《Yojana Online: Lawful Neutral》


 Chapter 1: The Grass is Always Greener

    If I could describe my life currently, it would smell like bleached hallways, rusted iron hinges and Gatorade. I contemplate this as I stare out into the prestigious main hallway of Brightdale High sprawled out before me in all its glory, desecrated by 683 mouth breathing hormone raging teenagers.


    BANG! Startled, a loud crash brings me out of rumination.


    Brandon Myers the local head Neanderthal lifted a wiry bespectacled kid up by his flannel shirt striking him against the metal locker, his breath misting on the thick-framed glasses.


    I queried my Deck and a turquoise screen shone Friday 7.18am CAT 12¡ãC 12th January 2178. The day was still early, the morning chill not yet retreating in the face of the rising sun.


    A smattering of students in sportswear sprinkled the hall, a few heads turned, but on witnessing the scene returned to their conversations with practiced nonchalance. The usual suspects were around, those with morning club activities both athletic and otherwise.


    The situation looked cliched, comical even and combined with the fact that Brandon looked like a cross between Conan the Barbarian and Robert Stark only served to reinforce this notion.


    There Brandon stood, easily six feet tall at the age of 17, perfectly chiseled Aryan features, sea blue eyes, a curly golden mop and rippling muscles towering over the poor kid almost a foot shorter than him. Strangely he smelled of gold, overripe grape and faintly of burnt matchsticks.


    "Hey, Ernest. You know I have 5th-period math and I seem to have misplaced my homework. Now, I suspect it''s somewhere in your Deck? You wouldn''t want me to have to peruse it myself now, would you?" Brandon drawled.


    Apparently, he was a high functioning Neanderthal capable of using multiple multisyllabic words and veiled threats which still didn¡¯t prevent him from being too lazy to complete his damn assignment.


    "nnn.. nno nneed Brandon, it''s here! Right here! Sorry, I must have accidentally taken it¡­ haha... sorry again" Ernest stammered out while erratically swiping at his Deck, still visibly shaken with his encounter with the genetic superior of his species. It''s probably one of those primal instincts that convinces gazelles to crap themselves and run when they smell a lioness downwind and he smelled of it too, reeking of burnt drywood and spilt milk.


    Colorful screens reflected off Ernest¡¯s glasses as he flipped through his Deck ending with a Ding!


    Confirming receipt, Brandon''s eyes scanned his Deck before returning to Ernest with a smile.


    ¡°We all make mistakes, Ernest. It¡¯s only when we learn from our mistakes can we better ourselves¡± Brandon preaches as he smoothes out Ernest¡¯s collar. Homework secured, Brandon turned on his heel and departed.


    Now, you might be wondering where I fit into this cliche-esque picture of a high school teen drama. See look here shadowing Brandon on both sides are Drake and Jake, looking as impressively unevolved as their names imply.


    Nope, I am neither of the two.


    Now the pan out happens as Brandon strolls down the hallway towards the camera. A gaggle of varsity jersey wearing athletes forms up behind him.


    Look to the left, far left, see that brown kid in varsity leathers, smiling with his perfect white teeth, clearly put in this scene to fulfill some state-mandated social diversity quota. Yep, you got it right that¡¯s me, I¡¯m...This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "Hey Kumar, you see that shit! Four eyes totally wet himself! What a pussy!" Drake lieutenant of the left wing of Brandon¡¯s entourage blustered; clearly, he wasn¡¯t as literarily gifted as his superior.


    "It''s Rajan you bigoted oaf! He''s been in the same class as you since P3, how are you still Fucking his name up?" my closest friend Ethan Roderick III slapped the back of Drake''s head, his voice thickly laced with a Northumberland accent.


    Despite never actually having lived in Northumbria, Ethan¡¯s accent was a product of his parent¡¯s tutelage in their efforts, as he calls it ¡®to rise above the rabble¡¯, forget the fact that they were living in one of the wealthiest Hex on one of the wealthiest Spheres.


    "Now, now, Ethan. We really shouldn¡¯t reprimand Drake here, but should applaud his capability to target the correct socio-geographical region when addressing me.¡± I reprimanded with a faux British accent, mirth playfully evident in my voice as my brown eyes twinkled.


    ¡°Ah, Yes. I do apologize, Drake, that specific feat must have been very taxing on your faculties¡± Ethan chimed in, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Snickering echoed from around us.


    "Yeah dude, don¡¯t be a tight ass..." Drake furrowed brows displaying his confusion but had the decency to look ashamed as he rubbed his sore head sulking.


    No longer interested in wares we were peddling he turned his attention to Jake, probably to discuss protein shake or the latest issues of Swimsuit Illustrated as they were want to do.


    "While that was amusing mate, it''s because you do shit like this racist pricks like him don¡¯t learn!" Ethan¡¯s hazel eyes admonished me before returning to preen his blue and yellow varsity jacket.


