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Seven Generations

Posted in Lucerne Village, Unknown with tags , , , , , , , , on June 16, 2012 by javedbabar

Nobody in the village had spoken to Breda for twenty four years. Seven generations ago, one of her ancestors had committed a crime, and since then all villagers had shunned her family.  The Nooranis were Quieted, which meant that they were not to be spoken to or spoken about, ever. It was as if they didn’t exist.

Life continued though, and they quietly went about their business in the Upper Valley. They were farmers and thus largely self-sufficient. They had all the food they needed – roots, fruits, meat and veggies –and could make do with or mend most objects. They were also able to trade with out-of-towners, who held no taboos, and engaged with them freely, but Lucerne’s citizens kept away from them entirely.

The only exception was shopping. They were allowed to buy what they needed from the grocery and hardware stores, but always in silence. Mt Alba and Mt Negra – the white and black peaks at opposite ends of the Valley – had been better companions to Breda growing up than anybody in Lucerne.

“Good day, love,” said the grocery store cashier. “How are you doing today?”

Breda dropped her cabbage. Somebody had spoken to her! How? Why? What for?

The cashier continued, “How was your weekend? Boy, it was hot on Sunday. Did you take a dip in the lake?”

Breda said, “Excuse me, are you talking to me?”

“Sure I am. I quit talking to myself years ago. I always chat to my customers. That’s the difference between this place and a box store. We give you personal service. Wasn’t it…”

Breda interrupted. “Do you know who I am? I’m a Noorani.”

“Yes, yes, I know that. Who doesn’t? But that’s neither here nor there now, isn’t it? The baby must be coming soon. When’s it due?”

Breda held onto the conveyor belt. So that was it! It was her baby! The child would be born of the eighth generation, and the taboo would be ended.

“Oh, I see you’ve got some nappies. You’ll be needing plenty of those! You might want to get a bigger pack next time. You’ll get through those in a flash. Do you want to change the pack? I’m sure the people behind you won’t mind much. They’ll understand the situation. Wait! You don’t want to walk up and down the aisle in your condition. Let me call one of the assistants…”

Breda was lost for words. This rush of engagement was overwhelming. It was like a desert becoming a lake. She was not ready to respond.

For Breda’s twenty four years of life, nobody in the village had spoken to her or her family. She had been made an outcast for crimes that had nothing to do with her at all. She didn’t even know what her great-great-great-great grandmother had done in the first place, and what was the chance of a fair trial for women in those days? Was there even any evidence? It was likely a baseless accusation for personal reasons, by a vicious neighbour, a zealous parishioner, or greedy rival.

Breda declined the cashier’s offer of getting a bigger pack of nappies. She bagged her own items and headed out of the store.

Two women passing greeted her effusively. “Oh Breda! Look at you now! When’s it due?” These were girls that she had studied with. They’d not spoken to her during her schooldays – never, ever – yet now asked after her mother and sisters. She didn’t know what to say to them, so grunted and headed to her truck.

A guy in a white half-sleeved shirt, on his lunch break from the bank, helped to load her groceries into the cab. He asked after her brother, to whom he had never spoken.

Breda started the truck and headed up the Lucerne Valley Road. As she rounded a bend near the river, she saw more people she knew that had never, ever spoken to her. They now waved cheerily and made signs to call them.

Breda considered swinging her truck towards them. Hitting them hard and sending their bodies flying into the river. These people had condemned her for things she hadn’t done; at least then they would have a reason to hate her and the next seven generations of her family. But then she thought, why not make this eight generation different?

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Extreme Gardening

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Lucerne Village, Organic Farming, Unknown with tags , , , , , , on June 9, 2012 by javedbabar

Shama wanted to turn his life around. He had escaped from his life of crime in the City and found this peaceful village, but had yet to find a job. The opportunities were all in Strattus, half an hour away; the only jobs available in Lucerne were working in the grocery or hardware stores for ten bucks an hour. He would rather go back to robbing kids and selling drugs. There was also seasonal farm work, which paid about the same, but was outdoors and you got fresh produce. He might try that if he was still here in the summer.

