Nothing New Under the Sun (NNUTS)

[the infamous]

CHAPTER 1: Meaningless

Eccl 1:1-11

The words of the Teacher, son of David, king in Jerusalem: "Meaningless!
Meaningless!" says the Teacher. "Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless."

What does man gain from all his labor at which he toils under the sun?
Generations come and generations go, but the earth remains forever.
The sun rises and the sun sets, and hurries back to where it rises.

The wind blows to the south and turns to the north; round and round it goes, ever returning on its course.

All streams flow into the sea, yet the sea is never full.
To the place the streams come from, there they return again.

All things are wearisome, more than one can say.

The eye never has enough of seeing, nor the ear its fill of hearing.
What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun.

Is there anything of which one can say, "Look! This is something new"?

It was here already, long ago; it was here before our time.

There is no remembrance of men of old, and even those who are yet to come will not be remembered by those who follow.

<<<

 2018
Springtime

Capital City’s pristine skyline glistened beneath the sun’s rays. It was just past noon and so far it had been a nice day – a good day, in general, for the population of the utopian municipality. Children played in the huge grassy parks, women laughed as they discussed the latest hot topics in the mall, and graying men got their Elder’s Debt Cards today, providing them with the peace of mind of knowing their next several meals were taken care of.

One of these elderly gentlemen was Everdale Benson. He was a vaguely scatterbrained 80-year-old man with a kind heart and hair like a cap of snow. He spent most of his time sitting in his recliner watching the telemission. The only time he showed any signs of true life was when his son, 35-year-old Daniel Benson, was home.

Daniel Benson had once had dreams of becoming a musician or other form of artist before the Great Awakening years ago. Then he settled into his new calling, serving in Capital City’s Bibliotheca Veritatis, Library of Truth. He quite enjoyed his relatively new occupation, having only been offered the job two years ago. Daniel was an avid reader and even enjoyed writing the occasional love song or poem. On his off-time, he played his musical instruments, in accordance with the strict municipality audio and noise code, of course.

The two men lived with Daniel’s younger sister, Sai Feyt, a widow with a young daughter named Hannah. Sai’s husband had died in the war with Iran. The government had never told her the entire truth about his death, and so she retained a certain resentment toward the State, even though she’d once been an agent for the Global Intelligence and Security Agency.
Later that night when Daniel entered his home, a two-story house that had been designed identical in every way to every other house in the neighborhood, he found his father asleep in the recliner in front of the telemission. The TM was broadcasting more hypnotic images and static, like it always did when it was not giving the news, providing entertainment, or quizzing the household. Unlike the televisions that gradually vanished between 2013 and 2017, TMs could both transmit and receive images and audio. It also supplied the household with communications and Cloud-Net, which was similar to the internet that had been summarily deactivated with the hit of a button by the then-U.S. president Obamney in 2014.

After turning off the TM, Daniel turned to his father and sighed. Everdale was snoring again, and it was quite loud. Daniel leaned over his father and shook his arm gently.

“Dad,” he whispered, not intent on waking his sister or niece upstairs. “Dad, wake up.”

He glanced at his wristwatch as his father moaned into consciousness.

Everdale smiled, nearly toothlessly, as he rubbed his tired eyes. “Is it morning already, my son?”

“No, dad, it’s almost midnight. I worked another late shift. I’m sorry I couldn’t take you fishing.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, Danny Boy,” Everdale said as his son helped him down a hallway to the right of the living room. “There’ll be other days.”

Daniel smiled and nodded. “Yep. Or maybe we could go to the fight tomorrow. Your favorite fighter’s gonna be there.”

Everdale nodded wearily as he entered his bedroom at the end of the hall on the right. Daniel was guiding him with a light hand on the back.

“That’s fine, my boy. You get some sleep too, you hear?”

With a curt nod, Daniel gestured to his father’s bed. “I will, I will. Don’t need to worry about me. I’m about as tired as you are.”

Climbing into his bed, Everdale chuckled. “Oh, I doubt that, Danny.”

“I’m just kidding.” After a yawn, Daniel added, “Sorta…” Daniel headed for the door. “Goodnight, dad.”

“Night, son.”

As he left the room, Daniel said, “Lights off,” and the flat panels of light that were mounted in the white ceiling dimmed gradually until they were completely off.

Daniel softly closed the bedroom door and it locked automatically. Then he went back up the hall toward the living room. The house was mostly dark, a few panes of luminescence glowing mutedly from the ceiling in various places. When he got to the living room, Daniel could not help but to notice the bright blue spot of light on the telemission, though he mostly ignored it. The blue light was just a scanner. When the scanner detected motion, it would flicker and send the data it viewed back to its source for identification and storage.

The dark-haired, grey-and-brown-suited man rounded a corner and gripped the rail as he took a step up the stairs and stopped, alarmed at the woman standing on the third step up. It was, in fact, not a woman in the traditional sense. She was Kimmy, the family’s artificially intelligent housekeeper. The AIH in front of him was a hologram, although it would be very difficult for the average person – who did not interact everyday with an AI projection – to discern. Someone like Daniel, however, would be subconsciously aware of the inner lighting of a hologram, never to be subject to the ever pervading darkness.

“Kimmy, please don’t project yourself onto the stairs like that. I think I told you that once before.” He seemed quite annoyed.

The hologram tilted her head slightly, her comely countenance expressionless. “I apologize, sir. I only wished to inform you before you go to sleep that your father’s health is deteriorating.”

“I know,” said Daniel, sighing and leaning against the rail. “I know, but…the pills and shots we’re giving him—I mean, what else can I do?”

