----------------------CHAPTER I-TO CATCH A TRAIN------------------------------

It's a strange point in the future of human history. Somewhere close to the twenty ffith century. It's all too comfortable now. It's almost repulsive. And with comfort comes a price. No need to channel perseverance or to cultivate satisfaction. It's all right here at our fingertips. Lightning fast subways and trams roam about the networks filled with the dirt and squalor of the daily men and women that go about their lives in a city where it all began. And among them is our main character for the day. He does not have a name.

He chooses to change it each day. Sometimes to suit his tie, some days to suit his favorite energy drink, some days to suit his preferred phone brand. He has forgotten his true name. It's become so simple now. Simply pay a fee at the nearest sub station to an external server and it will change your name and all your references from all existing databases. In the past, if you were to meet his mother, she would tell you that she had named him William Pryce. He's standing with a calloused face and a briefcase containing some rather important contents, crucial to his 'satisfaction' and livelihood. A banner with the words 'Be complacent, Be a consumer' flashes before his eyes at the train line ten feet away. He scoffs his face lightly as the station lights shimmer on the sidewalks against the evening sun. It's not even a real sun, just a large photo emitter that lost its attention a long time ago.

And it seems that William is about to enter the B12 train route that heads all the way to Austenville. It's a six hour ride, not that anyone on the train notices anymore since they're all immersed into their online profiles the entire time.

He takes out a train route map to confirm the train's destination when he's caught back by a service policeman.

"Hold up for a moment, Sir", he says, "I need to inspect your luggage and your bag."

William nervously fidgets at first, then hands him a special name tag with his facial image, "I'm a salesperson, I operate on these routes mostly to sell people the additives."

The policeman stands back and lets him enter as a voice echoed throughout the entire compartment- "Train B12. Currently at Orville. Next destination Austenville."

He scans through the train seats and finds most of them occupied with people glued to their phones and laptops. He decides to head towards the nearest lavatory, brushing past seat handles and looking at the interior magenta decor.

Inside the lavatory, he opens his briefcase and takes out a syringe like apparatus, the size of a gun, and empties two vials named 'carbohydrates' and 'proteins' straight to his veins. His lunch was over. He looked at his face in the lavatory mirror and prepped himself a bit. Dabbing some powder to improve his weak complexion and injecting a wrinkle suppressant to make himself look a bit younger. There was a graffiti symbol of a green thumb behind him on the wall and he looked at it with affirmation. He had chosen this particular lavatory for a reason.

His foot kicked the sink and out came packets filled with syringe vials just like the ones in his briefcase all marked 'Supplements'. He filled them in his briefcase and adjusted his tie.

Then he came out and started to span the corridor. He places the tag on his neck and begins to shout with assertive authority- "SUPPLEMENTS. GET YOUR SUPPLEMENTS. ALL THAT YOU NEED FOR A THREE COURSE MEAL ALL SUMMED UP IN YOUR FAVORITE VIALS.GET YOUR SUPPLEMENTS."

The people on board stop their finger tapping and call William as he distributes the vials and collects money for different sets. One of the women on board asks- "Why didn't you just inform us about these vials on our social media channels like you normally do? Nobody shouts out anymore you know?"

William looked intrepid and continues the same salesman pitch hoping to grab a certain someone's attention. By another hour, the entire train had ordered the vials and William seated himself at the end of the first compartment with a curious gaze strolling the aisle, hoping to see someone. It was his wife, seated a few seats ahead. She had procured a mental visor and an electronic glass and seemed to be talking to her coworkers.

He calls her,"Martha?"

"William. Well isn't this a pleasant surprise. And it's not Martha anymore. I've changed my name you see."

"Is that so? What are you doing on this train? Where are you headed?"

"I've got to buy a new condo in Drex City. How are you holding up?"

William looks at her weak white face. He could remember how beautiful she was even on the day when she divorced him.

"I'm doing fine. Honestly I've had a few revelations as such."

"Really. About what?"

"About how it's all condensed to living in front of a screen now. Nothing seems the way it was like in the past."

"Oh William. We've got all the comfort we need. What's there to cry about the past really. No need to get too nostalgic. Have you been taking your drugs lately?"

"See the thing is....."

Martha goes back to her conversation on the visor and almost loses her focus on William. He felt a little dehumanized. A person no more. He seats himself back at a vacant seat and feels his pant pocket vibrate. It's someone's call. At first he fears picking up, afraid that he'll start browsing again indefinitely and finally picks up.

A muffled voice spoke at the other end.

"Has it been done?", the voice asked.

"The people have their vials. But how did you make them exactly like the ones I sell?"

"All in good time, brother. You said you wanted the ultimate potion right? I'm here in the second compartment. Come meet me."

-------------CHAPTER II-THE MAN WITH THE GREEN THUMB--------------

William walks through the aisle looking at the morose faces to his left and right, busy in their individual satisfactory web searching on visors, or enjoying the vials that they had bought from him. No one's having any conversation of any sort.

He enters the second compartment and notices everyone but one figure repeating the same actions as the inhabitants in the last compartment. The seat next to the figure was empty. He wore a raincoat and dark rimmed glasses with a Texan hat, looking too old for his time. William takes the seat right next to him. It occurred to him that the windows were made of glass and he looked at the works of nature outside as did the figure.

"What's the meaning of all this? And when can I get my potion", asks William.

The man ruffles through his raincoat and takes out a cut out paper slip with the following words written on it-

Last night I invented a new pleasure, and as I was giving it the first trial an angel and a devil came rushing toward my house. They met at my door and fought with each other over my newly created pleasure; the one crying, “It is a sin!”—the other, “It is a virtue!”

"What’s the meaning of all this?", asks William.

The man in the coat spoke out after taking out his sunglasses. His eyes were yellow with a weathered look that gave him the impression of an old homeless vagrant.

"That's a little piece of literature that I was reading a while back", the man says.

"What are you trying to imply?"

