18. THE TRUMPSTER'S LESSON

A warning from the past

There was very little in the small rough-hewn chamber for the four to marvel at, seeing that it was allegedly the thinking heart of Terraful. There were a few dusty dials, one of them flickering slightly but the others still as if they would never move again, set into the smooth but equally dusty surface of a rectangular box on spidery legs that seemed to have been bolted to one wall.

“That must be the heart of the Wise Council,” whispered Zoz reverently, “and by the look of it, a good service won’t do it any harm”

And that was all bar the object that stood in the middle of the chamber. The needle still flickered and a whispered voice, almost silent in the silent room, breathed destroy them, almost inaudibly.

“That was the order I disobeyed,” breathed Zoz.

“I don’t think it’s working properly,” murmured Els.

“Now look here,” suggested Zoz.

What attracted his attention was a small table, black and with a matted surface, standing in the centre of the chamber, and a smallish flat device on it. And that was all.

A voice might have welcomed them, but all was silent, Eerily so.

“This is it,” murmured Zoz, “I know they couldn’t bring a deal with them from the home planet, but I thought there might be more than this.”

“What’s that?” asked Pul, indicating the flat device.

“My memory banks suggest it was once known as a laptop,” replied Zoz, frowning. “Now let me see: many people had one of those devices, and although it is quite large it contained far less computing power than the implant we all have somewhere in our heads.”

“I’ve never known why we have to have one of those,” mumbled Els.

“They enable us to learn far more than we would if we didn’t have one,” Zoz told him. “I have many, which is why I’m a teacher. They might not seem to do much because you just don’t notice them, but should the need arise I deem you will grateful for the extra computing power at your finger tips. And, of course, along with every other human on Terraful you enjoy your games together, lustful games in which you attain dizzying heights of emotional ecstasy, I believe, though I have no personal experience. The implants help there, too. Enable you to repeat achieving certain emotional pinnacles times many when without it you’d be limited to very few or maybe only one.”

“You make it sound like climbing rocky walls,” grumbled Els.

“What about this strange looking thing? What did you say it was? A laptop?” asked Din.

“That’s what they were called, according to my own memory banks,” answered Zoz. “Most people had one. They sat on chairs and placed the thing on their laps, hence the name laptop. The lid opens. Allow me.”

He gently lifted the almost wafer-thin lid of the device on the table, and as he did so it started glowing.

“It’s alive!” exclaimed Pul.

“Wait,” whispered Zoz, let’s see what we shall see...”

The screen of the laptop flickered and then a large round orange face appeared in it, its lips almost smiling and its eyes dead.

Then the face spoke. It’s mouth was small but the voice that came out of it was clear, the tones warm but with an undertone that they couldn’t quite put their fingers on.

“So good to see you,” it said with a grin, “though I can’t, of course. I am speaking to you because you are on your way to find another home planet to exploit for me, and I wish to send greetings to you. As you know, I have a very large brain, the scientists tell me such things, and that is just about all they tell me that isn’t fake, and my large brain has devised this adventure that you are on...”

“What adventure?” whispered Els.

“Sshhh. Listen. It’s the Trumpster,” advised Zoz, “probably recorded before the Great Chaos when our ancestor’s escape ship was intended for more than just escaping disaster. But harken!”

The recorded voice continued, the lips animated and the eyes dead. “They say that the Earth is becoming uninhabitable because of a few mistakes that were made when my orders were misinterpreted,” grinned the orange head, “but I know how to make a buck or two and that’s what you’re out there doing: making a buck or two, not just for yourselves but for me. Welcome to your adventure and remember, if anyone tries to tell you what you don’t want to hear it’s just got to be fake. That phil … phil … philsphy has got me to where I am. And when you get there you just gotta build a tower. I love a good tower...”

The face faded and the screen glowed with a gentle blue light.

“Who was that?” asked Els.

“That,” said Zoz, “was the Trumpster and it was he, along with some colleagues of his and aided and abetted by the Maybot witch, who set into action the degradation of the terrestrial environment by denying that anything was wrong and proceeding to make it worse. I don't know what he had against truth and history and the thoughts of clever men, but he went his own way, with disastrous results.”

“The Great Chaos?” whispered Els.

Zoz nodded. “And I guess that’s why his words were recorded and put here for us all to hear,” he said, “that we can learn from idiocy why we’re on an inhospitable alien planet and decide that if ever things get better for us we won’t repeat the Trumpster’s mistakes. And students, there’s this to bear in mind as well

“If anyone says they’re more than clever, if anyone tries to intimate that they have a bigger brain than brighter men, then lock them up and throw away the key because it’s, what did they say back then, let me see, yes, a pound to a penny that they’re as thick as two short planks yet have a disproportionate amount of influence on the way things are.”

“What are we going to do now?” asked Pul.

“There’s only one thing,” replied Zoz decisively, “this!” And he yanked on the electric lead that fed the laptop. Almost immediately its blue screen faded to grey.

“It’s battery is probably long defunct,” he mumbled, “Now let’s set about finding your colleagues in the asylum and setting them free. That’ll be a good day’s work, that will.”

© Peter Rogerson 28.04.19