YEARS GONE
By Unlikely Hiro
Chapter II: The Way Things Are
Chennai, India
Early Tuesday Morning, 18 May 2021
Nirand didn't look up from his computer when he heard the knock on the door, nor did
he look up when he heard the person enter his little office.
"Hello, Mira."
"Who is 'Mira,' Professor Chandrasekhar?"
Nirand turned around, "Ah! Sorry, Mr. Singh, I am expecting someone."
Nirand's student nodded and sat down. Nirand turned around for a second to flick off
his computer screen, "What brings you here?"
Singh squirmed in his chair, "My term paper. You see Professor, there is an
emergency in my family." And for the next ten minutes, Singh and Nirand discussed
Singh's family troubles and negotiated an extension. Which meant that Nirand didn’t
notice that his computer was being hacked via the internet.
Singh stood up, "Thank you very much, Professor."
Nirand shook his hand, "There is nothing to thank me for, Mr. Singh. I am just glad you
came here to explain things to me. I hope everything turns out well."
"Thank you again," Singh said, turning around and bumping into Mira when he stepped
out the door, "I beg your pardon, miss," he said in a hushed, forced voice. Mira merely
nodded and entered Nirand's office.
"Good morning, Dr. Shenoy," Nirand said, sitting back down and writing something in a
notebook.
"And to you, Professor Chandrasekhar," Mira said, "I believe you know why I'm here."
"Mm-hm."
"And what are your findings?"
Nirand closed his notebook, "I am not going to tell you."
"Excuse me?"
"Dr. Shenoy--Mira--You know full well the policies of Bharagene in regards to the
Enhanced Genetic Sequences, and quite frankly, I want no part in it." Nirand opened
his notebook again, "Besides, Parliament is, I am told, preparing to investigate
Bharagene for violations of the SG Test Ban Treaty," he smiled, "I will give you THAT.
Go tell your bosses to prepare for it. They can shred all the incriminating documents
and so on."
Mira leaned forward, "Are you serious, Nirand?"
"Deadly so, I am afraid."
She leaned further forward, standing up and placing her hands on the desk, "Do you
realize how much important your findings are to ME, let alone my company?"
"What are you doing Mira? Your charm left you a number of years ago. This flirting will
get you nowhere."
Mira slapped him and turned to leave, "My Company will not take 'no' for an answer.
Keep that in mind, PROFESSOR." And she left the room.
"You could have at least shut the door!" Nirand shouted. Rubbing his cheek, he got
up and shut it himself. He stared at the doorknob for a moment, and decided to lock it.
Nirand sat at his computer again. He grabbed his phone, a rather battered rotary dial,
and placed a call.
"Allo, you have reached Abuswami Financial Services, this is Shushir, how may I help
you?"
"Can you direct me to Miss Rasihamatijan, please?"
"One moment, sir!" Nirand was subjected to about three minutes of bad pop music
before he was put through.
"AFS stock offices, this is Amita," she said.
"Hello, this is Nirand Chandrasekhar, and I have some changes to make to my
portfolio."
Rasihamatijan recognized the code, "Of course. What is it you need, sir?"
"I would like to remove all stock in Bharagene."
"ALL stock?"
"Yes, miss, all."
"One moment," the sound of typing, "Is there anything else, sir?"
"Yes, I would also like to make some adjustments to the 'American Account.' I will be at
Sanjay's Gourmet Restaurant this afternoon, at three. I wish to speak to a financial
representative."
"That will be possible, but it will cost 35,000 Rupees an hour to consult."
Nirand consulted his codebook, where it read "Rs35 000 = NO MEETING POSSIB./CALL
LATER"
"That is unfortunate, but I am willing to pay. Thank you, Ms. Rasihamatijan."
"You're quite welcome, sir."
Nirand slammed his phone down, silently praying that Claude and Sanjog were having
better luck than he was at the moment.
***
"Hello, Meredith?"
"This is Boris, Claude. You should not be calling here."
Claude leaned on the pay phone, "This is important. I need to speak to Meredith."
"The Mayor has received your message and understands its urgency. That is why she
has left to visit our Italian friend."
"She went to Peter?!" Claude shouted, startling passers by and a flock of pigeons into
flight.
"Be silent, Rains! You do not know who is listening. She has left, and that is it.
