Visions of Chrysalis

By Franz Owano

Set in the 22nd century, mankind's dependence on technology ushers in a bold new era of evolution. The proliferation of Artificial Intelligence in due time, pits man against machine. Phasing out the middle class and thus widening the gap between the affluent and destitute. Sparking the spectre of insurrection, wars & the volcanic upheaval of revolt.

In a bid to resolve the ensuing mayhem, Artificial Intelligence offers a solution to the quandary. By the adoption of Chrysalis; Kenyan society attempts a social experiment that will finally not only provide equality but equity to all its citizens. Some however remain nostalgic for a past in which the status quo reigned supreme.

From the spectacle of conflict to the intrigues of the Senate, from the struggles to exert influence in the corridors of power to the betrayals that threaten to tear apart the alliances of convenience forged. Visions of Chrysalis is an intimate portrayal of the quest to change the course of a nation's history, and the three men whose destinies inevitably clash in a ruthless duel of ambition.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wanderer's Path Publishers
• Release date: Jan 6, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224712229

Franz Owano

Franz Owano is a medical doctor by profession who lives and works in Nairobi Kenya.He boasts of a body of works.He has penned 6 plays,a journal,2 novellas and a collection of short stories. He enjoys reading,writting and travelling in his free time.

Book preview

Dedication

To my sister, Yvonne Atieno. Thank you for encouraging me to dream.

"Once there was The People-Terror gave it birth;

Once there was The People and it made a Hell of Earth

Earth rose and crushed it. Listen, O ye slain!

Once there was The People- it shall never be again!"

Rudyard Kipling

CHAPTER 1

*

Sometime before the year 2200- Nairobi, Kenya

She had been encouraged that the process would be swift and painless. She accepted the encouragement with wretched resignation. She sat on the dank dungeon floor, stroking her fingers on the lumpy wall. With a stone, she tallied the dawn of a new day. Her last day actually, if her execution went without a hitch. There on that wall lay evidence of her existence, however detestable to some. Testament of a life they’d rather she not have lived.

Was there really a better place to spend her final moments? The cell no longer held the terror it once had. If anything, it was far more secure. Outside its confines lay vengeful souls. Intent on putting her to rest, in a better place or otherwise.

For almost a year October had lived in a strangely altered world, a world which seemed keen to rid itself of her. To their surprise the authorities received no pitiful letters, scribbled by the condemned: appealing for clemency from friends in high places. Her only friend currently was the lord Almighty, waiting to receive his not so humble servant at the stroke of noon.

Ordinarily executions were a business routinely performed in the wee hours. When the gods were still groggy. A loophole to usurp their role and take the only thing they had the legitimate right to. Life.

The Chief Jailer was a superstitious man. He’d spent a blissful night with his wife. A rare event. She was a nagging, overbearing woman who disapproved of his line of work & wasn’t shy of making him acutely aware. Suddenly she was homely and reasonable. Almost resembling the girl he’d courted and unfortunately married. It was an omen that didn’t escape his notice.

I hope it’s a quick affair, he thought morbidly. Luckily she would be paraded at the town square and shot by a firing squad. In half an hour she’d be dumped into a mass grave along with her acolytes and he could return home. Eager to enjoy the tranquility of a calm household before his luck ran out. Certainly more humane than apportioning all that guilt to a single individual. Collective responsibility for murder sanitized the process. Making it much easier to swallow.

He wasn’t sure what exactly she had done. It had never been openly discussed. The female staff chomped on the subject with a ghoulish relish which women discuss a tragedy that doesn’t afflict them. Normally he wasn’t one to gossip but under the circumstances it wasn’t beneath anyone to make themselves better informed, irrespective of the means. He drew a meek lass aside who prepared meals for the prisoners and charmingly extracted her version of the truth.

