Chapter 9
In the future apocalyptic world of Greg Heffley
"Frew, what have you got?" The Chancellor says as he steps onto the command platform. Surrounded by countless monitors and keypads worked on by busy scientists engrossed in the circumnavigation of the unrestricted science, this could be Greg's secondary seat of power. For it was from science and engineering that he arose to fight against the pitiless world that forced individual after individual to conform to its system like slaves lashed into forced labour by a whip.
A bespectacled scientist at the prime of his age, neatly cropped hair and slightly darkened skin, clears his throat and says, "My Chancellor, I am pleased to inform you that the first Ultimate- class Sentry is ready."
"Excellent." The Chancellor beams through his dark visor. "I am pleased to hear that. Since the recent outbreak of Resistance raids have been contained and supplies can be transported more easily, surely work has been easier to complete."
"Not for the Ultimate-class." Frew frowns a little. "The earlier Sentry models since the Deployment were mostly focused on two things: brutal strength and adaptability. But the Ultimate-class is the Ultimate class, so we'd have to make something completely out of the box. Something that no one has ever conjured up before. I mean, the Sentries are already intimidating enough but this is the Ultimate Sentry."
"Well," Greg muses. "I said a year ago that we will still focus on the two elements."
"So you did." Frew says. He pushes a button and the platform descends down into a deep sanctum illuminated by bright lights and guarded by autoguns. "Now, this new Sentry model has its stanium blades, laser visors, adaptability to all kinds of harmful threats and basic learning programs that help determine suitable countermeasures AS USUAL. But this time, we've done tinkering with the adaptability and enhanced the tactical programming."
"Judging from the paperwork you sent me a month ago," Greg says impatiently. "you said that the Ultimate would be different. Anyone can push up the levels of independent strategy in the Sentries. But i don't want to do it, because it might result in a technological singularity, in short, the robots gain self-consciousness and sentience before bursting into a violent struggle for freedom. It's like the Matrix movies."
"Haven't seen the movies in a long while." Frew mutters.
"You should. They teach a lot of things." Greg says. "Probably it's the better medium to books in terms of education effectiveness. The trash of an education system we both muddled in long ago was as rotten as a disintegrating parchment containing rubbish Latin. How in the f&*k can you learn from handed down books that were torn, scribbled upon and doodled in the most abhorrent way possible?! Not to mention monstrous educators who sought to lecture the crap out of you and mash you into the molds, the mechanics of the American-slave system. Bringing us up to be dogs that yap and wear our hind legs off just for paltry scraps! Devoid of any independence or free thinking! And I haven't even got started with my useless peers who act some shamefully that even the monkeys in the jungle would disown them as their better developed counterparts!"
Frew merely keeps silent as the platform descends further down into the sinews of the earth. The platform halts with a slight bump, and the duo step off into another bigger lab rigged with wiring and devices bursting with sparks and enthusiasm. Still the Chancellor raves on. "Fools! Miscreants!" he exclaims, raising his clenched fists in defiance. "Wasting their youths in tomfoolery! In that Health class we were given eggs to take care of, simulating the unbreakable bond of parenthood, and they cast those eggs on their cronies and their lockers! I pity the janitor who worked all afternoon to clean the mess till his ass dropped off. I tried to be different, setting myself aside. I tried my hand at being a potential entrepreneur by hosting a Holiday Bazaar to counter a rip-off of a school fair, and I got caught for vandalism when I was merely attaching posters! Talk about competition! Ensnared by the political and business schemes devised by that rogue Vice Principal Roy! Thank goodness he's dead now. He's good at silencing precious new talent as my fists are, punching the shit out of him!"
"Sir," Frew interrupts Greg nervously. "There before you is the first Ultimate development chamber. His neuro- layering and fibres have been completed. Want to bring him out?"
