had wanted to wait. His scientific mind had wanted to experiment. She imagined herself dead, being cut open in the pathology lab. She dismissed that thought with a shiver. She felt alone. No one knew what was wrong with her. No one knew she was dying. No one knew, except for Parth. She did not want to die.
Why was he not coming? Where was he? She tried calling him, but his phone was switched off. He should have been back with the phage more than an hour ago. She lost track of time. Should she call Subhi? She was going to call her but at that very moment her battery went out of charge. By the time she could charge it, it would be too late.
She dragged herself out of the house, and sat down on the steps that led to the door. She reassured herself that he would be here any moment now. The mist was denser. The cold chill of winter felt nice. She rested her head on the damp wall behind her. Taking one last deep breath, she closed her eyes.
(end)
SLEEPY TIME - SADHVI JAWA
SLEEPY TIME
By Sadhvi Jawa
Joanna is spending time with nature as usual. She is talking to a little flower that has come to life just today. Children of her age generally spend time playing with other kids but she is different.
Joanna’s mother died when she was a day old. Since then George is Joanna’s mother-father, brother-sister.
“Dad, where are you? Where are you?”
She slides down through banister, quickly runs and opens the door with a jerk.
“Dad… Dad “, passes through the fog coming out of acids and finally comes to the vision.
“Dad”, she is panting.
“Hey Joanna.”
“Dad, I met Joe again last night. She said she knows you very well. She is with you for the last so many years. Why didn’t you tell me that?”
George looks up with a grave face.
“Joanna, you have started living more and more in a fantasy world. Joe is just not…”
“You never believe me. Joe is my friend. She is real,” says Joanna and runs out to the garden.
“Joanna, Joanna, where are you going?”
_______________________
“Hey Joanna, I have cooked your favorite meal”.
Joanna looks up then continues to draw again.
“Sorry, my little princess”, she holds his ears and oanna smiles and hugs him.
“Oh,come on now. It’s dinner time”.
“Yey! I love you Dad”
“Hey Dad, cCan I tell you something? You won’t get angry with me?”Joanna nibbles on her food.
“Of course not, Joanna, tell me what is it?”
She ponders for some time.
“Joe said that you are going to lose something very precious.”
“Joanna, I told you not to…”
Joanna continues to speak … “and she said that you will get trapped in a past time which even you don’t know about and your time experiment will be dangerous”.
“Joanna!! You should listen to me”.
“WAIT! What did you say? My time experiment? Joanna, I have told you not to come to the lab. It’s dangerous. Go to your room and sleep now. And I don’t want to listen any more to Joe stories”.
“Time experiment?” he thinks to himself.
“Joe”, he sighs
“When should I put my life long work into practice? I think tomorrow is the day when everyone is asleep and then …”
__________________________
“I hope it works. This is my hard work of many years. This has to work”
“Click” and he switches on the button.
“Now I have to wait and see. Another 6 hours and I will know”
He kisses Joanna on her forehead while she sleeps “I care for you.”
6 hours pass by.
“It is still dark at 6 in the morning. I think it is working. It has stopped. Yes it has stopped. The cyclical movement has stopped. One more hour and I will be more than 100 percent sure that it is working”.
WAIT.
“But everything seems still, the birds are not singing, people are not awake like on the other days,” he ponders
“Joanna is not awake like before, she’s not talking to birds, flowers.”
“Joanna wake up. Your friends are in the garden and have woken up already. You are late.”
Joanna lies unconscious but breathing.
“Joanna”
“Joanna”
George panics.
“Is everything going parallel with the movement? But the movement has stopped!!!”
DIZZY
What is happening?
VISION BLURRED, FOG, WHITE, BLACK, RED
MIRROR, A VOICE
Joanna won’t get up. You have to pay for that.
You have to pay.
DO YOU REMEMBER?
Do you remember me? You know me? You really know me?
You will lose something precious. Very precious.
START, SWEATING, VISION
It was a dream. It is just a dream. It was not real…that …that, that voice, that blurred face, those colors.. very precious to me…..
JOANNA!!!!! WAKE UP
WAKE UP JOANNA…
JOOAAN….DIZZZZZZYYY
BLANK, REFLECT, VOICE
IT’S YOUR KARMAS.
K-A-R-M-A-S
What you are now is the result of your past deeds, feelings, thoughts.
KARMAS.
You had left me. You were precious to me.
EVERYTHING SHOULD RETURN.
George bumps into the wall… wh…wh who are you?
Stop playing these games. “I am not afraid “, he shouts,sweat dripping, voice trembling.
JOANNA WAKE UP!!!
EVERYTHING SHOULD RETURN.
“JOANNAAA wake up”
Dad is calling you. Wake up. What is this happening? Am I dreaming? I wish it is just a dream. I wish I am asleep. I wish …..
Joanna! Come back. I will be left alone. I love you Joanna.
I cannot lose you…
“I will get exactly what I think and feel”
“I have to choose my thoughts carefully. Everything in the universe is energy.”
I am with you Joanna. Can you see me? Feel that I am with you. I can feel that I am with you. Hold my hand. Joanna! Can you hear me?
“Joanna”
“Dad?”
WHITE
“Joanna! Where are you?”
I am with Joe, Dad. I told you she is real. Do you want to meet her? She knows you very well.
I can hear you Joanna. I want to see you come close to me. Where are you?
YOU CAME BACK. WHERE HAD YOU GONE? YOU LEFT ME AND WENT AWAY.YOU WERE PRECIOUS TO ME.YOU JUST LEFT ME WITHOUT SAYING ANYTHING.AND I KEPT WAITING FOR YOU. YOU WERE NOT FAITHFUL TO ME.
NOW EVERYTHING SHOULD RETURN.
Joanna is coming with me, into my world.
“JOANNA, we should go back.”
“But Dad I want to spend more time with Joe.”
“Joanna, Dad loves you. We have to get out of here. Remember your friends are waiting for you, that little flower who has just come to life, those creatures whom you have made in the open space, your friends from cloud shapes; they are all waiting for you. They want to talk to you. They are calling you.”
“But Dad, Joe doesn’t want me to leave. I cannot leave her alone here. She needs me.”
“Joanna what happens to your other friends? They are waiting for you. We have to go back.”
“But… Dad.”
“I…”
i… can’t go back. I am unable to go back. It’s dark here, Joe cannot be seen. Dad, I am scared. Where are you Dad? I cannot see anything. I am scared, Dad. I want to come to you. Dad, help me.
“Joanna, think that I am with you, feel that I am with you. Hold my hand, Joanna.”
“Think that you want to be with you friends, you are talking to them. “
“Think about what you want. Feel what you want.”
WHITE
BLAST
“I love you little one. One more flower is coming to life. You are so beautiful. I have a secret to tell you all. I know you will not reveal it to anyone. Nobody believes in your reality. They think that they are real.”
But last night was real. Very real. It was a world where I touched everything but my hands didn’t realize it. I was seeing everything but I was not seeing it. It was a world not like this but still very much like ours. That same darkness but accompanied by a spark of light. Same closeness but surrounded by aloofness. Am I being influenced or you?
It’s afternoon.
I will wait. Wait for the evening and then for the night.
Wait for the sleep.
Sleep.
“I will meet you Dad… in my sleep.”
(end)
By Sadhvi Jawa
Joanna is spending time with nature as usual. She is talking to a little flower that has come to life just today. Children of her age generally spend time playing with other kids but she is different.
