The Last Contact - Part #1/4
Observe the protocol!
This is episode 1 of the 4-part dystopian sci-fi(ey) serial.
#1: The Vote
“Esteemed members of the Council, we need to come to a decision.” Announces Pramukha Prime standing up, his ceremonial gown shimmering with the full spectrum of colors the light can accommodate.
When the bickering in the Grand Hall dies down, he continues.
“It’s been seven days since the descendance of the Heavenly Object, and we’re nowhere close to understanding the message it has been transmitting. There is no point in prolonging it any further — the Object needs to be destroyed — we don’t need peasants from the lower levels raising questions.“
An approving murmur is interrupted by an old throat being cleared.
“If I may, Your Eminency.” An elderly woman has both of her impossibly wrinkled hands raised.
“By all means, Muni Alpha,” Says Pramukha, swinging his arm in the floor-is-yours motion, “this Council is always happy to be blessed with your gracious wisdom.”
She takes her time to stand up, evoking poorly hidden, impatient sighs from the younger members — most of them eager to get back to the perks that belonging to the exclusive top rung of the society comes with. Being hand-fed fresh fruit by a harem of flawless beauties surely beats sitting here, listening to an old hag blabber about some useless container that fell from the sky.
“Thank you.” Muni says finally. “My team of the finest wisemen has been rummaging through the official records, and it is their belief that the Object may be the first outside contact since the Breaking of The World.”
The woman pauses, letting her words sink in. The greatest cataclysm that nearly wiped humanity almost a hundred thousand years ago is not a topic that can be thrown around lightly, even if it occupies the place in the minds of the younger generation reserved for fairy tales.
“We may not have much information left from the Before Times, but we owe it to ourselves as well as to our blessed descendants to at least try and fill in the gaps. If there’s even the slightest chance the Object can hold clues to our past and thus unlock the tools to the prosperous future, do we have the luxury to heedlessly dismiss it?”
“We are tremendously grateful for your insights, Councilwoman Muni,” says Pramukha Prime respectfully, yet impatiently, “but we can’t understand its message. Those might be just random sounds coming out of it, not a spoken language at all. And for all we know, it could be dangerous. What would you suggest we do with it?”
“Let’s expand the circle of experts. Let’s…” the woman pauses as if having second thoughts about what she’s about to propose… “give the professors at the universities a chance to evaluate the phenomenon.”
The Great Hall explodes in laughter at her words. Even Pramukha, who prides himself on his tactfulness, cannot contain a smile.
“Respected Councilwoman, are you suggesting we turn this matter over to the shamans, responsible for teaching useless archaic disciplines to the plebeians?” He asks. “The same sharlatans who insist that something as ridiculous as mathematics or physics holds any importance in this glorious society of ours?”
The laughter that faded when Pramukha Prime began to speak, reemerges with a newly found energy.
“Or, do you want someone on the case who says our World isn’t the center of the whole Universe?” The leader sends the Council into another round of uncontrollable cackle.
Muni Alpha waits until the last of the giggles die down, then continues.
“I understand how this proposition may sound to the Esteemed Council — we have allowed the existence of those institutions as an odd form of entertainment for the common herd after all — but, as pathetic as they are, we could use a different perspective, couldn’t we?”
“Very well. This might be fun.” Concedes Pramukha Prime. “Who’s in favor of letting the rabble play scholars?”