    Ethan was such a prim, despite his best efforts to rail against his parent''s teachings. Him joining the Varsity track was his one and only act of rebellion. They much prefered the debate club.


    He stood 5 feet 7 inches with perfectly styled ginger hair into a side part with shaved sides. Striking hazel eyes and freckled cheeks were, unfortunately, the only remarkable feature of his very forgettable face. He had a lean frame but one belied his muscles rather than looking emaciated. This all came complete with a button down white bespoke shirt and pleated cream trousers held together with a brown leather belt that tapered just above a pair of dark brown custom fitted Crockett & Jones. As a whole in spite of his rather average features he looked like he just walked out of the cover of an issue of GQ.


    I merely smiled at him and continued walking down the hall.


    Now don''t get me wrong, I''m all for racial equality and all that, but I''ve found really early on, from a childhood growing up with chocolate brown skin in a predominantly white community that it''s much better to make fun of yourself and laugh with everybody at you, than just be made the butt of the joke.


    Growing up surrounded by the Drakes of the world have taught me to survive rather than lash out and be hurt in return.


    My father would be proud I thought snidely. I remembered when I was 8 and got a fat lip for socking Dennis Royer in the nose after he called me Chocolate Milk for the umpteenth time.


    He sat me down in his study and sagely said ¡®Engage people with what they expect. It is what they are able to discern and confirms their projections. It settles them into predictable patterns of response, occupying their minds while you wait for the extraordinary moment; that which they cannot anticipate, then you CRUSH their balls.¡¯


    I mean, what the fuck was an 8-year-old kid going to do with a doctored Sun Tzu quote, but I deified my father then and had AiirA put it up on the Holo in my room¡­ for 9 straight years. Alright, it was a pretty awesome quote.


    Suddenly, the piercing tangy smell of citrus hit me!


    I turned around and saw Ernest glaring at our backs; my back specifically, with envy in his eyes. When our eyes met he looked away but the odor lingered in the air. He still stood leaning against the locker, clothes slightly ruffled from the earlier encounter but none worse for wear.


    Why me specifically I couldn¡¯t fathom. Perhaps it was due to my acceptance in Brandon¡¯s clique despite being perceived as an outsider, perhaps it was due to me not standing up for him or maybe he was just jealous of my pearly white teeth. I couldn¡¯t blame him after all, I take dental hygiene very seriously.


    I sighed turning away from Ernest, my footsteps feeling heavier as they echo against the halls following in Brandon''s steps and I silently thought ¡®The grass is always greener Ernest, but you have to eat shit just the same.¡¯

 Chapter 2: I am Raja, I am King!

    Stepping into the locker room, the musk of testosterone and sweat soaked into the very fabric of the room assaults my olfactory senses. 80 years into the Nano Revolution Age and we still haven¡¯t found a solution to gym funk. Delightful¡­


    Scrunching my nose I wade up to my locker. Seeing the numbers pass by, I drink in the sleek chrome finish of plasteel lockers emanating cool detachment and tranquillity, all complete with a basic Holosuite. My shoes tap rhythmically against the white tiled floors sterilized to hospital standards, the smell of bleach slicing through the sweaty effluvium. A sharp difference from the creaking metal-hinged doors and concrete floors in the hallway.


    Only the best for the elite of Brightdale, the National Eugenics Programme all but ensuring the sharp of mind become the fit of body with but a few erroneous outliers.


    Saddling up to my locker I relax and allow AiirA to scan my Nanocode, hearing the confirmatory chime I look on as the door swished open with a pneumatic hiss. Tapping the privacy screen Holomesh forms up around, blurring me into a foggy brown smudge. Shedding my varsity jacket, I strip into my boxer briefs and spend a moment admiring myself in the Holodisplay.


    I¡¯d been working my programme hard these past few months and the results were showing, I¡¯d always been fit but now my muscles had definition and even an outline of a six pack started forming from my flat stomach, adding to my six-foot height made for an imposing silhouette.


    Brushing my curly black hair over my right ear I touch the cool metal of my Deck. It was an older casing, one of the Naginata models, it covered my earlobe and sharpened to an elven tip with a tassel bell earring dangling from the top. There were painstakingly depictions of the Hindu God Vishnu lounging in the embrace of his five headed coiled cobra, Nagaraja, my namesake carved into the casing making it look like a religious paraphernalia rather than a piece of cutting edge technology that it was. The inner model had been upgraded but I refused to part with the casing for it meant far too much to me.


    The inspection of my Deck was cut short when my eyes rested on my aquiline nose.


    ¡°Mother fucker! Is that¡¯s a zit?!¡± I scream exasperated. I hear chuckling behind me but ignored it.


    I¡¯d been lucky enough to avoid typical problems associated with puberty, like acne and acne and... acne. A regimented application of tea tree oil and a diet of strict avoidance of trans fat had rewarded me with smooth supple skin.


    Until now.


