master of the stars

Escape from Azlan and a brief history of this world beneath the sea.

“Maintenance Vessel Argus, port exiting circuits indicate clear and ready for exit. State condition for transfer, please.” The lock control base computer cut into Micah’s ruminations. ‘Got to keep my mind on the job’. He thought.

“Ready to proceed. All systems go,” Micah said.

He eased his vessel forward to the locking keys of the propulsion canal. Once attached, the keys drew the Argus into the canal and the powerful hydro generators sent it surging out into the Great Green. Micah let out a long sigh of relief. He’d made it! Would his luck hold? Only time would tell.

He could hardly believe all that had transpired since the previous evening when, after a normal day’s work, he had entered his apartment, stepped out of his one-piece silver and blue uniform and gone straight to his Total Immersion Unit. Like all government employee housing, his apartment came with a government issue TIU, while they were not the best, they were free and satisfied the needs of most users: from sensory deprivation to ecstatic trance frenzy. He certainly never had his own before. Fresh out of school and on his first job, having his own apartment and his own immersion unit, was luxury. Of all the immersion unit programs available, “Sensory Deprivation 7” was Micah’s favorite. “Sensory Deprivation 7” was a two-way biofeedback system which, monitoring the participant second-by-second and providing appropriate stimuli, enabled the user to access his own ancestor-memory chromosomes.

Once, while sharing a “7” session with a close friend, a school buddy who, unlike Micah, who took things a lot more seriously, was a bit of a cutup, Micah had punched in his own coordinates and then his friend’s, which were very similar, to see if they could travel on the same wavelength. Perhaps he hadn’t been paying sufficient attention, due to his pal’s shenanigans, or there had been a fault in the computer. Whatever the cause, Micah had received both sets of feedback while his friend received none at all.

The experience had startled Micah. Never had he received input for which he had no prior reference. Once over the shock, he was so intrigued that he tried the experience again, without the distraction of another participant. He devised a program based on replicating the error from that fateful occasion. His experiments with that program had been truly mind-bending, but their most fascinating result was that, from then on, when simply using his own, slightly tweaked, coordinates, Micah was able to become more objective and more intimately involved than before. He learned to control the input he received. No longer did he roam aimlessly through eons of chromosome memory. Now, he could stop at and return to, specific points in time. He refined it several more times until it worked as reliably as any professional program, only free from commercials and government messages! All the standard immersion unit programs included subliminal advertising and Council messages. He managed to disable them on his personal program. Additionally, for safety, all TIU’s were linked directly to Relief and Hospitalization services by monitors that checked for pulse, respiration and other physiological indicators. Should vital signs drop below an acceptable level, emergency technicians were immediately dispatched. The TIU itself was not connected to all the other surveillance equipment monitoring all other public and private areas. These surveillance cameras were so ubiquitous that people accepted them as part of normal everyday life. At least the authorities couldn’t monitor citizens’ thoughts. Were it otherwise, the doubts and ideas he was having could get him into big trouble.

True, independent, personal thoughts were not actually prohibited, but constant exposure to input data made it almost impossible to think for oneself. In his work, remote-sensing devices constantly relayed information that Micah had to match and respond to instantly; there was virtually no time to think, on duty or off duty.

Everywhere entertainment data was near constant. Every month, he received dozens of publications and their advertisements, the top one hundred musical renditions, plus manuals and technical reports. He watched up to forty hours of vidual programs each month. As a member of live group activities, he watched or played ten games a month. Dancing and exercising occupied more of his waking hours.

During “sleep-study” he was learning ancient music and advanced “techno-pilotry,” preparing for the day when he might realize his dream of becoming an Outside Surveillance Cruiser Operator in the elite Deep-Sea Fleet. All in all, Micah’s life was typical for an upwardly mobile young citizen of Azlan.

All Azlan citizens were similarly “plugged in,” receiving instantly and constantly any entertainment or information they desired, which all but eliminated any need to think independently or to communicate personal ideas that had not been fed into them from birth. Certainly, Micah had never questioned anything. Had it not been for the immersion room accident, he probably would have lived the rest of his life without an original thought.

