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Humankind's Redemption: Volume Two - The Utopia
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Humankind's Redemption: Volume Two - The Utopia |
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fractal007 Senior Member
since 2000-06-01
Posts 1958 |
Here it is, as promised. It's a bit of a remake of an older story I did in grade ten. It might not be as good as volume one, but that's because I had to adhere to more of a plotline that had already been set in place, rather than just experience the story as I wrote it. The World Edward Tailor stood in front of his bathroom mirror, ruminating over the fleeting images left from a night of still, yet cacophonous sleep. He stared into his face, looking at the tanned skin and weathered eyes. He could hear nothing, save for the blood rushing through his head and the quiet thoughts of one descendinding from the real world. His thoughts were a mixture of sadness and thankfulness. He watched without concentration, as his face slowly went darker in the mirror. Everything was going dark and he was lost in a sea of tingly nothingness. He tightly closed his eyes and reopened them to find that everything he saw was once again normal. He looked away from the mirror and at his watch. He still had fifteen minutes. He saw something strange in his reflection on his watch. There was some sort of large swolen area on his forehead. Edward Tailor looked back toward the mirror and saw nothing more than his own face. Maintainance John Shire stood on the ground craft apron and watched his fellow crewmen recieve their orders. Each was assigned to check and verify different sections of the City's ancient underground tunnels. Some were assigned to the sewege tunnels, while others were given the task of seeing to it that the latest com software was present in each of the millions of data panels located throughout the tunnel system. Shire waited for his assignment. "Shire," Desrig, the maintainance officer for Compound eight, said. "Number 36815475. You are tasked with repairing the underground water reservoir at grid reference 2000-6-13." That was rather deep. Shire was quite qualified for the job, nonetheless. Lately, he had been given assignments that took him down very deep into the depths of the city. Perhaps has would be promoted soon to the rank of supervisor. The maintainance officer bade them farewell, as each climbed into his own ground craft. As he climbed into his craft, Shire thought about the rather long journey ahead of him. The grid reference he'd been given was at least nine kilometres down and another 320 kilometres to the west. He looked at the map of Utopia on the central Multi-Functional Display screen on his forward control panel. Its great circular shape glowed before him, with a detailed layout of all the various underground pipes and conduites. Shire punched up grid reference 2000-6-13, and watched as the screen stopped displaying the two-dimensional layout of Utopia, and instead showed a complex three-dimensional image, which moved about as the computer oriented it so that it displayed the exact location of the reference. It was right near the western wall of the city, and was probably some backup reservoir dating all the way back to the building of the city. It would take at least an hour for Shire to reach it. However, he enjoyed these long runs because they gave him a great deal of peace and quiet. The only noise he'd hear would be the comforting hum of his ground craft's engine. Chandelier Lisa Evans grabbed her suitcase as the elevator door opened for her. She stepped into it, finding that no one else was preasant inside it. The door closed and she was instructed by the building computer's voice emulation engine to specify a floor. She entered twenty-nine, the floor on which she dutifully played the role of assistant chief administrator for the Historical Department for the city of Utopia. Stepping out of the elevator, she entered the main foyer of the Administration floor. All of the walls of the pentagonally shaped area were decorated with various artifacts, such as large urns, columns, stone tablets, and embelleshed doors leading to various rooms. From the cieling hung the magnificant chandelier that had been recovered from the wreck of a ship called the Titan. Lisa walked toward the administration room. She stood in front of the door as the computer scanned her to confirm her identity. The door opened. She walked into the room beyond. Few people looked up from their various tasks to notice her. The room had two levels. The lower level was for the various word processing secrataries and clerks, whose job it was to ensure that the right information was sent to the press for the printing of various historical documents and pamphlets. The upper level held the administrative staff, including Lisa. It was transparent, so that administrators could always be assured that no one on the lower level committed any offenses. The upper level could be accessed with two