Enigma: A Spacecraft World

By Elisa O'Donnell

In between the Earth and the sun floats the world of Enigma. Created as an outer space bunker and led by Captain Nicholas Swift, it now is home to the descendants of those who improbably survived nuclear war. It is a world that demands equal contributions from each of its inhabitants in order to support its mantra of Longevity, Ingenuity, Fertility, and Equality—the pillars of LIFE.
This is the world in which Genesis Velorum exists. She and her family are privileged due to superior genes. Her best friend, Warble, however, has been labeled a UFB: unfit for breeding. They are inseparable until their paths split when Genesis turns seventeen and faces a mandatory decision about how she will contribute to Enigma. Will she choose what her mother considers the safe option, or will she risk embarking on a space mission, leaving behind the only world she has known? Although her options are already limited, she quickly learns there are higher forces at play that may make the choice for her.

And just when she begins to accept her fate, she discovers a secret society in Enigma. The Geneticists Ultra Reality Union or GURUs have made it their mission to alter reality through the use of complex memory technology. With this new knowledge, she begins to understand the GURUs will affect not only her life but the lives of all those dwelling in Enigma...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elisa O'Donnell
• Release date: Jul 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311473431

Elisa O'Donnell

Elisa O'Donnell is a shrink, otherwise known as a licensed clinical psychologist.She likes to ponder the big picture stuff of life, knowing this will keep her busy for awhile and most certainly will keep her writing.

Book preview

PART I: The Festival

1

Equality increases the quality of our lives… Are you doing your equal share?

I, Genesis Velorum, hardly hear the phrase as it is intermittently broadcast between the latest pop music hits. I don’t sing along but sit quietly as I ride the Skyway, too anxious to hear anything as I am chauffeured to school by the public transportation system.

The Skyway is so named due to the fact that it is literally in the sky—a huge tangle of clear tubes navigating the occupants of Enigma to their destinations. Within the tubes, each occupant rides alone in her or his own Skyway cab, an enclosed compartment that includes a single seat with automatic seat belt restraints, a navigation touch pad in order for the rider to indicate the destination, and periodic hologram messages. Everyone rides alone. Not even parents are allowed to ride with their children. The cabs are programmed to identify smaller passengers, and provide age-appropriate restraints and communication. My younger siblings are old enough to program their own destinations, and they are somewhere behind me, speeding along toward the center of the city where the Academic Building is located.

In the space in front of me, the hologram of a three dimensional pie appears again, accompanied by the repeated message: Equality increases the quality of our lives… Are you doing your equal share? As the audio of the message plays, the pie dissects itself into hundreds of tiny slivers before reuniting as a whole.

I run my hand through the pie, cutting it in half and wishing I could completely ignore the message as I usually do. But I can’t today…especially today. My anxiety forces me to take a deep breath, hold it, and remind myself it will do no good for my family to know how anxious I feel.

After all, it is not an unusual event that is causing my anxiety: my twelve-year-old younger twin brothers, Lugo and Hugo, are scheduled to receive their deoxyribonucleic acid, or DNA, test results today.

I, too, had received my DNA test results at the age of twelve. I had been declared fit, and if all things went well today, so, too, would my brothers. But that would still not place them in the same social echelon. As male inhabitants, they are presumptively rendered lesser beings due to their lack of uteruses. Knowing and accepting this aspect of Enigma’s society are two separate things, but both only feed my fear of worst case scenarios. My greatest fear is my brothers’ test results will identify undesirable gene mutations—the kind of mutations that would push them into the lowest class: those whose DNA is labeled unfit for breeding, otherwise known as UFBs.

Although it had once been the practice to simply test DNA in utero and dispose of embryos whose DNA was unfit, it had been discovered in the past quarter century that some gene mutations were not necessarily without merit, and some did not become fully evident until adolescence. Accordingly, the automatic abortions had ceased, and a second DNA test had been mandated.

