Dies Irae

[Often, it isn't to your advantage to know what's going to happen; to be tortured by the misery of foreknowledge, when you are powerless to do anything about it, and to lack even the last consolation of hope -- that, which is available to all... Certainly then, ignorance is bliss...] -- Cicero

Yet, audaciously enough, we seek Prescience...

Planet Earth 09:11 a.m. 4th July 0011AD (After Democracy)

And we see... Poverty has been wiped off the face of the earth. Unemployment has been eradicated. Nations do not exist; the world has shrunk. Population statistics are at an all time low. There are no religious conflicts, no gender biases and no trade disputes. Oil prices? Those fuels aren't in vogue now. The air seems a lot less polluted...

All our dreams have come true...

Only, now they seem more like nightmares...

Confused? Perhaps History would aid comprehension...

Barely a decade ago, had the world witnessed the Holocaust.

Greed

The conflict had erupted when the USA (United States of Avaricia) decided to use its nuclear arsenal. Close on the heels of the attack was a press conference by the US President, Grudge Ambush. Claiming intelligence reports of imminent Jehadi terror all across Asia, he emphatically declared that his country would eliminate a certain Been Laid-In and his organization, All Coy Dogs.

He reiterated the fact that nuking half of Asia was necessary -- the US policy was very clear -- if you were on the other half, the US was with you and you were safe -- and if you were not, well, you wouldn't be around to complain. The actual gameplan, however, was to put an end to the growing concern over escalating oil prices back home. Now that the nukes had done their job, troops would be sent in to negate any leftover resistance in the Middle East. The oil-rich territory would then be under US control. Dissolution of the UN was turning out to be a blessing in disguise. With the presidential elections round the corner, and oil prices under control, Grudge could look forward to another term in office. This astute move would fuel his ride to the top of popularity charts, probably rechristening him as St.Gallons.

Wrath

Alas, Grudge's intelligence had failed him. The CIA did not detect even one of the dozens of warheads that were simultaneously deployed at various locations across the globe. In fact, the CIA didn't even know these warheads existed. Within an hour of the nuke attacks on Asia, these warheads were launched to hit all major cities and army bases in the US. Each carried over 500 kgs of CTBT (Controlled Traversal Biological Toxins), which would, on impact, poison anything and everything in a radius of 400 kms. That wasn't all. These toxins were regenerative, and would gradually spread even further, causing unprecedented destruction. The US retaliated with heavier nuclear strikes and the battle ended thirty-seven hours later, both sides obliterated and two continents rendered inhabitable. This, however, was just the beginning. The control toxins were moving out gradually, and, in course of time, would spread all over the globe. There was fear all around. Nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.

Legend has it that the rumor started from a city called Berlin... and spread all over, like a forest fire. Kill as many as you can, everyone was told, for the air is scarce and every breath taken would shorten your life. Violence broke out everywhere. Arson, stabbing, shooting, loot and plunder ruled the streets. Even though their motive was uncertain, the mayhem continued. No one bothered if you were a priest or a pagan, a cop or a criminal, a lawyer or doctor or even a leader... If you were unarmed, you wouldn't survive long.

Pride

At the end of it all, a new clan emerged -- The Rumans. Avoid confusing them with their predecessors -- the humans. The Rumans had diametrically opposite traits. Survival was their only goal at the moment, and they didn't trust even their own shadows. They didn't belong to any faith, nor did they have any spiritual inclinations. There was plenty of wealth all around, but they had no use for it now. They were insensitive, selfish and beyond emotions. Yet, one thing brought them together -- the fear of death.

The toxins were on their way. At this speed, the trans-oceanic spread would be complete in around two months. Dr. Chambers, a product of Standfor University, who was fortunate enough to be on tour at the right time, came up with a life-saving idea. The CABIN (Chemo-toxin and Biowarfare Immune Naturodrome). Roughly modeled after the Igloo, this huge structure was designed to accommodate 50,000 Rumans. It had a resistance level of 95%, which meant that inhabitants were still susceptible to toxins, though their vulnerability was significantly reduced. The Rumans worked night and day for over fifty days, completing sixty cabins all over the map -- just enough for the Ruman clan.

Sloth

That was a decade ago. Since then, the Ruman "Civilization" -- if you can call it that -- had come a long way.

One interesting point to note here is the staggering percentage of highly educated people among the Rumans. Over 70% of the Rumans were Engineers; around 10% were doctors and roughly 5% lawyers. Hence, the technological progress curve, as you would expect, was very steep. Within no time, Dr. A. P. Pear had come up with a teleporting system, for traveling across Cabins. Within a Cabin, however, the use of any vehicle or gadget was discouraged -- as it was believed that any such use would pollute the air and reduce chances of survival. The medical fraternity chipped in with the ingenious "Vitatab" -- a comprehensive answer to all your daily vitamin needs.

Inside the Cabin, the weather, temperature and even humidity were regulated by the MET (Moisture, Ecology & Temperature) Department. The Rumans sought to eliminate any extra-Cabin influence on their lives. However, when faced with paucity, they had decided to look for natural resources outside. When the Rumans had started occupying the Cabins ten years ago, everyone had carried in large amounts of gold and currency. Little did they realize that this wealth had lost its worth.