Kimmy blinked once. It was a learned thing, in order to make the humans feel more comfortable with her presence. “The doctors are wise, are they not, sir?”

Daniel shrugged. “I guess. I don’t know anything about medicine. I mean, I tried to learn but…” He shook his head and rubbed his face. “I’m goin’ to bed, Kimmy.”

Behind Daniel was the true AIH, an android. She was perched in the corner across from the stairs, eyes closed, and a thin, nearly imperceptible blue light emanating from a tiny spot on her chest. Kimmy was a beautiful machine. While she could manipulate her hologram to appear as anything or anyone, her physical body, the android, had short black hair, smooth tan skin, and wore a taut black one-piece uniform. The neckline was low-cut and her hourglass figure was covered just by a skirt that came down to the middle of her thighs.

The hologram flickered once and then vanished to reappear beside Daniel. “Have a good night, sir. Sleep well.”

Daniel laboriously pulled himself up the stairs. “You too, Kim.”

Once Daniel was out of sight on the landing of the second floor, the hologram receded with a dull white star-shaped flash into the chest of the android.

He’d just removed his shined black shoes when Daniel felt his wrist buzz. He glanced down to see who was calling. The digital display on his watch read, “Bro.” He yawned and pressed a button on the watch before casually lifting his arm to chest level.

“What’s up, man?” Daniel said.

A male voice came from a small speaker on the watch. “Hey man, are you about to hit the sack?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Oh sorry,” the caller said. “I was just wondering if you were working tomorrow.”

Daniel groaned inwardly. “Yes. I told you that yesterday, remember?”

“No,” replied the man on the other end, “you know how bad my memory is. All us Enforcers are like that.”

“Yeah,” Daniel said, and then yawned again. He sat down on his bed and said, “Hey, I’ll hit you up tomorrow, alright? I’ll call you, I dunno, when I’m on lunch or something, alright, bro?”

His “bro” answered, “Alright, man. You get some sleep, alright dude?”

Daniel smiled wearily and restrained a third yawn. “That was the plan, Jon. Later.”

<<<

 “Time for school!” Jonathan Gates announced as he packed his son’s last book into the backpack.

It was early the next morning and the school bus would be there to collect the children in a matter of minutes. Jonathan’s wife Kestral walked over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Her appearance nearly completely contrasted that of her husband, who was tall and had blond hair. Kestral’s hair was cut shorter than even her cop-husband’s. While she wore a pair of khakis and white T-shirt, Jonathan’s uniform was black and restricting in nearly every way.

Their two sons came charging down the hall with the artificially intelligent housekeeper fast-walking behind them. The oldest son, an unusually tall boy with shaggy dark blond hair and a blue patch over his left eye, took the backpack his father was holding out for him. He gave his mother and father a hug while his younger, slightly overweight brother was wolfing down the last portions of his breakfast at the dinner table.  From the kitchen sink, Kestral shouted at him to hurry up.

After hugging their parents, the boys rushed outside just as the grey school bus was approaching. Unlike the school buses of the past, the new grey ones had a single wide yellow stripe going down the sides, the back, front, and the top. Through the window in front of the sink, Kestral watched the bus drive off with her kids as she was washing a few dishes before work. Her husband was already heading for the front door himself.

“Don’t forget your belt,” she said, nodding to it on his chair at the kitchen table.

“Damn,” Jonathan said. “I swear I think my memory’s getting worse every single day.”

Kestral gave him a sympathetic smile that Jonathan saw as patronizing. “I’m sure it’s not that bad, baby. I’ll remind you about your doctor’s appointment next week. The doctor said it’s probably just the head injury you got from Iran.”

Jonathan was clipping his gun belt on in front of the door. “Yeah, maybe. Tonight I’m gonna probably try to hang with Dan after work.”

“Alright,” Kestral said, turning back to the last dish in the sink. “Just make sure you talk to him first and make sure he isn’t busy.”

“I wrote it down,” said Jonathan with a smile, holding his small notebook for his wife to see. “Well, off I go.”

A medium-sized dog came barking at him from another room. The dog knew his master was leaving and wanted to see him off. Jonathan smiled and bent down to pet the animal. Kestral smiled at them and rinsed off her hands. She walked over to Jonathan and after he was done petting the dog, they gave each other a hug goodbye.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Kestral said, not trying to be funny, as she pulled quickly away from Jonathan. “Tanner’s eye. The doctor said the FED would provide full coverage.”

Jonathan had been eyeing his wife for her comment about forgetting, but when the good news came, his eyes widened with pleasant surprise. “Wow! As well they should. I work for them after all.”

Moments later, Jonathan Gates was driving his black and grey, fully electric 2016 Ford Taurus GT Enforcement Interceptor away from his suburban home. His house was in the upper-middle class part of town, where most of the Federal Enforcement Department agents and officers lived, along with doctors, lawyers, and others making more than 50,000 credits a year. Unlike the houses in the lower-middle class sections, those in the upper-middle class did not all look the same. They varied in size, décor, substance, and property size. The Gates’ residence, for instance, was the only house on the block made of treated wood. Almost everyone else had chosen houses of brick. However, the Gates mutually agreed upon wood because of the antique style it represented. They were both lovers of the things of old, and if they weren’t illegal in Capital City, would own Classic American cars and guns.

As he drove, Jonathan waved to neighbors and pedestrians. He enjoyed the view of the Protector as well.