During subsequent TIU sessions, using his personally devised program, he had made contact with an ancestor named Non-sa. Now, Non-sa, who Micah called, great-grandfather, automatically appeared whenever Micah went into his altered “Sensory Deprivation 7,” program, becoming his guide through sequences of time and place.

The previous evening, settled in the chamber, closing his eyes and counting to three, Micah had slid into a relaxed but alert state. The first image that had appeared on his internal screen was an inventory of supplies and equipment he had already secreted aboard his maintenance vessel. In one more week he would have everything he needed. Then he had reviewed his course of action for the day of his departure. No action was possible until he was positive he could perform naturally and normally without displaying any excitement and without making a mistake. Surveillance would pick up on any out of the ordinary behavior right away.

What had brought him to that point in time? It all started when it occurred to Micah to ask Non-sa what he knew about the Azlantean creation legend. “The Story of the Three Levels,” as the legend was generally known, recounted that thousands of years before the Great Flood, people had lived on dry land above the waters, on islands and continents. This was the First Level. There were marvelous stories about different races of men who lived in those lands, as well as the infinite variety of creatures other than man. Most of these tales were considered the invention of early storytellers.

However, the legends also told how a primitive tribe--that eventually came to call themselves the Azlan, grew in power, knowledge and wisdom until they dominated a chain of islands that lay between two vast continents. Less advanced people visited the islands from both continents to trade, learn, and enjoy the unique civilization that had developed on the main Azlan island of Poseida.

Ra, the next largest island, south of Poseida, drew large numbers of pilgrims and those wishing to study under the priesthood that controlled the source of energy that powered all of Azlan. The secrets of Azlan’s technological inventions and the sacred knowledge of the Energy and Power Source were housed there in the Holy Pyramid and Energy Complex.

It was rumored that the archives, describing how Azlan had acquired the energy source and where it had come from were also housed there. According to certain sources, there was a belief that an even older race of beings had passed on the knowledge to the Azlani and that those people had received the knowledge from visitors from another planet. It was accepted fact that the Azlani were not the creators of the Energy and Power Source.

There were differing versions of what had caused the cataclysm that destroyed their world. One told how the empire became corrupt, of a deluded ruling class turning the power source into a weapon of destruction that they were incapable of controlling. Another held that an accidental, or as some texts hinted, suicidal unleashing of this destructive force, caused all of the Azlantean land mass to collapse like a vast caldera, creating enormous tidal waves. Permanently flooding all the dry lands.

Alternatively, it was said that the Great Flood had been a consequence of a mammoth natural catastrophe that caused all the dry lands to sink beneath the seas. All versions agreed, however, that the Priesthood had predicted the event and prepared for it by constructing enormous domes over Ra and some of the smaller islands.

Had the priests been sure? Or did they simply hope that the islands would sink intact? Ancient cracks and signs of hasty shoring, now many meters below ground level, found by archaeologists, suggested that they had been well prepared and had taken drastic action to keep the seal from breaking during the shift.

The present world, inhabited by descendants of the first Azlanteans that had survived within the domes, were the people of the Second Level, the world below the waters.

The Third Level was yet to come. At some unknown time in the future, it was foretold; Azlanteans would migrate to a world in the Space Above Space. How or why this would come to pass was unknown. The passing centuries had seen no slackening of interest in these legends. Songs, books, and viduals dealing with the subject in one way or another, from the learned to the preposterous, proliferated.

One of the most popular vidual programs, called “Far Trek”, was purportedly, based on exploits of the command ship of the Outside Surveillance Cruiser Corps, the OSCC. In these programs, the OSCC ship would travel to strange lands, where crewmembers, led by their heroic captain, would have encounters, usually violent, with the bizarre inhabitants of those places. the mysterious force emanating from the Holy Pyramid powered OSCC ships, just as it did everything in Azlan. The ships were capable of voyages of unlimited distance and could travel, it was rumored, above the water as readily as below it.

