Transients

by Brayan Branko Bubalo

  Presley listened quietly, even though he already knew for the fact or by intuition, most of what Tagore said. The only new information for him, if it was the truth, was Professor Tagore’s admission of his personal involvement in the high instances of Ammabussa’s establishment, and he was taken by it, that made him suddenly suspicious and, even, angry, suddenly realizing that Professor mislead him to think of him as a book worm, an intellectual with no real substance, rather a harmless, helpless idealist. Presley loathed those capable of deception. And he hated Ammabussa and all those who served him. Then he remembered how Tagore, just after they met, even after being ridiculed, pursued them to find an underground shelter, gather as much food, water, fuel for lumps and heat and supplies and weather through months of darkness. For that, he decided to give Tagore a chance to explain before judging him.

  “It’s ironic though,” concluded Professor, oblivious to Presley’s sudden frostiness, “all that hard work of obliterating humanity was quite unnecessary. If they waited just a little longer, those vast volcanic eruptions, the quakes, and the ensuing cold, would have done, as it did, all the killings, and no one would have been blamed for the mass deaths and annihilation. But the elite class did not concern itself with that. Their goal was reached, this way or the other, and they were finally able to leave.”

  “What do you mean? Didn’t they all die during a quake in Kroywen?”

  “No, my friend. It was just a story… Remember when all communications got jammed and destroyed?”

  “Yeah, because of the eruptions, shift of the Earth’s magnetic field, fall of communication satellites, or was it something else?”

  “Partially all of the above, but more than that. They seized the opportunity and ordered the destruction of all the remaining communication systems, and dusted the ether so even the ancient AM radio transmitters could not be used. In some cases power grids failed, but mainly, they were destroyed on purpose. All around the globe… They did it. Luckily, they were conscious enough to preventively shut down nuclear plants…”

  “Why?”

  “So we, at least, don’t have to worry about exploding nuclear reactors.”

  “I’m not asking about the nuclear plants. Why did they destroy communications?”

  “So they could disappear and go to their final destination, undisturbed and undetected.”

  “Where’d they go, Mars?”

  “Africa.”

  Presley looked at him dumbstruck. “Africa?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why Africa?”

  “There are many reasons. It was the least polluted part of the planet. They made it a New Eden. After numerous wars and diseases extinguished almost the entire population of the African continent, they moved there and left the rest of the world to slowly die. There are no pollution clouds over Africa. They let the water from the Mediterranean Sea fill the Qattara Depression, in the Sahara desert, forming an inland sea, bigger than our Blue Lake, henceforth changing the microclimate. It is perpetual spring where they are. They reached their goal.”

  “What was their goal?”

  “Eternal life under the shadows of the pyramids.”

  “What do you mean, eternal life?” Presley was becoming increasingly incredulous. Professor’s story all of a sudden looked more like a fable, or a tale of a mad man; or, construct of a pathological liar.

  “Yup. It was their goal from the very beginning. The Holy Grail… Sorcerer’s stone… Elixir! Once they found the secret of eternal youth they decided they did not need the rest of humanity demanding equal access to it. Science and knowledge, mind you, became a privilege of a few and for the last couple hundreds of years; the most of us mere mortals were left to live in darkness of ignorance, just like in dark ages… Especially because there was too many of us. They always viewed us, common folks, with no “blue blood” in our veins, like cockroaches, like pests. So they needed some kind of a “final solution”, or a doomsday, a cataclysm of some sort, to reduce us to a statistical mistake. And, by crazy luck, they got it! In the end, they became what they dreamt of for centuries—god–like creatures, walking amongst the pyramids.” Tagore finished. They were silent for a few minutes.

  “Suppose for a moment that, however incredible all of this sounded, I believe what you are saying is truth. The question that comes to my mind is how do you know it all?”

  “I just admitted, half an hour ago, that I was one of them at the beginning, remember?”

  “Yeah, but how come you know all of that, given that it was a conspiracy of the elite, and were left to live?”

  “I escaped, just before eruptions. They probably think I’m dead. And now it does not matter. Now it’s over.”

  “What on earth made you refuse eternal life?”

  Professor’s gaze went somewhere far away; like he remembered something and for a moment Presley thought he saw a glimpse of deep sadness on Tagore’s face. But it went away. “I am not big on eternity. I doubt that I would be granted eternal youth. And I think that I would be nothing but an eternal slave. After all, it could be very boring. And, for me, it was the matter of principle. Of conscience, morals, ideals… I could not bear extinction of millions for the sake of a few. I was among those who rebelled against it. And besides, I did not say that I did not taste some of it. I will have a pretty long life, short of some unfortunate incident.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like some fatal mishap, or if someone killed me.”

