You’d think I’m guilty, but…

Now I don’t know whether what I did classifies as backstabbing or not, so don’t judge me yet. I mean, I do feel guilty now I’ve done it, but now, what’s done is done, right? And the ends justify the means, right? So I got nothing to lose at all. Well I guess it will be easier for you to judge me if I actually told you what had happened. There, why’d I have to say-‘judge me’? Don’t judge me, just listen.

It all started a couple of weeks ago, when I got this notification on our hostel notice board that a fairy-tale writing competition was about to happen. Everyone was supposed to write a short story titled – Redemption. The first prize was a thousand bucks – that’s a month’s rent, even after I’ve paid your tabs. How ‘bout a beer on the house, now? No? Okay.

Anyways, I’ve been writing fiction ever since I was a little boy, see? Don’t be judging me from what you’re hearing now, this is because I’m nervous it’s not all coming out straight. I tore off the notice, not to cut competition, but just to keep myself motivated, seeing it when I wake up and all that.

I remember keeping the piece of paper on my writing desk.  And when I woke up, it was gone! Later it turned out that Jack had it. Can you believe it? Jack, just goes off picking up stuff from my table, not bothering to ask. Oh, who’s Jack? He’s my roommate. Me and him had been living on this hostel  for about three months now. I brought him here once; he never paid for that beer. He’s a wannabe writer. Writes screenplays, and has got rejection mails littered across half the room. Sure I didn’t get published, but that’s because the publishers don’t really understand my talent. But his stories, well, let me tell you, are pure scanydoodle. Picks up a bit from Hemingway, a bit from Faulkner, and tries to pass them off as his ‘style’.

So anyway, he stole my notice. The notice I had stolen you say, okay fine, have it your way. He steals the ‘stolen’ notice, and makes this preposterous decision, that he will enter the contest, too. And he said we could review each other’s work. I agreed of course, just to be polite.

The next day, we were brainstorming plots. We split the elements, so he ended up having Dragons, Elves and Trolls, while I had Dwarves, Humans, and Orcs. We didn’t want to use the same creatures, you see, because thought we’d have the same theme then. So anyways, I started off with the epic fight between Humans and Orcs the first day. At night, we swapped our copies, and peer-reviewed. It turned out that he had also started off with a battle, between Elves and Dragons. So I thought, since both of us are having the same approach, may be a lot more of other writers would write ‘bout the same stuff. So I started all over again in day two. I took the Orcs’ point of view – no one sympathizes with Orcs, and that’s plain sad. I mean, they might get hungry for Human meat, right? You know, like humans need to eat meat for vitamin B-12, and so on. So Orcs might have a similar problem. Jack seemed to like by idea, but he stuck to his theme, same good Elf versus bad Dragon. I thought we’d hold off peer review till the stories are done.

Then came the day of submission. Jack had to go home for his sister’s wedding, and I had to mail both of the stories. But before posting, I fell into the dilemma. What if his story was better? I read it, and re-read it, and you know, the story kept feeling better than mine. Well I was actually trying to imagine myself as a critique reading the story. So his idea seemed more mainstream, and more coherent. You know, elves fighting with dragons does have a familiar tinge to it, right? And who’d heard of good Orcs, I mean, my Orcs weren’t even good. Some of them were cannibals, and when will humanity accept cannibalism? Don’t give me that look, it’s just the story I’m talking about. I’m not crazy. And give me a shot of tequila.

So at the last moment, I feel really guilty admitting this, but I have to, you know, I swapped the stories. In my defense, I think I would’ve written a mainstream story as well, if he hadn’t. And firstly, he wasn’t even supposed to know about the contest. He stole the notification from me, right? Had I written the Elf story, mine would’ve been the same thing – same twists, same theme, same creatures. And mine would even have been even better.

So anyways, here’s the outcome. The result came yesterday by mail. Dear contestant, we are happy to inform you that you are our winner –and that shit. But here’s the dilemma, see, I won! So what’s the catch? Nothing, except that it was my story that won – the Orc and Human one. Turns out that the judge had an open mind, after all. After Jack showed me the letter, I was astonished to say the least, and I didn’t know whether I’d laugh or cry. So I did the bold thing now. I told him what I did. I told him I did it by mistake, of course, and by God, it’s the worst mistake of my life, I admit it. But you know what he did? He packed up and left. He won’t even listen to me now, because he knows, deep down, that I’m right.

Just today, I learnt that he is getting an offer from Bloomsbury, for a novel. They really bought into that orc idea. So who do you think is the betrayer here: me, him, or just my luck?

 

Image: http://learningtolivelikewaterblog.com/2015/11/09/fb-shocker/

Science fiction story: Where my children grow (Part 5 (END))

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

Part 3 here

Part 4 here

In the gathering that followed, he looked around for George, but could not find him anywhere. May, the woman he had seen George talk with, approached him instead. They talked for about half an hour. It turned out that she had an ancestry of farmers. Claud thought it safe to tell her about the flower that stared at him.

