The Past Page 4
An evermore VanWest opens his Moggle X to map out a new shortcut, re-calibrating its settings to give him a faster finishing time. It returns a shorter path, albeit with an extremely high possibility of death, Fatality Risk 95%, 00:11:00. But it still too much time if he wants to win! He’s going to need an upgrade.
His skirmish may not have been entirely fruitless, he rips Chromes’s sleek jetpack from his shoulders. It could shave off ten whole minutes. His Moggle X automatically re-calibrates as he throws it over his shoulders, showing Fatality Risk 95%, 00:01:00. He could still win but it would be a miracle. Undeterred, he switches the controls to manual and powers forward.
Thrusting the joystick from side to side, he accelerates through the dense debris field, adroitly manoeuvring around each rock with his quick reactions. His mind is now purely focused on keeping the Games trophy from the Red team’s Space Soldiers. HE MUST WIN!
Despite the white wall of light, the finish line being so close, his luck could have finally run out as a rock fragment catches - thwack - the back of his helmet, throwing his head violently forward. The superior composition of the Hubert family-sponsored helmet saving him from decapitation, he can feel moisture trickling down his neck. His eyes start to narrow, and his vision blurs, with the jetpack still propelling him forward he drifts into unconsciousness.
VanWest finds himself in a lab in an incubator labelled Van der Westhuizen, A1, where a bald man with big green eyes smiles down at him. The shaking of a rattle causes him to chuckle loudly, but the light starts to fade.
He finds himself somewhere new, sitting on a purple mat in a large white room, rolling a blue plastic ball back and forth with a toddler. The same bald-headed man from before, wearing the same white lab coat, catches the ball. There’s an electroneedle in his hands, still smiling, he comes over to take VanWest’s arm, pricking it as he shuts his eyes and screams.
Re-opening them, he is now under a stairwell gazing happily at a young girl, she can be no more than 12 years old. Her eyes a piercing electric blue and her hair frizzy and jet-black, she leans over to give him a peck on the cheek but a loud - creak - stops them still. Her smile disappears, hurriedly she gives him a big hug before the door slides open. An angry grey-haired woman dressed in a blue matron uniform scowls at them before pulling the girl out by her ear. The girl screams and tries to resist, kicking and punching in an attempt to getaway but cannot. In the commotion, her necklace snaps and her pendant falls to the floor. He tries to give chase, but as he does so, an intense white light replaces the scene.
The room changes to something quite alien and not of this time: there’s a conference room with rows of tables covered in white cloth and a bunch of men dressed in what must be mid-20th-century style business suits, listening intensely into bulky headsets that cover their ears. In front of the men are flags belonging to long dissolved nations, most prominent is the one with a white cross against a red background.
The scene changes dramatically once again, to that of a white sandy beach. A wondrous sight, the moon’s light refracts off crystal blue waves that crash along the shoreline.
But it does not last long, the sound of the waves replaced by another noise, his name ‘VanWest’ chanted over and over, it crescendos until he awakens back on the course. He has drifted back into consciousness.
He looks around in disbelief, somehow he has survived the debris field and is only meters away from the finish line. The shortcut has worked. The Red Space Soldier now trails too far behind to catch up.
The announcer hails his arrival with an equal level of disbelief and excitement, ‘Citizens! Citizens! A first-time entrant with starting odds of 150-1, yes 150-1, is on course to be the winner of the Universal Games’ trophy. Praise the Universal! Never in the history of the Games has this happened. Praise the Universal’!
‘Salve the Universal’! The citizens hail.
In front of VanWest is victory and the zenith of any Enforcer’s career: Elite status. As he approaches the home straight, his image broadcasts triumphantly from the surrounding holoscreens. Enchanting young women dressed in Roman tunics, their red and blonde hair braided in cornrows, shower him with real flower petals, so very rare in the year 3000, a befitting gift.
The captivating women are meant to be the Vestal virgin priestesses, guardians of the fire of Vesta, the Goddess of the Hearth and Home in Roman times. A virgin God dedicated to serving the God of Jupiter, as seen in the statue at the start of the course. For the Universal Council, she represents domestic tranquillity and servitude. A homemaker that keeps society in balance and an important example for its female citizens to follow.
