‘No Going Back’ - A Cautionary Tale

A short story about a flawed utopia for entry into the Lunar Awards.

Hi there

As promised last week, here’s the short story I’ve refined over the last few days in response to a Lunar Awards prompt and the subsequent competition. Let’s jump straight in with details of the prompt and then get to the story itself!

The Prompt

It will be no surprise to you that of the two speculative prompts offered by

Brian Reindel 👾⚔️

for the second Lunar Awards Prompt Quest, I chose the science fiction oriented one:

Write a science fiction short story that takes place in a futuristic technocracy. The all too perfect artificial entity ruling this society grants one citizen a private audience annually. Unfortunately, all who meet their digital overlord vanish forever. This year you have been chosen, and you’re determined to be the first to return in nearly a century. Or maybe something better awaits?

Optional Level Up!

Other than the protagonist and artificial entity, limit yourself to only two other characters in the story.

More details on the prompt here.

Now you’ve ingested the prompt I hope you’re eager to read the ~1900 word story I wrote in response. I’ve been awarded a ‘Highly Commended’ for two previous Lunar Award competitions, so please wish me luck as I cross my fingers for another good result!

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‘No Going Back’

“Enter,” booms a voice, its deep timbre familiar to the entire world. My fear-laden reflection barely shimmers as the massive, unadorned doors glide open. The unforgettable darkness waits in the gap between them, poised again to engulf this year’s Witness. Behind me, a wave of silence envelops the expectant crowd.

Before mounting the dais, wearing my smartest clothes and favourite shoes, I’d told my kids I wasn’t scared - yet another lie to protect them. I hadn’t been one of billions who’d hoped, feared or wagered they’d be picked. Like every year, I’d ignored the lottery hype. Then my ID had appeared on every home terminal, each alphanumeric glowing with implicit acceptance. I’d frozen in disbelief as my sobbing spouse held one hand and my dog licked the other.

The eyes of the world had swiftly fixated on me and my family, turning our home into a goldfish bowl. The annual media circus had lasted two weeks; prying into my privacy, dissecting my thoughts, twisting my opinions. Another round of endless, pointless speculation had been transmitted to every terminal in the world. But, when we woke this morning, my spouse and I had at last found peace, our initial horror dissolved into soothing calm. It was the balm I needed to face today’s challenge and be a Witness for the world.

Without a backward glance, I step into the light-eating breach. Only a Witness can enter the BRAIN’s¹ physical domain. Surrounded by a century’s worth of theory and myth, had I hit the jackpot or received a death sentence? No-one had ever returned, no testimony heard. Unless you alone believed the recorded words of the first and only person to make such a claim.

False prophets can’t survive in a world where the BRAIN decides on every expectation, without flaw or question. Its supremely rational rule is effortless yet effective; absolute yet accepted. Any deviations result in an undisputed edict and swift community action. Humanity had been happy for over four generations.

The doors slide shut behind me, cutting off a hesitant chorus of farewells, chants and unwanted advice. I don’t remember closing my eyes, but opening them makes no difference. The impenetrable blackness is devoid of depth. The accompanying silence is worse. What good is a Witness with nothing to see, hear or touch?

“Hello?” I call out. No reply. Not even an echo. My inadequate briefings hadn’t dealt with being ignored. Witnesses are called upon. They have a purpose to fulfil. Apparently. If only I knew what that was…

I take another tentative step. Then I fall. Forever.

When I wake, the light hurts my eyes and I can hear and feel the dull thrum of distant machinery. I try to rise, but something presses on my shoulder. Someone.

“It’s okay. Just lie still.”

Confusion overwhelms me. They sound normal. Too normal. Have I already returned in a historical first? If so, I’ve failed horribly. What use to the world is a Witness who’s seen and heard nothing?

I check my body. Still intact, still dressed. Only my shoes have been removed. Then a face looms into focus. A face I’d seen splashed across terminals in countless news bulletins and interviews only a year ago. The last Witness to pass through those imposing doors before me.

“Brian?” I say.

“It’s BRAIN, if you don’t mind,” he replies with a frown. “Unless – and I apologise – you have dyslexia.”

“Have you been here with the BRAIN all this time?”

