Hi all you great Steemians!! I'm Serializing my First Novel, AJAX Tarnished (Book 1 of the AJAX Chronicles). I am going to post the entire 236 Page Novel on Steemit and emblazon it on the Blockchain!! I hope you enjoy... you will start with the Prologue below and you should expect subsequent Chapters to be posted every few days.
Please enjoy, upvote if you like what you read and please resteem to provide extra visibility for other Steemians that may enjoy it. I would love to see your feedback on it!
BOOK 1: AJAX TARNISHED.
Prologue: The Curie Institute – Instructive Orders
The musty dimness filled Kyle's nostrils and he breathed it in with a sigh of relief... this was like home to him. He had only been an Acolyte for a short while, but the High Curator was already requesting his promotion. He threw the switch and watched the bulb of the old lamp blaze into brightness... these old trinkets always astonished him. He had taken this position to study these relics and see what made them so important. Unfortunately this was not a museum, and the public would not see these items. Not that he really cared whether everyone could see them or not. He was just content to be around these wonderful artifacts and to write down their uses and functional structure.
"Now they want me to move up in the ranks, but I'd much rather stay right here." There was nobody around to listen to his words. "Yeah, I know it would be good for my career. I don't really care for those things though. I just want... no, stop interrupting me." He breathed in heavily and jotted down 'mid-corded with copper wire, dual-braided, pegged and pin-spliced' into the hard-bound journal on his desk.
A knock on the edge of the door buzzed at him, but he ignored it. A second knock echoed through his ears. He closed his eyes in irritation, but ignored that knock as well. Just as he was leaning back to his work, the intruder began to thud at the door with an obnoxious, angry series of knocks. Kyle sighed irritably and reached over to flip the latch… sometimes it was good that the massive research desk, all formed from the same Teak Wood Tree, rested against the wall next to the door. With the desk set that closely to the door, he could just lean over at these inopportune times. The door swung outward on hinges that crooned painfully in his ears. He flinched at the sound and turned to see who it was.
A thick man with a tightly-oiled, triangle beard framed the doorway. Kyle didn't really know him any more than he knew the High Curator himself... but, then again, he didn't really care who the man was. A scowl on the man's pointy features, a tightening at the corners of his mouth, did nothing to improve the man’s normal harshness. His fluid words sounded funny against his odd accent and throaty voice as he declared, "A message for you… from Sibilante." There was almost anger in the man's voice.
Kyle motioned with his hand, looking over the top of his spectacles. He often forgot that he wore the small round pieces of glass against his eyes while he performed his researching and archiving. “Just drop the message there Parris.” He knew how jealous that Parris became when he was passed over for things or when he perceived special treatment.
The man – Parris – was built large, with muscles that were more predominant against his robes than any other man he had seen in quite some time. The Curie Institute wasn’t a sprawling palace, nor was it a large complex, but it was populated with at least 500 people, and none of the others came close to the scary strength that Parris Leningard exhibited. It wasn’t like everyone that lived there was a wimpy scholar with arms like noodles; but Parris towered and intimidated.
“I was told,” Parris said, “that I was to give this message into your hand personally. Into your HAND.” The man’s teeth ground loudly even though his lips were tightly compressed. He leaned in threateningly and stuffed the wad of paper into Kyle’s unsuspecting grip.
Parris grunted as if waiting for something. Kyle looked up at him and said, “Thank you for the message. Is there anything else that you need?”
The man grunted again and spun on his heels. “No, sir,” he responded. He stomped out and slammed the door behind him, glaring the entire time.
Kyle watched the door close behind the man before he tore open the envelope and began to read the message inside. When he was done, he sighed regretfully, unplugged the gas lamp, and stuffed the note in the inside pocket of his robe. Rising from his chair he grabbed up his Curator Manual and left his room. He locked his door back and headed down the hall towards the Offices of the Magistrates. His feet shuffled and his eyes were downcast for the entire walk there, as if he was on his way to be hanged. A short, stout woman with blue-tinged hair met his gaze when he entered the anteroom.
“Do you have an appointment?” the lady asked him discourteously. When he nodded, she just harrumphed and pointed at a row of 6 chairs. She leaned back to her desk as soon as he was seated.
He remembered the last time he had been summoned. It had taken nearly 2 hours before he was seen. This time, he came prepared so that he didn’t collapse from boredom and nerves. Pulling out the small manual he flipped it to the Histories Section and began to read it for what must have been the fiftieth time.
“At the turn of the Millennium, the rising powers of the Multi-National Government (MNG) found that society was in turmoil. This agency determined that the continued use of Atomic and Sub-Fusion Technologies would soon tear the world apart. Turning to top-level scientists and engineers, these technologies were abandoned. Chemical and Alternative Technologies were turned to in order to repair the deepening fissures between societies and cultures. Over the subsequent decades of effort by these governmental agencies, languages and ideas merged as the ‘True Age’ progressed.
“The rules and regulations of the MNG, as stated in the Constitution of the Lands, were thereby written down as the Histories and were retained in a single location – The Curie Institute of the Past. The Curie Institute was mankind’s second true attempt to collect the vast knowledge, artifacts, and truths of the world in a localized place. The first such attempt could be credited by the Biblical Personage of Noah. Noah’s Ark, where the God of the First Era’s King James Christian Bible presented Noah and his family with the challenge of collecting knowledge and artifacts in the form of the male and female gender of every known species in the world. Thus during the Great Floods would these animal species be kept safe.
Then came the Years of Dissemination, where the information and knowledge of ages long past were hidden away. The only group of people to have access to this information called themselves the CareTakers. The subsequent generations of CareTakers were all fostered from a single ascendant line dating back to the Originals. The CareTakers did their jobs well and all of the knowledge of the past was subverted, technological advances were guided away from the destructive sciences, and were pointed towards sciences of the natural world.
Now, 140 years after the creation of the Curie Institute, the Curators still watch over the safety and tranquility of the Lands. The New Militia, a blend of governmental agents and military-minded peace-keepers stayed the course and guided the Divergents as they found a variety of methods to curb the questions from the Original Thinkers and the Modernists.”
_ “You may enter now,” said the receptionist. Her voice was annoyed but he gave her the best knowing smile that he could give._
He pushed the door open and entered the room… it was nearly identical to his previous visit, with small statues at each corner that made him feel creepy. After a gesture from the aged man behind the ornate desk, he flopped himself sullenly into the encompassing chair. Breathing deeply, he asked the man, “High Curator, why have you summoned me? The summons was vague and unclear.”
The man cracked wrinkled knuckles and wheezed out with a long, low hiss of breath. His eyes were small and seemed nearly covered by the mass of creases that lined his forehead and cheeks. His slow drawling voice was low, raspy. “As you know, we have been looking into certain aspects of a virus that seem to be spreading through several cities.”
“A virus, High One?” Kyle asked with confusion.
“Yes, it is a disease that wastes away the body and kills indiscriminately. We have been quarantining these cities to fix this problem.”
“And what do you need of ME in this?”
The old man pursed his lips and squinted. He turned his head away and paused in thought for long moments. When he spoke, his voice was distant, “You have been long trained in certain techniques to suppress the evils of the world.”
The words continued in a droning flow and Kyle breathed harder and harder, eyes wide in a mix of anger and fear. He closed his eyes and felt the desperation welling up in him. He wanted to wail in despair as the realization slowly crept up in him that he would never be able to return to his studies.