The Protector was an almost invisible dome that encased Capital City. It was so dubbed because it provided adequate defense against unsavory people such as the Lows and both international and domestic terrorist groups like Al-Qaida and the outlaw militias. The Protector also served as a filter, at least so thought most of the inhabitants of the city, for the sun’s harmful ultraviolet rays. The Protector, however, did allow rain through to the grass and other vegetation below. Most people in Capital City knew that the Protector was some sort of energy field, but very few people understood exactly how it worked.

Gleaming and sparkling in the sunlight, the Protector provided Jonathan with what he considered a desirable sight. When the thought of past rumors—such as one suggesting that the energy from the dome might actually cause amnesia—flashed in his mind, Jonathan obediently ignored them and as a result forgot about them.

He was now traveling away from the suburbs and onto a highway. Once merged with traffic going south, Jonathan put on some FED-approved music and activated the cruise control. Then he took a small nap.

On the highway, the Enforcement Interceptor’s cruise control did much more than simply keep the car going forward at same speed. It actually piloted the Enforcer to his destination and successfully avoided all potential hindrances, including other vehicles. There had been instances in 2013 when it first came out, where the police cars would actually cause wrecks in order to get to the destination quicker, but these instances, while in the hundreds, had been deemed by the FED as “isolated,” and has since been, according to the FED, taken care of. Since 2013, there had only been a few dozen collisions caused by a police cruiser’s automatic piloting system, or APS.

“Now arriving at destination,” said the APS in a British female’s voice.
The black and grey Taurus was just pulling into the Capital City FED precinct when Jonathan stretched himself awake and yawned, ten minutes after he left his house. Taking hold of the steering wheel, Jonathan parked the car manually in a vacant spot. All one needed to do in order to deactivate the APS was turn the steering wheel. This made it easier for people, especially Enforcers, to take control back without having to wrestle with the electronics, thus making car accidents less likely.

Stepping out of the vehicle, Jonathan made sure he had his keys and briefcase with him before locking up. Then he turned and headed for the entrance of the FED precinct. An older woman with white hair was walking ahead of him. She saw him coming and held the glass double doors open for him. Jonathan bowed graciously and thanked her before walking to the front desk, where he was to clock in.

There he met another woman. Contrary to the elderly woman, the one sitting behind the front desk wore a black uniform similar to the one worn by Corporal Gates, though hers was smaller and consisted of a skirt. She had long, layered and wavy black hair and tanned, nearly orange, skin.

“I see you got a tan,” Jonathan said with a grin as he handed the woman his ID.

She took the ID with a warm smile. “I did.” She hoped he noticed something else different about her, and made sure he knew that was what she was thinking with her grey eyes and a turn of her head.

The receptionist was not going to clock in the man until he recognized it. Jonathan looked, biting the edge of the bottom of his lip hard as he scrutinized her face and body. Then his emphatic blue eyes widened and he leaned forward.

“Your hair?” he said, uncertain. “You did something with your hair, didn’t you, Sarah?”

Sarah Waters thought for a second, her face every bit the betrayer of her enjoyment. “Maybe…”

Two Enforcers walked up behind Jonathan. He knew if he didn’t get it soon, Sarah would have no qualms with embarrassing him in front of his colleagues, who would soon become annoyed with having to wait anyway.

“How is it ‘maybe’?” asked Jonathan. “Either you did something with your hair or you didn’t.”

Sarah’s expression changed. She too was becoming annoyed, but not with Corporal Gates, per se. She just did not like giving people clues to guess what was right in front of them.

She said finally, “I got the headband.” She pointed to the turquoise headband around her head that kept her hair off her shoulders. “The one the Department said I couldn’t wear because it clashed with the uniform. Apparently they changed their minds.” Though she had been irritated at first, the last sentence was said with gladness and a hint of triumph.

“Oh!” Jonathan said, “I’m sorry.” He laughed nervously. “I remember now. Yeah. Wow, ok. Well…congrats, I guess.”

“Hurry it up, Gates,” said a sergeant behind him. “We’re gonna be late.”

Private Waters clocked Gates in and handed him his ID. He pocketed it as he pretended to ignore the men behind him.

“Looks good,” he said with a smile, moving away from the desk. “Hey, wanna hang out with me and Dan tonight?”

The frustrated officers moved up to the desk and handed the woman their cards, who only took them after being distracted by Jonathan’s inquiry. She seemed to think it over for a moment as she scanned the other officers’ IDs into the computer system. In reality, Jonathan knew, she had already made up her mind and was just attempting to get the other officers through without making them wait any longer.

“Uh, yeah,” she said after the others had gone. “Sure, why not?”
There was a certain anxious glee about her that Jonathan could discern. He knew this was from his mention of Daniel. Sarah had a crush on his best friend, Jonathan knew, though the three of them never brought it up in conversation. Jonathan decided at that moment that he was going to change that later during lunch.

<<<

Hannah Feyt was sitting in school beside her friend, Joshua Gates, son of her uncle’s best friend Jonathan. Hannah was a 6-year-old in the equivalent of Kindergarten. In 2017, the State replaced the term with the more direct Induction to Education, commonly known simply as Induction. Each class included two dozen students, two teachers, and a junior Enforcement agent to keep the peace. Squabbles and stealing from another student’s cubby hole was stringently disciplined.

“You are all very nearly complete with Induction,” said one of the female teachers standing in front of a large telemission screen. “Once complete, you will be given the freedom of choice, the opportunity to choose between one of two career paths: Labor or Administrative Science. While Labor is more physically demanding, thereby attracting most of the males, Administrative Science is far more mentally challenging.”

Hannah and Joshua glanced at each other, being the only two students to have caught the woman’s sly snub of the male gender.