He spent most of his time in the forest hunting rabbits and grouse, which he ate himself, and sometimes deer, which provided some income. He also hung around village cafes, getting coffee refills. When he discovered the Botanical Garden, he began to spend time there. He found inexplicable joy in the garden, especially in its Prime Indigenous Areas – the Amazon Rainforest filled with mysterious fertility; the Egyptian Oasis, a cool, calm haven; the Babylonian Hanging Gardens were so vibrant it felt like you were in an ancient cartoon book. It was amazing that there was no entry charge.

Shama saw workers toiling in many parts of the garden. They hardly said a word to each other, and rarely acknowledged visitors. This was a pleasant change from the village, where everybody wanted to know your business. He wanted nobody to know his business. The Botanical Garden suited him well.

One day a voice from behind him said, “I hope that you are enjoying our Garden. We take our duty here very seriously. We make every effort to ensure it thrives.”

“Yes, I like it,” said Shama. Who was this man, he wondered, with his gold-white beard and green suit? He’d heard the creator of this place was called The Gardener. Maybe this was him.

The man said, “I’ve seen you many times during the daytime. Are you working at present?” Shama felt nervous at the man’s intrusion but told him the truth; he was struggling to make a living in Lucerne.

“Have you considered studying gardening? It is the first of all human arts.”

Shama said wasn’t cave-painting the first?

“No, that’s not true. Gardening came before cave-painting, fire-making, and hunting with weapons. Where do you suppose natural colours came from, and kindling, and beasts?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” said Shama. “They all come from the earth of course.”

“Yes that’s true, young man, as far as it goes. But there’s much we can teach you here that will benefit you, and the world. Why don’t you enrol for our next programme? It won’t cost you a penny. All of our students are fully funded by The Authority; it knows the true value of our education.”

Shama indicated the workers digging and planting nearby. “Can’t you offer me a job like those people? My need right now is for money, and I was never good at school anyway.”

The Gardener smiled and stroked his beard. “Young man, education always comes before money. Improve your mind and cash comes running, guaranteed! Those workers are all students too. After a month of successful study we offer them a five-year work/study contract, and as their skills develop, so does their pay. Rest assured, none are earning minimum wage, and they love their work.”

Even though it was getting dark, and an early moon was apparent, their pace did not slacken. “What do you teach them, and what work do they do?”

“They are enrolled on the B.Sc. Extreme Gardening course, affiliated with Luna University. In their first year they study Taxonomy, Plant Pathology, Soil Health, Entomology, Multicultural Landscaping, Sustainable Gardening, Nuisance Wildlife Management, and Integrated Pest Control.”

“All in the first year?” said Shama. “What about the other four years?”

“They are all dedicated to Impact Gardening. They learn the process by which impact events stir the outermost crusts of celestial objects; these erode over time to form the first soils on planets, from which life evolves. As I said, gardening is the first human art.”

Shama said, “I’m still confused about the order of things…”

“When our last home was threatened, humans terraformed earth; the soil we created made life here possible. Now our planet is threatened again, we must begin elsewhere.” He pointed up to the moon. “As a cosmic being, are you ready for your next challenge?”

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Whirlybirds

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Infinite City, Lucerne Village, Unknown with tags , , , , , , on June 8, 2012 by javedbabar

Danny woke up sweating, tossing and turning. He thought he’d left this feeling behind but here it was again.

He’d come to this village for peace and quiet; to be away from the City; away from its noises, stresses, and crimes. Originally he’d had no problems living in the inner city. It was rundown for sure, but it was a happening area, earmarked for redevelopment. It was only a matter of time. But life was not the same after he was mugged there. Every dark corner held fears; car horns made him jump; groups of guys caused him to cross the road; most of all the police helicopters, whirring and shining strong beams at night, made sleep impossible. He’d left the City and come to Lucerne, the beautiful “village beneath the white mountain”.

