Dystopyum (The D-ot Hexalogy Book 1)

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This novel is a work of fiction. All characters in this book have no
existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation to
anyone bearing the same or similar name or names. Any resemblance to
persons, living or dead, known or unknown, or events or places is merely
coincidence.
Dedicated to the People of the Book

he underground room was larger than it needed to be. It was
four stories down from the hospital top floor, which was the
only floor aboveground.

Martha was sitting there, uneasily, with the other pregnant
couples. She was a member of LERN, the “Love’s Epiphany Requirement
Network”. LERN was an underground group that upheld the traditions of
love, and they were on the top of the NOV’s State Enemies List.

Here she was, in their lair — and they were hungry for her blood.
Her husband, Griswolt, did not have a clue.
A group of twenty-three pairs of people, mostly husbands and wives,

The instructor had on a slick white ela leather lab coat, sporting a
gray leathercloth suit underneath. Her spotless white blouse, tailored to
the neck, was fashioned of a more finely woven leathercloth. She had a
military posture and tone, which was the norm in the Nation of Vengeance, (the NOV.) Her voice demanded attention, and her words could
not help but draw it —

“Attention! Please! Attention! We will begin where we left off before
the break. We were talking about the application of the Rules of the
Temple of the NOV. This is critical! We must not let the heresy of love
spread, for it will spread, like a virus, if we do not stop it now at its
inception. We are entering into a very dangerous territory here. Twenty
years ago, the Temple leadership had no choice but to allow newborns
and their mothers a five-year waiver of the DeathBT penalty for the crime
of love.”

DeathBT, Death by torture. What a horrid thing, and these idiots act
like its normal,
Martha thought. She was here with Griswolt for the
maternal counseling sessions required by the NOV.

Annoyed by the unpleasant subject presented before her, Martha
changed her thoughts. She was enjoying the maternity robe that the day’s
fashion allowed. She looked down at it, pinching a bit of the cloth and
rolling it in her fingers. It was produced by loosely looming fine
leathercloth threads, and had aquamarine shades throughout its length.
Best of all, it was freely fitting — a nice change from the coarse leather
outfits she typically wore at work, supervising in the mines. She was
sitting cross-legged, belly sticking out front, with her tail peeking out
from behind the robe. Her husband Griswolt was fresh from work, still
wearing his NOV uniform. It was the usual black splint leather, but since
he was in administration, he had a lighter weight jacket than most party
members.