“First time with sunflowers, eh?” she asked him, smiling.

He nodded.

“Don’t worry, what you’re working with is what they call a Watcher. It’s locking onto your infra-red radiation, some distinct frequency you emit. Nothing to worry about.” she waived it off.

Claud could not express the enormous sense of relief that he felt. He laughed at himself for worrying. Even if the flower was an anomaly, what harm could it possibly do?

Right before entering his dome, the guard told him that George was diagnosed with the cabin fever and was sent on leave. But he had passed him his eBook reader.

#

A wave of emotions hit him as he returned to his duties. George being sent off so close to retirement was more unnerving than the fear of cabin fever itself. He erased all his logs from the digipad, as if they would somehow incriminate him with something that would get him fired. He did not dare open the reader, as looking at it drew up a sense of guilt in him that he could not while away. For some time, he considered if he should quit while he was still young.

But then he looked at the field of young sunflowers. He could not leave them. After spending so much time with them, the sunflowers were a part of him now, and he could not part from them until they were grown. It was something beyond the contract he had signed with the company. It was something the company would never understand.

He tried to divert his angst by working extra hard. A cloudy weather outside gave him the opportunity, and he spent the next few weeks adjusting and optimizing the lighting system.

He paid more attention to the watcher now. To his dismay, he found that the plant was noticeably thinner than the others.

One bad plant in an entire batch was not an issue of concern, but he could not shrug it off. He recalled his lessons from his training year, and tried different fertilizers, pesticides, clipping dead parts, but the plant did not change. The shoot bent, and the leaves sagged. But still, it continued its daily routine of staring at him. The petals were adopting a greenish hue, and the leave turned black slowly.

He had a couple of weeks left in his shift, but he was a man possessed. He knew that George was an avid reader and a keen farmer. So he went through his reader. It had a book on plant development, and he went through all the details he thought relevant.

Sunflowers need a lot of water. Apart from the sprinklers working thrice a day, he watered the plant himself.

Rots. They can spread from leaf to leaf. He clipped off leaves that showed the smallest sighs of rotting.

But the plant was dying. Leaves were falling every day.

Magnesium. A lack of it would cause yellowing of leaves. But they seemed to be turning black, and continued to fall. Nevertheless, he applied a magnesium reach mix into the soil.

He wished he had more time.

#

 

The last day of work arrived much sooner than he had expected, and before he knew it, he was tidying up his cubicle and packing his backpack. He made sure all his logs were deleted from the digipad, hoping no one had read them in the meantime. He had no intention of giving the authority a reason to fire him.

He put his sunglasses on and climbed out of his cubicle. The sunflower plants were in full bloom, but he had eyes for only one. The plant was standing a little taller, and a couple of green leaves were beginning to form among the remains of the wilted, blackened shoot. In his last few minutes, he sucked up the extra water from the soil around it, and put in a support rod to straighten it. But it was all he could do.

He went up slowly to the station. The train was already there. Martha was standing inside the compartment, smiling. She had gained a few pounds in the last months and did not look stressed, which meant the baby was healthy. Bob, who was wearing a pair of sunglasses too big for his eyes, ran up to him and wrapped his arms around him in a strong hug. There was no sign of any illness. Claud patted him on the back and tussled his hair. They sat on the same bench, his arm wrapped around Martha, and Bob on his lap. He looked outside, and just as the train turned and the domes were out of sight, the image of a small plant with two tiny leaves upon a black shoot flashed in his memory. A sigh escaped him, and he hugged Bob tighter.

 

END

Image: http://www.dreamstime.com

Science fiction story: Where my children grow (Part 4)

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

Part 3 here

The first week passed like a breeze. A water pipe had broken, and he had to spend a better part of the week trying to fix it. He had to redirect water from other sources to water that section of saplings He had checked their colour and texture against a chart given in his pad, and they seemed to be perfect so far. But there was a long way to go. The plants had been growing rapidly, developing large, rough petals that were grainy to the fingers. They somehow had the same texture as the bottom of Bob’s feet when he was a toddler. He loved it when he tickled them.

There was nothing special to mark the weekends except for the arrival of mail. The pads had to be connected to a network modem, and emails and other necessary documents were downloaded into them. One of the emails had a picture of Bob waving at the camera, with a mango in his hand. He did not look sick, but seemed to have grown thinner. He wondered if the doctors had diagnosed him well. He tried to remember how often Bob was ill in the four months he was home. A couple of times he had the flu, but that was it. Maybe he had nothing to worry.

The picture of Bob smiling took him back years ago, to his school days. He remembered the ghetto he had grown in – the broken roads that got patched up with mud during the rainy season, seasonal outbreaks of diarrhoea, the leaking roof of the house, his parents arguing.