My second DNA test had occurred approximately five years ago—five years and one month ago, to be exact, as my seventeenth birthday has recently passed. Now, just eleven short months remain until I am required to make the biggest decision of my life: move to a special area, or pod, reserved for those who choose to undergo fertilization, or embark on a Secret Travel and Recognizance, otherwise known as a STAR. Male inhabitants don’t have the same choice; they are required to complete at least one STAR when they turn eighteen. Some UFBs are also required to complete STARs, depending on their genetic fitness for this type of travel. UFBs found fit for STARs are required to completed one STAR every three years. The increased frequency is due to the principle that because UFBs are banned from genetically contributing to Enigma, their equal share must be compensated for in other ways, such as by undertaking additional STARs.

If I choose to undergo fertilization, I will be a participant in The Gene Pool Initiative and be moved to a pod that had been christened with what was supposed to be an endearing name: Peas in a Pod. To most, however, it is simply known as The Farm, alluding to the harvesting of sperm and eggs and the children who eventually result.

This is how I had come into the world.

This is how Enigma had ensured a continuation of its improbable existence.

Just two hundred and some odd years ago, the Earth had become uninhabitable, obliterated by nuclear war. For the fortunate few who had pre-purchased (and been able to afford) underground nuclear habitations, life had continued in a new normal. Once labeled as eccentric or paranoid, those who had inhabited below the Earth’s surface had continued to be eccentric and paranoid…but they were alive because of it. Above them, most life forms had instantly perished. For the human life forms who had initially survived aboveground, death had visited swiftly and had not always been unwelcome. Post-nuclear radiation had borne both physical and mental agony—mental because the enemy that wreaked havoc on the human body had been invisible.

The survivors below had found it easy enough to ignore their fellow human beings’ plight. A clause written into their underground habitation purchase agreements forbade attempts to return to the surface or attempts to rescue those above. The consequence was death by poison gas, emitted from the habitation’s outer hatch if the release mechanism was tampered with prior to the attainment of one-hundred percent agreement from all owners to move on to Phase II of their survival. Each owner’s habitation had come equipped with a human life form monitoring device. Each device had been programmed to scan specific sections of the Earth, as well as to monitor the life forms inside. When no evidence of human life remained in an assigned scanned section, the owner was to enter an individual code on their inner hatch’s touchpad. If a device detected the cessation of all life both outside and within the habitation, a safety feature enabled the habitation’s computer to enter the owner’s code. When all codes had been catalogued, the outer hatches had automatically opened to the surface. Equipped with protective space suits, the survivors had emerged, poised to begin Phase II of their survival.

I had been taught that the duration of Phase I had been relatively quick for the underground survivors—a matter of mere months. But I still cannot envision myself trapped beneath the surface with no guarantee of ever again experiencing wide open spaces. I also cannot envision being alive and sick on the surface, wondering why my fellow human beings underground with their sophisticated stash of medical supplies and clean food and water were not coming to my aid.

Phase II of the human race’s survival involved the ambitious exodus to where I reside: Enigma, the gigantic spacecraft world that seems to float effortlessly between the Earth and the Sun. In truth, Lagrangian points keep the spacecraft afloat. Due to mandatory curriculum taught during the first years of formal education, I know that Lagrangian points are places in space where the gravitational pull between two bodies balance each other out. I had also been taught that although Enigma had been touted on Earth as the World’s research center, belonging to no single nation, it had been secretly prepared as an outer space sanctuary or bunker for the first world countries who had financed it.

It is ironic to me that the mantra of equality is drilled into every inhabitant of Enigma, considering that the ancestors of those who dwell here had arrived in a rather unequal manner. And no matter how many promulgations Captain Nicholas Swift disseminates about the equality of every human being, and the equality of every inhabitant’s contribution to society, the simple truth is not all DNA is considered equal.

My cab slows as it approaches the main Academic Building, a huge structure made of iridescent white stone. From the aerial view in my cab, a ring of round buildings surrounding the main structure mimic a giant pearl necklace. The Skyway’s boarding and exiting platform is located just a short distance from the Academic Building, and I wait on the bustling platform for my brothers to arrive.

Lugo and Hugo are identical twins—a rare sight nowadays. Identical twins are no longer allowed to survive as a pair—one is destroyed in utero, the justification being that genetic variation is now the bottom line goal. Fraternal twins are left alone. When population growth had been the principal goal, twins and other forms of multiple births had been common and encouraged. But then the issue of faulty genes had thrown that goal out to space. It was no good having a large population if it consisted of individuals who were passing on cancer genes or who were too genetically similar, eventually contributing to an overall weaker human existence (…or that, at least, is what my teachers say).