Danny slipped out of bed and looked through the window. He saw bright waves in the distant sky, mainly blue, shooting and dancing; was it the Northern Lights, this far south? Maybe a seasonal variation had enhanced their visibility. He looked for the source of the mindless whirring; a sign of something going wrong here, a criminal incident turned into a nightmare for every citizen sleeping; saying you are not safe in your homes. Slim dark shapes moved through the sky; yes, it was helicopters, and here on the edge of the bush, their uproar was magnified.

They woke Danny the next night, and the one after that, every night for a week. Sometimes he saw them in the daytime too; just after dawn, or just before dusk. A few minutes either side would have tripped day into night.

The helicopters were landing near the Lucerne Valley Medical Centre, and Danny went there to ask about them. “We deal with occasional emergencies,” said the unfamiliar poker-faced receptionist.

“But why fly them to such a small village?” asked Danny. “Surely facilities in the City are better? And Strattus isn’t so far away.”

“In such cases every minute is precious, Sir. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

“Okay, thank you,” said Danny but he left unsatisfied. It didn’t make sense to fly patients to Lucerne’s little medical centre. He passed men in air force uniforms as he left the building. There were many scattered around the building and grounds – specks of blue among medical whites.

The number of helicopters increased, and also the number of air force personnel. He even saw some in the coffee shop near the highway, and overheard one saying, “The enemy was surprised and took a big hit, but we paid a heavy price for our advance. We lost a quarter of Strike Force Twelve…”

Danny edged closer to hear better, but someone said, “Let’s continue this discussion at base.”

He awoke one night sweating more than ever, and ran to the window. The noise was louder. The Northern Lights were brighter, their blue waves now transformed into fierce orange streams. He saw bigger darker shapes, larger helicopters, flying in and out. Danny couldn’t bear the noise any longer and needed to get out of the house. He went for a late night walk heading towards the medical centre.

As he strolled by, a rear door opened and a patient ran out. He ran up to Danny and grabbed him by the shoulders. “This space war is horrible!” he raved with eyes blazing. “They say they are peaceful – why won’t we believe them? They’ve taken out our blue lazers and are hitting back with orange beams. We’ve got no defence against them! They’re coming south! We have to get out of here!”

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Pryground

Posted in Lucerne Village, Unknown with tags , , , , , , on June 7, 2012 by javedbabar

Grandpa was pleased they’d built a new playground in Lucerne. His grandchildren were on the other side of this vast country and he saw them only twice a year. Now he could watch children play daily; it would be something to look forward to.

It was a pretty fancy playground; in his day there would have just been a roundabout, see-saw and swings. This playground had those, but also a complicated climbing frame, something that looked like a maze, and a series of long tunnels. The central features were two artificial hills, one higher than the other, the launch and terminal for a zip-line for children to ride along in a suspended tyre. The red metal fence enclosing the playground had only one entrance, with a hut beside it, manned by a guard.

Everything was privatised these days, maybe even playtime; he wondered if there was an entry charge. “Gooday Sir,” said Grandpa. “What a fabulous playground you have here. Is entry free?”

“Of course it is. We’re not going to charge these angels. What do you think we do – rob children?”

Grandpa didn’t like his choice of words; they were unnecessary, but he smiled just the same. There was no harm in being friendly. He said, “Okay, thank you. Have a good day.”

As he entered the playground, the guard called out, “Wait a minute! Where’s your child?”

“My child is forty-four years old,” said Grandpa. “He’s on the East Coast, rearing my grandchildren.”

“What? You don’t have them with you? No? I’m afraid this playground is for children.” He gave Grandpa a suspicious look. “Adults can enter only as guardians. That’s a strict rule. No unaccompanied adults.”

Grandpa was disappointed. However he accepted that in this paranoid modern world, they needed to keep adults away from children. Because of a few sick individuals, the most natural thing in the world – an old person interacting with a young one, sharing generational wisdom – was forbidden. It was, in a sense, even purer than a parental relationship, which primarily served genetic interest.

Grandpa watched from beyond the red fence. He ate an apple and sucked on mints as he watched children playing. They were sort of enjoying themselves, but things didn’t seem quite right, and it took him a while to notice why.

