#NewsFlash: Terrorists strike again.UNC websites hacked,servers down.

***

Rahman Singh gasped.

He stealthily unhooked himself from the beeping study-console and snapped his head back in the direction of the gunshots. He did not see what he hoped for – darting allied soldiers. Instead, banks of monitors tracking the vitals of all his classmates stared back at him. Rahman– or RR_16 as he was designated – swore loudly, quickly logged in again and returned to the lesson.

His momentary distraction did not go unnoticed – or unpunished. An alert light started flashing on his terminal and an attractive, bronze-skinned image of Miss Sangbo (MT_07) popped up on his HUD.

‘Is there a problem, RR_16?’

Rahman started, and smiled shyly to hide his guilt.

‘No, miss, not at all.’

‘Then why did you stop the exercise for a total of 3.7 seconds?’

Rahman knew lying would serve no purpose. He was in the middle of another intense lesson on nano-bot replication protocols and acute concentration was expected of him. Unknown to him, the moment his mind had wandered elsewhere the Central Servers had sensed his changed brain-wave patterns and automatically logged him out of the assimilation-cycle – which, in turn, had caught the attention of the Education Manager on duty.

‘I…’ muttered, ‘…I thought I saw something.’

‘What?’

‘A Luger… going off.’

‘A what?’ Miss Sangbo shook her head, and her high-cheekbones inched closer.

Rahman muttered, ‘A Luger. A vintage pistol used by the German Army in the Second World War.’

‘What?’ A delicate eyebrow rose to meet a dangling curl.
‘I saw its muzzle flash… it fired a projectile out of the screen. I swear…’

Miss Sangbo stared at Rahman– with an uncertainty that sent chills down Rahman’s spine – and then muttered something in NuSwahili that he did not comprehend. Within the blink of an eye, her look changed to anger. Rahman knew his momentary lapse would reflect badly on her effectiveness-report and the higher-ups might even dock her pay.

For a split second, Rahman was almost glad that teachers were no longer physically present in classrooms – only their online avatars were. Sitting in a dusty KPO far-away, Rahman knew that Miss Sangbo, his day Education Manager, worked for the African branch of United CorpNations.

Education, as Rahman had learnt a long time ago, had been one of the first civilian areas where newer technologies – originally developed by United CorpNations for global militaries– were applied. The new generation pedagogy relied on the cutting-edge DAS (Data Assimilation System) United CorpNations had developed, which was marketed in the South Asian Zone as Daksh. Once given an input about which particular skill-set was to be developed in a learner, and the subsequent time-frame, Daksh did all the rest – it prepared syllabi, formulated course plans, supervised classroom tasks, micromanaged individual lessons, tracked the concentration levels of the learner, and monitored the assimilation of information. Once a learner was connected to Daksh – using a nano-organic interface – the system enabled the learner’s mind to directly access the Central Servers.

Rahman loved the convenience and efficiency offered by the present pedagogies. No more absent teachers, doodling students, costly books or painfully slow learning. A few commands into the console, and information, at least that which was legally purchased, could be directly sent to the human brain. In the age of genetic upgrading and restricted information, Daksh had removed the barrier between the learner and what was to be learnt.
Rahman had been born in this New Age, in the crucible of extremely testing times. Back then, earth had been reeling under exponential population growth. The deluge had to be stopped or humanity would have starved to extinction. United CorpNations had taken the radical decision of banning all BakCas births, planned or otherwise. Only ForCas were allowed to reproduce, but that too only when specific positions became available. A few months after this decision, the top brass at United CorpNations had realised that humanity needed more space to grow, and thus a colony was planned to be set up on Jupiter’s moon Europa – that possibly had water.

Presently, a special ship was being built to ferry colonists, a ship which required NME (NanoMedical Engineering) professionals who could repair both the ship and the crew complement – especially since humans now relied on using nano-bots to repair their synthetic organs, pacemakers, brain-enhancers, etc. Rahman’s parents had applied for this position. His father was a neurosurgeon and his mother was a Civ-Mech engineer; both belonged to the ForCas, of course. Their genetic profile was scanned, mapped, studied, analysed and simulations were run whether their combined genes, when tweaked and GAPped, could result in a mind/body best suited to harbour the personality of a NME professional. After a through vetting, and a little bit of string-pulling, United CorpNations had finally issued Rahman’s parents a license – to have him.

