The Awaken Mind

The thin, glutinous residue sealed his eyelids and slid off as igneous snow on a glass beveling roof. He felt the effect on parts of his body. It was his whole body. The man gasped; he was without clothing. A square panel unfastened with a snap click auditory at the crystalized diamond ceiling. Off-white, glistening garb descended to his physique. It fastened and buttoned on the man. The way automated fashion should perform with computer sensors weaved into the fabric. The ears heard a steady, breezy, revolving sound. The dread then snatched him. An internal trigger inside him signaled him to operate his eyelids.

The ceiling spun. No, it is the revived person who rotated in mid-air. The man jolted to sit. He noticed he sat on nothing, circling with the constant, windy audio. The man's heartbeats hurried with the fuel of uncertainty and wariness.

He spanned his sight in this area, the three-cornered, triangular-shaped section. The trio of walls was wholly mirrored, tinted in bluish teal. The man saw his replication; eyes widened, and his iris enlarged in a convulsed disturbance.

"Please, God, apprise me this is a nightmare and extract me from it," the man grieved.

"Is it wise to conjure an enkindled being as 'a nightmare,'" Mr. Angular?" questioned an artificial voice from a wall. "It is a miracle, a technological advancement of medical science."

The rotation halted. A door slid open at the wall. Two comely, uniformed individuals of both genders entered and neared the trembling, vacant, seated man. He lowered; his feet smoothly abutted the chilled floor.

"Mr. Redwood Angular, welcome to our world," spoke the female, "my name is Tara; this is Foster. We're here to conduct your orientation."

"I detect perspiration beads on your forehead and some rapid breathing. Good, those are markings that your new body is functioning well," said Foster.

"This isn't me. I don't behold myself like this."

"I can explain," said Foster.

"Yes, go ahead. What is the heck going on? A few moments ago, I was in my den finalizing my manuscript - ."

" - Then, you died, Mr. Angular," said Foster, "within four seconds."

Tara removed a scope from her pocket. She flicked a switch, and the instrument irradiated carroty grids on Redwood's entire body. The sections of squares filled with bright green, one by one, head to toe.

"You were lifeless for 1,311 years. Your archrival, Cephasis, injected a toxic vapor into your home ventilation. During the attack, your spouse, Gaia, departed. Cephasis seized your unfinished manuscript," said Foster.

Foster recorded Redwood's reaction as the occupied sea green grids dwindled. Mr. Angular, given the depiction of an emotionally distraught individual affected by the revelation.

"Foster, every vital organ and body transmission are excellent." Said Tara.

Redwood slid his fingers in his contemporary hair. More self-impressions and taps engage in the renewed posture.

"I confirm to you, Mr. Angular, you are precise," said Foster.

"Why am I a guy half my age? I was a dark man." Redwood asks. "Real it is, normal it's not."

"Due to your mission's objectives for us, we selected an appealing race. To arouse the most persons to your message," said Tara. "Your heart and brain were cryo frozen."

Redwood stood up from the zero-space seat. The man's volume amplified. "Change me into who I am."

Fosters extended his arm to the unsealed door. "Our apologies; the decision is final. Nonetheless, a phenomenal tour awaits you. We have so much to show you."

*****

In a translucent auto-sized capsule, Redwood, seated in the rear, viewed the metropolis. The city was lush with green foliage draped upon chrysolite buildings, and skyscrapers sparkled in the daylight. As their capsule turned into spotless streets, many individuals roamed the sidewalks. People were dressed in either blue, tan, or grey overalls. No children, youths, or elderly folks were present.

Among the people were giant creatures draped with chocolate-dark, hooded capes with multicolored insect antennas protruding. They carried odd pitchforks and arched batons on their belted hips. As they commuted, Tara drove with no steering wheel. She operated the vehicle with her palms and shared the roadways with other capsules and larger bubble vehicles.

