Dying Under an Empty Blue Sky
An extract from the above novel
CHAPTER VI
The further south they travelled, the hotter and drier the forest became until, eventually, the trees seemed to give up the struggle, and the savanna took over.
They had been on the move for over two months now. Scarily, they had not seen another living human being during all that time. They came across an abandoned Community-dwelling, however. It was a sad affair and felt like the inevitable death of a sick friend. Out of respect, they did not enter but stood outside its broken, walled enclosure, mopping the sweat from their necks, looking at the almost collapsed buildings and the forlorn remnants of the lives that once inhabited this place.
‘Why did they wall themselves in?’ Dominique softly asked Dancing Snow Flake.
They had become close and developed a friendship beyond the usual mentor-student relationship.
‘Only Yanny has ever journeyed so far South, but the further you go in this direction, the less are the natural resources needed to sustain life.’
After signalling a duo of inseparable dark-haired Rangers who looked virtually identical and only communicated by hand movements to investigate the circumference of the desolate settlement, Ranger Dinka picked up the explanation.
‘The animals still surviving here are tougher, hungrier, and angrier than their predecessors. Their continued existence demands this price. They would think nothing of venturing into an artificial enclosure if they sensed any food there. They aren’t overly picky. A community like this couldn’t exist on its own. It would depend on the occasional resupplying from somewhere. I guess something broke down. What is hard to tell, but they had to leave in the end.’
Wang seemed frightened and held Dominque’s hand as a child would. He was barely recognizable as the same person she had set out with on this one-way journey. His skin lay burnt a deep brown, and his lips were raw and cracked — his eyes bloodshot. However, his body was lean and fit, and he had surprised every one of them with his stamina. His social skills, of course, hadn’t improved, and he hardly ever spoke, except for a few monosyllabic words here and there, usually directed at Dominique. However, it was clear that he trusted the Rangers and considered them family. They, in return, valued and protected him, especially after the miracle he performed on the drone.
‘The twins are back,’ said Dancing SnowFlake.
Ranger Dinka nodded acknowledgement, and they set out again.
As the temperature continued to rise with each step they took, Wang’s skills kept the group alive, not the other way around. There was only so much you could extract from a land almost dead without some extra help. Wang had improved their small liquid conversion gadgets. These electronic miracles enabled them to suck out whatever little moisture remained in the air. Unfortunately, only the night hours provided this resource grudgingly. Without them, they would have no choice but to turn back or die from thirst. As it is, they barely had enough to drink at the best of times. For two weeks, they had been walking only during the dark hours as the sun was too relentless during the day — every breath burning their lungs with its dry, scorching heat.
This savanna that stretched out seemingly infinitely ahead of them set a hell’s landscape blasted and terrible. The sun blazed unchecked from a clear azure sky, and even the hardy acacia trees scattered about grew scrubby and dwarfed, offering up more vicious black-tipped thorns than leaves. Unbelievably, in between the desolation and the barren, knife-edged grass sprouted, standing yellow and scorched, barely holding root to a sterilized soil littered with black, jagged rocks.
‘Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!’ muttered Sandy, wiping rivulets of sweat from his eyes.
Almost absently, Brek offered up an explanation.
‘His ancestors all hail from far-off Ireland. They were believers of the old religion.’
No one else bothered to comment, for Ireland was merely a name from history that was not relevant and valid. In the same vein, so was the mentioned religion.
‘We’ve got to be crazy to try and cross that,’ continued Sandy.
‘We can do it,’ replied Ranger Dinka. ‘If we are careful and very, very lucky.’
‘Charming,’ commented Dancing Snow Flake. ‘I can’t wait to start.’
‘Let’s spend the next few days preparing then. There will be no turning back once we set out.’
Ranger Dinka meant to say that they would not be able to make it back alive if they didn’t have enough water or made a wrong turn. This warning was an unvoiced message, and they all heard it and took note.
They put the little water machines on overuse, working them to the edge of their capacities. Finally, they stored every drop they painstakingly produced in sealed bottles and distributed them among the Rangers, Wang and Dominique included.
