New Drugs Den

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Lucerne Village, Sacred Geometry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on December 1, 2012 by javedbabar

Samuel’s gang met every night after school. Some came immediately, studious members came after homework, and laggards came after dinner. They rode bicycles to their den, a cave at the base of Mt Alba. Older kids sometimes “borrowed” cars to get there, and gave everyone rides home.

The police knew about these activities but were powerless. They couldn’t stop a child without a special warrant, which required extra paperwork. Also, there had to be a minimum of four cops present as witnesses, each later required to take a polygraph test.

Parents didn’t even try to discipline their children. A single complaint by a child led to their immediate arrest, a speedy hearing, and possibly prison. The result of all this was that children were allowed to run free and nowhere were they freer than in Samuel’s gang.

The first few weeks were exciting, but then kids began to get bored. “Let’s play games,” said Samuel. “We’ll start with wrestling.”

This wasn’t a popular choice, and no one volunteered to participate. Since the death of his friend Dale, Samuel had had no real competition. He could crush any other boy or girl in an instant.

One of the studious gang members said, “Okay, how about some word games?”

They played rhyming, guessing, and spying games and grew bored again.

“Who’s got some cards? We’ll play poker.”

They played poker, blackjack, gin-rummy and snap.

“Did anyone bring video games?

They crowded around Playstation 6, XXX-Box and Nintendo Wiiiii.

The modern world had made them bored. With so much available, always and everywhere, nothing was ever enough. Immersion in abundance became avoidance. They needed escape.

Gang attendance declined till Samuel hit upon a new idea, which was in truth an old idea. Toxins, the oldest pleasures known to man.

They began with drinking games, downing beers, wines, ciders and spirits.

Then came smoking games, with cigarettes, cigars and hookahs.

Then snorting games. Snuff, speed and cocaine.

Then injecting games. Morphine, heroin and amphetamines.

They all became drug addicts, which proved a nice earner for Samuel, and for his next layer of lieutenants. But he realized that to become a successful organization, his own house should be in order. Every night that week he locked everyone out of the cave, and made them go cold turkey, and chased the drug monster out.

But the monster returned. Samuel’s wholesale dealers were upset by their loss of earnings, and came looking. A fur-coated, trilby wearing thug asked, “Who is Samuel? The Boss wants a word.”

They didn’t know who they were dealing with. Samuel and his gang trapped and killed them and sold their cars.

The police suspected the gang’s involvement but could do nothing, and to be frank, were not inclined to. They thought, let the underworld clean itself.

Many years later, when Samuel was a grandfather and also a godfather, his grandson’s gang was in trouble. Samuel took care of the situation personally, but in the process was wounded mortally. He hadn’t been hit though. There were no traces of poison, nor knife or bullet wounds; no ropes or cement; no fire. How had they reached him?

Modern crime was no place for old men. It was a subtle arena. Electronic signals disrupted everything, communications in the outside world and nerve impulses within. He was no match for the new breed of robot dealers. Samuel’s last sensation was that of flashing ones and zeros, and high-pitched whirrs. This was against established protocols. Computers’ offspring were also out of control.

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Bully Best Friend

Posted in Lucerne Village, World Myths with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 30, 2012 by javedbabar

“You are! You are! You are!” screamed the boy in pain.

There was no dispute that Samuel was now leader of the gang. He was fair-skinned and blonde, ten kilos heavier, and six inches taller than most other boys, and all of them were afraid of him. He beat up boys and forced girls to kiss him. It made no difference if they were gang members or not, but gang members got off more lightly, with fewer bruises and bites.

Many parents complained to Samuel’s parents, but they shrugged their shoulders and said he was out of control; they didn’t know where he got it from. Besides, The Authority banned all forms of domestic discipline, so there was nothing they could do. The official guidance Samuel received at school was written only, nothing verbal, or, God forbid, physical discipline to counter his physical conduct. It barely dented his bad behaviour.

His Grandpa was a tough character, and was asked to have a word with him. Rather than acting as a good influence though, his Grandpa’s pep talks made him proud and pompous.

Things were set to get worse when Dale arrived at school. His parents had lived off-grid in an “undisclosed location” since his birth, and had home-schooled him till thirteen. The Authority had then threatened to lock them up, and take Dale away, unless they returned to “civilization”.

