IDEA33- A Regeneration

By Sheala Dawn Henke

There is always a price to pay for having the courage to change the world. Heli Clame doesn't know it yet, but he stands in the wake of a critical change. Coming-of-age during a time of enhanced technology and ecological devastation, he arrives on the grounds of IDEA 33. Two others are slated to join him, Terra Sial and Dous Cistern. Secrets will be unveiled and lives will collide as together they learn that they alone hold the key to a positive evolution and our future here on earth. Only then will they have the power to initiate a Regeneration.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9780991236312

Book preview

IDEA’S CREATION

HELIOS CLAME

10:43 a.m. Kameron Preparatory Change Agency

Her eyes bore into him from across the classroom, cutting through the armor he always wore, and in a voice that scraped through his resistance, she uttered, Pink chip. And there, as if she had one waiting ready-made, was the dreaded file chip with the message flashing over the edge of his desk, Heli Clame—Report to Headmaster Grinnamon’s Office Immediately.

Heli sat, staring at it for a long moment. It pulsed, staring back at him, a glowing hot pink, burning his eyes with the prospect of its looming significance. The simple data card file chip housed all of his personal information—downloaded onto one small memory chip. Plugged into any device in the agency, provided one had the security code, it supplied instant access to any student’s entire cumulative file system, this one heavily loaded with the last two years of Heli’s scholastic procurement.

Ms. Fibno stood by her desk, hands on her hips, tapping her right foot like she would have liked to kick him with it. He idly pushed away from his desk and stood warily, wasting no more energy, and turned without the usual show of witty sarcasm to move on out the door.

Walking down the hall alone, making only quasi-observances of the virtual Communica- screens—advertising teen events he would never attend.

A solid churning gripped at his stomach as he made his way down the hall. Emptiness hovered around him in this place. While turning the last corner toward the headmaster’s office, all of his attention shifted to a group of suits gathered outside the door.

Waiting for a funeral? He thought.

The largest one towered above the other two, a mythos ringing true to what he had imagined gods and legendary warriors must have looked like. Thick black hair hung heavily in a ponytail between his shoulders, pulled tight enough that Heli could see the muscles on the side of each temple tense.

The second man was the larger one’s carbon opposite. Stocky and nearly half the size of his counterpart, he wore a hard-pressed demeanor that said, don’t mess with me! Heli thought he could probably do more damage with just one look than the others could do with all of their combined strength, despite the fact that he had a tick, causing him to incessantly pinch his eyelids together.

The third was a slender, proud woman who didn’t seem to fit in among these two bruisers. She held herself in such a way—shoulders set evenly, a straight ridge-line posture—that Heli had the distinct impression she was the one in charge. He could sense her resolute stare aimed straight at him from the moment he turned the corner. He quickly averted his eyes.

Had they met before? There was some hazy association between them, as if some component of him was in league with her already, even though they hadn’t yet spoken a word.

Something familiar, Heli thought, yet, in the familiarity, he wasn’t able to grasp what it was that made it so. It just was. And there it was, creeping its way into his consciousness.

Heli attempted to edge through the slot canyon of strangers, when the woman extended a delicate but firm hand out to him. Hello, Helios. I’m Tracy Dodd.

He’d never met this woman before. How was it possible that she would know his name? His real name. Maybe it was the British accent—a misunderstanding?

To hear a total stranger utter his given name—a name that had only served to provoke pain, and held with it a loaded weight he never could shake from his earliest recollections—was peculiar enough. No one ever addressed him by this name, not even his parents, unless they were angry with him. The name itself, tainted from the start, branded him with an indelible mark he had hoped to forget.

Do I know you? Heli tilted his head a bit, looking at her sidelong this time.

We’ve been expecting you, she said.

Moi? he said, looking behind him for the other fool she must be referring to. Stuck suddenly, he felt an unprecedented force pressing in on him, allied with her presence in the friendly diversion.

Uh, I think you’ve made a mistake. And with a clear conscience, he slipped past them, and headed toward the secretary at the front desk inside the main office.

I’m here to see the headmaster. Got a pink chip. And with a nod, Heli made his way into the office, and sat down in the chair opposite the headmaster.

The look of surprise on Grinnamon’s face at the sight of him was—wrong, Heli thought, as he squirmed in the seat.

The headmaster, a ruddy and plump man, gave off vibes of someone who had led many past lives. A football star, or a wrestler perchance? His face oozed a rusty visage of someone who at one time might have been a force to be reckoned with, but had somehow lost his edge.

As Heli recalled the last time he was excused from class, Grinnamon had met him halfway down the hall to intercept his path, and had worn a stern look of well-rehearsed remorse that asked, What am I going to do with you?

At the time he had fed Heli the long course of concerns for his future: You are truly one of the brightest individuals I have ever met in such a young person, Grinnamon had told him. But you will never amount to anything if you keep making the choices that send you down this path.

