Hey kids! Here's the first part of my sci-fi story...nothing too crazy, just one of 'those' societal commentaries. Tell me what you think of it so far...
And sorry about the *WWSSHHHHHH...TEXT BLOCK!*, I can't get my tabs and/or spaces to stick...If you want to read it in slightly less eye-burning format, I have the MS Word document attached.
“Good morning. The date is May fourth, 2023. It is currently sixty-one degrees outside, with a high temperature of seventy-five. International news: the New Serbian government released a statement today from government headquarters in Moscow…”
Kylar Harrington groaned unhappily and threw his arm across his eyes, trying to block out the growing light in the room. It was a futile attempt; the walls of his apartment were programmed to glow more and more brightly as time progressed, mimicking a natural sunrise and working in sync with his circadian rhythm.
At the moment, Kylar didn’t give a damn about any of his rhythm, much less his circadian one. He stuffed his head stubbornly under a pillow and tried to go back to sleep.
“…Czar Klasnov has declared that United States involvement in Mongolia will not be tolerated, and that the country is prepared to retaliate if such interference occurs…”
Kylar groaned again. In a fiendish (and undoubtedly intentional) architectural design, the radio controls had been placed on the wall next to the entrance to the bathroom, out of his reach. He finally admitted to himself that further sleep was impossible, and swung his legs out of bed. He got up and stretched, yawning loudly.
“President Mosado has insisted that the Czar’s statement will not deter the United States in its investigation and prevention of the rumored genocide of local Buddhist popula—”
He turned the radio off and staggered to the bathroom.
Fifteen minutes later, he emerged: a tall, dark-haired, thirty-five-year-old man. He was dressed in a black-and-grey outfit that looked similar to a jump suit. He had ‘normal’ clothes—he still kept some jeans and t-shirts in a box under his bed—but almost everyone in the Heliopolis elected to wear the suits because they were outrageously comfortable.
Kylar left his apartment and went to breakfast, riding the same plexiglass elevator that he had ridden for five years—five years, had it been that long already?—and emerged in the heart of the Heliopolis.
It was a massive room, its walls and ceiling made entirely of glass, letting the morning sunlight burst in and pierce the fountain in the center, refracting off again and splashing against the walls in a hectic rainbow of color. The room was already crowded with dozens of artists, musicians, composers, writers, poets, scientists, and philosophers. Kylar craned his neck to look over them, just in time to see a man jump up by the fountain and wave.
“Harrington!” He called, his arm beckoning energetically. Kylar waved back and jogged towards him, weaving around the various knots and pools of people that had formed after their morning meal. He reached the fountain and stopped, punching the other man playfully on the shoulder.
“How are you doing, Jon?” He said, grinning. Jonathan Eckold, a thin and balding man of forty, was a fellow novelist in the Heliopolis and Kylar’s closest friend.
“Not too badly,” Eckold said. “Crichton died last night.”
“Jesus,” Kylar said, frowning. “How old was he?”
“Seventy-five, seventy-six, something like that.”
Kylar shook his head. “That’s a pity. I read his stuff in college.”
“I hear that old age is the least of anyone’s problems now,” Eckold said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “There’s a rumor going around that the head honchos in the science division got a call from the President last night.”
“Wow,” Kylar said sarcastically. “A call from a world leader. That never happens around here.”
“Yeah, but they usually don’t ask for military technology.”
Kylar whistled. “Wow. That is unusual. He knows that the Heliopolis doesn’t involve itself in wars. We don’t even develop military technology.”
“That’s why some people are worried,” Eckold said, nodding. “They think that maybe some of the scientists have been developing things they shouldn’t.”
Kylar was shocked. “They’d have to be crazy to try something like that,” he said. “They’d be kicked out of here for sure.”
Eckold shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’m going to look around after breakfast, see what I can find out. Care to join me?”
“Why not? It’s not like it’s against the rules to know what’s going on around here.”
“You hope.”
. . .
The Heliopolis had indeed been Kylar Harrington’s home for the past five years, though he was somewhat of a recent addition. The complex itself had been built over ten years ago, in 2012.
The entire project had been the brainchild of a large team of scientists, researchers, philosophers, artisans, and writers. They had seen how the growing political tensions had divided great minds from one another through competing nations and parties, and realized that something had to be done.