Martha appraised the room, barely noticing those around her now.
These walls and floors have the most uneven ferrist coat I’ve ever seen.
Ferrist mixes were carefully applied, molten, on to the surfaces of
almost all of the well-designed and very complex underground structures
that everybody lived and worked in. These multiple underground rooms
were first expertly sculpted out below ground, and then coated — forming
hard, thick, metallic interior walls, floors, and ceilings.
Our mine supplied the agrist to make this place,
Martha was thinking.
Ferrist was a mix of iron and agrist. They used a two to three inch coat of
it inside all structures because it would stop underground digging
predators, and water, from entering the premises. Agrist prevented the
oxidation of the iron and expanded it, like foam. Because of the heat
involved in the process, they had to do it in stages, which took time.
Aboveground structures were rare and costly, and had one primary
disadvantage — D’ot had extreme temperature ranges throughout each
day. Heating and cooling costs were enormous, as ferrist was a conductor,
not an insulator, in spite of its foam-like qualities. In an underground
structure, this was not a significant issue as the temperature stayed the
same year round, and only needed a small heat source.
Martha, ignoring the instructor, continued to observe her surroundings.
They keep these walls here polished instead of painted.
She found
herself appraising the designs on the walls. They had copper and chrome
inlaid patterns of elaborate lines that looked like fine thread-like curls of
smoke as it may rise from multiple candles. These appeared to clash with
the squared off and geometrically conjoining darker lines that also
covered the walls. Together, they struck Martha’s perception as smoke
being held captive in a cage.
The teacher was now talking about the paradox of love, although she
was unaware of it, “The NOV allowed the temporary waiver for the crime
of love because babies and children were dying at a rate that was
climbing. This was due to failure to thrive, murder by mothers, or as the
children grew up, self-destruction. Important research by the now
infamous Dr. Re demonstrated that when the mothers were permitted to
express and share the superstition of love with their babies and young
children, they had a higher survival rate. While this lesser evil is
productive, it opens the door to the viral nature of love, and that door
must be closed one hundred percent when the child is five years of age.
We cannot allow this disease to infect our population. It makes our
citizens insane, lazy, stupid, unpatriotic, and serves no productive purpose
but to drug its victims and blind them to reality. Males are warned to be
the masters over their wives — particularly during this five year period
when love is allowed.”
Martha took a sideways glance at Griswolt. He always loved that part.
Females and males alike were taught that males had a hormone that made
them want to be the ruler of any group.
The instructor continued along the same line, “God is wise, and He saw
that males fought males for the top of any power structure. It was therefore
natural for them to do this in the home. God decided to put males in control
of the family because they were already beating and killing their wives in
order to be the ruler anyway. God gave his answer, the Temple enforced it,
and the fighting over control dropped considerably.”
Great, so God allows the bigger psychopaths to run our homes,
Martha thought to herself.
The instructor was pacing slowly back and forth in front of the classroom. She had the air of NOV “nobility”, however Martha knew the kind
well, and was aware that this instructor was an imposter. The NOV top
crust came from old families who considered themselves “above”
ordinary emotions such as hate and anger. That was for the masses.
The noble ones prided themselves on self-control, eliminating all
emotion from their mental state. Of course, that is until one would strike
— and then the full fury hidden beneath the calm cool veneer would be
displayed in all its venom. There were usually no witnesses when such an
event would take place, excepting the recipient of the attack.
She continued speaking, “During the time of this five-year waiver,
any
excessive
expression of love is not to be tolerated in the home. It is to
remain repressed, although endured. If love is not actively subdued, it will
grow, as it is, of course, a disease. You have been warned.
“You know that when the child reaches the age of five years, the
NOV separates the mother and child, and each must go to love deprogramming rehabilitation for a period of four weeks. You have all heard
about this. It is harsh, and it is a test. If we can still elicit any sign of love
after four weeks of love-deprogramming school, we separate the mother
and child forever. The mother, being the responsible agent, must enter a
one-year incarceration in a love
destruction
institution, where any and all
traces of love will be replaced with a burning hatred of the concept of
love through well-programmed torture. Any such mother is of course
neutered before being sent home, because they have a tendency to kill
babies afterwards.”
The instructor gave her head a slow tilt, looking down and left —
followed by a grim grin.
She continued, “By the time the mother is set free, if she is to return
home, the child must be moved to a foster home or orphanage. These are
bad alternatives. You must decide now if you are willing to go on with the
pregnancy.”
The instructor paused to let the whole thought sink in. She kept a
keen eye for any signs of weakness, any sign of love’s presence in the
mothers. The mothers in the room were fidgety.
Good,
the instructor
thought,
They are reacting.
She scanned them as they squirmed on the
floor as though trying to get more comfortable.
Martha was feeling it. She was trembling inside.
I have to face this
,
she thought. Her fear was familiar. It came from what she had been
dreading ever since learning she was pregnant. She had to face what the
instructor was bringing to fore. She had to keep the baby no matter what.
I
must keep it together. I can do this. I can, and I will pass the test.
Holding
those thoughts helped, but she was still quivering.
Tail, don’t twitch,
she
thought.
The instructor continued. “Let me remind you that any expression of
love before childbirth is not protected by waiver, and cause for DeathBT.”
She scanned the class again, searching, searching. There was always
one there. She went on, “Considering what you must endure, is there
anyone present that would like to go with our attendants standing by the
door, and simply abort it now?”
Martha saw three mothers get up immediately, scared to death, and
one of them was a LERN member.
No — Sandra’s going for the abortion!
She wanted to get up and grab Sandra and scream, “Turn around! You can
