Cosmic Crime. And Punishment.

From the private journal of Karmic Adjudicator Aeonis Hrokjllavi (142311 of that name):

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say.

Why they say it, I will never know. It is a saying only applicable to the species homo sapiens sapiens. As if they are the only “somebodies” in the known universe. If a feat proves impossible for them, then it must be beyond reach of any intelligent and autonomous being.

The hubris inherent in such an expression is telling of humanity’s flawed nature. Even among their own primitive belief structures the pantheon of god(s) they concocted through the ages frequently placed overreaching pride among the most of cardinal of sins. According to assorted ancient mythologies the guilty were punished with a heavy hand. Such is justice as humans have rendered it for themselves.

An excerpt from the Arcane Theorems of Nu:

When the Base Spiritual Operational Unit (Luminance) or b-SOUL engages in acts of negative cosmic resonance beneath pre-established Petty Uriel Energy (PURE) Values (see index XXV.39086 for table of PURE Values) the b-SOUL effectively becomes a gateway for the Cosmic Atrophy Operating System [CHAOS] to take hold.

The propagation of CHAOS across the Cosmos must be staunched at all cost. Such mindless destruction spreads virulently when left unchecked. Entire neighboring galaxies have been consumed by CHAOS when b-SOULs are left unfettered. Therefore bringing discordant b-SOULs back to safe PURE levels becomes imperative for universal preservation and development…

When the Great Karmic Theologian Nu published his acclaimed mathematical treatise not a single one of his thirteen brains was able to deduce that exposing the b-SOUL to an inverse of its own negative resonance emission would result in the swiftest return to positive PURE values. This was a discovery made by the founder of my house countless millennia ago. It was a discovery that cemented House Hrokjllavi among the upper nobility and brought with it the Adjudicator role.

In simplest terms, when the human psyche undergoes severe strain the resulting karmic scream is one which ricochets throughout the vacuum of space. This scream is in fact, heard by many and where it is heard it births chaos. In order to prevent universal collapse the human psyche must be treated by exposure to their own karmic scream, or a specific frequency thereof. This will cancel the negative resonance and allow the human soul to eventually return to purity. Or it will destroy it.

It takes some genetic manipulation, as well as a cochlear implant to make this possible. It also causes a sensation the humans refer to as "agony." However, as it turns out even humans are capable of hearing a scream in the vacuum of space.

***

Vicki Morrison eased herself back in the worn leather recliner, sighed wearily as she felt her twisted spine straighten up, and closed her eyes. It had been a gruelling days’ work. After nearly fifteen hours in the dim lighting of her work-pod: a day spent breathing in thin, recycled air with her back hunched over a too-small desk she’d then made a two hour long sortie into the mad human traffic of the Central Supplies Depot. She felt old and drained.

Not as young as I used to be…maybe it’s time to start thinking about the future.

The thought put a grim smile on her gaunt face. Future…what future? She was 47 already and any future she could expect was at least as bleak as the present. Quickly, Vicki cast her eyes appraisingly around her apartment, then snapped them shut again with dismay. Everything around her was just as run down as she felt. The recliner she sat on was torn in the seat, the wallpaper in her tiny "open concept" unit was stained and in tatters. The few dishes in her cupboards were badly chipped, and everything, just everything was mismatched, over worn, broken, or otherwise filthy.

Filth…it nearly broke her when her mind settled on the filth. The grey-black grease and dust clung to everything, including her. It left a lingering sour smell on her skin that never went away and it hurt her, to know that she wasn’t a dirty person but she had no choice other than to live this way.

Sometimes she thought she could feel the filth seeping into her skin...into the back of her throat...so thick she might choke on it…it was maddening!

It was also not her fault. The soap shortage had gotten so bad that she could use her meagre ration to clean her apartment or clean herself. And she chose herself every time, for all the good it did. But it was hard washing with only a few cups of dingy, cold water and a thin sliver of lye soap. Even the rags she got at the depot had seen better days. They were spotted with grime and full of holes straight from the shop.

Better days…we’ve all seen better days…when? When were the better days? Was it ever better than this?

She sat in her recliner and scrunched her eyes closed hard, stuffed her fists in her ears, then rocked back and forth methodically.

Focus…focus…focus on the better days? When were the better days…were there ever? Remember….focus…

It was nearly silent in the apartment for the next three hours, but for the steady drone of the air purification system which connected Vicki’s apartment, as well as thousands of others to the central filtration unit of the Underground, and the creaking of the old recliner. This was Focus Time, the time of meditation which, if you believed the Community Councilors, would ease away Mind Sick.

Of course, everyone had Mind Sick. It was the epidemic in the Underground…although no one seemed to know why. Life had always been just as it was now, hadn’t it? With thin and meagre rations, and filth that permeated every surface? Flickering electric lights that threatened to abandon you in the suffocating darkness? And the crippling feeling of being all alone amid swarms of people…hadn’t it always been just like this?

But then what of Mind Sick? What of the people who were found dead, in their apartments, who leapt into the Incinerator, or who just stopped being part of the Underground…the Cleaners would get them eventually. But you would see them wandering aimlessly through the tunnels, mumbling under their breaths the incoherent ramblings of madmen who couldn’t belong anymore. They didn’t eat, they didn’t bathe, they didn’t perform any duty that was deemed necessary for the survival of the Underground. But they would shamble along until the Cleaners herded them up to the Lift, and then they would be no more.

That was what Mind Sick did to you, it took away your anchor, sucked away your willingness to belong to the community. And one day you’d find yourself slipping off into lunacy, and your last coherent thought might be “Please…if it must end then let it not end in the Lift.”

Vicki Morrison rocked back and forth alone for hours, trying to focus on better days and hoping her Mind Sick would pass. She had been close to fading many times, and she’d gotten better. But tonight she felt bone weary, and decided to go and see a Councilor, if one was available, because she felt like she had reached her limit. She got out of her recliner, and headed into the crowded tunnels, where people were crammed foul smelling body to foul smelling body, trying to force their ways through too small- and too-dark passages.

Once she made it there to the packed tunnels in Channel Three, still focused on easing her Mind Sick away, a coal cart was suddenly knocked on its side.

Poor Vicki, already slipping fast found herself covered in soot from head to toe, surrounded by a thick cloud of dust. It stung her eyes, and settled in her hair, caked her clothes and hands, filled her nose and throat. And Vicki's frail mind snapped like a brittle twig. She began to scream, alone in the crowded tunnel, and scratched her hands and face until they bled. “BETTER DAYS?! BETTER DAYS! BETTER DAYS ARE HERE AGAIN? BETTER…” she howled.

Of course, nobody took the slightest bit of notice.

She was picked up by the Cleaners nearly four hours later. It ended for her in the Lift. And an hour later Benjamin Hill moved into her now vacant apartment.