Heli sat silently waiting for Grinnamon to unload.

And what was with the Suits still standing by? Heli wondered.

Grinnamon frowned and cautiously looked up from the projection file he had spread out in front of him.

You need to see me? Heli asked.

Grinnamon viewed Heli skeptically and looked back up to scan the 3-D visuo-file from the projection tile of his desk display. The link was shielded in private mode so Heli couldn’t see it.

No, but there are some people here to see you to your next transition. His eyes returned to the projection, dismissing Heli.

I need an escort to my next class? But I think I have detention? His voice broke and he rubbed his throat.

No, not for your next class, Grinnamon stated blankly. For transition to another program more suited for you, and what you need.

Excuse me? Heli felt his palms sweating. The game was up. Sir, I have a pink chip, right here. He waved the card in his hand like a prize-winning ticket. I thought I was to report immediately to you?

What do you think my job is here at this school, Mr. Clame? Grinnamon looked directly at Heli, a challenge in his eyes.

Shrugging off the urge to say what he was really thinking, Heli rallied to say what he thought the headmaster needed to hear.

Your job, sir? I can’t really say. I was just doing what I was told.

"Do you think I enjoy these conversations over and over with you, Heli? You are coming to the end of your second year here with us. I watch students every year come and go with unlocked potentials that keep me up at night. But at least with each of them, there is some hope, some glimmer that they’ll get the message. You‘ve spent your last opportunity here," Grinnamon said.

Heat rose and flooded Heli’s face. Sir, I just don’t understand how you can do this without any preliminary warning or a more official procedure. I mean, do my parents even know about this?

Heli’s eyes scanned the room nervously, finally settling on the plaque behind the headmaster’s desk. It reminded him of the one in his father’s office—an honorary token of the significance of his trophy years at a Change-Maker University. Heli understood it was intended that he should follow that same legacy and attend the prestigious preparation school like all the others in the Clame family. He imagined the disappointment on his father’s face today when he must have gotten the com-trip call from the office.

They transmitted the necessary forms yesterday and they are in full support of this wakeup call. Your detention was actually very timely as your escorts were here, ready to collect you this morning. We had to finalize some of the transfer data that needed to be filed.

With a flick of his pointer finger, Grinnamon opened the file for viewing on the projected image from his desk surface, revealing all of its contents. HELI CLAME was clearly emblazoned in bright neon yellow at the top of the docket cube. Grinnamon flippantly pointed to the motley crew waiting by the door.

Speechless and filled with rage, Heli tried to wrap his thoughts around what was happening. He shook his hands to rid them of the numbness in his fingers, brought on by the clenching of his fists.

Where am I going exactly?

You are headed to an institution more suited to meet your unique needs. Trust me, it’s the right place for you. Grinnamon nodded his head up and down and Heli noticed a queer pause in the final tilt. Your escorts await. He pointed at the door and leaned back in his chair, then swiveled away from him as he swiped away any remnant of the projection that had been hovering over his desk. It was as if Heli had suddenly ceased to exist.

Heli stood, then licked his lips and pressed them firmly together. He wanted to scream—to wake everyone who seemed to be a part of this nightmare. His heart raced, and his blood shot like firecrackers through his veins.

He turned and saw the woman who had introduced herself as Tracy looking at him with great concentration. As he walked toward her, his fight or flight gut reaction evaporated and instead turned into a bizarre new understanding. He never belonged here. And instead of bolting out the doors and down the halls, trust cut in on the uncertainty, and a hand came to rest on his shoulder. Tracy spoke gently this time. It’s time to go.

They had come here to collect him. Was he some kind of collectible? A criminal needing an entourage? His head hung low. He was exhausted, tired of working so hard to bring what little spark of inspiration he could into his life. He didn’t have the strength to fight anymore and turning away from everything familiar, he walked out the door of the office with a group of total strangers.

They moved down the hall swiftly to exit the building with Tracy’s two wingmen at their stations on either side of him.

Just as they were about to exit the main vestibule passage of doors, Heli mumbled, Tight security. A beep sounded as the lock disengaged.

Yes, I’m sure public preparation agencies must be on high alert these days, Tracy replied.

I wasn’t referring to the doors, Heli said, raising an eyebrow toward his two henchmen.

She stopped short in the partition between the exit doors where another set of doors protected them from the outside and turned to face Heli.

Oh . . . I caught that, she said, slightly amused. How rude of me. Mr. Cruise, Justin, this is Heli. Heli Clame.

The small stout one she introduced as Mr. Cruise tilted his chin up at Heli, and the tall one just stared at him with a little grunt of acknowledgment.

Together we intend on doing everything we can to aid in making your transition less of a strain. She nodded their way.