do this!” Martha was suddenly more horrified, because with the pregnancy, the stress, and the emotion, she felt it coming
— no!
She felt a tear
developing. She could not stop it.
No!
Tears in the maternity class were often a sign of an underground
LERN member, or simply a predictor of someone who would not make it
through love-deprogramming school. “Love-lovers” was an epithet used
against them on the news, whenever they were found and arrested. The
instructor was keen to watch for any signs of emotion. She received a
sweet bonus for detecting a LERN member, and she was good at it.
She abruptly spotted Martha, and was on her like a giant eight-legged
trachna. The instructor practically climbed over the ones in her way to get
into Martha’s face, her tail whipping anyone who did not duck or get out
of the way.
Griswolt abruptly noticed Martha’s tears and instinctively backed
away, with an awful look of shock and concern on his face. He knew what
this meant and wanted no part of it.
Martha watched in horror as the instructor came straight for her, and
her insides turned a new twist she hadn’t felt before.
Is this it?
She asked
herself.
Is this the end? What can I do? What? What?
She just stared at
the instructor, frozen.
“What’s this?” the instructor shrieked, as she reached out with one
bony finger and touched the narrow tear trail on Martha’s face.
Martha was staring back at her, paralyzed out of numbing fear when a
thought arose —
bite your tongue!
In a panic, she bit her tongue, hard.
She could not give a twinge of expression as her razor-sharp piercing
teeth dug deeply into the tender flesh, releasing a flood of blood into her
mouth.
“I bit my tongue!” Martha spat the words out, getting some blood on
the instructor in the process.
The instructor recoiled, disgusted. She stood back and looked Martha
up and down. “Clean yourself up!” the instructor ordered, then just as
quickly looked around the room for anyone she may have missed.
Martha was still shaking inside, but she had the composure to get out
a cloth, and hold it to her mouth.
The instructor pulled her own cloth out of her lab coat, and coolly
returned to the front of the class. While wiping the blood off her lab coat,
she continued, “As I stated before, should a mother fail, for her protection, and the protection of the state, she will be then sent to lovedestruction prison for twelve months. This one year imprisonment should
be considered a merciful act of the state, because otherwise the penalty
for love would be DeathBT.” She looked about the room for emphasis.
“To reiterate, DeathBT is a process that is prolonged as long as possible, serving as an extreme example to others for the prevention of crime.”
She paused again, and took a breath. “OK, is that all? The ones still
here are all staying for this now, correct? Have I given a good warning of
what is to come, and the risks involved?”
The group responded affirmatively, most were happy to move on.
“All right then, let’s discuss the clinical aspects of your pre and post
natal care.”
The instructor proceeded to review the issues of hospital admittance,
methods of delivery, and protocols. This went on for the rest of the
evening, and the class was eventually dismissed.
Martha was glad to be having a child at such an age as twenty. The
life span of people of D’ot averaged forty-seven years, primarily because
diseases would overtake them. Any one of them was rarely in perfect
health on a given day. Body sores with various etiologies, coming from
any number of pathogens were common problems. Sores would start
under the scales, and spread to the softer skin underneath. Sometimes a
D’otian would have a section of scales surgically removed, just to let the
skin dry out and heal. These sores would eventually overcome most
people in old age, if something else did not kill them first.
Laws, which, in the end, discouraged childbirth, were hardly needed.
Conceiving a child was difficult. There was still a relatively high death
rate among babies from disease. Females’ breasts had slowly ceased
functioning over the last five thousand years. It was now assumed that
they never worked.
On the ride home traveling westward, Griswolt and Martha were
sitting together in the exposed back seat of their contiss-drawn taxi. It was
pleasant to ride on the outside of the taxi, facing backwards. This was the
way they would typically choose to ride, if weather permitted. The night
air was cool, and the lesser moon was out and full. The dark rolling hills
to the north lay in contrast to the streetlights and traffic ahead as one
entered the NOV’s capital city, Justilant. Not only was Justilant home to
the central committee of the NOV, it was also the location of Strakna
Laboratories. This is where they produced the “hundred-year poison”
vaccines for the entire nation.
The homes, being underground, were marked by their mounds a few
feet in height, the outline of which typically reflected the structure
beneath. The entry door enclosures usually extended ten to twelve feet
aboveground, with similar dimensions in width and depth. The entrance
was characteristically the tallest structure of a house.
As they approached the city, they would see more and more “aboveground” homes. The wealthy owned those homes. One could occasionally
see this type of domicile in the upscale neighborhoods outside the city, as
well. The average temperature range was sixty-seven degrees in a day,
with the average temperature being anywhere from thirty degrees to as
high as seventy, depending on the season and location. It was much more
efficient to build underground, and take advantage of the temperature
stability there.
To the east, the rolling hills became a harsh landscape of solid ironbased shafts jutting thousands of feet jaggedly into the sky. These were
the outgrowths of highly magnetized iron-based vein formations that had
been forced vertically up through the ground by opposing magnetic
polarities below. The iron shafts were made of a crystalline matrix, and so
they were squared off on the sides, and extremely sensitive to magnetic
forces. Some were still very active, rising almost fifty feet in a single
year.
Not much was said on the way home until Martha spoke first — and
then wished she had not. “Thankth for thticking up for me in there,” she
said with her swollen, wounded tongue.
Griswolt was just waiting — “What the hell was all that about? I’ve
never been so humiliated in my life! You looked like a damn love-lover
up in ‘ere! You could have gotten us both into DeathBT!”
His voice was as deep as his body was big. He shifted his large frame
in her direction, waving his hefty dark gray hands for emphasis. They hit
a bump in the road. The metal alloy wheels of most means of transportation had only their suspensions to buffer the roads.
Griswolt’s rising voice was a concern to Martha. The taxi driver up
front might hear. Griswolt did not know she was in the LERN underground, and Martha had to keep it that way.
“I bit my tongue!” Martha protested.