Devolution

“What?’ said 3, trying to shrug off the grogginess which blinded and stupefied him.

‘This is how you destroy anonymity,’ said a voice. ‘It’s a method we recommend called E.A. theory. That’s E for exploding and...’ The boy smiled knowingly as if 3 would understand the obvious. He looked familiar. Hazy and vague, yet familiar.

‘Josh?’ said 3. ‘Is that you?’ His eyes wandered around his bedroom but he couldn’t see any of the walls, just whiteness like clouds or mist. ‘Where am I?’

‘Pay attention, Ted,’ said the boy. ‘Concentrate! You’re too easily distracted.’

A girl appeared from within the mist, a step or two behind the boy and to his right. Dressed in a tight-fitting beige tracksuit, she returned 3’s curious look.

‘Yes Ted,’ she said. ‘Listen! This is important, and you should put some clothes on.’

3 looked down nonchalantly at his naked body. ‘Veena?’ he said. ‘What have you done to your hair? I liked it long.’

‘Ted! Ted!’ called the boy. ‘I don’t have much time and if you can’t show more interest in what I’m saying than I’ll simply keep it to myself.’

He looked at the girl then back at 3. ‘I know it’s difficult with no clothes on but do try and concentrate just for a minute. The E.A. theory? I’ll give it to you.’

‘Josh? If that’s you, can you tell me what the hell is going on? I don’t understand any of this.’

‘Look, call me Josh if you want to but please shut up and let me speak.’

3 quickly stole another glance at his nudity and for an instant wondered why it didn’t bother him before Josh’s voice interrupted him.

‘This is how a nobody, like you,’ he stabbed his index finger at 3, ‘becomes a somebody. You start with anonymity, then you do or say something controversial. That’s stage two, controversy. Out of that controversy comes publicity. Good or bad it doesn’t matter. Publicity is stage three. The publicity gives you notoriety, that’s step four and that is the official end of your anonymity. Now you are someone.’

‘I am someone,’ protested 3. ‘I don’t understand. What does all this mean?’

‘It means,’ said Veena, ‘that you should put some clothes on and wake up.’

‘Wake up? Am I dreaming?’

The boy laughed to himself and said softly, ‘He’s a bit slow this one.’ Then he walked away, disappearing into the air out of which Veena had appeared.

‘Ted,’ said Veena in reply to 3’s question. ‘Does this look like reality? Look at my hair. You said it yourself, I wear my hair long.’

‘You could have cut it.’

‘I’m sorry I have to go, too. Think about what Josh said.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Josh needs me, I have to go.’

‘What do you mean Josh needs you? I need you, Veena. I need you. More than he does. Come back! Come back!’

She turned to face him one last time and smiled but her teeth were all broken and bleeding.

A throbbing pain gripped the left side of his head, and tore him from the horrifying and perplexing dream. He called out from the darkness of his bedroom as pain wrestled him fully awake.

‘Veena, come back! I need you too.’

His mother 2-11-15, glided into his darkened bedroom, projecting calming thoughts to her son. Already floating beside 3’s bed, was 1-11-15, his vigilant yet irritated father.

It’s all right 3, came the unspoken message from his mother. You were having a bad dream.

‘Dad, my head hurts,’ said 3 as he lay motionless in his bed, buried, apart from his head, under a black and white checked thick quilt cover. This wasn’t the first time he had dreamed such a dream nor experienced such intense physical pain. As he could normally endure it silently, he preferred not to disturb his parents but this time was much worse and he had lost control as the surreal subconscious world took an unpleasant turn. Worse than a throbbing pain or a stabbing pain, his headache felt more like a Chinese burn applied incessantly to the forehead.

His father lay a withered comforting hand where he presumed 3’s shoulder was and said, Don’t use your voice, son. It’s only making the pain worse. Speak with your mind; you know it’s much more efficient.

Reluctantly accepting his father’s advice, 3 resumed telepathic communication with his parents. It was the only way for him to talk to his dad, and his mum only voiced with him when they were alone. As one of the architects of much of the Newtonian’s progressive cultural and technological reforms, his father frowned on speaking, and his mother as a good Newtonian wife, would in humble submission not defy him or deliberately antagonize him. However, because 3 really enjoyed voicing, he was glad he was still permitted to attend a mixed school, where although strongly discouraged, telepathy was not banned. Not yet anyway.

How long will this pain last, dad?

Not long, it’s a natural part of growing up. The elder Newtonian moved his hoverchair around 180 degrees, then reached out again to lightly touch his son’s arm. You can expect these pains to happen more often now in the final stages of puberty. Turning to his wife, he smiled knowingly at her and she nodded back. Their second child had been stillborn so 3 was their precious only child and they loved him dearly. The suffering and anxiety of that pregnancy and the ensuing traumatic delivery of a dead child caused his mum to vow she would not fall pregnant again. Fortunately for her the doctors agreed, otherwise his father would almost certainly have insisted they try to add further arrows to his quiver. A man could boast of a greatness measured by the number and the character of his sons.