He had been a good student, and wanted to be a doctor. But even with a scholarship, the fee at the medical school was too high for his father to pay. He could have been a contractor, but decided that farming had better benefits. The pay package was good enough for his family to rent a small flat and send Bob to a good school. With the savings, and the provident fund, he supposed he could send Bob off to medical school. If he managed to complete his twenty years of service, he would get a small house at the city border, away from the pollution and hustle of the crowds. His children would grow up in a better place than he did, and have a much brighter future. It was not a bad choice, even though it meant he had to spend half the year away from his family.

#

In the second week in, he began to get bored. The job was routine, with all of the equipment working properly. There was a standard issue deck of cards in his room, and he tried to play solitaire. He thought about George’s suggestion and started writing his first journal entry.

He thought he would write about the sunflowers and his day to day activities, but he realized that he was writing about his life – his first love, his unfulfilled dreams, and his hopes. He had started writing at ten o clock at night, but when he stopped, it was past twelve. He went through the notes, and realized that he must have had written twelve pages.

#

The first signs of cabin fever began to show themselves near the end of the third week. He was watering the plants in one of the sections manually. He was thinking about what he would eat in the next gathering, when he realized that he was talking to himself aloud. He stopped immediately and looked around. If the company decided he was unfit for work, it would be the end of his health insurance, school for Bob, and the small house at the edge of the city.

One of the plants in the section had started to grow a premature bud. He wondered if regular sunflowers could grow this fast. He checked his pad for the details, but found nothing that suggested they were genetically altered. The company and its secrets, he thought.

The next gathering was uneventful. He thanked George for sending his family the fruits. But he kept his conversations short, partly because he was too embarrassed for asking for his reader, and partly because he had not forgiven him for not giving it to him. George did not seem to notice; he was too occupied with chatting with his mates, and laughing, perhaps a little too often, and a little too loudly.

#

It was another three weeks before he noticed the oddity. The flowers had started to bloom – large, yellow ray florets surrounding black, tiny, circular ones. The flowers kept facing the light tube at the centre of the room during daytime, and at night, they faced the floor. With the floor, the wall and part of the ceiling carpeted with the black yellow flowers, it was quite a lovely sight.

He had been spending the weeks immersing himself with his work, obsessing with the tiniest details of the plants: a slight change in the texture, a slight wilt, a spot on the leaves. He did not want to let any hint of abnormality escape him. So when he found a little yellow flower staring at him instead of the centre of the room, he was startled indeed.

At first, he thought the flower was facing a random spot in the room instead of the light source. But soon, he realized that if he stayed at any particular point in the room for long, the flower turned to face him. Upon close inspection, it seemed no different from the others, except for the orientation of the flower. He recalled it being the same flower that had formed buds before all the rest. He spent an uneasy night that day, with nightmares where he was getting strangled by vines.

The days that followed were the longest he had spent. He thought of cutting the flower off. But it was illegal to snip off flowers unless they were infected. He thought of twisting the flower off to another direction, but chances were that it would break again. He thought of sending a message to his supervisors, but somehow, did not think that being afraid of a flower would be good for his career.

So he waited. The plant seemed to be ordinary in every other aspect, perhaps a bit frailer than the others, if he looked closely. No. He would wait. He did not even include it in his journal, no telling if the company was keeping an eye on it. No. He just had to wait.

(To be continued)

Image: http://www.dreamstime.com/royalty-free-stock-photos-futuristic-greenhouse-desert-image19167208

Science fiction story: Where my children grow (Part 3)

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

When he woke up, the clock said it was 2 am. He was perhaps more tired than he had realized. He decided he would take the soil samples on the next day. He climbed out of his room, and put on his mask. As there was no photosynthesis going on during the night, the oxygen levels inside the dome dropped.

Without the sunlight passing through the light catcher, the Dome felt eerily dark. Bluish specks of light scattered throughout the wall – distorted images of stars focused by the light catcher. He took a closer look at the saplings. Two large cotyledons had sprouted from each, and the plants bent down slightly in the absence of sun. After a brief walk through the greenhouse, he went back to his room and fell asleep.

His digipad said that there would be a ‘gathering’ the next day. That was something to look forward to.

#

The gathering took place once a month. It was an act of socialization for the farmers, and did them well after months of isolation. He woke up early the next day, prepared himself, and waited patiently by the entrance. The door opened, and a guard took him to the dining room. Although the farmers were given a modest ration every day, food during the gathering was looked forward to. Tables of buffets were lined up in the middle of the room. There was a small kitchenette for those who liked to cook. People were already helping themselves. He spotted George sitting among a bunch of unfamiliar faces. There was a woman talking to him.

He picked up some sausages and egg, a glass of orange juice, and took a seat at their table.

“Claud,” George said with a smile. “Long time. How’s the Missus?”

“Martha’s fine.” Claud said, nodding curtly to the others. The woman left the table to get more food.