transparent hydrolically operated lifts, which were stationed in the middle of the room. Lisa stood on one of the lifts and was brought to the second level. There, she was greeted by Rob Barker, the Chief Administrator. "Glad you got here on time," He said. "We have a few things to sort out." They walked to Lisa's large desk, and she sat down. Barker continued, "Compound Nine keeps calling us about politically incorrect historical data in Compound two and how it's affected relations between the two." "What?" Lisa asked. "Why are they even relating with each other in the first place?" "That was my question," Barker said, sitting down at his desk, adjacent to Lisa's. "I told both parties that they should either accept that that was the way things took place, or else just stop communicating with each other - preferably the latter." Lisa didn't believe for a second that "that was the way things took place." The entire building and government in which she worked was an expert in administrative propaganda. "I want you to assemble a team of lawyers," Barker said, "and tell them of the situation and then instruct them to get representatives from Nine and Two together and tell them to either shut up or else stop talking to each other." "You got it," Lisa said, smiling. "Anything else?" "Yeah." Barker said. "See that guy at station 2?" Lisa looked down through the glass floor, to the desk marked 2. She looked back up at Barker, who said decicively, "Kill him." Centurion David Lance crouched behind the fence in front of house he was guarding on orders from the Military Council of Compound Three. He held his M-61 assault rifle readily and kept as low as possible. This was a routine mission for Lance. He was always being assigned to guard duty when things weren't heating up elsewhere. The City considered him to be among the best guards it had. Because of this, he was often given special assignments that took him into other compounds and areas of the city, rather than just a single grid square as was given to the majority of soldiers. Lance knew Utopia better than most people. Today things were rather easy going. In fact, in recent months, virtually no major incidents had taken place in Utopia. The city was, for the most part, a utopia. Lance had had to find action in the training grounds for the special guard units when he had spare time. His muscles would grow stiff and old as a result of such peaceful times. Luckily his friend Elos Barrovic was on maneuevres at the same time, driving his tank around the city, and so both could chat over the intercom system while they kept watch over each other's back through the City Guard's computer surveilance system. "Barrovic," Lance said quietly into his microphone, "What the hell would you be on maneuevres for at a time like this? The sun's out, for God's sake! Have some fun!" "Orders," came the response, "Don't want to let City Counsil down!" Lance knew Barrovic was being careful not to get too fecetious. The Utopian government periodically tapped communications to make sure nobody was up to anything. They talked on for a while, discussing everything from women to their latest kills. They never dared discuss the secrets they and so many others held. Breakthrough Shire drove the groud craft at a full speed of 300 kilometres per hour. He was only about two minutes from his destination. The computer display continued to revolve about the destination, highlighting his current position and the most efficient route. As he piloted the craft, he continued to think about those forbidden questions. Where had he and the rest of the people of Utopia come from? What was the Land of Death like? He remembered reading in a book that was later confiscated, that thousands of years ago the city had been built up on a large plateau in a desert somewhere, where it was always dark. But because of the grace of God, it had been lit while the surrounding land was left in cold darkness. He'd met someone not long after he'd lost the book, who'd told him that the city was once named New Jerusalem. It was the world that God gave mankind after the Battle of Armageddon. Shire felt the craft strike a rock somewhere on the lower surface of the maintainance tunnel. He was about to alert his fellow workers of the presence of an obstruction when he struck another rock. Soon, he found himself crashing into several rocks at a time. The craft lurched about and shire soon lost control. The guidance computer took over for a moment, and steered Shire to the right, where he entered another tunnel. The computer then returned control back to Shire. This is odd, Shire thought to himself. The tunnel Shire was in did not register on his map display. In fact, the computer showed him to be travelling through one of the foundation layers. This was not possible, as they were constructed of thick condensed rock and metal. As he drove on, he began to see light ahead of him and he had to shield his eyes. Upon reaching the end of the tunnel, Shire found himself in a world like none he'd ever seen