Joanna’s mother died when she was a day old. Since then George is Joanna’s mother-father, brother-sister.
“Dad, where are you? Where are you?”
She slides down through banister, quickly runs and opens the door with a jerk.
“Dad… Dad “, passes through the fog coming out of acids and finally comes to the vision.
“Dad”, she is panting.
“Hey Joanna.”
“Dad, I met Joe again last night. She said she knows you very well. She is with you for the last so many years. Why didn’t you tell me that?”
George looks up with a grave face.
“Joanna, you have started living more and more in a fantasy world. Joe is just not…”
“You never believe me. Joe is my friend. She is real,” says Joanna and runs out to the garden.
“Joanna, Joanna, where are you going?”
_______________________
“Hey Joanna, I have cooked your favorite meal”.
Joanna looks up then continues to draw again.
“Sorry, my little princess”, she holds his ears and oanna smiles and hugs him.
“Oh,come on now. It’s dinner time”.
“Yey! I love you Dad”
“Hey Dad, cCan I tell you something? You won’t get angry with me?”Joanna nibbles on her food.
“Of course not, Joanna, tell me what is it?”
She ponders for some time.
“Joe said that you are going to lose something very precious.”
“Joanna, I told you not to…”
Joanna continues to speak … “and she said that you will get trapped in a past time which even you don’t know about and your time experiment will be dangerous”.
“Joanna!! You should listen to me”.
“WAIT! What did you say? My time experiment? Joanna, I have told you not to come to the lab. It’s dangerous. Go to your room and sleep now. And I don’t want to listen any more to Joe stories”.
“Time experiment?” he thinks to himself.
“Joe”, he sighs
“When should I put my life long work into practice? I think tomorrow is the day when everyone is asleep and then …”
__________________________
“I hope it works. This is my hard work of many years. This has to work”
“Click” and he switches on the button.
“Now I have to wait and see. Another 6 hours and I will know”
He kisses Joanna on her forehead while she sleeps “I care for you.”
6 hours pass by.
“It is still dark at 6 in the morning. I think it is working. It has stopped. Yes it has stopped. The cyclical movement has stopped. One more hour and I will be more than 100 percent sure that it is working”.
WAIT.
“But everything seems still, the birds are not singing, people are not awake like on the other days,” he ponders
“Joanna is not awake like before, she’s not talking to birds, flowers.”
“Joanna wake up. Your friends are in the garden and have woken up already. You are late.”
Joanna lies unconscious but breathing.
“Joanna”
“Joanna”
George panics.
“Is everything going parallel with the movement? But the movement has stopped!!!”
DIZZY
What is happening?
VISION BLURRED, FOG, WHITE, BLACK, RED
MIRROR, A VOICE
Joanna won’t get up. You have to pay for that.
You have to pay.
DO YOU REMEMBER?
Do you remember me? You know me? You really know me?
You will lose something precious. Very precious.
START, SWEATING, VISION
It was a dream. It is just a dream. It was not real…that …that, that voice, that blurred face, those colors.. very precious to me…..
JOANNA!!!!! WAKE UP
WAKE UP JOANNA…
JOOAAN….DIZZZZZZYYY
BLANK, REFLECT, VOICE
IT’S YOUR KARMAS.
K-A-R-M-A-S
What you are now is the result of your past deeds, feelings, thoughts.
KARMAS.
You had left me. You were precious to me.
EVERYTHING SHOULD RETURN.
George bumps into the wall… wh…wh who are you?
Stop playing these games. “I am not afraid “, he shouts,sweat dripping, voice trembling.
JOANNA WAKE UP!!!
EVERYTHING SHOULD RETURN.
“JOANNAAA wake up”
Dad is calling you. Wake up. What is this happening? Am I dreaming? I wish it is just a dream. I wish I am asleep. I wish …..
Joanna! Come back. I will be left alone. I love you Joanna.
I cannot lose you…
“I will get exactly what I think and feel”
“I have to choose my thoughts carefully. Everything in the universe is energy.”
I am with you Joanna. Can you see me? Feel that I am with you. I can feel that I am with you. Hold my hand. Joanna! Can you hear me?
“Joanna”
“Dad?”
WHITE
“Joanna! Where are you?”
I am with Joe, Dad. I told you she is real. Do you want to meet her? She knows you very well.
I can hear you Joanna. I want to see you come close to me. Where are you?
YOU CAME BACK. WHERE HAD YOU GONE? YOU LEFT ME AND WENT AWAY.YOU WERE PRECIOUS TO ME.YOU JUST LEFT ME WITHOUT SAYING ANYTHING.AND I KEPT WAITING FOR YOU. YOU WERE NOT FAITHFUL TO ME.
NOW EVERYTHING SHOULD RETURN.
Joanna is coming with me, into my world.
“JOANNA, we should go back.”
“But Dad I want to spend more time with Joe.”
“Joanna, Dad loves you. We have to get out of here. Remember your friends are waiting for you, that little flower who has just come to life, those creatures whom you have made in the open space, your friends from cloud shapes; they are all waiting for you. They want to talk to you. They are calling you.”
“But Dad, Joe doesn’t want me to leave. I cannot leave her alone here. She needs me.”
“Joanna what happens to your other friends? They are waiting for you. We have to go back.”
“But… Dad.”
“I…”
i… can’t go back. I am unable to go back. It’s dark here, Joe cannot be seen. Dad, I am scared. Where are you Dad? I cannot see anything. I am scared, Dad. I want to come to you. Dad, help me.
“Joanna, think that I am with you, feel that I am with you. Hold my hand, Joanna.”
“Think that you want to be with you friends, you are talking to them. “
“Think about what you want. Feel what you want.”
WHITE
BLAST
“I love you little one. One more flower is coming to life. You are so beautiful. I have a secret to tell you all. I know you will not reveal it to anyone. Nobody believes in your reality. They think that they are real.”
But last night was real. Very real. It was a world where I touched everything but my hands didn’t realize it. I was seeing everything but I was not seeing it. It was a world not like this but still very much like ours. That same darkness but accompanied by a spark of light. Same closeness but surrounded by aloofness. Am I being influenced or you?
It’s afternoon.
I will wait. Wait for the evening and then for the night.
Wait for the sleep.
Sleep.
“I will meet you Dad… in my sleep.”
(end)
D.E. - SAMVIDA NANDA
D.E.
By Samvida Nanda
It was the 21st Dimension Equation.
Here there were so many planes that we could recognise that every dimension was another Box. Generations of people had travelled between dimensions to search for the mathematical equation that described the structures of the universes. This must be the Box where they had found answers.
And she had been to this dimension before. So she could have been on the team working on the structures. But how did she learn the equation constant? I thought I was the only one who still knew that number. Everyone else from my time had long since...moved on...to a better place.
But what if she had figured it out? Just like we had. What if she had made her own? Even we hadn’t been able to figure out how to create our own Box.
How did she do it? And how in all the universes could she lose the Box?
I have to admit. I’m curious.
What is inside that Box?
How many Dimensions does it hold? Is the series of boxes we travel to also inside some relatively larger box in some other universe where it is but a building block for a child to play with? A child. How intriguing.
But she says the Box was a gift. Did someone from my time..? No. That wasn’t possible. I was the only one who could travel through dimensions for so long. So many times.
Yes. Eternity seemed like it just might be long enough. To find her Box.
We’d wasted a shift by coming to the 2ist D.E. for the second time since our search started. But my hand had slipped. And the coordinates had shifted. I tightened the strap of the glove and we shifted dimensions together for the 7th time since our search had started.