The priestesses’ flower petals float around him as he passes through the white light, welcoming him into a large rococo chamber adorned with Romanesque granite statues of old and new Universal Council members. VanWest has arrived at the temple known as Universalis Domum de Praeterito, the chamber of the Universal Council.
‘Welcome, VanWest’!
The citizens go silent as a bald man, with a long white goatee and dark brown eyes appears on the stage. He is dressed in a shimmering opal toga and wears a golden leafed corona. VanWest recognises him instantly, it is the highest-ranking Elite of them all, the immortal Head of the Universal Council, Dr King. He holds aloft an ornate red and blue coloured trophy that is spherical in shape. It is inscribed with the Enforcer motto and the second commandment, Pro Progressio Hominis et Universales.
A loud cheer breaks the silence as the surrounding walls shift and four Elites step forward, men that VanWest knows all too well. Four-star General Vladimir of the Space Army, Dr Minus Schuurman the Head of Science, Commissioner Ming the Head of the Police Forces, the Enforcers and Inspectors, and the Blue team’s base commander, Colonel Cornelius. The Colonel looks immensely pleased, and definitely a little surprised.
They stand proudly with their chins high, each wrapped in their own ceremonial toga and green-leafed corona. VanWest instinctively responds to his masters with a low bow, deferring to them his utmost respect and subservience.
Tooo-tooo-tooo-toom! Conical bronze tubas play a low-pitched sound, signalling for all those watching to quieten down as Dr King steps forward, ‘Captain VanWest, congratulations on your marvellous achievement. Lest I need to say, you have beaten the odds and shown incredible strength and resolve. Your win is for the progression of man and the Universal. And I, therefore, present to you the greatest prize, the Universal Red and Blue Games Trophy’.
After a small pause, he instructs, ‘Remove your helmet and hold the trophy high, in the name of the Universal. All praise’!
Prompting the citizens to respond, once again, ‘Salve the Universal’!
VanWest removes his helmet only to find his hands covered in blood. Nevertheless, he takes the trophy from Dr King. But, as he tries to lift it up, his vision begins to blur and the room to spin. Clank! It falls from his hands as he loses his footing and collapses onto the marble floor, unconscious. The floor is no longer marble; the white sand has returned. Before him is the shoreline and wondrous blue sea. A shiny object lies not too far away, refracting the moon’s light. Partly covered, it seems out of place, compelling him to pull it out. It’s a large sheet of metal, charred at its tip. Wiping away the sand grains, he finds the letters ENDEA. As he tries to make sense of it, a heavy gust of wind blows through.
The wind sucks up the sand, lifting it up like a tornado to unmask a structure beneath, a charred and twisted wreck with small black wings on each side. There’s a peculiar smell of burning rubber and metal. Covering his face instinctively, smoke starts to rise from within. Suddenly flames shoot out, engulfing the wreck and turning it into a raging inferno. Howls of pain follow, accompanied by loud pounding, the chilling sound of human fists slamming against metal. The noise and flames dissipate as quickly as they came.
Replacing it with an even more horrific sight, that of badly burnt bodies. The frizzy jet-black haired woman from earlier is there too, she kneels beside them, her fac
e obscured. Her hair is similar also to that of the little girl under the stairs. The woman holds a circular device, it’s an old type of Corrupter, a long-banned tool used by rebels to, as the name suggests, corrupt electronic equipment.
Waaahhhh! A siren blares, two vehicles are fast approaching, red coloured fire engines not of the year 3000, they belong to another time: the late 20th century. The bright white light returns and causes him to shield his eyes once more. Re-opening them, the wreck and fire engines are gone, replaced by an altogether different scene, with it a feeling of calm and happiness.
He stands on a deck overlooking the water, the frizzy-haired woman is there. Her face still obscured, she gently rows a wooden boat towards him. In his arms, he finds himself holding a small child, who waves enthusiastically at the woman. She waves back but then the scene fades. A voice calls out his name ‘VanWest, VanWest… wake up, wake up’.