This playground ran like clockwork; children were moving between attractions in an orderly manner, their moves timed to coincide. What was going on here? Weren’t playgrounds meant to be chaotic places with children running wild? How would their enthusiasm express itself, and their sense of adventure? Their curiosity, feelings and emotions? Why were they behaving in such a strange way? Grandpa was confused and went home.

He thought about it all night, and in the morning returned to the playground. He said to the guard, “I’m with my grandson today; he’s visiting from the east coast; look there he is.” He pointed to a child on the zip-line, and the guard nodded him in.

Grandpa chatted to some children. They all seemed scared. He noticed that within each group one child acted as leader, shepherding other children around. Sometimes quite casually, but at other times they pushed and bullied. Many children wore grazes and bruises, and worse than this, they wore looks of fear, and of pain.

His casual questions and observations revealed that The Authority ran a programme designating superior children as Lifetime Leaders (LL). Their job was to develop their own leadership skills, and via this process, shape other children’s characters to be downtrodden; to become yielding, malleable future citizens.

A Lifetime Leader reported Grandpa to the guard. He was arrested and banned from the playground forever.

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The Squirm

Posted in Mystical Experience, Sacred Geometry, Unknown with tags , , , , , , , on June 5, 2012 by javedbabar

The squirm was warm, wriggling in juices; it was so easy and cosy, just hanging around. There is a difference between being aware and being conscious. The squirm was aware of its sensual context, but not capable of conscious thought.

How had the squirm arrived in this situation? It was difficult to say. Had it made a crazy journey from somewhere, inching along, or had it been swimming along? The time before the journey was unknown; maybe it didn’t exist, or maybe it was an impossible conception of time; the squirm couldn’t know; it was alive but not conscious.

The squirm had been growing rapidly. It doubled, quadrupled, octupled, and whatever comes next, till it was now 128 times its original size. This critical mass triggered an autonomous reaction; the squirm’s resources were depleted and it needed nourishment and a safe place to settle. The squirm’s outer parts reached for a hold, found a good spot and anchored, then reached in further and formed a permanent attachment. The waters rushing past it were a hazard, and it needed to be away from their flow; if they caught him again, they would take the squirm past the pool of possibility into the dead zone. It was already weakened and fading fast…

The squirm’s outer parts tapped nourishment, and it quickly revived; there was a great rush through its body, too much to bear initially, and it became disorientated. Then the flow settled and its awareness evolved.

There came a new sensation, a conscious germ. The squirm had connected to its maker for the first time since becoming a full being. Its origins were an egg about to be released by its dark-maker, but activated in time by its light-maker, to become a whole squirm capable of undertaking its first journey alone.

The squirm’s conscious flash revealed that after conception comes incarnation; there is a moment of decision when a spark of life becomes anything it chooses. It has the love of its dark-maker and the support of its light-maker, but is in truth an independent being. At the moment it rejoins its source, the squirm’s cosmic form is decided.

The human race is encoded with essential knowledge; awareness of every sentient being. Algae, fish, lizards and monkeys are ancestors; ants, cows and eagles are relatives. At inception, every possible life form flashes through our minds – amoeba, worm, fish, cow, snake, ape, lion, bear, whale, human – and further possibilities: superhuman, artificially intelligent being, empowered neural network, planetary, galactic, and cosmic being.

Two Laws of the Universe decide our form. The Law of Attraction calls forth our desires to manifest corporeally. The Law of Karma defines just possibilities of being.

At that moment of connection to its source, the squirm could become anything. It’s previous form as an organic farmer in India was cut short by debts to chemical companies, leaving no option but to commit suicide to end this bondage, and free his family from debt.

This ending of life was performed selflessly; a chance was given to begin life again in a better place. Lucerne.

The squirms inner cells formed two layers. One layer began to develop into lungs, stomach and gut; the other into heart, blood and bones. A layer of cells folded into a hollow tube that became a brain and nervous system. A string of blood vessels connected the foetus to the mother more securely, like a farmer to land. Its tail faded, dimples became ears, thickenings became eyes, bumps became muscles, and swellings became limbs, all of which would work together to crawl into the world again.

