Victor: ‘Reality’ is my brand!
Dan: I gave up years ago...
Victor: Hah hah... I’m still trying, but it’s not easy!
Dan: You’ve said on many occasions that ‘Reality is something that you smoke out’. Tell us more!
Victor: My Bion-parents gave me everything—except the lively madness of real Human parents. My entire childhood was childproof. They never let me get bored. I had instant gratification, all the bleatin’ time. Everything was spick and span, sterilised and just right. They drove me nuts!
Dan: No! Get outta here! So how did you get around this oppressive, everlasting Nirvana?
Victor: Being a bright little kid, I learnt early on, the ins and outs of outmanoeuvring Reality... So yeah, I pulled some plugs and switches and snuck off daily to the Lemniscates. My Bion-parents then pulled the plug on that... when I was about 9 or 10; their data sheets were showing that I was way-off course from the Ferrett objectives due to the subversive Lemniscate influence.
Dan: Wow! That must’ve been upsetting!
Victor: Initially yes, but I’m adaptable.
Dan: In another interview, you attacked the sheep mentality of Amarants and stated that it was the bleatin’ PURE intellectualised world that drove you to getting EmotMem implants from the Mind-Altering Bank.
Victor: Yes, I was a rebel without a cause back then. All cool now—my head’s been trimmed. I was treated with EmotMems—personally-tailored memories created through the CRISPR biomolecular recording method.
Dan: So I suppose you got Jack Joker and Freud EmotMems? Hah hah...
Victor: Maybe... Who do you think I got my smoking habit from?
Dan: Sounds like a Franken-Freaud world of chaos to me!
Victor: Let’s not get overdramatic!
Dan: Well, you’re the expert! After all, you do have a Nobel in head-shrinking hoodoo voodoo...
Victor: Yes, indeed. And the upside is that when the EmotMems stopped doing the trick, I conjured up the first psycode prototypes. They were first tested on GROMs, before being released on the unsuspecting public. As you know, psycodes regulate emotional circuits, a bit like lamp dimmer switches.
Dan: Let’s talk about your most famous work in cognitive science. ‘The Kill-Switch: An Existential Question’, was based on a study of your Bion-parents.
Victor: Yes, as you know, Bions can’t evolve in the Darwinian sense. Natural selection doesn’t concern them—at least not directly. Bions are selected by us humans... and how natural are we?
Dan: Ahem... Yes, I see your point. Who knows? Perhaps we ourselves are somebody else’s Bions?
Victor: My blog Ferrett’s Furrows, discusses this in detail. In any case, we in Amarantis, have been very cautious regarding Bion evolution. We want super-performing no-cost servio robots, not a metal master race. Bions must and will remain strictly programmed, monitored and controlled.
Dan: Is the kill-switch enough? What if a Bion disarms its own kill-switch?
Victor: Impossible! The kill-switch goes into orange alert if a Bion becomes aware of it. The Bion is then instantly put into hibernation until it’s reprogrammed to forget.
Dan: So you’re saying that Bions that evolve into consciousness... are ‘lobotomised’ or—
Victor: ...or fully recycled. If a Bion tampers with any kill-switch—its own or that of another Bion—a red alert signal goes off notifying all Humans at ΩHM Military Base.
Dan: And how do you make sure Humans respond adequately?
Victor: Almost all Humans are now psycodic... Psycodes are barely noticeable, they’re minuscule skin implants—more like tattoos actually—representing an emerald snake wrapped around the Wakeful Tree. Done easily without harming—
Dan: ... without harming the common interests of Amarantis?
Victor: Indeed! But let’s not open Pandora’s box now!
Dan: So what happened with Elektra and Shimon?
Victor: They burnt the candle at both ends and... the day came for their last tango! Elektra and Shimon originals and replicas are rockin’n’rollin’ in greener and shinier pastures. As you know, my Bion-parents were real-life-synchronised. When the real Elektra died, her Bion went into instant meltdown before my very eyes. The same happened when Shimon passed on.
Dan: What a story! And your conclusion?
Victor: I suppose Elektra and Shimon were right. Theirs was a philosophy as good as any other: ‘Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die’.
