The Fenikan way

“Have you ever wondered—” Keres started but was cut short by his roommate.

“No I have not,” Thane replied firmly,he was seated on his study desk gently swiping a holographic tabloid. “Uncontrolled wonder can be a crime, my friend.”

Keres wondered what his friend meant. All he ever did was wonder, a direct contrast to Thane who kept his head low and imagination just a few steps from reality.

Lying Supine on his bed, Keres peeked at Thane, who had expertly ended the budding conversation then rolled over into a prone position and burrowed his face violently into the mattress.

‘Strange and random’ thought Thane but the same words could be applied to all his roommate’s predilections. Ignorable.

The silence in the room loomed, punctuated only by slight beeps from the air conditioning, whirring from the coffee brewer and the aches and groans of various appliances. A game, a slight intermission. Whoever breaks it first loses and break it must, because silence, like a vacuum, doesn’t occur for long periods without interruption.

With a long sigh, Thane gave in. “Indulge me.” He said.

Keres sat up aptly. His mouth twitched then stopped, words formed and deformed. He placed a hand on his chin and furrowed his brows. His thoughts had stayed in his head so long that they thought they lived there.

“If you’re not saying anything—” Thane protested.

“Have you ever wondered…” Keres murmured. “Have you ever wondered what’s down there?”

“Down where?” Thane was still absent-mindedly swiping the tabloids.

Keres replied, “The Great fault.” His voice was stern and unwavering. Their eyes locked for a few seconds before Thane looked away.

“Why are you hell-bent on unearthing things that should rather stay buried? And why at the cost of your own neck?”

“Pure curiosity,” Keres replied as he leaned forward.

“Perhaps. Perhaps curiosity is the reason moths chase flames unafraid of being singed, but when it comes to humans, my friend, it is always deeper than pure whim.”

Keres’ mouth widened but Thane’s raised finger signaled the conversation's end.

“I’m heading out,” remarked Thane. “Interstellar travel class in an hour. You should be a little more careful, word’s going around about you being a heretic, this isn’t the first straw you’ve pulled.” He got out of his chair and walked In the direction of the bathroom. “The last one brings down the straw house.” His voice grew silent as he faded out.

Keres’ eyes lingered. He noticed the velvet jumpsuit on the table where Thane sat, final year color. Thane was almost out of the institute and to merge seamlessly with society he must uphold all Fenikan ideals, even those contrary to his. Two contrary beliefs coexisting simultaneously, incongruously placed in his head from birth, always opposing the other until both lose their sway and he becomes a lifeless disembodied face like the countless ones that cruised in auto-travelers, or stood in line to use the warp booths.

Such was the likelihood of Thane's future. Such was the likelihood of all the institute’s products.

His eyes then wandered to the motion poster on his wall. Various images of Fenikans, with matching jumpsuits and Breton caps. From each figure, A firm salute to the double-headed phoenix and a pledge yelled in unison. ‘He who forgoes nothing forgoes everything.’

****************************************

A faint hum from the airships droned out the traffic noise. Somewhere, from a couple Kilometers in the sky, someone saw the the entirety of this small city from a glass pane—Its tall superfluous silicon-plated buildings that reached the clouds and its glossy roads that reflected sunlight and its gratuitous auto-travelers, vehicles unneeded by the Fenikans since the development of warp technology but still much in use.

Then the boxlike apartments (simply "the box") closer to the ledge. Small Constructs that housed hundreds of thousands using space-disproportion techniques. It worked such that a land mass of about 0.20 square miles could hold more than 50 million people, each person accessed his own space by using his key tag from any of the millions of warp booths in the city or the apartment’s front door.

The antagonizing difference always got to keres: Why did such huge towering buildings exist when small compartments could hold the same or even more? Why did people use auto-travelers when they could just warp? ‘Aesthetically pleasing.’ Was a concept studied in social history. Centuries ago, humans built things with less practical applications, prioritizing emotional connections and aesthetics—A concept despised by The Feniks as it ‘hinders real development.’ Surely these constructs don’t follow the same principles? The same principles that The Fenik hate so much?

The wind swayed in the opposite direction of Keres’ stride. The nearest booth from the box was a few miles away. Other students of the institute walked beside him. He tilted his Breton cap to cover half his face. Being infamous was very inconvenient.

All around him they moved in pairs. Downcast gazes in some groups, Excited giggles and chatter in others, mainly those comprised of blue suiters (students of the institute in blue jumpsuits: first years), Such demeanor, as they would learn soon enough, was frowned upon. Such demeanor represented self-absorption as opposed to the more collective mentality upheld by proper Fenikans.

On Getting to the warp booth Keres noticed the usual line clogging the entrance, he joined the queue and waited for his turn, ever mindful of keeping his face covered to avoid recognition.