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Drunky Taxis

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Lucerne Village, Unknown with tags , , , , , , , , on June 2, 2012 by javedbabar

Danny was drunk for the third time this week at the Lucerne Valley Hotel. The barman was considering giving him a one week ban, but then he thought, where else would he go? The guy was already lost in life; why steal away one of his few remaining anchors?

He’d had one too many though, and was annoying customers; Donna in particular. It was a wonder that she put up with his persistent propositions and bullshit without calling him out. A guy would have decked him along ago. Maybe women were just nicer.

“Time to go home, my friend,” the barman said to Danny. “Better make sure you’ve got your keys. You don’t want to be locked out do you?” When Danny drew his keys out of his pocket to check, the barman swiped them. This worked every time with drunks. The barman pulled out Danny’s car keys, put them in a tin behind the bar, and returned the rest of the bunch to its owner. “Time to go home, my friend.”

Danny didn’t protest; he knew where he stood here. He was a hopeless drunk and his opponent was the king of this joint. The barman said, “I’ve called you a taxi. It will be here in five minutes. You can wait outside.”

Danny got into the taxi and asked how much it would be to Kalash, the subdivision beyond the Golden turnoff, way up the Lucerne Valley Road. The taxi driver said, “That will be fifty bucks, pal.”

Danny laughed heartily. “That’s a good one, buddy. How much really?”

“It’s fifty bucks, my friend. I’m giving you a break already. It’s thirty kilometres at two bucks per click, that’s sixty bucks, and at this time I could charge you half-rate for the return trip. But I won’t do that.”

“Fifty bucks!” said Danny, his head in hands. “Fifty bucks!” He started sobbing, then opened the door, cursed the driver and got out. “F***ing drunky taxis! Fifty bucks! Stuff it up your ass!”

The driver radioed his base to report an abusive passenger and drove away. Danny re-entered the bar. The barman called out, “Hey there, I told you already, time to go home.”

Danny told the barman that the taxi had refused to take him as far as Kalash. The barman shook his head and called one from the other company in town.

Danny tried his negotiation skills again, but the driver stuck to the standard rate of sixty bucks, and also wanted half-rate return, so it would now cost ninety bucks. “Ninety bucks!” wailed Danny. “Ninety bucks! The other driver was charging me fifty!”

The driver said, “Well you should have gone with him then, pal.”

Danny asked the barman to order him another cab, but he refused. Danny called both companies himself, but they declined to transport him.

“How much money to stay here?” he asked the barman. “Upstairs in the rooms?”

“It’s sixty bucks a night, my friend.”

“Sixty bucks!” he cried. “Sixty bucks!” He winked at Donna along the bar, nudged up and smiled at her. “How about sharing a room here, honey? Only thirty bucks each.”

The barman was stunned when she agreed to the proposal and led him off to bed. The barman didn’t know that in the real world, Danny had been a real gentleman. Donna had been a troubled woman, who Danny had helped, expecting nothing in return. She had later almost died from a drugs overdose, and his permanent vegetative state was the result of a stroke.

They were both now living their lives via virtual retinal projections. Some people coped with this change better than others. Donna knew that Danny wasn’t doing so well, and needed a hand now.

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Health Infomatics

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Lucerne Village, Mystical Experience, Unknown with tags , , , , , , , on June 1, 2012 by javedbabar

Health Infomatics had come a long way, thought Liz. Even in the time I’ve been working at Lucerne Village Medical Centre, primary patient care has transformed from purely personal to mostly technical. Sure, you get a few moments with a health care professional, but then it’s straight onto machines, and computers do the rest.

Liz was underpaid and underworked, but it was better than it used to be – underpaid and overworked. But hers was a valuable role – the observer, and when needs be, she would step up to actor; she had the skills and experience needed to handle emergency failures.

The doors slid open and a middle aged man walked in. He looked around nervously and walked up to the desk. Liz said, “Good morning, Sir. How may we help you?”

“Em, I haven’t been inside a hospital for years. They sort of scare me. I was feeling unwell and went to see my doctor. He couldn’t really say what it was, so he sent me here.” “Ok, Sir, that all sounds fine. We’ll give you a check up and take it from there.” She clicked open a new file and asked for his ID, which she scanned and returned. “What form does your unwellness take? I mean, what are you feeling?”