  Presley was silent for a second, thinking of what Professor just told him, trying to accept it, to grasp it.

  “So, what’s on Sugarcane Isles?” he asked.

  “A large island with no one left to claim it. If we can get there, we shall be safe for many–many years, isolated and obscure, far away from the reach of Ammabussa and his minions; so we could thrive in peace,” Professor declared.

  “How do you know no one is left there?”

  “I know a lot of different things and one of them is that no human alive has set foot on Sugarcane Isles for at least three years prior to the eruptions.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I was there. I saw it myself. Everyone died from the White Plague, neutron bombs and Pongos. Many places in the World are like that. Deserted by pestilence or exterminated by war and, on this hemisphere, by eruptions. But this is all in the past now and we need to think of our future.”

  “Why would it matter that such an inconsequential group like ours survives?”

  “Let’s hope that on our way there we meet more people worthy of saving,” said Professor with a dreamer’s glimpse in his eyes.

  Presley was silent for a while, taking in consideration Professor’s proposal and decided that, for the time being, he could accept at least the conclusion he himself came to, even before this conversation, namely his feeling that they should soon leave the city and head south. As for their final destination, they could decide when the time comes.

  “Should we tell the others?” he asked.

  “Not really. They will realize it, along the way. And they will need some time for the idea to grow on them, to settle in. Let them take it in slowly.”

  “Even I tend to take it slowly,” said Presley. “There is one more thing.”

  “What?”

  He gave Professor a hard stern look. But Tagore endured his gaze.

  “What else do you know and are not sharing?”

  Professor Tagore gave him a warm, almost fatherly smile.

  “Whatever you need to know you will know in good time. It will be easier for you too, to absorb it gradually.”

  “I’m not sure I agree with that.”

  “Well, I can assure you that my motives always were, and still are, pure and honest.”

  “Why then did you not come forward earlier?”

  “Because of the hybrids,” Professor sighted.

  “What about them?”

  “I was waiting for them to start dying.”

  “You knew t
hat a time would come for them to simply die?”

  “Yes, I knew, although I was not entirely certain. It’s one of those things you can’t be sure of until you see it happen. That is why I never mentioned it.”

  “But, how did you know?”

  “They were created in such a way that they would last for only so many years.”

  “Really?”

  “It was made that way by the bravery and wisdom of one good man who sabotaged the project. He shared his secret with just a few of his closest friends and co–workers. I heard rumors, but, until yesterday, I was not sure if I should believe in them.”

  “Who were those men?”

  “A few honest and brave men among the scientists that were working on the Government’s secret plans who did not agree and were in concert to sabotage entire project. As we can see now, they probably succeeded in shortening the life span of those beasts so they would not terrorize this Earth forever. They also stripped them from the ability to procreate and, as it turns out, gave them the lifespan of a rat. And they had to keep that a secret until the very end. I learned about it just few months before the eruptions. For they did not trust me.”

  “Where are these scientists now?”

  “They must be dead I’m afraid, most of them, anyway. I doubt any of them ended up in Africa. One of my comrades might still be alive somewhere in Kroywen, and another one in Cagochi. There may be a few of them alive somewhere in Europe or Asia. Perhaps some of them made it, but we lost contact after communications got destroyed. Maybe, with little luck, we’ll meet Aldus or Lenora, in Long Point.”

  For the first time, Presley looked at Professor, whom he always, though unintentionally, regarded as a goofy, sometimes confused and somewhat crazy scholar, but now with real respect, mixed with an uneasy feeling of suspicion and, almost fear, at what else the man may know and what might be his intentions. But Professor bore the same expression on his face as always. He was, and still is, a man of humble manners. One thing put Presley at ease—and made him willing to believe everything Professor just said was true—Professor was as direct as he always has been. The man simply did not know how to be ostentatious. Presley decided that he should not be worried about his motivations, and that his propositions must be, by default, of some higher, idealistic sort, hardly attainable anyway. He worried that the others would not take his plan seriously, that they would simply deduce Professor as a crazy scientist, idealist, or hopeless dreamer. Perhaps this was why Professor kept all this information to himself, and only now shared it with Presley. In the end, Presley concluded that wisdom had no face, and that Professor Tagore, after all, must be a wise man, regardless of his appearance. Presley may be a leader in the practical sense, but Tagore was the group’s mind.

  “Okay, Professor, we shall talk about this some more. I need to think about it. Tell me just one more thing…”

  “Yes?”

  “If those people were truly so powerful, would they not have kept some type of communications intact? So they could observe what is going on with the rest of the world?”

  “Oh yes, yes, they sure could.”

  “So they could see us if they want to?”

  “If they so wish or feel the need to, probably.”

  “Do you think they are?”