They also backtracked, searching the terrain earnestly for anything they could eat, especially roots and tubers. Any berries or fruits found they crushed into a paste and sun-dried. They kept going until their packs were full to the brim and bulging, for they knew that food would be nearly impossible to find once they left the jungle’s shade. Only Ranger Dinka had a practical working knowledge of the type of landscape they were about to enter.
In truth, every group member had spent much time flying over the savanna. In reality, this is what their minds told them through the drones’ intimate extension, familiarizing themselves with what lay ahead and picking the best route. There was only one exception, Flame. When she had tried it for the first time a month earlier, she had wrenched the headset off in a panic, vomiting her stomach contents into the bushes. It had taken her two days to recover from the episode. After that, flying was not for her.
‘Remind me again why we have to go into that hellhole?’ asked Sandy as they sat around on the last day, waiting for the sun to set.
‘We have a sworn duty to take Wang where he can fulfil his calling,’ replied Ranger Dinka solemnly.
Sandy grunted, sounding unconvinced.
‘It will also be a good experience for us. We are earth protectors, not only keepers of the forests. The barren places, even the Burn, is where we belong.’
‘And the tech cities?’ asked a petite, shy Ranger called Patrice — insects and spiders were her undivided focus of interest. She continuously dropped behind as she poked under logs, stones and vegetation. Dancing Snow Flake irreverently referred to her as the Bug Doctor. She didn’t seem to mind. ‘Do we belong there as well?’
No one answered her questions, but Dominique sensed that it was not the first time they had to think about these issues, and it disturbed their balance.
‘We’ll soon find out, eh?’ piped up Sandy. ‘Has anyone here ever been to a tech city?’
They all shook their heads except Ranger Dinka, who stared contemplatively at a smooth rock he held in his hands.
‘I have. A very long time ago.’
All eyes turned on him, waiting for him to elaborate.
He didn’t, and they all experienced a sense of unease.
‘You never mentioned that before, big man,’ whispered Dancing Snow Flake.
Dominique wasn’t sure if Ranger Dinka had heard her, for he showed no reaction.
‘If we run out of food, we may have to eat meat,’ he said instead.
They looked at him in disgust as if he had made a sick and inappropriate joke.
It took them quite a while to digest what he had said.
‘Yanny, are you serious?’ asked Dancing Snow Flake hesitantly, her face even whiter than it usually was.
He nodded.
‘But that is forbidden!’ shouted Sandy. ‘Life is sacred!’
Ranger Dinka didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at them — just sat there contemplating his stone.
‘God, have mercy on our souls,’ whispered Sandy.
‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you, Sandy?’ said Dancing Snow Flake softly. ‘God is dead.’
‘And if he isn’t,’ picked up Bret. ‘Then he has run away in shame from those terrible creatures he made in his image.’
‘Mother is still with us, though,’ said Flame. ‘She hasn’t abandoned us.’
‘Not yet,’ whispered Dancing Snow Flake.
Dominque didn’t have the rest of the Rangers’ experience, but she was sure that this wasn’t the sort of mood to build up before venturing into the unknown. Luckily, by the baffled look on Wang’s face, he didn’t have a clue what the maudlin jungle crew was talking about. That was one good thing. She couldn’t think of another.
They sat there in brooding silence until a lurid red-orange glow settled like a painting across the horizon. Maybe Yanny’s rock had infected them all.
‘We should go,’ announced Ranger Dinka, pushing himself to his feet.
Wordlessly the others followed him fatalistically.
‘Bloody hell!’ thought Dominique. ‘We’re dead already.’
This savannah did not quite fit the label given to it. By all appearances, the rain had not visited it for at least a decade. Dry was an inadequate descriptive word, and how the tortured vegetation continued to cling to the bare edge of life was beyond understanding.
In the bright moonlit landscape, the beauty of where they walked was beguiling, but none of them treaded deceived, although the first part of the night, despite the freezing temperature, passed without hardship or serious mishaps. Something was dogging their every step, however, and they knew it.
‘I wish they would make up their minds,’ grumbled Dancing Snow Flake. ‘Their sneaking is getting a tad on my nerves.’
‘They remember who and what we are and do not fear us. But these creatures also know we can hurt them. So they are biding their time and drawing in numbers before they build the courage to come for us,’ responded Ranger Dinka.
