Mindset

By Pat Whitaker

Mindset follows a group of outcasts who are abandoned in space and forced to survive anyway they can with the limited resources available.
It examines both the technical and social problems that the survivors face and suggests real solutions based on actual science. It’s slightly unorthodox as the focus is, quite deliberately, on the collective rather than any particular individual.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cooper's Press
• Release date: Nov 24, 2009
• ISBN: 9781877557101

Pat Whitaker

Born in England in 1946, I moved to New Zealand with my parents and older brother at the age of four and, apart from five years in my late twenties spent traveling the globe, have lived here ever since. After a fairly rudimentary education, I found work as an Architectural Designer and this became a life-long occupation. I started writing late in 2006. The books I write are intended in the first instance to tell a good story and secondly " once the tale is told " to leave the reader with something to ponder. To this end, all my stories attempt to provide an original take on some commonly held belief, be it cultural, social or scientific. Being a fan of both science fiction and classic murder mysteries, these tend to be common themes, with elements of both often combined in a single story. As a person who likes to read a book in a single sitting, I normally limit each work to around forty-five or fifty thousand words. Unfashionable I know, but it's what I prefer. Of my books, Mindset, Antithesis, Returning and Nmemesis were finalists for the Sir Julius Vogel Awards - Best Adult Novel between 2009-2012, plus Best New Talent in 2009. If you'd like to know more, please visit my website.

Book preview

MINDSET

Look back and weep, for your hope is behind you.

Pat Whitaker

Copyright © 2009 by Pat Whitaker

Cover design Pat & Robert Whitaker

All rights reserved.

Other Titles by Pat Whitaker

Antithesis

Bad Blood

Time Out

Raw Spirit

Returning

Smashwords Edition 1.0, November 2010

Chapter One: Amazon

Blake sat silently in the dark, his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. The warm rain, torrential, unstoppable, drenched him to his bones, but he made no move to find shelter. As always, the night-time jungle was shrill and deafening and Blake, in all the thirteen years he had been incarcerated here, had never been able to shut it out. But tonight was different. Tonight it would all end.

He had been forty years old when he was sent here, the third such place he had been imprisoned, each progressively more primitive and more remote than the last. He had not been born in such a place, but had been sent as a foster child at barely one week old.

Of course, they weren't called prisons, or gulags, or concentration camps. They were Autonomous Sheltered Settlements. They were supposedly established for the good of the people who lived there, and run by them, for their own safety and well-being.

The fact that nobody was ever allowed to leave, and anyone who did was captured and forcibly returned, was 'unfortunate but necessary'. As was the fact that the settlements were always sited in places where there was no chance at all of the 'residents' being able to provide even the basics required to stay alive. Their needs were met, but at the whim of those who kept them there.

But they were not prisons, and of the hundred or so that had once existed, this one with its two hundred and thirty-six inmates, isolated in the heart of the Amazon, was the very last.

Chapter Two: Origins

It was more than one hundred years ago that it all started.

Initially, the number of Telepaths was small and for the most part they kept their abilities a closely guarded secret. They knew intuitively that society would have no place for them. That they should fear for their lives if they made their abilities known.

But they were not a freak of nature. The ability they possessed had long existed, dormant, in the human mind. They had not evolved this skill, simply unlocked it. What triggered this change, nobody knew, but gradually it became more prevalent. Telepaths still kept it to themselves, but could instantly recognise it in others, and the unspoken understanding that these people shared, plus the ability to read the intentions of all around them, meant that they quickly rose to dominate in every field of human endeavour.

Politics, commerce, everywhere, they had an edge. And they used it. In time, the numbers of people who were telepathic grew exponentially and within two to three generations they represented the majority of human kind. The reasons behind this sudden change were never understood, but the result was a complete reversal of the situation that had existed earlier. To be telepathic, that was normal. The small percentage of people who were not, were considered 'mentally disadvantaged'. They were not treated badly, simply—and sympathetically—regarded as previous generations had regarded the mentally ill.

These unfortunates could not read the minds of their fellows, but their thoughts and emotions were there for everyone to see. They held no secrets.