Apparently, she was the leader of a verboten group. A terrorist. An accusation the Chief jailer found challenging to believe. She didn’t strike him as a danger to anyone. Funny enough she reminded him of his own grandmother. A harmless old woman. October Nafula the second was anything but.

*

Members of the Triumvate, representatives of the three ruling families assembled at the Visor’s mansion. Partly out of concern but mostly spurred by curiosity. The Visor, Viktor Bakari was in bad shape. The accusation of treason against his wife with a looming execution didn’t do much to improve his health either. Trying his best to rationalize the unfolding events he scrutinized the evidence. Objectively it was overwhelming. But he knew her better than anyone. She was no traitor. Therefore, he declined to abandon his bias.

The Nassirs and the Jowis, the two other ruling families no doubt were reveling in his misfortune. An opportunity to slander and discredit him had been availed. His reign had been largely unassailed. An achievement credited to his wife October. Her advice which he heeded tended to be beyond reproach. Without her he was lost. Her absence strategically cut him at the knees. With no confidants in sight his grip on the reins of power were loosening.

The Nassirs led by Hassan, a smooth-talking chameleon were next in line to rule. He had an ability to fit unobtrusively against any background. At the Senate the suave politician, in the army a respected general; in his household a devoted husband and father. It was rumored he was sterile therefore his affection for his nephew cum adopted son Omar was unfeigned. Hassan in Viktor’s estimation was quite capable of seizing this opportunity to ascend however he lacked the stomach for such dirty deeds.

Ojok Jowi, the defacto leader of his family on the other hand was capable of anything. Aggressive with a proclivity for violence. A mammoth man standing at six feet eight inches whose greed for life was only equal to his desire for power. Known to hunt and eat his own meat. A past time providing a release for his blood lust. Fondly referred to as The Crocodile by both friend and foe. Sandwiched between two ambitious predators jostling for dominance, Viktor Bakari weighed his options.

Your Excellency is looking well, Ojok began, wiping off vomitus from the side of the Visor’s cheek, stranded in bed too weak to care about his appearance. It’s a shame what you’re going through. With all the drama surrounding your wife.

Truth be told Viktor was looking terrible. He’d drank his own urine for the past two days for fear of being poisoned. Ojok Jowi poured him a glass of water and offered it to the helpless man. Viktor Bakari stared at it in disdain. Ojok attuned to his fears drank the water in one gulp. An action that didn’t offer any assurances to the ailing man.

Suit yourself, Ojok replied, helping himself the broth the Visor had left untouched.

Hassan Nassir had taken the scent of the Visor’s weakness; like the hound he was. He padded after his master and looked to the future. The laws of decency forbade him from celebrating at his adversary’s death bed. Ojok Jowi had no such qualms. He demolished the Visor’s stew without need for an accompaniment. Hard as it was to believe he ascribed to a twisted form of chivalry. One preventing him from inflicting harm on a beast wounded beyond redemption. Ojok Jowi lived for the fight & there was no honor in hastening what time would inevitably do.

Ojok’s dislike for the Visor bordered on jealousy. Viktor Bakari was everything he wasn’t. Refined, articulate and cultured. He had a way with people Ojok struggled to cultivate. Probably explaining why, he often settled differences with brute force. At the very end it made no difference. Though barely a Neanderthal by Viktor’s standards he’d be the last man standing.

For some reason the old man was holding on with grim determination. Such stubborn courage, Hasan marveled in silence. Time wasn’t a luxury. Whatever had to be settled on man-to-man terms had to be done immediately. Viktor sat himself up using his last ounce of energy. He cleared his throat and broached the topic on all their minds.

I don’t have much time, Viktor declared. My succession cannot be left in doubt. As agreed, Senator Nassir is next in line. He will be the next Visor. Senator Jowi do you object to this?"

Ojok gestured his agreement with a terse nod of his large head. Hassan Nassir hid his ecstasy at Ojok’s acquiescence. He could swear he felt a surge of libido. Everything it seemed, was falling into place. Leaving a single thorn in the rose garden.

