2134: Chapter 5
Over one hundred years has passed and exceptional progress has been made. With the discovery of habitable planets, human kind has won the right to enjoy themselves day and night, with no need to work or even get out of bed if they do not wish. Yet none can be truly happy on the disintergrating rock that Earth has become. Who, though, is worthy of leaving? That can only be decided by the test.
We walked for several minutes and, eventually, the girl and Roman were released to follow of their own accord. 'Just don’t try to leave,' the tall man ahead suggested, though his tone was lazy, not threatening. They didn’t. We wound through the corridor in single file, the shadow men flickering in and out of existence depending on the lighting until we reached a door.
It was unremarkable. Wooden with a brass handle, there was nothing ornate or extraordinary about its appearance, however, my stomach dropped with the prospect of what may be waiting for us on the other side. The tall man had definitely said gun and something about defence. Did that mean they were attempting to train us up as some kind of warrior? A prison guard or slave overseer for the friends we had just abandoned?
The man did not knock but pushed open the door with a conviction that flexed the muscle of his biceps and made his power, both physical and societal, undoubtable. Like ducklings, we followed suit, our heads bowed to the concrete floor and looking up only when we had stepped over the threshold.
The room was overwhelmingly large, though it was not this that caused my mouth to fall and my pupils to dilate wide enough to absorb the scene before me. The room was divided into several boxes and, in each of these boxes, there were people with knives, guns and, in one case, a whip that seemed to sizzle with heat or electricity. They wore black, like the shadow men, though, unlike the shadow men, a stripe of white ran down the left hand side of their jackets. In one corner, a woman wielded a set of knives and was throwing them with precision at a black silhouette of a man. To her left, a boy, no older than fourteen, was armed with a gun the size of his palm that was firing red paint at a similar, though larger, cut out. Across the room, men and women, boys and girls, were handling weaponry like they had been doing so since birth. But what were they training for?
The tall man cleared his throat and I lifted my face to look at him. 'While your companions slave away to make what is made for the Earthens on the surface, you have been tasked with the job of protecting them,” he told us, his eyes boring through the heads of every single one of us. “It is not an easy job, and so you will train –“ here, he gestured to the room behind him. “- until we think you are ready.'
'Protection from what?' my redheaded friend asked, leaning back on her heel and crossing her arms in her own act of defiance. 'Since the right to hedonism, no one fights. Everyone has what they want.'
The mans chest jolted with a breath of laughter. 'That’s incredibly naïve of you.' He did not react to the clear offense on her face but continued. 'It’s human nature to fight. Some of them think they have a moral reason – they believe that people should work, even when it is easiest if they do not. They think that they should be able to make the choice themselves, even if that would create inequality among them. Some even catch wind of how their belongings come into being and then attempt to rebel 'on behalf of those trapped' with us. These rebels don’t understand that the current system is the best and most beneficial for everyone. The labour of the few means the ease of the many. But they are like a disease. There ideas would spread without control and then the world would descend into anarchy. It’ll be your job to control the disease. You will work with the Defence Organisation to ensure the current system stays in place. Effectively, you are saving the world from chaos.'
He gave each of us a small smile before turning his back. 'I’ll train you personally. You seem like fighters.' As he said it, his eyes darted from me to the girl and then lingered on Roman, who had crept to my side during the tall man’s monologue. Roman stared right back, their eyes tied to one another by a refusal to submit. 'And you can provide the entertainment,' the tall man added with a final twist of his upper lip, causing Roman to drop his eyes at last. My hand brushed his reassuringly but my mind was whirring with possibilities.
This was the chance to stand out. I could make a difference. So, I took a step towards the tall man, bowing my head in a nod of respect. It was time to start saving the world from chaos.
Emily Thompson, Year 12
It was unremarkable. Wooden with a brass handle, there was nothing ornate or extraordinary about its appearance, however, my stomach dropped with the prospect of what may be waiting for us on the other side. The tall man had definitely said gun and something about defence. Did that mean they were attempting to train us up as some kind of warrior? A prison guard or slave overseer for the friends we had just abandoned?
The man did not knock but pushed open the door with a conviction that flexed the muscle of his biceps and made his power, both physical and societal, undoubtable. Like ducklings, we followed suit, our heads bowed to the concrete floor and looking up only when we had stepped over the threshold.
The room was overwhelmingly large, though it was not this that caused my mouth to fall and my pupils to dilate wide enough to absorb the scene before me. The room was divided into several boxes and, in each of these boxes, there were people with knives, guns and, in one case, a whip that seemed to sizzle with heat or electricity. They wore black, like the shadow men, though, unlike the shadow men, a stripe of white ran down the left hand side of their jackets. In one corner, a woman wielded a set of knives and was throwing them with precision at a black silhouette of a man. To her left, a boy, no older than fourteen, was armed with a gun the size of his palm that was firing red paint at a similar, though larger, cut out. Across the room, men and women, boys and girls, were handling weaponry like they had been doing so since birth. But what were they training for?
The tall man cleared his throat and I lifted my face to look at him. 'While your companions slave away to make what is made for the Earthens on the surface, you have been tasked with the job of protecting them,” he told us, his eyes boring through the heads of every single one of us. “It is not an easy job, and so you will train –“ here, he gestured to the room behind him. “- until we think you are ready.'
'Protection from what?' my redheaded friend asked, leaning back on her heel and crossing her arms in her own act of defiance. 'Since the right to hedonism, no one fights. Everyone has what they want.'
The mans chest jolted with a breath of laughter. 'That’s incredibly naïve of you.' He did not react to the clear offense on her face but continued. 'It’s human nature to fight. Some of them think they have a moral reason – they believe that people should work, even when it is easiest if they do not. They think that they should be able to make the choice themselves, even if that would create inequality among them. Some even catch wind of how their belongings come into being and then attempt to rebel 'on behalf of those trapped' with us. These rebels don’t understand that the current system is the best and most beneficial for everyone. The labour of the few means the ease of the many. But they are like a disease. There ideas would spread without control and then the world would descend into anarchy. It’ll be your job to control the disease. You will work with the Defence Organisation to ensure the current system stays in place. Effectively, you are saving the world from chaos.'
He gave each of us a small smile before turning his back. 'I’ll train you personally. You seem like fighters.' As he said it, his eyes darted from me to the girl and then lingered on Roman, who had crept to my side during the tall man’s monologue. Roman stared right back, their eyes tied to one another by a refusal to submit. 'And you can provide the entertainment,' the tall man added with a final twist of his upper lip, causing Roman to drop his eyes at last. My hand brushed his reassuringly but my mind was whirring with possibilities.
This was the chance to stand out. I could make a difference. So, I took a step towards the tall man, bowing my head in a nod of respect. It was time to start saving the world from chaos.
Emily Thompson, Year 12