Dale was the same size as Samuel, but dark and hairy. Either they would fight each other in rival gangs, or together become twin terrors. It could go either way.

On his first day at school, Dale stood in front of Samuel in the playground. Samuel was a wary of this strange new boy, and rather than pushing him out of the away, he instead said brusquely, “Excuse me.”

“Excuse me, what?”

“Excuse me,” Samuel launched himself at Dale, screaming, “Pleeeease!”

They fought for ten minutes, resulting in a complicated stalemate, with both boys and then four teachers, tangled on the floor, before they broke apart, laughing. After this, Samuel and Dale become inseparable best friends.

They continued fighting each other for fun, much to the relief of others, who now became spectators rather than participants, cheering for one or the other combatant, often laying down bets. The Samuel-Danny fight became a popular ritual. Teachers bet on it too, and Miss Jewel and Mr Wong won $100 each.

“That shopkeeper charges too much money,” Dale said to Samuel. “He wants two dollars for chips when they’re one dollar everywhere else, and a potato costs ten cents to grow. He thinks we’re stupid. We should raid his shop.”

“We should smash it!”

“We should burn it!”

They decided to do all three things, and raided, smashed and burned it that night. The tied-up shopkeeper begged them to stop, each by name, and when they realized he recognized them, they smashed and burned him too.

The police came to school the next day to quiz teachers. Because of regulations, they were not allowed to quiz children. Samuel and Dale smirked at the back of the class.

A week later, the shopkeeper’s daughter saw Samuel and Dale and set her Rottweiler upon them. After a long fight, they killed the dog. Samuel only suffered cuts and grazes but Dale was bitten badly, and a few days later, died.

Samuel was withdrawn from school and stayed at home for two weeks. He went to visit his grandfather who lived beyond the swamp at the base of Mt Negra. He told him all about the gang, the fight, the shopkeeper and the dog. And most of all about how much he missed his best friend Dale.

His grandfather clipped his ear and said, “Don’t be such a wimp. You get that from your father, not from me, for sure. I had killed four guys by your age. Now go back to school and kick some ass.”

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Endless Laps

Posted in Lucerne Village, Mystical Experience, Sacred Geometry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on November 29, 2012 by javedbabar

Samuel stared at the throbbing red machine with awe. “Where did you get that from?” he said. “That go-cart costs four thousand dollars! How did you get your dad to buy it?”

“He didn’t buy it,” said, Adam, looking so pleased with himself that he could burst like a punctured watermelon. “But I own it.”

“So you stole it – good work!”

Adam looked even more pleased with himself, which was barely possible. “I didn’t steal it. I got it free. You can get one too if you’re quick. The dealer has gone bankrupt and has to get rid of his stock immediately, but he’s not allowed to sell them. Don’t ask me why. My dad says it’s to do with tax on cross-border trade. He’s giving away a hundred go-carts. Go and get one.”

Samuel wasn’t sure if he was being taken for a ride. He made a move to go but then turned back and said, “Are you kidding me? You had better not be. Can you take me down there?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. My dad said I could only have the cart if I promised not to ride on public roads. It’s illegal. I can’t drive it along the Lucerne Valley Road.”

Samuel saw a car two kilometres away, ran into the road and stopped the driver. He explained his desperate situation and got a ride into town. He arrived not a moment too late, bagging the last go-cart going. He was over the moon.

The issue then was to get it home without driving on public roads. This was no problem for Samuel. He rode through farms, along forest tracks, across people’s yards, and made it back to his private road.

Every kid in Lucerne seemed to have a go-cart. Roaring was heard all around the valley, growling in forests, bouncing off cliffs, and collecting in the old quarry and caves. The valley seemed to be inhabited by spirits, a place of legendary monsters.

Kids were allowed to race carts in the Industrial Park. Though it was technically a public amenity, it was legally owned by a private entity. Village Hall behaved like an administrative Cyclops, and chose not to see.

The races became a weekly fixture, and the air on Sunday nights was filled with growling beasts. Samuel made excuses for the first few races, but then was noticeable by his absence. People began calling him a chicken. It couldn’t last. He had to appear on the race track soon but he was afraid. He was afraid of driving fast. He was afraid of losing. He was afraid of killing someone. He was afraid of dying.

On Saturday night he hardly slept. He was thinking of making another excuse. It was a sunny day, he could say he went to the lake.

“Samuel, it’s for you.” His father handed him the phone. “It’s your grandfather.”

