Topic: The Triad of the Past Futures (Read 48 times)

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Have you ever dreamed to guide a character through the book the way you want it? If yes, well, let’s do it. If not, just relax and follow the story as a passive reader.

From now on, in this thread of the forum, the book will be published periodically in parts. Each publication (let’s call it “forking”) will have at some point three branches (three different directions for the development of the plot of the book / the main character). Everyone has a chance to influence the direction of the story by donating BTC (Bitcoin) to a designated address (each branch of a particular fork will have a unique btc address). At a specific time, the author will determine the total amount in each address of the fork and choose in which direction to continue the story. So, if you want to influence the story – participate, if not – just follow the flow. There is no minimum amount for donation (consider only the btc network restrictions for the minimum transaction amount).

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At the dawn of the third millennium the golden era of scientific and technological progress gave mankind the opportunity to rise to unprecedented heights. Genetic engineering, space exploration and the widespread implementation of AI had all contributed to the ground-breaking improvement and optimization of all aspects of human civilization. The fundamental problems of starvation and scarcity of resources, which had been exacerbated in the 21st century, were eventually resolved by the breakthrough in the nuclear fusion. Mankind finally found a way to synthesize food and rare elements on an industrial scale from substances widespread in nature.

The heavy shackles that had previously fettered mankind had finally fallen, and humanity surrendered itself to the alluring embrace of the demographic carousel. The rapid growth of the population had forced mankind to search for new habitats. And within a couple hundred years, there was not a single piece of land left on the Earth that would not have been inhabited by man. There were no more snowy deserts of Antarctica, deadly sands of the Sahara or the impenetrable jungle of the Amazon. Faced with the natural limit of settlement on the surface of the Earth, mankind shifted its gaze to the ocean depths, the Moon and Mars. The first underwater, lunar and Martian colonies soon began to emerge.

In the coming years the steady growth of the population had begun to trigger the outbreaks of local military conflicts in various parts of the world. The reason for these conflicts was not the struggle for food or resources, which had long faded into the background, but the rivalry for living space. It didn’t take long for local conflicts to escalate into regional civil strife, regional civil strife into interstate wars. Like the plague, these bloody conflicts spread rapidly from one region to another, enveloping continents one after another, and soon the entire planet was shrouded in their scarlet veil. Global military conflict, long hanging over human civilization like a storm cloud, had finally struck the drums of time. Thousands of thermonuclear bombs had unleashed their apocalyptic sword on the surface of the Earth, destroying tens of billions in a matter of hours. And those who survived the first wave of death were doomed to what was soon to come.

In the following decades, the thick radioactive clouds that covered the Earth were slowly and methodically killing all those who managed to survive the guillotine of nuclear war. Even those fools who unleashed this fateful war and hoped to wait out the consequences in the depth of their bunkers did not succeed. Their hopes of surviving in their golden cages were shattered into smithereens against the harsh hammer of inevitable retribution.

Mankind, which had dominated the Earth for many millennia, was on the verge of extinction. A few underwater, lunar and Martian colonies were the only thin threads that kept humanity from repeating the sad fate of the dinosaurs. But it was only a matter of time before the harsh echo of nuclear war reached these last strongholds of human civilization.

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The Earth was suffocating in the deadly embrace of the radioactive plague and life on the surface was slowly fading away. In the depths of the ocean, the underwater colonies were protected from the deadly gaze and poisonous breath of radiation, nevertheless they were also struggling to survive. Prior the judgment day, the colonies were supplied with most of the food and resources they needed to maintain their existence underwater from the surface world. When the colonies found themselves cut off from their umbilical cord, they had no choices but either to adapt to the new conditions of their autonomous existence or to follow the fate of the surface world and perish away. Of more than thirty underwater colonies, only three had managed to adapt and survive. These last specks of mankind gave birth to a new species, Homo Subaquas, marking the beginning of a new era, the Age of the Underwater World.