Chapter 4 The Doctor Knows
VanWest rouses from his sleep. His head heavy and numb, he knows not if he is still dreaming. Across the windowless room, the prettiest woman he has ever seen stares at him intensely. Her eyes a most captivating electric blue, her hair frizzy and jet black. On her index finger is a bluish-green emerald ring and she wears a nurse’s uniform with a circular nametag: Universal Nurse Rose.
‘Hello VanWest’! She welcomes him warmly as if greeting a long-lost friend. Calling forward a silver-plated medical robot, who rumbles towards his bed, rhythmically beeping, to present a flat stainless-steel tray filled with multi-coloured capsules.
Attempting to sit up, he finds himself held back by the straps tied around his bruised wrists. Looking at Nurse Rose in confusion, she points to the ceiling above him. He’s connected to a Schuurman Reporter Monitor (SRM). Unlike conventional hospital monitors, it does more than just observe one’s vital signs - it reads one’s memories and thoughts. Originally designed to aid medical staff in nursing their patients back to health, the Universal Council’s Inspectors have long since used the SMR for a much darker purpose. Not only to interrogate prisoners, but too their own forces, to check that their Enforcers’ minds remain uncorrupted and free of devious thoughts.
For this reason, many Enforcers fear to get injured as it often results in them being assigned a prolonged stay in a re-educational institute. Seeing this, VanWest starts to realise he is no longer dreaming, this is all very real.
He asks her, in a stutter, ‘Where am I… I’?
Looking over her shoulder, the answer is right in front of him, in large black letters a sign reads Rehabilitation Ward B. In a clearer voice he asks another question, ‘Ward B. Why am I here’?
‘Please relax. You have been in and out of consciousness, only waking to make claims. Claims about’, she stops herself from explaining further.
The woman deactivates the SMR, before adding, ‘You were transferred here for recovery’. She then takes a few blue capsules from the tray and dissolves them in a beaker of water, and loosens his restraints.
VanWest has heard enough disturbing tales about Ward B to know that this is not just a re-education and rehabilitation ward. There are stories of the Universal Council sending officials, academics, and others deemed delusional here for ‘rehabilitation’ only to not be seen again. The most notorious of being the Elite and former Head of Science for the Universal Council, Dr Isaac VonHelmann. Sent for observation on the grounds of insanity, earning him the moniker ‘Mad Newton’.
One of only a few to have left Ward B, Barys once told him in confidence, that he left, well escaped, unaided from this place. The Universal Council reported a very different take at the time: a deviant cult called the Utopians had kidnapped him, doing unspeakable acts to convert him to their crazy religion, and brainwashed him.
Ward B is very secluded, situated inside a forbidden for Enforcers section of the Asclepius medical complex. One of the four main areas of the Universal Council’s moon base - the others being the Enforcer academy, the Universal Senate offices and Schuurman’s Research lab, the latter also forbidden to Enforcers. On the moon, there are few human settlements with the nearest civilisation located at the small domed trading post called Clavius Crater, some 500 miles away. Purposely built to be far-removed from Antarctica’s citizens, it serves as a well-isolated place for members of the Universal Council to meet. All those within carefully monitored.
Helping VanWest to take a sip and swallow a capsule, what she says next startles him. ‘This should help hide what I am about to tell you’.
‘Hide’!? VanWest asks her with a perplexed look, Universal personnel do not hide anything. For him, the deactivating of an SRM and this word ‘hide’ is alarming, these are displays of abnormal and deviant behaviour.
The nurse switches the holoscreen on, which automatically plays its only channel, a propaganda piece on the Universal Red and Blue Games. It’s showing Dr King parading the trophy with blue confetti lights flickering all around. The citizens cheer as he holds a man’s arm aloft on the parade float. But there is something very creepy about it.
‘What’!? A shocked VanWest sees that this man looks just like himself. It IS him! The man is wearing a blue ceremonial toga, triumphantly waving and shouting the same word over and over again, ‘Universal, Universal, Universal’!