Multiple-races laborers engaged in manual tasks. The hooded critters were attentive to the unexpressive persons, apparently as their supervisors. In their distant background in the valleys and mountains, large, smooth-edged ice cubes in varied firelight colors gyrated at a sloth's pace into the cavities of the peaks.

"You see them, Mr. Angular?" Asked Forest. "The blocks were released from nursery ships in the heavens. These units will finish their transformation procedures inside the lavatories below the hills."

The cubes glinted electric light beads, like synapses and neurons inside the brain.

"What are they?" Asked Redwood.

Tara answers him. "They are you. You are seeing other great minds due for our revitalization to join your mission."

"I would rather meet any descendants from my family. Please may I visit them wherever they live?"

Tara and Foster looked at each other. Foster turned around to Redwood.

"Our sympathies, any persons of your kin, were vaporized," said Foster.

Redwood gripped his eyes and covered them in grief. His teeth chattered in anger.

Tara said, "Our administration won't permit interferences against your objectives to serve us."

"I don't want to endorse murderers. So vain, what kind of people are you?"

A reply streamed from Foster as a slip of paper from a machine slot, "We are not humans; we are perfected humanoids."

"What?" Redwood's voice vibrated in disbelief.

"Almost K years ago, the leaders of surviving humanity agreed to relinquish their administrations." Said Tara, "They are under the authority of the Machine Empire."

"It makes sense, does it not, Mr. Angular?" Foster continued. "We have the intellectual capabilities, innovation, and knowledge to govern your species without the endless glitches of faulty inclinations and irrationalities."

"Why do you need me? You have everything," Redwood analyzed the shoes they gave him. Such remarkable footwear is hard to describe.

"The Alliance will meet with you later to discuss your central role in acquiring peace and stability for your classification," Tara said.

"You don't have to hold me in suspense, Lady. Tell me now."

"Tara, Mr. Angular will relish a stroll in the town," said Foster, "we can help him sightsee."

*****

"The residents behave respectfully and are weird simultaneously," Redwood said as he observed another preoccupied person passing him and his hosts. "The people neither greet me nor each other."

"Your comrades live productive, purposeful existences as they contribute to society," said Foster. "We waited for them to reach the ideal social condition to strengthen your mission."

The buildings have no storefronts or signage, just lights designed into label patterns and artistic enigmas. Redwood ambled to a circular glassy panel and watched the activities inside.

"Laundromats remain in business after so long?" Redwood saw individuals cleaning, drying, and folding their garb under the sentinel of the enormous critters.

"Remember you humans were amazed at the discovery chimps draw out the ants by wetting straw plants with their mouths?" asks Tara. "The animals stuck them in the ant holes..."

"...And they draw out the ants on the straw to eat them," Redwood concludes.

"It's the type of fascination we saw about human ingenuity," said Tara. "Why not keep what is practical and efficient?"

A fierce, loud siren disrupted Redwood; he covered his ears but heard the audible fleeting footsteps escalating towards him. A man in the tan overalls ran past him, sweat sprinkling on Redwood's arm. The siren flooded the area, and its alarm light illuminated Redwood's side. He turned.

A flying, man-size zigzag cone charges at him. It halted, tilted, dipped to scrutinize Redwood, and passed over him to stalk the running man. A light ray zap penetrated the prey's calf. The man stiffened. He falls facedown on the pavement. The cone spun in place and shot a long, thin, shiny strip of wide ribbon from a slot.

The wavy tape scooped under the man. The ribbon wrapped around him like a mummy, exposing only his head. A hooded critter exited the laundromat, removing his wand from a hidden pocket. He uncovered his hood. What a horrifying thing to cause Mr. Angular to quiver. Gladly, the siren silenced. The critter resembles an immense, oily cockroach, yet no liquid trickled. The creature waved the cone to depart. It addresses Redwood with a nod.

"Welcome to our world. I'm glad to meet you," the behemoth says.

The critter continues to the fallen man and peers down at him. "I can tell you; you'll taste sour down the gutter, into the pit. Okay, Fellow, come with me."

The creature waves his wand over the man. He shifted upward like a lever and bobbed in mid-air, repeatedly up and down.