The other teacher, an obese man with a bristly brown beard, was sitting on a large purple beanbag chair to the right of the black board and TM when he spoke, quite excessively loudly. “Who here wants to work in mines or clean floors, huh?” He laughed jeeringly at the students.

Of course, none of the children raised their hands. They all quietly glanced at each other before looking to their more pleasant instructor for guidance.
Her pleasantry was not extended, however, to her physical appearance.
She was not much smaller than the man, shorter perhaps, but looked as if she was the fat man’s younger brother disguised as a woman. Her smile was like that of a harpy, cringe-worthy and without compassion.

She smiled. “You have two lists in front of you, students. One is for Labor and the other is for Administrative Science. Choose two occupations you would like to have and then pass the list forward. You must choose two from the same list, people.”

The Enforcer at the back of the room caught one of the students trying to look over and see which two occupations his friend was circling. Joshua was going to do the same, but decided against it when the junior Enforcer, a pimply-faced teenager in a light grey uniform, stomped over to the other student’s desk.

“Keep your eyes on your own paper,” the junior Enforcer commanded, pointing at the lists on the boy’s desk.

“Smack him!” the fat bastard at the front of the room told the junior Enforcer.

The junior Enforcer complied without hesitation, and with just enough satisfaction shown to be misconstrued by others as well-placed virtuous condemnation toward the boy. The student lurched forward from the slap on the back of the head. He kept his tears in check, knowing the punishment for tears was even harsher. When the Enforcer returned to his spot in the back corner of the room, the female teacher cleared her throat.

“Alright,” she said, “you’ve had plenty of time to choose. Pass the papers forward please.”

The students had not had much time to make their decision, in fact, for there were hundreds of occupations listed and many of them had been distracted recently by the junior Enforcer’s interference. However, Joshua swallowed his fear and quickly circled the first two jobs that he saw that he did not utterly loathe; then he passed the two papers to the student in front of him.

Hannah, unfortunately, was not so ready to choose. She did not want to make a mistake that would last her entire life, or cost her life. But the student behind her nudged her with his pencil to get her attention, ready to pass several papers up. She turned, aggravated, and took the papers. Then she circled her first career choice.

“Let’s go!” bellowed the fat man.

Biting her lip and becoming tearful, Hannah quickly found another career choice she liked and circled it, just as the junior Enforcer smacked her on the back of the head with his palm.

“He said let’s go!” screamed the Enforcer.

“Yes, sir!” Hannah cried, handing the papers forward.

Joshua looked over at Hannah, to which the Enforcer yelled for him to face forward. Hannah caught Joshua’s heartfelt glance and tried to smile weakly through the tears, before they both faced the front again.

This was the normal routine for children in Induction, as was made mandatory by laws and policy of the Education Department. The children’s parents and family knew about this, and accepted it as normal and a good way to educate and discipline the youth. Moreover, once a child was enrolled into the Induction of Education program, they belonged to the State, not the parents.

<<<

Bibliotheca Veritatis was the name of Capital City’s biggest library. Those who did not wish to speak Latin simply called it the Library of Truth, or just the Library. The Library housed in underground vaults every book written, but allowed only certain books to be kept on the shelves for the public. This was, the State claimed, for the good of humanity. If people were reading about various past ideas and events, they might become disassociated with reality; that was the State’s pronouncement, and very few people argued against it. Those who did were silenced.

But the people rationalized it, saying and thinking that those in power knew more than the average individual, and they had a right to know more, because they were in power. The public also decided that they did not want to know everything the government knew, and relegated the knowledge and power to their superiors.

Daniel Benson’s main job as Deputy Chief Librarian was to supervise the other librarians and ensure that no unauthorized books were lent to people, especially those on any sort of watch list. Unauthorized books included any unauthorized biography, religious texts except for those that would perpetuate the relatively new global religion new age neopaganism known as One and Three, and any books dealing with history or science that were not first edited or reformed to fit the perfect societal system’s ideals and beliefs.

He often wondered why he was doing this, but Daniel rarely ventured deep enough into any reasoning or study. This was the typical way of thought for those living in Capital City. Trust the government and the government will trust you.

Daniel was sitting behind a desk in an office, reviewing some paperwork, when his boss, Chief Librarian Morse Thanatus, entered and closed the door behind him. Daniel gulped, cleared his throat to hide the gulp, and set the papers down as he peered up at the large man.

The black and white suited Morse was over 7-feet-tall, not an uncommon occurrence for many of the people in Capital City, but still an awkward stature, especially for people of normal height like Daniel. He stood up so he did not have to strain his neck to look his boss in the eyes. According to Morse, he was a human whose genes had been mutated in the womb of his mother, and as such, not only made him extremely tall, but also granted him an extra finger on each hand. Sometimes, though, Daniel wondered if it was natural genetics that had given him his body. He’d often heard stories of the government creating mutants out of clones and then using those poor creatures as their private assassins. In fact, one of the fighters Daniel and his father were going to watch later happened to have the same abnormalities. . .

“Daniel,” said Morse ruefully. “I have some bad news.”

While Morse’s appearance was distracting, his voice was intimidating. Even though the giant’s tone was usually low and humble, it carried, and seemed to boom, as if some otherworldly entity was broadcasting his voice through a loudspeaker. But Daniel never seriously entertained the notion of otherworldly entities. Besides the extra-terrestrial aliens that had arrived a couple of years ago, Daniel knew full well that there was no such thing as supernatural beings that could possess individuals. He just knew it.

“What is it?” Daniel asked, concerned.

After a dramatic sigh, Morse told him, “It looks like that Self-Esteem Celebration for Hannah is going to happen after all.”