VanWest rubs his eyes in disbelief, he says aloud, ‘This cannot be me’!
He doesn’t recall being there. The location, listed in the bottom right-hand corner, Queen Elizabeth, Antarctic, is a place that he has never even visited before. He has never even been to the capital!
In the year 3000, Queen Elizabeth is Earth’s most populous settlement. This once British territory’s name originates from the early 21st century, to honour their then longest-reigning and much-loved monarch Queen Elizabeth II. For once upon a time this land was an unpolluted icy world, pristine and void of humans, teeming with fish stocks. This land, twice the size of their home, the United Kingdom, became a magnet for waves of immigrants as continents nearer the equator became uninhabitable. It reached its peak population by the 25th century.
Much cooler and less polluted at the time, Antarctica was the only place where humans could survive above ground, at least for long periods. With the rise of the Universal Council, the United Kingdom ceded sovereignty. Nevertheless, its history and accomplishments remain remembered and even revered. So much so that Dr King choose not to change its name.
With the Universal Red and Blue Games serving as an important propaganda tool, a showcase of the Universal Council’s might, this parade could not be missed. It would be an ignominious event, a humiliation if so. It would not be too farfetched that a stand-in, a visual trick has been used to make the citizens believe it was actually him there.
‘Is that me’? VanWest quizzes the nurse.
Before she can answer, the room starts to shake, there must be a ship landing. Its vibrations are so strong it causes the robot’s tray to drop, spilling and scattering the remaining multi-coloured capsules across the concrete floor.
Nurse Rose goes slightly pale, her forehead frowning as she hurries to lock the metal door, turning to warn him, ‘They are watching, you are never alone. Your memories of the past, the truth, have been blocked, tampered with. VanWest, the Universal Council is evil. They have and will lie to you, use you, and then destroy you’.
‘What do you mean? Who are you’? He asks in a bewildered voice.
‘VanWest, they must not know our conversation took place, do not let them into your mind. Block them! Otherwise, our lives will be in danger. For many years, we tried to protect you, but this evil now knows too much’.
‘Have we met before? … I feel we have, who are you’? He asks her desperately.
The woman wraps her soft and long-fingered hand around his pendant and leans over to give him a peck on his forehead, her lips warm and soft, leaving a faint smell of lavender perfume over him.
She edges towards the holoscreen, which changes to black and whispers a poem.
“Hope” is t
he thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all
Boom! There’s a knock on the door. Placing her hand inside the screen, she glazes back at him lovingly, mouthing the words ‘Till we meet again’.
Boom! There’s another heavy thump against the locked door as she disappears inside. Boom! A third, heavier, knock unlocks the door and throws it wide open. A large man in a dark black Enforcer uniform and black peaked cap marches in. It is his base commander, the Elite Colonel Cornelius! Two-armed patrol androids follow the Colonel through the door, their faces even less human-like than those of the Space Soldiers, bearing synthetic skin and beady stolid eyes. These Elite patrol androids make no pretence of being human. Their strange metallic arms double up as heavy elongated plasma guns, they reach to twice their own height. More advanced models than those found in the settlements, they only serve the top Elites and the Universal Council.
‘Captain VanWest, our monitor detected that you had awoken. Perfect timing for there is an important meeting for us to attend’, the Colonel informs him seemingly oblivious that Nurse Rose was just here.
Never one for pleasantries and before VanWest can reply, one of the patrol androids marches over to his bed, breaking his constraints before brutishly throwing him to the floor by his ankles. Only to then lift him back to his feet and lead him, dressed in his medical gown, into a long cold corridor. He’s barefoot, virtually naked, and void of his bionic upgrades. The only item his own is tied around his neck, his amber stone pendant.
He follows the Colonel past a series of mirrored panels, each of, which reflects his own dishevelled appearance - a scruffy, unshaven man with bloodshot grey eyes. The hall is nearly pitch-black except for the dim glow of the security lights. His mind races as he ponders his fate, wary of what lies at the end of this lowly lit and eerily quiet corridor.