“Where did they hook you up to, this time?” George asked.

“Sunflowers.”

“Lucky bastard. Four months to freedom. You know how long I’ve been stuck? Five months, with six more to go,” George huffed.

“They are paying you thrice as much.” A man from across the table said.

“They are trying to break me. That’s what they are trying to do,” George said. ”One bout of cabin fever, and I’m through. But they won’t get me, though. I’ve got just a year left.”

There was a murmur of agreement. They discussed about how many of the farmers could actually get to the retirement age. It turned out to be a handful of lucky ones. An open secret in the company was that more got fired than retired. But the benefit package was worth the fight.

The conversation shifted to the living conditions of most of the farmers. The city was getting more crowded every year, with no sign of population control. Most of them lived in shared flats. Less people, less consumers, less profit, someone commented. Everyone seemed to agree that large corporations were behind everything that was wrong in the world. Claud did not voice his opinion. Who knew when they were being listened to?

In the midst of the conversation, he told George about Bob’s illness, and if he could manage some tropical fruits, and George assured him that he would send some over.

They spent the rest of the afternoon playing billiards. When it was time to return, Claud remembered about the eBook reader. He was hesitant to ask, with George already helping him with the fruits. But when they were shaking before parting their ways, he blurted out,

“I need your eBook reader.”

George gave a visible shudder.

“What am I supposed to do, then?”

“I really need it, George. I forgot mine.”

“No doubt about that. But I can’t part with mine. I’ll be crazy by the end of the week,” George said. “Relax. It’s your first month. Put in a request for a reader. They’d clear it soon. The first month’s the easiest. You’ll get something by then. Play solitaire, write a journal.”

He left before Claud could say anything more.

Claud could not blame him. He had already been here for five months. The monotony would get to him faster than it would anyone else. In fact, he felt ashamed that he had asked for it in the first place.

In his last hour in the dining hall, he checked his emails. Bob’s fever was gone, which was a thing of relief. He arranged with the pharmacy to ship off some medicine to his family.

There was some more routine detox session before he could enter his dome again. He spent the remainder of his day collecting soil samples and testing their mineral content.

(To be continued)

Image: http://www.dreamstime.com/royalty-free-stock-photos-futuristic-greenhouse-desert-image19167208

Science fiction story: Where my children grow (Part 1)

Claud looked out the window at the densely packed array of buildings that wheezed by as the train moved forward. The city: an overly dense, gloomy, dingy assortment of apartments that he called home. The scenery was going to change after the next stop. The agricultural district was almost here. He sighed.

Martha gave his hand a slight squeeze. “Don’t worry. It’ll be over in no time.”

He raised his eyebrows, still looking outside. The train turned, buildings gave way to a blue patch of sky. It was clear without a hint of cloud.

“It’s not me I am worried about.” He said.

He thought about Bob – how his hands clutched the teddy bear as he slept. He had insisted that he was woken up when Claud left. Claud wanted to say goodbye too, but had thought against it. There was no need to put the boy through any stress in his condition.

“Bobby’s going to be better in no time. The doctors think it’s just a fever,” Martha said, sensing his worry.

“Yeah, that’s what they said about old man Bill. I don’t trust these community doctors. Take him to a private clinic, okay? They pay more attention.”

“Bill was sixty five,” Martha said, her voice firm, “And Bob’s going to be fine.”

“Don’t get the antibiotics from Ronny’s. I’ll get them from our company pharmacy. I can use my insurance, and the batch will be fresh. Ronny sells expired stuff. We won’t get that nonsense in the company store.”

Martha nodded and passed him the prescription.

“We still owe Matt fifty bucks.”

Martha was smiling now. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything. You just focus on what you have to do the next few months.”

“The next four months.” Claud’s expression darkened. Four wasn’t few. Not where he was going. He thought of his little flat. The small bedroom. The dining table with the plastic fruit bowl they had brought the previous year. Bob’s little room with his heap of toys and his desktop. Bob sleeping with one of his legs hanging out from the bed. Martha knitting a sweater by the heater. It would be six months before he saw all that again. Actually, he would never see any of it again. The fruit bowl would probably disappear. Bob would be at least an inch taller. The toys would disappear. Heck, Old man Bill had died when he was away. Why did he choose this life again?

“Try to send some tropical fruits if you can manage it. Bob likes them,” said Martha.

That was why. The promise of a better life. At least, bits and pieces of one.

“The orchards are ready for harvest. I’ll send over some lychees.”

“Bob likes mangoes.”

“You know how mangoes go by in the market? But I might get George to get me a couple. He owes me a favour.”

The train was beginning to slow down. Claud put on his sunglasses, and handed a pair to Martha. And not a second sooner, because a series of bright specks began to appear in the horizon as soon as they put them on. They increased in number as the train drew nearer, and soon, the train was passing through a line of tall, transparent towers, each gleaming in the sunlight. The temperature inside the train increased in the heat reflected from the towers – the Agro-domes. Beads of sweat appeared on Martha’s forehead.