Once, I had asked my mother if Lugo and Hugo were truly the only two fertilized eggs during her pregnancy. Her answer had been indirect, and her eyes had been sad. They were the two who were born.

Presently, I spot my brothers disembarking their cabs one right after the other, their striking white blonde hair in sharp contrast to their royal blue school uniforms and nothing like my own slate black tresses. They are arguing, and, from the sound of their voices, the argument had started en route to school.

Grabbing each by a shoulder, I turn them toward me and cut them off mid-sentence, Lugo. Hugo. Despite their indistinguishable appearances, I am able to tell them apart. I have never been able to explain how. How many times have I told you to stay off the communicators when you’re in the Skyway cabs? They should only be used for emergencies.

"But there are never any emergencies, Genesis! And the ride is so boring now that we can’t select our own stations." It is Lugo, the more outspoken, and he references a change in the Skyway regulations that had occurred several months ago. No official reason had been given for removing the station programming ability from the cabs, but there had been a rumor at school that someone had found a way to create and broadcast their own station into the Skyway. Now, only Enigma’s Headquarters have control of the stations available in the city.

"Boredom is an emergency," Hugo pipes in, and I sense that this statement, made in aid to Lugo, will quell whatever argument they had been having.

Well, I acquiesce, be ready for several upcoming emergencies, then. I allude to our required curriculum hours on today’s schedule of classes.

Seriously, Lugo and Hugo say in unison.

In reality, we enjoy our academic studies—that is, our elective academic studies. But there are mandatory courses that are only interesting the first time around, and the boredom factor occurs because all students are required to take the mandatory courses at the beginning of each academic semester.

We depart the Skyway platform via a downward escalator and moving walkway. We keep to the left but there is always an inhabitant or two who doesn’t adhere to the etiquette of standers to the right, walkers to the left.

Excuse us! Lugo calls out, effectively clearing our path. When we reach the main Academic Building, Lugo and Hugo give me identical grins before bounding away to meet some of their waiting friends.

A friend is also waiting for me: Warble. Warble stands beneath one of the giant gold pillars supporting the Academic Building’s covered veranda. There are four brilliantly polished pillars, each one representing one of the four core values for which all of Enigma’s inhabitants are taught to strive: Longevity, Ingenuity, Fertility, and Equality—these are the values that make the continuance of LIFE possible, Captain Swift’s voice echoes in my head.

She hasn’t spotted me yet, and I notice her characteristically twirling a strand of her long silver hair. Her tanned and impish face looks here and there, her head moving in what I’ve always thought of as bird-like motions. Her face lights up when she sees me, and as we walk toward each other, she greets me with the customary sign of pressing the tips of her index and middle fingers together, forming a temple. She follows it up with an exaggerated imitation of Captain Swift’s voice, The temple of LIFE.

I continue the imitation of the lesson plan all children receive when they are first enrolled at the Academic Building. And if even one pillar is missing, and I take away one of the four fingers from my own temple, the temple isn’t complete, is it, children?

We wipe silly looks from our faces when a trio of teachers, a breeze of gold and tasseled robes, walks by.

I change the subject. And what were you up to all night? You didn’t answer your holo-port either time I tried to image you. Holo-ports are modern day communication devices that use micro-projectors to transmit a three dimensional image of each user to the other—technological face-to-face communication.

I was busy…up all night writing a symphony, and she is not apologetic in the least but appears, rather, to be quite pleased with herself.

I accept her answer as genuine and am not offended. I am accustomed to my friend’s manic creative spurts, and the oblivion, to everything and everyone, that goes along with them. When can I hear it? I ask.

Oh, that’s the best part, she pauses to create intrigue, I’m going to enter it in one of the contests for this year’s ‘Festival of LIFE’ show. If it wins, that’s when you’ll hear it. She grins, and I have no doubt of her confidence in her plan.