    ¡°Haih¡± I sigh waving the display away. Slipping into my gym shorts, and tracksuit, I fish out my Pumas from behind my jacket as I get into my routine. Tying my laces rewards me with the satisfying smell of burning fabric as lace friction against lace slipping past each other into a comforting secure double knot.


    Feeling the strings bite into my skin makes me hunger for the run, I could feel the anticipation building, I yearned to stretch my legs and feel wind brush against my face. Giving into the moment, I stand on my toes flexing my calf, feeling the satisfying stretch of muscles and creaking of tendons spreading a satisfying heat up into my hamstrings and I inadvertently let out a groan, loud enough to cause me to cringe.


    Embarrassed and deciding that it was time to head to the field, I turn and walk out of my locker, the Holomesh dissolving on its own and the pneumatic hiss of the door sliding back into place following my departure.


    To my surprise in front of me was a petite 16-year-old kid with soft effeminate features and a shit-eating grin on his face. He looked like your typical boy next door, mousy-faced, sandy brown tousled hair, the kind you¡¯d entrust babysitting your kids to, only the dark gleam in his green eyes betraying that he might screw your poodle when you weren¡¯t looking.


    I raise a finger, the finger ¡°Before you say anything, Fuck you, Ryan. Just Fuck you¡± I said before my lips curved, crinkling my right dimple.


    ¡°So were you jerking off to yourself in there or have finally taken my advice to stuffing a female dwarf in your locker for some post workout, workout? They¡¯re surprisingly low maintenance especially if they get their daily dose of protein¡± he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.


    ¡°Like I said, Fuck you. Anyway, what¡¯s up? I don¡¯t usually see you until after training, isn¡¯t your Pyramid Squares coach a hardass?¡± I asked as he joined me walking towards the field.


    His face grimaced ¡°Don¡¯t remind me, the douche wants us to start morning training at 7, I ain¡¯t got no time for that shit. I personally think he just needs to get laid or get stuffed or both¡± the mental image causing me to chuckle.


    ¡°Right, back on topic, you and Ethan are signing up for Yojana Online this weekend right?¡± Ryan asked.


    ¡°Yeah who isn¡¯t, we just got our Decks upgraded to support the software, but didn¡¯t your dad tell you to get some ¡®real work¡¯ instead of wasting your time on video games or something¡±


    ¡°Sure he did, so I just ran to my mum and we all know who wears the pants in the family.¡± Ryan said with a sly grin.


    ¡°Man you¡¯re such a Mama¡¯s boy¡± Ryan pinked at that, smelling of sugar cubes.


    ¡°Right, anyway you guys up to meet and level together? I know there¡¯s not much info out yet but figured we could hang out.¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡± I raised an eyebrow, this peaked my interest, but then my mood darkened when I remembered why I had been training so hard and what the game means to me now, so I squashed my enthusiasm.


    With a sad smile, I answered ¡°Love to man, you can send Ethan a message on his Deck and sort out levelling with him, unfortunately, I¡¯ve got somewhere I¡¯ve to go in-game, she designed part of it and I kinda wanna see it first before anyone else does, you know. And before you say anything it¡¯s fine you didn¡¯t know.¡±


    Ryan looked like he just bit on a lemon ¡°Yeah, sorry dude. Err... she was always nice to me you know. Haih... you know time is the least thing we have of.¡± He smelled like vanilla then.


    The silence dragged on, pregnant with emotion before my sputtering laugh broke us out of the moment.


    ¡°Pffst, Hemingway? Are you quoting fucking Hemingway to me right now? Haha!¡± shaking my head, we near the field. In the distance, I could see Coach Harrison setting up the Holofield scowling at the players, and I had a feeling I knew why.


    ¡°Right gotta jet. Dude, I was second in my EngLit class last year behind Rachmore. You demean my intellectual prowess because of the fitness of my derriere!¡± He shouted back at me as he ran towards Coach Harrison.


    I shook my head and walked on to the track field.


    AiirA pinged in with a jingle of my tassel bell, one of the custom features of the casing ¡°Nanocode acknowledged. Please proceed to Track 6 Mr. Vaneshan. Deck Limiter: Physical Activity Removed. Have a pleasant day.¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Just as the words were muttered my world lit up. Holodisplays showing my Heart Rate, Respiration Rate, Blood Pressure and Calories Expended were pinned to the top right of my vision, blurring and only coming into focus when I call upon it. My training progress and suggested routine came up next and I dismissed those along with any environmental displays.


    Track 6 lit up with the comforting turquoise glow I was so used to. Deck Privacy went up and runners on either side blurred out with the distance to them ticking up as numerical digits on my Augmented Reality display. Ongoing races between runners were tracked and undismissable as an effort to promote healthy competition.


    ¡°Initiate Work Out Programme Raj 1.3¡± I muttered into my Deck.