“Is it this hot inside the domes?” She asked.

“Depends on what you are growing.” Claud said. Sometimes it was even hotter, if you were growing a tropical fruit.

There were few passengers left in the train now – all workers in the agricultural district. Claud began to see some familiar faces, but did not greet them. Most of them were busy saying goodbye to their families.

The train screeched to a stop.

Claud gave his wife a cursory hug before he got down. Only workers were authorized to alight at the stop.

“I should have said goodbye to Bob,” he said.

“No worries. Just come back safe and sound, okay?” Martha held a handkerchief to her face now. If it had not been for the sunglasses, he could probably see tears in her eyes.

It’s the hormones, he thought. Then he remembered.

“You take care of yourself, too. Don’t stress yourself too much,” he said. “With the baby on the way, you know.” He was not much of a talker. It was these emotional things that usually died before they got out of his mouth.

The door closed, and the train was going back the way it came. Claud looked at the shrivelling figure of his wife, and waved. Then he picked up his backpack and joined the crowd at the entry gate. He scanned his ID card in and entered the detox room.

The ‘shift’ was about to begin.

#

Detoxification was a long process. The workers had to enter a large bathing room at first, where they had to strip down and shower for an hour, with a company provided disinfectant soap. Then they dried off using a towel, and spent another hour at the desiccation room. Next, each worker was assigned a separate room for another level of washing, this time with chemicals depending on the crop they were going to tend. Different plants had different kind of pests – bacteria, viruses, and fungi that could affect them, and in the confined environment, even a single fungal spore could cause a catastrophe.

Finally, they were assigned their clean-suits, and given a digital pad with instructions on their duties. They were lead to the domes, where they had to spend the duration of their ‘shifts’, which could range from two to ten months, depending on the harvest.

When the door to the Dome opened, a gust of warm air flew in. Claud assumed it would be a tropical fruit orchard, from the temperature. He looked at his pad. He was wrong.

(To be continued)

Science fiction short story: Waiting for rain (Part 3/3)

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

The back of my neck heated up from the radiation from the chip. Suddenly, there was a faint “pop” of a fuse, and the images flooded into my head in a flash – my mother pouring hot sauce in my mouth, my mother making me kneel down facing the sun- only this time, I could see the woman’s face. It was not her. It was a different woman every time. And in a flash, the memories were gone, leaving a bitter taste in their wake.

My hand started to shiver from fatigue as I contacted my supervisor.

“Feeling better?” He asked.

“You are feeding me with false memories.” I wanted to sound angry, but my voice was that of despair.

He looked surprised for a second. But it was just for a second.

“It was only to help you,” he said, as a matter of factly.”It usually works. I guess it’s time we hire a new technician.”

I drew a deep breath to calm myself.

“I want to attend the funeral.”

“Do you see the weather outside? I am sorry. We can’t afford to lose anyone from the station now. We will arrange for a broadcast now in your screen.”

His image disappeared, and was replaced by a hologram of my mother in the cemetery. She was dressed in white. Her head looked strange without her hair. Her eyes were closed, and her face had a bluish tinge to it. I saw the laser being positioned over her. Someone was reading prayers aloud. A cold air rushed in through the open window, and I felt the surge of nostalgia hit me again. There was a beep and a flash. And the next instant, she was gone, blown away by the wind. My hands began to shiver again.

Suddenly, I knew what to do.

I entered the security code to lock my door; then I stuck my chair against the lock. I took a set of pliers, and wrenched open the chip from the back of my neck. A siren sounded somewhere. It was as if a curtain had been lifted from my eyes.

I opened all the windows, and let the stormy winds soak me.  And then I saw it.

I was lying on the bed, my head on mother’s lap. It was raining heavily outside. There was a clap of thunder, and I shivered. Mother caressed my hair, and said, “It’s okay. It’s okay.” Then she began to sing, the howling winds providing a backdrop for her voice. I hugged her, curling myself up in her warmth, feeling safer than I ever felt before.

The rain started. Cold water ran down my cheeks, mingled with the warmth of my tears. The overflow meter blinked again and again. Someone was trying to break the door. I just looked at the distant clouds, trying to see her face.

The End

Image: http://img.eltipografo.cl/media/2014/02/cerebro-humano.jpg

 

Science fiction short story: Waiting for rain (Part 2/3)

Part 1 here

“Grant Bliss access to the memory lobe. We might be able to alleviate your stress levels.”

“But I am fine.”

She crossed her arms. “Look, how do you think we can help you if you don’t let us ‘in’ to your head?”

I don’t want your help, I wanted to say, but the words that came out were

“How do I do that?”

“We will send it a technician to adjust the memory chip. And then…”

“Do it. Bye.” I pressed a button to end transmission.