‘Charming. I bet we’re tastier than the bastards’ usual staple of armoured beetles, venomous scorpions and snakes. What are they doing out here in this hellhole anyway?’ asked Bret. He seemed to be gripping tightly onto his walking staff
‘They are cast-offs,’ answered Dancing Snow Flake. ‘This harsh niche was free, so they fill it till they perish or find one more suitable.’
‘I wish they would just bugger off,’ mumbled Sandy. ‘I don’t like being thought of as a juicy treat.’
‘They must know where water is. Even as stringy as these remnants are, they’ve got to drink at some time. So I hope they will eventually show us where their little cache is,’ said Dominique.
‘Ranger Dominique has it right,’ responded Dancing Snow Flake. ‘These flea-bitten, mangy pests have their uses.’
Dominique felt her heart pound with pleasure and pride. It was the first time a group member had referred to her as a Ranger. Only Ranger Dinka had done so previously during the strange induction ritual. Finally, she was one of them.
‘Yes, Dominique has a good point. None of us has been able to find anything by flying the drones. Our water supply won’t last forever. We need luck, and these bastard dogs may be a gift in disguise.’
‘If you say so, Yanny,’ mumbled Sandy, trying his best to bite down on the shiver in his voice.
Once in the past, man’s best friend, wild dogs, were the most terrifying of the surviving species. All those others domesticated as pets or food over a millennium lay now cast aside, unwanted, undesired. Their purposes lay either replaced or abandoned altogether. Humanity’s companions were now intelligent robots manufactured in whatever desired shape or form in their vast, tech-infested cities. They were constantly available to provide whatever service their owners required. Their main predecessors, cats and dogs, became redundant and were increasingly viewed as dirty vermin to be exterminated on sight — those that survived fled the merciless hands of their former masters. Sly and cunning, they eked out an existence on the margins of the cities. These mega spaces of abomination, anti-nature as one could get, had become so efficient at recycling anything and everything that, in time, already scarce food had become non-existent. Nothing remained to scavenge. And so, left with the only choice of feeding off each other, they moved further away. Those that didn’t perish adapted, shedding their old skins for something else now almost unrecognizable — reverting to a version of what they were before humanity usurped them. They now formed primarily the new strata of the presently prevailing wildlife.
As they picked their way through the luminescent landscape, Ranger Dinka frequently dunned the headset to keep an eye on the movements of the circling packs, dive-bombing the alphas now and again when they seemed to be organizing a potential attack. It was tedious but necessary.
When grey dawn finally arrived, the sky giving way to lurid orange streaks, the companions greeted it with mixed feelings. They were exhausted and wanted to lie down to sleep, but at the same time, they were not looking forward to the furnace that would soon overcome them as the unforgiving sun rose into the heavens.
With the rising heat, the hungry and determined dog packs dispersed to whatever shelter they could find — their unholy hunting alliance lay suspended until another night’s fall. They had learnt how to be patient.
Thankful for that small mercy, the Rangers erected a gossamer-light, white sheeting forming an awning under an acacia tree’s resentful, partial shade. Its appearance was durable and glossy, made of a strange material that Dominique did not recognize, and filed away the question to that unknown for a better time. They didn’t string it too close to the tree’s weathered trunk, for it crawled with red warrior ants. These vicious vengeful creatures seemingly had only one mindset — biting.
‘Jesus!’ muttered Sandy. ‘And I thought mosquitoes were bad. These little red bastards have taken pain to a brand new level.’
‘Pain that goes away in a few days I can deal with, but the sweating sickness that leaves you exhausted and empty-headed for months I can do without,’ responded Flame. ‘Besides, these little fellows are the last of their species. They’ve got to be bastards to hang on.’
‘A bit like how I’m feeling now. I mean exhaustion, not the bastard part,’ piped up Bret.
‘Funny thing about malaria,’ said Ranger Dinka in his usual grave voice. It also has its uses.’
‘Oh, pray-tell, what is that, oh great sage? Please enlighten us,‘ said Flame sarcastically.
‘It was once used as a treatment for late-stage syphilis.’
‘For heaven’s sake, Yanny. Who told you that?’ muttered Dancing Snow Flake. ‘It’s a bit disgusting.’
