10. THE SIXTH LESSON

The monotony of a life spent in endless lustful play is hitting home

The good Friday break was over and three students arrived in class, ready for yet another trawl through ancient pre-history. They must, Zoz continually told them, know the dangers of life from the past in order to make sure they weren’t repeated. It was a message so frequently hammered at them that in a way it no longer seemed to have much meaning, especially as just about all of the ancient stuff applied to life on a completely different planet under completely different circumstances. How, they wondered, could they learn anything from that. Maybe they were beginning to get a little bit rebellious.

Zoz looked around, and frowned. There were only three students there, and the four of them (now that Fil had left them to train as a prostitute) looked pathetically inadequate. Cun was missing, and if he had a favourite it would have been Cun. She had the most glorious head of hair atop the prettiest of faces, and even though all traces of human lust had been erased from his biological yet robotic brain, he was fond of a pretty face when he saw one.

“Where’s Cun?” he asked, “she almost always arrives with you.”

“She’s been sectioned,” Els said sadly, “and is hospitalised in the asylum until she regains her sanity.”

“Pardon?” Zoz was astounded at the news. He knew that the human spirit was a fragile thing, but Cun? The fem with the beautiful hair? She with a spirit of loveliness exuding from every pore of her body?

“She was taken yesterday evening,” muttered the kindly Pul.

“I was with her,” put in Din, “and I was alarmed when she wouldn’t play! I asked her to undress for me, and she wouldn’t. Instead she told me she was ugly and unfit for the eyes of any man.”

“She wouldn’t even remove one garment to tempt you?” asked an astounded Els, “all us fems like doing that! We get a kick from the way your boyish eyes light up!”

“I felt the spirit moving inside me, but she ignored my pleading and ran off!” explained Din. “Then, when her folks came for her and she wasn’t with me I told them what had happened. At first they blamed me, and then they said to each other that there had been signs for a day or two that their fem daughter was mad. They could see it in the way she wouldn’t eat when her gruel was set before her.”

Zoz sighed. “That is most unusual,” he murmured, “but in her absence I fear we must continue, this time learning the root causes of the wars that ravaged the pre-Trumpster century.”

“The beginning of the end,” sighed Els, “you’ve already explained it more than once.”

“That is what it was called,” agreed Zoz. “And I am instructed to repeat it until you know the details off by heart. There was a great division, one basically caused by the need of mankind in those days to build up ever more lucrative empires, one land ruling over many others, whether they liked it or not.”

“That seems a but selfish,” said Din, who knew all about selfishness.

“It was the way of your ancestors, and caused a great deal of both death and damage,” sighed Zoz. “And even though in our own enlightened age we might think it all very stupid and that lessons must swiftly have been learned and wars outlawed, that didn't happen. It was as if your species had a death wish!”

“And yours,” scowled Din, “you’re three quarters human, don’t forget!’

“Touché” nodded Zoz.

“Just remember that when you drag us down with your weasel words,” growled Din

Zoz eyed him suspiciously. He’d never been fond of the forthright and often offensive Din. Then he continued. “Terrible things happened,” he said, “things beyond belief. Armies of the young were sent against each other with powerful weapons that spat lead and death. People of your age, Din, and even younger, were mowed down like blades of grass in a field being trimmed. And when I say mowed down, they were killed in dreadful agony, the skies rent by the screams of the dying and the decomposition of the already dead. This, decided the Wise Council, must never happen again. Arguments should be solved by debate and discussion, conciliation and understanding...”

“And it never has,” whispered Els. “At least we live in an age when there is no fighting, no bloodshed, just young people being young and playing their games with no fear that they might be armed to the teeth and sent into battle at any minute.”

“There are some who suggest, sometimes, that it is not enough,” murmured Din, “I mean, what are we living for?”

Zoz eyed him with a frown. “Are you implying that you’d like to be marshalled into an army with like-minded men, and sent into battle to be shot, or if you’re lucky, merely wounded?” he asked.

Din’s eyes were unwavering when he replied “no, not war, not battle, not bloodshed and death, but purpose. What is our purpose? Find the answer to that and you might be able to help Cun!”

“Like in every age before you, it is to provide the next generation,” Zoz said firmly. “And to that end the Wise Council decided that the games you like playing time after time in the evenings are a preparation for your own sweet Michaelmas when the games are for real. Remember: there was a time when such games were illegal, frowned upon and even punished. But procreation is the purpose of your life here an Terraful. To reproduce yourselves so that there’s a future!”

“And nothing else?” asked a near-tearful Els, “and with all those years in which to do it?”

“There’s work,” pointed out Zoz.

“What? An hour-a-year to contribute to the national good, and then nothing until the next hour-a-year comes round.”

“Look at me,” muttered Zoz, “as a Perfectoid Teacher I have to work many long hours every single week of every single month...”

“And aren’t you lucky,” grunted Din, “don’t you think, great Zoz, that the Wise Council got it wrong? That we should have more to look forward to than a life of exhausting games? And if we don’t like it, the Asylum? Like Cun?”

“And all because of that word, the one she hates,” whispered Els, “all because she doesn’t want to be a cannibal.”

“They’ll cure her,” said Zoz confidently, “and she’ll come back to us sooner or later, keen to get on with it.”

“Keen to get on with death,” growled Din, “because this isn’t life, teacher Zoz, this isn’t life at all.”

© Peter Rogerson 20.04.19