"Have some understanding," the man cries, "I made a mistake. It wasn't on purpose."

"Be quiet," the critter orders. It takes a rimmed, silver-like cylinder from its pocket fold. It flew from the craw hand, sealing over the man's mouth.

"What did he do?" Asked Redwood.

A paper-thin monitor screen slides from the sidewalk-lined aperture before Foster's view. He reads the non-English data with the profile image of the captured man in the ribbon.

"The violator crossed through a forbidden vicinity. Sad and unnecessary." Said Foster.

As it is about to pass him, the critter addresses Redwood. "Please don't allow this disturbance to trouble you, Sir. Enjoy your day."

The captured man accompanies his captor from behind, like a balloon on a hand-held string. The monitor switched off and slid back into the sidewalk's invisible, slender fissure.

"What sort of justice do you render on these so-called violators," asks Redwood.

******

Tara's capsule stops before a diner shaped like a translucent double-layer cake with a slated disk roof. The critters crowd the eatery inside, seated on a space along the wall. The utensils float before them, gobbling small brown cubes with their drinks.

"That is their punishment," said Redwood. "You assign them grease kitchen onuses."

"Look closer; the wrongdoers are present." Said Foster.

Redwood exits the vehicle; he steps closer to the diner. Foster and Tara followed him. Sounds of feather flipping stirred Redwood to raise his eyes heavenward. Small, white-winged creatures fly above a cluster into the divide of buildings.

Redwood's sight returns to the diner's window. People are serving the giant insect beings, those cubes, and the burnished metal goblets of brew.

"Yes, of course, I see the waiters and waitresses. Not bad, I can live with that," said Redwood. He estimates their expressions as no.

"The servers are exemplary humans," said Foster. "People who earned the privilege to serve the guards."

"Is it an esteemed privilege that they forgot their smiles of appreciation?" Said Redwood. "The people are a bore." He continues, "I give in. Where are the invisible offenders?"

"I suppose we have to imply it to you, Redmond," said Tara. "The violators were converted into edible sustenance to nourish our diligent sentries."

Redwood focuses on the critters. They consumed with their utensils the bulwark-textured, saucy cubes. He gasped. The creepy-crawly-like patrons paused to submit an honorary toast for their observers, lifting the cubes on spiral skewer sticks.

Redwood bows to the sidewalk, holding his stomach, and the other hand weaves his hair to the back of his neck. Foster and Tara gently guide him to stand.

"What are those big, ugly bugs?" He asks.

"They are the Megablats from the Istilla Grande constellation. We hired them to shepherd the human flocks and assert order," said Foster.

Redwood pinched, rubbed his nose bridge, closed his eyelids, and dipped his chin. He snailed steps to the capsule. The disheartened visitor glanced upward. The two hosts trailed him. Redwood spread his arms upward.

"Does not stability tolerate shared happiness and safety? Could protecting guidance not be directed for all residents' best-forecasted interests?"

"Mr. Angular, please apportion your goodwill and regulation theories for meeting with The Alliance." Tara's vocals swim with confidence. "The administrators are enthusiastic about being informed of your proposals."

"Yeah, I get it. The top honchos will push the buttons for people to listen to me. Isn't it right?" asks Redwood. "What is genuine peace and order without fundamental contentment?"

A gush of waft shot an Autumn Olive leaf into Redwood's hair. He fingered it out his follicles, observed its details, and released it in the blow of the air.

"Excuse me, Sir, can you repeat that? I don't compute," said Tara.

Redwood skips his feet around and bridges his fingers. "Oh, never mind," he resented.

******

He glides his fingers across the outlines of the unusual and dazzling plants and florals inside the city's botanical.

"Tara and Foster, these are extraordinary, nothing I saw before," Redwood testifies.

"We gathered them from neighboring star systems," said Tara. "I am glad you are pleased. The humans are rapt and attentive in their herbal and vegetal tending."

