Alia Tero: The Many Lives of Darren Datita

Alia Tero

The Many Lives of Darren Datita

Copyright © 2018 Lull Mengesha and Scott Spotson

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved

Formatting by Daniel J. Weber

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Alia Tero

The Many Lives of Darren Datita

by

Lull Mengesha & Scott Spotson

ROTATION 51

LOCATION: INFANGO

DARREN’S AGE: 17.13 years

Introduction to Darren Datita, Model Student

The voice of Martha Vermega droned on throughout the classroom. When she talked about mankind’s discovery of flight, her eyes remained languid, her cheeks barely moving, as if she were a ventriloquist. Contributing to the lethargic aura that hovered over the classroom was a blue tapestry of uniformity, as all students, male or female, had the same dress code—a dull blue long-sleeved cotton top, and color-matching pants. No mini-skirts nor muscle shirts were to be found anywhere here—indeed, they did not even exist on Pangea.

Most of the other students had long since tuned out. They continually checked their smartphones for vital stats on their weight, blood pressure, cholesterol levels, and fatty acid levels. The girls checked their estrogen levels, the boys their testosterone levels. A few students flirted with one other, texting naughty messages or the latest gossip.

Meanwhile, one student in the second row from the back, third from the windows, was not only tuned out, but nearly comatose. Student Darren Datita lay sprawled onto his desk, sound asleep. Drool trickled out of the corner of his mouth, forming a tiny puddle near his chin.

Check out DD—gross! texted Brigitta Deca, to Aden Kulturo.

It was easy to make fun of Darren. After all, he wasn’t the most handsome boy in his class. Much taller than average thanks to a growth spurt in the ninth grade, he had a receding chin and greasy brown-black hair. Unusual for his age, the slender boy could never whittle away his pot belly. His arms and legs were like oversize pipe cleaners—gangly and bony, rather than gracefully defined by knots of muscles as illustrated in a doctor’s anatomical journal. Dark sockets circled his eyes, as if he perpetually needed a good night’s sleep. Which he was doing right now.

Necks swiveled as students turned their heads to face the teacher.

Now, Martha Vermega was raising her voice. Higher volume, more shrill pitch. Still monotonous. But this was a change so perceptible that all the students noticed it. They snapped to attention.

All except Darren, who had started snoring.

"And as mentioned, Cornelius Susion was so highly recognized for his flight, that he received the Pangea Medal for Innovation…"

The students shrank back, tense as she made a beeline for the slumping Darren.

Darren Datita! she hissed at him, crossing her arms and leaning over him.

Still no response.

She jabbed a finger into his left bicep.

Startled, Darren awoke from his slumber, thrashing his arms about, his eyes wide open in alarm. With a sinking sense of dread in the pit of his stomach, he slowly swiveled his neck up to face an irate Martha.

Y-y-yes? he stammered. A shock of hair hung over one eye.

If you’d been listening, tell me who invented the first manned flight?

Clueless, Darren searched within his memory for the correct answer. Mortimer Blok? he ventured.

Martha’s eyes narrowed. Incorrect. It was Cornelius Susion.

Darren lay somewhat sprawled onto his chair, tensely waiting for the penalty. Nervous, he swiped at the tiny puddle of drool on his desk with the underside of his sleeve, causing a few of the more observant students to grimace.

His teacher gazed at him, sighed, and turned her back to him. Bringing up her smartphone and punching away at the keypad, she announced out loud, Four points taken off.

Not only Darren, but also the entire class, groaned.

Glancing at the screen of her smartphone, she said without emotion, The class average has now fallen below the benchmark of 500. It now stands at 497.

Whines of protest abounded. They knew that unless they crept back up past 500, they all would collectively—every single student in the class—be held back and start the next rotation at the same level as this one. It was the Pangean way. Everyone had to chip in.

Yes, Aden?

With a trace of irritation in her voice, Aden tilted her head in Darren’s direction. "Why should we have to suffer because of him?"