Daniel groaned and sat down on the side of his desk. “I hate those things so much.”

Self-Esteem Celebrations were government-and-church-ordained holidays for children that promoted self-worth above just about all else. Daniel saw it as a selfish, hedonistic ordinance that made kids think more of themselves than others, and created spoiled monsters. He hung his head, trying to think of a way out of this particular One and Three influence.
Before he could think any further on the subject, the TM on the wall behind Morse came on automatically and displayed the face of Bibliotheca Veritatis’s Supreme Librarian. The Supreme Librarian was a member of the government and sat on the board of the Education Department. He was a spectacled man with very little hair on his head, which happened to exist only around his ears. Both Daniel and his boss snapped to attention.

“You have forgotten,” said the Supreme Librarian from somewhere downtown, “that we watch and listen to all. Your ill attitude toward your nation-state, Daniel Benson, will not be tolerated for much longer. I suggest you rectify it.”

“Sir,” pleaded Daniel. “I meant no disrespect. It’s just that I’m so busy, working for the Library and I wish to continue to do so, and this…Celebration – well, it gets in the way of my work.”

“Our psychological profilers,” sneered the board member, “have indicated that you are not being truthful, and that you are indeed, in complete agreement with your sister, opposed to your nation-state’s influence in your family’s lives. I suggest, again, that you rectify this, for the good of your nation-state, your district, and your city. Good day, Mr. Benson.”

Silence ensued after the TM blinked off. The blue light continued to watch Daniel. He sighed and went over and sat down on the leather sofa that was against the wall.

“He is right, Benson,” said Morse. “You need to appreciate the good that the nation-state has done for you, for all of us. The NAE will be here long after the two of us are dead and buried.” He turned to leave, and said as he opened the door, “Remember that, Benson.” He closed the door behind him.

Daniel was left feeling dejected and betrayed. He was uncertain why he felt betrayed. He knew the rules, and knew that his boss was a high-ranking member of the government. Yet Daniel felt as though Morse could have—should have—taken his side. Then again, Daniel also knew the punishment for treason, so he could not entirely blame Morse for his lack of assistance against the Supreme Librarian.

Resting his head against the back of the sofa, Daniel closed his eyes and thought for a moment. Again, like so many times before, his thought process was interrupted. This time, the interruption came from his best friend, Jonathan Gates. He raised the watch on his wrist lazily to neck level.

“What, dude?”

“It’s lunchtime, man,” said Jonathan. “Almost past one actually. You said you’d call, remember? Talk about what we’re gonna do tonight?”

“Sorry, man. Been, uh, you know, working; time flew by. Anyway, come with my dad and me to the fight,” Daniel advised Jonathan.

“Sounds good, man,” said Jonathan. “You alright? You sound kinda…off.”
Daniel glared at the transmitting telemission as he replied, “It’s nothing. I’ll talk to you later tonight about it, alright?”

“Alright, brother. I’ll talk to ya later.”

“Later,” Daniel said, pressing a button on his watch to turn it off.

Daniel stood up and exited the office, into the midst of the vast array of books. He stopped at one tall, wooden shelf and pulled a book toward him for a second, and then pushed it back into place. He longed to read the many books in the Library, but most of them were off limits to him. He didn’t understand why, only knew that Librarians weren’t allowed to read anything other than fiction.

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his brown trousers and casually made his way out of the public reading area and down a long, wide white corridor to the employee’s break room. Finding half a dozen Librarians and a janitor there, Daniel smiled politely and headed for a dispensing machine at the far corner of the room. He got a small bag of chips and a soda before sitting down at a table, far from the other Librarians.

The grey-haired janitor, Jim, came over and sat down beside the Deputy Chief. “That your lunch, sir?”

Popping the soda, Daniel nodded exhaustively. He knew that the old man wanted to say something about his health, maybe remark about how someone was poisoning the food and drink, but he didn’t. Daniel was relieved. He chugged the soda.

“I heard you tried to avoid the Self-Esteem Celebration,” the janitor said, twisting his broom nervously.

A couple people on the other side of the break room heard this and turned their attention on Daniel, though they tried to keep their invasiveness hidden. Daniel scowled at them as they failed. Then he turned and nodded to the janitor.

“That I did Jim. Tried to pretend it wasn’t happening, hoping that maybe if I didn’t acknowledge it, the day would pass without incident. I asked Morse see if the Self-Esteem Celebration was registered while he was downtown and he came back and told me it was. So it’s on. It’s on like, as the kids used to say, Donkey Kong.”

Jim seemed almost more pissed about it than Daniel. He shook his head and sucked his teeth through a clenched jaw. “These children these days. They’re growin’ up bein’ taught they’re the end-all-be-all of perfection, bein’ told they’re God. Then people complain that our kids get shit grades in school, go out shoot up shit. It’s damn pathetic.”

“Be glad the TM’s aren’t in here to hear you say that,” Daniel whispered closely to Jim.

“I gotta get back to work anyhow,” Jim moaned, getting to his feet with a limp.

Daniel opened his bag of chips and slowly, detachedly began to eat from it. But, as usual, his mind was elsewhere. He was wondering how he was going to get his kids out of Capital City alive.