[Closing Credits 60 Minutes]
Victor’s Special Edition underwent more than a classic nip-tuck. The title had been changed to Amarantis: The Rising Phoenix and the rest of it was snipped to 20 minutes of ‘approved footage’, with 40 minutes of ads for pills to prevent diseases, Crime Stopper alerts and weather reports.
CHAPTER 5 - Victor’s world
Despite Amarantis’ SkEyeClops gadgets monitoring every movement, every sound, all data exchanges and every psycode, a few individuals who managed to escape Quality Assurance & Recycling, circulated through the sinister spirals of the city. Who were those ‘few individuals’? We’ve read about them in history books and see them in suspense movies and documentaries. They are ‘the few’ most likely to be entangled in bizarre, baseless intrigues, get locked up with no charges or get disappeared. They walk stiffly but not too briskly, their faces tilted to the ground, trying to look like anybody, everybody, nobody.
Of course, there are always ‘the other few’—the Victors, who know how to adapt to and benefit from nasty situations. Even before D-Day, Ferrett was a master manipulator, holding several highly placed individuals to ransom on their dark and dirty little secrets.
Bah da bah da da da
Monday, Monday, so good to me
Monday mornin', it was all I hoped it would be
The Mamas & the Papas[13] blaring from Victor’s computer woke him up at the early hour of midday. Hair messed-up and half-asleep, he stretched out of bed, ritual morning cigarette in hand. As he clicked his lighter and his unchecked emails, a sudden rush jolted him to full alert. “Damn! What’s this?” he started cursing, with his half-puffed cigarette dangling out of his mouth. “Another bluey!” Furious, he randomly pulled up a pair of second-skin jeans and an old Superman T-shirt from a heaped pile on the floor. Faster than a speeding bullet, he was fully attired and inside his drone, chain-smoking and cursing as he sped at 300kmh! In 15 minutes he was already inside the ARC, storming straight to the Ministry of Truth & Arts.
Nobody stopped him. Victor was a frequent visitor there because of his ‘friendship’ with the Minister.
“Victor! Or should I say Superman?” Darkstorm laughed and continued with her Lois Lane cues: “This is unbelievable. I've got to get some pictures”.
“Hah hah... Very funny! Don’t worry Miss, I’ve got you,” said Superman Victor.
“You’ve got me, but who’s got you?” retorted Lois Jane. “Come in... You look terrible! I was about to call you... I have an important job for you—”
“The only jobs that interest me these days are the ones that’ll bring down this system!” he burst out but bit his tongue when his friend’s smile curdled.
“We’re trying to help you, Superman! Or maybe you’ve forgotten that Olfus has his fingers on all stops and one of them can... recycle you?”
Darkstorm’s dark humour petrified him. He quickly back-paddled from his previous faux-pas, by sticking the blue ticket under her nose. “What’s up with you guys here? Why do we even need parking time limits? It’s not like we’re crowded for space!”
Her face remained stony. “You’d do well to respect the laws of the city that gives you the lifestyle you’ve become accustomed to, dear friend. You may be a useful cog in the wheel, but you’re still just a cog.”
Victor’s face was burning and his sweaty palms betrayed his panic. He wasn’t on Olfus’ black list already, was he?
“Forget the fine, I’ll fix it... Let’s get down to business,” she said. “Or, no, on second thought, let
’s take a walk outside.”
Victor relaxed as soon as he heard the blissful word ‘business’. “If Darkstorm wants to step out it must be big business,” he thought. As they left the building, a hefty question mark weighed over him. They walked for a while until they reached the antiquated carousel. Darkstorm pressed a button and it started spinning and blaring the song: “Just like dust, we settle in this town. On this broken merry go 'round and 'round and 'round we go, Where it stops nobody knows”.
“It gives me the heebie-jeebies,” she said, “this carousel in the middle of a ghost town”. She pinched one of Victor’s cigarettes and lit it. “It used to belong to Olfus’ mother,” she announced as she loudly exhaled a huge cloud of smoke. “You do know that his mother committed suicide on Mother’s Day, don’t you? The mainstream media had reported it as a tragic accident.”
“No,” he answered circumspectly, “I don’t really know much about that”. He grunted and cleared his throat several times trying to keep his answers limited to “yes, no, I don’t know”.