It is God’s will that I depart from this world. My wife’s fate is sealed. At least promise me my children will be spared.

The law is uncompromising in this matter. Traitors and their families are to be sentenced to death. We can’t be seen to be making exceptions. A dangerous precedent will be set, Ojok cut in, anxious for Viktor’s blood line to be permanently uprooted.

On my honor, not a hair on their heads will be touched, Hassan vowed.

The necks above their shoulders however, could still be severed, Ojok thought to himself cynically. That there was the weakness that led to his downfall. Viktor Bakari was an honest man & as such had no business taking a dip in the swamp that is politics.

YOU’RE A DAMN FOOL! Ojok restrained himself from shouting. Staking the life of his descendants on a man as disingenuous as Nassir was fatuous. As a result of his foolishness the streets would run red with Bakari blood. A welcoming prospect in any case.

Rules maintain order, Ojok said. I advise discretion if they are to be bent. We wouldn’t want this to be the excuse for another war?

Noted, Hassan replied curtly. Summon what little of a heart you have left and let the old man die in peace.

Nassir’s chastisement rolled off Ojok like melting butter.

Do you have any last request? Senator Jowi asked.

If possible, I’d like to see my son, Viktor whispered.

Hector Bakari who had been eaves dropping burst into the room. Apparently disconsolate at the sight of his withering father. It was no secret that he and Victor were estranged. His habitual presence at the city brothels of which he was a common patron drove their relationship to the brink of disrepair. His thirty years of life had amounted to nothing much apart from three children and a number of treatable venereal diseases. He’d been banned from the Visor’s mansion a year earlier though his children still resided there.

He appeared different. His eyes gleaned a necessary roughness required for hard living. Before his banishment he’d be described as either a well-polished diamond or a prized ruby. Living on the streets had turned him into a much baser rock. Ironically befitting the disgrace of the fallen house he belonged.

He knelt next to his father’s bedside and wept, not very convincingly. If Viktor had more strength, he’d have smacked his son for hypocrisy. It didn’t become him. He drew Hector closer and whispered something in his ear. He had an odd, preoccupied look which he thought he understood. The pair exchanged a knowing glance before a final embrace. And so, they departed on amicable terms.

My condolences, Nassir offered.

Thank you, Visor, Hector replied.

We are practically family. Please call me Hassan.

Though nauseated by Nassir’s humility Ojok tried his best to be civil.

I’m sorry for your loss Hector, Ojok managed to say.

Arrangements for his burial have already been made, Nassir revealed.

The gal of this man, Hector pondered. My father’s body is still warm yet they plot to dispose of his corpse at the soonest convenience.

It’s a matter of optics, Visor Nassir clarified. Putting into account all the events transpiring in regard to your mother.

It was clear the new Visor wasn’t going to let his predecessor’s death and his wife’s execution overshadow his ascension.

I understand, Hector replied calmly.

Ojok was impressed at how stoically Hector Bakari had taken the news without uncomfortable outbursts and pitiful whining normative of brats bred by the privileged. The boy he remembered wore his heart on his sleeve. Typically, he’d be casting murderous looks & making empty threats. Not a trace of resentment could be evinced from his demeanor.

The streets had done him some good. He’d soon recommend such a bitter dose of reality to one of his delicate sons. Maybe losing a tooth in a mugging could finally, make a man out of him.

Hector’s experiences had taught him that it is the wise man that pretends to be a fool. Visor Nassir and Senator Jowi would drive each other along the inevitable path of self-destruction without a helping hand. When the feud between them was over there would be rewards for anyone with the nerve and wit to seize them. His priority first was to survive.

I do have one request, Hector appealed.

Name it, the Visor replied.

What’s done is done. I have no need to attend my father’s funeral, however I would like to witness my mother’s execution & if possible with three other souls.

Who may those be? The Visor asked.

My children.