His grandfather? Why was he calling? He only called once a year at Easter. He picked up the phone. “Grandpa Albert?”

“Yes Samuel. I hear you’re racing today. Wait for me. I’m coming.”

“Why are you…” His grandfather hung up.

Just before the race, Samuel sat in his go-cart, sweating. He would lose. He would kill someone. He would kill himself.

A thin figure walked towards him, bent over and whispered in his ear. “You are the driver. Have no fear. Don’t worry about what may, or may not, happen. Just drive.”

The figure removed all of his clothes. The crowd gasped. His whole body was tattooed with black and white checks, a living GO.

The starting bell sounded. While everyone stared at Grandpa, Samuel roared away. His Grandpa understood that Karma depended on action. He also understood the Tao. His black and white body encompassed yin and yang, enabling universal motion, or at least his grandson’s.

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Healing Hands

Posted in Lucerne Village, Mystical Experience, Unknown with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on November 28, 2012 by javedbabar

Sophie was feeling unsettled. There were crises at work, family members demanding money, her landlord had given her one month’s notice, and she was about to hit forty and was still single. Left on the shelf. Many of her friends were single too, but at least they’d had a go, married, and failed. Some had wonderful children as awards for trying.

Why hadn’t she ever taken the plunge? There had been opportunities. Maybe she had been too fussy when younger.

“Will you marry me?” Adam had asked her, long ago, at Blackwater Lake. Her response was to run off. It’s right to not settle for second best, but what she’d then thought of as second best, was upon reflection first best, and those who had later won her heart turned out to be last worst.

She wandered across the park after work. The sky was glowing like there were two suns setting, golden and purple. TJ, the Lucerne Valley Hotel’s receptionist, said, “Welcome back.” She was a daily customer. She’d been there at lunchtime for a beer and burger, but now wanted something more and stronger.

The manager had found a clever way of getting around The Authority’s prohibition on cheap drinks. He promoted Happy Hour as a heritage event, harkening back to its nautical origins. There were wrestling, boxing, singing and drinking bouts, often all together. It was a barrel of laughs.

A buxom wench like Sophie was well appreciated aboard HMS Hotel Bar. Its sailors bought her endless rounds, and she was constantly engaged in jigs and reels. She danced with a small, dark guy with a great body. He didn’t talk much. He was either drunk or shy. He had a bright face which seemed to shine everywhere, and Sophie didn’t want to be without its glow. At the end of a reel, she grabbed his hand and pulled him outside. They smooched a little and then she asked him to walk her home.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “Is that a good idea?”

“What kind of man are you?” she said. “Not a gentleman at all. I should have made you walk the plank!”

“Okay, I’ll walk you home,” he said immediately. Nobody likes to be called a barbarian.

When they reached her home, Sophie opened the door and pulled him in. He made an unconvincing attempt to resist and then gave up. He was not much heavier than Sophie but with extra muscle instead of extra curves. He leaned back on the sofa.

Sophie played some ambient tunes and pulled him up to dance. Despite the music being unsuitable for nautical antics, she forced her guest to engage in further jigs and reels. He was a really good dancer and somehow made them work.

His moves were great, jumping, skipping and twirling around the lounge. Her body pulled along with his, her heart was in tune with his, their hands joined together, and now their lips…

“Ouch!” she said, breaking off and pulling away. “Your hands are so hot!” She looked at them. They seemed to be glowing.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Maybe I should go now.”

“No, wait.” She didn’t know why she said it. There was something about him, about his hands. He looked at them in shock too. They were glowing faintly, golden purple.

He looked up at her and said, “I am from a family of healers going back to Pharaonic Egypt. I thought the gift had passed me by. My grandmother said that it would come to me when I met the one I must heal.”

Sophie’s head now reeled.

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Aquatic Auras

Posted in Lucerne Village, Mystical Experience, Sacred Geometry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on November 27, 2012 by javedbabar

Why was he wearing full-on yellow storm gear? The sun was shining and the water rippled in light wind. It is a beautiful day, thought Sophie, it is unlikely that any tornadoes will hit Blackwater Lake today.

The man sat there, nodding. For a moment she froze. What if he was a real weirdo, a serial killer? She had seen a movie called “Banker of Souls”, where the killer wore storm gear to avoid blood splashing his pinstriped suit. She shook her head to dispel the image.