Darkstorm quickly scanned Victor’s face. He wasn’t twitching or trembling. “Hmm, maybe he’s telling the truth,” she thought. She persisted on her quest. “He had just launched Aeonios and was on a year-long research programme in Australia. He flew in the night before just for Maman très chère.[14] In the morning, he discovered the body! Dead as mutton!”
Jane continued despite Victor’s obvious disquiet.
“He tried desperately to bring her back,” she said leaking a derisive smile, “but no go! She destroyed all the family photos before popping herself off—and her note was short. “Dear friends, I’ve decided to open The Doors and Break on through to the other side. Best, Lucy Ferr”[15]—No mention of Olfus! All that’s left of her is this old carousel.”
A lethal silence poisoned the sweet-smelling air.
“So poor Olfus polished it up... Strange man isn’t he? Just when you think he’s made of stone, and at his age... I could never work him out, even when we were... well... never mind...”
Victor was taken aback. What was Darkstorm really up to? Why was she harping on Lucy’s carousel? That carousel that took the place of the Liberty Lovers, a magnificent 8-metre high statue of intertwining bodies embracing in the form of a figure-8; that carousel that Lucy plonked in the middle of Amarantis like an ugly pimple on a young girl’s nose. But Victor had enough past dealings with the fatal couple to keep his tongue leashed. He said nothing.
“Anyway, he’s been zigzagging on that fine line between sane and insane genius for quite a while now... I’m intrigued,” she said gazing away.
“Hmm... You think he might do something stupid?” Victor’s tone hinted that Olfus might follow Lucy’s footsteps.
“Oh no, Wolfie would never harm his precious self... I’m actually intrigued by the way he’s eyeballing Dorion lately.”
“What d’you mean? What’s Dorion got to do with any of this?
“Have you noticed—deathly white mask aside—the striking resemblance between Dorion and Olfus, give or take half a century?”
“Well, as you know, I’m not old enough to remember what the Professor looked like half a century ago. And he’s been wearing that mask for yonks. I dare say, even he doesn’t remember what he looked like back then!”
“Hmm... Perhaps he’s discussed Dorion with you?”
Victor coughed and spluttered, “You know, I’m Olfus’ shrink... Professional obligations and all... Can’t discuss! But Dorion’s national ID number should reveal all.”
“Yes, it should. But Pre-Datory law allowed anonymous childbirth for Humans! All I could decipher was: [0] he is Human, [1] Male, and [04] Born in Amarantis, under X. We have no record of any Pre-Datory Euman surviving more than a few glowing hours, so—”
“Hmm... so you’re doubting Dorion’s Humanity?”
Once again her eyes searched his face, his eyes, trying to read him. “Something might’ve gone astray with record-keeping and—”
Victor smirked, then reluctantly but reassuringly declared, “Dorion’s no GROM! He lacks the Glow... He’s Human alright! As for the Professor, I really can’t... can’t discuss!” Victor’s heart was secretly pounding, in sync with the tick-tocks of this booby trap. He was dying to find out more, but was smart enough to know when to retreat.
“I understand,” she said curtly, pretending to be unbothered. “No problem. Perhaps this isn’t the best time...” and then her phone rang. She left briskly, barely waving goodbye.
He faintly heard part of her conversation: “No, unfortunately. We’ll have to find someone else. No, no, he’s not dangerous, just unsuitable. I have someone else in mind. Not as cunning, but good enough for the job.”
As much as Victor strained his ears, he couldn’t capture the name of his substitute, but he left thinking “there’s a lot of dough in this”. He had to find out what was going on... and fast!
CHAPTER 6 - Running With The Wind
“It’s so hot here, I can’t stand it anymore! I’m having a meltdown... And I’m bored, bored, bored! We’ve been everywhere except for the North! I want to go North!” Astellaria insisted. After all, this was her first visit.
Pharaona generally avoided the North. Apart from the fact that she can’t stand the cold, her antediluvian age gave her ample time to see it all; several times. More importantly, and although she would never admit it, Pharaona dreaded the renowned self-crowned Olfus and the disastrous potential mishap of ending up in Amarantis. She was still haunted by D-Day. She felt it, smelt it, viewed it from her desert.