We fell through time and space into the 6th dimension and onto the wall of her room.
6th D .E.
The cityscape hadn’t changed with time.
Except that it seemed to have turned on its side and gone off to sleep. As the darkness combed its way through the window into the room, he pushed back his hair made darker than black by the constant nights of this Box. When she shook her head to his unasked question, her hair seemed to gleam with slivers of silver. He shifted from where he stood on the wall so he stood with her in the shaft of light coming from the holographic moon inside the room.
“Time to move Dora. When to next? The 5th D.E.?” he asked as he refastened his glove.
“’Dora’,” she mused as she let him guide her down along the wall, “all my friends used to call me that. Everyone did really. Except my parents who called me by my full name. And my brother,” she added as an afterthought.
“Oh? What did he call you?”He asked as he set a new level of coordinates with his hand.
“Mostly ‘Hey you’ or ‘that annoying kid’,” she smiled at the memory.
His gloved hands closed a little too tightly upon hers, “the 5th Box?”
Her hand no longer seemed fragile like it did in their previous travels, and her nod was firm.
“How is it that every time I see you, you look younger,” he smiled affectionately.
“How is it that you aren’t in such a hurry anymore to reach the next Box? Besides it will be just as true once we are in the 5th Box” she whispered and twisted his gloved hand into a wave.
I had certain qualms as we fell through the door, and onto the ceiling. I can’t believe she twisted my hand to the coordinates. I was the one who had set them.
The fan blade, swung two inches above my face in a superciliously rhythmic pattern before her face came into focus above it. I tried to orient myself to this new Box, and realised with a wrench that her face was always the first thing that made sense anywhere anytime.
Then I realised the wrench was more to do with the fact that the fan blade had cut him and a long line of blood was tracing its way alongside a rather important vein in my hand.
5th D.E.
He slid away from the offending object as her calm hands tried to pry off the glove so she could see the wound better. She had almost taken it off halfway, when he realised what she was doing. He pulled his hand away and jerked the glove back into place.
“It’ll heal”, he said with a wave of the re-gloved hand, “That’s something my body still remembers to do quite well.”
“Your body does something else quite well too,” she said with a Cheshire cat smile.
“How would you know?”
“Well I keep telling you we can change that.”
“Don’t be absurd. You know how much older than you I am?”
“From where I’m standing... Not all that much really.”
“How is it, that every time I see you, you look younger,” he quipped with the hint of a sad smile.
“How is it, that every time I see you, you look the same,” she replied as she got to her feet and moved further down the ceiling so she stood framed in the one window of the room. Even upside down, the evening sun filtered lightly through to transform her dark brown hair into a cascading multitude of auburn gold curls.
“In a world of changing gravities, my hair still follows its own rules,” she shook her hair out of her brown eyes and looked beyond her reflection to the world outside. The cityscape hadn’t changed with time.
She realised with a stab of nostalgia that this was a universe where the sun still existed. The sun felt different here. She didn’t remember this warmth. She didn’t remember this palette of colours outside of a painting.
Or perhaps she didn’t want to have to forget it again.
“I don’t remember it being so bright,” she said.
“The sun?”
“No. My room. There used to be a mango tree here, outside this window, and it would block out the light. It would reach towards me and I’d climb onto those long welcoming branches and just listen to the sound of the rain as it fell constantly from the gray sky above to the gray gravel below. The green of the leaves was the only splash of colour I knew.”
“And you must have loved the mangoes too I suppose.”
“No. The mango tree never grew any mangoes,” she said thoughtfully.
“Why did we come here Dora?” he asked impatiently, “is your Box here?”
“Back to the Box then? No. It’s not here. I can’t find any trace of it.”
“When to next?”
“The 3rd Box.”
His hand jerked.
“What is it? The cut? Why don’t you take the damn thing off?”
“What? No. I... “He raised his traitorous hand to push his black hair out of a suddenly sweating face.
“Let’s move”, he took her hand sharply twisting it.
His hand jerked again.
I can’t breathe. My lungs are literally being squashed as they try to expand in the restricted confines of this dimension. I panic and take in an even larger breath. Or at least I try to. Then I get something. It’s a link. A trace to her Box.
5th D.E.
About to collapse from the sheer lack of air but triumphant from his find, he transports back to the 5th dimension. He falls, this time onto the floor of her room, and takes in five long breaths. “I can’t believe we went into the 2nd Dimension by mistake, but Dora...” Exhausted but elated he turns to find that beautiful face and tell her that he found the link to her and her Box. He closes his eyes confused.
He opens them again to discover that he is indeed alone in the room.
The sunlight filters through the window through which the cityscape hasn’t changed. But the light is filtering through gaps. Gaps that are between the leaves, of a rather large mango tree.
Damn. My wrist just twisted in the wrong way. Not in some physically bone breaking way. Just not in the way I wanted it to move. I raise my hand to pull the memory chip and glance at the cityscape of the 21st Box. It hasn’t changed at all. I miss the memory chip completely this time. My actions are falling not short, but in the wrong directions. I take in a deep breath and try to calm myself. I fail, and decide to take a swing at the stupid machine. I fail at that too. And end up hitting the holographic wall next to it.
The wall crackles like a network of stars and then settles back into a regrettably solid wall.
In a world in which we shift between universes with a flick of the wrist, how is it that I can’t even open a stupid juice box without spilling it over myself like some baffled seven year old.
I realise I said the last sentence out loud and there is an annoyed seven year old staring at me.
She doesn’t know how lucky she is. One more shift of universes and she will be young enough for her mind to perceive the final dimension.
A Box with an open structure. That’s where everyone from my time will have moved to. A place I can’t go because my mind will never be able to perceive it. Not in all that pocket of eternity that I have to myself to travel in. All to myself.
The machine beeps loudly. “Location to be determined?” it asks me the dreaded question. Do I search for Dora’s Box and with it receive certain answers; or do I search for Dora herself. An image of a young girl with Dora’s eyes flashes before my eyes. I guess it’s Dora then. Then I realise it really is Dora. I spin around so I’m no longer looking at her reflection in the machine screen. I’m looking at Dora. My Dora.
21st D.E.
“How is it, that every time you see me, I look younger,” she whispers and throws her small hands around his neck and pulls at his eternally jet black hair, “I knew you’d come here. I knew it,” she trembled so much that she didn’t notice the tremble in his hands.
“You stupid girl. You wasted a switch. I was coming to find you in..well..where and whenever you were. And now you’re..”
“Seven years old.”
“So the next time you travel..”
“Yes.” She closed her eyes, “come with me?”
“Dora.. You know I can’t even if I wanted to.”
“Why?”
“ I just can’t age like you”
“No! Why don’t you want to?”
“Of course I want to. I just can’t become younger through dimension travel like you.”
“Yes you can! It’s that glove isn’t it? That’s what stops you from aging. That’s why you never take it off! Don’t you see! It’s controlling you!”
“Dora. Don’t you see? It is controlling me. I have a genetic movement disorder. It was confirmed to be Parkinson’s. So every time I shift between dimensions I become younger, but my body falls apart. But because of the nature of a movement disorder through the movement of space, my body just ages to its previous state. So I stay constantly at this age. The glove helps me control the Parkinson’s. It injects Dopamine into my system and...”
“So you really can’t come?” she snapped.
“Dora I ..”
“You have the coordinates for the missing Box?” she asked in a toneless voice.
“Dora?”