“It’s tightness in my throat and chest, and a puffy nose. It could be an allergy, but…”

“Follow me, sir. Let’s not try to second guess. We have the best equipment here. It will tell us everything.”

Liz asked him to remove his jacket and shoes and lie on the bed at the centre of the room. She removed the EMU (Electromagnetic Medical Unit) from its charger and keyed in the codes for White, Forties, Male. EMU units were a great advance – not so much in medical technology, as they performed the same function as flux MRI scanners; more a medical convenience. They weighed three kilos and could be passed over the patient’s body with ease. There was no need now for the whole “entering the tomb” ritual. Their sales had been boosted by a marketing campaign where an animated emu races ahead while an ostrich stays with its head buried in sand. The message was that the EMU tells you everything, even the things you’ve never thought about and don’t want to know.

“Okay, Sir, the EMU says that your sickness is psychosomatic. Do you know what that means? Yes, that’s right; it’s caused by your mind rather than by your body. There is however another indicator showing a ninety-seven percent chance of your developing brain cancer within three years.”

The man looked shocked. “Do I need to start chemotherapy?”

Liz smiled and shook her head. “Sir, when was the last time you were treated in a hospital? More than ten years ago? I thought so. Medical technology is much improved since then. You will need just twenty-four hours of treatment, and your current respiratory complaints and future ontological complaints will be gone. Please come here at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, prepared for an overnight stay.”

The man blinked rapidly and said, “That sounds amazing. How will you treat me?”

“We have several options. I suggest the HEAL machine, which stands for Holistic Emotional Astral Landscapes. The Law of Attraction motivates your healing, creating parallels between your perfect inner state and your perfect outer place. The patient chooses a desirable environment in which to spend the next twenty four hours. Popular choices are deserts, mountains, forests or oceans; you may prefer to be projected into the future, or back to Renaissance, medieval or Biblical times; you may also choose the body of a man, woman, child or foetus; some men find feminine energy more healing and prefer to take that avatar. Many people feel empowered by ancient cultures, and visualize powerful symbols such as the Ankh, Taijitu, Alpha, or OM.” The man was dazzled by all of this.

Liz continued, “You will be immersed in the world of your choice for twenty four hours, while nanobots modify and replace your defective cells. You will wake up feeling better than ever. How does that sound?”

Liz saw the thrill in the patient’s eyes. These HEAL machines almost made you want to be sick.

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Fading

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Global Travel, Lucerne Village, Unknown with tags , , , , , on May 31, 2012 by javedbabar

It was surprising how few people enjoyed the Botanical Garden. Danny was often alone there, or maybe there were other people around but in different sections – the Amazonian Rainforest or Egyptian Oasis areas, or in the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, though these were being regenerated after the recent war. Anyway it was a shame that more people didn’t make better use of Lucerne’s wonderful amenity.

Danny had first met Sophie – with her long arms and legs, black hair and big brown eyes – at the seed fixture, and their date at the garden’s cafe had gone very well; he often saw the green-suited founder of the place, known as The Gardener, strolling around. But apart from some young rascals running between bushes, that was it in terms of regular visitors.

He spotted a new guy strolling along the main path and said hello. The next day he saw him again, and said hello again. The new guy didn’t look too well. Maybe he was recovering from illness and taking a stroll daily for his health. He moved with hesitation and his responses to Danny’s greetings were slow. Danny also imagined that he could be mentally sub-normal, or maybe depressed. He couldn’t enquire about these things of course; it would be considered most rude.

One day the man really looked terrible. His skin was greenish and his greeting was more slurred than usual. Danny said, “Excuse me, are you feeling all right?”

The man stopped struggling to walk and stood beside Danny. He said, “Yes I feel okay, thanks pal.” But this was difficult to believe when he was green and trembling, with froth forming on his lips.

There was a crash in the bushes and some cries for help. It must be those boys mucking about again, thought Danny. They’ll hurt themselves.

The man said to Danny, “Listen pal, I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you don’t look so good either. Your skin seems green and you’re shaking.”