The yellow-coated figure turned towards her. Deep within the hood’s hollow was a crinkled face wearing pink lipstick and golden earrings. It was an old woman rather than a man. She said in a whisper, “How many fishes can you see?”

Sophie saw the woman was mending nets, huge ones of all colours, spread around her. The needle’s motion was causing her to nod. She probably wasn’t a serial killer.

“I can’t see any fish,” said Sophie. “The water’s too dark. Are there many in the lake?”

“Many in the lake! Many in the lake!” The woman was cackling. “Many in the lake! Yes, there are many in the lake. Take a closer look.”

Sophie walked around some blue and green nets to the water’s edge, and peered into the black water. Patches of froth floated on the surface. They must be fish bubbles, she thought. She shielded her eyes to cut the sky’s silver glare, and looked harder.

“Yes,” she said. “I can see a fish. I think it’s a carp. There’s another one too, and another. Three of them. It’s hard to see their colour through the water. Are they purple and silver?”

“Yes, they are.” The old woman kept mending and nodding, and said, “Keep looking.”

Sophie saw silver ripples running through dark water. Not on the surface, they were deep within, rolling and stretching as if with a life of their own. Moving silver within silver. Whole sections of the lake seemed to move, as if these ripples were borne by hidden currents.

The woman said, “Do you see them?”

“Yes, I do. Are there springs beneath the lake? Or flows of rivers passing through?”

“Neither of those. There are fishes within fishes within fishes. You can’t see them all, only their aquatic auras. That’s why I am fixing these nets up. They’re needed here.”

Sophie was bemused by this notion. “Can you catch aquatic auras?”

“Only if you know what you’re doing, and I do.” She continued mending and nodding, and said, “The food chain is always visible, who eats who. The little ones are contained in big ones, aquatic auras show that, and it’s the same for humans too. You can see it in people’s faces. Look at the millions gobbled up by cities every day. Their lives are bounded, frozen within arthritic auras, all grey. The only ones smiling are the big ones you don’t see.”

She looked towards the lake. “That whale in there is taking too much.” She got up and prepared to throw out her nets. “Time to haul him in.”

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Lucky Numbers

Posted in Lucerne Village, Sacred Geometry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on November 26, 2012 by javedbabar

Maybe going to the Lucerne Valley Hotel’s bar at lunchtimes was a bad habit, but the food was well-priced and there were comfortable booths. The staff didn’t mind if you slipped off your shoes and sat in a booth cross-legged. That, along with the short walk through the park to get there, provided Sophie with a refreshing break in her day.

There were plenty of booths available, but a short, blue-eyed man with a shaven head scanned half the room, saw her – didn’t bother scanning the rest of the room – and walked towards her booth. “May I join you?” he asked.

Can you resist someone acting like that? She said, “Sure, nice to meet you. I’m Sophie.”

“Hi Sophie. I’m Michael.” His blue eyes were sharp, like dreamy icicles. “I have always been lucky with numbers. What about you?”

“I guess so, but I’m not sure what you mean exactly.”

Michael took a long look out of the window at Mt Alba, which gleamed like a white space pyramid. “I have a good birthdate. I was born on the seventh of July, 1977. If you write it as 7/7/77 and add the digits together, its sum is twenty eight; then add the two and eight to get ten, and the one and zero to make one, which is the supreme number containing all others, and from which all other numbers come.”

Sophie didn’t know what to say, and now it was her turn to look out of the window at Mt Alba.

Michael continued, “That was what gave me a good start in life. I was born to good parents in a happy home. My father was a doctor and my mother a dentist. They ensured I had everything I desired – a good school, great holidays, wonderful birthday parties, and amazing holidays.”

“You seem like a happy person,” said Sophie . “I am glad for you.”

“I was allocated an auspicious candidate number for my exams – 1122334455. The double digits reminded me to check and recheck my answers. That’s why I got A grades in everything.”

“Well done.” Sophie’s soup and sandwich arrived. She asked, “Are you having something?”

“Yes, thanks, I will.” He said to the waiter, “A double burger with the works please, and a chocolate milkshake,” and then continued. “My social security number is 0101010101, and that was very lucky too. It ensured that I always got good jobs, and then spaces between them to rest. I have never looked for a job in my life. They have always come to me when I have needed them.”

Sophie said, “What are you doing now?”