Rahman’s family celebrated for months – he was the first birth in the extended family in almost two decades. He had blinked in disbelief when his paternal grandfather had told him that back in his time, marriages were not based on genetic compatibility but on chemical imbalances. Also, despite being perfectly compatible, his grandparents had to rebel to marry, for they belonged to different castes. Rahman had laughed at the follies of his ancestors – what was the use of such an organisational paradigm which divided the world into multiple castes when two alone could suffice?

Rahman recalled the stories his parents had told him. The genes of his parents were fused with the ones required to ensure his personality was just what was required to be a successful NME specialist. He was allowed to stay with his parents till he was three. After that, he was taken to United CorpNations’s Adarsh Nano Prodhyogiki Vidyalaya(ANPV), the premier institute for basic nanotechnology training in all of South Asia. It lasted for 7 years, and Rahman was currently in his final year of basic-training.

The schedule at ANPV was nothing but intense. Rahman had to stay hooked to the Daksh terminal for 20 hours each day, six days a week (every seventh day was dream therapy day – under a chemically-induced sleep for 24 straight hours). Electrodes had been attached to his body and special instrumentation ensured his muscles did not atrophy. When he felt hungry, nutrition was only a button push away; tubes injected glucose directly into his bloodstream. When he felt sleepy, Daksh administered him a mild electric shock that kept him conscious. When he had to answer the nature’s call, he pushed another button and waste was teleported directly from his bladder and intestine into the recycler bins.

The lessons were tough – and rough. Rahman was privileged enough to bear the right to sleep for two hours each day; two hours were earmarked for ‘PT’. He had to close his eyes and focus hard as he tried to make sense of the data being transferred to his brain. Rahman did not mind all this – he was preparing himself for the journey to Europa afterall. What somewhat irked him was the daily PT period.

PT: Procedural Termination. United CorpNations had realised even rDNA and genetic engineering were not enough to result in hybrids who were experts in the fields for which they were born and bred. They also needed psychological conditioning to ensure they focussed and loved only the professional specialisations allotted to them. This is why ‘PT’ periods came into daily existence. Every day, all doubts about the profession a child was licensed into were removed and the merits of his or her selected profession were reinforced. An engineer was subliminally told about the specific stream which was best for him or her, a medical professional was told the same, and so was a janitor. It kept people happy, ensured emotions were in check, and kept, in one word, order.

Soon, the non-intrusive scanning of PT period would begin and promotional literature on his future profession would start flowing in his Brain-Feed.

It did. Rahman groaned inwardly and tried to…

Flash!

What the hell, Rahman thought. He was right in the middle of solving an equation when another gun flash cut through his reverie.

Rahman knew this was another hallucination. Should he report it?

No, he realised, he might be taken out of the programme. Rahman tried to clear his mind so he could focus on the lesson. He shook his head and returned to his task.

The PT period had begun.
***
The year is 2040 AD. Earth is now unified under the absolute power and limitless resources of United CorpNations. No petty boundary disputes or asinine insurgencies defile peace. Population explosion has been controlled by issuing birth-licenses. Resources are allocated proportional to the productivity of the populaces.
This Change can be traced back to 2020 AD, when scientists at United CorpNations successfully mapped the human brain and this, combined with advances in genetic therapy, unleashed humanity’s full potential. If one had the financial backing, one could opt for a Gene-Awakening-Process (GAP) which upgraded one’s offspring to become Human2.0: faster, stronger, smarter, and in every way, better.

The world is divided into two: the ForCas (Forward Castes) and BakCas (Backward Castes). The ForCas comprise innovators, engineers, managers, builders and doctors etc. – they constitute the leadership matrix. The BakCas, on the other hand, are men, women and MWomen who have not been genetically upgraded or exhibit no technical dexterity – which results in their total inability to contribute towards scientific advancements (and thus towards human progress).

