La Belle Epoque Part 7 Copyright Robert Fullarton 2013

La Belle Epoque
Part 7
Copyright Robert Fullarton 2013

Zero’s dreams had seemed to be a genetic memory of his parentage, the generation that lived a nomadic existence through the wares and tares of civilisation, during the great destruction. Zero had not known his mother or father, having been an orphan that was raised up in one of the first makeshift orphanages, personally selected and groomed to be an educator for his immediate and obvious gifts and feats. From an early age Zero had been speculated to have an immense IQ, one that displayed itself pragmatically in almost all fields of academia. Zero was a meticulous mathematician and talented writer, with an ability to orate, debate and win cases over other schoolmates during school projects. Zero turned down his scholarship for the elite youth movement- the fist generation of new society youths that were to become the future ring of Northern Sector politicians and scientists- on grounds that he wished to remain anonymously and modestly in the genesis of the Dharmstadt Academy, to be one of the chief educators on matters of history, science and language.

He thought for himself and for himself only, dangerously as a freethinker and so he neither dwelt, nor saw the interior of the Northern Sectors inconspicuous quarter, nor its deceptive entourage of ruling class, only seen through the tinted-apparently opaque- glass of the public media. The administrative hub of the Northern Sector was known as the Fortress and in the parameters of this well constructed crystal secret, there existed the shadowy sect of the government, to whom the whole populous trusted and believed in and yet knew nothing of. The whole Northern sector seemed too obscure, Zero to be an impenetrable labyrinth like a city of karst rock that rose up to great heights and tore into the skyline above. Zero of course had only been to the Northern Sector a mere dozen occasions in his entire lifetime, but some had never crossed the boundary line between the Cradle and the Northern Sector, for their rank and status forbad them the privilege of being in the presence and company of the ruling elite.

The days came like tides in bitter enmity against the germinating notion in Zero’s head that he would like to leave the Aerodome by any means necessary, and whether it meant life or death, through cocooned like chambers of the Northern Zone, Zero had the pursuit in making his way into the very heart of the Northern Sector and into the heart of illegality. Escape, meant death and apparently death awaited him on the other side, according to the legends that were propagated by the authorities and their State literature. But what if it were life no matter what, if indeed he escaped and slipped unnoticed through the Northern sector tunnel, where miners, geologists and engineers were always permitted to map, landscape, conduct geological surveys and reports, but nonetheless were permitted to come and go into the unknown.

No seasons came nor went, in the hybrid nature forged by men, to shelter them from the roaring lion of the elements that bit harder and deeper into the titanium core of the Aerodome. Often Zero would stare at the florescent lights that lit up the chambers of his dormitory at the moment of morning and he would imagine the sound of a grand piano–for what it was and what he had read about in the history books of this pioneering instrument- playing a single piece of music, like a holy psalm that filled up the shafts and spaces between the parameters of this well constructed cage.