Goodbye!"
"Boris, don't--!" Claude growled and threw the phone at the rest of the booth, letting it
hang when he stormed out of the booth. Sanjog ran up to him.
"What happened?"
"Oh, it doesn’t matter," Claude hissed, not even glancing at Sanjog, "Tell me more
about what its like when someone comes to you."
"I would if you were listening." Claude turned around and sighed.
"I was trying to contact the mayor of SG City."
"Where?"
Claude sighed, "SG City is a reservation in America where SG's and there families are
forced to live. It's hot as hell, there, and we're all shit poor, too."
"And why do you need to talk to him?"
"Her. And would you stop asking all these questions! You're 26, for Christ's sake!"
Sanjog folded his arms, "If you're going to take me to America, I'd like to know what I'll
face/be facing."
Claude sighed again, "It won't be pleasant, I'll warn you. You'll have a passbook, for
one--"
Sanjog pulled a little booklet out of his pocket, "We have those here too, you know."
Claude snatched it from him and waved it in his face, "But they don’t check it much, do
they? Just when you go certain places or buy things, right? Well, in America, you can't
go anywhere without it. You have to apply to DC just to leave the reservation, and fill
about a dozen forms and wait a week, even if you were bleeding to death--so we're
lucky we have a healer in town. Once you're outta town, you have to check in in every
city hall of EVERY town you pass through. Say you're on a road trip. You have to get
the damn thing stamped in every town, even if you're just passing through. Miss just
ONE, you're in prison--Federal prison!--for a MONTH. You have to have every
purchase pre-approved. And sure, you can buy things, but the best stuff's outta
reach. You can only eat in 'SG Only' restaurants, drink from 'SG Only' fountains. You
can be thrown in jail at a cop's whim. You can't vote, you can't speak your mind.
There's no identity theft production, no insurance, and you pay more than 65% of your
income in taxes--Assuming you're lucky enough to even HAVE income. You can be
tortured, beaten, molested, and can't sue or defend yourself in court! You can't even
have a lawyer! EVERY protection afforded in U.S. Law is denied to us. That includes
the right to raise a case in the Supreme Court, so we can't challenge any of this
bullshit." Claude smiled and grabbed Sanjog by the shoulders, "Sure you want to come
to America, kid?"
Sanjog was silent for a long moment before he said, "Then how'd you get out of the
country?"
Claude let out a bark of a laugh and went invisible. He spun around and shouted right
in Sanjog's ear, "I'm a criminal, laddie. A wanted man. I'd go to prison for several years
if they caught me."
Sanjog turned around and Claude became visible again. Claude stuck his hands in his
pockets and said, "You got it really nice here in India."
Sanjog was silent, and he sat down on a bench by a large fountain. He tried to imagine
what it would be like to face prison if he just walked through the wrong door or said
the wrong thing to the wrong person...
A Sikh in a full turban walked by him, giving a concerned look. Sanjog smiled at the
man, who kept walking.
"Do they control your religion?"
"Huh?" Claude sat down next to him, "No. Not YET, anyway. We don't have a church
or a temple or anything, but that's only because we can't afford one."
"Oh." Sanjog watched the man walk around a corner and disappear, "How much money
do you have?"
Claude pulled a bill out of his wallet, "This is a JFK. Named for the guy on it. After, the
US had massive inflation--After the Explosion."
"So did India."
"Well, this bill is worth about a BILLION dollars--excuse me, an arawb dollars, as you
say here--or so it says. Sounds like a lot, but it's really quite worthless. Only..." Claude
seemed to do the calculations in his head, "75,000 rupees. You could perhaps buy a
DVD player with two or three of 'em."
Sanjog shook his head in amazement, "Incredible."
Claude tugged on the bill as if he were checking for its crispness, "This single bill
alone accounts for about a thousandth of a percent of SG City's economy. Put another
way, my wallet contains a tenth of a percent of the City's money."
Claude put the bill back in his wallet, "But enough about money. We need to talk about
your ability." Claude leaned on his forward, his hands on his thighs, and smiled, "Like
how did you find ME, for instance. And how does your 'Dreamland' work?"
Sanjog took a deep breath and said, "It is difficult to explain what dreams, uh, look like
to someone who does not have this ability. I tried to explain it to Nirand once, and all
that I did was give him a big headache."