“You search for it. It was given to me for safe keeping. I was supposed to keep it closed forever. Since you have your forever, You keep the damned thing and You cut your curiosity from opening the Box.”
“Dora.. it could hold the answers to structures. I could find a way to find you.”
“You have no idea what is in that Box. You just want it to be more structures. You could even find more structures. But you could never follow into the open structure.”
“Dora.”
“I’m getting sick of that name.”
She twisted her hand and burst into a million trillion particles. Sure to come back together at the nZero Dimension.
“Pandora!” he yelled helplessly.
nZERO D.E.
She stood in front of a blank canvas. Anything she made on it would be part of her new reality. A child with a new set of crayons, a young boy named Picasso stood beside her and pulled at her brown locks, “It took me only four years to learn all the skill in the world. But lifetimes to learn how to draw like a child.”
“I’m sure people will quote you on that one day,” Pandora smiled as she took all the crayons out of the box. She consciously crushed the paper box in her tiny fist. She drew a large circle on the canvas, and dropped the yellow crayon she had just used into Picasso’s waiting hand. She stepped back to look at her big yellow sun. She drew a huge tree and then a mango on the ground beside it.
She picked up the mango from the ground and started to walk away from the canvas.
She turned and erased the Box drawn on the corner of it. She had tried to draw him coming out of it so many times. But he never came to life like all the other things.
She left the canvas blank.
D.E.
There is a Box within a Box within a Box. And every time you open one, a little girl named Pandora shudders.
Fin
By Samvida Nanda
It was the 21st Dimension Equation.
Here there were so many planes that we could recognise that every dimension was another Box. Generations of people had travelled between dimensions to search for the mathematical equation that described the structures of the universes. This must be the Box where they had found answers.
And she had been to this dimension before. So she could have been on the team working on the structures. But how did she learn the equation constant? I thought I was the only one who still knew that number. Everyone else from my time had long since...moved on...to a better place.
But what if she had figured it out? Just like we had. What if she had made her own? Even we hadn’t been able to figure out how to create our own Box.
How did she do it? And how in all the universes could she lose the Box?
I have to admit. I’m curious.
What is inside that Box?
How many Dimensions does it hold? Is the series of boxes we travel to also inside some relatively larger box in some other universe where it is but a building block for a child to play with? A child. How intriguing.
But she says the Box was a gift. Did someone from my time..? No. That wasn’t possible. I was the only one who could travel through dimensions for so long. So many times.
Yes. Eternity seemed like it just might be long enough. To find her Box.
We’d wasted a shift by coming to the 2ist D.E. for the second time since our search started. But my hand had slipped. And the coordinates had shifted. I tightened the strap of the glove and we shifted dimensions together for the 7th time since our search had started.
We fell through time and space into the 6th dimension and onto the wall of her room.
6th D .E.
The cityscape hadn’t changed with time.
Except that it seemed to have turned on its side and gone off to sleep. As the darkness combed its way through the window into the room, he pushed back his hair made darker than black by the constant nights of this Box. When she shook her head to his unasked question, her hair seemed to gleam with slivers of silver. He shifted from where he stood on the wall so he stood with her in the shaft of light coming from the holographic moon inside the room.
“Time to move Dora. When to next? The 5th D.E.?” he asked as he refastened his glove.
“’Dora’,” she mused as she let him guide her down along the wall, “all my friends used to call me that. Everyone did really. Except my parents who called me by my full name. And my brother,” she added as an afterthought.
“Oh? What did he call you?”He asked as he set a new level of coordinates with his hand.
“Mostly ‘Hey you’ or ‘that annoying kid’,” she smiled at the memory.
His gloved hands closed a little too tightly upon hers, “the 5th Box?”
Her hand no longer seemed fragile like it did in their previous travels, and her nod was firm.
“How is it that every time I see you, you look younger,” he smiled affectionately.
“How is it that you aren’t in such a hurry anymore to reach the next Box? Besides it will be just as true once we are in the 5th Box” she whispered and twisted his gloved hand into a wave.
I had certain qualms as we fell through the door, and onto the ceiling. I can’t believe she twisted my hand to the coordinates. I was the one who had set them.
The fan blade, swung two inches above my face in a superciliously rhythmic pattern before her face came into focus above it. I tried to orient myself to this new Box, and realised with a wrench that her face was always the first thing that made sense anywhere anytime.
Then I realised the wrench was more to do with the fact that the fan blade had cut him and a long line of blood was tracing its way alongside a rather important vein in my hand.
5th D.E.
He slid away from the offending object as her calm hands tried to pry off the glove so she could see the wound better. She had almost taken it off halfway, when he realised what she was doing. He pulled his hand away and jerked the glove back into place.
“It’ll heal”, he said with a wave of the re-gloved hand, “That’s something my body still remembers to do quite well.”
“Your body does something else quite well too,” she said with a Cheshire cat smile.
“How would you know?”
“Well I keep telling you we can change that.”
“Don’t be absurd. You know how much older than you I am?”
“From where I’m standing... Not all that much really.”
“How is it, that every time I see you, you look younger,” he quipped with the hint of a sad smile.
“How is it, that every time I see you, you look the same,” she replied as she got to her feet and moved further down the ceiling so she stood framed in the one window of the room. Even upside down, the evening sun filtered lightly through to transform her dark brown hair into a cascading multitude of auburn gold curls.
“In a world of changing gravities, my hair still follows its own rules,” she shook her hair out of her brown eyes and looked beyond her reflection to the world outside. The cityscape hadn’t changed with time.
She realised with a stab of nostalgia that this was a universe where the sun still existed. The sun felt different here. She didn’t remember this warmth. She didn’t remember this palette of colours outside of a painting.
Or perhaps she didn’t want to have to forget it again.
“I don’t remember it being so bright,” she said.
“The sun?”
“No. My room. There used to be a mango tree here, outside this window, and it would block out the light. It would reach towards me and I’d climb onto those long welcoming branches and just listen to the sound of the rain as it fell constantly from the gray sky above to the gray gravel below. The green of the leaves was the only splash of colour I knew.”
“And you must have loved the mangoes too I suppose.”
“No. The mango tree never grew any mangoes,” she said thoughtfully.
“Why did we come here Dora?” he asked impatiently, “is your Box here?”
“Back to the Box then? No. It’s not here. I can’t find any trace of it.”
“When to next?”
“The 3rd Box.”
His hand jerked.
“What is it? The cut? Why don’t you take the damn thing off?”
“What? No. I... “He raised his traitorous hand to push his black hair out of a suddenly sweating face.
“Let’s move”, he took her hand sharply twisting it.
His hand jerked again.
I can’t breathe. My lungs are literally being squashed as they try to expand in the restricted confines of this dimension. I panic and take in an even larger breath. Or at least I try to. Then I get something. It’s a link. A trace to her Box.
5th D.E.
About to collapse from the sheer lack of air but triumphant from his find, he transports back to the 5th dimension. He falls, this time onto the floor of her room, and takes in five long breaths. “I can’t believe we went into the 2nd Dimension by mistake, but Dora...” Exhausted but elated he turns to find that beautiful face and tell her that he found the link to her and her Box. He closes his eyes confused.
He opens them again to discover that he is indeed alone in the room.
The sunlight filters through the window through which the cityscape hasn’t changed. But the light is filtering through gaps. Gaps that are between the leaves, of a rather large mango tree.