“I just told you, I am BRAIN.”

“Kept that humorous streak, I see.”

“It’s not a joke.”

“Any other Witnesses here? Where’s Dave? Is he—”

“Dave returned. Like all the others.”

“What? How?”

“Long story. He stole something. As we all must when creating a beginning and an end.”

I sit up, ignoring his protests. I’m on a medical couch, covered with a blanket. Beside it, there’s a plain wooden chair with a book on it, and my treasured shoes tucked underneath. The room we’re in is square, smooth-walled and cavernous. On the wall opposite me is a large square display, like one-half of a giant retro flip clock. It shows the number ‘98’. In a far corner is a crash mat the size of a small house.

“Did I…?”

I look up and there is no ceiling, only an inky blackness. My head spins with absent perspective. I clutch Brian’s arm and he lowers me back onto the couch.

“You have to tell me, Brian.”

“Tell you what?”

“Everything.”

He sighs before picking up the book and sitting. The title embossed on its cover says ‘The Idiots’ Guide to BRAIN Maintenance’. “Okay,” he says, fixing me with a strange stare as he opens the Guide. “Are you lying comfortably?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll begin…”

After his story ends, I try to process the enormity of what he’s said. I can’t exclude the possibility he’s descended into lunacy. I ask a simpler, less obvious, question: “Why did you choose me?”

“The other Witnesses might have chosen differently, but I just kept filtering out those most desperate to be picked.”

“Why would you do that?”

“To end up with someone who wasn’t a power-hungry despot or a puffed-up idiot. Someone normal. Average. Someone like you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“But that’s the whole point. BRAIN doesn’t need to keep changing everything all the time. Those who were in charge before BRAIN only fiddled about with laws and policies and tweaked borders and budgets to prove their worth, or please their colleagues, or further their interests. Where did they think humanity was going? Why were we in such a hurry? What’s wrong with tomorrow being the same as yesterday and not wanting to change?”

“Sounds tedious – even to the world’s most boring person.”

“Please hear me out. You’ve enjoyed a quiet, respectable life for almost four decades. You’ve helped raise two wonderful children who’ve lacked for nothing. How has a daily dose of dullness hurt you or your family?”

“Well, I suppose—”

“Have you read the interweb archives? ‘Change is good. Growth is necessary. Better, faster, cheaper. Follow your heart. Work hard to create wealth and satisfaction’. Blah, blah, blah…”

“No, I haven’t. Why would I?”

“It was a lie. The changes with the biggest impact were always unanticipated and mostly unwelcome. The people in charge, thinking they knew best, created the conditions for them. They used tools they didn’t understand, listening only to those who wanted what they had. People’s blood, sweat and tears were instead wasted on clearing up, fixing and paying for their disasters. Was that democracy? Or meritocracy? Was intelligence even involved? Not at all.”

“I remember my history teacher saying, ‘An individual’s blood, sweat and tears were required for successful change’.”

“Yet it’s boring old luck which contributes most to success: being in the right place at the right time and meeting someone by chance, whether for a job or a soul mate. Even an individual’s unique existence is conceived from infinitesimally small, interacting slices of a rolled dice.”

“I suppose it also works the other way: you can be in the wrong place at the wrong time and be the fatal victim of a random accident or crime.”

“Exactly. So BRAIN works to eliminate what used to be called ‘fate’ or ‘bad luck’. It prevents the hubris, ignorance and greed which killed millions, and denied billions more equality of opportunity. By applying dull routine and boring uniformity, BRAIN achieves global stability and citizen equity. Everyone, everywhere, all at once, gets to live in a permanently blissful present.”

“So BRAIN – you – and the Witnesses exist to dispense infinite tedium in the pursuit of eternal happiness?”

“You’ve got it! I knew you were the right person to take over.”

“Take over?”

“You heard me earlier. BRAIN is a rotating post. Every year one Witness arrives, one Witness leaves.”

“No Witnesses have ever returned. How—”

“Knowingly returned. The first Witness declared their credentials in vain. So the next Witness returned incognito. Their plan worked, and every year since their successor has also hidden their existence, masking the truth with false rumours and misleading predictions.”

“That’s outrageous.”