“We’ll come to that. I joined the army for five years. My service number ended in 9413, which means ‘nine die to one live’ in Chinese numerology. Knowing that ensured that I was that one to live every time. It was like an amulet deflecting enemy bullets.”

“Wow, did you…”

“My telephone number of 9876543210 means that every conversation, however frantic, always tones down, winds down and ends peacefully.”

Sophie wished that Michael would give her some peace in which to eat her lunch.

He said, “My lottery numbers were lucky. I won the jackpot.”

Her ears pricked up. He was a nerd, but a rich nerd.

“It’s a shame that your name is Sophie, which adds up to five. That has never been my lucky number.”

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Lucky Courier

Posted in Lucerne Village, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 25, 2012 by javedbabar

“Damn!” said Sophie to herself and then thought, I hate it when that happens. She picked up the phone and dialled a number. “Hello, it’s Sophie here from Lucerne Village Hall. I seem to have missed a delivery. I was here all morning; how did that happen?”

“Hello Sophie. This is Daphne from the Customer Services Team. I am sorry about your delivery. We’ve had a few problems this morning. Shall I reschedule it for this afternoon?”

“That would be great. If I’m not in my office, the courier can leave it at the reception desk in the other building. That’s always manned.”

She had considered saying, wo-manned but that would sound stupid.

The courier came again two hours later. There was a single fingernail tap on her window, and then a happy face, brown, but more golden in hue than his uniform. She motioned for him to enter, and he bounded in with a small, heavy parcel. She hadn’t been expecting anything. Was it a present from someone? Sophie liked surprises.

“Good afternoon, Miss Walker. I am sorry about before. I am new to this area and didn’t know that other building was related to yours. How many of these buildings are village offices? Oh, all of them around the garden? This must be a nice place to work. How long have you worked here? You seem well settled in…”

So much talking, thought Sophie, does he get many deliveries done? Maybe it’s because he’s new and wants to build customer relationships. Mr Chatty. She should ask him something too. “Where were you before this? In a different territory?”

“I am originally from Salistan,” he said.

Uh-oh, thought Sophie. He thinks I’m asking where he’s from. Why do immigrants always assume that’s the question? “I mean your delivery territory.”

“Oh sorry. Before I was working in the New City, but now I am in Lucerne.”

“That must be a big change for you.”

“Oh yes, but I like it. I don’t care about having a big house or big car. I just want a simple life, where I can hold my head up without people pointing. I want to make my family proud.”

Sophie was about to ask if they were still in Salistan, but he continued.

“I almost became rich, you know. At the horse races I said as a joke to someone to bet on a thousand-to-one horse. The woman put a hundred dollars on it, but the bookie closed before I could put my bet on. That horse won! That woman won one hundred thousand dollars! I saw her dancing. I was going to go up and congratulate her but there were so many people crowding around her that I left it. I was happy for her.”

Sophie started saying, “Did you…” but he was off again.

“At the casino once, I did become rich. You know that gambling is forbidden by my religion, but those machines are irresistible. It is only one coin and you never know what may happen. Lady Luck may be on your side. I won the hundred thousand dollar jackpot! It was like the Gambling God gave me what he owed. The bells were ringing, lights were flashing, and coins flooded out. They told me later that was all for show. The real prize was a big cheque for the money. I was married then, and my wife couldn’t stop laughing and laughing. In the car on the way home, we talked about all the things we would do together, but then I saw the look on her face. It said that she didn’t want to do them with me.”

Sophie didn’t know what to say.

He continued, “That’s why I am here in Lucerne working as a courier. Would you please sign for your parcel? I have a good feeling about it, why don’t you see what it contains.”

Sophie’s eyes flashed like lights on a pinball machine. There was a card saying she had won everything she had ever dreamed of. She just had to call a special number, which she did later that day. Immediately her mortgage increased by a hundred thousand dollars, which was transferred to an account in Salistan.

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The Prophet

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Mystical Experience, Unknown with tags , , , , , , , , , , on November 24, 2012 by javedbabar

The Prophet was a well-structured text. Sophie had read it many times. There were twenty-six poetry essays on topics concerning the tribulations of human existence. It was early inspirational fiction that had lasted in a way that recent over-hyped junk just wouldn’t.

The topics could run sequentially, she thought, starting with love and ending with death. Or somehow concurrently, infused with the essence of the work, which could be described as enhanced awareness.