They had pooled their resources and petitioned every rich government and philanthropist within reach in order to construct the Heliopolis, a haven for the great minds of the time period. The Heliopolis had been built in the Midwestern United States, and had been given complete independence by the United Nations—a place above political influence or involvement, a place where the greatest writers, scientists, and artists could pursue their life’s work with complete freedom.
The Heliopolis’ continued existence was the result of the men and women who resided in it—the money made from their books, paintings, sculptures, poetry, and inventions went directly to the Heliopolis’ continued existence. None of them ever knew exactly how much their creation was worth—a policy set by the founders of the institution. The purpose, they declared, was to create, not to earn.
And so the Heliopolis had thrived for ten years, sheltering the greatest men and women the world knew under its immense wing.
. . .
“Can I help you?”
The speaker was a rather pretty woman with fiery hair and a pleasant, if questioning, smile.
Kylar returned the smile with one of his own.
“Yes,” he said. “I was hoping to speak to one of the board members.”
“Oh,” she said, her smile becoming apologetic. “I’m afraid the Literary Board is in another part of the complex at the moment.”
“Do you know when they’ll be back?”
“Mmm. Fairly soon, I think. They’ve been gone some time.”
It was just what Kylar needed. “Would you mind if I waited for them in the boardroom?” He flashed another charming smile.
“I don’t see why not.”
“Thank you.” He opened the door and slipped inside.
The boardroom was a large, brightly lit area—natural light, not artificial: the important rooms were not situated underground—that housed a long oak table and perhaps a dozen chairs of the same material. Kylar noted a packet on the table in front of each of the seats and picked one up, glancing at the door in case the woman decided to check on him.
Kylar flipped through the first few pages, mostly disinterested. He glanced over several pages of text, a graph, more text—
He stopped. Very carefully, he thumbed the pages back to the graph. His eyes widened as he looked at it; he checked the numbers and the title twice to be sure of what he was seeing. There could be no doubt.
Numbly, he set the packet down on the table and left, quietly thankful that the woman was now nowhere to be seen.
. . .
It was lunchtime. The massive cafeteria was usually noisy, but today the conversations seemed more subdued, less energetic. Eckold sat across from Kylar, his voice once again dropping into that conspiratorial whisper.
“Well, I didn’t find anything out. You?”
Kylar shook his head. “Nothing to do with the President’s call, anyway.”
Eckold didn’t catch his tone. Kylar was unsure if he was disappointed or grateful.
“Well, it doesn’t matter. We’re about to find everything out anyway.”
Kylar tilted his head questioningly. To answer his question, a large screen slid down from the ceiling on the eastern wall to their right; the entire cafeteria looked up expectantly at the screen.
“Attention,” the screen said. “Attention. Please be silent for a message from the Board.”
Unnecessary. The entire room was quiet enough to hear a pea drop.
The computer seemed to sense this, as it refrained from repeating its call for silence a second time. Instead, the screen came alive with the image of one of the Board members, an elderly man whom Kylar did not recognize.
“As many of you are aware,” the man said, his gray eyebrows twitching inexplicably over his small, round glasses, “the Heliopolis Board was contacted last night by the President of the United States.”
Murmurs rose and fell throughout the room like a pulsing ocean wave. Silence fell again.
“It is indeed that he sought military technology from us,” the speaker admitted. “But the Board wishes to assure you all that no intentional military technology has been created in the Heliopolis. That remains a foundation of our institution.”
“The devices he sought were these: first, a new fuel that our Aerodynamics division has invented, and second, a new method of pattern-recognition software. We believe he wanted both for nuclear weapons in the impending war with the New Serbian Empire.”
There was a low sound as dozens of men and women in the room gasped sharply. The Board member nodded and continued.
“We refused, of course, despite the President’s…insistence.” He smiled bitterly. “When it was clear that we would not be swayed, he was also kind enough to inform us that our supply of meat would be temporarily delayed due to ‘wartime shipping problems’. We have several months’ supply preserved, however, and do not think that this will be an issue any time in the immediate future. We thank you for your understanding and patience during this time. That is all.”
The image faded, the screen retracted. Conversation erupted in the room like an awakened volcano.
“Bastards,” Eckold muttered angrily. “’Wartime shipping problems’, who do they think they’re fooling? They were stupid to think that we’d give them military technology just because they’re trying to muscle us.”
(Mod Edit: Fixed spacing for you. Quick tip; in MS word: 'ctrl+f' -> click on 'replace' -> type '^p' (symbol for paragraph) into 'find what' -> type '^p^p' into 'replace with' -> click on 'replace all'.)
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