*

The adage held some truth. Be careful what you wish for. Hector had spent the last five years waiting for his father to die. Now that he actually was, it brought him no joy.

The old lion couldn’t have chosen a worse time. His demise sudden and abrupt left no opportunity to consolidate any influence. Hector’s only champion was rotting in a hole somewhere soon to join her husband.

The executors of his father’s will claimed his estate was left in a trust that coincidentally got pilfered a week earlier. No explanation could account for this by the family lawyers who along with Jarius Wandera (Viktor’s younger brother) were probably complicit in the elaborate larceny.

He’d finally returned to the Visor’s mansion; only to be cheated of his rights by his smug, self-righteous, posturing uncle Wandera skulking around in mock grief.

On inquiring about the retirement benefits normally remitted to the beneficiaries of a deceased Visor he was turned down so flatly and furiously that Hector saw it would be sudden death to proceed with the matter any further.

You’re lucky to be still alive, Wandera snickered softly. Spawn of traitors are owed nothing.

Hector’s children were handling the news better than expected. His firstborn Dauphin, a girl of eleven remained prim and wooden. Her name was actually French in origin. A title given to the heir apparent to the throne. He’d expected her to be a boy. Hector took this disappointment in stride. All things considered her regal manner radiated royalty.

If only she wasn’t the heir to a burning castle! Hector sighed.

His son Anatoly, Russian for sunrise was the pride of his father’s heart. Validation for a manhood he called into question. A sensitive eight-year-old who could barely contain his sorrow, drowning in a river of his own tears. Of his brood he was most like Viktor Bakari. Readily armed with a smile and easy charm. Not that it did his grandfather any good.

His lastborn daughter was named by her paternal grandmother after lengthy protests. Apparently, the ancestors came to her in a dream and demanded she live on through the little girl. Viva October Nafula the third. Her natural reserve, a stark contrast to her first name, Latin for Full of life.

Her mother passed on during childbirth. Strangely enough she rarely cried, even as a baby. A sign of an accepting spirit. Delivered in tragedy yet forging on. Growing up without her mother must have changed her. Hopefully not to the point of damage. Her grandmother instantly took a shine to the young October and in return she could always be found pandering around the old woman. The two shared a unique relationship impenetrable to anyone else. Hector didn’t like the influence his mother wielded over the six-year-old girl. A bullet to the chest would soon take care of that.

Hector wanted to get riotously drunk. Anything to forget what was happening. But with three extra mouths to feed it was no time to be improvident; however justified. The effort of concealing his agony underneath a brittle clock of gaiety was becoming insufferable.

He was impelled to keep it together. Just until after the execution.

*

A heated exchange took place at the new Visor’s private chambers. Not anything unique. Marital harmony had always eluded Hassan Nassir. His first two unions ended in divorce and his present wife was notorious for her rapacity. Whatever enemies Hassan failed to make for himself his wife Amal unwittingly created.

What do you mean you’re letting them live? Amal hissed. Unable to hide her hostility. Dwelling in the Visor’s mansion had long been an obsession she nurtured and wasn’t about to let anything get in her way.

Habibi try and understand, he explained soothingly. I made a promise to a dying man. Plus, I wouldn’t want to brand myself as a petty tyrant.

Promises! What do you know of promises Hassan? Amal spewed venomously. You’ve been promising to impregnate me for the last seven years. Why not start by keeping that particular one?

This isn’t the time for that, he sulked. Why can’t you just be happy for me? For us?

Because he is a threat, Amal insisted.

Who? Hector is no such thing. He’s fallen on some hard times. He’s been on the streets for over a year.

Which is where you’ll be living if you don’t do the necessary.

Calm down. He doesn’t have the nuts to try anything.

You’re one to talk about gonads. At least he has sired three children, Amal scoffed.

