Millennium Zero G

by Jack Vantage

  “I’m fine. I’m fine, sir. Just a little nervous.”

  A smart, dashing man with a black crew cut, readied her desk and post. She picked up the glass tablet that held the broadcast piece and flicked it along with her finger as she read.

  “Ma’am, the autocue is directly in front of the facing lens. We are keeping you on one angle, so don’t worry about your eye line. Just stay focused on the camera directly in front of you. The others are for historical purposes.”

  She nodded, then briefed over the piece. It was bland, boring, and held as much heart as a psychopath. It needed work and attention, but time was as thin as string.

  “If you’re not ready let me know,” the president said from his pulpit.

  Behind him was the Quazar flag. The symbolic emblem positioned centre, which was created by a globed grid and the number 1 centre planet. The coloured stripes of sky blue, red and white surrounded it.

  “Sir, I don’t think there will ever be a good time for this situation,” she replied.

  “Then let’s do it. I want you to know that you can leave on a ship from here, and I’m sorry about your friends. Their names weren’t down if it makes you feel better.”

  “I’ll see them again someday,” she said, as a makeup artist buzzed her face with a digital shade pen. “Stop, stop,” she said. “The perfect look won’t work on this broadcast.”

  “Sorry,” the makeup artist said as she stepped away.

  All crew were ready at cameras and broadcast glass screens. The rooms crew silenced. The biblical implications of this moment would be remembered for millennia. The tension and unsettlement of the situation was bordering on the unbearable. Helena felt faint, weak, like the story was a gas that she’d breathed in.

  “Twenty seconds everyone,” someone in the room said.

  This was it, the moment a broadcast ceased everything.

  Helena had spent days and nights contemplating various possibilities, like politicians would war games, contemplating feuds, economics, murders, scandals, and revolutions. All the recurrences within histories past would play out like a charade. It kept her ready, poised like a car at the starting flag. She knew the world, knew the good and evil, bad and just. She was born for the scouting, the search for society’s wrinkles. She was born to open their eyes to the wrong and right doings of the billions of souls that tiptoed the planet. But nothing could prepare her for this.

  “And five, four, three, two, one,” a voice said, as the autocue scrolled in front of her. Then it began counting down from ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two and one in silence.

  Staring at her was the entire planet. The lens that faced her was a portal to their eyes. For a split second she stared, her gaze locked with every other’s alive. They would be watching, waiting for her words to lift the shroud of deceit from them. Every living soul was waiting on her.

  “Planet Quazar,” she started, pressured by expectation. “This is Helena Reeves live from the president’s office as all of you have gathered.”

  Helena stopped and sighed. She looked down to the notes on the tablet, then up to the president. The room lingered on disaster.

  “I can’t do this,” she said.

  The president eyed her with understanding empathy.

  She saw it, the connection she held with the most powerful man alive, who’d shrunk to the level of normality like a superhero would his McGuffin.

  “People of Quazar,” she began again. This time she spoke like she was talking directly to them. She ignored the prewritten words and stared into their eyes. “The future is not safe. We are experiencing what can only be described as a catastrophe. The president needs you to listen. In a moment, he will speak to you, for you. He will explain the situation and events that will change everything we know. When I first realised the effect that hit the sun my heart broke for humanity, I have never been so scared in all my life.”

  Tears resurfaced in her eyes as she continued. “Every person walking the planet is in the same dilemma. After the president speaks there are two things you can do: accept fate or challenge the impossible. It’s up to you how the rest of time unfolds. It’s up to you how you experience it. There is no graver news than the news you are about to hear. There is nothing I can say to convey the pain and emotional turmoil that has attacked the president, nothing to describe the loss he feels. He loves you all as one.”

  The introduction stopped. Helena was brimming with sorrow, fear, hurt, and a million other emotions that spun and mixed like a tornado in her brain.

  The president readied himself. He took a deep breath. “Hello, good people of Quazar, young and old, men and women. I talk to you today not as a president who sits upon a pedestal and dictates your future, our future. I talk to you today as a citizen of Quazar, as an equal in every way. It turns out the universe is more powerful than you, me, or any other living organism that has ever existed within its walls.

  “Selectivity is the key word. Selectivity at the hand of nature and the powers of domination. There is no easy way to explain and break this terrible news to you, and there is nothing I can say or do to make it go away. I want you to know I am standing here with you, as one of you. We face this moment in history together, a moment that will change the course of mankind. A moment that will never be forgotten. So here is the truth about the events of the past hours. I have only kept it from you to preserve our race, to give us a chance.”

  Helena watched the president nearly break in two. Hell had no mercy. His hands shook mildly and somehow his body held back the pain that poked like needles into his brain. She could see the future playing out in his eyes, the doom and destruction, the death and horror. She could see his morale beaten by the cold, murderous universe.

  “Some time ago we discovered a black hole entering our system.” The president stopped and shuffled his feet. His acceptance of fate had taken hold. “Time!—That simple word that governs and moves our existence on, the word by which life is measured.” He looked dazed and his eyes strayed from the camera. It looked for a second like he’d realised the loss of a great prize before he recomposed himself and started again. “The black hole is tearing our sun apart, and there is nothing we can do to stop it. You need to use the little time that’s left to fulfil your dreams and desires.”