There was no concept of "Work" inside the Cabin. The only objective of the Rumans was Survival. This translated into the singular task of Cabin Maintenance -- which, due to the early efforts of a select few, was a fully automated process. The inputs for this maintenance, however, had to be procured from outside. Each Ruman was allotted to procurement duty in turns. For this purpose, each Ruman had been fitted with an IC -- an immunity clock, which counted forwards when the Ruman was in the Cabin and backwards when outside. The Duty call was partially based on a threshold IC level. When off-duty, the Rumans did not engage themselves in any kind of activity -- hoping that it would help in sustaining the atmosphere that much longer.

Gluttony

Empty minds had devised new ways of avoiding duty. One such institution was the VISA office -- The Vigor, Immunity and Structural Assessment office. This office was known to have a lot of skeletons in their cupboards, and they made no bones about it. Broadly, its function was to ascertain the "health" levels of Rumans. People with higher levels of health, would have higher chances of survival and hence would be taken off procurement duty to avoid exposure to external atmosphere. Similarly, people with lower health levels would be utilized out of turn for procurement, trying to extract the most out of them before they perished.

And when a Ruman finally died, another of the same genetic constitution and VISA level was manufactured by CLONAID (Culture Laboratory Ovatorium of the New Artificial Intelligence Department). This way, the people with higher VISA levels never had to work. Dr. Sober, the scientist-on-call, was thoroughly worried. His own VISA level had dipped alarmingly and he was under review. In a last ditch effort to save himself from misery, he gulped down the entire bottle of Vitatabs. A little while later, he was to commit CLONAID's first and last mistake -- Sunny.

Envy

Produced to replace the deceased -- Simpson of gene-map 61715 and VISA level 5 at the procurement duty, Sunny was configured at gene-map 91715 and VISA level 50 by the semi-conscious Dr. Sober. There was chaos in the Cabin-et. No law had been formulated to decide the fate of such a Ruman whose creation had gone wrong. There were other reasons for the hullabaloo too -- Sunny had been created with a decimal system based gene-map, unlike other Rumans who were designed on the octal system. Also, his VISA level was almost double that of Mr. Powers, who had hitherto possessed the world's highest VISA level -- 25.5. The UNHRC (United Naturodromes Higher Rumans Council) came up with an 8-7 verdict in favor of placing Sunny in the procurement department, the job he was made for -- but at the same time, monitoring his VISA level closely for changes. For this purpose, Sunny was fitted with an IC MasterCard and exiled by the Romans to the GAUL (Gateway of Atmospheric Unstability & Labour). On the way, he created quite a flutter in the normally sedate environs of the Cabin. Especially, the longhaired, shapely Rumans skipped a few breaths when he passed by -- something was amiss, but they couldn't put their finger on it. It was a new experience for them.

Cabin Ruma (HQ) 11:01 a.m. 12th July 0011AD

Almost a week later, the first review came in from the VISA office. It shook the very foundations of the Ruman civilization. His VISA level had increased -- that too by a whopping two percentage points. When the report was made public, whole cabins reverberated with demands of rejuvenation. Everybody wanted to pile up immunity and vigor. But that was not possible, for CLONAID's technique employed natural resources in huge quantities and there wasn't enough for all. So, the strife continued.

Lust

There were demonstrations, protests and slogans everywhere. Ruman civilians had threatened to strike -- they had chalked up a major workout right in the middle of Tinymen Square -- their plan was to turn up in large numbers and exercise, thereby increasing the breath rate alarmingly enough to get the attention of the Cabin-et. Some other Rumans had started off towards GAUL, to procure, out-of-turn, resources for their own rejuvenation. The airtight exits were smashed and slowly, the toxins crept in. All demonstrations converged at the CLONAID building, everyone aspiring to escape the claws of death by timely rejuvenation. Terror broke out, with each Ruman trying to eliminate another in an attempt to improve the probability of survival. Terror broke out elsewhere too -- in the procurement mines outside -- where the high VISA level Rumans had gone to snatch resources from the on-duty low VISA level Rumans. In the fierce battle that followed, all perished except one -- Sunny -- thanks to VISA power. Within a matter of hours, all the Rumans were either wounded or dead. With the toxins well and truly inside the Cabin, it wouldn't be long before the entire race would be wiped off.

Except for one that is...

Sunny was the lone survivor on this desolate god-forsaken planet -- his VISA level had fallen to 28 owing to the injuries inflicted by the Rumans. But his self-rejuvenating genetic makeup would ensure that he didn't die. He had been condemned to live -- live alone and live forever. He sat under what probably had been an apple tree, hoping that some divine force would intervene to alleviate his misery. Deep in thought, his eyes didn't notice a shapely life-form moving around in the distance clad in what-seemed-like a fig leaf...

~*~

Quid sit futurum cras fuge quaerere
[Stop asking what will happen tomorrow.]
-- Horace

Difficile est saturam non scribere
[It's difficult not to write satire]
-- Juvenal