    Instructions flow into my head as I prep my warm up, limbering up my muscles and joints with satisfying cracks, I then break into a light jog aiming to get my pulse going and warming me up from the lingering morning chill. I see my heart rate rising and my haemoglobin saturation dropping before stabilizing, a screen pins to the side of my vision with the estimated progress.


    A light breeze blows through the field and goosebumps race up my neck. I begin focussing on the rhythmic thumping of my heart, the rise and fall of my steps and my mind falls into a hypnotic pace.


    The colour bleeds out of the world as all I¡¯m left with is me and the Lup Dup beating of my heart. I truly feel at peace here, no smells, no thoughts, no pain, just me and...


    ¡®Warm Up Routine Complete, Runner on Track 5 Requesting Training Race 100m, Acceptable Standard Deviation of Optimal Condition, Request Accepted as per Athletics Programme, Please Prepare Mr. Vaneshan, Race Starts in 1 minute 30 seconds¡¯ AiirA jolts me out of my zen in her toneless female voice.


    Color bleeding back into the world I rub my forehead annoyed at the disruption.


    Look over at Track 5, shrouded by Deck Privacy the runner looked like nothing more than a Red Mannequin but I had an inkling as to who it was.


    As I slow and come to a stop, the AR display jolts and details about the Training Race come into focus with a rapidly building spectator list. I dismiss it with a wave returning to my minimalistic theme.


    Just me and the Track. I switch on my playlist which composed mainly of Icelandic experimental post-rock music. Pretentious I know.


    The annoyance of being interrupted passing as I begin to feel anxiety and excitement for the upcoming race. Feeling the shoes biting into my foot and the hard ground underneath, I hunger for the thrill of the race. The warmth of my core heating up in anticipation of competition as I clench my jaw holding back a grin.


    An errant sweatdrop slides down my neck and I¡¯m reminded to keep my discipline lest my eagerness slips up my form.


    I take a deep breath in as the cool air rushes into my nostrils, down my trachea, splitting at my bronchus and finally inflating my alveolar sacs.


    I calm my mind, only me and my heartbeat remain.


    Lup Dup...


    Lup Dup...


    AirrA¡¯s voice sounds in my mind but my focus would not be broken.


    I repeat my mantra over and over ¡®I am in my fortress. In here I am Raja, in here I am King!¡¯


    My body moved almost instinctively lining up at the track, fingers spreading as the grainy texture brushes past my skin, my left knee resting on the ground and my breath released in a long controlled hiss. Rising to a 4 point start I feel the muscles in my left leg tense, a coiled viper ready to strike, deadly and hungry.


    My empty lungs begin to draw in a long steady breath again. And just when near bursting...


    ¡°GO!¡±


    My left foot uncoils pushing against the Track, against Gravity, against the World.


    The world bleeds once again, only leaving me and the track and the Red finish line.


    90m


    My heart beats against my eardrums, loud, sonorous, raging. The wind whistles sharply against my ears all the while. The stretch of my muscles working in an effort taught by millennials of genetic memory.


    76m


    The ground disappears under my feet, and my feet hunger for more. My sides tense as I hold my breath preventing it from escaping.


    52m


    My arms ache as they swing clawing at the space in front of me. Sweat runs rivulets down my torso drenching my attire.


    23m


    My feet hit the ground devouring the white, hungry to reach the line, desperate even.


    10m


    My lungs threaten to burst as a hiss escapes my lips!


    4m


    My eardrums ache as my heart hammers against them!


    3m


    My legs scream as pain sears through them!


    2m


    My body craves for what comes next for I know she is here!


    1m


    And my feet feel the ground no more, the air goes still and I feel her around me, wrapping me in her arms. But she doesn¡¯t smell of love, not of camphor and cinnamon, just sterile and odourless and I know it¡¯s an illusion and my heart bleeds again.


    ¡°...inner Track 5, Runner E.R. Training Race complete¡± I hear as my consciousness returns.


    ¡°Buah!¡± I let out my breath as I breathe in gulps trying to return my vitals to their baseline.


    I look up and see the red mannequin figure of Track 5¡¯s Runner pointing to the side field. I comply and follow him over.


    The side field had a number of students already taking a break from their daily training, the blue awning a welcome reprieve from the vengeful sun. Recyclable plastic bottles littered the ground, likely awaiting the janitors to usher them into bins. Lazy privileged assholes that they were.


    As we step off the track, the Deck Privacy peels of us showing Ethan¡¯s flushed figure looking like a wet hound, gone were hours of hair sculpting, his wet fringe now plastered to his forehead and his sportswear stained with sweat, no longer pristine.


    ¡°Mate, that was brill! What¡¯s your time? I swear you¡¯re getting faster by the week and to think a few months ago you were floundering with the rest of the barrel scraps.¡± Ethan grinned and then suddenly furrowed his brows.


    ¡°You¡¯re not still having that glitch at the end of races are you?¡± Ethan asked concern lacing his voice.