  Helena listened to the president explain to his nation about the impending Armageddon, the lottery system, and the chain of events that would lead to the freeze. He spoke with undying hurt and sympathy. His voice wavered but he managed to hold himself together. He pleaded for them to live out the end of days in peace, pleaded for as little violence and panic as possible. He asked the people who held dignity and sanity to stay away from the crowds of people who would inevitably riot, destroy, and turn evil.

  “Good people of Quazar,” the president said. “Please don’t try to reach or board the carriers without a lottery pass. You will be killed if you do. Please hold your families close and love each other until the end. May God be with you; may God bless you. I’m sorry.”

  The president broke into a fit of uncontrollable tears. The cameras clicked off, and the world had received its last broadcast. That was it, no more informing, no more nothing. The only story left was the final hours of a world’s demise, the final hours of a civilisation.

  The picture of the end began visualising in Helena’s mind, the fractures of humanity grinning like an army of demented demons who faced the honest and meek. Madness would overcome rationality. She sensed the outbreak that would be sparked by the crazed, and she felt sorry for the good people who would be entangled in acts of violence.

  Chapter 26

  Path of Hope

  Dylan watched Lecodia’s eyes blink lethargically as consciousness fully returned to her. He smoothed her hair. His assumptions were regretfully right. The sun really was dying. The end was here. Both had heard the news on the television. It must have been like a dream to Lecodia, who was still in shock.

  She cried when the news
broke, and then began asking if they had touched her.

  He told her they hadn’t.

  The entire ward spewed tears, disbelief, and panic. The place was thinning. Medical distributors and assistants had snuck out, running for their families and loved ones. A few earnestly braved on around the ward, which was more like a crazed, disconsolate funeral than a peaceful, quiet place of mend.

  Patients shrieked and wandered the floor with fear and worry as medical distributors shouted at them to remain calm. “Go back to your beds.” The clinically clean environment bustled and panicked with unclean minds.

  Lecodia remained in her bed, and curtains were drawn around which shielded her from the centre’s insanity. The medical advisor and distributor had given her a shot of something, a counter serum that would slowly bring her to.

  The doctor said that the effects of X20 were not permanent, just temporary, and within an hour she should be one hundred percent. It had been forty minutes.

  “Baby, are you feeling better?” Dylan asked.

  “Was that real, the broadcast?” she said.

  “Yes, honey. Sorry, baby, but we need to find out if we’re on the lottery system. You only get notified at your home address. I need to get there.”

  “Turn my communicator on. I need to know if my parents are okay.”

  Dylan pulled her square communicator from her outfit, which was folded over the arms of the chair he sat in.

  Her consciousness had fully regained, and she sat up in bed, awake, alert, and aware of the situation. “Dylan what are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know.”

  The curtains tugged open violently. Standing before them were six heavily armed Authoritarians.

  “Lecodia Ale, you are under apprehension,” the middle gruff, stubbly man said. His hand blaster pointed at Dylan. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Dylan raised his hands.

  Lecodia was stunned, and the screams around the ward grew louder and louder. Some older women screeched with senile randomness.

  “Hey guys, it was not us. It was not us,” Dylan pleaded. “You guys have been chasing the wrong people.”

  “So your friend Leon says, but until we have proof, you’re coming with us,” he said.

  “Look, think about this. I brought Lecodia here because she was kidnapped and drugged by the people who you need to catch. Check the medical reports. Ask the medical staff. Why would I drug her? They took her at the theme park, drugged her and almost raped her because you guys can’t spot or get anything right.”

  The gruff Authoritarian shifted his position. His colleagues motioned towards Dylan, but were held back by the leader, the gruff face of the force.

  Dylan said, “I swear, all you gotta do is check her medical records.”

  The medical reports and records were saved above the bed on a large glass screen that displayed all aspects of Lecodia’s body and condition. Her body was digitally crafted like the Vitruvian man from Leonardo De Vinci’s famous art work, set against an ultra-violet background. Each organ lit red within the body. Her heart beat strong, her body temperature glowed warm and cold, electrical impulses sparked her brain, and every other function was clear to see.

  Her treatment, cause of injury, and much more were beneath the drawing. The Authoritarian glanced at Lecodia’s condition, and then back to Dylan. Suddenly a thin blue triangular beam travelled up and down her body from a lens above the bed. The medical bed was imaging her condition and updating her stats on the screen.

  Lowering his gun, the Authoritarian said, “Speak. I want names and locations.” He looked like he intended to go on a rampage.

  Dylan explained everything from the start, and ended with their names, looks, and location of the factory floor. He asked them to hack into his home surveillance videos. The responsible thugs would be on camera there.

  The man finally nodded. “I believe you. How can we help?”

  “We need to find out if we’re on the lottery system.”

  “There is nothing we can do about it. Only the people who—”

  “We could use transport,” Dylan said interrupting. “I need a sky-mobile to get to my home and hers.” His eyes begged more than he could convey by talk.

