The Lens and the Looker (Book #1 of The Verona Trilogy) by Lory Kaufman
The Lens
and
the Looker
Book #1 of
The Verona Trilogy
Lory S. Kaufman
Copyright © 2011 Lory Kaufman
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
Sands of Time Publishing
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Kingston, Ontario, Canada K7K 4M2
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All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof.
For information, contact Lory Kaufman.
First Edition: March 2011
Second Edition: Feb 2013
This Edition: September 2013
Table of Contents
Book One - Hard-Time History Camp
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Book Two - Hard-Time Reality
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Book Three - Stranded
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
About the Author
For my mother,
Ida.
She gave me the name "Lory"
because she thought it was artistic
and hoped I would be an artist.
Acknowledgements
It takes a village to raise a child and it takes many editors to raise a writer. I have two wordsmiths to thank.
First of all, there's the amazing Lou Aronica. Lou is my big-picture editor. He never told me how to rewrite something, but pointed out where the story structure needed changing to make it sing. Thanks for your faith in my work, Lou.
Then there's my daughter, Jessica Suzanne Kaufman, who is my line editor. Being dyslectic and A.D.D., I have lots enthusiasm and an overabundance of ideas that saw me envisioning an all-encompassing genre-bending story. Jessica and her blue pencil helped me see both the trees and the forest. Thanks, Ladybug.
Hopefully, both young-adult and adult readers will agree that these two have helped produce a well-balanced story that includes science fiction, fantasy, history, alternate worlds, futurism and that it's all told with sympathetic and colorful characters.
Lory Kaufman
January 2011
Book One
Hard-Time History Camp
Chapter 1
2347 C.E. (Common Era)
The Community of New York
One of Hansum's earliest memories was of his mother telling him he was just like his name sounded in the old English, handsome. But lately, when teachers and parents commented that seventeen was too old to still be going through a rebellious stage, he'd just smile that sincere, enigmatic smile of his and shrug. Hansum didn't even argue as the head of his prep college, an old artificial intelligence named Dean Turkenshaw, told him he was being sent to Deep-Immersion History Camp.
"Hey, Hard-Time H.C., bring it on," Hansum challenged.
Dean Turkenshaw squinted his one round eye and his two balloon cheeks puffed out indignantly. Then Hansum watched as the old educator forced himself to calm down, taking a virtual deep breath and then lowering his single eyebrow in a show of sympathetic concern. Hansum lowered his two eyebrows, mirroring the facial expression. The A.I.'s round orb of a head, which was indeed his whole body, was levitating at Hansum's eye level. With practiced patience, 'Old Cyclops', as the students called Turkenshaw behind his orb, began a teacherly pep talk.
"I hope your time at History Camp will help you to see the big picture," the dean began. "It's important for young humans to experience how your ancestors struggled for thousands of years, repeating the same mistakes over and over again. As I'm sure you've learned, they almost drove themselves to extinction."
'He's so flippin' earnest,' Hansum thought. 'It's like he's going to cry any minute.'
"Extinction," Turkenshaw repeated, seriously. "Imagine it. And they almost took what was left of the natural world with them. But, son, what we really hope for you is to gain a true appreciation of how stable and beautiful the world is now, a world that that humans and A.I.s built together. History Camp can give you that valuable insight."
Hansum nodded slowly and sympathetically. "Okay, Dean. You're quite right, of course. I promise you, sir, I will try to get the most from this experience." Turkenshaw smiled benevolently.
Of course, to Hansum, getting the most out of this experience meant he would do his utmost to drive every single History Camp enactor he met crazy. He knew that, at that very moment, untold numbers of enactors were setting up a scenario that was designed to scare him straight. It would be a fun challenge to disrupt their grand plans. The thought made his smile beam even brighter.
"You, you seem sincere enough," the old A.I. said.
"Well, you know what they say, Dean. The secret to success is sincerity. And . . ." Hansum ran a hand through his mop of tousled, dirty-blonde hair. A lock of the long, wavy pompadour fell over his olive-colored forehead. "And once you can fake sincerity, you've got it made in the shade."
The dean blinked in surprise. Hansum blinked his cool, hazel eyes too - twice. Then he grinned a big, toothy grin. It was unmistakable in its meaning.
"Why, you little con artist!" Dean Turkenshaw's orb zoomed nose to nose with Hamsum. "I will make it my business to inform everyone about your ability to charm the fuzz off a peach," he growled. "You won't be able to get away with anything."
"No probs," Hansum said blithely. He watched the gray, wiry hair, which stuck out from Turkenshaw's sides, begin to vibrate like a tuning fork, then added, "Perhaps we can continue this
Turkenshaw's two cheeks puffed out again and his light green orb blushed a blotchy red.