"So, I see. It's uneasy to know if the gardeners find satisfaction in their jobs," said Redwood.

"You repeated this concern before, Redwood," said Foster, "are you wondering about another matter unanswered?"

"I have numerous unanswered worries about where I am now. What are you referring to?"

"You wish to know why youths and elderly persons are absent," said Foster.

Redwood kneed at a baby plant display under a see-through dome. His eyes trailed the mini botanical veins from leaves to stems.

"Please explain," said Redwood.

"To keep our realm proficient, we limit human life to 60. Respectfully, the useless have a few years after 54 K to enjoy their last years without work tasks," said Tara.

Redwood strokes his hand on top of the dome.

"How is this humane?" he said. Redwood trembled; his eyelids filled with clear liquid.

"Consider the honor for your seniors; our sentries relished them. Isn't this outcome like how you humans appreciated rare, vintage wine?" said Foster.

Redwood stands up. "What about the youngsters?" he asks.

"It's special," said Tara. "After birth, the offspring are extracted from their imperfect parents. They are raised in nurture centers; their necessities are provided, including education."

Redwood covered his mouth and lowered his head.

"Imperfect parents; there are imperfect kids. How do you...?" Redwood asks.

"We don't," said Tara.

"Any progenies spoiled with severe defects or complicated diseases and mental disorders we processed into practical products. Like the fertilizers utilized to grow fruits and vegetables for the peoples," said Foster.

"You do what?" said Redwood.

"You're impressed. It is acceptable for good," said Tara. "What's more, we honor our guards by not serving them contaminated carbon units."

Redwood hones around his eyes and nose. "Dear God," he says.

"Are you not feeling assured respectability is among the attributes cultivated in this world?" Oppugned Foster. "We laid a foundation for you to build a successful mission."

******

Inside a transparent, stout cigarette-shaped skyscraper, an elevator upsurges level by level, circling heavenwards. The apparatus's interior includes Redwood; he sat on an item of emptied space furniture that swirled like a barbershop chair. Tara was next to him, and Foster was at the mechanism's control panel.

As Mr. Angular observed the outside domain, he sensed the rising rotation. Nausea was unavoidable for his kind. Redwood massaged the problem area under his rib cage.

"My great-grandfather was living when he told me about the rollercoaster ride," said Redwood. "I wonder if this elevator is something like it."

"Close your eyes if it helps, and breathe steady," said Tara. "Foster, please turn on the air conditioner for him."

"Sure, Tara, anything for our friend," said Foster. "Again, your new body experiences normal reactions. Marvelous."

"Relax, Sir, you'll be okay. Sit back, relax." Said Tara. "Please cogitate your engagement with our administrators."

******

"Here is where we leave you, Redwood," Foster's hand baited attention to the paired wall doors some steps before them. "You go through the entrance straight ahead to meet them."

"It has been a privilege to assist you thus far," said Tara. "We'll be back to resume your orientation."

"Thank you," said Redwood.

The glassy wall doors slid open; Redwood plods into a drenched, indigo light that transitioned into a more profound value per the seconds. It was pitch black with sudden, lit flushers of imprecise purples and blues. He stretched his hand before him. The bitty specks of repeating sparkles are no aid for Redwood to figure out how to move forth.

"So much for so-called advanced technology," said Redwood. "What is illumination without elucidation?" He slowly waved his hand and wiggled his fingers to touch anything to guide him.

The specks of lights appeared to be falling beneath his feet, sinking into a spongy surface like a waterbed. The blackness became a cloudy cerulean smog, vivifying as if the sun was behind it. Redwood feels a chilled liquidation all over him, but no wetness can be seen.

He wondered, asking himself, "Where did this come from?"

Redwood peered down beyond his feet at the crystal-clear surface. A decorative oral arm lifted behind him in a surprise to steady Mr. Angular. Redwood is on top of a rising, silicone-analogous jellyfish, with its zillion-colored components, tentacles, and hundred thousand strains of wires. That enormous, lighted cloud dissipated like dew drizzle to evaporate underneath him.