"Let's see what this big boy can do." the Chancellor replies. Frew gives a few orders to scientists in the upper levels of the sanctum and a gleaming pod the height of a strapping muscular man opens amidst the hissing of vapour. Out of it steps a slender but hauntingly maleficient Sentry, flawless in appearance but vengeful in the eyes. Its fists are so clenched you could be excused for fearing that its fingers would crumble like stale cookies due to immense stress. The Ultimate-class Sentry stares at the eyes of its creator, the Chancellor himself with such boldness, as if it were challenging its master to a deadly duel. Devoid of any hesitance or fear, its menacing stare makes Frew shrink back gingerly and the Chancellor to burst out laughing.
"He's perfect!" Greg exclaims, clapping his hands. "He's perfect! Look at him. He looks like me. My creation, the fruit of my toiling. He may look like any other Sentry, but I can feel that he is different. The Sentries can tears down governments, massacre our adversaries, burn their accomplices like chaff in a furnace, but I tell you this Sentry will do even more! Even if he had no heightened abilities, he would be worse than the Devil himself!"
"Sir, watch this." Frew takes out a command pad, types in 'Chancellor Greg' and the appearance of the new Sentry shifts quickly. Millions of microscales that make up its smooth complexion quickly scurry and scramble in a matter of seconds to form the unmistakable dark cold armour of the Chancellor. Its faceless head roughs over and twists painfully to become the visor that conceals Greg's cold eyes of hatred. The Sentry had taken the very form of its creator. It looked just like him.
"It's like what the Christians claim about creation." Greg proudly declares. "Man was made in the image of God. I kind of understand that statement now. But man became foolish, flabby, embarrassingly self-indulgent and selfish-you think that's a good image for a God? That is why I'm not going to make the same mistake with my creation-he'll be perfect no matter what. Noe enemy will overcome him, and he will sneak up their spines disguised as their comrades, and run them through before they know it!"
"Besides adaptability to any form, any human or animal, this Sentry has been programmed to speak every language except Chinese." Frew states.
"Why not Chinese?" Greg asks, mildly surprised.
"Do you even speak Chinese?" Frew challenges him. "The entire records of the Chinese were wiped out in one month after the Ten Hour War."
"Oh, I forgot that we nuked the Sino continent and sent in a swarm of Sentries to keep an eye on the wretched remnants of the Asian hive." the Chancellor scowls. "I had no quarrel with them, but then the world balance had to tip after I got rid of the Euro coalition. Besides, how in the hell can anyone learn an ancient language that sounds like the argument of troublesome geese? Besides, the world wasn't going to bow to them anyway on the economic scale, not like it did to the British or the Americans."
"Like to give him a name?" Frew suggests, pointing at the Sentry.
"I'll name you Destron, destroyer of my adversaries, be it in the past or the future." Greg says immediately. "Frew, set the portal room ready. We'll send him to take care of those two scoundrels, if they even survived going back in time."
Back in Panem...
Jay's story
We're on a train heading for the Capitol. Not to be participants in a bloodbath, but upon invitation of the President herself, we're to be observers of the results of Beetee's test on the Sentry remains. Apparently it's like nothing that the Capitol scientists have ever seen. Pascal couldn't give me all the details as much of it was pretty much top-secret hush-hushy. But he hinted to me that they would never be able to recreate the adaptability armour of the Sentry, let alone synchronise it with a learning system that keep scanning your weaknesses. I'd rather fight Galvatron in the Decepticons wars than to fight even one Sentry any day.
"Bagel, where's mum and dad?" I ask, sipping a piping hot cup of coffee. My brother and I are at the breakfast table with Haymitch and Jesse. For once, Jesse has his helmet off and is working on a crusty croissant. Haymitch is silently fighting off his mental temptations to start the day with a dose of alcohol by chugging down a jug of juice. I don't know whether it helps, but as far as the juice is concerned, he'll get waterlogged for all his pains. Bagel merely shrugs and says, "Still in their room."
"Gosh, its nine o'clock!" I scowl, looking at my watch in utter displeasure. "These days they're always waking up late!"
"Give them a break, Jay." Bagel says. "Mum was tired out fighting the Sentry. Besides the party was a bit...exhilarating."