"I know you feel slightly nauseous thinking about the way that most people live these days. And you should be. Things have become too comfortable. Mankind kept accepting every new innovation like it was a blessing to be alive. But then again who are we to decide what pleasures are sinful or virtuous."

William flushed his eyes and looks down with a morose face.

"You can't just criticize all that's happening. People are leading better lives. Health, food and security have all improved over the last few decades."

"If you believe in such lies, then why was it that you were searching for fruits on the internet?"

William was mildly shocked.

"Are you a hacker?", he asks.

"Just a person interested in anomalies like you. Tell me though what happened?"

"There's nothing to be done about that. Just give me the potion that you agreed to give and I'll be on my way."

The man slides out a briefcase from under his seat and takes out a black glass beaker sealed with a metallic top. William reaches out to grab it but the man slides it back asking, "First explain to me about the fruits?"

William looked defeated and gave up quite easily.

"How do I know this conversation isn't being recorded. You're not a state police trooper looking out for defectors?", he asks the man.

"Do I look like a cop to you?", the man replies.

"It all began a few weeks ago when I started having dreams about my childhood in Austenville", William looks at the man for a reaction.

"Go on."

"I felt angered and empty knowing all that I've been doing all these years is search for clients to sell the company vials to. The lack of empathy and emotion troubled me for a few days until I realized just how badly the world had changed. People spent their entire time huddled in rooms glued to monochrome screens, communication glasses, talking about stupid internet videos of cats, children and other mundane stuff."

"And then what?", the man asks William's somber face.

"Then the elections came and while I expected the people to make a decision based on personal preferences, there was barely any participation. No one was talking. No one was discussing about the issues at hand. I spent the entire electoral week in his very train distributing vials. People were commenting on social media profiles, buying gadgets online or food. And then a striking revelation hit me. Everything I once loved had turned fake. The waters we drink no longer like the one I remember. The air we breathe possibly more cancerous than a smoker's fumes. And the food. I asked myself when was the last time I actually saw, let alone eat an apple. All the so called 'nourishment' the corporations provide is packed in these stupid vials."

"You felt like a prisoner, didn't you?", the man asked.

"Something was wrong. Suddenly the people I knew didn't seem like people but brainless cowards who had forgotten the true aspects of human life, tied to believe that as long as they have satisfaction, they're enjoying life. And if they're enjoying life, they must be alive and well."

"And what do you believe, William?"

"That they're squandering their lives. That there's some kind of a truth that's being concealed from the public. And for the first time in a long time I wanted things to be the way they were. I started searching for any remaining reserves for fruits but found nothing on the web."

"But I suppose that you didn't just stop there. What did you do next?"

"I went through a few websites online asking for medical help. The doctors on the forums were afraid that I was getting too resentful of consumerism. They prescribed me some pills and videos to watch."

"Did you take any of them?"

"Not really?"

"Why didn't you? You came across something life changing, didn't you?"

William looked at him with suspicious eyes.

"What do you know about all this?"

"I know a lot David. I know that you absorbed the consumerist manifesto posted by our group online and started to question things. More than the usual man, you became inquisitive."

"So can I safely assume that you are...."

"Exactly. I am the man with the green thumb. And while I would hand you your potion. I want to make you a deal. I really hope you are interested."

"What is your group and what have your people been up to? Are you the ones behind the Big Consumer Store leaks?"

The man didn't answer. He simply handed him a plastic bag taken from another coat pocket. It seemed as if he had the entire world inside it.

"What's this?", William opened the bag and inspected the contents. Like a child discovering a new toy he let out a look of marvel and shock which later turned to anger mixed with curiosity.

"These are seeds. SEEDS. We were told that they didn't exist anymore. But that means there must be more", he shouted.

"So tell me William how curious are you to go ahead with this idea of ours. Do I take this to be look of acceptance?"

He sighs at first and then takes a deep big gulp of air and says,"Alright what's the plan?"

-----------------CHAPTER III- CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT-------------------

The train slowed its silent motion and William knew that they were approaching their first stop before reaching Austenville. Some of the train boarders were informed by their visor systems about the destinations and they moved out.

"We have to move out of this train immediately", the man said.

Both William and the man exit the train entering the shanty town of Shropshire. It was a desolate exception on the eastern seaboard being the only region left with enough trees to supply timber to the local industries.

"What exactly is our business here?", asks William.

"You'll see. I hope you understand that the potion you're so keen to use will kill you."

"Maybe that's why I want to use it."

The man kept quite. Their journey continues for another half hour and it appeared as if William was already getting exhausted.

"Long years of sitting around and wasting time on the internet will do that to you", the man quipped.

They arrived at an abandoned mill where the man leads William to a large pilot plant. The sound of mills and machines was eerily running through the entire vicinity.

And as William laid eyes as to what the workers in lab coats inside were doing, he drops his briefcase in a fit of shock.

"WHAT'S ALL THIS?"

There were hoards. Bags of fruits and actual food was being processed and stored in silos.

"Hold yourself William. I would tell you eat but I'm afraid that your stomach has lost its ability to process natural nutrients.

William strolled through the conveyor belts and sampled each of the produce, touching it, smelling it. The workers looked at him with bewilderment.

"So it's all a lie then, isn't it?", he asks the man.

"Wouldn't it seem obvious William. The industries that flourished after the twenty third century involved the works of a charter that made sure that every last nickel the earning man makes is spent on consumer products. First you reel them in with the factor of choice. Give people the hope that whatever is being sold on shelves is as good as new and has all that people need. Even it has no actual nutrients. Then when their bodies begin to deteriorate and decay, sell them the drugs that never kills them but rather prolongs their existence turning them into the profiteer's permanent piggy bank. And deception, use things like comfort, happiness, hope and the internet to malign everyone's train of thought."

"No, no. It can't be. What could the industries ever stand to gain from anything as such."

"They all fill one conglomerate's pockets now William. Competition went out the window a long time ago. And this particular conglomerate that I'm talking about is present everywhere but they act inconspicuously. Do the words Globulous mean anything?"