After recovering from her jibe he once again, against his better judgement; found himself driven to intercede on Hector’s behalf. He had done terrible things to get this far. Things that would take a lifetime to reconcile. He could not square the murder of the Bakari family on his conscience.

What better way to prove he wasn’t as despicable as he felt by leaving his foes kin unmolested? Hassan reasoned. Whenever anyone attempted to malign him in the future he could point to Hector’s existence and assure himself that he was a just and honorable man who had his family exiled in good faith.

No one could seriously believe he was involved in his mother’s treacherous plan.

People believe what it suits them to believe, Amal sniffed. I’ve warned you before. Hector is trouble.

I’ve made my decision, Hassan put his foot down. I will keep an eye on him. If and when he presents any real danger, he will be dealt with.

Amal subsided, like a hippo sinking beneath a muddy lake, flaring at the nostrils. She could confidently wait for Hector to bring about his own calamity.

*

Noon.

October Nafula the second was dragged out of her cell by two guards. Leaving the priest inside aghast. In all his years of service he was yet to meet a soul staring death in the face yet refusing the administration of their last rites.

All in attendance watched her escorted to a pole on to which she was to be strapped. She went along laughing and the knowledge troubled the new Visor. For what in this world or the next could have given her amusement at such a time? For no accountable reason this angered him beyond endurance.

Ojok Jowi examined her in interest. She was quite a diminutive woman. From her reputation he expected her to be physically imposing. A wretched Amazon.

He took out a handkerchief and wiped the beads of sweat trickling down his face. He was eager to get the ceremony over and done with. If it were up to him, he’d have had her throat slit in the comfort of her jail cell instead of baking in the sun.

What a waste of resources for such a tiny ferret? Senator Jowi moaned inwardly. A six man firing squad was a tad bit excessive when a well-aimed bullet to the heart was enough to fell her. He shared his sentiments with the Visor who quickly agreed.

Their exchange induced a wave of alarm in Hector who was trying his level best to appear nonplussed. Anatoly was already in tears. Holding nothing back. Dauphin and the young October as usual, remained unreadable.

The condemned was tied not so gently to the stake she was to meet her end. If ever there was a time her fate could be averted it was then. Her family prayed for a pang of sympathy to stir her accuser’s heart & in an act of human kindness commute her sentence. No such benevolence was forthcoming and therefore they braced themselves.

The unlucky soldier executing justice on behalf of the state just happened to be one of Senator Jowi’s sons. Handpicked for the evil act.

Ominde Jowi wasn’t cut out to be a soldier. He lacked the killer instinct. Nevertheless, like all boys he wanted to make his father proud. Sadly, the means to do so was abhorrent to his constitution. To gain his dad’s respect was to resign his soul to damnation. On the other hand, if he didn’t go through with it Ojok would send him to the Devil himself.

Visor Nasir stood up and hoarsely read out her crimes, FOR TRESAON AGAINST THE REPUBLIC YOU ARE FOUND GUILTY.FOR SEDITION YOU ARE FOUND GUILTY.FOR INCITMENT OF PUBLIC VIOLENCE YOU ARE FOUND GUILTY.I HEREBY SENTENCE YOU TO DEATH BY FIRING SQUAD.

The Visor sat himself back down rather quickly. In the haste of one unaccustomed to wielding such authority.

Ominde trained his riffle at the little old woman, taking aim below her left breast. She looked back at him sedately with a maternal understanding that if voiced said, I forgive you for doing what you must.

His firearm had a trigger pull of approximately 2 pounds. That was all it would take to kill his target. He found it ironic that such little pressure applied was enough to consign another to the afterlife. A tug of war supervened between his duty as a good soldier and his honor as a man.

Ojok watched attentively. The whole spectacle whetting his appetite for intrigue. Would his son rise to the occasion or prove to be as spineless as he suspected? Time froze as Ominde put his finger lightly on the trigger and just as suddenly out of the blue threw his riffle aside in disgust.