“That’s funny,” said Danny. “That’s what I noticed about you. Maybe we should leave this section of the garden; there may be allergens here. Are you allergic to pollens or spores? I suffer from severe hay fever but I’m not sneezing. It could…”

“Look at those caterpillars,” said the man, pointing to yellow and black-striped bugs the size of his thumb. “I’ll bet one touch of those would make you break into a sweat. I picked one up when I was a kid and it…”

Danny wasn’t paying attention to what the man said. His eyes opened wider as the man reduced in intensity, became transparent, and faded away. Was it a trick of the light, or of his eyes? Where had he gone? Was this a joke?

Then he noticed that his own hands had disappeared. A moment later he was no longer in the Botanical Garden.

Danny was back in a bed in Lucerne Village Medical Centre. Misalignment of satellites had caused his signal to break up, and neither his, nor other patients’, virtual retinal projections could be sustained. He was just another client of the centre’s Permanent Life Enhancement unit. He would never walk or talk again, but once the satellites were realigned, he could at least continue to enjoy the garden.

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Excuse Me Please

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Unknown with tags , , , , , , on May 29, 2012 by javedbabar

Danny had a lunch date with Sophie at the Botanical Garden’s new cafe. Ever since he’d met her at the seed fixture, he’d been feeling crazy. Her long arms and legs, black hair and big brown eyes, were all he thought about.

He got there early and found a table for two. He put a copy of the local free rag, The Answer, on his seat and went to the counter. The raw soup looked good, so did the organic sandwiches, but he’d wait to eat till she arrived. He got a fair trade coffee and returned to his table. Where was his table? It seemed to have disappeared. Then he spotted The Answer still sitting on his seat, and on the chair opposite was a woman in a blue-flowered dress, filing her nails.

“Excuse me,” said Danny. “This table is taken. I just went to get a coffee.”

She ignored him and continued filing her nails. He repeated, “Excuse me, this table is taken. I’m sitting here.”

“Go right ahead,” she said in a voice like gargling breadcrumbs. “Sit there. I’m sitting here.”

Danny had worked as a teacher, and was not easily riled. He said, “But I’m meeting someone. They’re coming along soon. I need a table for two.”

“Well no one’s here now. This seat was free.” The woman turned away from him as if that was the end of the conversation.

Now he got angry. “Look lady, I’ve got a lunch date. This table is taken already. Can’t you sit somewhere else?” She held her nails to the light to examine them, but said nothing.

He said, “Look, you don’t even have a drink. This isn’t a street shelter.” He felt mean as he said this, but was in no mood for retraction. Besides, she wasn’t homeless; she was wearing a nice blue dress, and applying coral nail polish. She was just being difficult.

They sat in stalemate – he sipping coffee, and she continuing to redden her fingertips, which looked like little bloody skewers. Eventually she said, “So where is this lunch date of yours? I presume it’s a woman. It doesn’t look like she’s coming.” Now Danny said nothing. “Anyway, why should groups be more important than single people? We can sit where we want, you know.”

“Ahh, thought Danny, so that’s it. She saw a guy by himself and was hoping to hook up, and is now annoyed. He was sorry if she was lonely but that wasn’t his fault or business. “Look, we’re not a couple, we’re single people too, but if all goes well, we may become a couple. Why don’t you…”

Just then Sophie arrived. “So sorry I’m late,” she said, and smiled at the interloper. “I see you’ve brought a friend.”

“She’s no friend of mine,” said Danny. “She stole your seat. She won’t go.”

There was an awkward silence, and Sophie said, “Danny, why don’t you get me a coffee, and sorry, what’s your name? Alli? And get Alli one too. Well, don’t keep us ladies waiting. Off you go.”

Danny was dumbstruck. Both women stared at him. He had no choice but to go. What was this Sophie playing at? he wondered.

Sophie believed in the Law of Attraction. This woman is here for a reason, she thought. Let’s find out why.