Damn. My wrist just twisted in the wrong way. Not in some physically bone breaking way. Just not in the way I wanted it to move. I raise my hand to pull the memory chip and glance at the cityscape of the 21st Box. It hasn’t changed at all. I miss the memory chip completely this time. My actions are falling not short, but in the wrong directions. I take in a deep breath and try to calm myself. I fail, and decide to take a swing at the stupid machine. I fail at that too. And end up hitting the holographic wall next to it.
The wall crackles like a network of stars and then settles back into a regrettably solid wall.
In a world in which we shift between universes with a flick of the wrist, how is it that I can’t even open a stupid juice box without spilling it over myself like some baffled seven year old.
I realise I said the last sentence out loud and there is an annoyed seven year old staring at me.
She doesn’t know how lucky she is. One more shift of universes and she will be young enough for her mind to perceive the final dimension.
A Box with an open structure. That’s where everyone from my time will have moved to. A place I can’t go because my mind will never be able to perceive it. Not in all that pocket of eternity that I have to myself to travel in. All to myself.
The machine beeps loudly. “Location to be determined?” it asks me the dreaded question. Do I search for Dora’s Box and with it receive certain answers; or do I search for Dora herself. An image of a young girl with Dora’s eyes flashes before my eyes. I guess it’s Dora then. Then I realise it really is Dora. I spin around so I’m no longer looking at her reflection in the machine screen. I’m looking at Dora. My Dora.
21st D.E.
“How is it, that every time you see me, I look younger,” she whispers and throws her small hands around his neck and pulls at his eternally jet black hair, “I knew you’d come here. I knew it,” she trembled so much that she didn’t notice the tremble in his hands.
“You stupid girl. You wasted a switch. I was coming to find you in..well..where and whenever you were. And now you’re..”
“Seven years old.”
“So the next time you travel..”
“Yes.” She closed her eyes, “come with me?”
“Dora.. You know I can’t even if I wanted to.”
“Why?”
“ I just can’t age like you”
“No! Why don’t you want to?”
“Of course I want to. I just can’t become younger through dimension travel like you.”
“Yes you can! It’s that glove isn’t it? That’s what stops you from aging. That’s why you never take it off! Don’t you see! It’s controlling you!”
“Dora. Don’t you see? It is controlling me. I have a genetic movement disorder. It was confirmed to be Parkinson’s. So every time I shift between dimensions I become younger, but my body falls apart. But because of the nature of a movement disorder through the movement of space, my body just ages to its previous state. So I stay constantly at this age. The glove helps me control the Parkinson’s. It injects Dopamine into my system and...”
“So you really can’t come?” she snapped.
“Dora I ..”
“You have the coordinates for the missing Box?” she asked in a toneless voice.
“Dora?”
“You search for it. It was given to me for safe keeping. I was supposed to keep it closed forever. Since you have your forever, You keep the damned thing and You cut your curiosity from opening the Box.”
“Dora.. it could hold the answers to structures. I could find a way to find you.”
“You have no idea what is in that Box. You just want it to be more structures. You could even find more structures. But you could never follow into the open structure.”
“Dora.”
“I’m getting sick of that name.”
She twisted her hand and burst into a million trillion particles. Sure to come back together at the nZero Dimension.
“Pandora!” he yelled helplessly.
nZERO D.E.
She stood in front of a blank canvas. Anything she made on it would be part of her new reality. A child with a new set of crayons, a young boy named Picasso stood beside her and pulled at her brown locks, “It took me only four years to learn all the skill in the world. But lifetimes to learn how to draw like a child.”
“I’m sure people will quote you on that one day,” Pandora smiled as she took all the crayons out of the box. She consciously crushed the paper box in her tiny fist. She drew a large circle on the canvas, and dropped the yellow crayon she had just used into Picasso’s waiting hand. She stepped back to look at her big yellow sun. She drew a huge tree and then a mango on the ground beside it.
She picked up the mango from the ground and started to walk away from the canvas.
She turned and erased the Box drawn on the corner of it. She had tried to draw him coming out of it so many times. But he never came to life like all the other things.
She left the canvas blank.
D.E.
There is a Box within a Box within a Box. And every time you open one, a little girl named Pandora shudders.
Fin
DUST TO DUST - RAMYA POTHUKUCHI
Dust to Dust
By Ramya Pothukuchi
"Special bulletin...another mass suicide has just been reported, this time involving the death of 900 refugees, recently relocated to the North African Provinces as part of the Global Rehabilitation Program. The United World Council is refusing comments at the moment, as the increasingly agitated members of the Global Human Welfare and Rights Unit demand answers, this being the ninth case in a spate of similar cases of mass killings and suicides, reported over provinces worldwide over the past 5 months...."
Dr. Hunt listens on vaguely, without betraying the smallest sign of a reaction to what he is hearing, as he looks out at the view from the window of his laboratory. The landscape is made up almost entirely of buildings similar to the ones that house his laboratory, large smooth cuboids, mass produced, molded, cut to size, human and natural disaster proof, these are industrial and architectural marvels that could not have been dreamt possible a hundred years ago. Now they represented all the power in the world, the power that destroyed it, and the power that promised to rebuild it. A new world.
Pity how only an event as brutal as the Third World War seemed to bring out the very best and the worst in an otherwise detestably mediocre humanity...
" Ahem. Doctor!..Here are the readings you asked to see doctor..." says a sharp female voice, making Dr.Hunt start and turn, to find himself looking into the stern and worried eye of Dr.Issen. One of his few surviving associates from the days before the war; she had lost most of her physical faculties while working on the field in the war. But being one of invaluable mental capabilities, and extraordinary soundness of mind, she has been roped into the project, a rare anomaly in the iron precepts of the UWC.
He takes the hologram from her palm, averting her gaze expressionlessly, and begins to walk towards his office.
She makes him uncomfortable, a living model of the UWC's ideal of repairing all damages done by the war, to the extent of pretending that it never happened in the first place, a constant ghostly reminder of the past and the present. "And she thinks I need help..." he thinks bitterly to himself, as he walks down the hall, pretending to look at the holographic projection of readings she has just handed him, acutely aware of her searching gaze on his back.
Suddenly he stops, looking in amazement at the holographic projection in his hands. The projection is a recording of the behavior of certain particles of hydrogen, which he had left to be monitored under the effects of certain radioactive emissions of an isotope of Strontium13. He watches them closely in amazement..
He watches from a blue-red haze, a mere coagulation of particles of dust of one of the countless celestial bodies that are His own creation, barely existing enough to be called alive. He has been watching for a while now and He remembers, time and memory being concepts that He himself has created and has now chosen to be a part of, but which he does not feel or understand.
He always is. There is no past, present or future. He exists in all at once. He is all at once.
He has become part of his own will, a will that was born of unknown origins as He slept, and awoke Him from his deep slumber.
The Will infused itself into the one particle, and the particle multiplied, with an unstoppable force and energy, resulting in the boundless proliferation of the particle, so much so that its very nature became indistinguishable.
Thus the One broke, and became multiples of the same. Thus the Universe was born.
And thus, there was Life. The core of The Will.
The will manifested itself in fascinating ways, ways that were not unknown to Him, and yet arrested his gaze, and in that moment, He became.
Dr.Hunt holds his breath. He shuts his eyes tight as memories, thoughts, dreams whirl in his head, making his stomach churn. Beads of sweat appear on his forehead and he sinks down, suddenly and heavily, taking himself by surprise. What he has just found he himself cannot begin to fathom. He must tell..” President Mal! What the hell are you doing over here”?!
"Pardon me.!? Dr. Hunt? Are you well? You seem a little.. off color..? Have I caught you at a bad time?"