Because—

Aden swayed her head mockingly. I know, I know. ‘Together we rise, or together we fall’, she said, repeating the mantra that had been drilled into every citizen’s head ever since the rise of modern Pangea. But can’t you make an exception in this case?

Yeah! A male student, named Ben, quickly raised his hand. We just got unlucky. If we didn’t have this guy, we would have…

Enough! said Martha. She jabbed her finger at the class. We do not pick on any one individual. Pangea believes that…

"…every individual has something to contribute," muttered a few dejected students, echoing her word for word.

Correct. She scanned the classroom. Now, one way to regain points, is for someone to remedy the deficiency. Could someone kindly volunteer to tutor Darren for the parts he missed?

Darren sank further in his chair.

Silence hung over the classroom.Finally, a hand rose in the back row.

Tyler?

A well-built male teenager sporting a crew cut of light brown hair grinned. I’ll do it, Teacher. I’ll tutor Darren.

Darren rolled his eyes in gratitude toward his flatmate. Thank you, thank you, he silently thought.

Daffy Amy

Um, Darren? Amy said in the school hallway, her unruly mess of curls nearly smothering her face. You know, you’re not a bad guy. You just—"

Thanks, Darren mumbled, wishing she would simply disappear. At six foot three, he towered over her.

You, um, need to examine how you can do better. You know, make a list of your pros and cons…

Darren blushed. Make it stop, he willed her.

Like, if your memory sucks, you just practice those memorization exercises we did last month, she said, smiling at her own advice. I could help you with that, you know.

Thanks, but…

That way, I could get extra points too, and you help us back by boosting the class average, ya know?

He stammered. Well, yeah, I guess… He paused. Maybe we can discuss it tomorrow?

Amy did a tiny jump. Yes.

Then she explained to Darren her theory that there were different zones of creatures in a lucid dream world. If he had a partner who agreed to dream beside him…

She had Darren’s rapt interest. You mean we sleep together? he asked, his eyes round. Horrified, he added, I don’t mean you and me… and ah, I don’t mean anything other than…

She held up a hand. It’s okay. I know what you mean. Then she went on to detail how he could cross over to meet vampires, banshees, werewolves, shapeshifters, and demons. Between you and me, she told him, I’d steer clear of Aden.

Why?

She’s secretly a demon. You can tell by her nostrils, she warned, deathly serious.

Darren laughed. I wouldn’t be surprised. When he saw Amy looking supremely unimpressed, he did a gunslinger gesture at her as he brushed by. Thanks. Ah, okay, see you later. She watched him leave, her smile frozen in place.

As soon as he knew he was out of her line of vision, his shoulders hunched. Oh man, he mumbled as he headed home.

The Roommate Everyone Likes

It was the same flat as millions the world over. The front door opened to a bedroom. The bedroom, in turn, opened to three other rooms. The kitchen featured a stove, refrigerator, and icebox, all powered by solar energy; crystal-powered microwave; and cupboards full of food. The living room boasted a sofa, bookcase, and giant flat television screen—powered by solar energy. Finally, there was the bathroom, with a sink, dry flush toilet, and shower stall. No bathtubs existed on Pangea, with no one being able to conceive inventing something that would use so much water in one sitting.

In order to achieve an optimal, consistent balance between interaction and privacy, the citizens of Pangea collectively decided long ago to always design the flats such that the bedroom would remain personal, off-limits space to neighboring roommates, while making the living room, kitchen, and bathroom shared spaces.

Darren sighed with contentment as he peeled off his blue uniform, the dress code for school or work. He shared the exhilaration of millions of Alia Terrans as he—at exactly four o’clock—donned his purple uniform, the approved attire for leisure. Everyone headed home first, in an eager stampede to wear purple, and demonstrate to everyone else that he or she was ready to relax. Blue was associated with dignity. Work. Stiff upper lip. On contrast, purple was fun. Spontaneity. Relaxing, chilling. There was even a term for it. To go purple meant to go out.