before. He brought the craft to a halt and looked at his navigation display. It now no longer showed anything. He looked around him. Through the canopy window of the craft, he could see all sorts of green abominations. They swayed about as though dancing to some bizzare form of music. The ground was covered in a sickening green hair. Shire sat and got used to the whole sight of it. He could hear a gentle wind rushing past the canopy of his ground craft. He began to feel a strange peace. Despite the fact that those strange and horrifying abominations swayed about outside, he felt a sudden urge to open the canopy. After wrestling with the idea in his mind for some time, he finally pressed the canopy release switch, and the craft opened up. The air was like nothing he'd ever breathed. He felt an envigorating feeling that was virtually euphoric. Shire slowly stood up and looked down. All around him was this strange hair. The sky held the sun in a sea of blue like none Shire had ever seen before. Finally, he stepped out of the craft, and onto the surprisingly firm ground. Shire walked around a bit, looking at all the strange sights. He could even hear some things such as strange high pitched but gentle whistles. He turned around and saw something even stranger. It was a giant concrete wall that was at least 500 metres tall. Great dark tentacles covered in green appendages clinged to it. It took him a few minutes to realize what it was that he was looking at. John Shire was seeing the City of Utopia from the outside. He looked around himself again. He grabbed a tuft of the hair that stuck out of the ground. He ripped it out, expecting that the ground would lurch at him for even considering such an act. Nothing happened. Shire put the sample of hair into his pocket, and decided to try to drive back through the tunnel into the City again. Upon returning home after a less than peaceful drive, Shire claimed that he hadn't the correct tools with which to repair the reservoir. His superiors looked at him strangely and then sent another down to do the job. Suspect Lance, still crouching behind the fence in front of the house he'd been assigned to guard more than eight hours ago, was getting fed up. His legs were aching and he was getting extremely sleepy. Suddenly, his radio beeped and Barrovic said, "We got a live one!" Lance felt a sudden surge of relief. It was about time. "Some guy went nuts a while ago and now he's headed for the historical complex from the east, in a ground craft." Lance heard Barrovic say. Luckily, the historical complex was no more than five minutes away from him. "What's with him?" Lance asked. "Claims he's found the Land of Death," Barrovic responded. This was just what they'd been waiting for. Lance knew that if he and Barrovic could capture the man alive, they could get some information to help them in their cause. It would also alleviate the need for the rest of the City Guard to know about it and kill him. Lance jumped over the fence, ignoring the occasional "hey!" from civilians in the area who'd come to expect him to guard them with his life. After running a ways, Lance took position in front of the historical complex. He crouched on the ground on the western side of the statue of Albert Einstein, the famous historian. Holding his gun at ready, Lance radioed to Barrovic, "In position. Where the hell are you?" "Behind you," Barrovic said on the radio, just as Lance heard the rumbling engine of the tank. Barrovic pulled the tank in beside Lance, in front of the historical complex. He opened the dorsal hatch on top of the cannon turret, and poked his head through. "Where is this guy?" Lance asked. "I dunno, but--" Barrovic was cut off as several bullets zinged agross the surface of the tank. "Get in!" "What?" Lance asked, he threw himself behind the tank to avoid another volley of bullets. "Get the arse in here!" Barrovic yelled. Lance climbed up onto the tank and jumped inside the hatch. Barrovic then slammed it shut just as several more bullets zinged across it. "Now what?" Lance asked. "I dunno," Barrovic said, as he started driving. "When you get a clear shot, shoot him." "Who?" Lance asked. "The guy that's right on us now. I see him on the display." Lance looked at the visual display to see several people behind them brandishing guns. They occasionally fired them into the air, or else at the tank. Lance climbed up toward the hatch again, but was lurched away as the tank smashed into something. He looked down to see that the displays indicated that Barrovic had run into a garbage disposal unit. Lance made another go of trying to climb up to the hatch. This time he succeeded. He opened it quickly and took aim. He fired several shots at the crowd, but to no avail. "What the hell?" Lance heard a civilian yell as he came from the historical building. Lance dropped back into the tank. "I can't get a clear shot," he said. "Hang on," Barrovic said, "There's our guy." Lance looked at the display to see a land craft coming toward them. "Hang on," Lance said, as