INTRODUCTION
Everything was
normal.
The last contact
with base was over 5 hours ago, but everything was normal.
Traveda sat in
his room, if he could call it a room. He
could call it a cubicle but it was more than that at least. Either way, it was currently his home, and he
was comfortable. Because everything was
normal.
Drunsfer was in
the navigation pod. The last few hours
had been extremely tiring, and it was Traveda’s shift but he hadn’t come
yet. Drunsfer wished he could just call
him. But then, that wouldn’t be
normal.
A screen, just a
little over twice the size of his palm, if you could call it a palm, was all
that told him of the realm outside. But
it was enough. Drunsfer was the best
navigator they had had in a long time.
In the upper right corner of the screen he could see a faint cluster of
twinkling stars, the Frivula constellation.
It was too early in the rotational cycle for the constellation to be
properly made out. Right now it was
identifiable as it was the only visible group of stars huddled together. The sight brought back memories.
He was young again,
wild and care-free. Wait till you’re my age, his father always warned him, I’ll have the last laugh! But he would roll off to the hills
nearby, his friends always waiting.
Wordlessly they would begin rolling down the hills, the only sound that
of dust rising up in whirlies in their wake.
Hurang always beat him, but that was okay because he liked Hurang. He often felt the urge to talk to him, but
then, that wasn’t normal, it never was.
A steady
beep-beep brought Drunsfer back to the present.
He focused on his locator and entered the correct algorithms. The beep-beep ceased. He returned to his memories.
Young, wild, and
care-free. And brilliant. His father was the first to notice. Both by the questions he posed and by his
answers to questions posed to him. He
was quick, insightful, and creative.
With encouragement from his parents he opted to specialize in
inter-planetary transportation. By his
time students specialized not in fields of study, but rather in the field of
activity they wanted to pursue. Hurang
had taken intra-city crime control, and would have to study a vast array of
subjects from sociology, psychology, bio-economics, and even
psychohistory. Drunsfer himself had to
study architecture, mechanical control, astronomy, optics, and space sensory to
name a few.
The
specialization tore his friend circle apart.
They were flung to far ends of the solar system, and Drunsfer himself
had to keep traveling from planet to planet.
This usually meant that he could meet a friend if he happened to land on
his planet. Hurang was in Jilavat, the
largest of the outer worlds, and Drunsfer often had to visit the Navigation
Techniques Knowledge
Imparting Center
in the suburbs of Jilavat. More than
that he always looked forward to meeting Hurang.
The beep-beep
brought him back again, it was louder this time, and required more than just
the algorithms. Drunsfer frowned, if you
could call it frowning, at his screen.
The algorithms should have worked, and the beep-beep should not have
come again. Obviously something was
attracting the ship, but what was it?
Before he could figure that out Traveda rolled in. Drunsfer removed the navigator’s visor and
placed it in the pouch next to the screen.
Wordlessly he left the pod, and Traveda took over.
BEGINNING
Was he about to talk to me? Traveda
wondered. No, he wouldn’t do that, it
isn’t normal. But is Drunsfer normal? He
shook his appendage and focused his attention onto the screen. Drunsfer had obviously entered the
algorithms, but the siren hadn’t turned off.
Why? Traveda initiated the interactive algorithm
interface. The ship was detecting a high
gravity region in the far left. On his
screen he saw it in the upper left corner.
He knew his orders, and set the course for encounter. When he assured himself that everything was
normal, he began to roll around the pod lazily, and went back to the time he
first met Drunsfer.
Both of them
were under the same Instruction Algorithm, along with 5 others. Drunsfer was brightest one of them. Traveda often thought that was because he was
silent beyond the vocals. His visual organs were silent themselves, he
thought.But while Drunsfer was studying inter-planetary transportation,
Traveda was in the field of body detection, preparing himself to be an expert
in detecting and identifying bodies in the skies. Of course, the first and easiest task was to
identify the Frivula constellation. It
was sacred to his people since times immemorial. Teaching a young child about it wasn’t
normal, but many parents did that anyways.
Traveda’s parents did not, and he learnt about Frivula when he began his
high studies. Drunsfer on the other hand
already knew about it, from his parents obviously. But one could not just ask him so it remained
technically a mystery.
A low hum cut
through his memories. Traveda checked
the gravometer, Such immense
gravity? What inhabits this region? He checked the co-ordinates. It would take another 2 hours for them to be
near enough to make observations. The
memories came back to him.
The first time
he saw Drunsfer, Traveda went through an inferiority complex. Drunsfer was built as the ideal. His motor limbs were perfectly curved, and
even the texture of the scales was exquisite.
When he rolled the light gleamed off his scales in such an impressive
manner that any one watching would be bedazzled. His active limbs gave off the typical
Askanian pearlescent hue. If only
Drunsfer himself was more interested in the other sex, he would be the object
of even more envy. But it was his
visuals that stood out the most. Anyone
who had looked into them found both an echo and complete silence in them. The echo was of the despair they all felt as
a culture stagnated, and the silence was that of an acceptance of idler times. Drunsfer was the perfect Askanian. But he wasn’t normal.
The first time
they saw that was when he emitted what was unmistakably a derisive noise at the
Instruction Algorithm. Complete silence
was mandatory, but here was a young brilliant mind doing just the
opposite. Traveda and the others were
scandalized. It took some intense string
pulling by Drunsfer’s father for him to be allowed back to instructions.
The second time,
Drunsfer would have been expelled outright had anyone else seen what he was up
to. But Traveda was the only witness,
and what could he do? Moreover he didn’t
want to get Drunsfer into trouble.