Darren no longer had a guardian, just like everyone else after reaching the age of fifteen. He had gotten tired of the revolving door of guardians, all adults who had been assigned to live with him, one per rotation, ever since his infancy.

His heart beating a little faster than usual, he peeked into the living room. Yup, Tyler was there, resting on the sofa.

Hi, Ty.

His classmate sat up with a wide grin on his face. Darren liked Tyler. He was the sort of guy who got along with everyone. Completely unpretentious. A good head on his shoulders.

Relaxing? Darren asked, always feeling awkward before people, especially those who seemed to possess supreme confidence. He didn’t feel worthy enough for them.

Not for long. Tyler stood up. He already had his purple outfit on. I’m heading over to Rory’s drop-in. Wanna come?

No, it’s okay.

Um, about what happened in class today…

Forget it.

No, Darren. You gotta stop being hard on yourself.

Darren shrugged. Why do you care, anyway? Look at you. You’re doing well. You get good grades. The girls like you. Then he slumped onto the sofa, resigned.

Tyler silently sat next to his flatmate. Look, he said, "I wanna tell you something. Half of the battle is believing in yourself."

Darren rolled his eyes. Yeah, right. I just imagine myself as a star, and the rest takes care of itself?

You’re a good guy, Darren. Really.

Thanks, Ty. I guess I needed to hear that.

And remember. Years from now, get fifty thousand points, and you’ll all set to live the high life.

Darren groaned. I’ll be dead before then.

Tyler walked over to Darren, his upraised hand begging for a high five. "May the points be in your favor."

Thanks. Darren reciprocated with his high five, and grimaced as Tyler slapped his palm hard, causing it to redden. Tyler lightly punched Darren on his shoulder. Attaboy. You gotta go out there and fight the world. Tyler then started punching the air, miming a pro boxer. Darren sat back, grinning and enjoying the spectacle.

Tyler blinked, and let his arms drop. And stay away from the grandmothers.

Darren groaned. Those horrid grandmothers, from whom everyone steered away. He spotted them down the street, with their scrunched-up mouths. He couldn’t figure out how they’d accomplish such a bizarre expression, but each had a piecing stare and an eerie, wicked smile. So far, Darren hadn’t much misfortune with them, but he’d heard stories of how they’d lecture anyone who didn’t conform with the ideals of Alia Tero. Such as please not to jaywalk across the street. Those over fifty, including elderly women, who attained the lifetime payload of fifty thousand points eagerly packed to head off to Gold, the paradise for Alia Terrans. Darren figured that the old women who stayed on in regular zones were bitter at having fallen short of what so many had desired.

Why this reputation never extended to elderly men, some of whom also stayed on among the regular population, was still a mystery.

Yeah, you bet I will, Darren said.

Anyway, I’m off. Bye, pal.

Bye, Ty.

As the door to Tyler’s bedroom closed, Darren sat, reflecting. He clasped his hands, sitting with his knees wide apart. As he always did when fretting, he thumped up and down on the toes of his shoes, causing his legs to vibrate. But what can I do? he mumbled out loud to no one, What can I do?

The public announcement system blared, speaking the worldwide language, Esperanto. Attention, all residents. Junior co-ed puntball to start at 4:30 in the Blenko Field. Join with your friends, come one, come all, everyone is welcome. Then, at five o’clock, senior lawn bowling in the Granger Field…

The announcement droned on with false cheer, but Darren had already leaped to his feet.

Ty’s right. I can do this, he said to no one. Punching the air much like Tyler had done minutes ago, Darren exalted in his newfound spirit. He stumbled briefly, then roared, I’m going to puntball, and no one will stop me! He started miming high kicks, pretending he was battling a villain. Take that! he hollered, kicking one leg up as he leaned sideways. Swiveling, he executed a back uppercut with his right arm…

Crash!

A lamppost fell to the floor, recoiling from the sudden blow. Whoops, he said, as he heard the shattering of glass. Touching his temples, he moaned, Aww, jeez, jeez…

Looking at the clock, he did a double take. 4:15. Time to go.