It was said that missions of this kind were actually undertaken occasionally, but the government denied all such reports. Stating, always, that since there was no dry land there was no reason for such missions. Labeling programs like Far Trek as pure fantasy.

Non-sa disagreed. He told Micah that, in fact, there were dry lands that had been elevated by the same seismic disturbances that destroyed Azlan, with mountains as high as any beneath the sea and life forms as infinitely varied as those in the waters of the deep.

Whatever the government’s intention for keeping such knowledge from its citizens, for Micah never doubted the truth of Non-sa’s statement, it was evidently dangerous knowledge. Just what the authorities might do if they discovered what Micah knew was hard for him to determine. What he planned to do with this knowledge would certainly bring the full weight of the law down upon him, if it were revealed. He knew from minor brushes with the law as a teenager, that antisocial behavior was not treated lightly; the authorities kept a tight rein on all its citizens. Micah had started work at sixteen, the normal age for those not following an academic career to begin work. Now at seventeen with a government job and his own apartment, why was he preparing to risk everything for this crazy scheme? Non-Sa’s vivid descriptions had excited in him a sense of adventure he had never before known. Though he knew his maintenance vessel was never intended for any such undertaking, he reasoned that, given it was powered by the same energy source as the patrol vessels, it should be capable of travelling as far if not further, given its size and lighter load. The surveillance ships were monsters with large crews, equipped to cruise for months on end. Determined to carry it through and convinced it would work, he also knew that any false move could bring the whole thing to a disastrous end. He was taking every precaution but even something as simple as a questionable medi-scan could expose him.

All maintenance patrollers underwent monthly medi-scans to determine their level of concentration. At the first sign of fatigue, instability or stress, patrolmen were relieved and not reassigned until they got a clean bill of health. High incidents of layoff, continuous outs, or sudden deviations in habits, were subjected to thorough mind probes.

Micah knew he had to avoid that at all costs. Non-sa had taught him self-hypnosis, which made it possible for Micah to erase the “Sensory Deprivation 7” sessions from his conscious mind. Self-hypnosis also helped him control “structured future projections,” keeping his plans well hidden from potential investigation.

All his life Micah’s one ambition had been to join the OSCC. He was energetic and intelligent. He applied himself to his studies and could look forward to qualifying soon as a Surveillance Cruise Pilot, the most adventurous and prestigious position he could imagine. One his father had filled.

Lately, however, he had begun to question whether he hadn’t been programmed to want this, just so he would follow in his father’s footsteps. Micah’s discourses with Non-sa and the unfettered thinking they unleashed had led Micah to see that Surveillance Cruising, just like “Out Maintenance,” his current job, while interesting at first, would eventually become routine. From all Micah knew it was fairly obvious that the machines did most of the work, even on rare long-distance probes. Policing fishing vessels and day trip cruise ships couldn’t be that thrilling most of the time. Thus, Micah’s plan went far beyond the ordinary and beyond Azlan law.

Finally, in the TIU sensoroom, having satisfied himself that his preparations were in hand, Micah had sought the “slip of time” state. As the whirling scenes of people and places slowed and solidified, he had found himself standing in the familiar marketplace in front of the great temple of Azlan as it was centuries before. Despite its yellowish monotone, this world now seemed just as real to Micah as his own. The sense of limitless space, especially overhead in what Non-sa had called the sky, was perhaps more than anything else, what had determined Micah to launch his perilous journey of exploration.

“Greetings, Miki!” Micah never could tell if Non-sa simply appeared before his eyes or if he were actually waiting for him, but it was never too long before Non-sa’s jovial voice intruded.

“Hello, Great Grand-da,” Micah replied, facing the old man. “I’m almost ready to go.”

It had been a great source of relief for Micah to confide in his ancestor. Otherwise, keeping his secret might have been too much of a strain.