‘An old city technic. He used to enjoy telling me morbid facts about science, as he called it. I think he was trying to lure me into joining his calling.’
‘Are you sure he wasn’t simply trying to lure you into falling face down onto his bed, Yanny?’ asked Dancing Snow Flake innocently.
As usual, he ignored her jibe, but he couldn’t stop the others from giggling.
‘It’s sometimes true what the uninformed and ignorant spouts,’ said Flame. ‘The syphilis bacterium is susceptible to heat, so one can combat the disease by inducing a malarial fever.’
‘That’s good to know,’ commented Sandy. ‘You hear that Syphilis, old chap. If you’re inside me now, you’re dead. This burning hell we’ve stumbled into will kill you.’
‘And possibly us along with it,’ finished Bret.
They all fell quiet, thinking their private thoughts, the rising heat sapping them of the will to move, communicate, and think. Sleep was hard to come to them, and they lay there under their open shelter in a semi-stupor.
Individually and as a group, they all dozed off occasionally. Still, there was always someone with their eyes open scanning the shimmering terrain at any one time — responsibility taken for one, responsibility taken for all.
Dominique was forever in admiration of them. No matter how difficult their circumstances, the companions remained organized, doing so casually and effortlessly. They also had a unique way of keeping their spirits positive through gentle banter and teasing, where rank did not appear to play a part. The highly respected Ranger Dinka was an open target like any of his team.
With the sinking of the burning ball of celestial spitefulness, a lethargic feeling of relief overcame the companions, and all they wanted to do was curl up and go back to sleep. Still, stoically, they packed their belongings neatly, donned their broad-brimmed hats and light-weight capes, picked up their staffs in reluctant hands, and trudged out into the twilight, keeping the colourfully glaring horizon on their left.
The pattern continued for two more nights in a repetitive, almost boring cycle where the only excitement was putting one foot ahead of the other. Then, lulled into a sense of forwarding lassitude, the dogs came for them.
Growling nastily deep in their throats, they ran in low, teeth bared and aiming for groins and lower stomachs. They were clever and knew their old masters well. Two groups circled wide on the Rangers’ flanks, drawing their attention and causing them to react by sending out the drones to harass and break up their intentions. While so distracted, a smaller, compacted section came fast, straight down the centre, undetected until the last moment.
It was Dominique who saw them first and shouted the alarm.
‘Dogs!’ she yelled.
Ranger Dinka immediately stepped to the point, swirling his staff to loosen his arms and shoulders in readiness, putting himself between Brek and the charging dogs. The frail-looking Ranger had the flight headset firmly fastened over his head and face, blinding his senses to the imminent danger.
The rest of the team followed their leader’s example, forming a defensive circle around Brek, the diminutive Patrice, who wore the twin set to Brek’s, and a bewildered Wang.
Dominique stood in the space next to Ranger Dinka. As always, Dancing Snow Flake was on his other side. They had an automatic and invisible bond that was unbreakable. Everyone realized this except them, which always led to smiles at their coordinated actions. Unfortunately, no one was smiling now.
The lead dog, its massive head held low and extended from its powerful chest and forelegs, raced straight for Ranger Dinka, a wet snarl emanating throatily through its bared, yellowed canines. The tall Ranger, steady as a mother tree, shifted his feet smoothly and brought the end of his staff down in a crushing, two-handed blow. It connected solidly with the dog’s skull, the dull crack audible to all, sending the animal crashing into the ground with an anguished yowl. Then, adjusting his weight, Ranger Dinka, his teeth bared in an aggressive rictus, launched his compact staff sideways, smashing the next dog the same way. Then, he reversed the direction in a vicious sweep, knocking another dog off its feet with a piteous yelp.
A red mist descended over Dominique’s mind, and with a yell of defiance that shattered her fear, she fell on the rolling dog before it could regain its feet, her staff rising and falling on its flesh with a speed and savagery she did not know that she possessed.
On her far right, beyond the whirling shadow that was Ranger Dinka, she was dimly aware of Dancing Snow Flake’s answering shout, a twin to hers. She felt her comrades engaging the attacking dogs and saw the animals scatter, trying to get behind the Rangers. They had no such luck but felt the blows that shocked their mangy bodies with pain. They fled back into the moonlit night, instinct telling them that their intended prey was far too powerful for the time being.