"Hey, I was the one who got beaten about and tossed like a rag doll by the Sentry!" I pout. "Mum just popped in and blew its head off."
"What's your definition of early, Jay?" Haymitch smirks.
"When I'm around, it's five." Jesse says, reaching for a sesame bun in the bread basket. "If we are going for a mountain hike, three."
"When you're not around, it's four." I wink at my comrade.
"I'm surprised your body isn't begging for sleep like my body does for alcohol." Haymitch says miserably, looking at the empty jug of juice.
"Force of habit." Jesse clarifies. "But the time we wake up doesn't count anyway. What counts is how much work we get done in one day. We're in the military. But in wartime, sleep is a precious commodity."
It used to be prison for my mum and dad, when the spectres of nightmares of murdered kids, hissing mutts and Capitol death traps haunt them. Oddly, sometimes sleep feels like a waste of time to me. A few hours taken off my schedule. But I'll be no better than a robot if Pascal had to plug me to a battery as a substitute for sleep. I wonder if mum still has nightmares at times. I faintly remember how I, a chubby toddler as short as a stool, would bolt to my parents' room upon hearing a wail of despair, only to find a sobbing mum clinging to my dad.
"Is mummy okay, daddy?" I would ask.
"She's having a nightmare." dad would whisper, his hand stroking my mum's hair. Those clever fingers, which knew how to bring the splendour of a bright blossom onto parchment with the flourish of a paint brush and to bake addictive cheese buns, run through her hair, smoothing every frazzled strand. "But it's over, gone. It's not real."
"It's okay, Jay." Mum, still in tears, brushes my hair fondly, trying her best to pull herself together. "The bad dream's gone now."
"Mummy, can I sleep with you tonight? I don't want you to be scared of the bad dreams." I said. I was a plucky fighter even back then.
My mother laughed even as tears drenched the bed clothes at such an outlandish idea, but she let me clamber in. I nestled in her arms like a baby bird in the comfort of its mother's wings, as dad stroked her hair till she slipped back into a restful consciousness. And so did I.
I am pulled out of my thoughts by the creak of a door and the unmistakable laughter of my mother. She is pointing at dad teasingly, giggling something embarrassingly immature about 'cherry pies' and 'penetrating arrows' as they come in, looking more lovesick than lovebirds. Not immature, it's too off the mark. To say terribly 'open' and directly sexual would be a grave understatement. It's hard to believe that my mother used to be so 'pure' that she shunned any kind of physical contact with Uncle Gale or dad in the era of the Games. Now she's acting up.
All eyes are on the duo as they sit down to breakfast. Mum has a rosy flush on her face that brings out that tiny smile and the dandelion in her brown eyes. Her hair is neatly braided, possibly by dad, but the long braid isn't doing a good job of hiding a few teeth marks down her neck. Love bites? Ugh. Haymitch used to tell me how Enobaria jammed her teeth into a Tribute's neck to win her Games like a vampire, and this proves that sex can be deadly especially when you are intoxicated with alcohol or lust.
Bagel and Jesse get the ball rolling to halt the awkward silence by chatting gaily about the new Capitol shops and shopping districts, new popular locations for us to pop by and shop till we drop. Haymitch's wrestling with a tough bun, claiming that dad's buns are better. The privilege of splurging had only been reserved for the Capitolites until just recently that living standards got jacked up, and then the range of goods were limited to the expertise of the Games' stylists back then. Since Panem opened up internationally, we can afford to be choosier. I stay quiet and pretend to be engaged in my coffee. Thin and bitter, but I prefer it that way rather than for it to be adulterated by sugar. Dad looks more enthusiastic than usual, his bright blue eyes keep turning to rest on his beautiful tough wife as if she were more tasty than the ham and eggs on his plate.
Finally mum looks up and says seductively (she sounds more mushy than seductive, it annoys me so!), "You want to finish me off, sweetheart?"
I groan aloud, remembering that those were the words that came out of dad's mouth in the Games. "I didn't pay for a ticket to the romantic movies!" I complain.