Alleviate mental stress. Maybe that is what I needed. This intense sense of nostalgia as the cold mist splashed across my face, and the enormous emptiness that hit me every time I tried to remember… Words could not express the feeling. I crouched down to my knees on the velvet carpet. The hum from my chip was beginning to pierce my eardrums. I looked at the water level monitors again. One of the meter readings was dangerously close to critical.

Mother. She was hospitalized last year, diagnosed with stage three brain-cancer. She was comatose for the past month. I had only visited her once. I just didn’t have the time. Should I have visited her more? Had she woken up?

There was a ring at the door. I saw the technician waiting outside. He tapped at the sound-proof glass. The company made sure nobody was the least bit distracted. Before I opened the door, I touched my communicator, and the girl came up on the holographic monitor.

“Hello sir. The technician should be there in a… oh, he’s there at your door. “She pointed, smiling.

“My mother died this morning.” I told her.

“I am so sorry sir.” She said. She was no longer cheerful.

“You knew that, right?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything else I should know?”

“Nothing that you need to, sir.” She said.

“Please, tell me.”

She shuddered for the faintest of seconds.

“You mother had woken up. She wanted to speak to you.”

The company could not spare me the time. It was understandable. A couple of meaningless words from a dying mother to her son. It was understandable. The hum from the device was drilling into my head now.

I let the technician in. After the adjustments were made, I sat down on my chair, feeling quite all right for a while.

A bolt of lightning lit up the room, and a memory flashed before me. I was standing, naked on a tub. My mother sat in a chair in front of me. She had a remote in her hands. I could not see her face clearly, but she was saying something. She pressed the remote, and cold water sprayed from the shower, and I started to shiver.  I looked at her, but her face was hidden behind a veil of blurredness.

Another bolt of lightning, and I was back in my office. Was that a memory?

Another flash of memories hit me now. It was a cold night, and I was standing outside the house. I was crying and banging at the door. But she would not open it. The memory faded out in a while, but I could still taste the tears. But was it tears? No. My mouth felt bitter with hatred as I thought about how I hated the woman who died today. I realized now how much I loathed the woman – the woman who tortured me as a child for the slightest reasons, and…

NO!

Something cried out from the depth of my memories. That never happened! I clutched the handle of my chair and squeezed shut my eyes, trying to remember.

(To be continued)

Image: http://img.eltipografo.cl/media/2014/02/cerebro-humano.jpg

Science fiction short story: Waiting for rain (Part 1/3)

My mother passed away this morning. I had not heard the news until late afternoon.

I have a one hour break in work from 12 to 1 pm, when I have my lunch – a protein sandwich and a glass of clearlite. This is usually the best time of the day for me.  At the dose I take it, the drink soothes my nerves for exactly forty five minutes. I listen to Beethoven’s ninth symphony during this time, recline in my chair, and let my mind drift. Exactly at 1pm my break ends, and I return to my routine monitoring of water levels in district 8.

12.15 pm was the time when my thought-filter let the news pass into my brain. I must say, even with the latest brain-lobe-inhibitor-current-controller, or ‘Bliss’, as we call it, the news came as quite a shock. I felt a cool current surge across my heart, and my head sank into my hands. A minute later, I looked through my window at the beautiful scenic skyline. A dark gray effusion of clouds were taking over the sky, and from the movement of the trees, I could see that a gentle wind was flowing. Usually, Bliss could process these visuals to put my mind in a state of idyllic serenity. But today, it didn’t work.

The holographic screen at the center of my office turned on with a low hum, and the image of my supervisor came into focus.

“Mr. Carrey, I have just heard the news from the hospital. Are you all right?”

“I think so.” My head felt empty, yet strangely heavy.

“Our meters say that your Bliss chip is running at its current limits. We talked to the company’s tech-center, and they recommend letting it access your memory to help you feel better. “

“I am all right, really.”

“I’ll connect you to the company’s technical center. I am sure they can help you feel better.”

“I don’t think I need it. Thanks.”

“Contact me if you change your mind. Normally, the company does not allow leaves in the middle of the work week. But looking at the weather patterns, we need all men to be working at their peak levels. Yours is a critical position. We don’t want you to be distracted. We might have to flood the dam.”

“I know that, sir.”

The image disappeared. I looked at the clouds outside. They seemed to be spiraling and gathering above the reservoir. He is right. We might have to open one of the sluice gates. The last time we had an overflow, the company stock prices went down by twenty points overnight.

I should have felt anxious, but for some reason, I felt cheerful. I opened one of the glass panels, and a gust of misty, cold air swept across my face.A strange sense of nostalgia overwhelmed me. Something must have happened on a day like this. But I could not remember what it was. A sharp humming noise came from the Bliss chip at the back of my head. It intensified as I tried hard to remember.