The Festival of LIFE show is Enigma’s annual premiere event. Potential presenters vie for segments in the Festival, competing with others who believe they have important knowledge to disseminate to all inhabitants. There are four categories: Longevity usually includes presentations on enhancing one’s health and lifespan, although sometimes a centenarian is featured; Ingenuity includes information on the newest inventions, treatments, or creative pursuits; Fertility offers education and advice on improving a female inhabitant’s ability to achieve pregnancy and enhancing the pregnancy experience; and Equality seeks motivational presentations to inspire Enigma’s inhabitants to not only do but feel proud of doing their equal share. Each category is headed by a special panel consisting of individuals deemed to be category experts.

I assume, So you’re going to enter your symphony under the ‘Ingenuity’ category?

Warble emits a low chuckle, and we halt, standing outside the entrance to the building.

Actually, I’m going to enter it under the ‘Fertility’ category. She smiles and bites her lower lip.

My chin drops; I can’t help my skeptical look.

She rushes on, Don’t look at me like that! Don’t most female inhabitants in labor listen to music? Surely all of Enigma will agree that without music, the birthing experience would be greatly diminished…

Ever the devil’s advocate, I’ve heard that some female inhabitants prefer silence.

Ridiculous, Warble dismisses the idea with a wave of her hand, Only the female inhabitants who like to think of themselves as warriors going into battle—you know, the ones who refuse pain meds and want to hear themselves grunt and scream.

The description is a grim reminder that if I choose fertilization when I turn eighteen, I, too, will have to choose how I want to give birth. Frankly, I haven’t given much thought to whether or not I would prefer music.

I do know my preference for pain meds: the more, the better.

The description is also one reason I am considering embarking on a STAR. I have kept this to myself due to my mother’s expressed opinion that I should choose the safer option of pregnancy. I understand her perspective, but, from my point of view, my body will either be forced to act as a human incubator or forced to accept a secret mission. I haven’t yet decided which choice makes me feel the most in control.

I offer to Warble, Ok, I’m in agreement that many female inhabitants find music important when giving birth, but what will you do if the panel recommends you enter your symphony under another category? It is not uncommon for the panel to recommend resubmission, and most entrants are happy to switch categories because the fact that the panel has recommended they do so indicates the entry is at least considered worthy enough to be properly categorized.

They won’t, and Warble’s confidence indicates more than the inflated self-esteem that accompanies her manic states. My silence is not meant to indicate anything, but she adds, mildly exasperated, Fine! I didn’t want to give you any hints, but when you hear my symphony, you will understand exactly why it fits under the ‘Fertility’ category.

Never doubted it, I say, winking, and I am being sincere. My friend’s musical ability has been compared to renowned composers dead centuries ago—a rare gift that no amount of training could produce…a rare genetic gift. Her compositions are the reason she has been allowed to continue her studies at the Academic Building. Her music has been the saving grace from a much different life.

As if on cue, this year’s academic theme song, composed by none other than Warble, suddenly emanates from the building’s interior, flowing out onto the veranda and indicating that students have ten minutes to reach their assigned classrooms.

See you at lunch! Warble calls out as she heads to a building on the east side.

I wave back before heading into the main entrance. Uniformed officers stand guard and look bored when I nod at them as I enter the vast foyer. The need for this type of security at the Academic Building is puzzling. There is virtually no crime in Enigma, and if someone were up to no good, there would be no place to hide—every inhabitant in Enigma is implanted with a microchip. Besides tracking our locations as we go through our day to day routines, our microchips are intermittently scanned to verify our identities, work assignments, and other statuses.

I have heard the uniformed officers, known as Enigmans, are actually military personnel, stationed around the city to protect Enigma’s inhabitants from unexpected outer space invasions. I haven’t yet decided if I believe this explanation, but it is at least intriguing. Rumors of UFOs always prompt city-wide, calming messages from Captain Swift. The messages are meant to dispel panic, but the idea of life outside of Enigma doesn’t frighten me. In fact, I am comforted by it.

The foyer of the Academic Building splits equally into four expansive corridors. I walk toward the one to the right, noting the huge gold plaque etched with the word Auditorium at the beginning of the hallway. If this is not enough guidance for some, gold footprints inlaid in the marble tile lead all the way to the Auditorium’s entrance. As always at the