Social standing is determined by caste (which in turn depends on the level of genetic upgrading). The hierarchy of castes is not rigid though: if one has the gumption to speculate correctly and the resources to buy genes required for a profession bound to become a priority in the next decade, one could rise and become a ForCas. The higher the relevance of a certain profession at a certain historical moment, the higher is the corresponding caste – and the associated privileges. With the Plague successfully combated, the decade-long Age of Physicians had just ended and the Age of Explorers had just begun – since humanity now aimed to conquer the stars in an attempt to seek more lebensraum. Consequently, the explorers have now been repositioned in Caste Tier Alpha.

***
Rahman saw the holographic emitter on his console light up and hurriedly shoved some inappropriate thoughts to an unshared corner of his mind. He knew who was coming: the Principal himself (PP_01) had asked for a thought-link. Rahman accepted his request and their minds merged, thanks to the Central Servers which housed their combined networked brains.

‘Salutations, Principal!’ Rahman blurted out even before the sullen hologram had fully stabilised.

The gravelly thought-voice of the principal responded immediately and got straight to the point. ‘RR_16. I hear there has been some trouble…’

‘I apologise,’ Rahman said hurriedly, ‘Sir…’

‘You seem a bit off,’ a note of concern crept in the principal’s voice, ‘Tell me what happened.’

‘I…’ Rahman’s thought-voice trailed off.

‘Go on,’ the principal encouraged, his voice sweet and earnest.

Rahman did not want to lie – there was no point. In all likelihood, all his thoughts were being recorded. ‘I was in the middle of a lesson when I thought I heard a noise…’

‘What sort of a noise?’

‘A…gunshot,’ Rahman confessed.

‘A gunshot? How preposterous!’The principal shot disbelievingly. ‘Have you not been focussing on your lessons?’

‘Of course I have been, sir.’

‘Then how could this happen?’ The principal replied slowly, as if chewing on thoughts, ‘Nothing in your genetic make-up predisposes you towards fancy… or military. We abhor and shun violence, after all.’

‘Sir…’ Rahman hesitated to say something.

‘Yes?’

‘I want to know more about guns.’

‘Guns!’ The principal’s mouth swung open. ‘Why on earth?You are not programmed to join the Peace-Keeping Force.’

‘Still… I want to read more about the Second World War.’

The Principal suddenly changed – as light of realisation dawned on him. ‘Of course! Curiosity at your age is normal. I will have a GoogNote on WWII sent to your brain right away.’

Rahman shook his head. ‘No sir…’

‘What do you mean by no?’ The Principal was confused by now. ‘I thought you just said…’
‘I don’t want a GoogNote, a brief summary about the event containing 250 words and 5 images … that too sent directly to my brain. I want to read about the issue…in detail. From multiple sources.’

‘Multiple sources!’

‘Yes, sir. I want to read full length books about it. I don’t want my understanding about everything to be contoured by just a summary fed to me!’

‘Read!’ The Principal cringed in horror. ‘Read. You do not have the time or the luxury to read about events not related to your specialisation… and certainly not from full-length… multiple sources. You are not a historical researcher. Stick to your purpose in society.’

‘But I am sick of knowing about things solely on the basis of GoogNotes. I want to see the past from different angles!’

‘But that is not your area of expertise!’ The Principal retorted in a voice laced with anger. ‘The past is the past. You are born and bred for the future. Why would you want to waste time reading history? Leave this pointless research for those in the underground taverns of the BakCas slums. You are a proud ForCas – you have brains to do something much more meaningful with your time.’

‘Meaningful?’

‘You should be spending every second working on your course plan… so you can graduate with the highest honours and get an increment even before you begin your job on the Europa mission.’

‘Bred? Job? Increment?’Rahman repeated absentmindedly.
‘Yes!’

‘No,’ Rahman flatly said, ‘I want to read history.’

The hologram shuddered for a moment in evident distaste. ‘A student of this Vidyalaya will not talk like someone from the Al-Artam movement.’

Rahman’s interest was piqued. ‘What is that?’

‘You don’t need to know,’ the principal said hurriedly and bit his tongue.

‘But I want to! Can I have at least a GoogNote on it?’

‘Some things don’t even deserve that. I will return shortly – you have to be disciplined.’

The principal logged out.

For the first time in that school, Rahman felt an emotion he had never felt before: the joy of rebellion.