During the course of the afternoon, Sophie and Danny discovered that Alli was never given seats as a child. Bags and coats appeared on them suddenly as she approached. Now she sought out seats and never gave them up willingly. People were like that; they were weak, distrustful characters. Her family were Luddites who had chosen not to have their children enhanced with microchips, the reason that Alli was unable to connect with anyone around her. Almost everybody was integrated by internal social media; she was always alone.

Danny and Sophie yearned to be different. This was their chance. Imagine telling their friends all about meeting Alli.

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Fruit Trees

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Lucerne Village, Unknown, World Myths with tags , , , , , , , , , on May 27, 2012 by javedbabar

When Danny felt sad in winter he went to the Botanical Garden. It was a vibrant place with lush foliage and bright blooms in a land assaulted by winter; it seemed an oasis of infinite life; maybe even another planet.

His long walks in the forest had provided awareness of local flora, but the species here were unusual, and he barely recognized any of them. They had crazy forms and colours: eight foot tall plants with blue, hand-like flowers, and red chandeliered blossoms that twinkled in the moon and sun. His favourite was the Silva Sanguinara, with its huge pink flowers, made up of hundreds of smaller ones, like a jigsaw puzzle. He imagined the green-suited creator of the Botanical Garden, known as The Gardener, sitting at home on one gloomy day, piecing it together.

Danny spent an hour enjoying the tranquil garden, and on his way out crossed The Gardener striding up the main path. He was always around somewhere, tending to something; the man was a perfectionist; a micro-manager literally, planting seeds, cross-breeding, and hand-pollinating flowers.

“Good day to you, Sir,” said the Gardener.

“Good day to you too,” said Danny. “I’ve told you many times, I’m sure, but I don’t mind telling you again. I love this place. It’s a wonderful thing you’ve done for the citizens of Lucerne.”

“But I too am a citizen of Lucerne,” he said. “You could say it was self-interest.”

Danny pondered for a moment and said, “You are too modest. You work harder than you need to. You’re here every time I visit, doing your rounds.”

The Gardener changed the subject. “Have you seen our new shop?” Danny shook his head.

“It just opened last week. You should go and take a look. I think you’ll like it.”

The Gardener tipped his hat and walked away.

Danny made his way to the shop; it was nestled between the Amazonian Rainforest and Egyptian Oasis areas. One side was festooned with giant fig lattices, and the other side almost hidden by huge rushes and swaying palms.

“Welcome Sir!” said the young assistant. “How is your day going so far?”

Danny was tempted to tell him that his day was terrible. It was filled with despair and unrequited love. He felt worthless and hopeless, and saw few reasons to continue living. But why give this kid such a hard time? Why kill his enthusiasm? So he said, “It is going well, thank you.”

“Great! I’ve got some things that will make it even better. Please follow me.” He led Danny to a display at the front of the shop; a selection of fruit trees. He said, “These are our winter specials. I know it’s not quite winter yet, but it’s good to plan ahead, don’t you think?” Danny nodded. “They bear fruit all winter.” Danny wondered if the assistant had picked up on his despair.

“They’re quite expensive,” said Danny. “I wouldn’t usually spend so much on a plant.”

“But they are specials for a reason, Sir. Look at this winter banana, and this winter cherry. Imagine having ripe yellow and bright red cheering up your house when it’s gloomy outside? Wouldn’t that be something?”

“I guess you’re right. It would be kind of nice. And they’ll grow indoors? Very good. And even a non-gardener like me can tend them successfully? Okay, great. Maybe I’ll take them. How about one hundred dollars for them both?”

After a deal was struck, the assistant told him that he’d also need a heat lamp which was another fifty bucks. Danny was annoyed at this; he should have been told before. But the idea of brightness and sweetness in darkness appealed to him. It may just make the difference this winter. He took the trees home and placed them near his front window.

The trees thrived there at first, but the winter cherry suddenly died. The Gardener hadn’t told Danny the whole truth. The assistant couldn’t, as he didn’t know. These were ancient species, which had arrived on earth before man, locked in a timeless struggle for survival. The Gardener, an initiate of the cult of the Green Man, was not allowed to assist one over the other. His only role was to ensure a fair fight during this process of guided evolution. Whether or not Danny survived the winter was unimportant to him.

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