There was an unbearable din in the mechanical room. Bronco, a junior mechanic of the 9th TASOR (Technical area sector of the Outer Ring) of the Northern Metropolis, leaned cautiously over the body of the main mechatargetor and, slightly lifting the protective cover, looked inside. The main axis was distorted again because of turbulence, Bronco quickly established the cause of the noise with his expert eye and looked at the watch. It was 98:XIX. There were only two cycles left until the end of his shift. Switching to a backup stream and stopping the mechatargetor for such type of repair would take at least ten cycles. There was no way he could make it before the closure of the main gateway, so he would have to spend another vacation in the barracks of the technical area. Bronco winced just thinking about it.

“Not this time,” he said decisively and lowered the visor of his helmet, stepping back a couple of meters from the mechatargetor body. He quickly looked around, eyeballing any hazardous objects, and then stretched out his left hand, aiming at the center of the mechatargetor. Bronco took a deep breath and activated the accelerator of the hydrosonic glove, which, emitting an unpleasant warning beep, began to glow. Bronco was aware of all the risks regarding the venture he was about to embark but eagerness and excitement got the better of him. He slowly exhaled and slightly moved his left fist forward… A sharp metallic clatter broke the hum of the mechanical room, and then the silence.

Bronco, who had unwittingly squeezed his eyes, cautiously opened the left one. Nothing had changed in the room, except the unusual silence which made his hair stand on end. He least expected to hear it. Bronco instinctively disengaged the accelerator of the glove and leans towards the pressure sensor at the bottom of the mechatargor, the needle began to creep upwards. He glanced at the emergency red beacon above the entrance, the siren did not go off. So, the main circuit hadn’t been interrupted yet and there was still time for a hot restart of the mechatargetor, immediately flashed through Bronco’s head. But that meant he would have to go for broke.

There was no time for hesitation, Bronco firmly pressed his left fist against the mechatargetor and flipped the switch to activated the accelerator of the hydrosonic glove. His heart was beating wildly. A fraction of a second before the fateful push, something made Bronco shift his gaze to the pressure sensor. The needle twitched, froze for a moment, and then began slowly to sink to the bottom. At the same time, a dull grinding sound came from the mechatargetor and the monotonous hum of the working machine filled the silence of the mechanical room. As never before this hum was so pleasant for Bronco’s hears. He breathed a sigh of relief and turned off the accelerator on the glove, slowly sinking down onto the dirty floor of the mechanical room.

Only now Bronco realized the gravity and criticality of the situation, the consequences of which he had miraculously managed to avoid. He lifted the visor of his helmet and wiped the sweat on his forehead.

“Base nine to RD thirty-sixth, what is the mechatargetor status?” suddenly came out from his wrist radio. Bronco, drifting deep down in his thoughts, startled.

“RD thirty-sixth to base nine, mechatargetor is green,” he responded after a short pause.

“We’ve just recorded an abnormal pressure spike.”

“Probably some turbulence.”

“It doesn’t look like one. The spike has triggered the emergency closure of the main gateway.”

Bronco’s pupils dilated, turning his green eyes as dark as the deeps of the ocean.

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Thousands of years had passed since the Day the surface of the Earth was drowned in the insatiable fire of nuclear war. The only Martian colony, located in the northern part of the Isis plain, had managed to survive. Moreover, the descendants of the Earthlings over the next millennia populated almost all parts of the red planet, thanks to the discovery of the subatomic energy shield technology. This breakthrough technology had allowed the Martians to build enormous air-filled hemispheres, tens, and later in time, hundreds of kilometers in diameter, completely isolated from the hostile environment of the red planet. Within these enormous domes, people had recreated the ecosystem of the Earth as it was in the early 22nd century, making it possible for mankind to flourish in harmony and abundance on the new planet.

However, the history of mankind has a tendency to develop in a spiral. Greed and lust for power, so deeply rooted in our genes, eventually bore fruit, and humanity once again plunged into the abyss of annihilating war.