“My grandfather was a voyager too, you know,” Non-sa said. “You should meet him sometime. Right now, it would only confuse you to hear his tales of exotic lands and the different races he met in his time. Besides, he traveled to the East and your destiny lies in the West, not that it would do you much good to talk to anyone who had been West either. Since the great disaster overtook our land, nothing will be as it was.

“I know that Da, but I believe dry land does exist. You say my destiny lies to the West, so that must be where land is,” Micah said enthusiastically.

“You must follow your destiny wherever it leads,” Non-sa stated gravely.

“Will I see you again, Great Da?”

“I’ll always be here for you to reach.”

“But I won’t know how to reach you without the sensoroom. Perhaps they’ll have them where I’m going,” Micah said.

“In any case,” the old man continued, placing his hand on Micah’s brow, “I’m always right here.”

Micah’s front door signal chime had sounded for what was probably the third time snapping him out of the trance like state the sensoroom created. Turning off the machine, he had left the sensoroom, closing the door firmly. It was a girl from Companservices. Micah had only recently signed up with Companservices. The company prided itself on providing an experience that simulated what might happen if one met somebody at a club or a bar and the mutual attraction led to the couple going to one of their apartments. In this case, the girl came to your apartment at an undisclosed time so that it had the appearance of being a chance happening. Ostensibly a dating service, it was, in fact, more like a prostitution service. While prostitution was legal, some people preferred to use dating company’s offerings, they being less obvious as to what it was about and in truth there were many who had no expectations or desires beyond a pleasant evening with a friendly, sociable person. This, random occasion approach; like bumping into a girl in the lobby and inviting her up to “see my etchings” obviously could lead to an awkward situation if you happened to have your mother or another girl visiting at the time. Still, it was always possible to say, ‘no thanks’ and actually set a time for a later visit. It wasn’t exactly the best timing on this occasion. The fact was, he had signed up when some of his classmates were fooling around, daring each other to do it and then promptly forgot. It was his first experience with the service and was now awkward and a little embarrassing. Still, having a lovely young girl standing on your doorstep waiting to come in, was difficult to resist. Now, settled at the controls of his maintenance vessel, Micah recalled the evening and what had followed.

“Hallo. I’m Chan-Chan, your companion for this evening. Companservices appreciates your business and hopes you have a pleasant experience!” With the brightest possible smile the girl stepped into the room holding out his service kit, which Micah took from her.

“Where’s the bathroom?” she asked cheerfully.

“Right through there,” Micah pointed.

“Thanks,” she smiled, skipping across the room. She looked great in her one piece, skintight black uniform, but Micah had some trouble appreciating Compan types. They were always so turned on, almost neurotic. Part of their job, he supposed. Still, he had signed up and knew a Compantab would remove all his reservations.

Opening the kit Chan-Chan had given him, he took out the tablet and placed it in his mouth. When the girl emerged from the bathroom, he knew she had taken her tab too. She looked even better than before and her enthusiasm no longer seemed so forced. Already he was feeling affectionate toward her and could feel it in return.

The evening was pleasant and relaxed. They listened to music, danced a little and watched some viduals while they ate a delicious meal provided, on time, by Compan-Catery. With the help of the Compantabs, they were comfortable with each other, like familiar friends. Lounging, relaxed and drowsy together on the couch, Micah gently stroked Chan-Chan’s soft warm skin. The brochure folded inside each Compan-kit stated, “An evening of fun-filled fellowship can quite naturally develop into mutual desire. (Please see section 9 concerning sexually transmitted diseases.)”

Micah found himself longing to know her whole body. As he bent to kiss her lips, she responded eagerly. A wave of sensual desire flooded over them both.

“I want you, Chan,” he whispered. “Yes, oh yes, I want you, too, Micah.”

Her voice, low and hoarse, aroused him further. They tumbled into the dream of love space. Bodies sliding, twisting, blending. All sensation. Pushing, pulling, soft, hard, skin, hair, sweat, slide, rub. Saliva— whose was whose-- front, back, up, down, joining, rising. Yes, rising. Yes, rising. Then the face he always saw. Veiled yet recognizable. Waiting. Was she waiting somewhere for him? Then the void, the total emptying of self into space. Fusion. The cataract rush of utter release. Yes.