he climbed back up toward the hatch. "Keep me on him." Barrovic did his best to keep the tank following the land craft. Lance aimed his assault rifle at the craft's engine. He knew that a few short bursts to the turbofan would cut it up enough so as to render it ineffective. He fired, and scored a direct hit. The craft began to slow down, as smoke poured from its engine. "What the hell are you doing?" Lance heard Barrovic yell from inside the tank. Lance ignored him, and jumped out from the tank, firing a few bursts of gunfire at the mob as it came around the corner. He could hear them shouting various things regarding their intense desire to kill and mame the insane man who made his stupid claims. Lance felt a swift rush of air, as the cannon on the tank swung around above his head to point toward the crowd. It pointed down and fired a hole right in front of them. The shockwave from the blast knocked an angry and annoyed Lance over. The crowd dispersed sufficiently for Lance to scramble back to his feet and grab Shire out of the land craft and drag him back into the tank. Shire was amazed that the soldiers hadn't killed him yet, but instead crippled his land craft. He was probably going to be tortured and then killed later, instead. "Sit down and shut up," Barrovic ordered Shire. "Now what?" Lance asked. "We take him to the funny farm," Barrovic said. "He'll be safe there." "Safe?" Shire asked amazed. "What are you trying to accomplish?" "Shut up!" Lance and Barrovic said in unison. Barrovic drove the tank onward, toward the Utopia correctional facility. Lance felt the tank lurch, as it ran into the side of one of the statues of Abraham Lincoln, another famous historian, in front of the historical complex. "Dammit!" Lance yelled. "Do you have to run into every dang thing on the road?" "It wasn't on the road," Barrovic said. Edward Edward Tailor stepped out of his Representative's office and walked down the hallway of the fifty-first floor of the City of Utopia's governmental administration complex. The hallway, although well lit, was rather drab and featureless. Doors with service numbers lined it, but nothing else did. It was completely white. The floor was extremely shiny and pristine. He walked down to the very end of the long hallway, and entered the elevator at the end. The entirety of the inside of the elevator was covered in a plaid of varying reds and blacks. The only light was provided by a small chandelier above him. Tailor said, "Main," when the computer asked him to specify a destination. Upon stepping out, Tailor found several people mingling about. A vast black marble coloured receptionist desk sat at his right. It was cluttered with all sorts of papers, most likely momorandums from various officials working in the building. He walked up to the desk and asked for any relevant messages for him. The receptionist reported that there were none. It would be a uneventful evening for Tailor. This was perfect for what he and the others had planned. He smiled at the receptionist, who vaguely returned the gesture, and then he left the building. Stepping out onto the evening street, Tailor took in the fresh air. He then walked toward his car, which was parked not far from where he'd just exited. Upon entering the vehicle, he started the engine and drove away, for his rendezvous in Compound 2. As he drove, he noticed a tank following behind him. He was afraid the he'd been caught, until a man poked his head out of the dorsal entry hatch and waved cautiously. It was David Lance, one of his associates. Tailor blinked his breaklights three times, indicating that there was to be a meeting of their clandestine group. Lance climbed back into the hatch and closed it. Lisa Lisa drove her car toward the rendezvous in Compound 2. The drive was uneventful, but she could not get the image of that dying executive out of her mind. She'd shot him in the back of the head and, while he'd died almost instantly, the blood still surged from the massive blast hole for quite some time. This was the third time she'd had to personally see to it that a rebellious employee was properly dealt with. What bothered her the most about the whole thing was not the fact that it might be her who was next. Rather, what bothered her was the fact that she'd sworn to the rest of her group that she would never kill anyone. Now, she had three dispicable acts to hide from her caring and trusting friends. She stepped out of the vehicle and walked quickly toward the old building. Upon entering it, she found the large wooden table that she and her friends shared discussions around, and sat down, waiting. The Inner Chambers Shire sat in his new home, a cell in the Compound 8 Correctional Facility. He'd been given a nine month sentence there for psychological evaluation and treatment of delusional schitzophranic disorder. After he'd been dropped off by the soldiers, he'd been given food and then asked to read the City's Charter of Peace several times. Shire laid down in his bed. He looked at the floor in the