Heli shrugged. Well, that’s all fine and dandy, but I’m not leaving with you on account of your hospitality. I just get the sense that I don’t have much of a choice in the matter.

We do need you to come with us. But you just might find, with an open mind, a place . . . where you belong, she responded.

A sly smile parted Heli’s lips. Sounds like the perfect Shangri La—and I’ve been needing a vacation.

Tracy rolled her eyes and pressed her lips together. She was done talking. She moved to open the next set of outer doors as a wave of heat, which felt like an open oven, swept over all of them. She continued to walk a few steps ahead, her chin held high.

Compared to the dull synthetic hue of the fluorescent lights inside, the sun outside was shining with such brilliance that it gave Heli cause to shield his eyes. Seasons were regulated by AGR ordinances and he had only heard the stories of a time when the atmosphere was a natural phenomenon. Familiar with life only after the Blend and the management of climate patterns, the Synthasphere provided a welcome control. Unfortunately, comfort would be short-lived while signs of retention in this ecotechnology were becoming more and more evident. Assaulting his two partitioners as well, they each pulled out a pair of black AGR-patented eye shields. Tracy came prepared and had already slipped a pair securely on. Hers were lighter and fancier than the standard regulation design. Heli had gotten his on the first day of classes when all new students were issued a free pair at orientation. When he thought of them tucked away neatly in their protective case in his locker, a sinking feeling washed over him as he realized that he was leaving empty-handed.

He hadn’t been able to call home because his CS card was in the front pocket of his cache-pack in his locker, but he really didn’t see any point in that. Point being, that his parents were conspirators in this anyways, and what good would a com-trip signal home do now?

Heli turned to get one more look at the building behind them. Looking back on a life where he had been held to a certain standard of perpetual suspension, he tipped his head down, paying small tribute to a place that had marked so little in his life.

Their getaway vehicle, a classic Neoteric Hovercraft in jet black, narrow body and tinted windows, stood out among the field of floaters in the student lot and came to life as Tracy tapped her CS card ignition tile. Gently humming, it rose from its ground mounts, atypical of the noise pollution this class of engine normally produced. Heli had only seen them souped up like this on film cubes. Little prickles of excitement went through him, calling him against his will to move inside when the passenger door slid open.

As soon as he was in, the door slid shut automatically. The rear compartment was a rounded passenger station and Heli sat in the center of the crescent-shaped seat. Justin, the larger man, sat on one end staring him down under thick trimmed brows. Mr. Cruise sat in the forward pilot space with Tracy. A slight sense of jumpy nerves returned when he realized there had been no mention as to the details of his return.

He looked up into the blinding sky, the tinted windows dulling its natural light. They continued up a tree-lined highway, north, he suspected, due to the position of the sun.

They had been driving for over a half hour when Heli wondered aloud, So, this place you’re taking me . . . seems to be a bit off the beaten path?

It won’t be long now, Justin offered.

It’s tomcat time, Heli said.

Justin’s eyes narrowed in on him from across the seat. What? he asked, miffed.

It’s what the tomcat said when he got his tail stuck in the door—won’t be long now.

Justin stared at him for another minute with no reaction. Heli raised an eyebrow, drawing out one long exhale, and looked away realizing how his humor would be lost on this one.

He looked out the window again, and watched the landscape speed by. He had been surprised to see so many trees as they made their way through a gradual arc, edging farther up the incline of a redwood-crested hilltop, a tall, steady line up.

What’s with all the trees? Heli asked. He knew there were tight regulations on timber and this appeared to be a rogue grove. No fences, no protective devices to keep poachers out. Where in the world were they?

This is an unregulated area. Off the grid. AGR is fully aware of it, but they see it as somewhat of a relic. They actually play a hand in its maintenance, and therefore they make allowance for it. Tracy said and Heli’s hands became sweaty again. He rubbed them on his pant legs. The vehicle suddenly felt smaller.

As the tree line broke into an open view, he saw it. The place looked more like a fortress holding valuable rarities than any learning institute he had ever imagined. With a shockingly oversized campus, he scanned its many viewpoints and saw that the fence line of the property extended on both sides out to unseeable ends. Taking in each sizable wing of the structure, a chill ran through him. This vault of a space, with its ominous authority, toyed with his apprehension, and as they entered a pair of metal security gates, he read the word and a number, IDEA33, etched on a metallic frame. It suddenly dawned on him, he may not be returning to retrieve his belongings.

IDEA’S EVOLUTION

TERRA SIAL

8:25 a.m. San Marino Preparatory Change Agency

Breathe! The effort Terra was expending just to take in the necessary oxygen and release it at will was nearing impossible. Her chest tight, clenched in a fist-ball of fear—only an acute panic attack would account for the relentless pounding of aggregate chipping away at her sanity. She could barely feel the nerves of her fingertips, dull and numb now after scratching the door frame and floorboards of the closet