Then there were the 'Blanks'. A small—a very small—percentage of people never developed the telepathic abilities that had now become almost universal, but their minds were also completely closed to the population at large. Nobody, anywhere, could read their thoughts. At first these few individuals were considered a curiosity, but gradually this was replaced by unease, and finally fear.

As society became fully attuned to communicating instantly and effortlessly with one another on a global scale, the idea of people walking among them whose thoughts were silent, unreadable, caused fear. And fear, in the collective consciousness of a telepathic society, cannot be contained.

The 'Blanks' were removed from society. They could not be killed, not even secretively, as there were no secrets and a feeling of guilt at their treatment would be guilt shared by the whole population. Only a solution that could be rationalised, justified as being in the best interests of the 'Blanks', would suffice.

It didn't work. Each resettlement was more remote, more isolated. Their basic needs still were met, food, shelter, health care, education, the collective consciousness guaranteed that, but progressively all direct human contact was replaced by automated means. But still there were always people who had to know the truth. And if one person knew, everyone knew.

At the time Blake had been transferred to this particular corner of Hell, a new solution was being implemented. At daybreak tomorrow, this new solution would reach its conclusion. They had no idea what lay ahead, the two hundred and sixty-three inmates knew only that they must be ready to leave.

Chapter Three: Alcantara

Blake sat, motionless, staring out at the endless green of the jungle. They had been loaded onto the nine buses at daybreak, and had been driving ever since—some four hours. Driving was perhaps not the ideal word, as disconcertingly, although they resembled every bus that Blake had ever seem, they had no driver. Nor any provision for one.

He guessed that they were programmed to follow a particular route, guided by GPS or something similar, and that the route had been cleared beforehand to prevent any chance of human interaction. For him, or anyone like him, this would have been a logistical nightmare, but for a telepathic society it was nothing—everyone would simply know to stay away, and why.

He looked at the faces of those around him. The whole journey had been in total silence; even the young children uttered not a word, not a question. The fear, the uncertainty was palpable, and everyone on the bus knew that there were no answers.

In a way, this was probably a mistake, in that over the decades of persecution, the inmates had developed a strong sense of community, of shared belonging and perhaps this could have helped. On reflection, he knew it didn't really matter. For all his fear, he didn't feel alone. Everyone here on the bus, on all the buses, was with him, and talk wouldn't alter that.

The monotony of the passing landscape and the density of the jungle made it difficult for him to maintain any sense of orientation, of direction, but his instinct told him that they had been travelling steadily east. How this knowledge helped was impossible to say, but Blake was a man who instinctively took on board any and every scrap of information he could. The habit of a lifetime and the reason why, despite the limited opportunities his life had presented, he was an educated man.

Suddenly the solid wall of trees lining both sides of the road fell away and they entered a large open area in the forest. To the left of the road was a group of buildings and the buses pulled up outside and the doors opened.

Cautiously, Blake got out of his seat and started towards the entrance at the front. Everyone else sat and watched him in silence.

He did not see himself as any sort of leader. Indeed, the group of inmates had no real social structure at all, probably as a reaction to having to live their lives under the shadow of an unseen but omnipresent authority that controlled every aspect of their existence. However, in situations like this, they often looked to him, not for instruction, but at least direction.

He left the bus and walked slowly towards the nearest building. He was very unsure about doing this, as it was so obviously what was intended, but realised that they really had little choice. It was better that he took the first look rather than them all jumping in at once.

He noticed that Sarah Wright and young Joshua Cole had also alighted, but were standing by their respective buses, making no move to follow his lead, but watching intently. Sarah caught his eye and gave him a questioning look, but he shook his head. If this was a bad move, having Sarah involved would make it worse; she was the only doctor the group had.

Still, her willingness brought him a little courage. He entered the building.

Inside, there was a large room set out with tables and chairs. Down one wall was a cafeteria style buffet with cabinets of food, drink dispensers and utensils. To the left he noticed there were doors to what were obviously toilet facilities. There was not a soul to be seen.

It was a comfort stop, nothing more. A wave of relief passed through him. He went back outside and nodded to Sarah, who immediately indicated to the others on the buses to alight.

They ate well, and an hour later they were sitting at the tables, more relaxed than at any time since leaving the camp, and a low murmur of cautious conversation filled the room. Much of it involved speculation as to what was happening to them, as it had ever since they had been notified a week ago that they were to leave.