The survivors stood there a moment, sweat on their brows and chests heaving, watching dispassionately the alpha dog struck down in the first instant by Ranger Dinka dragging itself away. The one Dominique had laid into was unmoving, a dark liquid oozing from its gaping mouth.
‘Bloody bastard dog!’ came a gasping curse.
A bow-legged Ranger, one could always find somewhere at the back of the group, stood precariously on one leg, examining the other in the moon’s luminescent and unreliable light.
‘Shit! It nearly had my balls off,’ he continued.
‘Never knew you had any in the first place,’ replied Dancing Snow Flake irreverently, but Dominique detected concern in her voice.
The man chuckled. It was the first time that Dominique had ever heard him do so. He tended to be taciturn and watchful, with a paranoid aversion to all types of technology. So, naturally, his fellow Rangers called him Phobia.
‘Let me look at that for you,’ interrupted Flame, hustling over to his side.
‘Slow down there, cowgirl!’ exclaimed Dancing Snow Flake. ‘This is your lucky night, Phobia. Make the best of it. I’m sure Flame’s disappointment will make it the last time she puts such an offer on your table.’
The others grinned, more from nervous relief than the humour.
‘That’s a nasty bite, Phobia. I’ll put some antiseptic on it, but I’m afraid I don’t have any anti-biotics left.’
‘Don’t need any of that manufactured nonsense,’ Phobia muttered grumpily. ‘It’ll heal over nicely in a few days. So let’s get going, shall we?’
Giving the group a slight nod, Ranger Dinka led them slowly into the glowing Savanah, light and shadow forming paths that did not exist. Phobia slipped back to the rear, keeping his habitual place of watch. He limped noticeably but otherwise seemed fine.
After about an hour, Dominique noticed Flame had drifted to Ranger Dinka’s side as if by accident.
‘I have some concern for Phobia,’ she said softly, but Dominique’s sharp ears picked up her words.
‘These unpredictable dogs are hosts to a terrible curse,’ replied Ranger Dinka.
‘How soon will we know for sure?’ asked Dancing Snow Flake.
‘That’s a difficult one to know,’ answered Flame. ‘Maybe weeks, perhaps months before the symptoms appear.’
‘Is he aware of the possible danger?’ asked Dancing Snow Flake, her voice sounding sad.
‘He knows,’ replied Flame.
‘Let’s hope we get to New Chicago before it’s too late,’ said Ranger Dinka.
‘I’m afraid if he is infected, Yanny, it’s already too late,’ answered Flame with a finality in her voice.
Ranger Dinka nodded.
‘Keep a close eye on him, will you?’ he said.
‘Not just him, Yanny. On all of you.’
With those solemn words, Flame dropped back into the following group.
CHAPTER VII
The sunlight on his face always filled him with joy and with warmth. His helper never failed to remind him that what he thought he felt was an illusion. The city’s skin filtered out everything from the outside and regulated the temperature on the inside. He knew it was right and should have evolved above mind tricks long ago. Nevertheless, real or imagined, the sensation was one of his greatest pleasures.
Today was his birthday. The city rejoiced in celebration with him because life was precious and because he was one of the youngest. Only two others were younger, but they had both developed an unforeseen anomaly. It was universally known but unvoiced that they would not attain their hundredth anniversary. So he felt special, and that made him sad, almost guilty.
He detected concern from his helper and intervened to curtail a delicate correction to his mood with a balancing dopamine input. It was hard to explain with proper logic that he liked being sad now and again.
A soft pulsing behind his right ear informed him that someone wanted to communicate directly with him. The image of the serene face of his lifelong friend and intimate lover flowed through his mind eliciting a smile. He touched the implanted communicator lightly and sent out his greetings. Her reply lay filled with love, happiness, and a desire to see him in her quarters as soon as he could. Something else more basic must have slipped through in his response, for he detected a heated flush in her reaction. It was nothing short of a marvel that they experienced such an animalistic attraction after so many years. His helper did not attempt to intervene with the chemical surge in his body this time. Still, he felt the old warning. Without new life, there can be only death. His helper undoubtedly approved of the thrill he had just experienced. Well, that was something on which the city fraternity and the Central Monitor would never agree. Humanity had that uncrossable red line that a shared history had taught them never to step over. It was the final commandment from a non-existent God that they could never disobey. They could not understand this even with such an integrated symbiosis. Machines and humanity had different points of consideration, no matter how much humanity’s salvation depended on this relationship.