And experienced a sharp stab of pain, right underneath his big toe.

Oww, ow! he shrieked, hopping on his right foot. He plopped himself onto the sofa to examine his left foot, twisting his left leg into a half-pretzel position. Shards of glass stuck out from the sole of his foot, and crimson red seeped through his white sock. Shit, he muttered, as he pulled out the sharp glass piece by piece. Shit.

The Evil Eye at the Puntball Game

Puzzled eyes followed Darren outside as he ran with a conspicuous limp through two blocks to Blenko Field. Gasping for breath, he bent over, hands on thighs, as he entered the side of the park. A Life Card post stood nearby.

No, I can’t do this, Darren moaned after glancing at the floodlight-lit field with dozens of spectators sitting in the bleachers.

Yes, boy, you can and you will, said a female voice behind him.

Startled, Darren turned to the source of the sound. He saw the grey-haired lady, slightly stooped, carrying a handbag that seemed heavier than her frail frame. Ma’am, he said.

Don’t be afraid, she said, in a voice that sounded halfway between a hurrah and a scolding tone. What’s the worst that can happen, falling on your face?

Actually, yes.

You’re a big guy, she said, nearly hissing out all the words. She latched onto him with a bony hand that felt like a claw, stunning Darren with her forceful strength.

He broke free of her iron grip. Okay, okay, he said, holding up his hands. I’ll do it.

Under her scornful glare, he walked over to the Life Card post. Being taller than average, he bent down slightly so that his belly button would align with the electronic sensor at the base of the pole. It beeped and glowed bright green in approval. Darren thought he heard a tone of surprise as the computer announced, Two points, Darren Datita, sports event, Blenko Park.

As Darren entered the field passing by the bleachers, he vaguely became aware of someone standing nearby, staring at him, mouth wide. Unnerved, he turned.

Hi, Amy, he mumbled, jerking his head back by a fraction of an inch. The paranormal wacko.

Her mouth still hung open and her eyes appeared as if she were possessed by a demon. Darren… I never thought I would see you here, she protested from her seat, her voice high-pitched. Why’d you register? Are you actually going to play? Several people in the stands nearby turned their heads to Amy and Darren.

Darren blushed. Shh, not so loud. Yes, I’m playing.

Hunched, her fingers curled as she pointed her hand at him, she said, Watch out. There’s an evil spirit on the playing field. Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.

Shaken, Darren walked over to the center of the puntball field, feeling like there were 1,000-watt floodlights aimed at him as everyone craned necks to view this late entry. Plus, his noticeable limp wasn’t helping convey an image of cool confidence. He tripped, then recovered.

As he saw the two teams up close, his heart sank. There was Ben, his massive frame filling out his purple outfit nicely. The guy who had jump-knocked Darren aside a few hours ago at school. He appeared twice as big, with those massive pads and that shiny puntball helmet on his head. When he saw Darren, he twice punched with a fist into the palm of his other hand.

Brigitta was there too. One of the students who also had picked on Darren. She flashed him an evil grin before mouthing him the words I’m gonna get you.

Plus, he recognized about five other classmates among the two teams.

I should walk away, and back out, he thought as sweat broke out on his brow. I really should.

But the referee had already walked up to him. You’re late, he said.

Yeah. Sorry.

Well, kid, there are two teams, and they both have the same number of players. So let me talk to them.

No, Darren wanted to shout out. No.

Captains forward, please, the referee shouted, cupping his hands.

Two teenagers, both helmeted, emerged from the teams and broke into a short dash up to the referee. One was a guy, and the other was a gal. Darren looked at their faces, but didn’t know them.

One of you has to take him, the referee said.

I’ve never seen him, the guy said, sizing up Darren.

The gal shot a dirty look at Darren. I know him, she said. She snarled at the other captain, You take him.

Well, the young man shrugged. We’re both full. Now, let’s go back to the game…

Wait a second, Doug, the referee admonished him, "You know the