<<<

Captain Breas had gathered the Enforcers in the briefing room and stood before them, hands clasped rigidly behind his back. The captain was a tall man, but not one of the genetic aberrations the government claimed was being born of women. This man was 11 feet tall and had, according to reports and certain eye-witnesses, been one of the saviors of mankind, a war hero in the titanic clash between the Pleiadians and the Draconians.
The Year of War began in January of 2016 and lasted until the end of December of the same year. It started when China, Russia, Iran, North Korea and several other countries threatened to go nuclear on America and her allies unless the U.S. government pulled their troops out of South Korea, Pakistan, Iraq, and every other nation they had invaded for no good reason. When the President of America refused, Russia fired the first nuclear missile, eager to obliterate America’s government. Then, suspiciously and conveniently for America, and out of seemingly nowhere, space ships with reptilian designs appeared over the Earth and began bombarding the planet with radiation and weapons far superior to anything the global population was aware of. Just days later, another race of aliens miraculously appeared. Their ships looked much less threatening, but their weapons were even more powerful than those of the “Reptilians.” They announced to the world that they were called the Pleiadians and that the Reptilians were the Draconians, and that they have been at war with the bloodthirsty invaders for centuries.

The war ended with the surrender of the Draconian leaders on the 21st of December, 2016. The Pleiadians and their “grey allies and subordinates” had been victorious, and decided to stay on Earth and help them build a better, more peaceful existence. Many of the leaders on Earth were Pleiadians, especially in the newly formed North Amerikan Empire, which consisted of what used to be known as Canada, the United States, and Mexico.

Like most Pleiadians, Captain Breas had blond hair and bright blue eyes. He had a scar running down the right side of his neck. The scar had been the subject of many a war story.

“The Imperial Council,” Breas said, “has decreed that all Enforcers and military personnel be given this mark.” He held up the back of his right hand, showing six short black lines, similar to a bar code tattoo. “It will be used for identification and purchasing purposes.”

Jonathan heard somebody mumble something. He looked over to see one of the sergeants—the very one, in fact, who had been displeased with Corporal Gates’ banter with the receptionist—inching toward the exit. Terror was etched across his face. Being as tall as he was, Breas easily noticed the sergeant’s sudden change in demeanor.

“Are you not well?” Breas asked. “Or is there something on your mind, Sergeant Theodore Anderson?”

Breas began to walk, casually at first, then with more eager purpose, away from his position behind the podium and toward Sergeant Anderson.
The sergeant glanced around fervently, seeking assistance in each of his comrades’ faces. Several people stared him down, but most of the other Enforcers simply averted their gaze. It was at this point, hope left him. His eyes stopped begging and drooped along with the rest of his visage in sullen dread.

“I know what this is,” he murmured.

By then, Breas had reached him. “Speak up, Sergeant Anderson.”

The mustached, slightly plump Sergeant Anderson stared up at his boss, who was twice as tall as he. Anderson stammered and went silent.

“Go take a breather, Sergeant,” Breas ordered.

Anderson was quick to comply. After Anderson had gotten out of the briefing room, Breas examined almost every Enforcer’s face, sensing their emotions and reading their eyes. His gaze rested fixedly on Jonathan Gates. Jonathan noticed this and visibly gulped.

“See me before you go home today, Corporal,” Breas said, and then returned to the podium. To everyone, Breas declared, “Every Enforcer will receive this mark. If there are no drawbacks after two weeks, every citizen in Capital City will receive it. One month after that, everyone in the world will receive it. Anyone who opposes this mark will face harsh punishment. This is not just a decree from the Council, but of the Emperor, your Lord and master.”

<<<

Daniel Benson was still overseeing an inventory of books written by Stephen Baxter and Arthur C. Clarke when Chief Librarian Morse Thanatus was picking up his briefcase to leave at 7:00 PM. He looked over at Daniel and the other two Librarians, feeling both resentful and sympathetic toward the man.

“You need to leave soon if you want to take your father to that fight, Benson,” Morse informed him as he walked over.

Having become engrossed in the paperwork on the clipboard he held, Daniel was startled slightly when he heard his boss’s voice. He spun around, almost losing balance, and nodded at Morse’s comment.

“Yeah, I know. We’ll be done shortly,” Daniel said.

Morse nodded and said, “Alright. Good night then.” He turned and walked for the exit at the other side of the Library.

“Night,” Daniel muttered, once again intensely analyzing the clipboard.

His female assistant stood up from her uncomfortable crouching position in front of the shelf. “I think we’re done. I think this is the last book, Daniel.”

The other assistant, a red-haired man in his early twenties, agreed. “Yeah, man, this is it.”

“Ok,” said Daniel with a nod. He rubbed his eyes. “Just, um…take this clipboard and set it on my desk for me, if you will.”

The redhead nodded and took the clipboard. “Sure, man, no problem.”

“You guys have a good night,” said Daniel as the man walked toward his office. “I’m gonna head out. You two lock up, alright. Let the security guards know you’re the last two here, ok?”

The brunette woman nodded. “Got it.”

Moments later, Daniel was climbing into his white 2012 Chevrolet Cruze, which had been made fully electric almost a year ago, in accordance with national laws. He pulled out of the Library’s underground parking lot and onto the avenue heading northwest. As soon as he was past the traffic and out of the crowded nightlife of the metropolis, he tapped his watch.
“Home,” he said, and the device called his house.

“Hey uncle,” Daniel heard Hannah say.

Daniel said, “Hey hun, how was your day?”

“It was ok,” she lied.

He knew she was lying, and became angry, but not at his niece. He cleared his throat and asked Hannah to put her mother on the line.

“Yeah?” came his sister’s voice.

“I’m on my way home,” he said. “Should be there in less than five minutes. How’s Hannah and dad?”

Sai Feyt sighed, “Ugh. Those bastards at the school fuckin’ hit my girl. I swear I’m about to go postal on their asses.”