"Well, that's how they got us." Bagel points out, trying to be 'sympathetic' to their cause.
"Bagel!" I exclaim.
Haymitch tosses his brick-hard bun to the side. "Peeta, since when you two got a boost in your libido?" he asks cheerfully, ignoring the protests of decency that exit my mouth.
"Since Katniss's birthday." dad grins. "Did you spike the cake or something?" I growl at my brother. "Because I don't remember mum and dad being so sexually active in public."
I must have said one thing too many, but I don't care. I'm so annoyed and irritated that it's worse than an itch. I know it's natural for my parents to be lovelorn but for decency's sake...
"Jay," Jesse says. "Never mind the cake. You'll be doing the same thing with Thorn in the future."
"My schedule won't allow it." I scowl. "And it never will."
"He who laughs first laughs last." Jesse says dreamily.
"Yeah right, English professor." I sniff disdainfully at my glass of orange juice.
But mum and dad aren't up on my case of being rude and (un)reasonably bad-tempered. "You know, if you were a glistening moist cake, I couldn't eat you. You're too...hot." dad says, his fingers tickling the loose locks of hair of my mum. "You just did." mum beams. "On my neck and at my cherry p-"
"Ahem." Haymitch says. "There are children here and one guest."
"Come on, they're grown up. They understand." dad says liberally.
"My patience is sorely tested." I murmur, but no one listens to me.
"I do, but concerning the cherry pie..." Bagel's innocence is so embarrassing that everyone pretends to ignore it.
"Don't look at me!"Jesse says. "I'm a bystander."
"There's sugar on your lips." dad says out of the blue. "Is there?" mum says. Before she can take a napkin, dad swoops in and presses his lips against hers. Mum releases a sound that is a mix between a moan and a gasp. Jesse puts on his helmet to obstruct his vision while Bagel and I look at our food awkwardly. Not the first time this happened. But Haymitch is sitting there, enjoying the sight of a lovesick couple eating at each other, smiling like a bear out of a honey vat. And I'll bet that he's seen this many a time, for years.
I suppose that Haymitch really deserves to be a mentor for life, with such patience to withstand such yucky sightings.
Just when I'm thinking of either blowing up at such nonsense or vomiting out of disgust for such wanton behavior, I hear a loud slap and see dad holding his red cheek. "We can't do this in front of the kids! Peeta, are you out of your mind? They're looking at us for gosh sakes! And Jesse too!" Mum's transformed from a lover lost in lust to a dragon breathing fire.
"What?" Jesse says. "Go on, continue with your business-"
I throw a strawberry at his forehead to silence him, but Jesse smacks it splattering into the window with one finger.
"See, Jay's raving mad now! What in the heck am I supposed to say to her?" mum yells at dad. Haymitch snickers, but he doesn't act to stop the argument from heating up.
"Sorry?" I suggest with a wry smile on my face.
"Not good enough!" mum yells at dad louder and thumps him at the arm. He shields back from her, a little alarmed, but he's still smiling. And snickering like Haymitch.
"Laugh? That's all you can do?" In a fit of expression, she grabs dad with a strength I forgot that existed and actually drags him off back to their room while yelling at him for embarrassing the whole family and decency by luring her into the lovers' trap, only to be cut off by the slam of the door. "Good." I say. "Now I can eat in peace." Haymitch and Bagel look unhappily at me. "What?" I say. "You two men are really screwed up. And Bagel, those are our parents! And you are willing to watch them fool about?"
"I think it's a ruse." Jesse says. He's sounding surprisingly calm.
"What do you mean?" I growl. This morning is too much.
To answer my enquiry, a delightful shriek of pleasure brimming with lust cuts through the thin walls of the train. That could only come from mum. This is followed by an almost clearly audible "Peeta, you bit too deep! My neck is so sore now. How am I gonna get out of bed now?"
"You don't have to." is the reply.
"How desperate some people get for love bites?" I moan.
There really are worse games to play.