The Children of Zegandaria, Atanas Marinov, Atanas Marinov, Atanas Marinov, Atanas Marinov [first color ebook reader txt] 📗

CHAPTER THREE: THE QUARTON'S HIDING PLACE

Mark was somewhat on his old laurels. And there wasn't much he could accomplish. Too many clung to certain notions that the current order must be preserved. And so they fell back into the previous trap. What a pity!

Someone had chosen a new deity, Erduk, to personify it. This was of course a formality. Nowhere was it said why the New Order should have one. It just popped up seemingly out of nowhere.

The Quarton Hideout[3] had been the brainchild of Mark, who had come across Hans Auslander's work on space warps and class three wormholes. Deeply impressed by the genius's achievements, he decided that different minds could be grouped into three distinct classes - sociable, unsociable and hopelessly antisocial.

The crazy idea came to him to do something about it that would provide maximum security for the individual for a long period if his mind was not ready to fit into the new reality. It sounded childishly simple and even elementary, but many people were all too grateful to him. It was a small back gate that his kind hand was opening for the common good. They had to survive!

Unlike the previous capitalist system, for Mark it was the person that mattered above all. Money was second.

To build a quarto hideout was not easy at all, as there were many other problems. Part of society did not agree with being anallyzed in this way. All in all, the whole thing sounded absurd.

But Mark had failed to address the issue of what happens to the mind when it is locked in such a hiding place for a long period of time. Could it grow up? That was a hell of a calculation. Just a complete wilderness!

A team of scientists was commissioned to test the veracity of the hypotheses from Poincare[4] onwards. Understandings of space-time were very advanced, but basically they liked to stick to the so-famous classics.

In plain language this could be translated as, people with a lower level of consciousness just didn't have to notice people with a higher one. But this had to be scientifically sound and in no way built on a chaotic principle. Material values remained too much in the background.

In no time at all, Mark created an elitist society that simply wanted to remain hidden from the rest of the commoners for as long as possible. His friends included scientists, poets, artists, antisocial types, and all sorts of other vague acquaintances.

One of his friends had told him „You can't hide forever, even if they don't know exactly where you are!“

"It's not everyone's job to see everything," someone else had told him.

Mark Lenner was also assisted by his friend Durnyam, who had become particularly close to him. As personalities, however, the two were complete opposites. Somewhere in there he began to understand why Durnyam had mastered Ultrasithian so well - he had retained his Universal or Cosmic consciousness. Durnyam was the man to build the moral foundations of his model and make it a compelling means of conscious escape against reality.

- "But why such a thing was necessary," he puzzled himself. "It seems to me rather harmful. It's not even a virtual reality that has outlived its usefulness," he said rather critically.

- "You're right there," Mark added, "but that's what some people want. And we can save this elite."

- "Save it from what?," continued Durnyam. "That seems more like postponing the inevitable end to me."

Mark gazed thoughtfully at the beautiful sunset, and the semi-darkness that lay around them enveloped him.

- There are so many lost souls out there somewhere. We will give them the time they need to come to their senses. We owe it to them.

Durnyam did not object further.

The Quartonians were meeting on a strange schedule in a particular dungeon not far from Midriel's formerly collapsed monument. This dungeon looked a bit like a student auditorium, but was well furnished by its gracious hosts in utterly Spartan style. It was perhaps the right formula of success. After all, the experiments were being done in a very different place, known only to Mark, who had no desire to share the glory with anyone and wanted to go down in history as an innovator who had pushed the planet in a completely new direction of scientific development.

But why did Durnyam have misgivings that this direction was utterly wrong.

 CHAPTER FOUR: THE DREAM MARKET

The new population of Imgradon lived in a strange and well-isolated city that was barely a third of its former size. This was due primarily to the fact that the people had become much closer and each of them felt a real need to connect with the others. There was a place called "The Marketplace of Dreams" - it was set up to bring together everyone looking for a spiritual partner. It was a small alleyway from which underground passageways began and each led to a different drinking establishment.

Imgradon was a relatively bureaucratic town that didn't offer much in the way of entertainment. But Barry's was one of the few places where your soul could relax.

It was located not too far from the former St. Joseph's Clinic in the asylum in question. It was also the most revolving. Maybe there was some hidden meaning, but no passerby had figured it out except that the owner's name was Barry. That was the only one.

This pub gathered a lot of interesting people, willing to play the Orimo for example.