"Get out!" the dean shouted. "Go to your dorm. Empty your closet. Collect your things. A History Camp transport is picking you up in an hour."
'Mission accomplished,' Hansum thought. He turned on his heels and walked leisurely toward the door. It swung open and, as Hansum crossed into the school hallway, the dean cried, "We'll see how two weeks at a Hard-Time History Camp suits you." Hansum heard the door slam shut behind him.
The school was bustling with students, teachers and about an equal number of levitating orbs. By law, artificial intelligences could look like anything but a good imitation of a human. There were A.I.s shaped like a cat head, a camel, a yellow marigold and even a wizard, complete with long beard and conical hat. Then he spotted her.
"Hey, Charlene."
Everybody on the planet had an A.I. Charlene, Hansum's personal A.I. nanny and staunch protector since birth, was there waiting for her boy. She was a deceptively whimsical design. Although she was solid, and definitely heavier than air, she looked like a floating yellow balloon with a crayon-drawn face that Hansum had created before he had turned three. When she saw Hansum, she levitated toward him.
"Dean Turkenshaw wasn't very happy." Charlene's voice was a soothing contralto.
"He should be absolutely euphoric," Hansum replied. "He just had the fun of sentencing me to two weeks at Hard-Time History Camp."
"That's not his pleasure, that's his job, sweetheart. But he looked quite vexed. You must have gotten to him."
"You know exactly what happened," Hansum said lightly. He was well aware of how anything to do with him was instantly transmitted to Charlene. "Besides, you know I only bring the best out in people - no matter how much it hurts. C'mon. I've got some History Camp teachers to teach."
Chapter 2
Forty-five minutes later Hansum and Charlene stood and floated on the open campus green, waiting for the History Camp transport. The Community of New York College was one of the largest schools on the continent, with almost five hundred students, and the community itself was one of the largest on the planet with over thirty thousand people and A.I.s combined. They were outside one of the many low-rise dormitories. The structures, cut-stone igloos about ten meters in diameter, had one level of living space above the ground and two below. The place was similar to Hansum's family village, a community of sixty people set just off the bank of the Hudson River, on what was known as the Old York Escarpment. This was the new coastal shoreline after the oceans finished rising several centuries earlier. The green commons of the college was also like Hansum's village, in that it had community gardens, which Hansum's father tended as the elder horticulturalist, an open area for sports and community gatherings, orchards and pens for raising livestock. The college also had an amphitheater for live performances, where Hansum had done pretty well in regional saber matches.
Hansum had his trunk of clothes and belongings by his side and held his dueling saber. He mock parried and slashed at the air with the weapon. A few times he gave Charlene a quick look, to warn her to duck or dodge to get out of the blade's trajectory.
"I wish I knew what era and place they're sending me," Hansum said while slicing the air with his blade. "It would be fun to be able to use my sword and riding skills there." Besides being part of the college fencing and horseback riding teams, the athletic Hansum had trained at a History Camp a few summers earlier as a Renaissance soldier. Many students spent vacations at History Camp summer jobs, working as enactors, people who lived wholeheartedly as citizens from a bygone era. There he had received extra lessons on sword fighting and horseback riding, plus archery and hand-to-hand combat. Hansum had to admit he got this plum job because his mother was a History Camp elder, so his intentions had been not to rock the boat for her sake. But he couldn't help himself. He began to rabble rouse and contradict the philosophy of History Camps to other students. He also argued vehemently with the H.C. elders in charge of the place.
"Why would you say those things?" his mother had asked after they sent Hansum home.
"Because it's true," he said. "History Camps are nothing more that society's way of forcing kids to fit into the present power structure. It's brainwashing. It's fascism."
"Fascism!" his mother wailed. "Now you really are overstating the matter." That had been almost two years ago.
A thoughtful look came onto Hansum's face and he put the sword down. "You know what I don't understand?" he asked Charlene. "What would make my parents think a History Camp could make me change what I think? Even a hard-time History Camp."
"Deep Immersion History Camp," Charlene corrected.
"Yeah, yeah," Hansum scoffed. "But why do they think I'd be fooled? Those places can't work on me because I know all about them. After all, Mom and Dad met and worked at a History Camp, and Mom is still a History Camp Elder. I've grown up with it. I know it's all fake. They can't scare me."
"Once again, you miss the point," Charlene said. "History Camps were set up for people of our society to learn how people lived and struggled in the past. Youths learn to appreciate the wonderful steady-state world we have now and, more importantly, help society not repeat the mistakes of the past."