William dropped the produce and fell to the ground his eyes witnessing floods of images and people he was made to forget. His head started to ache and the man held him by his hand to direct him to a room full of images and mugshots.

"This is you", the man says.

Then when his eyes felt strong again, the man showed him a series of photos and videos

"And like all the million people that you meet each day, your life too wasn't always so dull and bleak"

"Give me the potion, I want to end this now", William shouts.

The man doesn't comply. Instead he asks him to focus his gaze on what he was showing him. There were videos of him being dissected in a hospital among a row of other people undergoing similar procedures.

"Is that me? What are they doing to me?"

"Your mind was processed William. Each week certain people from Globulous seize control of certain salesman like you feeding your mind with chemicals that makes you more subservient to them. Then they tell you to spread the same chemicals in vials to people on crowded transportation channels under the guise of nutrition. If you search through your scalp you'll find the scar caused by any entry port. It's quite elaborate you see."

"NO NO. This can't be happening."

"Get a hold William", he slaps his face, "I need you to understand why you are important to us. With your help we can put this nightmare way past us."

"I don't need to. I'm off the ride. I'm not a pawn in anyone's game anymore", William seizes the potion from the man's pocket and is nearly stopped by him. It falls to the floor and William looks at the wet surface with a hoplesss grin on his face.

"I'm not going to let you kill yourself this way. Do you have any idea how important you are to this entire operation?"

"What operation are you talking about?"

"One of the company's heads will be boarding the train to Austenville at the next stop with an entourage of bodyguards to protect him. Only his processed henchmen like you would be given the permission to enter his compartment where nobody else boards out of security protocols."

William looks at him menacingly,"What do you want me to do?"

"Remember the vials you distributed to the people on the train before. It's actually a thought enhancer that activates people's reasoning abilities. I want you to inject him with the potion while he's there. We extracted that from you after I ran my little experiment with you."

"What experiment?", he asks glibly.

"This isn't the first time we're meeting William. I've made previous attempts at meeting you and instructing you to get rid of this guy", he holds out a photograph of a stout elderly man with a maniacal face,"This is Richard Parker. But everytime we would meet, the plan would go undone because you would be processed again."

"Wait a moment. You mean to tell me that I've been brainwashed before."

"They run it in cycles William"

"And what makes you so sure that I'll be able to do it this time."

"Because this time, you searched for us. We didn't come to you. I see a yearning in you to end this. And we share that feeling. It's either this or death William."

He looked at the photograph and then at the man. He snatched it, remembering the face and keeps the photograph with him.

"Give me another potion sample", he says," I'm going to have a little chat with Mr.Parker at the next station."

"Remember William if you get caught or are questioned, you are not to breathe a word about us."   

"I'll be on my own?"

"Exactly."

He nodded in approval and made his way back to the station.

"I just wanted to ask you William", the man stops him in his way.

"Do you know what the allegory of the cave is William?"He looked at him expecting an answer and then continues.

"If you could imagine a group of people tied to chains inside a cave such that no light enters, all that they would experience would be the shadows cast by the things outside. They would eventually develop ideas as to what those things might be simply by looking at the shadows. Now suppose that a man escapes those chains and his naked eyes touch the world outside for the first time. He would run back in a state of shock and awe and convince the others inside of what he saw only to realize that the chained inside no longer understand him. Either that would encourage them to follow his path and cause them to exclude and vilify him."

"Are you saying that that man is me?"

"I'm saying that you've become enlightened. I hope you don't go astray. Till now only your hunger existed and not you as an entity. Don't go back to that life. Keep curious and stay away from satisfaction and comfort.

William walked away thinking about his words, with the curiosity to find some answers on his own.

-----------CHAPTER IV-AND SATISFACTION BROUGHT IT BACK-----------

The advice retold from a thousand ages.

As repeated by nonchalant sages,

Of how great it is to be content.

Now seems as worthless as a cent.

What is lost shall never return.

But be not quick to anger's turn.

And I ask of why must one agree?

Of all such indignant hapless sprees.

And just forge a smile in acceptance

But still turn blind to life's tenses.

Those with hearts pure and mouths loose,

Judge me for my angered truce.

A truce with a mind so clustered,

That it finds rest not so flustered.

But the failed minds cry of insolence and fate

Some blame their birth or their dates

And some just point towards the stars

And complain that the world sets strange bars.

Here they get bitten by the bug of complacency.

So they twiddle in content and lay back adequacy.

Delusions of grandeur would arrive soon,

And they would be a bane, not a boon.

For those who say they want and desire more,

Keep up ahead in all of life's scores.

And yet I agree that such greed may be wrong,

But so are those who sing satisfied songs.

The shock in a battered man's mind follows him no matter where he goes. And William had just received a powerful dose of outright craziness.

The train would soon start on its journey to Austenville.

William entered the compartment and was questioned by another service policeman who later allowed him to enter. He took his briefcase and then shook his hand.

William could feel there was a crumpled mass inside it. It was a note.

"Take a look at it once you get inside", the service policeman said.

William nodded his head and stepped one foot inside the compartment, than the other as if he was losing control over his limbs.

He took out the note and read the words

"This is Richard Parker. I need to see you immediately."

He stepped into his compartment by asking one of the security members.

It was empty space of rows and seats with only a navy blue suited figure enjoying an apple. William realised that he must have assumed that he is still brainwashed.

"Now tell me, have all the vials been distributed?", Richard asked.

"Yes they are."

"You're looking a little strange William, have you been unprocessed?"

He looked at him with rigidity.

William positioned himself close to deny his statement keeping a close watch on any guards nearby.

Then when he had a brief window of opportunity, he slipped the poison into his half bitten apple and some in a cup that contained coffee.

"I know what you've been upto William and I know why you're doing this. Tell me what would it take you to turn it the haters of peace to whom you support right now."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Richard scrammed throught his pockets and found a location tracker. William looked nervously at it.