In the depths of the Capitoline Park of the Imperial Citadel a man in his thirties was sitting on a small yellow bench. His pale complexion gave him away as a Linrifian, but his jet-black hair hinted at Calpari roots, making him a half-blood. It was an unusual combination, given the uniform he wore and his rank as the captain of the Imperial Guard. His blue eyes, prematurely surrounded by fine wrinkles, looked at the branches of a huge willow, in the shade of which he took refuge from the midday heat. A lone yellowed leaf was fluttering like a butterfly on one of the half-withered branches of the tree. Refusing to accept the inevitable, it continued to fight for life, tirelessly resisting the ruthless gusts of wind.

Lost in his own thoughts, the captain did not notice an elderly man had appeared on the park alley. The bright blue clothing he was wearing and a four-pointed star tattoo on his forehead indicated the man belonged to the lorger class. Breathing heavily and constantly looking back, the lorger ran along the park alley. The bench on which the captain sat was surrounded by thick foliage and covered with the shade of the willow. Therefore, the old man had spotted the captain of the Imperial Guard only when he came abreast with the bench. The lorger screamed loudly and shielded away from the bench like he had just saw a ghost. He caught on the curb of the footpath and fell to the ground.

“Have mercy,” pleaded the lorger, backing away from the captain. “I beg you, have mercy.”

During the entire scene, not a single muscle flinched on the captain’s face, and only his hand instinctively found the saber hilt in a split of a second. The captain took his eyes away from the yellow leaf and looked at the lorger. There was such terror in the old man’s eyes that the captain felt a little uneasy for a second.

 At the same time, several soldiers of the Argivars Guild appeared at the far end of the park alley. One of them spotted the lorger and shouted loudly, pointing in his direction. The old man, no doubt, could hear the voices of his pursuers, but did not move, still lying on the ground and staring at the captain in a daze.

It didn’t take long for the pursuers to catch up with the lorger. Like a pack of wolves, the argivars surrounded their prey and began to kick the old man with amusement, not noticing the captain sitting in the shadows of the willow.

“What’s going on,” said the captain, until this moment watching the scene unfolded before his eyes in silence.

The soldiers shuddered in surprise, immediately forgetting about the lorger. As soon as they spotted the captain of the Imperial Guard sitting on the bench nearby, the argivars all as one stood stiffly at attention.

“We are punishing the thief,” reported one of the soldiers.

“Since when do we treat lorgers like slaves and punish them without any trial?” the captain asked rhetorically.

The argivars were silent. The captain got up from the bench and walked over to the old man, who was lying unconscious on the ground.

“Who gave the order?” asked the captain.

“I gave the order,” came a voice from behind the captain. “First lieutenant of the eastern Argivars corps, Pass…”

“Passius Vallady,” the captain interrupted without turning towards the speaker.

A man in his thirties, who had just arrived at the scene, got befuddled hearing his name from the officer of the Imperial Guard who even wasn’t looking at him. It was well known among the argivars that if an imperial guardsman knew you by name that was not a good sign for sure. The lieutenant looked at the argivars but they were even more confused than their commander. Tension has filled the air.

Suddenly, the captain’s stern expression changed into a smile, and he turned towards Passius.

“I bet you almost crap your pants, lieutenant?” the captain spread his arms for a friendly hug.

“Tyates, is it you?” the lieutenant breathed a sigh of relief and his pale face melted into a smile. “I haven’t seen you for ages, when have you returned?”

“A couple days ago.”

The two hugged like good old friends. The soldiers, as before, standing at attention, had their jaw dropped.

“We definitely have a lot to catch up over the pint of plyve,” as if by chance, Passius hooked a purple medal on the captain’ chest with his finger.

The old man begun to come to his senses and groaned weakly.

“What a lynching by your wolves,” Tyates face became serious and he nodded towards the lorger.

“Why lynching?” Passius took a folded piece of paper out his chest pocket and handed it to Tyates. “The Imperial Directive number 4284/23K: Every lorger caught stealing within the Imperial Citadel shall be sentenced to death by hanging.”