Sanjog took another deep breath, "He did, however, help me come up with an
metaphor. I used to be a sort of dip or hole in a field. People are like cricket balls, and
their lives and worries are a specific path on the 'field of dreams.' If a person was in
need, they might stray to close to my 'ditch' and would fall in, where I would appear in
there dreams. By this same metaphors, the gods are like cricket players, I suppose.
"I've recently begun to study some of the meditation methods of the yogis. Nothing
more than observation, really, not a devotion, not yet, at least. Basically, these
meditations that my observations helped me develop are akin to 'pushing' my little
hole, or digging it out in a certain direction.
"There is a favorite metaphor of astronomers that describes space as a sheet of
rubber, where I'd then be a ball set in it. My meditations are like running my finger
along that sheet, creating a temporary 'funnel' from me to this certain person. Is this
making any sense so far?"
Claude waved his hand side-to-side in a so-so gesture. Sanjog sighed and forged
ahead/continued:
"I usually meditate on a person's name--yours, for instance--when I wish to perform this
method. I use it as a 'mantra' of sorts. I've found that writing the name on a slip of
paper and eating it or placing it under my head when I sleep is sometimes effective, as
well.
"At any rate, this is why I can't find that American, the 'Great Moff' as you called him. He
was one of the 'cricket balls' and thus I did not have his name to meditate on and
therefore find him."
Sanjog placed his hands in his lap and said, "That is all I can offer for now without
further questions from you."
Claude scratched his head, "You have been helpful. Quite frankly, I don't know if I can
help train you further."
Claude stood up, "Hopefully, though, I will be able to relay to you the name of the
Grand Moff--oh, Good God, don't call him THAT, it was just a joke...!--and then you can
find him. But, I was wondering if you could affect people in their sleep."
Sanjog tilted his head, "Affect them how?"
"I dunno, mind control or subliminal suggestion, perhaps?"
Sanjog shook his head, "Not yet, at any rate, but it may not be necessary."
"What?!" Claude snapped.
Sanjog smiled, "There is another one of Nirand's 'harbored Specials,' a girl from
Calcutta. Her name is Amita..."
**End of Chapter Two***
By Unlikely Hiro
Chapter II: The Way Things Are
Chennai, India
Early Tuesday Morning, 18 May 2021
Nirand didn't look up from his computer when he heard the knock on the door, nor did
he look up when he heard the person enter his little office.
"Hello, Mira."
"Who is 'Mira,' Professor Chandrasekhar?"
Nirand turned around, "Ah! Sorry, Mr. Singh, I am expecting someone."
Nirand's student nodded and sat down. Nirand turned around for a second to flick off
his computer screen, "What brings you here?"
Singh squirmed in his chair, "My term paper. You see Professor, there is an
emergency in my family." And for the next ten minutes, Singh and Nirand discussed
Singh's family troubles and negotiated an extension. Which meant that Nirand didn’t
notice that his computer was being hacked via the internet.
Singh stood up, "Thank you very much, Professor."
Nirand shook his hand, "There is nothing to thank me for, Mr. Singh. I am just glad you
came here to explain things to me. I hope everything turns out well."
"Thank you again," Singh said, turning around and bumping into Mira when he stepped
out the door, "I beg your pardon, miss," he said in a hushed, forced voice. Mira merely
nodded and entered Nirand's office.
"Good morning, Dr. Shenoy," Nirand said, sitting back down and writing something in a
notebook.
"And to you, Professor Chandrasekhar," Mira said, "I believe you know why I'm here."
"Mm-hm."
"And what are your findings?"
Nirand closed his notebook, "I am not going to tell you."
"Excuse me?"
"Dr. Shenoy--Mira--You know full well the policies of Bharagene in regards to the
Enhanced Genetic Sequences, and quite frankly, I want no part in it." Nirand opened
his notebook again, "Besides, Parliament is, I am told, preparing to investigate
Bharagene for violations of the SG Test Ban Treaty," he smiled, "I will give you THAT.
Go tell your bosses to prepare for it. They can shred all the incriminating documents
and so on."
Mira leaned forward, "Are you serious, Nirand?"
"Deadly so, I am afraid."
She leaned further forward, standing up and placing her hands on the desk, "Do you
realize how much important your findings are to ME, let alone my company?"