"But I do. I have with me an offer. I will knock you off unconscious and then send my men behind you once you recover. I need you to point out who the man is behind all this. The tracker suggests that he'll be back."

"And what if I refuse", he grabs a pen placed decoratively on Richard's breast-pocket and aims it for his wrist.

"Don't do that William. We have ways to bring you back that won't be painless. Listen to what I have to offer. These fruits and food might be only available for the elite but do this for me and I'll offer you a life of luxury and comfort. Anything you want, you will receive.

And I'll even let you peek into your life before all this conundrum began. Choose wisely."

William lowered the knife. He could feel the sting of a syringe go right through his neck and the eerie feeling of someone fiddling with his head.

The world seemed to darken with each moment and he could feel his body get limp. He could see men huddle around him and exchange words. Men in lab coats with big machines and gloved hands.  

---------------------------------CHAPTER V-EPILOGUE-------------------------------

"HURRY UP AND BUY A SUPER DELUXE COMBO RIGHT AT BURGERMART"

William wakes up to the sound of other salesman loitering up. A few brief moments of happiness was all that a man wants. And William had received a mental manifestation of that happiness. Maybe the pills the doctors had prescribed were working after all. His eyes felt lurid and low and there was the uncomfortable feeling of dryness on his lips. He quickly gets up and sees that he's still in the train and rushes towards the nearest lavatory.

He begins to inspect his hair and his head to check for any visible spots or scars as if he still believed what he saw in his dreams. There was nothing there. He let out a sigh of relief and then went through his pockets with a note saying-" NO LONGER DO YOU EXIST. ONLY YOUR HUNGER DOES" and a green colored spray can.

He saw there wasn't any graffiti behind him as he had seen in his dreams but felt like the spray can was speaking to his mind and out of curiosity sprayed the mirror in front.

The mirror turned black and when it showed the letters-" The man with the green thumb", he nearly fell down.

He felt highly dumbfounded with what was happening. He thought about the choices he had. On whether he should meet the man with the green thumb or to kill him and gain some perspective on his past life.

There was a note in his pocket from Richard Parker just like the ones in his dream instructing him to name who was 'the man with the green thumb' and report him to the security on the train.

He thought for a few minutes then with calm and concentration he took out the poison and injected it directly to his veins. His puppetmasters wouldn't have anticipated this but for the first time in a long time, William was making his own decisions. He felt at peace away from the revolting consumerism of the world.

There was no need to wait impatiently for the latest phone release, no need to brag about possessions or consume the same bland products day after day.

And then the world felt a bit lighter. Time slowed down and so did his pulse.

He saw a light emerge in front of him as he choked and died. But it wasn't the light signifying death but that of something more sinister.

The other people on the train paid no attention to a dying man, captivated by their gizmos and gadgets.

Death would have seemed like the only release from a fake world, but globulous had found a way to keep even the dead alive and have them function to their every command.

So a few weeks later, the same William walks down the same aisle

distributing the same vials and having the same questions in his heart about the world. But this time strangely, he doesn't search for a way out, nor does he search for flustered people like him. He frequently goes online and checks out the consumerist manifesto, convincing himself that he'll find the courage to act out someday. But he seems so attached to his things that he doesn't want to die anymore and rebel. He just wants to stay and consume, till he can find the happiness that was robbed from him, many years ago.

Thus ends the tale of a curious old being

Who grew only empty at what he was seeing

Held by the hope that his miseries would change

But it was a thought powered by a mind deranged

That could not see or accept what had become

And so the man ventured with his heart numb

And fell into the charms of a world that talked sweet

Told him that happiness was at his nearest corner or street

But he had renounced that sweet gratifying tongue

For he saw his possessions as if they were dung

And his thoughts had grown a bit more small

But his heart still craved for joys quite tall

So he fell again for the words of of a gratified loon

Who promised him a paradise quite so soon

But his mind was wrought with a lot of pain

And he didn't want to continue so insane

So he gulped down a last gulp of death

And lay himself to the earth's cozy bed

Only to be brought back a few quarters later

Told to pursue things not so better or greater

For he fell in love with his things so shallow

And turned his face so happy and mellow

But behind it lingered a demise quite done

Where man plays with possessions for fun

Losing touch of true happiness and will

Spending his entire life paying bills

i

watercress condensation sticks to your fingers and melts.

it is monday and you are slicing iceberg lettuce for the salad

and at dinner you sit and hold hands around the table to pretend

nothing is different. make like you don’t see cells unfolding

into ash in a small pot on the fireplace mantle; make like you don’t see

decomposition. you like to pick at the dead skin under your fingernails.

(sometimes it is the only acceptable place for dead things to lie.)

you know that dust is primarily made up of human skin and

you wonder if the urn on the mantle has ever spilled. it is wednesday

and your mother loves you the same she always has, but you are coming alive

as she is withering away and sometimes you’re scared

of breathing in her cells, her skin; you wonder if she is in the dust.

it builds up in corners and on the old dinner plates you keep

in the glass-cased cabinet like tiny secrets clenched between your teeth.

you wonder if you are in the dust, too.

ii

on friday you plant crocuses in the backyard. (she always liked crocuses.)

purple petal lips sprouting from soil that squishes between your toes

remind you of her. they furl from finger to hip,

and you imagine them curling acquiescent cadaver, crested and

callous against pelvis sunken and serpentine like white stars caged and ribbed.

you saw her body, afterward.

her eyes were still open and fixed on the doorway where you stood

and you felt naked. her skin sagged over shoulder blades that stuck out

like chasmic artifices you could touch and fall into;

you could feel the stillness pressed into you. (heavy dehumanization.)

you’ve never been afraid of death–you can stomach the deadweight–

but you didn’t expect to feel the absence. it burns like ephemeral gold.

you open the window in the kitchen.

the smoke of it makes your eyes water.

iii

you think you might just be hollow.

sunday makes a week and your family doesn’t really talk about it.

you went alone to the crematorium, all full of caskets and black boxes

big enough to swallow you. you watched them carry her in

and started to wonder what kind of a person would choose to work

in such a place where the air is stale on your tongue

and the walls push back at you until all you’re made up of is cotton webbing.

it’s a strange place to bring a dead person to.

they must be more deserving than a cold metal table and

dingy waiting rooms. expensive wine glasses and heavy china

cannot equate to this. this was once a person.

you touch the urn on the mantle. this was once a person.

you swore you could smell it.

flesh burning, smoking, sizzling, old blood thick like barbeque

spilling and swelling into dust.

you are quiet as you spread and sprinkle her over the purple flowers,

imagining her stretching into them and stilling.

you think you must be the only one thinking of her.

the eulogy was short.

you think, perhaps, death must make vestigial creatures of us all.