room. Artificial light from outside poured in through the single window and cast a constant square on the floor. Occasionally, the square would be broken up by the shadow of someone walking past. Sometimes he could hear faint murmers of passers by talking amongst themselves. The room itself was quite bare. There was a small stall containing a toilet in the corner farthest from Shire, while a small desk leaned against the wall opposite the bed. The ceiling was smooth and almost shiny. Shire had spent most of the day sitting on his bed and thinking. He had given up the sample of hair to the authorities, and he had no idea what had become of it. Shire had ruminated on the events leading up to the whole predicament he was in, and now realized that none of it was his fault. He just had to be taken care of by the City. Utopia could not have citizens who were demented. It could not have citizens who were defiant. Shire drifted off into a deep sleep. There was a repetitive sound. He could not quite understand what caused the sound. A small light flooded the room with a pale white glow. The sound grew in intensity and clarity. Finally, he recognized it: "Don't wake up. Don't wake up. Don't wake up. Don't wake up. Don't wake up." It never stopped, and it never changed. It flooded the entire room. There was no way to escape from it. The dull light began to grow steadily brighter. He couldn't pinpoint the source of it. He felt his arms and legs clasped in a cold metal. He could see nothing of his cell. Something lowered closer to his face and body. The light grew steadily brighter. The sound, the voice, invaded his every being and mind. "Don't wake up. Don't wake up. Don't wake up." He felt a strange pressure on his cheak. He could feel pressure about his entire body, coupled with strange sensations. The cold metal seemed to be both outside and inside of his body. At times he felt it coursing through his heart and spine, while at other times he could feel it pressing against his chest and neck. He heard a moaning sound, which grew in intensity. It invaded his mind while at the same time assaulted his ears. He felt a slight pressure inside his forehead. It grew in intensity, as the cocauphonous moanings and voices continued to beat and rain down on him. The pressure grew further and became increasingly painful as the moanings and voices continued. "Don't wake up. Don't wake up. Don't wake up." John Shire's screams of insanity could be heard throughout the building. Meeting Once Tailor, Barrovic and Lance arrived, they began the meeting. Now seated at the table, Tailor began the meeting by saying, "Now, I understand from reports that a man was discovered who claimed to have found the Land of Death." "Yeah," Lance said, "Barrovic and I brought him in ourselves. He's safe in the mental joint." "Hm..." Tailor said. "Can we pick him up? I'd like to see this land of death for myself." Tailor was still rather skeptical of Shire's claims. Several people had come forward in the past claiming to have found passageways that led to strange lands and places. The thing that kept Tailor interested in this, however skeptical he was, was the fact that this was the first time in recorded history that someone had actually dared to claim the he'd found the Land of Death, much less that it was as life-filled as Shire had said it was. "He brought this back," Lisa said, putting her hand in her pocket and retrieving a small amount of the ‘hair' she'd been given to examine after it had been confiscated from Shire. She brought it out and placed it on the table. "What the hell is that?" Barrovic said. "We don't know," Lisa said, "This John Shire guy claimed to have found it growing everywhere on the ground in the Land of Death." By now the sample was growing old and worn out. It had been handled by so many people and subjected to so many tests that much of the hairs now had holes throughout its surface. "And the time capsule?" Tailor asked. "Has he had any dreams?" "None," Lisa said. The government of Utopia said nothing about the Genetic Time Capsule that had been injected into many of the founding father's cells. However, much of the Utopian Government was divided over the issue. Parts of it wanted to try to improve the time capsule to make a modified human race, while other parts wanted to destroy the carriers of the genes completely. The whole thing was a problem that the City had been secretly wrestling with for as long as anyone could remember. Every member of Tailor's clandestine group had experienced the dreams associated with the time capsule. Sometimes at night they would see horrifying images of the last seconds in a strange world, before it was completely obliterated. Other times they would see subtle nuances in their dreams or thoughts. None of them dared to come forward and tell anyone. Thus, it took some time for the group to form and get the four members it had. "That doesn't mean anything," Barrovic said, "Looking for a guy in this whole city who's experienced the dreams, let alone trying to figure