The optimists thought that all the camps—they knew there were others, as occasionally people had been transferred to them from elsewhere, though not how many or where—were to be combined in some sort of autonomous 'mini-state' for all Blanks. The pessimists thought that the Telepaths had had enough of caring for them and were embarking on a 'final solution'.

Blake sat alone and kept his own counsel. He privately believed neither of these scenarios. The problem that they, and those like them, posed for the Telepaths didn't answer to simplistic solutions. Their collective consciousness also meant a collective conscience, and with more than twelve billion souls, this was a powerful force.

Humanity, as it now was, could not rest easy until every last Blank was gone. But they could not kill them, or wittingly send them into harms way. Nor could they hide them out of sight.

At this point his thoughts were interrupted by a mechanically sounding voice over some sort of P.A. system in the cafeteria.

The buses will depart in twenty minutes time. The next stage of the journey is of three and one half hours duration. Please prepare yourselves and be ready to embark.

For a long time nobody spoke, nobody moved. This sort of invisible, commanding presence was not new to them, it had been part of their lives for as long as they could remember, but to a man their first thought was 'No, I won't go. Why should I leave here?' And then they started to express this out loud.

Blake shook his head sadly. Sarah, noticing his gesture, came over and sat down opposite him, You don't agree?

Look around you. There is nothing here. Nothing. We have already eaten all the food; we can assume there will be no more. There are no gardens; there will be no power after the departure time, possibly sooner. We can stay here and starve, they can't forcibly put us on the bus and won't, but I for one won't be staying.

They couldn't just let people die, surely?

Yes they could, they could rationalise it to themselves that they had provided a safe course of action but had no right to force us to follow. Our deaths would be our own responsibility.

Sarah looked carefully at the man opposite her and said nothing. After about five minutes she got up and went and talked to a couple at a nearby table. They listened intently, then they also got up and approached—and talked with—yet more individuals.

Like a ripple in a pond, this process spread throughout the cafeteria and in a while people were starting to get themselves organised, freshening up in the toilets, and generally preparing for the next stage of their journey.

Not all, however. A small group of about ten or twelve collected together in one corner of the room and, although nothing was said, it was quite clear from their body language that they were determined to stay and take their chances.

Privately, Blake could sympathise with them, but he was relieved to see that the group didn't contain any children. He nodded to them and returned to his bus.

Over the course of the next three days this process was repeated every few hours, but no more of their number chose to remain behind. Some of the stops had been no more than large tents and had obviously been put in place specifically for their use. Others were more permanent, and quite why they had been built where they had was not clear.

In the early hours of their fourth day the forest gave way to open fields, and before them in the distance, glimmering in the morning sun, was a large complex. At first glance it looked like some sort of industrial facility, with large storage tanks, towers, gantries, and it was several minutes before Blake realised what he was looking at.

And when he did realise, it crashed in on him like a gigantic wave, literally crushing the breath out of him. Fear and exhilaration battled for control. He was looking at a space port—the Alcantara space port on the Atlantic coast of Brazil.

His recollection was that this had long since been abandoned, but even from this distance he could see that this was not the case, or certainly not any more. What the future held for them was anything but clear, but whatever it was it was definitely not going to be more of the same.

Chapter Four: Launch Day

It was nearly a week since the group had arrived at Alcantara and learned what awaited them. After being housed, fed and provided with new clothing, they had been assembled in a large hall. There, as had been the case all along, not a single person was seen. That they were there was beyond doubt, but it was almost as if the Telepaths regarded the Blanks as in some way contagious.

It was Blake's opinion that they were not entirely wrong in this. Not in any medical sense, but it was unlikely that any of the Telepaths working with them had ever had any actual contact with a Blank. This meant that to them, Blanks were a real, but rather abstract concept, and one that was easier to deal with than a real live flesh and blood person. If just one of them was to meet a Blank, and begin to question his or her assumptions, question what they were about to do, then they all would. Every Telepath on the planet. Yes, the Blanks were contagious.

Once they were all gathered in the hall, an automated presentation started to outline what was in store for them. Some twenty-six years earlier, a programme had been implemented to establish a new, permanent home for all