***

‘Our world is dying. Population, pollution, depletion of natural resources, scarcity of food and water, and a fractured ecosystem keep us on our toes. We might not survive the next few years of things continue the way they are. But we will not give up. Humanity will fight. We will survive, even if that means making hard choices. The earth does not need sociologists or writers or political scientists: it needs mechanics, doctors and engineers.’
- JW Mawlaki, Chief Operating Officer, United CorpNations. July 16, 2025
***
Rahman’s father was horrified.

He was in his office during the day-cycle when an urgent call from Rahman’s school had reached him. He had immediately cleared his schedule, logged out of his official thought-link account, and focussed at the hologram in front of him.

‘So Rahman is facing issues at school?’

The principal nodded. ‘Yes. This is the third consecutive PT period he has had a problem with.’

‘What is the matter?’Rahman’s father was curious – and unsure of where this would be lead. He waved his hand over his cubicle and the glass went opaque. The firewall was in place; he had just entered offline mode.

‘I don’t know…’ The principal’s hologram went silent for a few seconds.

‘Has his dietary supplement been changed? Have you been feeding my son something he should not be having?’

‘Of course not!’ The principal sounded offended.

‘What about his genetic make-up… is it still intact?’

‘Of course. No mutation. ’

‘And no chromosomal contamination?’

‘None whatsoever.’

‘Has he had exposure to … contraband?’

‘Hmm…’ The principal’s voice suddenly became more cautious. ‘Since last month, just before Rahman enters his sleep cycle, he surfs for movies…’

‘Movies? You mean immersive ones?’

‘No, no!’

‘Then case-studies about his area of specialisation?’

The Principal hesitated. ‘Not even that. Old movies.’

‘Old movies?’ Rahman’s father felt something move within his chest. ‘Which ones?’

‘Second World War movies… from the twentieth century.’

Rahman’s father felt livid. ‘Useless! They contribute nothing to him. Why did you not put a stop to it?’

‘Well, his performance in lessons had been exemplary. And I assumed he was just curious so I let him watch…’

‘You should not have!’ Rahman’s father screeched angrily, ‘He might be moving away from his field of expertise. His interest in areas other than NME can be his downfall. If he shows even an iota of interest in any other discipline apart from the one licensed to him then… the United CorpNations will retire him.’

He went quite for a moment, horrified at the possibility of this eventuality. ‘You know very well that merely having aptitude isn’t enough. One needs to have unquestioning loyalty to one’s profession alone.’

The principal nodded sombrely. ‘If we deviate from this mantra, we regress back to the twentieth century when people started hating their jobs… you know what that led to.’
Rahman’s father sighed. ‘What can be done?’

‘He needs to pass PT,’ The principal continued, ‘…if he doesn’t exhibit absolute loyalty to his profession then he might not be accepted and…’

‘I know…’ Rahman’s father choked on his words in a curious combination of anger and pain. ‘Help him, please.’

The principal’s face thawed. ‘You are my ForCas brother. I will do my best to ensure that doesn’t happen.’
Rahman’s father smiled gratefully. ‘What does he want to study though?’

The principal was silent for a few seconds.

‘Tell me, I have a right to know.’ Rahman’s father insisted.

The principal slowly let out a phrase that made his blood run cold. ‘History.’

‘History?’ The incredulity in Rahman’s father voice was as evident as daylight.

‘Yes.’ The Principal affirmed. ‘I am so sorry!’

Rahman’s father felt tears stinging his eyes. ‘I cannot believe it. My own son! My own flesh and blood wants to study history… despite all the genetic engineering and psychological conditioning. It is… horrifying! Did Al-Artam get to him?’

‘I don’t see how. This is a secure environment.’

‘You never know. They have been getting stronger.’ Rahman’s father muttered darkly.

‘Did something happen again?’

‘Another of our nodes was hacked yesterday.’

‘What do they want this time?’

‘The unthinkable. Again.’

‘What exactly?’

Rahman’s father snorted in anger. ‘Those bloody terrorists want us to offer courses in humanities and social sciences in our learning centres. Allow people to choose from them…’
‘Bah!’ The principal cut him short, ‘We already offer courses from social sciences for the BakCas! I know of a cousin’s friend who got a licence to bear an economist…’

‘They want subjects other than Economics and Psychology,’ Rahman’s father dropped the bombshell.