“Keep the vulgarity down just a bit,” Daniel suggested.

“My daughter’s heard worse.”

“Not for her,” Daniel clarified. “The FED. You know they hear everything, and if they hear you cuss, they’re gonna use that as an excuse to send the CPS or Social Services to take Hannah.”

“God da—!” Sai blurted and stopped herself. “Right. Ok. Well, they hit her. And I’m pissed. I think someone needs to go have a chat with those teachers, or something.”

Daniel turned down his street. “How’s dad, Sai?”

“Fine, Danny,” Sai said. “Anyway, I’m gonna take Hannah out to eat while you and dad are out, alright? So there’s not gonna be anyone here…except the droid.”

Daniel could hear the trepidation and distrust in his younger sibling’s voice. She not only despised the government, but also their contraptions, such as the telemission and the Housekeepers. He was thirty seconds from his residence when the unthinkable happened: Daniel heard Sai and Hannah scream before the two-story house erupted into flames and smoke. Hitting his brakes instinctively, Daniel’s eyes went wide and he threw his hand up in front of him to shield his sight from the blinding light.

“No!” Daniel cried. “Sai! Hannah!”

There was no response from the other end of the line. Daniel stomped on the accelerator  as he called his best friend.

“What’s up—?”

“Get to my house now!” Daniel shouted and then deactivated the watch.

The sedan hummed speedily down the road, nearly colliding headlong into a pickup truck whose driver was distracted by the colossal fireball on the diminutive Benson property. Daniel slammed on the brakes and the Chevrolet Cruze jerked to a halt on the side of the street, nearly taking out his own mailbox. He threw himself out of his vehicle, stumbling and collapsing onto the pavement. As he collected himself, he screamed his sister’s and father’s name, tears streaming down his face.

Daniel raced from the left side of the car and crossed in front of it, just to be thrown back by a secondary explosion. He fell on his back and knocked his head against the curb. By now several neighbors were hurrying over to him to help him, but his head had been hit pretty hard and his sight was blurring.

One of the neighbors happened to be a nurse. She was bandaging his wound a couple minutes later when Jonathan Gates arrived, his Interceptor’s blue lights flashing rhythmically. He jumped out of the car and rushed to his friend’s aid.

“What happened?” he asked the nurse, shielding himself from the heat of the building.

She shrugged. That was when two Pleiadian aircraft flew over the residence. One of them began spraying the house with foam while the other craft’s pilot bellowed orders at the onlookers.

“Step away from Daniel Benson! He is under arrest for treason!”






CHAPTER 2: The Island

Year Unknown
Springtime

A man sat in a chair of wood, playing a stringed musical instrument of wood. His singing voice was course, but not unpleasant. His strumming, however, could have used a bit more practice. But the middle-aged man thought he sounded magnificent, and so he never took lessons.

  He sung, “The one I love, is never here. The one I love, will never return. The one I love, has died alive…”

 And he sung it in a dead language. The language spoken by the populace of the city was like a mixture of Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, but was none of those; it merely sounded similar.

The rough-looking man sang daily in the city’s marketplace. A bird’s eye view of the market would reveal a cobblestone street and trading zone. Nobody bought or sold, they traded. Their currency was goods, services, and trust. Seldom someone would offer gold or silver, perhaps a few precious gems, but people in this paradise-like city used those things only for home ornaments and decorations for their classy, flowing attire. Hundreds of people milled about in the marketplace, seeking items or hoping to get rid of some. There was a location set aside for items that someone simply wanted to give away. The citizens were free to come and take what they liked from that section.

Sora Lyn was a beautiful black-haired teenage girl of royal decent. Judging from the position of the sun, Sora estimated that it was just past noon. In one hand she held a straw basket by the handle that arched over it and in her other hand she held the train of her light pink dress. As a princess, or the closest thing to one in this place, she was accustomed to wearing long, flowing dresses, centered by a corset. The corset she wore that day was the color of peach.

“Sora!” called a vendor from several paces away. “Over here! I have for you fresh fruit today!”

The young woman beamed with excitement and gracefully made her way over to the vendor, politely and elegantly dodging other citizens. Sora stopped at the merchant’s cart just as he was pulling out various fruits.

“Greetings, Akrasiel,” Sora said with a slight bow. “Today, I have brought to market my mother’s finest silk, which she herself took from the spiders that plague our orchard.”

“Oh, I know,” Akrasiel said with a grin. “But here, everything is a blessing in some way, is not that right, Sora?”

Sora nodded as she opened her basket. “Indeed.”

Akrasiel leaned over and inspected the silk clothes. “Mm, very nice. Very delicate. I will take them all, and you may have six apples, two grapefruit, and a pineapple.”

“One day,” Sora laughed, “you must tell me how you have come upon these delicious fruit which have never grown on our island of wonder.”

Akrasiel laughed and shook his head playfully, poking at the teenage girl’s shoulder. “One day, dear Sora, you shall find out for yourself.”

They exchanged items but Sora pointedly remained, stubbornly staring at him with a knowing smile. Akrasiel pretended not to notice for a moment and then he turned to her and chuckled.

“Oh!” Akrasiel jested, “Be you still in my presence?”

Sora giggled. “You will not get out of our agreement so easily, Akrasiel. I know but two of your names; Akrasiel and Ragumu. You shall keep your promise, and every time we conduct business, you shall tell me another name. So be kind, good sir, and give me another of your many names…”

Akrasiel laughed whole-heartedly and put his arm around Sora in a fatherly manner. “Dear girl, you are but a child. You know not the ways of the stars, how they traverse the universe without anyone taking notice. You know not the ways of your ancestors or the ways of the Great Father…”

“You are stalling,” stated Sora with a fake pout.