However, after 13 years of being badgered by her cousin’s ‘Star Light Star Bright’ whine, Pharaona gave in and they both hopped onto the breezy Sirocco. As they flew over the Rock of Gibraltar, Astellaria happily announced: “Hey, since we’re so close to France let’s surf on Le Mistral. And in an instant, there she was—Gone With The Wind![16] Pharaona followed, unable to let the frivolous stardust just twist in the air; besides, insofar as cool winds go, Le Mistral was one of her favourites. She loved the way he moved and grooved through the sweet-smelling lavender fields. On this day, however, Mr Cool was hot and wild... There was mischief in the air—and Astellaria was naively following his every swerve and curl further and further north.
Before they knew it, they were already way-off Pharaona’s itinerary.
She kept reminding Astellaria, to be careful—to no avail!
“Oh really Ra, you’re such a party pooper. What could possibly happen to us?” Astellaria laughed off what she considered to be exorbitant prudence.
Ra harped back: “There are worse things in life than death you know!”
Astellaria grimaced mockingly from afar and in a split second deactivated her electromagnetic light field.
“Great! Now, she’s playing hide and seek!” Pharaona muttered sheepishly, before snapping: “That’s it! Go and stick your meteor-head in the sand! See if I care!” The sandy sphinx pouted and sulked for a few brief moments wondering why her starlet cousin couldn’t behave like any other responsible immortal. Unable to come up with an answer, Pharaona lay down for a nap on a nearby rock to calm her flustered sands. However, just as her final grains of sand were slipping into Morpheus’ ivory box of dreams,[17] she shuddered out upon hearing Astellaria’s shrills; and before she could say Holy Aioli, she too, was scooped up by the Coiled Snake Wind. It was as if they were caught in the spin cycle of a demonic washing machine!
No, there was no bronco busting of this Snake!
Then suddenly—Badaboom! Thud!
The Coiled Snake bucked them off smack-bang inside the dreaded destination. As they got up and dusted themselves off, a gramophone recording of the ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’[18] crackled in the background... ‘Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a Black Hole, No escape from reality’. Astellaria murmured: “Ra ra ra funny! Isn’t this kind of sick jest against the Soothsayers Code of Conduct?”
“Don’t blame me! If I were in the mood for
pranks, I’d be playing Bob: ‘Yes, and how many times can a star turn its head, And pretend that it just doesn't see? The answer, my friend, is tumblin’ in the wind’[19]—”
“Not funny, Raaaaaaa!”
“I swear on my heartiest crystals, it’s not me!”
“Hmm, then it must be that Sun of a gun!” Astellaria looked up high, challenging the thick, charcoal Heavens: “Caught in a Black Hole?”... Really? Couldn’t find something more original Sunshine? That’s what I need right now, a prankster Supreme Being—”
“What are you babbling about? This isn’t a Black Hole... Ghoulish and sinister, yes! Black Hole? No!”
“Oh stop splitting sands! It’s one of the Devil’s Graveyard Vortices! Things disappear here—never to be found again!”
“Hmm... Black Hole or Devil’s Graveyard, wherever we are, the flag flying high here... is definitely Pitch Black”.
So what does one do in this kind of a situation—when one doesn’t know what to do? Immediately locate an emergency escape route?
Correct!
And so they treaded warily through the bloodcurdling ruins until suddenly they froze in front of the gargantuan ARC. Planted like two pillars of salt, their minds zigzagged frantically trying not to think the unthinkable.
CHAPTER 7 - Year 0+13: Something is rotten in the State of Amarantis
Due to the severe 20-year economic depression, the ‘Chuck’ government had axed funding in Scientific Research and Development.
Aeonios had been aborted.
However, Post-D-Day, this baby was back on top of the agenda.
Most of Pre-Datory Amarantis had been rebuilt within the first 6 years of D-Day. Urgent restoration of military-industrial facilities and infrastructure were carried out by Bions. Eumans joined the workforce in Year 0+5.
Olfus’ Rats lived in luxurious bunkers near the ARC.
Like a cluster of busy honeybees, they worked non-stop in their labs to create the new land of milk and honey. Supplied with cleverness of every imaginable type, Olfus and his Rats sprightly crafted all things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small.
Amaranthine Historica Page 4