"Oh no no.. not at all.. pardon me sir.. (Straightening up, and returning to his usual cold demeanor).. please do come in and have a seat.. I was not informed of your arrival unfortunately; else I would have made better preparations for your welcome... I do hope you excuse our rather plain premises... "
"Don't trouble yourself Dr.Hunt, I did indeed arrive unannounced... I suppose I should apologize for my manners, but more importantly I have some crucial questions that have come to my notice, that you need to address immediately… Luke.. "
His muscles twitch in an imperceptible wince at the mention of his first name. Sensing the eminently precarious nature of the conversation to follow, his demeanor at once becomes guarded and alert.
"Anything I can do to help ..Sir.."
" You are the only one who can right now Hunt. You refuse to take responsibility of your natural talent. I do not know what would make a man turn down the position I offered you, one that is open still... You have made decisions in the past that any man would only be proud of, and yet you shun them, out of a guilt I fail to understand! You have saved humanity itself... many times over.. and yet -"
"- You said you had important questions?... President ?"
Brazent Mal, President of the United World Council, President of the world, or what is left of it, shows an uncharacteristic emotion. Frustration.
“ Alright then, I shall get down to it. You have heard I am sure of the mass suicide reported today in the Northern African Provinces. You are also aware of the many that have been reported previously, to our misfortune, and the many more that we have managed to keep from the world’s knowledge. People are dying. Here we are, trying to build a new world, a new order. We have taken it upon ourselves to save these god-forsaken rodents from the havoc they have wreaked upon themselves, created life again from almost nothing. You remember those days Luke, all the work it took, to stop the madness, to take over the world, for its own good.. the vision we had.. , we are doing the best we can.. We have now mastered technologies to make human habitation in any climate, any terrain, under water, in the skies, any place that these fools have left untainted with their radioactive poisons.. we have done everything, and are still doing more to erase the pain, the memories.
And yet.. they give up on us..
They do not understand the value of their own lives anymore, and yet we give them a chance, in the middle of all this mayhem we are still a partially functioning democracy, we are still humane….”
“ What is it that you are trying to say Mal?”
“ What I am saying Luke.. is that we need more control! …. The world is dying out on us.. all that we have worked for, simply dying out . Just like that. We need to stop them Luke.. You know what I am talking about. It is possible. I know that you are against it, I know… I know that you could never allow it, not after Lydia and the little one.. Please don’t Luke! Let me finish.. I know that you were one of the first to rally for the inclusion of the ‘Control of Human will’ under the Permanent Enjoinment Bill…. I know what you went through.. I was there…
And yet it is only you who can also understand the gravity of death… and I beg you to understand..”
Luke Hunt rises out of his seat , his nostrils flaring, white. He finds it hard to breathe evenly as he tries to speak. Moving swiftly to the door and opening it in one movement, he says shortly “Thank you for the brief sir, I shall get back to you as soon as I can.”
Mal stands in his position, unmoving, watching Hunt. He then slowly moves away from the seat that he was leaning on and makes his way quietly, without emotion around the room and stops at the door. “I look forward to your response Dr.Hunt.”
He holds his head in his hands as he waits for his head to stop spinning. Finding it hard to focus, he makes his way out of blurry hallways; vaguely aware of Dr.Issen’s enquiries as to instructions for the night shift … a faint memory stirs as he hears a familiar voice laughing.. He looks around to see a small child playing in the lobby.
“One of the maintenance staff seems to have broken some rules here” he thinks hazily. He walks towards the child and watches her for a while, as she gambols around, oblivious to him. He then proceeds to walk slowly out; now suddenly aware that Dr.Issen’s voice has ceased, rather abruptly.
He lowers himself into his Porter, waiting for him in the transport chute, He looks into the screen before him, almost blank, processing the various bionic recognition information required for him to be authorised to begin translocation. He looks at his reflection and realises his face is wet.
As he watches himself the screen suddenly seems to turn transparent, showing him the world outside his Porter pod. He knows this is only a simulation, as he floats by large smooth surfaces of the vast UWC empire, and down below, almost imperceptibly growing, like moss on smooth pebbles, are visible the many small settlements of the local people, dwellings embellished with debris and shrapnel, horrific remnants, now turned trinkets.
He lets them rush in. Old memories held at bay for so long. He has almost forgotten, it’s hard to remember the details; he lies to himself, as the vivid colours flash before his eyes so clearly he can almost touch them.
He had told him it was the safest thing to do. His best friend, Vulcan Host. General Vulcan Host. Just the thought of his name brings a lump to his throat…after all these years, the memories are still fresh. He realises he is clenching his hand very hard, unconsciously, around the controls as a sharp pain shoots up his arm. He lets go.
He can hear his wife Lydia, screaming, screaming to let go , and knowing that she cannot, knowing that what she was doing, unwittingly , was worse than death itself.
He had been away on an assignment. It was one of those times of war, where one couldn’t trust one’s own shadow. He had had to leave his wife and child at home, and entrusted their care to his best friend, blood brother, who was then the colonel of the new Middle European Provinces.
Vulcan had convinced her, Lydia told him, to take partial control of their daughter’s will. A simple and safe procedure, and a mother could keep her child safe at all times. He had been unsure, but was too far away, and too involved, to sleep in peace knowing that his family was unsafe. So he allowed it. It was a temporary procedure, and he would take care of things once he was back.
But there had been nothing left to come back to. He was informed, the day he came home, the thought of his wife and child the only thing playing on his mind.
Vulcan had stood there, teary eyed, trying to explain.
All he remembers is the recording of the event.
The pain. The screaming. The unnatural blank face of his wife, fighting to die, to let go of the torment. And knowing the consequence of her actions, as his daughter lay on the ground next to her, just out reach, writhing, struggling to live against a will that wasn’t her own.
There had been a security brief. And Vulcan had been on duty, oblivious to the events.
Luke had rallied then, giving up all else, for the new world, for the cessation of the control of human will, for countless other things, countless days, countless nights, so many years. And his friend fought with him. Throughout, doing anything he could, to find redemption.
Only after so many years, had he gone back. Gone back to where it had happened. Just last year. And that is when his world had really collapsed.
As he went through their home, which had been left untouched, at his request, since the murders. He found some things that he didn’t remember. There were details that didn’t seem to fit. Cufflinks he didn’t own, beds that were ruffled, with the bodies of two people, one of them a stranger.
He then found out. His daughter was not the only one who had undergone the procedure.
That was when he let it change him, forever. Nothing held his interest anymore, except his work. Which was also devoid of any passion, but favoured only because it was the only thing that occupied him enough for him to forget. He avoided contact with anyone he had previously known, alive or dead. He became a living machine, performing all the basic tasks that he had to, in order to keep going.
He snaps out of his reverie as he realises that he is finally alone. This is his favourite spot. A place in the docks, just above the water, and far enough from the shore, so that all he can see was darkness around him, and the star filled sky above. He looks at the ten odd stars that are visible tonight, and lets his thoughts run back to the hologram that he had held in his palm, just today morning.
The hydrogen atoms, affected by the Strontuim13 isotope, had behaved in a very peculiar manner indeed. The radiation had seemed to break all the bonds between the atoms. They were no longer held together by any inter-atomic connections whatsoever, and pure Brownian motion, in vaccum, without any meaningful averages had been observed. All that existed were individual particles, performing a completely random motion.