“Very well,” Akrasiel declared, “I shall give you another name that I have at one time used to identify myself.” Akrasiel suddenly became morose. “However, I feel that there will be a time in the future when my names will not be remembered by those who have called upon my wisdom, nor by their descendents, my child.”

Sora’s frown was genuine this time. “I am sorry, Akrasiel.”

The merchant moved away from the girl and stood by his cart. “It is of no consequence to you, my dear Sora, daughter of King Muriel.”

Sora was beginning to feel guilty. She nervously fiddled with the handle on her basket. She wondered if she shouldn’t just leave the man alone. He was, after all, a stranger to her family’s island and city. He’d come there only weeks ago and the two had instantly taken a liking to each other. But there was something about him that Sora just did not understand, though she desperately wanted to.

“Akrasiel,” said Sora. “Or shall I call you by the other name I know, Ragumu?”

“Neither,” Akrasiel said with a sad smile. “For when I am thrown into darkness eternal, my name shall be Ak’Ragu’el.”

<<<

Within the kitchen of her three-story abode on the front of a large body of water, Sora Lyn’s mother--who, despite her royal lineage, had chosen to live the life of a commoner--was cooking the fruit her daughter had brought her that afternoon. The stove she was using was fueled by wood underneath and made of iron. As she made the fruit cobbler, Regina stared out of the round glass window above the stove. She gazed lovingly upon her daughter as she and her friends frolicked in the grass by the water. Regina waved at Sora, who returned the gesture, and turned from the stove for just a moment, to watch a screen mounted on a wall in the next room.

On the screen was a 2-dimensional image of a man that spoke, however there was also a 3-dimensional hologram projected from it onto the dining table nearby. Both images were of the same thing: the man was reading from a scroll.

“…and the principles King Muriel has decreed for all, he has kept himself. Peace, truth, and liberty are his principles, as they are ours. And now, a word from our sponsors…”

As the advertisement for a new type of soap came on the screen, Regina headed back for the stove and checked on the cobbler. It was nearly done. She turned down the heat and walked toward an open door in the kitchen that led out into their backyard. A small dog ran into the house and alarmed the woman. She shrieked and then laughed.

Regina called to her daughter, “Sora, your pet has decided the carpet is much more comfortable than the grass!”

Sora laughed as she was running across the grass in a much shorter dress than the one she had been wearing at the marketplace earlier that very day. She ran toward her the door where her mother was standing.

“Mother,” Sora rasped as she slowed to an exhausted gait. “Is the meal ready?”

Her friends also stopped running. Several of them shoved each other playfully while one girl put her arm lazily over Sora’s shoulder for support.

“The time is at hand,” Regina informed her before turning back into the kitchen.

Moments later, Sora and her four friends were eating fruit cobbler at the dining table near the holographic screen, which was displaying and projecting rudimentary drawings animating like real people, which really seemed to entertain the children. Regina was cleaning up. By the time Sora and her friends had finished their cobbler, the sun was starting to go down over the gorgeous horizon. So they all decided to go outside and watch the sunset. They sat in reclining wooden chairs by the waterfront, their legs propped up by stools. Sora’s small dog was laying beside her chair, panting with his tongue out, tail wagging happily.

Their view of the receding sun beneath the horizon was one that included excellently crafted architecture such as not been visualized by very man people, as well as a waterway that seemingly separated their part of land from another, relatively close and much larger landmass. A bird’s eye view of the neighborhood that Sora and her mother lived in would indicate a rounded main street, and several homes with big yards and a few motorized vehicles. The bird’s eye view would also reveal that the neighborhood had a waterway on both sides, and several bridges linked the rings of the island with each other, and the mainland that was not too far away.

After the breathtakingly colorful sunset, the friends went home and Regina and her daughter resigned for the night. They gave each other a hug and said goodnight before turning in. But Sora did not sleep, at least not immediately. She picked up one of the many books she had in her bedroom and began reading.

The cover read The Lost Civilization of Malevora.

<<<

The next morning, Sora woke up promptly as a rooster crowed. She put on her dark crimson apprentice’s robe and looked at herself in the mirror. She smiled at her appearance, not because she thought she was beautiful, but because she wanted to be. Sora, in fact, was the most beautiful creature in her city, but she did not see it. Her self-worth was low, and therefore her beauty was faded in her eyes. Her smile reflected sadness.

Turning from the mirror, Sora left her bedroom and went into the kitchen, where her mother was already preparing the morning’s meal.

“Mm, my nose promises my tongue something good,” Sora said delightfully, looking over her mother’s shoulder. “What is it?”

Before Regina could answer, the projector screen buzzed. They both turned to see a young man’s face, both in 2D on the monitor and 3D on the center of the table.

“Brother!” Sora squealed, running to be closer to her older sibling’s image.
Regina too was elated. Wiping her hands, she quickly followed Sora, saying, “Adranos, your mere apparition is enough to quell fears of your demise.”

Adranos chuckled. “Be careful, mother and sister, for one day perhaps my apparition will not be born of electronics and mechanics, but Tartarus or Gehenna, for the war goes badly here, and death seems to be waiting everywhere.”

“Do not say this,” Sora whimpered. “We could not bear your death, brother. When is your military duty complete, Addy?”

Adranos thought for a moment before answering, “Not long, loving sister. In a fortnight I shall be away from this bloodshed and ruin, and once again harbor my ship and grace the haven of the great island-city of Atlantes! May the gods never stop blessing our truly marvelous city!”