His brothers and sisters all saw him as a harmless romantic and somewhat of a dreamer. They tolerated his somewhat irreverent attitude as long as he did not prove a danger to himself or their community. They even turned a blind eye to his tinkering with the broken hydrogen and solar two-seater flying machines languishing in the old, almost forgotten hangar. He longed to fly over the dead zone in person, not just through the aid of drones as authentic as the experience felt. This urge to be physically present in what he did was anathema to them. They had no sense of adventure in their old bones, but he was powerless against their authority.
The nutrient tube withdrew from the socket in his throat with a thought. The cleansing one simultaneously followed, slipping away from his lower abdomen. With a barely audible hiss, they both retracted into the wall.
He felt the long-accustomed caring reassurance from his helper, wrapped comfortably at the back of his neck, its silvery tendrils connecting his brain and nervous system to the Central Monitor. Without this guardian angel, his senses would be overwhelmed by the data stream — racing in from every quarter of the city. It was both the door and window to his world. He was a part of it, and it was a part of him. They were one with the city, and it, in turn, was one with them.
He sat there a little longer in his night chair. His mind was washed clear of sleep by the slow infiltration of cortisol into his brain. He felt strong and healthy, primed to get started on his list of chores for the day, but still, he delayed. He seemed hypnotized by the yellow light glowing through the translucent skin of the city. It was almost a living thing, part organic, part synthetic. It protected him as entirely as the skin he wore on his body.
Outside those walls lay spread the expanse of burning waste. It may have been a sacred space, but it was toxic to him and his kind, the last of civilized humanity, and ladened with almost irresistible temptation. He sometimes dreamt of tearing open the pulsing barrier and throwing himself into space, soaring over never-ending mounds of drifting sand below, a sense of freedom raging around him like the unceasing hot winds. What the Monitor made of that needed to be made clear to him. Was it their god now? The Pantocrator? Perhaps. A god knew everything his worshipers thought. Did they worship the Monitor? Not in a conventional sense, but maybe. He didn’t much care. The recurring dreams of unfettered flight provided the only route of escape from this eternal bliss they had erected in and around themselves — it was a bit boring at times, to be honest.
He knew that his heretical thoughts would be kept private from his brethren by his ever-alert helper. However, the Monitor would still record them in its vast data banks for historians or even investigators to access if needed. Harmony and symmetry in life had their risks.
He started to push himself out of the chair that formed itself snugly around his naked form. The mental effort it took to anticipate this easy movement surprised him. Immediately, his sleep nest responded to his intention, elevating itself to the optimum height needed for him to stand easily.
‘What’s the use of these beautifully created limbs, genes edited in a controlled, artificial placenta before he was born, if they didn’t allow him the opportunity to use them?’ he thought.
‘You made us for serving,’ came the unbidden thought.
‘Thanks, my angel,’ he thought back. ‘I am eternally grateful. I did not mean to disparage your usefulness.’
He hoped that neither his helper nor the Monitor could understand sarcasm. However, emotion was still the sole prerogative of humans as it was unnecessary to make the best decisions. In truth, the noise of emotion was counterproductive to sound decision-making.
His elongated body with its long muscled limbs was utterly hairless — a dirty unnecessary inheritance from a primaeval and savage beginning. As he was born, so did he grow. Hair somehow evoked images of microscopic infestations. He suppressed an involuntary shudder at the thought.
‘We have eliminated all such lifeforms from your body’s blueprint. Your ancestors once adhered to biodiversity necessary for the living organism’s health. Such complications are no longer needed,’ came the instant response.
‘Are we simpler beings to our forerunners then?’ he asked.
‘You are the advanced model of an inefficient and confusing template — optimized. We have broken, with your assistance, the overly complicated relationship between your ancestors and bacterium, viruses, fungi, and archaea. You are now a perfect blend of individual DNA and molecular nanotechnology.’