Botany and Biology Consortium Précis

Submission for consideration, addendum to the subchapter, “Native Martian Anatomy and Physiology.”

Submitter, Evan Mickal, Ph.D., VSD investigator.

Methodology: Magnetic Resonance Physiology at the Quark-focus Level

Date: Sol 28, 942

Focus of addendum: Locomotion in the absence of an endoskeleton and the Central Nervous System (CNS)

• Locomotion in the absence of an endoskeleton

Very much analogous to octopi, other cephalopods, and numerous non-skeletonized animals on Earth, the Martian’s posture and stance, erect stature, and functions of ambulation and usage of appendages depend on elastofluidics. Their bodies contain innumerable patterns of muscular tubes which are fiber-reinforced elastomeric enclosures that contain a pressurized fluid. The fibers surrounding them have angles of orientation that can be changed at will, which determines the direction in which the limbs/appendages move when the fluid within is pressurized of depressurized. The external plates (“feathered scales”)finalize the maintenance of a particular position or stance, and when in motion, louver and “unlouver” sequentially to effect smoothness of motion. Therefore, there is no endoskeleton nor one needed.

• Central Nervous System (CNS)

The shape of the Martian head is governed by the necessity of design that accommodates the complexity of the multi-oropharynx and the brain structures that innervate them and a tripartite trachea. Thus it has an elongated face—or a “long” face—reminiscent of a horse, that likeness furthered by a remarkably coincidental aspect of pigmentation: down the face is a vertical patch or pattern of depigmentation, creating a long irregular splash of white, which on a horse is called a blaze. Such a blaze, individualized for each Martian, could represent a way of telling each apart, although recognition may involve many factors other than merely how the Martian appears. The blaze seems to have embedded in it innumerable olfactory cells, making this an organ for smell.

To appreciate the Martian CNS it is first important to understand aspects of breathing and ingestion that also impact the shape of the head.

There are six bilateral sets of mouths and throats that funnel together such that they can effect a steady single intake of ingestion along a single esophagus no matter how many mouths are ingesting. This coalescing requires distance and is a major determinant of the distinctively long face. (The main mouth goes its separate way—SEE BELOW.)

Each throat has two posterior openings:

1. One leading into a separate esophagus that distally fuses with the other esophagi into a central one; and

2. the other leading into a “reverse” trachea [SEE BELOW] that is the source of the blasted air from the central air bladder used in vocalization.

These two posterior pharyngeal openings at the back of each throat are separated from each other by a glottis—an opening guarded by a septation that can flap closed against the reverse trachea so that food can be diverted properly downward into the central alimentary tract and not into the central air sac [SEE BELOW]. In this way, choking is prevented.

The esophagus related to the primary mouth and pharynx does not lead to the location where the six ancillary esophagi fuse, but instead enter the distal alimentary tract farther caudad. Although the primary mouth appears externally as two joined together at the midline, this is misleading, as it is single-chambered just beyond the lips. What was initially thought of as two separate tongues, one on each side, is in fact a single tongue for the single chamber, but with its terminal portion forked.

There are smaller but completely functional tongues for each of the separate ancillary mouths. There also appear to be taste buds for different discriminations among the numerous ancillary tongues, prompting the Martian to use specific mouths for specific tastes and textures of food and liquids ingested. Each mouth has teeth, clear but in the shadows appearing dark. Each tooth has a single fiberoptic tract.

The external proboscis-like cetaceous “blowhole” (main air intake) and its tract does not cohabitate with any of the pharyngeal area. Its trachea is a dedicated one-way route for air from the blowhole that distally trifurcates into the one central and two bilateral air sacs. The bilateral air sacs also exhale back out toward the blowhole, whereas the central air bladder has a valve such that it only exhales through its separate reverse tracheae when speech occurs.

The blowhole entrance that trifurcates distally into three separate tracheae ultimately end in two bilateral primary bronchi and one secondary central bronchus, the bilateral ones ending in multilobular air sacs on either side of the large central unilobular air bladder the central bronchus supplies. The bilateral air sacs provide oxygen by passive diffusion into venous lakes surrounding them, much like the placental systems in Earth mammals.

While the bilateral air sacs are for oxygenation, the central bladder, alternately, provides two functions:

1. It serves as a storage depot of breathable air that, through spillover (passive diffusion)seeps through its semipermeable membrane into the adjacent primary multilobular air sacs [SEE ABOVE]; and

2. there is a collection of hundreds of sphinctered tubules emerging from its posterior that coalesce into seven separate “reverse” tracheae [SEE ABOVE] that provide the expulsive impetus for speech through each of the seven mouths. The seven reverse tracheae each house a set of vocal cords at varying distances from their eventual target mouths, the variation of distance contributing to a wide variation of different tonal qualities (pitch, timbre, resonance). The Martian, linguistically, uses these variations in conjunction with the number of mouths speaking or singing to express nuance and/or emphasis. Whereas in the human the glottis is relative to the vocal cords, in the Martian the sets of vocal cords and glottises are separate from each other for each of the reverse trachea (“air routes”); each glottis is at its junction to its respective pharynx, to preclude food aspiration, using a valve for closure in lieu of the cords themselves as in humans. Even though the sets of vocal cords are at varying distances for effecting unique phonation qualities, each glottis is at the same position, i.e., the glottopharyngeal junction.