"What are you doing Mira? Your charm left you a number of years ago. This flirting will
get you nowhere."
Mira slapped him and turned to leave, "My Company will not take 'no' for an answer.
Keep that in mind, PROFESSOR." And she left the room.
"You could have at least shut the door!" Nirand shouted. Rubbing his cheek, he got
up and shut it himself. He stared at the doorknob for a moment, and decided to lock it.
Nirand sat at his computer again. He grabbed his phone, a rather battered rotary dial,
and placed a call.
"Allo, you have reached Abuswami Financial Services, this is Shushir, how may I help
you?"
"Can you direct me to Miss Rasihamatijan, please?"
"One moment, sir!" Nirand was subjected to about three minutes of bad pop music
before he was put through.
"AFS stock offices, this is Amita," she said.
"Hello, this is Nirand Chandrasekhar, and I have some changes to make to my
portfolio."
Rasihamatijan recognized the code, "Of course. What is it you need, sir?"
"I would like to remove all stock in Bharagene."
"ALL stock?"
"Yes, miss, all."
"One moment," the sound of typing, "Is there anything else, sir?"
"Yes, I would also like to make some adjustments to the 'American Account.' I will be at
Sanjay's Gourmet Restaurant this afternoon, at three. I wish to speak to a financial
representative."
"That will be possible, but it will cost 35,000 Rupees an hour to consult."
Nirand consulted his codebook, where it read "Rs35 000 = NO MEETING POSSIB./CALL
LATER"
"That is unfortunate, but I am willing to pay. Thank you, Ms. Rasihamatijan."
"You're quite welcome, sir."
Nirand slammed his phone down, silently praying that Claude and Sanjog were having
better luck than he was at the moment.
***
"Hello, Meredith?"
"This is Boris, Claude. You should not be calling here."
Claude leaned on the pay phone, "This is important. I need to speak to Meredith."
"The Mayor has received your message and understands its urgency. That is why she
has left to visit our Italian friend."
"She went to Peter?!" Claude shouted, startling passers by and a flock of pigeons into
flight.
"Be silent, Rains! You do not know who is listening. She has left, and that is it.
Goodbye!"
"Boris, don't--!" Claude growled and threw the phone at the rest of the booth, letting it
hang when he stormed out of the booth. Sanjog ran up to him.
"What happened?"
"Oh, it doesn’t matter," Claude hissed, not even glancing at Sanjog, "Tell me more
about what its like when someone comes to you."
"I would if you were listening." Claude turned around and sighed.
"I was trying to contact the mayor of SG City."
"Where?"
Claude sighed, "SG City is a reservation in America where SG's and there families are
forced to live. It's hot as hell, there, and we're all shit poor, too."
"And why do you need to talk to him?"
"Her. And would you stop asking all these questions! You're 26, for Christ's sake!"
Sanjog folded his arms, "If you're going to take me to America, I'd like to know what I'll
face/be facing."
Claude sighed again, "It won't be pleasant, I'll warn you. You'll have a passbook, for
one--"
Sanjog pulled a little booklet out of his pocket, "We have those here too, you know."
Claude snatched it from him and waved it in his face, "But they don’t check it much, do
they? Just when you go certain places or buy things, right? Well, in America, you can't
go anywhere without it. You have to apply to DC just to leave the reservation, and fill
about a dozen forms and wait a week, even if you were bleeding to death--so we're
lucky we have a healer in town. Once you're outta town, you have to check in in every
city hall of EVERY town you pass through. Say you're on a road trip. You have to get
the damn thing stamped in every town, even if you're just passing through. Miss just
ONE, you're in prison--Federal prison!--for a MONTH. You have to have every
purchase pre-approved. And sure, you can buy things, but the best stuff's outta
reach. You can only eat in 'SG Only' restaurants, drink from 'SG Only' fountains. You
can be thrown in jail at a cop's whim. You can't vote, you can't speak your mind.
There's no identity theft production, no insurance, and you pay more than 65% of your
income in taxes--Assuming you're lucky enough to even HAVE income. You can be
tortured, beaten, molested, and can't sue or defend yourself in court! You can't even
have a lawyer! EVERY protection afforded in U.S. Law is denied to us. That includes
the right to raise a case in the Supreme Court, so we can't challenge any of this
bullshit." Claude smiled and grabbed Sanjog by the shoulders, "Sure you want to come
to America, kid?"