Tyates looked at the paper but didn’t reach for it. He just waved his hand, letting Passius know that he had taken his word for it.

“While you were fighting the Minarians on the northern borders, a lot has changed here,” Passius put the paper back in his pocket.

 “Well, move it!” Passius turned to the argivars, nodding towards the lorger. “Get him out of here.”

The soldiers didn’t move. They looked at Tyates, who was far superior to their commander, and waited for his decision. The captain silently waved his hand and turned his back to the old man. In the blink of an eye the argivars picked up the lorger and dragged him away.

“Don’t take it into your head! There is no other way with them,” – Passius patted the captain on the shoulder. “We definitely have a lot to catch up on. Tonight at 9, at our usual place?”

Tyates nodded his head. The lieutenant waved goodbye and followed the argivars. The captain glanced at the willow’s branch. The yellow leaf was gone…

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Despite all the efforts, mankind had failed to inhabit the surface of the Moon. Deadly cosmic radiation and toxic lunar dust made the living conditions so harsh that even such adaptive creatures as humans were forced to give up. The inhabitants of the first moon colony had no choice but to leave the surface and go deep down into the bowels of the moon.

It took more than one century before a fully-fledged underground city with a complex multi-level structure and an extensive system of service tunnels had appeared under the remains of the first moon colony. As time passed, the population continued to grow and new underground cities were founded. Over the next few millennia, a multiplex network of spherecentric underground cities had expanded over a vast area, stretching from the Ocean of Storms in the west to the Sea of Fertility in the east, from the Lake of Death in the north to the Marsh of Epidemics in the south.

The military leadership that governed the first lunar colony eventually had transformed into a hereditary monarchy, with each city having its own monarch called Ekkhur. The relationships between the cities were based on the principles of vassalage. The founding city – Civus Primus – was ruled by the Supreme Ekkhur and had absolute power over the rest, which played the role of vassal cities.

Over the time, some of the eastern and northern cities overthrew their monarchs and proclaimed their sovereignty from the metropolitan power. These cities united in their fight for independence. By the end of the bloodiest war in the history of the Moon, only a small number of cities had managed to withstand their ground. But that was enough for the first Martian Republic to appear on the map.


The lecture was drawing to a close. With his arms crossed over his chest, the professor was unhurriedly walking back and forth along the long gallery of benches that towered above him in several semicircular tiers. His deep monotonous bass, enhanced by a speech amplifier and well resonated off the hectoplasmic panels of the demonstration screen, reigned in the lecture hall unchallenged.

One of the students, sitting on the topmost tier of the packed auditorium, yawned listlessly. At first glance, this young man in his early twenties with curly brown hair and deep blue eyes looked no different from the rest of the students of the Sensory Psychology Faculty of the Karkigin University. But upon a closer look, a sophisticated eye could read in his gaze and demeanor something strange and outlandish that was uncommon for an ordinary student. Only two people in the auditorium knew the reason of this slightly noticeable peculiarities, the young man was none other than Prince Dju Tukka, heir to the throne of the Trantadian metropolis. The young man yawned once again and glanced furtively at his watch. It was 3:45.

“…as one might guess, the absence of the features mentioned above among the behavioral patterns of our predecessors can mean only one thing,” the lecturer was continuing his speech monotonously, when all of a sudden, his voice had changed dramatically. “And what is the time?”

The professor suddenly stopped, closed his eyes and lowered his head to his chest. The quiet whispering among the students on the upper tiers, until then drowned out by the lecturer’s deep bass, had filled the auditorium for a moment, but quickly broke off. Complete silence hung over the lecture hall.

Dju decided to take advantage of this short break in the lecture and leaned forward. He looked down at the lowest tier, searching for someone among the students. His eyes landed on a girl with light brown hair wearing a purple dress. The girl seemed to feel his gaze and looked up. Dju smiled awkwardly and blew her a kiss, but the girl rolled her eyes with annoyance and looked away.