  “Sir, we are unable to assist. Our orders were to take you back to the precinct,” the gruff officer said.

  “How can you still be working? Why aren’t you home with your families and friends?” Dylan needed to push some buttons. “I’m nineteen years old and you’re going to let me die, all because you couldn’t catch a cold.”

  “Hey,” the man shouted. “Shut up! I have a family, and this is hard enough as it is. You’re going to need us over the last hours or there will be no control, nothing but chaos,” he said with angered confusion and betrayal. Then he calmed. “Look, take this.” He tossed a small round chrome device that held two buttons.

  Dylan caught it.

  “That will get you into any mobile you like. If I see you, I’ll apprehend you. Good luck. You’re going to need it. The world is about to turn into a fighting ring, every man for himself, so be careful, and I hope you are on the list cause I sure as hell ain’t.” He paused. “And if I can catch these guys for what they’ve done, I will make them pay.”

  The six brutes left the room and Dylan drew the curtains back. The sounds of panic surrounded them like a pack a wolves.

  “The communicator,” Lecodia said, her hand out to Dylan.

  He placed the communicator in her hand and his parents appeared at the front of his mind. They would be worried sick when news reached them. They’d cry and yearn for him. Tears trickled down his face. He couldn’t contact them. He imagined their faces when, all the galactic ships pulled up outside their hotel like a Quazar sky-way. He hoped he’d see them again, hoped he was one of the selected. His future was fading like it was written with invisible ink.

  “Don’t make me cry,” Lecodia said. Tears welled in her eyes as she dialled her parents. “I have twenty missed communications. They must be worried.”

  Her ring tone rang a bubbly tune and the line connected.

  “Lecodia? Lecodia, is that you?” her mother said.

  “Yes mum, yes,” she said, sobbing. “What are we going to do?”

  “We’re okay. We’ve been picked, so it looks like we’re going back to Earth. Thank God you’re okay. Where are you? Your father will come and pick you—”

  The line cut like a sharp object had severed it.

  “Mum? Mum?” Lecodia said, then turned to Dylan. “Where’s she gone?”

  Dylan dialled quick from his communicator and Leon answered.

  “Dylan man, what the fuck is going on?” Leon said.

  “Listen, meet me at Elysees Leon in half an hour. I’ll have transport, we can get to our homes and pick up our parents, do you know if you’ve been selected to—” the line cut.

  “Leon? Leon?” Dylan slammed the phone closed. “Fuck! The communication lines are going down.”

  “My mum—I didn’t get to talk much to my mum.” She began crying.

  “Honey get your clothes on. We ‘gotta go. I’ll get you to them. I promise. We need to get there fast.”

  Lecodia climbed from her bed, her hair a monorail wreck, eyes puffed like she’d been in a boxing ring, but her body still perfect.

  Dylan looked her up and down. Only a pink bra, and knickers covered her innocence, and he felt weak with lust.

  A gentle slap brought him around. “Come on then, tiger, let’s get going,” she said. She finished dressing, and they moved from behind the curtains.

  The dire ward moaned and groaned with ill screams. People writhed in beds and shouted for help.

  An old man, bearded and gaunt, stood in the corridor, his skeletal body exposed from fallen linen, and flaky white skin atop his bald, wrinkled head. He croaked, “The end is nigh! It is spoken in the passage of Christ! Judgement is coming!” His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and weary. His crusty arms mov
ed with decrepit speed.

  Sick people roamed and moved looking for help. They clutched at Lecodia and Dylan.

  “Just keep moving,” he said.

  The medical centre was already a graveyard, these people were dead. They had no hope, no future, just the certainty of death. He could feel it wandering the walls. Death had hit the jackpot, all it needed was patience before collection.

  As Dylan and Lecodia moved through the medicals centre exit, the panic subsided. There was only a quiet calm. People walked casually here and there.

  To the right of the door, Dylan’s stolen mobile sat from when he carried Lecodia in. The rear end was a complete smash. He was surprised it got them here after the damage he’d caused it a few hours before.

  Lecodia and he turned and looked back to the sky where the bright spot still shone a blinding ball above the medical centres stone and white square building. It sat at ground level and was a chunky ten storey ribbed block with large windows dotting all over. Its ward name HNS was scribed in blue and white large letters at centre building.

  The medical centre was positioned near a large area of low suburban living. The glass super sky-scraper’s, that curved like church organs, stood tall in the distance behind the centre. They shielded the internal city at a forty-mile distance. Streams of Sky-mobiles exited and entered between their gargantuan cylindrical size, but sky-ways weren’t so organised as the vehicles moved like a disgruntled hive of insects instead of the usual systematic lines and streams. Panic had begun in the sky.

  In front of Dylan laid a thousand sky-mobile’s. There were a multitude of colours and styles. It was a giant vehicle park for the patients and visitors. The roofs stretched a distance like a bed of collaged stitched pattern.

  Lecodia looked at him. “What did the Authoritarians give you? Is to open doors?”

  “This,” Dylan said, and held up the small round object up. “It gives off an energy current and overruns the sky-mobiles’ systems. So, which one shall we take?”