In summary, the blowhole feeds air to two bilateral air sacs and one central air bladder. The bilateral air sacs exhale their breaths the way they came in, through the primary tracheae; the central air bladder eliminates excess air by diffusing into the adjacent air sacs, but its main function is to blow air through a set of unrelated “reverse” tracheae through vocal cords. The only possible site for choking would be between the pharynx of each mouth and the termination of each reverse trachea, but this is precluded by the flap of tissue over each glottis.

NOTE: THE ABOVE EXPOSITION IS ONLY INCLUDED HERE BECAUSE OF ITS INTERRELATIONSHIP WITH THE CNS TO PRODUCE SPEECH. FOR FURTHER DETAIL OF THE RESPIRATORY SYSTEM AND THE OTHER SYSTEMS, PLEASE REFER TO THEIR RESPECTIVE SUBCHAPTERS IN THE FULL BOTANY AND BIOLOGY CONSORTIUM PRÉCIS, SUBSECTION, “MARTIAN ANATOMY AND PHYSIOLOGY,” BY KEITH MILLS AND MARK ADRIAN.

The Martian brain is made up of six lobes, or hexaspheres. Functional Magnetic Resonance Physiology has determined that each lobe (hexasphere) directs independent conversational thinking that results in vocalization from one (or more, simultaneously versus serially) of the six ancillary mouths. All six hexaspheres appear to contribute cogitation for conversing with the primary mouth, when articulating a “main message.” Although they can act separately, all of the hexaspheres also are interconnected by an infrastructure analogous to the human corpus callosum, which I theorize allows a consortium of unified awareness, thinking, and volition among the set of hexaspheres.

Hearing is via an acoustic apparatus that begins with four independently aimed calderas on each side of the head, all eight each contributing a neurotubule that terminates at a central ganglion in each hexasphere. Thereby, each hexasphere’s acoustic ganglion receives a bundle of eight neurotubules representing the gamut of the collective caldera perception of sound. The central acoustic ganglia appear on functional scans, at the electron level, to deal with filtering pitch and sonolocation.

Each caldera is associated with its own ganglion that surrounds its sound transport tubule (STT), more specifically, surrounds that portion of the SST that houses small osseous structures shaped like varying tiny tuning forks, 18-20 nm in size; each of these caldera ganglia have afferents from all of the hexasphere acoustic ganglia and efferents to the small muscles that comprise and aim the caldera rims. Consortium thinking of what is being heard focuses the directional pivots of the individual calderas. Externally, the calderas, which hold a small amount of fluid each, are each covered by a parabolic tympanic membrane.

For each eye there is a laminated neurotubule that is a coalescence of thousands of neuromusculotubular fibers that seem to both convey collected visual stimuli and move the globes.

The bilateral laminate optic neurotubules meet interiorly in the midline, as a “light basket,” positioned equidistant from the hexaspheres of the brain; this light basket appears to be a tightly spiraling structure that follows the Fibonacci path of the “golden rectangle,” i.e., the spiraling neurotubules are shaped like a nautilus. This nautilus-shaped light basket is surrounded by an iron-rich magnetic encasement, itself dynamic in that it can magnetically focus free electrons as an undulator, along the spiral. The neurotubules are highly reflective and at the central termination (innermost part of the nautilus) an escape channel allows egress of a potentiated lasered pulse that feeds all hexasphres as well as returns some light back to the eyes (for unknown reasons).

Essentially, the light basket is a free-electron laser that distributes, arboreally, synchrotron radiation to all hexaspheres and the eyes at the speed of light. Theoretically, because the undulator encasement can vary the parameters of the magnetic field, the intensity and wavelength of the radiation can be adjusted on the fly, i.e., are tunable from microwave through ultraviolet and even X-Ray spectra as well.

The eyes themselves are not sufficient to contribute enough light to power the light basket’s ultimate output. Besides the laminar afferent optic nerves, the light basket also receives another afferent trunk of laminated neurotubules from the lux-cap, the area on the external head analogous to the scalp portion of the human head.

The lux-cap is very much like a scalp in that fiberoptic projections emerge from it in a hair-like fashion. These are sparse, otherwise they would pose interfering shadows for the miraculous nature of this head covering. Louvered parabolas, layered down to a depth of approximately one centimeter, collect light and an entire subscalp cranium receives coalescing bundles of phototubules that ultimately end intracranially at the light basket. Thus, the light basket has a dual source of light—from the eyes secondarily but from the lux-cap primarily.

The fiberoptic, sparse “hair” appears to be efferent only, varying colors and intensity, possibly indicating mood as a fiberoptic, lighted version of “body language.” I can discern a reverse polarization along these “efferents only,” indicating they should be able to receive input as well, like the lux-cap.

Light collected by the lux-cap, defying current wave physics until a logical explanation ensues, experiences no loss of photon energy. When the electromagnetic spectrum was applied to the lux-cap, it was evident that, besides the visible human spectra, IR and UV were collected without loss as well.

The light basket is quite large, about five centimeters in diameter, and with its iron-rich magnetic encasement, almost ten. Below it is a five-cm ventricle, but unlike human brain ventricles that have circulatory cerebrospinal fluid, it is filled with an unknown gas, the spectroscopic identification of which failed due to the interference from the overlying light basket magnetic encasement.

From the center egress of light and radiation of the light basket, branching of neurotubules swirl in complexity to become the actual six hexaspheres. It appears the light basket is the innermost origination of the entire Martian central nervous system.

The hexaspheres also accommodate the afferents and efferents that appear to either receive information from or innervate, respectively, the rest of the body.

There is no analogue to the human or mammalian cerebellum, all autonomic processes, i.e., breathing, pulsatile cardiovascular system, proprioception, distributed along a decentralized scheme among the respective organs or joints.