 “So, what is the time, citizen Dju Tukka?” the lecturer said loudly, keeping his eyes closed.

Dju stiffened in surprise when he heard the professor called his name. He exchanged glances with his friend Lerpt who sitting next to him. Lerpt shrugged his shoulders in bewilderment and eloquently made a cuckoo sign. Suddenly, an invisible gust of air hit Dju in the face, causing goosebumps over his body and sweat on his forehead.

“Am I speaking some dialect you don’t understand, citizen Dju Tukka?” the lecturer continued his questioning.

“No, professor Tzamor”, Dju stand up and said loudly, clearing his throat.

Some of the students was staring at the lecturer in bewilderment, the other turned their questioning glances at Dju.

“So, what is the time?” the professor repeated his question for the third time and finally opened his eyes.

Dju looked at his watch as the bell rang to end the lecture. The professor waved his hand, letting students know that the lecture was over. Immediately, the students chatter had flooded the lecture hall. Dju slowly sank back onto the bench, keeping his eyes on the watch. It was 3:45. He tapped his finger on the watch screen.

“You coming or what?” Lerpt patted him on the shoulder.

“What is the time?” Dju asked, still looking at his watch.

“Is it contagious or you just mocking me?”

“My watch seems to be acting up.”

Lerpt shook his head and, without a word, headed to the staircase leading to the lower tier. The last digit on the Dju’s watch blinked and changed to 6. Dju scratched his head in confusion. Suddenly, recalling something he leaned forward and looked at the lower tier. The girl in the purple dress was already by the exit. Dju quickly packed his things and rushed to the staircase. He caught up with the girl at the wide hallway connecting several lectures halls together.

“Alkiliya, wait,” Dju called out the girl.

“What do you want,” she replied coldly, turning towards him.

“Come on,” Dju adjusted gently one of the locks of her long beautiful hair that had fallen over her forehead. “You know that I couldn’t come yesterday. I’ve told you.”

The stern gaze of the girl’s huge brown eyes softened, but her plump scarlet lips were still pouting. Dju gently pulled her to him and enveloped her in his arms, whispering something in her ear. The girl’s pale cheeks blushed, and a barely perceptible smile appeared on her face. Suddenly, Alkiliya’s face changed and she pushed Dju away. He gave her a puzzled frown. The girl nodded towards a tall, well-built man in his forties, who was standing by a huge statue near the entrance to one of the auditoriums and was watching the couple.

“Your uncle,” said Alkiliya, adjusting her hair.

Dju looked at the man in annoyance, letting him know with his eyes that it was not the right time. Even so, the uncle had nodded his head insistently, inviting Dju to come up to him. Dju rolled his eyes and turned to the girl.

“Give me a couple of minutes,” he tenderly kissed Alkiliya on the cheek and walked towards his uncle. In fact, this well-dressed man, whose face was adorned with a pair of scars, was his bodyguard. But Dju always introduced him to his friends as his uncle to avoid unnecessary questions.

“Axime, I told you many times not to come here,” Dju whispered irritably, side gazing at Alkilia.

“Master Dju, you know, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t absolutely necessary,” the man replied in a pronounced Tapparian accent, typical of northern cities. “I have orders to get you to Trantadia urgently.”

Dju sensed right away in his rocky voice, usually calm and steady, that something was wrong.

“Has anything happened to my father?” asked Dju, as his heart started to pump up. The man shook his head negatively. Dju breathed a sigh of relief: “How urgent?”

Axime pointed toward the tunnel leading to the northern capsule of the city center.

“What? Right now?” exclaimed Dju.

“Our sources have learned about the planned conspiracy against your father,” said Axime, lowering his voice. “You are no longer safe in Karkigin.”

Dju rub his forehead: “Ok. Just give me a minute”.

He turned towards Alkiliya, but she had already gone.

“She seems nice,” said Axime. Dju gave him a crooked smile as they headed towards a narrow tunnel that connected the university to the ninth level of the central capsule of the Karkigin city.


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