  “I am not sure. But I think not. Not at least until the atmosphere is cleared from the ash–clouds. But I really doubt they would.”

  “Why not?”’

  “Destruction of civilization was so vast and far–reaching that even if all of us who survived around the world decided to come together, organize, and try to reconstruct civilization, it would take centuries to come even close to the level of the pre–industrial era. We pose no threat because we have no means of repairing the world. This is why they are not worried. For the time being, they can enjoy their lives without concern about what is left of humanity. They will continue to grow in knowledge, expand technologically, and become more powerful with time. They have their cast of mortal servants to tend to them and their cast of policemen to control the servants, whom in turn, they police with use of built–in chips, designed to control or simply kill at the click of a button—should they decide to disobey or rebel. Hence, to keep them all obedient. They can have a luxury of leaving us alone, since we can’t harm them or put their lifestyle in any kind of jeopardy. However, sometime in the far future, if any group of people, anywhere in the world, reaches a degree of development that could jeopardize their position, they will destroy them with vengeance, or simply use them as they see fit. And that is it. As long as we pose no threat, they may or may not, observe us like an ant farm, for fun and amusement. It was their goal all along, my friend… all along, since the beginning of the world. So, let’s not worry about them, but try to make our lives better if we can. For, if we succeed, at least we shall be free.”

  Presley remembered the time when he first met Professor Tagore. It was deep in the center of the city, a little over a year ago. There were only a few of them in the group at that time, less than ten in total. It was right after the eruptions, he remember; they were trying to survive, to pick up the pieces, to make that part of the city their domain, where they would be safe, trying to collect enough food, water and weapons, to increase their numbers, or to reduce the sum of those who meant harm. They were on constant move, always fighting—men, Pongos, despair, sickness; struggling for food and shelter; avoiding people infected with the plague; always on the run.

  They bumped into a group of violent vagrants, swarmed around something, or someone, yelling and laughing, jumping and growing in restlessness, like they were getting ready to hurt, to beat or kill a person they caught. In the center of that havoc, Presley and his friends saw a skinny, exhausted, hungry looking, middle–aged fellow, grasping some kind of a bag, or suitcase, defending it with all his might, screaming his lungs out, not caring about blows to his body and cuts to his face. But Presley knew that very soon he would be overpowered and bitten, and probably killed in the process.

  Presley shot a round into the air and everything stopped.

  “Leave that man alone!” he shouted. The attackers froze in confusion, letting the old chap loose.

  “Beat it! Move!” Presley yelled, lowering his assault rifle, and when the villains realized they were outnumbered and outgunned, they dispersed like a pack of hyenas. The man was still clutching to his suitcase, eyes closed, waiting to be assaulted again, ready to die. Then he opened his eyes and looked around, realizing that his torturers were gone, but not quite sure what to think of these new strangers that surrounded him.

  “Who are you?” he managed to ask in a weak voice.

  “You mean to ask if we are about to rob and kill you.”

  “…Yes, that’s true. Are you?”

  “Why would we?”

  “I… I don’t know. Everybody else seems to like the idea of robbing and killing me.”

  “What’s in the bag?”

  “Oh, nothing… some books and such… few cans of food, that’s all…”

  “You were ready to die for some books?”

  “I need my books.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “Well, you can have your books, and your cans. It was nice to meet you. You are safe now so, farewell. Let’s go, fellas.”

  “Wait! Wait, where are you going? You are not going to leave me here, are you? Those bastards will come again to torture me. Can I go with you? Please.”

  Presley looked at his friends. They all appeared puzzled in their faces, as if they were grappling with the idea of what they would do with the old ‘schmuck’. Presley was in agreement with them, but there was something about the middle–aged fellow that intrigued him. Perhaps it was the fervor with which he defended his briefcase, full of, as he now knew, nothing but a few books. Who in their right mind would be ready to die for a bunch of lousy books? The man was also well pass the age after which he should be affected by the plague, yet he showed no symptom
s of dementia—a sure sign of disease. This made Presley all the more curious.

  “Can you fight?”

  “No.”

  “Can you cook?”

  “No.”

  “What can you do?”

  “I can think.”

  “Think? Think! What on Earth is there to think about? Look around you: what do you see? Don’t you see this is the end?”

  “No, you’re wrong. This is only the beginning!”

  “The beginning?”

  “Yes. And since you don’t see that, you need someone like me, to show you the way.”

  “And what do you need?”

  “I don’t need anything. I can die tomorrow, and it would not make much difference, but it would be a shame, since I could still be of some use on this Earth, but I need someone… someone like you and your friends to make it happen.”

  “I have no idea what are you talking about Mr. …”

  “Tagore, Doctor Sandeep Tagore.”

  “An MD?”