    It was understandable, AiirA and Nanotechnology were beyond human understanding, while certainly created by us, ordinary human senses couldn¡¯t interpret all of the information they processed and supplied. Decks were created as a crutch for us to understand signals AiirA gave the Nanotech in our bloodstream, and Deck glitches were worrying because well, it simply had never happened before.


    The animal trials of early Nanotechnology was open to the general populace and had unfortunately been distorted into urban legends ranging from half cyborg bunnies craving human brains to hive mind psychic rats. Both of which were proven false in the intervening five decades since the introduction of sanctioned Nanotechnology for human use. However, stories of relatives on the mainland feasting on brains tend to float around, concerns never really leaving the collective psyche.


    ¡°Nah man, think I was too hyped up on caffeine after we got our upgrades last week that I was seeing things.¡± I lied.


    While I felt bad about lying to Ethan, having my best friend know that I was having sensory hallucinations would make him think I was crazy¡­


    Even better to hide it if I was actually going crazy because I would gladly go crazy to have her hold me in her arms again.


    Alright... that sounded fucking weird... time to get out of my head.


    My tassel bell jingled just then and AiirA pinged in ¡°Time is 8.30 am, as per Education Bureau Guidelines, Deck Limiter: Educational Archives Level 3 Removed. Have a pleasant day.¡± she intoned in her emotionless feminine voice.


    We groaned simultaneously ¡°Guess it¡¯s time for school.¡±

 Chapter 3: Cold Hands

    ¡°...and Duvall Enterprises¡¯ research bore fruit. They solved the final issues plaguing the hydrofoil making floating cities a viable option. With sea levels rising and New Orleans of the State of Louisiana being the latest city to be completely submerged, Roderick Duvall took a stand and went against the company board¡¯s decision investing a hefty amount of personal finances into building the World¡¯s first hydrofoil city or as we call it The Sphere. Though calling it a floating city is a gross misnomer, as the average sphere is around 5000 square miles, roughly the size of the former State of Connecticut...¡± Mr Walters our History teacher droned.


    He was a gangly wisp of a man with tufts of grey hair clinging dearly to his balding head. His monotonous voice was mildly hypnotic as he drawled on about the history of The Habitat. Which is the name ¡®Our Lord and Saviour¡¯ Roderick Duvall gave to his floating nation. I mentally sneered.


    My attention had long left this thinly disguised nationalist propaganda as I stared out the window. The sun was high in the sky leaning westward as it grew later in the day.


    Grade school had finished not long ago and the gleeful bubbly screams of children travelled from the grassy yard below. I smiled as I found myself yearning for a simpler time when I was less cynical.


    The yard was mostly empty, most having left for home by taking public or private drones, the ones left behind were the upper middle class, too affluent to slum it out on public drones, yet not rich enough for their personal private drones and were likely waiting for their families shared drone. Such was life on a capitalist floating man-made island.


    Bored with seeking sociological enlightenment by starting at 9-year-olds which I freely admit was more than a little creepy, I turn my attention to the very important Holo in front of me 16.48:32. A little over 11 minutes to freedom from this federalized penitentiary called a school.


    Suddenly, I felt a jab in my ribs and turn to see Rebecca Rachmore nudging her nose at the front. I follow her eyes to see a Mr Walters looking at me expectantly.


    Cursing my luck, I mentally request AiirA to repeat the salient points of the last 30s. Hmm¡­ Explain the current status of The Habitat from the perception of the International community. Easy enough, but first to butter him up so I don¡¯t get in shit, always a good idea since I¡¯m playing the honors student role might as well go all in.


    Giving a placating smile I start ¡°Apologies, Mr Myers, your question was so profound it drove me to introspection. Since The Habitat was established in international waters of the Atlantic Ocean, the United Nations legally is forced to consider us an independent nation, however prior to their dissolution the United States of America vehemently claimed that we were the 51st state of the country despite The Habitat not acknowledging that claim nor paying any federal taxes. Many countries treat us as an independent nation but are of the opinion that we should vassalize to one of the other ¡®proper¡¯ nations. In my opinion a century ago there were 23 independent countries in North America, half a century ago there were 15 and this year there are 72. Fracturing and merging of nations happened out of necessity due to rising ocean levels and differing political and social ideologies. The international community at large should reevaluate their opinion on what constitutes a nation due to volatile nature of our world¡¯s geological and political climate before any discussion of sovereignty can take place.¡±


    A Textbook answer derived from extrapolation of possible answers to possible questions based on this year¡¯s curriculum done by yours truly at the start of the term. It pays to be prepared so I can stare at grade school kids run around. No. Stop. Creepy.


    ¡°As expected from someone of your pedigree Mr Vaneshan. A very enlightening answer, we all can learn a lot from this.¡± Mr Walters gives me an approving look. Bless his soul, he was too naive.


    ¡°Hmph!¡± I hear a disapproving snort from beside me and see as Rebecca¡¯s face morphs into a scowl.