‘What?’ The principal was stunned at such a ridiculous proposal.

‘Yes.’ Rahman’s father nodded grimly.

‘What purpose will that serve?’ The principal shot back, ‘the only subjects worth considering from social sciences are economics and psychology.’

‘Yes. Economics helps us plan our financial growth and psychology helps us keep our population’s mental health in check. Why would anyone want to study history or political science or sociology or literature? They have no future. No jobs. No scope. No career. No food.’

‘Precisely.This is what makes these demands all the more absurd!’

‘Absolutely. What exactly do they want?’

‘They want us to offer courses in history…’

The principal gritted his teeth and spat out in disgust. ‘Self-centred, narrow-minded fanatics! We are on the verge of global chaos and they want to study the causes of third world war rather than how to increase crop yield so we might feed our people!’

‘What else can you expect from terrorists?’

‘I know…’

A buzzer went off. Rahman’s father was getting another call from his supervisor at United CorpNations.

‘I need to go. Could you please look into it?’

‘Of course. I will talk to Rahman and see what can be done. I assure you that I will do my best to ensure he is not retired. I will increase his PT’s intensity and ask the geneticists to rewrite some portion of his rDNA. Maybe that might help.’

‘Thank you. I will be in your debt.’

The holograms nodded at each other and disappeared.

***
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***
This particular PT Period was a nuisance for Rahman, as the last few had been. The machines kept throwing propaganda in his direction, and he kept successfully warding it off.
Rahman knew what he had to do – he had to pretend he was still interested in his area of NanoMedicalEngineering, and somehow graduate from ANPV – which wasn’t very difficult as he had already mastered his sub-field. Once he was released from this facility and transferred to the shipyards, he intended to give the authorities a slip and make his way to the BakCas slums to learn more about history from actual paper-tomes.

Till then, he just had to pretend the PT Period was working, and he had mended his ways.
He didn’t think this plan out loud, of course. Even in his mind, such thoughts were stored only in the unshared drives of his brain, grey areas where Central Servers couldn’t reach without proper constitutional warrants. Rahman knew his rights – no unshared memory data banks of any individual could be accessed by Daksh or United CorpNations without prior authorization, which, as he understood, was rare to get. This was the 21~^st century after all. Humanity had learnt its lessons from fascist and communist attacks on individual spaces and personal liberty in the previous century – and vowed never to repeat the same mistakes again.

The PT Period kept assaulting his intelligence – and dignity, as he now realised. Rahman tried to focus on the lesson, even if cursorily, but something kept nagging at the back of his mind. He was about to log out when something happened that changed him forever.
A soft pop nearby shook him.

Rahman shuddered and instinctively logged out of Daksh. He expected the machine to withdraw its electrodes and let go of him – but it didn’t. A pungent smell accosted him; he felt nauseous, pinned down.

As Rahman opened his mouth to scream in pain and horror, he saw a force-field go up around his console. He was sealed from his class.

A bright light made him wince.

Rahman felt time slowing down. A blinding, blue flash cut into his retina. He could feel his eardrums go numb.

As he stared in horror, an electrode slowly, softly burroweditself deep into his prefrontal cortex.

Waves of red-hot agony coursed through Rahman’s veins by now. His blood was beginning to coagulate. Rahman’s hair caught fire at the exact moment that his eyeballs started to melt and ooze out of his sockets.

He could feel tiny explosions all around him – nay, inside him.

As Rahman felt life slipping away, delirium hit him with the intensity of a superfast train. He fantasised a mortar exploded near him and the helmet of an Airborne paratrooper rolled to his feet.

He bent down to examine it closely, inexplicably smiling, when he heard another loud pop.
His lungs imploded.

A pining crushed him from within. Rahman’s dying wish was to feel his heart… till it stopped.

***
#NewsFlash: Adarsh Nano Prodhyogiki Vidyalaya is proud to announce that the next batch of nanomedical engineering professionals graduated at 0600 today. The United CorpNations parivaar conveys its congratulations to the graduating specialists, and wishes them well on their journey to the stars.
There were no dropouts.

*********