The Day After . . .

4-The Eye of the Beholder

All male genies on the planet were drafted into Drakon's police force at birth, each raised as perfect soldiers in the perfect war, since they were the only army. Human females were left behind to run the planet on all levels, from manual labour to business to scientific applications. Once a year, a lottery was held to determine which two inhabitants would generate society's next soldier or worker. The pairings lasted only until conception and only as many pairings were allowed as criminal cases had been processed in the previous year. The results were then given to a communal raising centre, if they were fortunate enough to not be a male human or female genie.

Special Forces Officer 21-387 was one of the fortunate, placed in military care upon birth and raised into the Special Forces, assuming active duty upon his thirteenth birthday. Over the succeeding years, he served Drakon admirably in squadron 21. He obeyed orders, spoke when he was spoken to and thought what he was told to think. As was the assignment of all Special Forces officers, his duty was to enforce the laws. Any insurrection could mean defeat at the hands of the Alien Threat, destined to return, was to be immediately--and permanently--exterminated. He did this diligently, knowing that after the aliens had been defeated he would be well rewarded by the gentle Drakon.

Then, on the third day of the third month of his twentieth year, the call came that he had been chosen in the lottery. This was considered a great honour by all--the call to procreate the mighty Earthrace. He was brought to the Crucible, where the act was to take place. As one of approximately 175 men, he entered into a large stone chamber. Inside along the far wall were a series of doors seemingly leading nowhere in particular. Upon all four walls were painted large murals of females depicted in strange poses and dress. He had never seen anything quite like these women, but somehow the pictures pleased him in a strange way. Below the portraits were females much closer to those he was accustomed to. These were undressing each man and burning his clothes in a pyre at the centre of the room. Then before each man entered one of the doors at the far end, the women would perform the ritual of cleansing, pouring steaming water from the pot above the pyre over the man's head and reciting some type of prayer that he couldn't quite make out.

When his turn had come, Special Forces Officer 21-387 was stripped and led to a door. As the scalding stream poured over his head, he struggled to hear," All goodness comes from Drakon," over the sizzle of water boiling off his skin. He stepped forward and placed his hand before him to prevent himself from walking into the door ahead of him. As it was about to open he paused, slightly apprehensive about what may lie on the other side. In that instant it struck him that he had heard the women's prayer before, but, like something partially seen through a thick fog only to disappear as if it never existed, the thought passed, and he was inside a much smaller room. This room was all in white. The brightness of the colour blinded him as he struggled to make out any objects that might break its monotony. To his left he found a bed, but could barely make out its white sheets in the white room. Hoping to regain some semblance of reality he reached out for the bed only to fall into a seated position upon it. He clasped his sweaty hands over his closed eyes and savoured the precious blackness.

The blackness was cut by a click. The noise startled him, and his hands fell to his lap. Again blinded by the sudden whiteness, his eyes struggled, darting furtively around the room for whatever had stolen them from the dark. Almost instinctively, he found himself looking at a female closing a second door behind her. This one, however, was much more like one of those in the murals of the last room. Red-brown waterfalls cascaded down a face of softest ivory into two shimmering green pools below. His gaze followed the cascade to strawberry lips that called to his own without saying a word, and further to delicate curves that he wanted more than anything to reach out and touch, but would surely shatter if he did. More beauty than he had ever known sat upon pillars more beautiful than the ancient redwoods yet more delicate than a rare tropical flower. At once he knew that he was dead, and this was heaven, as the most precious of all the angels reached out to him with a hand much like his own, but so much more in its perfect form, like a exquisite ruby-tipped crystal. A foreign object moved to block his view. At first angered, he realized it was his own hand reaching for hers. When they touched, a calm rushed through his whole body even as a wave of passion struck him. They were suddenly together, and he and she ceased to exist, becoming one. As their union began, one final thought reached out to his mind: ". . . all goodness comes from Drakon . . .."