I heard the familiar hum and looked at the holographic screen. It was a young woman. With her bob cut hair and her bright smile, she looked oddly cheerful.

“Sir, I am from the technical unit.” She said.

“I didn’t ask for assistance.”

“Our readings indicate that you have been exerting your Bliss its performance limits. Such action could prove hazardous to your health.” She said. “Moreover, it seems that you have tried to access memories that might worsen the state of your mind. Bliss has blocked access to those synapses for the time being.”

That’s why  I can’t  remember. I asked, “What do you recommend?”

(To be continued)

Image: http://img.eltipografo.cl/media/2014/02/cerebro-humano.jpg

How to land your spaceship – a sci-fi story (Part 4)

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

Part 3 here

Taking care not to waste too much air, he closed the airlock, and then moved outside. Jackson watched the man draw the cable to the largest asteroid in front of the ship. The rock was almost as large as the ship itself, and about half a kilometer away.  He saw Rajesh disappear for a while, and then he returned to the ship. He assumed Raj had tied one end of the cable to the ship, and the other to the asteroid. The snakelike cable line was wiggling between the giant masses.

“You wasted a lot of air.” Jackson said. The oxygen meter showed about one more hour’s worth of oxygen. The air lock had let a lot of air out. Breathable air. “Care to explain what you’re doing?”

“Watch and learn.” Rajesh came out of the suit, and then opened the oxygen cylinder. The oxygen level in the room rose a little. “We’ll need to stay up for as long as we can.”

Next, he pressed the ‘missiles’ button. Two missiles shot out, embedding them into the meteor. There was a silent explosion, and chunks of the asteroid flew in different directions. But for the most part, the asteroid did not budge.

“Let’s try that one more time.” Rajesh sent out two more.

“What are you trying to do exactly? It was more a shout than a question.

“I am breaking the asteroid into small chunks.” Rajesh kept firing away as he spoke. “some of the pieces move towards earth, and the others away from earth. we are tied to one of them. as long as we are tied to a piece that is big enough, or fast enough, we will be pulled along with it. Into earth, or away from it. either way, we are getting out of this mess.”

“Unless you miss, and we are still connected to the large piece of rock that won’t even move an inch.”

” Unless I miss, unless one chunk hits us in the cockpit, unless we crash into another piece of these shuorer bachchas. But at least, we die trying.”

Fire 1. Fire 2. Fire 3. Two missiles shot out and blasted parts of the giant rock at every launch. Huge chunks of rocks flew out in each burst, more away from earth than towards it. Was the asteroid moving? Fire 4. Fire 5. If it was, There was no visible signs. Jackson wiped his face, and looked at Rajesh. He was muttering curses under his breath.

“It’s not moving.” Said Rajesh.” And we are still connected to the asteroid.”

“How can all of these damned missiles miss?” Jackson said, as the feeling of utter hopelessness engulfed him. The oxygen meter had just over 30 minutes of oxygen left. A bundle of mining cable was floating around in the cockpit, and he had a sudden urge to strangle Rajesh with it. It would give him half an hour’s worth of life, but now, it seemed enough to kill for. The more he looked at Rajesh’s  face, the more his intention grew. He grabbed the bundle and held it tightly for a while. Then he threw it back, where it bounced off the wall, unwound, and then remained still in the weightlessness.

“It’s moving!” Rajesh cried out all of a sudden.

He saw it. Although the rock seemed to be still, the serpentine strand of rope connecting the two bodies was now straightening up, first slowly, then faster and faster. The rock was swerving towards earth. After a minute or two, they felt a gentle push in their seats as the wire stretched out. The ship had begun to move forward.

The unwound bundle of cables in the cockpit began to drift backwards and flattened when it hit the back wall with a soft thud. Jackson looked back, and Rajesh nudged him.

“What are you doing? Keep pressing ignition.”

He came back to the present again. He pressed the switch. No ignition. He pressed it again. Nothing. The pressure on their back was now increasing, as they accelerated towards Earth. They were out of the asteroid field, and the rock seemed to be heating up, which meant they had entered the atmosphere.

Rajesh was working with the steering, but nothing would work if the engine didn’t.  A brief second of panic entered Jackson’s mind as he thought he might have broken the ignition key just by hammering on it too many times, and he pressed the switch again and again. The oxygen came close to depletion, and both the astronauts gasped for air. Then it happened.

The engine hummed and a slow vibration spread through the cockpit.

“Steering, Rajesh!”

Rajesh veered the ship from its collision course. The cable snapped, and they were safely flying away from the rock, which was about to crash somewhere in the Antarctic Ocean.

“Prospector-51. You were undergoing radio silence for 18 hours. What happened?” The communicator was online.

“This is Rajesh Paniker, Captain of the ship reporting. Asking for permission to land.”

Jackson checked the oxygen level; it had risen to normal within minutes. From a viewing screen, he saw the rock splash into the water, sending ripples to every direction. He took a few snapshots with the ships camera, and sent it to mission control.