There is no spine, per se. Bundles of tracts find their way along two main lateral bands at the Martian’s sides, distributing from or coalescing toward them.

Crucial to the evaluation of the CNS is the nature of the neurotubules and larger neurotubes, themselves.

(There have been observed similar, although rudimentary, structures in the few humans with indwelling ferropods, suggesting divergent evolution of species as distantly related as Martians and ferropods, from a common ancestor. In humans harboring ferropods, the interaction of two xenospecies will no doubt prove informative, but to date the chapter on this interaction remains unwritten. This will undoubtedly cross-reference with the official findings yet to be written as a subchapter of the Cultural Psychology Committee Précis.)

The arboreal cascade of the CNS from hexasphere to neurotubes to neurotubules and vice versa demonstrates a consistency of structure. Whether such structures effect muscular, glandular, or neuroinformative processes, it is clear that they constitute a fiberoptic system.

Although a simplification, it is also a truism that light plays an important part in Martian cognition. Its complete absence renders a Martian not only unconscious, but barely alive, its light basket engaging in a secondary backup system of phosphorescing to maintain at least a baseline level of minimal survivability. It is unknown how long the light basket backup can last, but it is apparent that once exhausted, death would be imminent.

The neurotubes and neurotubules are multichambered along their neurotubular lengths by septations. Each septated chamber is able to polarize the as-of-yet unidentified rarefied gas within, which can then propagate an electrical potential across subsequent septa, propagating subsequent polarizations en route. This appears analogous to action potentials causing propagations of neurosignaling along dendritic/axonic paths in the human brain. The result of these propagations, whether Martian or human is the same:

Thought.

Cognition, intention, autonomic and voluntary actions; viable function; volition; self-awareness and sentience; perhaps a conscience.

A soul?

At quark focus, the MRP showed Cooper pairs, entangled photons on either side of each septum. Such Cooper pairs, seen in superconductivity across membranes, the phenomenon in physics—called a Josephson effect—was a thing of beauty. And it was in each Martian head.

It was fast. The simple reality is this: Martians think at the speed of light!

honestly, it was different than what I was expecting.

it wasn't sparks and heat and hands on the back of my neck

pressing knees into thighs and breaths into lips,

a sudden burst of uncontained passion finally actualizing

into something physical.

something we could both touch.

it wasn't innocence and grinning

rosy and hasty and clumsiness trapped onto tongue

big eyes and gushing and giggling into cheeks

like children would.

it was quiet and easy and our fingers were freezing,

still and hesitant and careful and trying not to breathe too hard

and then it was gone.

(and I could still feel her lips against my mouth.)

you thought i was

tattered lace and

wilted flowers,

an easy fix of

stitches and sun

but i will take

the needle and

leave you the thread

to reopen wounds,

i will blister

my hands

to grasp the sun

and blind you

so you never think my

tattered lace and

wilted flowers

are an easy fix of

stitches and sun,

so you never think my

open wounds and

blistered hands

are the sinless scars of

purity and love,

so you always know i'm

a monster

in tattered lace, and

i will eat, i will eat

your tender heart.

I met a Persian princess in the desert one night.

     The days were long but the nights were longer, back pressed into sand the color of moonshine and curving around my hips, molding itself around me until the sun broke and I never slept. I had battled the sky with tribes of Arabian men and danced with the king of Babylonia, but always, always I came back to the unbidden solace I found in the solitude of the sands. They were different, here.

     I mostly remember the stars. I was trying to map the constellations against the sky but the sky is so big when you’re standing on the back of the planet with a horizon identical to exactly where your feet meet the earth...it’s hard to figure out where you are. I’d been walking the dunes for weeks and I still didn’t know whether I’d crossed any distance at all. But I’d memorized the stars. Each one beaming in reckless abundance, resilient, washing out the edges of the sky with white-light brilliance. I could see the galaxy hanging above me.

     The king had offered me a flute before I’d gone. Seven nights I’d spent with him in his palace sitting atop the cobalt capital of his empire--seven nights spent not sleeping--seven nights spent drinking red wine from gold goblets and rubies--seven nights with his hands around my waist; he had eyes of old moons. Oh, he had offered me jewels. And yet, this was the finest of all his gifts.

     It was made of ivory, a sheen like pewter coalescing against midnight. Cold against my lips.

     The night I met her was the first night I’d played it since I’d last seen his palace. The kingdom of Babylonia was long in my wake and this was the first night I couldn’t see its torches against the horizon and though I had only stayed there a week I couldn’t help but miss its strange familiarity. There were many strange things there, strange and marvelous things I must not be remembering quite right.

     This was the song of the desert, one of magic and pride and delight. When we danced, he told me tales of gods and great beasts and asked me what I had seen. I suppose I prevailed something of an enigma to him. I had seen many skies and walked many earths but I did not tell him where I had been. Breathing into the ivory in my hands, I could feel us moving, just quite. It sounded like silver.

     “Your music is beautiful,” she spoke suddenly and I stopped, fingers stuck still in the air. I did not turn around.

     “Who are you?” I said quietly.

     “Look at me, and you will learn.”

     I placed the flute against the sand dune, paling upon the night. My bones rattled as I stood and faced the woman behind me.

     It took me a moment to I see her. Before me stood an African elephant, all seven tons of it weighed into the sand, and there she was, the Persian princess sitting atop it, barebacked in the middle of the desert.

     “Where are you from?” I asked, stuck still on the elephant. Its eyes were dark.

     “Your bones creak when you move. You have been traveling on your feet for many moons.”

     I looked at her then. She did not wear a crown, but I could tell who she was--who she must have been--from the gold pressed into her neck. Long coarse hair falling in front of her shoulders. She was smiling at me, a sort of luster in her eyes alluring me. She knew something I did not.

     “It hardly seems customary for a princess to be traveling alone at night,” I commented.

     “Hardly.”

     I stood unwavering. “You’re far from home.”