Dad, mum, do you think dreams mean anything?

Sometimes, said his mother.

No, said his father emphatically.

3 decided to wait until he could talk about it to his mother alone, later. Now he had more immediate and painful problems.

The physical tribulation he was enduring was not entirely caused by puberty and he knew that, despite what his father said. The morphing drugs that all Newtonians took had never been successfully integrated with the natural surge in hormone production during pubescence. This knowledge sometimes made him resentful, especially when it caused him to occasionally miss school and spend the day in bed. As none of his friends suffered these excruciating growing pains, they did not understand. The Newtonian world view allowed no talk with outsiders in relation to the morphing drugs. During these times of suffering, 3 often wondered about the veracity of the High Council’s claims about the coming cataclysm, and their plan for the survival of the Newtonian race. What would his generation do if the predictions were false?

Enough of these thoughts, 3 chastised himself, before I accidentally send one to dad and earn another lofty and condescending lecture.

It’s starting to pass now. I think I’ll be able to go to school. 3 lifted his large head off the pillow and with difficulty sat up, pushing back the quilt as he did so.

Although, 1 was shaking his head to protest, 2 had already sent her affirmation. She wanted him to go to school much for the same reason as 3 himself wanted to go. It was good for young people to socialize and interact with the other tribes. Being in the public service meant that 2 rarely had any contact with other either Deists or Adonites. She served the Newtonians as a parliamentary under-secretary, and although it was a stimulating and challenging job which made full use of her skills and experience, she often wished she could interact with mixed tribal groups. She believed they all had something to offer. Harboring a deep longing for a fully integrated society, she was glad for 3, that he had opportunities which she did not.

Her husband interrupted her thoughts. Why do you wish for those things? No good comes out of integration. All attempts since the war have failed, it’s futile. I don’t understand you, wife. His eyes blazed with indignation.

What are you doing, husband? She returned his glare, and put her hands on her hips. An action which would have told anyone how she felt even without hearing her words. 3 had tuned out, not wanting to hear his parents argue. Disrespecting my privacy, how dare you? she continued.

I was only-

Only being rude and intrusive. Don’t do that to me. Don’t treat me like one of your office slaves. Then she spun her hoverchair around and slid quickly out of the room.

Breaking the first commandment of Newtonian telepathy was a moral crime against the individual and the tribe, even though it was only policed in the public realm. When the first telepaths began using their new found skill, the Council was worried about the effects of such ability on the wider community, not only Newtonians but the other tribes as well. Obviously it would be seen as an invasion of privacy, and the ethical storm which would result from its misuse or even ordinary use would be nearly impossible to quell. Recognizing its potential for good, they ventured down the path of regulation rather than prohibition.

The expectant look from his son was keenly felt, as much as the question undergirding it was sensed, but 1 ignored it and glided out of the room.

Laboriously, 3 climbed into his hoverchair after bringing it to his bedside, and connected to its central processing unit. Wincing at the slight discomfort he felt as the hoverchair synthesized with his mind, 3 then made his way to the bathroom, ordering the lights on and off as he traveled down the hall, not because he had to but because it amused him.

As he passed the entrance to the living room, he peered in and noticed his father preparing to dive from his hoverchair into the heated pool which served as the floor of their home in all common areas. Someone had coined the term ‘aqualounge’ and it was now popular even amongst the other tribes. When the decision had been taken by the council to follow the recommendations of the Destiny Report into the cataclysm, Newtonians began to take morphing drugs, until then, developed under the strictest secrecy, which were designed to convert their physiology from human to amphibian. The length of these stages of development varied among individuals but was most certainly affected by age. As a young man, 3 would pass through the current phase four times as fast as his parents which was some consolation as initially the morphing drugs caused muscle weakening and altered the pH levels of the skin. These two not unexpected effects meant that Newtonians needed hoverchairs to get around on land and plenty of water for skin which they now discovered dried out easily. The latest product from the research laboratories to add to the basket of medications they needed to take was an ultra rapid hydration formula in a micro pill naturally, but also available in single shot injections.

At that time most Newtonian homes had pools built in their homes which were filled with warm water. Here they were more comfortable and at home than in their hoverchairs, however they were not able to eat or sleep underwater. The operation of electrical equipment was also a major issue. The safety factor was no longer a problem but for some reason interfacing with computers under water was slow and time consuming. Not at all practical, and a mysterious roadblock on the technology freeway of the twenty second century.

Watching his father swim effortlessly in the clear water, 3 marveled at his long muscular body with small limbs crowned by a magnificent oval head. He was a fine figure of a Newtonian male. A Senator in the Asian parliament, a man well respected and well connected, he was the leader of the Newtonian tribe in and out of the chamber, and had recently been promoted to the position of Education Minister. If only he wasn’t so focused on the future, and not so against the past which he said only served to illustrate the desperate need for Newtonians to move forward and plan for a separate future. Isolationism, he called it. He could not see any purpose, any benefit in an integrated society. The Adonites, he said were too fatalistic and the Deists too optimistic, only the Newtonians were sensibly approaching the cataclysmic consequences of the war.