So in essence, this meant, that the gas itself did not exist anymore, and what was left was only a pure source of limitless energy. It was equilibrium. The beginning of a Universe, ready to be restarted.
If he was to believe what the hologram had shown him, he had found it. The source of limitless energy. The source of what they had been looking for.
The source of all energy. The system itself. It was beautiful.
The will had propagated the need to move.
From one sameness to another. And this motion, of the same, within itself, the constant churning, had given birth to something more.
Something that He has not created.
This is energy, created of Him, yet, that is not His.
The ultimate culmination of The Will. It has created.
And so it is over. The work of The Will is done.
All that is left is the return of slumber. The disappearance of being.
And a new will shall rise again.
He sits up slowly, very carefully.
He looks long and deep at the brightest star he can see, and then straight ahead.
He sees her turn sharply as he enters, from the corner of his eye. She follows him, first with her gaze, and then sensing the unusual change in his demeanour, begins to follow him.
He stops her short with one gesture, as he looks her in the eye.
She stops in her tracks, and for once, although puzzled, she isn’t searching him anymore.
He walks into the Energy Supply chambers, and asks the night attendant
“What requests have we received from General Host for this terms quota?”
“He has requested the usual inputs sir, with the only variation being a boost required to fill the gaps in the Middle and Extreme Northern provinces, to match the energy supply required for the newer colonies. He has also requested that no change be made in the compositions, since the last few have been the most energy efficient feeds received so far, and that if any changes be made, he be notified immediately.”
“Well, it’s too bad that he never sends in his formal paper work on time. I have fed in a new combination just now. All power sources to be connected to reactor no.13. You can notify the General when his paper work comes in. Let the fuel capsules be sent out first thing. I shall authorise it for now.”
He walks out as the puzzled attendant looks after him, shrugs, and gets to work.
“ I have a message I need you to send to the President, Dr.Issen- Just let him know, that I have found it. The perfect solution.”
She stands rooted to the spot and watches him walk out of the door, a serene smile on his face, and for once does not know what to make of the look in his eyes.
“And at last I have found it. Peace and Free Will….” He laughs quietly to himself as he makes his way home.
(end)
By Ramya Pothukuchi
"Special bulletin...another mass suicide has just been reported, this time involving the death of 900 refugees, recently relocated to the North African Provinces as part of the Global Rehabilitation Program. The United World Council is refusing comments at the moment, as the increasingly agitated members of the Global Human Welfare and Rights Unit demand answers, this being the ninth case in a spate of similar cases of mass killings and suicides, reported over provinces worldwide over the past 5 months...."
Dr. Hunt listens on vaguely, without betraying the smallest sign of a reaction to what he is hearing, as he looks out at the view from the window of his laboratory. The landscape is made up almost entirely of buildings similar to the ones that house his laboratory, large smooth cuboids, mass produced, molded, cut to size, human and natural disaster proof, these are industrial and architectural marvels that could not have been dreamt possible a hundred years ago. Now they represented all the power in the world, the power that destroyed it, and the power that promised to rebuild it. A new world.
Pity how only an event as brutal as the Third World War seemed to bring out the very best and the worst in an otherwise detestably mediocre humanity...
" Ahem. Doctor!..Here are the readings you asked to see doctor..." says a sharp female voice, making Dr.Hunt start and turn, to find himself looking into the stern and worried eye of Dr.Issen. One of his few surviving associates from the days before the war; she had lost most of her physical faculties while working on the field in the war. But being one of invaluable mental capabilities, and extraordinary soundness of mind, she has been roped into the project, a rare anomaly in the iron precepts of the UWC.
He takes the hologram from her palm, averting her gaze expressionlessly, and begins to walk towards his office.
She makes him uncomfortable, a living model of the UWC's ideal of repairing all damages done by the war, to the extent of pretending that it never happened in the first place, a constant ghostly reminder of the past and the present. "And she thinks I need help..." he thinks bitterly to himself, as he walks down the hall, pretending to look at the holographic projection of readings she has just handed him, acutely aware of her searching gaze on his back.
Suddenly he stops, looking in amazement at the holographic projection in his hands. The projection is a recording of the behavior of certain particles of hydrogen, which he had left to be monitored under the effects of certain radioactive emissions of an isotope of Strontium13. He watches them closely in amazement..
He watches from a blue-red haze, a mere coagulation of particles of dust of one of the countless celestial bodies that are His own creation, barely existing enough to be called alive. He has been watching for a while now and He remembers, time and memory being concepts that He himself has created and has now chosen to be a part of, but which he does not feel or understand.
He always is. There is no past, present or future. He exists in all at once. He is all at once.
He has become part of his own will, a will that was born of unknown origins as He slept, and awoke Him from his deep slumber.
The Will infused itself into the one particle, and the particle multiplied, with an unstoppable force and energy, resulting in the boundless proliferation of the particle, so much so that its very nature became indistinguishable.
Thus the One broke, and became multiples of the same. Thus the Universe was born.
And thus, there was Life. The core of The Will.
The will manifested itself in fascinating ways, ways that were not unknown to Him, and yet arrested his gaze, and in that moment, He became.
Dr.Hunt holds his breath. He shuts his eyes tight as memories, thoughts, dreams whirl in his head, making his stomach churn. Beads of sweat appear on his forehead and he sinks down, suddenly and heavily, taking himself by surprise. What he has just found he himself cannot begin to fathom. He must tell..” President Mal! What the hell are you doing over here”?!
"Pardon me.!? Dr. Hunt? Are you well? You seem a little.. off color..? Have I caught you at a bad time?"
"Oh no no.. not at all.. pardon me sir.. (Straightening up, and returning to his usual cold demeanor).. please do come in and have a seat.. I was not informed of your arrival unfortunately; else I would have made better preparations for your welcome... I do hope you excuse our rather plain premises... "
"Don't trouble yourself Dr.Hunt, I did indeed arrive unannounced... I suppose I should apologize for my manners, but more importantly I have some crucial questions that have come to my notice, that you need to address immediately… Luke.. "
His muscles twitch in an imperceptible wince at the mention of his first name. Sensing the eminently precarious nature of the conversation to follow, his demeanor at once becomes guarded and alert.
"Anything I can do to help ..Sir.."
" You are the only one who can right now Hunt. You refuse to take responsibility of your natural talent. I do not know what would make a man turn down the position I offered you, one that is open still... You have made decisions in the past that any man would only be proud of, and yet you shun them, out of a guilt I fail to understand! You have saved humanity itself... many times over.. and yet -"
"- You said you had important questions?... President ?"
Brazent Mal, President of the United World Council, President of the world, or what is left of it, shows an uncharacteristic emotion. Frustration.
“ Alright then, I shall get down to it. You have heard I am sure of the mass suicide reported today in the Northern African Provinces. You are also aware of the many that have been reported previously, to our misfortune, and the many more that we have managed to keep from the world’s knowledge. People are dying. Here we are, trying to build a new world, a new order. We have taken it upon ourselves to save these god-forsaken rodents from the havoc they have wreaked upon themselves, created life again from almost nothing. You remember those days Luke, all the work it took, to stop the madness, to take over the world, for its own good.. the vision we had.. , we are doing the best we can.. We have now mastered technologies to make human habitation in any climate, any terrain, under water, in the skies, any place that these fools have left untainted with their radioactive poisons.. we have done everything, and are still doing more to erase the pain, the memories.
And yet.. they give up on us..
They do not understand the value of their own lives anymore, and yet we give them a chance, in the middle of all this mayhem we are still a partially functioning democracy, we are still humane….”