Sanjog was silent for a long moment before he said, "Then how'd you get out of the
country?"
Claude let out a bark of a laugh and went invisible. He spun around and shouted right
in Sanjog's ear, "I'm a criminal, laddie. A wanted man. I'd go to prison for several years
if they caught me."
Sanjog turned around and Claude became visible again. Claude stuck his hands in his
pockets and said, "You got it really nice here in India."
Sanjog was silent, and he sat down on a bench by a large fountain. He tried to imagine
what it would be like to face prison if he just walked through the wrong door or said
the wrong thing to the wrong person...
A Sikh in a full turban walked by him, giving a concerned look. Sanjog smiled at the
man, who kept walking.
"Do they control your religion?"
"Huh?" Claude sat down next to him, "No. Not YET, anyway. We don't have a church
or a temple or anything, but that's only because we can't afford one."
"Oh." Sanjog watched the man walk around a corner and disappear, "How much money
do you have?"
Claude pulled a bill out of his wallet, "This is a JFK. Named for the guy on it. After, the
US had massive inflation--After the Explosion."
"So did India."
"Well, this bill is worth about a BILLION dollars--excuse me, an arawb dollars, as you
say here--or so it says. Sounds like a lot, but it's really quite worthless. Only..." Claude
seemed to do the calculations in his head, "75,000 rupees. You could perhaps buy a
DVD player with two or three of 'em."
Sanjog shook his head in amazement, "Incredible."
Claude tugged on the bill as if he were checking for its crispness, "This single bill
alone accounts for about a thousandth of a percent of SG City's economy. Put another
way, my wallet contains a tenth of a percent of the City's money."
Claude put the bill back in his wallet, "But enough about money. We need to talk about
your ability." Claude leaned on his forward, his hands on his thighs, and smiled, "Like
how did you find ME, for instance. And how does your 'Dreamland' work?"
Sanjog took a deep breath and said, "It is difficult to explain what dreams, uh, look like
to someone who does not have this ability. I tried to explain it to Nirand once, and all
that I did was give him a big headache."
Sanjog took another deep breath, "He did, however, help me come up with an
metaphor. I used to be a sort of dip or hole in a field. People are like cricket balls, and
their lives and worries are a specific path on the 'field of dreams.' If a person was in
need, they might stray to close to my 'ditch' and would fall in, where I would appear in
there dreams. By this same metaphors, the gods are like cricket players, I suppose.
"I've recently begun to study some of the meditation methods of the yogis. Nothing
more than observation, really, not a devotion, not yet, at least. Basically, these
meditations that my observations helped me develop are akin to 'pushing' my little
hole, or digging it out in a certain direction.
"There is a favorite metaphor of astronomers that describes space as a sheet of
rubber, where I'd then be a ball set in it. My meditations are like running my finger
along that sheet, creating a temporary 'funnel' from me to this certain person. Is this
making any sense so far?"
Claude waved his hand side-to-side in a so-so gesture. Sanjog sighed and forged
ahead/continued:
"I usually meditate on a person's name--yours, for instance--when I wish to perform this
method. I use it as a 'mantra' of sorts. I've found that writing the name on a slip of
paper and eating it or placing it under my head when I sleep is sometimes effective, as
well.
"At any rate, this is why I can't find that American, the 'Great Moff' as you called him. He
was one of the 'cricket balls' and thus I did not have his name to meditate on and
therefore find him."
Sanjog placed his hands in his lap and said, "That is all I can offer for now without
further questions from you."
Claude scratched his head, "You have been helpful. Quite frankly, I don't know if I can
help train you further."
Claude stood up, "Hopefully, though, I will be able to relay to you the name of the
Grand Moff--oh, Good God, don't call him THAT, it was just a joke...!--and then you can
find him. But, I was wondering if you could affect people in their sleep."
Sanjog tilted his head, "Affect them how?"
"I dunno, mind control or subliminal suggestion, perhaps?"
Sanjog shook his head, "Not yet, at any rate, but it may not be necessary."
"What?!" Claude snapped.
Sanjog smiled, "There is another one of Nirand's 'harbored Specials,' a girl from
Calcutta. Her name is Amita..."
**End of Chapter Two***
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