Great friendships were made there, which not infrequently turned into marriage proposals.

It was where Zorin, Sasia, Mark, Russell and Durnyam held their get-togethers.

No one got mad if a member was late or some other foul happened. There was, however, a distinct hierarchy. All present had to follow the procedure for accepting a new member.

The owner, Barry Ecclestone, had long since died of incurable sefelirium amodense, which had made his flesh go white. This was sad in the extreme, but deep down he was pleased that he had at least created a gathering place for so many like-minded people.

In the bowels of the establishment, which stretched a full twenty stories underground and could hold more than ten thousand people, all sorts of plans were being hatched to take over the planet, from political ideologies to very strange new fashions. More than one or two of the planet's showbiz personalities had started their journey from here.

Mark also liked to show off his marksmanship skills, and they sometimes arranged tournaments with General Zorin, the result being even. Well, sometimes there was a slight edge for one side or the other, but it didn't affect their friendship in any way. On the contrary - it made it even stronger.

In front of the restaurant on the first floor of the underground, there was a small memorial quantum plaque that read "Ecclestone, Barry" (born 293475- died 293505), pureblooded seburnag, great warrior, great party man“. But almost none of the visitors would have noticed the little symbol of the Tarashdukians, which was hidden in a dark corner not far away.

Mark hadn't paid any attention to it either. They had a meeting with Zorin arranged for five o'clock. But Zorin was stalling. Mark was definitely wondering what to do. You could tell things were getting out of hand. There was no doubt in his mind. The place thundered with music a mix of country motifs from the deep backwoods of Ceburnag, blues motifs that came perhaps from Ossonia, and strange drones reminiscent of the war drums of the Ras Nadal warriors. Altogether it was a complete cacophony. The dancers stopped now and then and bellowed like cattle about to be slaughtered. All in all it was a complete cacaphony. The dancers stopped from time to time and roared like cattle before slaughter. A complete kef! At one point, Nabuk Mor So, the most famous Erzonian singer, appeared on the stage, which was a virtual elevator between floors, and simply blew the crowd away. People screamed his name at the top of their lungs and begged him with tears in their eyes to repeat some of his biggest hits, including "Semuk Ran" and "Eyes Eyes". Both with playful undertones about the naughty ways of the planet. Well, the moral could wait.

"You see me coming in late night,

There's no one to meet me,

I run, run, but I can't,

Nothing can startle me.

Chorus:

Ow-ow-ow!"

Once the singer tired himself out, everything fell into place. The mood seemed to subside and the situation calmed down. Visitors scattered into the seating areas. But Zorin kept coming. All around, people started playing Orrimo and raising the stakes. Everyone wanted to be among the winners.

The fever was growing. And passions were rising. Clearly something was about to happen.

Mark found it more than he liked and decided to look for Zorin. He decided to take a look and went up to the first subterranean floor, since he had been on the third subterranean floor so far. He ended up near the memorial plaque. Then someone bumped into him unexpectedly. Perhaps by chance, his gaze fell on the secret mark of the Tarashdukians, which was the size of a larger claw. He saw it as a display of rather bad taste and even looked at it contemptuously. Why were they scratching the walls over one nothing! The entire city was stained by various brats considering this some form of art and calling themselves artists! It was a living mockery! There was no other reasonable explanation!

He thought to himself that he was obviously quite old already. The once brash youth was now approaching fifty. Well, almost, but he still had the figure of an athlete, ready for any adventures.

Pale memories of a bygone time flitted through the recesses of his mind. Something that might never return and never, ever change. An ocean of emotions - pale ghosts of a non-existence.

The morality of the new time was clearly having its say. But there were many others like him, seeking, craving the true life - that which was beyond, the hidden and the vast. This could bring them together again.

Mark took the last sip of his drink, a ginsomane syrup decorated with emery blossoms, a symbol of nostalgia.

Someone gently touched his shoulder. It was Sasia. And she was so impressive. As always. She fit in so well, even in a place like this.

- "Where are you lost, mate?," she jokingly threw at him. "This is nothing more than a damn shithole where everyone gathers, but we're presented as a place for the elite."

Mark stared and somewhat agreed. Clearly in the quest for a quick profit the place was clearly declining. And that wasn't supposed to be happening. It was also a sneaky way to keep certain sections of the population under control, as their habits became quite predictable in situations like this.

The former hero realized a particular