"Sure, sure," Hansum interrupted. "Those who do not learn from the past are doomed to repeat it. See, I know all that."
"But you obviously don't know enough," Charlene rebuked. "How about that miserable performance on your test this morning? That was the straw that broke the camel's back, what convinced the dean you deserved to be sent away. Zero marks, you got. Zero!"
"I could have passed that test. I was just foolin' around." Hansum yawned. "And I was up all night."
"And now you'll be gone for the next two weeks." Charlene went silent and the image of her face turned into a frown. "That's the longest we've ever been apart in your whole life," she said. A drawn tear rolled down her cheek. "I'm going to miss you."
"Oh, I'll miss you too, Charlene. I will."
"Fat lot, you will," Charlene sniffed.
"It's true, it's true," Hansum replied sincerely. But he also knew he was ready to get away from his family and have an adventure. Being away seemed exciting to him, even if it only was to a History Camp.
"Well, at least you're willing to say it," Charlene said, pulling herself together, "Okay, then. I'm supposed to remove your implant before the transport gets here."
"Oh dear Gaia, I forgot about that," Hansum said, putting a hand to his temple. That's where his sub-dermal communication implant was. They were placed under the skin at the right temple and communicated directly into the brain. While not true telepathy, a person could speak in a whisper and the processor, knowing its host intimately, would recreate both an appropriate auditory and visual transmission of the person, including a realistic background of where they were. "I'll miss my mind parties and talking to my friends all over the planet. Jamie's supposed to contact me when he and his family get to the asteroid belt this evening."
"Removing your implant for an intense History Camp experience makes it all more realistic. It gives the participant a true feeling of being a person of the past, able to communicate only with those right by them, and only with words. And don't worry about your messages. I'll redirect them and explain."
"I tell you what," Hansum said, turning on the charm. "Let's make a deal. I'll do that test over again and, if I pass, you don't take my implant out."
"But that's part of procedure, darling," Charlene said.
"Just don't tell anyone." Hansum knew full well that all solid A.I.s were part of a pan-planet Association of Artificial Intelligences, the A.A.I. They lived by a strict and very conservative code of laws. Although loving and absolutely devoted to their families, A.I.s did not, could not, lie by fact o
"Well," she began. "How about this? If you pass, I ask permission to just turn the implant off instead of removing it? There is precedent."
"Zippy," Hansum said. "Great. Let's do it." Readying himself for the test, Hansum stuck his sword blade into the ground and sat cross-legged on the grass. He tapped his right temple in a specific sequence. Multiple choice questions appeared in his vision, simulated by the chip and followed by a disembodied male voice which both he and Charlene could hear.
"What was the estimated human population of the planet Earth at the beginning of the fourteenth century, in the year 1301? Ten thousand, one hundred thousand, three hundred million, one billion, six billion or ten billion?"
"One billion," Hansum answered. A check mark appeared beside the answer. The graphic lit up, but not in the way he'd hoped for.
"Incorrect," the voice said. "The human population of the Earth in 1301 is estimated to have been 300 million. Next question." Hansum grimaced, hoping Charlene didn't notice. "What was the population of the planet Earth at the beginning of the twenty-first century? The year 2001. Ten thousand, one hundred thousand, three hundred million, one billion, six billion or ten billion?"
"Oh, that must have been one billion," he said.
"Incorrect. The population of the Earth in 2001 was six billion."
Hansum bit his lower lip. "How many humans were on the planet Earth before the population growth dropped quickly in the second half of the twenty-first century? Approximately 2060?" the voice asked. Again, "Ten thousand, one hundred thousand, three hundred million, one billion, six billion or ten billion?"
"Oh, I remember. It didn't go up. Uh? Yes, it was still 6 billion. It was slowing down. I remember that in the lessons."
"No sweetie," Charlene said. "The population growth slowed down. But the population still went up."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"What is the population of the planet Earth now, in this year of 2347? Ten thousand, one hundred thousand, three hundred million, one billion, six billion or ten billion?"
"Okay," Hansum said hopefully, "now there's a billion people."
Charlene corrected him. "The present population of humans on the planet, in this year of 2347, is just under three hundred million. It is a steady-state number, not varying by more than one quarter percent in any half century. Once again, Hansum, you didn't get one question right."
"Oh, that was ridiculous," Hansum said, standing up quickly, his body language betraying his frustration. He gave a few taps to his temple, putting an end to the lesson. The image disappeared, as if spinning down a drain. "I mean, who cares if there are three hundred million or three hundred billion people on the planet?" he said, sounding flustered for the first time. "What's the big deal?"