“ What is it that you are trying to say Mal?”
“ What I am saying Luke.. is that we need more control! …. The world is dying out on us.. all that we have worked for, simply dying out . Just like that. We need to stop them Luke.. You know what I am talking about. It is possible. I know that you are against it, I know… I know that you could never allow it, not after Lydia and the little one.. Please don’t Luke! Let me finish.. I know that you were one of the first to rally for the inclusion of the ‘Control of Human will’ under the Permanent Enjoinment Bill…. I know what you went through.. I was there…
And yet it is only you who can also understand the gravity of death… and I beg you to understand..”
Luke Hunt rises out of his seat , his nostrils flaring, white. He finds it hard to breathe evenly as he tries to speak. Moving swiftly to the door and opening it in one movement, he says shortly “Thank you for the brief sir, I shall get back to you as soon as I can.”
Mal stands in his position, unmoving, watching Hunt. He then slowly moves away from the seat that he was leaning on and makes his way quietly, without emotion around the room and stops at the door. “I look forward to your response Dr.Hunt.”
He holds his head in his hands as he waits for his head to stop spinning. Finding it hard to focus, he makes his way out of blurry hallways; vaguely aware of Dr.Issen’s enquiries as to instructions for the night shift … a faint memory stirs as he hears a familiar voice laughing.. He looks around to see a small child playing in the lobby.
“One of the maintenance staff seems to have broken some rules here” he thinks hazily. He walks towards the child and watches her for a while, as she gambols around, oblivious to him. He then proceeds to walk slowly out; now suddenly aware that Dr.Issen’s voice has ceased, rather abruptly.
He lowers himself into his Porter, waiting for him in the transport chute, He looks into the screen before him, almost blank, processing the various bionic recognition information required for him to be authorised to begin translocation. He looks at his reflection and realises his face is wet.
As he watches himself the screen suddenly seems to turn transparent, showing him the world outside his Porter pod. He knows this is only a simulation, as he floats by large smooth surfaces of the vast UWC empire, and down below, almost imperceptibly growing, like moss on smooth pebbles, are visible the many small settlements of the local people, dwellings embellished with debris and shrapnel, horrific remnants, now turned trinkets.
He lets them rush in. Old memories held at bay for so long. He has almost forgotten, it’s hard to remember the details; he lies to himself, as the vivid colours flash before his eyes so clearly he can almost touch them.
He had told him it was the safest thing to do. His best friend, Vulcan Host. General Vulcan Host. Just the thought of his name brings a lump to his throat…after all these years, the memories are still fresh. He realises he is clenching his hand very hard, unconsciously, around the controls as a sharp pain shoots up his arm. He lets go.
He can hear his wife Lydia, screaming, screaming to let go , and knowing that she cannot, knowing that what she was doing, unwittingly , was worse than death itself.
He had been away on an assignment. It was one of those times of war, where one couldn’t trust one’s own shadow. He had had to leave his wife and child at home, and entrusted their care to his best friend, blood brother, who was then the colonel of the new Middle European Provinces.
Vulcan had convinced her, Lydia told him, to take partial control of their daughter’s will. A simple and safe procedure, and a mother could keep her child safe at all times. He had been unsure, but was too far away, and too involved, to sleep in peace knowing that his family was unsafe. So he allowed it. It was a temporary procedure, and he would take care of things once he was back.
But there had been nothing left to come back to. He was informed, the day he came home, the thought of his wife and child the only thing playing on his mind.
Vulcan had stood there, teary eyed, trying to explain.
All he remembers is the recording of the event.
The pain. The screaming. The unnatural blank face of his wife, fighting to die, to let go of the torment. And knowing the consequence of her actions, as his daughter lay on the ground next to her, just out reach, writhing, struggling to live against a will that wasn’t her own.
There had been a security brief. And Vulcan had been on duty, oblivious to the events.
Luke had rallied then, giving up all else, for the new world, for the cessation of the control of human will, for countless other things, countless days, countless nights, so many years. And his friend fought with him. Throughout, doing anything he could, to find redemption.
Only after so many years, had he gone back. Gone back to where it had happened. Just last year. And that is when his world had really collapsed.
As he went through their home, which had been left untouched, at his request, since the murders. He found some things that he didn’t remember. There were details that didn’t seem to fit. Cufflinks he didn’t own, beds that were ruffled, with the bodies of two people, one of them a stranger.
He then found out. His daughter was not the only one who had undergone the procedure.
That was when he let it change him, forever. Nothing held his interest anymore, except his work. Which was also devoid of any passion, but favoured only because it was the only thing that occupied him enough for him to forget. He avoided contact with anyone he had previously known, alive or dead. He became a living machine, performing all the basic tasks that he had to, in order to keep going.
He snaps out of his reverie as he realises that he is finally alone. This is his favourite spot. A place in the docks, just above the water, and far enough from the shore, so that all he can see was darkness around him, and the star filled sky above. He looks at the ten odd stars that are visible tonight, and lets his thoughts run back to the hologram that he had held in his palm, just today morning.
The hydrogen atoms, affected by the Strontuim13 isotope, had behaved in a very peculiar manner indeed. The radiation had seemed to break all the bonds between the atoms. They were no longer held together by any inter-atomic connections whatsoever, and pure Brownian motion, in vaccum, without any meaningful averages had been observed. All that existed were individual particles, performing a completely random motion.
So in essence, this meant, that the gas itself did not exist anymore, and what was left was only a pure source of limitless energy. It was equilibrium. The beginning of a Universe, ready to be restarted.
If he was to believe what the hologram had shown him, he had found it. The source of limitless energy. The source of what they had been looking for.
The source of all energy. The system itself. It was beautiful.
The will had propagated the need to move.
From one sameness to another. And this motion, of the same, within itself, the constant churning, had given birth to something more.
Something that He has not created.
This is energy, created of Him, yet, that is not His.
The ultimate culmination of The Will. It has created.
And so it is over. The work of The Will is done.
All that is left is the return of slumber. The disappearance of being.
And a new will shall rise again.
He sits up slowly, very carefully.
He looks long and deep at the brightest star he can see, and then straight ahead.
He sees her turn sharply as he enters, from the corner of his eye. She follows him, first with her gaze, and then sensing the unusual change in his demeanour, begins to follow him.
He stops her short with one gesture, as he looks her in the eye.
She stops in her tracks, and for once, although puzzled, she isn’t searching him anymore.
He walks into the Energy Supply chambers, and asks the night attendant
“What requests have we received from General Host for this terms quota?”
“He has requested the usual inputs sir, with the only variation being a boost required to fill the gaps in the Middle and Extreme Northern provinces, to match the energy supply required for the newer colonies. He has also requested that no change be made in the compositions, since the last few have been the most energy efficient feeds received so far, and that if any changes be made, he be notified immediately.”
“Well, it’s too bad that he never sends in his formal paper work on time. I have fed in a new combination just now. All power sources to be connected to reactor no.13. You can notify the General when his paper work comes in. Let the fuel capsules be sent out first thing. I shall authorise it for now.”
He walks out as the puzzled attendant looks after him, shrugs, and gets to work.
“ I have a message I need you to send to the President, Dr.Issen- Just let him know, that I have found it. The perfect solution.”
She stands rooted to the spot and watches him walk out of the door, a serene smile on his face, and for once does not know what to make of the look in his eyes.
“And at last I have found it. Peace and Free Will….” He laughs quietly to himself as he makes his way home.
(end)
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