What on earth is wrong with that boy? Ojok asked himself, before realizing that he’d chickened out. In a startling act of defiance Ominde had torpedoed his future. An action his father vowed the young man would live to regret.

Ojok struggled to remain calm fighting off a blinding red rage that would spare neither man nor woman in anger. Visor Nassir perceptively took charge.

WILL SOMEONE SHOOT THAT WOMAN! He ordered while pointing threateningly at the remaining five soldiers on the sidelines. Either in insubordination or momentary deafness they stared at him blankly.

They won’t, Ominde informed him.

WHY THE HELL NOT? The Visor asked in disbelief.

We’ve all done guard duty at the Visor’s mansion. Mrs. Bakari has always been kind to us.

She donates funds to the orphanage I grew up in. Without her those orphans would starve, one soldier revealed.

My mother is alive because of her, the second soldier revealed. She took care of a medical bill that would have bankrupted my family.

She introduced me to my wife. She’s part of your kitchen staff. She’s the love of my life. Without Mrs. Bakari I’d be too shy to make a move, a third disclosed.

I’M NOT INTERESTED IN TESTIMONIES OF HER VIRTUE.FOLLOW YOUR ORDERS OR I’LL HAVE YOU ALL FLOGGED WITHIN AN INCH OF YOUR LIVES! Ojok fumed.

No. Not one of the soldiers present budged.

The Chief jailer appeared just in the nick of time. As instructed his underlings rounded up the dissenting soldiers awaiting a court martial. To his displeasure he was mandated to personally oversee the hanging of the prisoner. His luck had finally run out. Life as he knew it was taking its typically pathetic course.

Why did it have to be him to lead her to gallows? He lamented silently.

The Visor & Senator Jowi filed out of the courtyard. They’d had enough fun for one day. Staying any longer would be pure sadism. Hence, they left the remainder of the Bakari family to witness the hanging at their pleasure.

Hector observed his children throughout what ended up as a botched execution. Anatoly, his eyes red and watery averted his gaze, buried his head into his father’s lap. Dauphin’s steely gaze remained unretracted until the moment Ominde’s riffle was pointed at her grandmother. A single tear betrayed her before she looked downwards. Young October, wide eyed watched it all without flinching.

What a strange little girl? Hector thought to himself.

What was the purpose of the entire exercise? Why subject his children to needless trauma that would precipitate a scarred adulthood? To teach them a lesson it was imperative they learned. The world was a cruel place, rife with injustice. Necessitating the need for them to acquire power, for without it they’d perpetually be victims.

They had seen enough. He had made his point. Hector had given his kids enough material for nightmares to last a lifetime. Seeing their grandmother dangling from a rope would be unwarranted. He therefore elected to skip the hanging.

He led his family out of the courtyard to begin a new life in obscurity. His youngest daughter tugged at his trousers, looked up at him innocently and asked, Baba, why do they want to kill her?

CHRYSALIS, Hector replied.

*

EXILE

What is Chrysalis? October asked, shuffling behind her siblings.

It’s a cyclic process, Dauphin replied.

What kind?

A scientific discovery created to solve a problem plaguing mankind. A solution you may say.

To what? She pressed.

Inequality, Dauphin replied, slightly irritated. An innovative means to bridge the gap between the rich and poor.

How? October insisted.

Beginning at the age of eleven every citizen is expected to present themselves to the nearest Chrysalis Centre. Their previous memories are erased to ease evolution into the next chapter of their lives, Hector explained.  Thereafter every five years they transition through three cycles in a process referred to as Chrysalis. In the Gold cycle the State allocates resources previously reserved for the wealthy allowing one to experience opulence. After half a decade their memories of the previous cycle are expunged and the individual moves to the Silver cycle where the State essentially downgrades them to middle-class status. On completion the memories of that period are wiped clean coupled with the repossession of all material trappings- thrusting one into the biting poverty of the Iron cycle.

"Can you beat the system by not showing