“It starts and ends with the sea,” said Danny, QARY’s chief technician. He had started as a regular crew member when the old quarry was converted into a multimedia venue, and had proved himself over the past two seasons. He was now Sophie’s right hand man.

“Yes, it does,” she said, “Would that work as a theme?”

“I think it would. At the beginning, Almustafa is waiting for his ship to come after twelve years in Orphalese. Then he stands before a sea of people and runs through the journey of life. Later he bids them farewell and sets sail for home, with a promise of return, like a tide.”

“I need to watch you,” said Sophie. “I think you are after my job.”

Danny smiled and reddened. He didn’t know how to deal with Sophie since she had spurned his advances. They had a comfortable working relationship, but an uncomfortable personal one.

They decided to retain the book’s structure, but split the essays into sections. The quarry’s chambers would each show one third of the work: nine, nine, and eight chapters respectively. Each chapter was self-contained and didn’t need to be seen in sequence. There was a benefit in seeing some sections together, such as love, marriage and children, and these would be kept in their original order.

The finished show was good, though not their best production. There weren’t enough of Kahlil Gibran’s’ mystical drawings to illustrate the performance, and the new ones they created lacked his magic. Digital media will take you so far but cannot replace nuanced genius.

They did the best they could. Sophie loved hearing the Prophet’s profound words. Her favourite parts were those about love, marriage, children, giving, eating and drinking, work, and joy and sorrow.

“When love beckons you, follow him; Though his ways are hard and steep.”

“Let there be spaces in your togetherness; And let the winds of heaven dance between you.”

“Your children are not your children; They are the sons and daughters of life’s longing for itself.”

“All you have shall some day be given; Therefore give now, that the season of giving may be yours and not your inheritors’.”

“Your blood and my blood is naught but the sap that feeds the tree of heaven.”

“Work is love made visible.”

“Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.”

The words were beautiful, spiritual, meaningful, but something wasn’t right with the show. Sophie wondered what it was. The performance felt empty and a little contrived.

The QARY computer had been given the role of HAL in the 2001: A Space Odyssey show. The computer had enjoyed this role and not relinquished control. All images, words, sounds and actions were now part of a programme continuing forever. The crew and audience were part of the programme too.

Big machines had once hollowed the quarry and violated Mother Earth. Now one of their number, gazing into the past, attempted to make amends. QARY had transcended physical karma and manifested virtual karma. This empty space was now filled forever.

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2001: A Space Odyssey

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Mystical Experience, Unknown with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on November 23, 2012 by javedbabar

QARY’s production of The Time Machine was voted a top ten show by Arcadia’s critics. They said it rang true, and the time travel sequences had exceeded even Sophie’s expectations. Danny and the technical team had done an amazing job.

It was incredible to think that just eighteen months ago this had been an abandoned quarry. Now there was a world famous multimedia show here. No visitor to Arcadia’s west coast would miss it.

Danny had wanted to produce 2001: A Space Odyssey rather than The Time Machine, but when outvoted, he had accepted gracefully, and given 100% to the new show. Maybe he was right in a sense, thought Sophie; not that 2001 was better than The Time Machine, but in saying that it would make a good show in its own right. They needed something spectacular to kick off the third season. They could look at it now. She mentioned this to the crew.

“Really! You want to do Two Thousand and One! That’s fantastic!” said Danny. “I can’t wait to get working on the light tunnel sequence. That will be awesome!”

One of the new girls said, “Sorry, I am not familiar with Two Thousand and One. What is it?”

“It is a confusing story,” said Sophie. “There are bits I don’t understand myself. Danny, could you please explain it in a user-friendly way?”

“Sure, the film was a collaboration between the director Stanley Kubrick and writer Arthur C. Clarke. They played around with the idea for years before settling on the final version. It consists of four parts, each driven by a black monolith that appears mysteriously.”

“What do you mean by monolith?” asked the new girl. “A big stone like at Stonehenge?”

“Kind of, but in the film it’s more like a flat panel. The first part is about the dawn of man. A monolith inspires an ape to use a bone as a tool and then as a weapon, which sets him apart from other animals. The second part is about Tycho-Magnetic Anomaly One, TMA-1, a monolith found buried on the moon. The third part is a voyage to Jupiter, following a radio signal sent by TMA-1, in a ship controlled by a powerful computer named HAL, who takes over the ship, kills most of the crew, but is eventually switched off. The fourth part is the best part, where the only surviving astronaut, Bowman, is pulled into a tunnel of coloured light. He sees himself as a dying man, and then as a child in a ball of light, gazing at the world.”