When Micah woke the next morning Chan-Chan had already left, normal procedure unless otherwise specifically contracted. He had felt wonderful and prepared for work with a willingness he hadn’t known for some time. After breakfast, Micah had filled the lower compartment of his work kit with items to be added to those already stowed aboard his craft. Carrying out his actions as if he were packing his lunch. The scanners were unlikely to distinguish one thing from another.

The personal items he wanted for the journey, things not normally taken to work, he had packed in the sensoroom. The possibility that the living room scan-camera would pick up on the oddity of a work satchel being taken into that room didn’t bother him. Hell, any kinky weird thing was allowed in the sensoroom. Whatever turned you on! Replacing his work tools, mostly retrieval and task programming chips, so that his personal items would not be readily seen, he’d snapped the satchel closed and making sure he had his ID card, he’d headed out the door.

At the lobby/transportation level, Micah had walked toward the Expressflot entrance that would deliver him to the docking base.

Being still early, few people had been about. At the far end of the lobby, he had seen a figure that might have been Chan-Chan, or maybe a co-worker, boarding an uptown flot. He’d thought about the “Companionables” and the kind of lives they led. Always entertaining, always ready to perform, whether for an audience of one or thousands. It wasn’t surprising that most of them tended to overindulge in “Compantabs,” “Stress-outs,” “Freneticals,” and other mind distorters, legal or not.

At the first platform entrance, two uniformed Guardians had blocked Micah’s way. It all came back now as he relived the drama.

“You are Micah Drin.” More statement than question. Before he could answer, one of them said, “You are required under the law to accompany us to a police bureau where you may be charged with a crime.”

Micah was overwhelmed by panic. What had happened? How could they know? Numb with dismay, Micah walked automatically between the two Guardians as they made their way to the next level where there was a line to the precinct. Slowing his heartbeat and calming his mind, Micah assessed the situation. The Sensoroom. It must have been monitored.

Could it be that the one haven of all citizens was not, after all, inviolate? Chan-Chan! Had she searched his place? The Companionables were known to work with the Bureau at times. What to do? Once they got to the precinct, all of his ID would be taken and it would be impossible to get away. He wouldn’t be able to travel the flot or even enter his own apartment.

What was he thinking? The contents of his satchel alone would be enough for them to lock him up. Once they probed and found out about his preparations, if they didn’t know already, he could say good-bye to his job and any future with the Surveillance Corps. He would be spending time in the Penal Dome where all criminals served sentences.

The Penal Dome! That was it! A flot line ran directly there from the main dome and was used by citizens wishing to visit incarcerated friends or family, for freight and to carry any curious sightseers.

It was also the means by which fugitives fearing stiff sentences could flee. Though a little like jumping from the frying pan into the fire, there was one advantage: on arrival, they would be registered as voluntary inmates and, as such, free from prison restrictions. However, unlike imprisoned criminals who, once they completed various programs, returned to their lives in Main Dome, volunteers must remain indefinitely or until they submitted to rehabilitation programs.

Being “free” in Penal Dome was almost as hard as being a fugitive, in Main Dome. Sooner or later, most volunteers submitted to re-socialization simply to survive. But that wasn’t where he planned to go. With his passive state, Micah hoped to lull the Guardians into complacency. Meanwhile, he counted the seconds that the doors stayed open at each stop. At the fifth stop, the doors opened almost directly opposite the entrance to the Penal Dome flot line. Tightening his grip on his satchel, Micah waited until the final instant before leaping to his feet and lunging through the closing doors. Looking back as he flew down the stairs toward the Penal flot line, he made sure the Guardians saw where he was heading.

Micah knew they would stop the flot and be on his trail quickly. He also knew that the heavy caseloads the courts were handling, combined with overcrowding in the pre-trial cells meant his two well-fed guardians would not be trying too hard.