out if our guy experiences them is a pretty pointless idea." Everyone nodded in agreement. The fact was that, right now, it did not matter whether Shire had the dreams, nor was it possible to assertain whether he had them in the first place. He would probably lie. "We have to get him out of there then," Lisa said, "So he can show us how to get there." "We could riot," Lance said. "What?" Tailor asked, throwing Lance a critical glare. "Well," Lance said, "we could just set up a huge diversion and convince the civilians that the soldiers are corrupt, or that the government is. I mean, you're the mouthpiece of the whole operation. They believe you. Then all we'd have to do is find that Shire guy and get out of the city fast." Tailor considered it for a while. "I agree with him," Lisa said. "It's the only way to do this without looking too suspicious. Then Lance and Barrovic could just run in there and grab John Shire..." Riot The next day, Tailor took position in the main announcement box for the city and activated the speakerphones. He knew he'd lose his job, not to mention a good portion of his chances of living much longer, in the process. Lisa had already arranged for Lance and Barrovic to be transferred to Compound 8 for patrol of the Correctional Facility, after a rather lengthy process of negotiations, claiming that the current officers who were there were becoming a nuisance to the civilians in the area. "My beloved citizens of Utopia!" Tailor began excitedly, in his usual fashion. The entire city cheered at their government's great voice. It was good to hear the voice of security and protection once again. "Today we embark upon a new day." Once more, the cheers rose from every place in the gigantic city. "But we've a small problem. It seems our soldiers are unable to protect you. A man has gotten together a band of thugs and drugged them." The cheering stopped, and was instead replaced by the sounds of uncertain questions in many different languages. "That's right! The opportunity is yours! Defend yourselves! Prove your worth as citizens of great Utopia. Soldiers, protect yourselves. Anyone amongst you could be an enemy. Oh! It's terrible. You've got to leave the streets immediately!" The citizens, loving their Government so, obeyed on the spot, grabbing anything they could to clobber the now evil and corrupt soldiers. "That's right!" Tailor yelled, "Put the fear of God into these fools!" Riots broke out throughout the city. Tailor immediately left the announcement box and headed for his car. Upon entering it, he threw it into gear and drove straight for Compound eight. No one took notice of him, as they were too busy killing each other instead. Exodus Upon reaching the compound, Tailor quickly found the Correctional facility, despite the large crowds of people on the street. "Come on!" Lance yelled, dragging Shire with him. Barrovic followed closely behind, with two assault rifles in hand, which he fired off into the air, to continue to provoke rioting and fear. They climbed into Tailor's car and drove for the maintainance ground craft apron on which Shire was based. They left the car and were each able to steal a ground craft without anyone taking notice. They heard various scraps and bangs as they entered the tunnel and headed for the ancient exit Shire had discovered. Now they could relax for a time. The journey was rather uneventful, as no one bothered to track them down because of all of the disturbances on the surface. Shire slowed his ground craft to a halt, as did the others. He stepped out of the craft, much to the amazement of Barrovic, who looked onward. All around, the hair that Shire had found could be seen. Barrovic opened the canopy of his craft, as did Lisa and Lance. They stepped out and explored the area. They walked up to the wall of Utopia. There was a gold plate with an inscription on it every ten metres along the wall. They all read the same: City of Utopia Founded by Gen. M Markof, USMC Grace Be to the Planners The Land of Death is No More In all their curiosity, they forgot about Tailor. He was not with them. Lisa walked back to the land crafts. The others, trailing close behind her, heard her whisper, "God!" and begin to cry. Tailor's craft's computer had been set to auto-pilot, with orders to match speed with the others, and the canopy had been smashed. Inside the seat of the craft was Tailor's limp body, with its head head shattered. Lance and Barrovic turned away to hide their emotions. Lisa walked briskly away. Shire looked at the body, horrified. He saw a small metal object implanted at the top of Tailor's brainstem. He pulled it out to examine it more closely. Nothing was written on it, but he thought he heard something strange coming from the object. Shire held it close to his ear. It produced a moaning sound that Shire found frighteningly familiar. "If history is to change, let it change. If the world is to be destroyed, so be it. If my fate is to die, I must simply laugh" |
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