On the other side of the street, a woman emerged from one of the huge buildings. She was wearing a red dress with a slit that ran on one side, shades too big for her face and a scarf made of fur around her neck with a golden double-headed phoenix insignia on her bosom. A real Fenikan, a graduate of the institute, something Thane will become in a few months and Keres in a few years. Fenikans are allowed a certain leverage when it came to their apparel choice not many dressed this freely.

Keres’ eyes were trained on her. An auto-traveler stopped right in front of her, she took off her glasses and scarf and handed it over to a nearby helper bot. The bot opened the door to the passenger side, but before she got in their gazes met.

Locked in a silent stare, their looks carried words back and forth, although what they said was unknown. A lone tear trailed down the woman’s right cheek. Somehow, in those eyes, surprise and pity resided, she got in the traveler but still didn’t break eye contact. A ray of light flashed off the side glass and half the woman’s face was hidden save for her lips. They moved rhythmically, repetitively, and inaudibly.

The auto-traveler powered on with a soft hum and hovered out of sight with the woman mouthing the same words over and over.

‘Poor child. You poor, poor child’

Keres looked away, confused and bemused. The last person warped, it was now his turn.

****************************************

At the Institute keres avoided attention like a plague. He felt the judgemental glare of those who noticed him, a slight sting from their direction. Their distaste flowed out from their breath. He kept his eyes on his feet, but when he looked up, occasionally, there were shadowy figures, disfigured human silhouettes with eyes glued on their faces.

If only he kept his questions to himself.

During break and in-between classes with eyes closed shut he saw them—Three, Sometimes two, Sometimes less, sometimes more— dangling. Bounded by their legs and arms. The hollowed cheeks, bloodied noses, deep cuts, corroded bruises and bulging pink eyes were always a unifying trait. They were offenders left to hang and dry while millions watched. A show by the Vollstreck (Fenikan correctional officers), an incentive of sorts to keep everyone in line.

When the hour came, the prisoners walked down the path towards the ledge. Jump off or get shot were the only options. This part of the show was always the hardest to watch, it’s when men broke down completely, it’s when the full reality of their situation sank in. No one ever jumped, they all miserably begged until the bright flash of an anti-matter gun washed over the scene and they disappeared.

They called the place ‘Deadman’s cliffhanger’ and no one wanted to go there even to watch.

When Keres opened his eyes, for a few seconds he saw the signature jet black leather coat the Vollstreck wore, he saw them in gaps between two people passing by. These mirages happened so often that he half expected their arrival, but they never came.

At noon when classes were over, keres felt relief wash over him like a refreshing beverage. He got up and was preparing to leave when it came in. A beep on his wrist clicker and gently swaying over the photon emitter was a summons from Dr. Strootman and it read:

‘A matter of great urgency demands your presence in my office.’

‘This is it’, Keres thought. With haggard breaths and quivering knees he made his way to the Doctor’s space.

“I think you know why I called you here.” Dr Strootman said. He tapped his fingers slowly on his desk. With each thud keres’ heart inched closer to his mouth, he looked around the tidy room. Two pictures hung on the wall behind the doctor, one of himself and another of a certain gray headed man and In the corner beside his desk rested a Fenikan flag.

Keres' eyes were glued on the flag, he fooled himself into thinking the Vollstreck hid behind it. Doctor strootman followed his gaze and on noticing were his thoughts were he reassured:

“I did not deem the matter fit to involve the Vollstreck. Do you consider this judgement wise?”

“Yes sir.” Keres stuttered, his attention completely focused on the doctor’s inscrutable mien.

“My scale for differentiating curiosity from intellectual notoriety happens to be more lax in comparison to those in relative authority. However, indulging such impulses spurred on by curiosity is considered to be defection so you will be wise to stop it.”

“Understood.” Keres replied. “I am indebted, thank you very—”

Doctor Strootman held up his palm. “No need for ‘thank you’, I’m not doing you any favors. As I said this just happens to be my opinion.”

Keres gave a faint nod. The room looked larger now that he was out of harm’s way.

“Now, onto the matter at hand,” declared strootman. “The research and development team working on a certain project needs hands to help out and considering your interest in history I felt you would be apt to help out.”

“Help out with what.”

“A time machine.”

“A time machine?”

“Yes. It’s finished and is in the testing phase. Would you be willing to help out?”

Keres hesitated, but he couldn’t pass on an opportunity to get answers. “Yes sir. It would be an honor.”

“Well said. We have grasped everything, even space and now time itself is within reach. We truly are the apex of humanity.”

Something in the doctor’s voice or in his tone or in the way he said what he did gave a hint of disbelief, a hint of disconnection with his own enthusiasm. Keres paid this no mind, the way was slowly unfolding itself before him. The way to the truth.

He stood up and gave a languid salute to the doctor but on leaving something caught his eye. The picture of the grey headed man.

He gestured at the picture. “I think I’ve seen him somewhere.”

“Of Course you have.” Strootman replied but gave no sign of wanting to elaborate.

Keres glanced at the picture once more and left the office.