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)