The new girl looked dazed. “You want us to cover all of that in a one hour show?”

It sounds crazy, thought Sophie, but manageable. They’d produced epic myths like Gilgamesh and Beowulf, and cosmic texts like Bhagavad Gita and Tao Te Ching. 2001 was no more difficult than those.

Danny had some ideas. “We can save cash by painting some old doors black; they will make great monoliths. I can rent a special lens to make blinking eye footage, which will save on film rights. The QARY computer can double as HAL; it’s just a matter of programming some audio files.”

The team produced a show true to the film. It had minimal dialogue and explanations. The imagery was ambiguous and open-ended. It was cryptic and enigmatic.

Blink. Flash. Blink. Flash. Blink. Flash. Blink. Flash. The light tunnel sequence was amazing. Blink. Flash. Blink. Flash. The audience was destabilized and then disorientated. Blink. Flash. Blink. Flash. Things got weirder and weirder. Blink. Flash. Blink. Flash. It felt like they were actually moving. Blink. Flash. Blink. Flash. People began to sway and fall. Many were sick and shrieking.

Danny tried in vain to control the QARY computer. Sophie pulled rank and threw the mains switch. Everything went dark, and then a dark shape appeared from the darkness. She hoped this was one of Danny’s special effects.

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The Time Machine

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Mystical Experience, World Myths with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on November 22, 2012 by javedbabar

“The Time Machine has an underground theme,” said a member of the production crew, “and we could have some fun with special effects. It would be like Doctor Who in 4D! It gets my vote for next month’s show.”

“What about 2001: A Space Odyssey?” said Danny. “We could really make something of that last bit, with the crazy colours and blinking eye.”

Sophie was proud of the QARY project’s success. Converting the old quarry into a venue for multimedia shows had been her baby. She was looking for a show to complete the second season; the short list comprised The Time Machine, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Fahrenheit 451, and 1984.

The latter two had been discounted. Fahrenheit 451 because its flames would be too disturbing underground, and 1984 because its world of tiny apartments, two-way screens, media brainwash and endless wars, already existed. People may as well stay at home.

Sophie said, “Okay, who wants Time Machine?” Some hands rose. “Two Thousand and One?” A few less. “The Time Machine wins. So as we discussed, there are three main journeys. The first is the table top model disappearing in front of the inventor’s dinner guests. It’s a minor plot point but we could beef it up. The second journey is the one to 802,701 A.D., where he meets the Eloi and Morlocks. That’s the main part of the story. The third journey is the one thirty million years into the future, where he sees a dying earth and menacing red crablike creatures, and black blobs with tentacles.”

Danny said, “Will we have use of the third chamber for the show?”

“Good question. The renovation of the third chamber is almost complete, but we have unresolved health and safety issues, in particular black mould. Hey, maybe we could use that to bring the black blobs to life.” The production crew chuckled.

Danny had been difficult initially, but was now her most helpful crew member. Even though his favourite idea hadn’t been chosen, he was right back to 100% commitment on the idea that had. He said, “We could use the two main chambers to create Eloi and Morlock worlds. That would give them scale and depth. The inventor’s home is only there for framing than story. We could create it in the entrance area, or even by narration alone.”

Sophie thought, yes, that would work. The thrust of the story is the ultimate result of modern industrial relations. Bosses and workers became distinct classes of people with little in common, something Wells was very worried about.

The best way to show this would be to create two different worlds. Sophie directed the crew to focus on this separation in a modern context. She told them to create opulent and restless worlds.

The Eloi world was very bright. There were small communities of happy elfin people in large futuristic buildings. They performed no work, just spent their lives at ease, laughing and playing, whilst consuming a healthy, fruitarian diet.

The Morlock world was dense and dark. The noise of grinding machinery was everywhere as evidence of their constant industry. Stocky, brutish people moved around in a threatening manner, awaiting their chance to catch and eat you.

On opening night Sophie noticed something disturbing. Unlike previous shows, people were not moving between the chambers. Professional people reclined in the Eloi area, while unskilled workers and their families walked around the Morlock world. It seemed the process of social degeneration was underway.

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