    I loll onto my desk and whisper ¡°You know, you¡¯d be so much more beautiful if you got that stick out of your ass. Though I can¡¯t blame you I hear anal sex is very pleasing.¡±


    I see her face shocked as crimson rushes up her neck. Before she can answer though¡­


    BRRRINGGG!


    The school bell rings and I nestle my head in my arms, not eager to slog it out with the rest of the class to rush out the door.


    ¡°Schooling Hours are Over. As per Education Bureau''s Guidelines, All Deck Limiters are Removed excepting Parental Controlled Functions. Please Have a Good day.¡± AiirA chimed in as my tassel bell jingled.


    I hear Rebecca¡¯s chair scrape against the floor beside me, showing no indication of being perturbed by my words. Though a whiff of jalapenos and sugar cubes tell me otherwise. Oops, maybe I shouldn¡¯t have been so mean to her, but she¡¯s so fun to tease.


    My Deck pings as Ethan sends me a message.


    Ethan: Stop sleeping you wanker and come on down, we¡¯re by the tree.


    Ryan: Yeah man stop wanking you sleeper. See I¡¯m all edumacated and shit.


    Ethan: Fuck you, Ryan.


    Rajan: Fuck you, Ryan.


    Sighing I get up dragging my chair against the floor, too lazy to make a graceful exit. The sun was low now nearing 5 in the evening. I stare out and admire it and for all my cynicism, watching the Sun setting against a flat blue ocean every day has a sense of wonder as to how far we¡¯ve come as a species.


    My steps are lighter now after a full day at school. Exercise and positive reinforcement of my intellectual superiority after a day of lessons I¡¯ve memorised months ago lifts the cloud over my heart of the morning''s happenings.


    I skip down the empty stairs and deserted hallways with only janitors for company in companionable silence. They committed to their work as to not get fired and me just enjoying some quiet after a day of socializing. It¡¯s a pain being socially apt.


    I walk over the perfectly manicured lawn and swerve to the left instead of heading to the parking lot. ¡®The Tree¡¯ as we call it was just a pine tree surrounding the school compound. It¡¯s only significance being a permanent reminder that even the best of us were idiots at one point.


    When we were 12 Ethan, Ryan and I watched some of my mum¡¯s old Holovids during a sleepover, we marathoned through Oriental Asian Kung Fu flicks, John Claude van Damme B-movies and Chuck Norris classics.


    Naturally the next day we decided to test our martial prowess by attempting to run up a tree. Ethan and Ryan went first and failed to find purchase and it was my turn next. Convinced that inadequate speed and lack of momentum was the answer to their failure to walk up trees, I gained some distance and started my sprint, 5 meters to the tree my feet slipped on a wet patch of soil, previously unseen and careened me into the trunk face first. It felt like making out with a truck going at 60 miles/hr. My nose broke and streamed a font of blood all over my designer labelled shirt. My parents had to be called in and needless to say, they were less than pleased.


    Once again, I reiterate it was a good lesson to remind us that even the most perfect of beings can folly in their youth.


    Nearing the tree, I see Ryan spread on the grass like he¡¯s drawing snow angels only in summer, while curiously Ethan was studying the tree.


    Noticing me approach, Ethan¡¯s face lit up while Ryan was still trying to burn a hole in the sky with his stare. Against my better judgement, I ask Ethan what he¡¯s doing.


    ¡°Mate you gotta see this, there''s a fair resemblance to your face on the tree knot, I¡¯ve read the bark rubbings and the due date¡¯s not far off. Congrats you¡¯re gonna be a daddy! What do you think we should name it?¡±


    Yep definitely regretting it.


    I promptly ignore Ethan¡¯s bullshit and walk up to Ryan, my body blocked the sun and stretched a long shadow across him.


    Without looking up Ryan said in a reverent voice ¡°Hey dude you know, Mr Walters got me thinking. The world¡¯s been changing at an unbelievable pace, we have Nanomachines in our bodies, an AI that hooks up into our brain and we live on the fucking ocean! Where do you think we¡¯re gonna be when we¡¯re older? Do you think the Europa Terraforming Project is gonna finish then? Or are we gonna find a wormhole? Holy crap dude this shit is deep, I¡¯m scaring myself with my genius here.¡± He looks at me shocked, genuine or not I can¡¯t tell.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Shaking my head I smile and bend down to offer him an elbow. With a heave, I pull Ryan off the ground.


    ¡°That¡¯s the problem with you thinking man, it¡¯s dangerous. First of all who the hell wants to live on Europa? The whole planet is an ocean so it¡¯ll be like living on a Sphere, only colder, with less gravity and fucked up day-night cycles. But I bet the view is bitching and rather than something awesome we¡¯d be lucky if a century from now we¡¯ve not nuked ourselves into the apocalypse.¡± I replied with good humour. Ryan looks like I kicked his puppy.