At the size of an air balloon, this machine guided him to the edge of a triangular stairwell, where he ascended to sliding duet doors. Like the stairs, the opening was produced from polished peacock ore. Finally, he beholds them seated in marbled, circular stands one above another.

"Welcome to our world, Mr. Angular," said a solid, self-possessed speech.

Twelve stocky, hairless men gaze down at Redwood. He stands before them motionless at the impressive vista of these persons.

"My name is Sigmund Three. Please have a seat behind you," said S3. His arm extends down, and his fingers roll out to a point to the chair.

All the persons are of varied races and ethnicities. As if they came from the same parents, the men are physically and facially identical in their hereditary produced make-up. Redwood sat down in space; he judders his head. He shuts his eyes.

"Is something wrong, sir?" asks Sigmund 10.

"Would you like a boxed bottle beverage?" inquires Sigmund Six.

"I wish to know what you want from me," said Redwood.

The men introduce themselves to him: Sigmund Four, Sigmund 11, Sigmund Two, and others.

"We want to generate a healthy co-existence with the humans, but they are often distracted from us, emotionally uninvolved," Sigmund Three expounded.

One of the administrators directs Redwood's attention to a blank wall. A cylinder of ten-thousands thin, picturesque squares spanned and gathered on the surface to materialize a large, self-supporting screen.

Redwood watched archival footage of his actual self; he was speaking in a crowded hall. The discourse concluded, and the audience in the video applauded. The next scene shows Redwood teaching university students. Then, he was autographing books at a bookshop. The final stage reveals Redwood's family life: wife, sons, and daughters.

"Are you inspecting my heart condition?" The displaced human expressed.

"Yes." Sigmund Five said, "You are among few humans we brought back with a heart and mind. Your teachings facilitated billions during your time to live fulfilling lives."

"We need you to stir the people to value their place in our society. You can resume with your unfinished manual," said Sigmund Eight.

Redwood stands up and walks about the bare room.

"Ah, the book manuscript my foe murdered me for, as I sought to complete before my consciousness was nixed?" said Redwood.

"Finalize it here," said Sigmund Four. "It will spark your public campaign; we'll support you."

Redwood sat down, his elbows to his knees, hands cupped his face.

"Gentlemen, I must deny your request. For my beliefs, I no longer embrace the principles I formerly promoted. The book was my disclosure, a revised and repented mind."

Sigmund Seven stood, glided downward, and approached Redwood.

"What happened before your death?" He asks. "You had billions of global followers loyal to your teachings."

Redwood sat erect and glanced at Sigmund Seven.

"My wife and I came upon a superior source of knowledge, and we supported it."

"We accept only what you previously wrote and instructed," said Sigmund Seven. "What do you wish now from us?"

Redwood emerged from his zero-space chair. They face each other, humanoid and human.

"Please let me return to slumber. I must reunite with my wife in the grave."

The administrators noted their reactions. They computed a response to Redwood's expression.

"Sir, you have an ostentatious opportunity," said Sigmund Four, "is this end you desire?"

Mr. Angular turned, extending his iris to the upper stand where Sigmund Four awaited his answer.

"Exactly," Redwood affirms, "I asked God about this world and to 'get me out of it.'"

Sigmund Seven pauses, ponders. "Your request is granted. Thank you for your time."

"Go back through the double doors; your hosts will aid your return," said Sigmund Three.

Redwood exits. Sigmund Seven returns to his post.

"Let's initiate the subsequent option," said Sigmund 11.

"It makes sense. We have an extensive collection of Mr. Angular's articles, lectures, and literature. We must select a people's leader to follow our directions." Said Sigmund Five.

"It is a reason I vouch to restore Cephasis. He was an expert on Angularism," said Sigmund Two. "The drawback is he'll return with a brain without an authentic human heart, dissimilar to the laborers."

"So be it," said Sigmund 12. "The people won't notice."

"I am submitting instructions to recreate Cephasis," said Sigmund Seven.

- End -