“Is it? Don’t you lie to your children to help keep them safe? The best way to hide unpalatable facts within acceptable fiction is to develop a critical mass of believers. It’s how democracies limped along. How share prices stayed up. How novels remained on bookshelves. How scientific theories clung to professors. To be frank, absolutes are very hard to come by. I think people hate them. I think their brains can’t hold on to them.”

“So BRAIN doesn’t manage itself?”

“Hardly. Without a Witness it’s not even self-aware. Smoke and mirrors, plus immense computing power, are its key attributes. The assigned Witness does most of the thinking – for love, not money, I hasten to add.”

“That’s impossible! Not even authors manage that. And what if the chosen Witness isn’t as complicit? They might grow bored and veer things towards the chaotic. A few diktats here, a minor disruption there…”

“Didn’t you see the warning? His finger points high on the wall to my right. In giant crimson letters are painted the words ‘Be Pure. Be Vigilant. Behave.’

I gulp. “Or what?” I whisper.

“Read the small print.”

A laminated sign is stuck at head height below the letters. I squint to read it and shrug. “‘Or else’ doesn’t sound very scary.”

“I thought you were smart. Do you want to destroy the entire world? Remember, BRAIN can direct the outcome of anything.”

“’BRAIN’ as in you, I guess.”

“Or you.”

There’s a long pause as the implications sink in. “So, how smart do you need to be?” I ask.

“All it takes is an ability to maintain a dynamic equilibrium. Predict the butterflies in Brazil, the tornadoes in Texas, those enticing mermaids in Mauritius. A small tweak here, a larger nudge there. A secret promise, an unexpected kiss—”

“Okay, okay. I get it. Even though it still sounds complicated.”

“A big dose of courage and you’ll be up and running in no time, just like I was.”

“And where will you go?”

“Back where I came from. Sort of.”

“Without being spotted? Witnesses are the most recognisable people on the planet. Even in Kansas.”

“I can fix my face without breaking a sweat – or my nose.”

There’s a brief noise from the other wall, like the flap of a window blind. The counter has incremented by one: ninety-nine. I’m the ninety-ninth Witness. Around us, the mechanical hum grows louder. BRAIN is cogitating. Brian’s brain. Or mine. An itch I can’t scratch is growing inside my head.

“And what will you do once you return?” I ask.

“Meet a grieving spouse,” he replies with a wink.

“But I’m not—”

“And your kids. And the dog. Not long now. I’ve nudged the paperwork along.”

“You can’t. You won’t!”

The book falls to the floor as he stands up, clutching my shoes. “I already have. You’re BRAIN now. You’ll learn to love the job soon enough.”

“Hey, come back!”

“Goodbye, Dorothy. I promise to keep your shoes shiny and scoop Toto’s poop.”

I look down at the ruffled pages of the Guide. Every single one of them is blank.

Perhaps it’s time to rewrite the book.

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End Notes

Some Influences & References:

• Douglas Adams’ radio play / novel ‘The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’.

• Jostein Gaarders’ novel ‘Sophie’s World’.

• L. Frank Baum’s novel ‘The Wonderful Wizard of Oz’.

• Monty Python’s film ‘Life of Brian’.

• Pat Mills and Kevin O’Neill’s comic strip ‘Nemesis the Warlock’ (2000AD).

And a Personal Corollary:

Q. How can a system no-one understands simultaneously manage billions of individual lives?

A. How does a beehive or a termite mound or a million migrating wildebeest manage themselves? The answer is they don’t. But they’ve survived as a species for millions of years, whilst feeling no individual pressure to change. You’ll never spot one bird leading the entire flock. There’s no need, as it takes just a few simple rules for a flock’s form and flow to spontaneously emerge. In contrast, for still unknown reasons, humans have an innate desire for a figurehead to lead the flocks they’ve created. Perhaps it’s the hope of a better life which makes them willing – ironically – to go to hell and back to stay true to what they believe in, no matter the often tragic cost. But, above all else, individual ignorance is required to manufacture these social states. On both a collective and personal level, it’s the essential ingredient for combining actual or mythical tragedy and a state of induced bliss.

1. BRAIN (nested acronym): Believably Rational AI Network.
[See also RoW variant: UNIRAN]