Slowly moving away from the living room, 3 thought of his two best friends, Veena, an Adonite and Joshua, a Deist. How his father frowned on that triumvirate of comradeship, as if it were a pollutant causing irreparable psychological damage to his son. Why couldn’t all three tribes carry on living in harmony as they had done since the end of the war? Why not face the challenges of the future together?

Continuing down the hall, 3 passed the kitchen where his mother was preparing breakfast. Surely not all Newtonians are isolationists like my father, he thought. There must be others like my mother and myself who want to continue a symbiotic relationship with the other two tribes, but what use was that when the council was determined to press ahead with its plans regardless of any opposition from within the tribe or from without. The young Newtonian didn’t actually know whether there was any real opposition within the tribe, he only hoped there was, and on certain days like today it was a very faint hope indeed.

Joshua, Veena, and 3 had a great time at school, sitting together in classes and during meal breaks, where they spoke of their differences sometimes seriously, other times in jest but never with bitterness. Despite the external pressure from peers and society in general, there was no thought in their young minds that they should continue to be anything but the best of friends. However outside of school, contact was limited to e-mail and telephone and 3 was not able to do either of these while his father was at home-fortunately not very often. Nor was Veena, whose father was also a member of Asia’s parliament, a Senator like his dad, allowed to contact her friends. The irony of their two children being the best of friends was not lost on 3 or Veena, while at the same time being a source of shame and irritation to their prominent fathers. In fact 3 had recently heard rumors around the campus that there was a push to close the school; the last mixed school in Mumbai, the capital city of the Earth’s most populous and powerful nation: India.

Only the dread of having to suffer through another of his father’s lectures prevented 3 from asking if the rumor was true. If anyone knew for sure if it was going to happen, as a leader of the education council, his father would be one of just a handful of men and women who did.

‘Mum,’ said 3, gliding into the kitchen.

Turning around quickly she said, ‘Hush, where’s your father?’

‘Swimming in the living room. You don’t mind if we talk, do you?’

‘No,’ she said, smiling, ‘I kind of like it. It must be such fun for you to be able to voice with your friends at school.’

He scratched his nose and played with the buttons of his shirt. ‘That’s what I wanted to ask you about actually.’

Sensing the serious tone in her son’s voice, 2 rotated her hoverchair to face him.

‘Has dad said anything about our school being closed down?’

‘He,’ she hesitated, and 3 noticed her uncertainty, ‘He says it’s almost a done deal. He’s been pushing hard for years now and has finally gathered enough support among the other councilors to go ahead. Of course he is the education minister.’

Keeping his eyes fixed on the liquid floor, 3 felt a surge of anger in his veins and his head began to ache again. ‘It’s not fair, mum. It’s just not fair.’

Wisely, his mother tried a change of subject to attempt to calm him, ‘What about your dream? Did you want to tell me about it?’ she said. But he turned abruptly and left the room talking to himself. She tried to project a warning to him to stop voicing, but he was so angry she could not penetrate his thoughts.

In the bathroom, 3 looked at his image in the mirror and cursed. His head, a little large for his body, its shape oval yet triangular, narrowing at the forehead. Eyes wide-spaced, under no eyebrows and long lashes, nose flattened, mouth too wide. As far as Newtonians could be attractive he probably looked all right, but how would any girl ever find him attractive? How would a particular Adonite girl desire this ugliness? If he was to be forced into single tribe education then it probably wouldn’t matter anymore. Obviously looks would play no part in the partnering of Newtonians, but he desperately wanted to stay in mixed schooling. Of course there was no hope of him ever partnering with a girl from another tribe but so much of a teenage boy’s world was fantasy, and 3 was no different. He burned with passion for his friend, the goddess, Veena.

Washed and changed, 3 remained sullen during breakfast. His parents would not read his thoughts but they knew he was upset because he ignored their attempts to communicate. He chewed slowly and deliberately in silence. Looking at his dad he felt a wave of rage rushing forth again and hoped his father would not react to it.

He probably doesn’t even want to have breakfast this way anymore, thought 3. Too old fashioned this eating food business, we should do away with it all and just take pills and enhanced liquid nutrients. How boring, how pathetic! What kind of bland and pleasureless future were his father and his friends in high places going to take us to? Realizing his father might be listening even though he wasn’t supposed to, 3 left the breakfast table and declared he was going to school early.

Why? from his father.

I want to, replied 3 without further effort to explain.

He packed his school bag and left without saying goodbye to his parents, still angry and frustrated, yet glad to be out of the house and glad that his headache had disappeared to leave him in peace for a while at least. Until its next cruel assault.