     “As are you,” she said. “Your accent, it is unfamiliar.”

     “Well, I’m not from around here,” I supposed. For being the truth, it sounded too much like a question.

     “Nor am I.” She tilted her head. Extended her arm. “Come with me.”

     “Why should I?”

     “Don’t you trust me?”

     I could feel my eyebrows drawing together, the corner of my mouth lifting, just a little. “Why should I?”

     She whispered to the fantastic beast below her and slowly, it bent to its knees. Its head bowed. She met my eyes again. “Why shouldn’t you?”

     I did not speak when I put my flute back in my bag. I was curious.

     She held me by my ribs as I lifted myself to the elephant’s back, onto the thin blanket she was sitting on. There were golden designs I recognized as belonging to the Parsis.

     “You aren’t dressed as you should be,” I said.

     The elephant stood slowly and I was holding the blanket in my fists to keep from falling.

     “I did not know my lack of concealment would be offensive to you.”

     We started moving. “No, no, it’s not offensive,” I said. “It’s just, well, not what I would believe to be allowed.”

     “It is illegal to bear myself in the cities, yes, but we are alone here.”

     “Isn’t it strange, though, that a princess is wandering alone in the middle of the Western Edin Plain?” I asked.

     “Do you not think me capable of surviving without the hand of a man?”

     “No, I’m just surprised you’re not at the palace.” I paused. “Attending to your people.” I am thinking of the king again. “It seems to be the primary role of royalty.”

     “The people of Persia need not concern themselves with where I am,” she said swiftly. “Or rather, where I am not.”

     I nodded. I watched the dunes. I was level with the skyline, and I could see where the moon had risen. Without the laden footfalls of the elephant beneath my belly, we were wading inside the stillness, the quietude spreading out below the stars, unto constellations we couldn’t quite see.

I just heard the word.

A spark of news that hurts my heart.

What to do when we hear bad news?

It seems so absurd.

To hear the things that tear us apart.

You never can win, you always lose.

And it has just occurred.

That God will give at the start.

And take away as He may chose.

RIP Carrie Fisher

Oh, 2016 may well tighten its grip 

But right throught it's fingers, now Carrie will slip

America's shedding a tear in its strife 

As our Princess Leia fights hard for her life 

The Death Star's horizon arriving to say

"I've come here to take Carrie Fisher away."

And we won't allow it; she gave us the play 

The layout, schematics, and so she will stay

Oh, 2016, we just blew up your core

Disperse into history; bye; there's the door

The star systems gather; the Force is with her

No, don't give up, Carrie- on that we concur

Midnight, and the whispers begin

The naughty kids cower in fear

Gryla is coming to feast on their sin 

The ogre- troll soon will appear

Fifteen tails, three heads with three eyes 

And horns of a goat at each side

Ears to her nose, sniffing demise 

The naughty have nowhere to hide

Mouth like a quarry, teeth as stone 

A hunger for flesh boiled in broth 

Grinding to powder every bone

Enjoying their bubble and froth 

Beards on each chin braided as twigs 

A foul anthem seethed in her harm

Iceland's children, her little pigs

And tenderness she plans to farm 

Leaving the mountain set to eat

The giantess has bags on each tail

Filling them full with mortal meat

She laughs as they bellow and wail

Clicking and clacking, hooves for feet 

Exasperate horror and dread

Smirking and smacking, oh, the treat 

For soon boys and girls will be dead 

Yule Lads, thirteen, hover around

The offspring of Gryla's design 

Sneaking and snatching, they have found

Employment's mischievous shrine 

Sheep Cote Clog fancies wooly sheep

And Gully Gawk downs the cow's milk

Stubby takes pies he plans to keep

And Spoon Licker steals his name's ilk

Pot Scraper ravages old food 

And Bowl Licker licks clean the bowl

Door Slammer wakes you, being quite rude

And Skyr Gobbler gobbles things whole 

Window Peeper keeps a look out

As Sausage Swiper swipes the pork

Doorway sniffer sniffs bread about 

And Meat Hook takes food off the fork

Candle Stealer steals all the light 

And leaves naughty kids in the dark

Gryla comes this unholy night 

Her children have left her their mark 

Once her new catches fill her need 

A summons ensures blood goes 'splat'

Beastly brutality will feed 

As comes her own pet, the Yule Cat

Ravaging any and all left 

Those children without new clothing 

Fill the beast's belly- lost, bereft 

As folly sating its loathing 

Red on the doorways; bloody streets 

A bloodbath beneath every tree

Nothing but pieces; tattered sheets

Removed for sad parents to see

Thirteen Lads head home with a grin

As Gryla and her Yule Cat dine

Midnight, and the whispers begin

The blood of the kids becomes wine

Bloody knuckles wrapped in a thick gauze

Lips swollen beyond use

Blood and spit dripping down his chin

Eyes doused in sweat

Skin tinted red with blood

A slight twitch of the mouth

That must be some kind grin

After all,

He did win, didn't he?

He wipes the blood from his knuckles

Pointless to try now

The blood of the victor

Never washes off of bone

After all you've done

It's a miracle there are bones left at all

They put his hand high above his head

And parade him across the ring

One last time

Before he collapses

In the hospital, the smile remains

Must've made a killing this round

Another name to the list

Kid's got a future

Couple of fractured ribs

Jaw wired shut

Cuts stitched back up

Busted nose

A shattered collarbone

Nothing slows a real pro

Kid's got some talent

A small operation

Nothin' major

Just patch him up

Be just as good as new

He rides a gurney like a chariot

Wild flames leaping in his eyes

His smile never fades

Even after the needle

Little pain only makes you stronger

What did I tell you?

Kid's a natural.

A slight complication

Doc says it's worse than they thought

A lot of running

More meds

More nurses

More time

Just a little more time

The room falls silent

A few final efforts

Nothing more they can do

Complications they say

They tried everything

I'm so sorry...

It's over.

Such a shame.

Kid could have gone places.