After all, they would assume, Micah hoped, that he was heading for Penal Dome anyway. But he had a different destination in mind. Hurrying as inconspicuously as he could, Micah crossed Penal Dome line and climbed two levels to line 83 where he could take an express to the Docks.

He was gambling that Maintenance had not yet been informed of his arrest, he figured the Bureau would normally charge a suspect before releasing that information. If he could get to his job on time, his plan just might work. It was unlikely that the workplace would first come to mind when looking for someone on the run.

Nearing the Docks line platform, Micah saw a Flot arriving--an express! He began to jog and by shoving the little old lady in front of him was able to board just as the doors closed. Finding a seat, Micah concentrated on slowing his heart rate and calming his racing mind. He had to be totally prepared when he entered the “Work Capability Assessment Scanner.” In his present state, all the alarms would go off and his chances of even setting foot on board a maintenance vessel would be nil.

Minutes later, the doors opened to spill Micah and hundreds of morning shift dockworkers into the tunnel leading to the yards. Maintaining his calm state, keeping his head down, Micah forced himself not to look for Guardians. As soon as he entered the maintenance cruiser area, he breathed more easily. Leaning in the doorway of his office, Micah’s supervisor called out, “You’re late, Sonny! Better cut down on that late- night boogie.” Good. He wouldn’t have to make any explanation.

Without stopping, Micah grinned.

“Yeah, I guess I’m getting too old for it.”

Quickening his step, as though to make up for lost time, he headed for the ship bays. Some workers on his shift were already running last-minute checks on their vessels or were waiting in line to enter the locks. Consequently, there was less of the usual banter to keep Micah from concentrating on centering. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the scanner, passing through without hesitation. He continued toward his vessel without stopping in at the men’s changing room.

Grandda, lend me your serenity, Micah thought as he began the cruise preparation procedure. As if he were a human computer, he literally plugged himself into the ship control unit and became a part of it. In record time, he was steering his vessel toward the first lock gate. Good work, Argus,” the supervisor’s voice came over the comm-system. Argus was Micah’s vessel.

“Perhaps that boogie stuff is not so bad for you after all.” “Thanks, Chief,” Micah laughed. He knew he had gained some merit points he would never get to enjoy.

Micah had to negotiate three pressure locks before reaching the outside. Partly to keep himself busy while waiting, he carefully checked all of the ship’s systems. Finally, in Lock Three, Micah had had time to think about the morning’s events.

His first realization had been that two of Azlan’s most cherished freedoms had been revealed as shams. True, his acts were illegal; hell, anything that deviated from the norm was. But the government was surely acting illegally as well.

For as long as anyone remembered, sensorooms had specifically been excluded from all monitoring by order of the Grand Council. Every succeeding Council had upheld the sanctity of this one private area in every citizen’s life: the only place where no matter what he or she might do, they were safe from prying eyes.

When he thought about some of the things that had happened in his chamber, Micah’s cheeks burned. But that was the idea, wasn’t it? Inside your sensoroom there could be no embarrassment, precisely because no one else would ever know what you did there. Then the Compan Service Corps was supposedly inviolate for the same reason. What any Service member saw, heard or did while on duty was not to be divulged to anyone.

Compans could refuse to participate in deviant behavior or to commit criminal acts and they were supposed to report only to their company, not to the Guardians.

Recreation, the time when citizens were most relaxed and unguarded after all, it appeared, was protected only when it suited the authorities. Chan-Chan, if that was even her name, could have searched his room and found out enough to establish he would be carrying evidence, then identified him to the waiting guardians.

Whatever was true, he was a fugitive now, an explorer who could have no glorious homecoming. His society had rejected any concept of new frontiers in favor of consolidation and control. Now, at the ripe age of seventeen, with his first job, meant to lead to a career following in the footsteps of his father, behind him, he was outside and leaving everything he’d ever known behind. Going he knew not where.

CHAPTER 2