“What is that?” They asked.

“That’s an asteroid,” he smiled at Rajesh when he said it. “We just hitched a ride from it.”

The End

End

Image: spacewallpapers.org

How to land your spaceship – a sci-fi story (Part 2)

Part 1 here

“So, I think we might have a way to get us back on Earth.”

“Enlighten me.” Rajesh did not sound hopeful.

“How about this? We fire the missiles from one side, only, and then rotate the ship until it faces away from Earth, and then shoot missiles from both wings.  Newton’s third law. Missile goes front, we go back. That way, we’ll move in towards Earth. And once we’re away from these asteroids…”

“…the navigation starts working.” Rajesh finished the sentence and sat upright. “It just might work.”

They went through the weapons manual. Soon afterwards, they found that the   ship was hardwired to shoot two missiles at a time, so there was no way of rotating it. After all, the ship was designed for prospecting, not for war. Jackson checked through the manual twice, and then sighed. It really could not be this easy. There was a large asteroid behind the ship, erasing any chance of reversing their way out of the field.

It was hopeless– the thought hit Jackson at last. He had read somewhere that 60% of all accidents happen near the Earth’s atmosphere. All his dreams, and all the badges he would have earned… gone. And what good would they do? He thought. Rajesh had his fair share of successful missions, but he would have the same fate. Death by suffocation – about as inglorious as it could get.

Rajesh was looking out a window towards Earth, a look of mad longing in his eyes.

“Got a cutter?” He asked, startling Jackson out of his despair.

“Wire cutter? I think there’s one in the tool box.” He said, and Rajesh began to rummage through the tools. He found it.

“Any plans?”

“Yep.” Rajesh smiled for the first time. “I’m going to cut the wire of the launcher on the left. Then when we fire, only the right wing shoots, and we rotate clockwise.”

“Then how do we make it stop when it is facing the right direction?”

“We don’t. Once we start rotating I’ll solder the wire back again, so both missiles are operational. After a few rotations, we’ll figure out the right orientation, shoot, and launch ourselves backwards towards earth. As long as we aren’t off by a large angle, we’ll hit the earth’s atmosphere, and away from these asteroids. Then we’ll get back controls, communication, and land this bird.”

“Let’s do it!” Jackson jumped up.

Rajesh spent the next half an hour to find the correct wire to turn off missile control on the left wing, while Jackson, lacking a better job, looked out the left window and tried to memorize the pattern of the asteroid field. The rear view video and the guidance system were staticked out, so they would have to depend on their sense of direction to launch themselves backwards to Earth.

“We’re ready.” Rajesh said, emerging from the weapons bay.

They strapped themselves into their seats again, and Jackson hit the launch button. A missile shot out, and strangely, followed a curved path into one of the asteroids, splitting it into several large chunks. There was a gentle tug on their seat-belts. The ship was rotating slowly. Rajesh unfastened quickly, and hopped to the weapons bay again with a soldering iron. He returned after a few minutes. “I hope this does it,” he said.

“We shoot when the red star in the middle of those two asteroids is right in the middle of our view-screen. If all works, we land. If something goes wrong, we’re back to square one.” Jackson said.

“Except, with less oxygen.” Rajesh corrected him.

They stared into the multiplex glass as the star inched towards the middle of the screen. Time seemed to have frozen. Rajesh’s  forehead was covered up with perspiration, and Jackson’s fingers were gently caressing the ‘launch’ key.

Three inches.

Two inches.

One inch.

The spaceship suddenly shook violently, and the red star shot out from the screen. They felt a sudden tug to their right, and then another to their left. Something had hit the ship. Both the astronauts unfastened themselves again, and looked out the window. The ship was rotating again, but now about the wrong axis.

Rajesh was the first one to solve the mystery. He smacked his forehead, and sat down again, laughing.

“The asteroid that blew up. One of the pieces hit us.”

“This late?” Jackson found that very hard to believe.

“It didn’t come straight at us. Remember how the missile swerved. Must have been the magnetic field from the rocks. Our fragment got trapped in another asteroid’s field, went around it and hit us from a side. Ha! How about that!” He said, in mocking disbelief. He picked out a handkerchief, and wiped his forehead.

“Look.” Jackson said. ”We are still rotating, right? Maybe we’ll come across the right angle again.” But he was surprised himself by the sound of desperation that showed in his voice.

“Don’t count on it.” Rajesh fell back into a prolonged silence. He took up his daughter’s photo, a black and white screenshot he had printed from one of the printers, and stared at it. The toy, which was a little fat man with the head of an elephant, rested atop his control panel now.

“What’s that nicknack you got there?” Jackson asked.

“It’s Ganesha, the god of good luck. Rajesh said.

“You’re religious?”

(To be continued)

Image: spacewallpapers.org