Drunsfer might have been weird but he was likeable, and inspiring. Viewing the Frivula with the naked visuals
was forbidden, it was Sacred Law. Only
when the priests gave you the Viewer after the Initiation could you view it,
through that. But Drunsfer did not care. Traveda caught him staring directly at the
Frivula, all Sacred Law forgotten. Even then he looked as if he may have said
something. Traveda shook his head as
if to cast off any influence he may have gathered from the recalcitrant. He checked his time counter; an hour had
elapsed since he last computed the co-ordinates. But the indicator said that the high gravity
region was still 4 hours 57 minutes away!
What is going on?
HISTORIES
While Traveda
was in the navigation pod, Drunsfer was resting in his private
room-cubicle. Both the ship’s
inhabitants had identical room-cubicles.
A single supporter was placed in the corner, which was for sleeping, if
you could call it sleeping. A set of
computers inhabited the opposite corner, holding any piece of information ever
known to the Askanians that the user would want to access. One side of the wall was completely
reflective. Drunsfer would often be
mesmerized by his own gleaming reflection.
But Hurang, his gleam would put
even me to shame. Opposite to this
wall was the energy releaser. With his
scales pulled in, Drunsfer only had to wash himself with the liquid it
dispensed to feel re-energised. Directly
above the releaser was a time counter, which would tell him when it was his
shift again.
Drunsfer’s calm
composure at this moment was in direct contrast to the atmosphere in the
navigation pod. Traveda, champion
detector, was at a loss as to what was happening. Only 3 minutes elapsed towards the body while
his time counter showed that 60 minutes had.
He knew what this meant, that the region was of very high gravity
indeed. Time itself was slowing
down. If it wasn’t for the time counter,
star invention of the Mechanisms Balancing Team back on Askania, Traveda
wouldn’t even know that time was being dilated.
But his knowledge ended there.
Nothing he had ever heard about or encountered ever dilated time to such
a large degree. He racked his brains for
the probables. It could not be a star,
the region was completely devoid of any waves of light. Neither was the Gravity Manipulation Project
conducting operations in this sector.
Wave-emitters, those highly dense bodies that had been discovered only a
few rotational cycles ago, did not bend gravity so much. So what
was causing this? Without realizing
it, Traveda was rolling around in that characteristic wavy route that indicated
the disturbed state of an Askanian.
Drunsfer turned
on his computer. He wanted to rest but
something was troubling him. As he
recalled his first view, taken without permission, of the Frivula, he felt the
same feeling wash over him. It was as if
all energy was rushing at him, tides of atoms breaking upon him like an angry
wave. Then the consciousness came that
someone was watching him. The wave
receded just as quickly it appeared to come.
He felt a semblance of normality.
But the look in Traveda’s visuals brought fear beyond what he ever
felt. What would he do? Would he tell
anyone? No, he can’t, that’s forbidden
too. Traveda never did do
anything. But Drunsfer felt it had more
to do with their bond, rather than the Sacred Law and its ways. Over the next few phases they grew closer, an
invisible thread connecting their mental make-up. That was what made them apply to the same
ship. But that feeling, of the
atom-wave, was coming to him now the moment he would shut off his visuals. Drunsfer was overwhelmed; he needed to check
on something.
Traveda’s
agitation increased when he caught himself wishing he could talk to Drunsfer
about this situation. I am beginning to think like he does. How could I even think of talking? The rolling became increasingly
wavy. But why is this so? Why can’t we
talk? He went back to his sessions
with the Sacred Law Algorithm. Long ago,
over centuries of generations ago, the Askanians did talk. They talked about everything: the weather,
the crime rate, the excursions beyond their own atmosphere, and the future of
their children. But no one Askanian
agreed with the other on anything. The
more they talked the more they quarreled.
Leaders would quarrel among themselves, creating a ruckus that left
everyone annoyed. Parents would quarrel,
with each other and with their children.
Even priests would quarrel, either over mates or over energy rights. There came a point when all you could hear,
if you were spared from a quarrel of your own, was the steady, droning buzz of
quarrels all around you. Production
decreased, scientific advances slowed down, and birth rates fell. Then the algorithms interrupted. Algo-One, the Master Algorithm, commanded
that no more talking would take place at all.
It was to be added to the Sacred Law.
He had computed sub-algorithms of his own, looking for a solution for
the buzz of Askanian quarrel, and this was his command. There was no questioning the command of an
algorithm, they were supreme.
It did not
happen overnight; the priests had a hard time sticking to it themselves, let
alone the rest. But the quarrels
ceased. The buzz was gone. The resultant silence seemed completely
new! Was
it silent like this before? All
asked. None were sure, they couldn’t
remember. But they were convinced of the
power of silence. How productive they
could be, if they did not waste time in talking! They could concentrate totally on their
tasks, no distractions. Over generations
it became so that all knew that talking wasn’t normal. It was against the Sacred Law, and nothing
against the Sacred Law could ever be normal.
Of course,
language did not die out. Communication
was still ever important, but it was restricted to only written
communication. It did not take time for
the Askanians to realize that quarrels conducted over a written medium were a
huge waste of time and temper. It
happened more than often that an Askanian was in a rage over something but by
the time his rival would write down an attack or counter-attack the rage had
subsided. But the need for written
communication ensured that young Askanians were taught the language, and so no
one ever forgot that there was a time when they spoke the very words they wrote.
Mon Jul 16, 2007 10:34 pm