    ¡°Don¡¯t mind him, Ryan, Rajan¡¯s an eternal pessimist. I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll discover some hot Twi¡¯lek race that¡¯ll need you to be their ambassador to show them our ways. Then we¡¯ll see who has the last laugh!¡± Ethan slung an arm round Ryan¡¯s shoulder cheering him up.


    ¡°It¡¯s not pessimism it¡¯s called being a realist.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s called being a boring asshole. Let¡¯s be honest Rajan other than shitting on everyone else''s dreams what ambitions do you have for yourself? We¡¯re living in one of the greatest ages for humanity and you¡¯re the son of one of the greatest family dynasty ever and you¡¯re a coaster!¡± Ryan reprimanding hazel eyes bore into me.


    I flinch and go quiet. He¡¯s right in a way, I am a coaster. I bet even Drake has a dream of being the best Pyramid Square player or beating the Guinness Record for most protein shakes drunk and here I am unambitious, but no way in hell am I ever going to admit that!


    The atmosphere turns a bit awkward after that, Ethan and I have a silence off as we walk towards the parking lot. Ryan keeps looking in between us worried, but it¡¯s a fight we have had a dozen times before and will have again. Sigh.


    The manicured lawn gave way to an organo-concrete slab or as it¡¯s misnamed, the parking lot. Unlike our forefathers and some communities on the mainland, The Habitat does not use much land-based transportation, so parking lot was not appropriate, it was more akin to a landing pad for self-piloted Drones hovering above us. But traditions tend to stick around the name landing pad never gained traction and instead, the monicker parking lot became entrenched into our lingo.


    Stepping on the parking lot, one of the other seniors shouts ¡°Hey babe, you want a ride on my Vans?¡± He offered the girl by his side.


    ¡°Ughh.¡± I groan and all three of us stare at each other and just like that the bubble burst.


    We start out in giggles but soon reach full blown laughter as people around us stare at us like we¡¯re crazy.


    Wiping a tear from his eye Ethan says ¡°Your dad sure has a great naming sense.¡±


    Yes, see those automated passenger Drones in the sky? They¡¯re called Vaneshicles or more colloquially known as Vans. While actually an incredible feat of aeronautical engineering, software programming and some world-changing breakthroughs in renewable energy they had the unfortunate fate of being a product of my father, one Mr Vaneshan and his company, Vaneshan Aerospace, back when he didn¡¯t have shareholders to be beholden to and hence the name Vaneshicle.


    And I¡¯ll let you imagine the colourful childhood I had with that.


    And so here it comes full circle to me, Rajan Vaneshan a possible heir to the only company with any significant market share in aerial transportation the world over. Filthy rich, envy of all men, star of wet dreams of many women and all I wanna do is shoot the shit with my friends and not think about the future.


    I look up as my private drone nears, magnetic propulsion engine blaring with an iridescent violet hue. Sleek and painted steel blue it looks like a late 21st century F-11 Nighthawk Stealth Bomber. Truly the best money can buy, or in this model¡¯s case, money can¡¯t buy, at least not for a civilian.


    My Deck chimes almost instantly and the door slides open seamlessly without so much as a hiss. The smell of new leather greets me as I slip in, how Gerome manages to keep it smelling like this is beyond me and surely some secret of the Covenant of Butlerdom. One that I swear to one day uncover.


    I turn around and give a mock salute with a click of my tongue to my friends before retiring to the cockpit.


    The drone reconfirms my Nanocode and the red light illuminating the interior switches off. It then smoothly cranes into the sky and sets a course for home.


    Rajan: Sorry guys. Same story as always security protocol needs to reconfirm my Nanocode to avoid turning the whole Hex into slag.


    Ryan: Get me one too!


    Ethan: No worries mate and no don¡¯t get the overgrown 8-year-old a Drone capable of levelling Scotland... Catch ya tomorrow in game if you get your stuff sorted. Later.


    The perils of being a Quadrillionaire¡¯s son, my after-school activities always came with the assurance of military grade hardware shadowing my every move. Threats of kidnapping, murder and capture arrive at the mansion almost weekly at this point. If you ask me, rather than the monetary gain I suspect various parties are aiming to harvest my seed stock.


    Personally, I wish they¡¯d forgo their efforts and just add me on Tinder, would save all of us a lot of trouble.


    As I stare out I see the Hex rapidly shrinking in front of me into a green Hexagon. Leaving the Sphere of the Education Bureau I stare out at the 79 other interconnected hexes, each as big as the Isle of Manhattan. These form one of 99 other Spheres that make up the Habitat.


    Suddenly feel very very small.


    I queried my Deck and the flight home would take 42 minutes 31 seconds. Traffic was unheard of as AiirA automated all transport within The Habitat. I could select from a million Holovids in the database, join a Holochat or play a Hologame but I decided against all that and swipe the console closed. I flip on my workout playlist of experimental Icelandic music losing myself in thoughts as the music fills the ship.


    Despite my best efforts, the conversation with Ethan comes back to me. I know he¡¯s right but some part of me just can¡¯t seem to care. As I stare out of the window seeing the blue ocean race by, my eyes grew heavy and I fall asleep drinking in the aroma of new leather.


    The justle of the drone shakes me out of my slumber, feeling a wet patch against my neck I claw at it annoyed but still could not find the source. I unwillingly open my eyes and find to my chagrin that I¡¯m drooling. I swipe at a strand of saliva from the corner of my mouth as I chew on my tongue to get rid of the bitter taste in my mouth. Evaluating the damp collar of my jacket, I sigh. I must have been more tired than I realised. Looking out the window I see that I am home and take a moment to compose myself. Wouldn¡¯t do to have the local help see their master flustered and unkempt.


    Exiting I marvel at the opulence in front of me. My home is a brownstone building so common to 20th Century Manhattan and in that sense, it may even seem humble, but the Vaneshans did things in style. It is not a mere unit but rather the whole 200m block that had been procured. Apparently, holding fond memories for my parents, they airlifted the whole city block, dirt and all onto our hex. The multitude of french windows framed by vine patterned grills reflected the evening sun looking like thousands of shining topaz¡¯s in the orange light, once home to over 20 families, now merely a testament to the power of capitalism.


    Despite my chastisement, it was a beautiful, warm home. Rockery framed the main doorway with pink dianthus, purple thyme and aubrieta with geometrically pleasing sempervivum interspersed under stone cherubs. I breathe in and revel in the sight and scents.


    Finally, I turn to Gerome in a well-tailored suit pressed to perfection, his greying hair and a well-groomed full beard only adding to the impression that he was plucked out of a Butlers Illustrated magazine, I hear that''s a thing in Japan.


    ¡°Welcome home, Young Master. The Master has regrettably informed that he won¡¯t be home for dinner tonight.¡± Gerome says in full professionalism his face a mask but not before I catch him narrowing his eyes upon spotting my damp jacket collar. Damn, thought I got away with that one.


    ¡°Very well Gerome, I shall dine with mother tonight.¡± I say, hiding my disappointment. I walk up to the front door with practised grace as is expected of one of my station, trailed by Gerome and two rows of maids and servants garbed in traditional 1800 English attire, another quirk of mother. Though as I glanced at a blushing maid I have to admit to come to appreciate it.


    Opening the door, the house feels empty despite the veritable army of servants already present skulking with clockwork precision to their respective duties around the house. It smelled of quiet marble and incense, the air cool against his skin. Of course, my father isn''t home but God forbid if he doesn¡¯t ask one of his many underlings to light an incense daily.


    After two measured breaths, I decide it¡¯s time to go see mother. I walk through the empty hall and the servants take that as their queue to be dismissed melding seamlessly into the nooks and crannies like they were born to it. My heels clicked against the marble floor as I turn into the west wing where cold roman stone gave way to warm oriental wood. At the far end of the wing, I stop and run my palm against the wooden grain of a thick-framed wooden panelled door, one I spent much of my childhood just beyond.


    I remove my shoes and kowtow once at the door. Rising I grab the cold metal handle, once long ago warm and inviting now distant and repulsive, I steel myself as I press down and lean my weight against the door. It creaks open just loud enough not to be distracting but not quiet enough to be silent, another one of my mother¡¯s quirky demands as to not be surprised. She claims she hates surprises but always pouts when we don''t give her one on her birthday.


    She¡¯s adorable like that.


    I cross the wooden floor and take mother in my hand, she was cold now despite the warm glow of the waning sun.


    ¡°Hello mother, today was a good day at school¡­¡± I began telling her of Ernest and my thoughts on the matter, praying she isn¡¯t disappointed in my inaction. Then I tell her of my Track training and how good I am getting hoping she¡¯d be proud of me. And I finish by apologizing for being mean to Rebecca Rachmore, I know how much mother despises misogynism.


    And I tell her how much I miss her with every beating of my heart.


    My hand slips from her urn and I light an incense stick placing it to mother¡¯s left opposite the one lit by father. I slip to my knees and give a deep formal kowtow, arms crossed with each palm spread eagle on each breast. My breath catches in my throat as I choke back tears.


    I raise my head to stare at her photo through blurry eyes. There was a mousy-looking fair skinned woman more cute than beautiful with curly brown hair, heart-shaped face, well-sculpted eyebrows and a beaming smile. Her eyes were brown, the same shade of my own, only the crows feet crinkling at the sides betraying her age. We also shared the same aquiline nose, though hers was perfect and mine slightly crooked telling the tale of a misspent youth.


    My eyes trace the engraving on her urn.


    ¡®Here lies Athena Duvall-Vaneshan beloved mother, sister and daughter, 2121 - 2176¡¯.


    Yes if you¡¯re wondering, that Duvall. I am the grandson of Roderick Duvall, The Sphere Builder, The Saviour of Humanity, The Most Powerful Man in the World...


    and also, the man who killed my mother.