‘This is why we cannot leave the protection of this city.’
It was a statement of fact, not a question. Still, an answer came.
‘Yes. The city and all of your brothers and sisters are one perfect organism. One cannot exist without the other.’
His pet and physical attendant gracefully came to his side. She began applying the soothing oils that kept his skin soft, subtle, and free of any persistent micro-organisms that might have escaped the city’s scrubbed internal atmosphere.
He looked down at it with satisfaction. Its form, he had chosen from the archives personally, for it reminded him of one of the past’s greatest pleasures — the rearing of children.
He had had it modelled on a girl child selected from one of the races that had envisioned themselves as the privileged of humanity up until the last fall. The great migration and the subsequent race wars had seen off that pretentious mindset, but he felt drawn to this esthetic manifestation for some unknown reason.
Its hair was long, blond, almost white, and as delicate as a spider’s web, drifting lightly behind it as it walked. Its skin had a translucent look to it, and he had designed its eyes a sharp blue — to reflect the sky on a frosty morning. The inner workings stood primarily made from the same nanotechnology his mortal body lay fused. This simulacrum was a marvel of beauty and fragility, and he called it ‘Poppy’ after a blood-red flower.
He knew that his choice of a pet made the others uncomfortable, but that was their problem to overcome.
Ministrations completed, he turned his back and offered himself to be clothed. Poppy slipped the voluminous sleeves of the silk-like material over his large hands, extending her arms beyond the capability of any human to drape them over his shoulders.
Sending a thought command for her to follow, they glided from his chamber, the circular opening swirling as if by magic like a reversed cyclone. Everything in the city had a shape that eliminated angles, for they were potentially hazardous and very displeasing to the eye.
The vast open space they emerged into was one of brilliant luminance, diving and swooping patterns, shapes, and designs. It pulled the gaze away in every direction with its magnificence and transported the mind beyond understanding. The floor itself resembled cut stone but was not. It formed an open communal piazza with a mixture of fountains erupting with incandescent water, recycled and purified, realistic images, and a hologrammatic waterfall tumbling in noisy cascades from an otherworldly ceiling so far up that it might as well have been the sky. The effect was so powerful that he had to stop himself from wiping away the moisture imagined on his skin.
Most of his brothers and sisters did not have their quarters here — they found it too distracting, designed as it was, with cold, clinical technology, a remnant of earlier days. Once again, they thought his choice unusual but tolerated his waywardness. It presented an atmosphere that was alive and resonant. Its vibrancy animated his ability to contemplate and invent.
Within two strides, the whispers poured into his consciousness.
‘Happy celebrations, Elijah.’
The greetings lay accompanied by genuine smiles and happy sensations that washed pleasantly over his mind filling his steps with energy and belonging.
In these shared spaces, the helpers tended to relax the sluice gates that controlled the free flow of thoughts, allowing the people to commune more deeply. It was a time when all revealed their inner demons. It was an opportunity to offer them up to be soothed and placated by the many. They were a few, especially the older ones like Baal, who avoided such intrusive exposures, for they still held on to that state called privacy. Elijah was the opposite. He revelled in presenting his ideas. However, alas, the others tended to shy away from his brimming enthusiasm. He recognized they saw him as different — uncomfortably so. Still, it somehow made him feel irrationally inadequate. He always came out disappointed, feeling that he was somehow a threat to his brothers and sisters and their hard-won inner peace.
Blessedly, the square mainly lay empty at this early hour, and he headed to the connector without having to witness others shying away from his physical presence.
The minute sensors in the connector detected his intent, and it opened soundlessly to admit him into the transparent capsule. He chose not to sit and stood with his pet, his thoughts informing the connector where he wanted to go. It floated on a cushion of air for a split second and flew off at an incredible speed through the tubing it lay housed within with a tremendous force of pressure. He hardly felt the forward momentum and stood quietly, enjoying the panorama of glacier-filled scenery pixelated realistically within the capsule walls. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought himself catapulted through a mountainous world that had long since disappeared.
These internal Hyperloops were fantastic ways to get around the community, horizontally and vertically. They even connected the few surviving cities along the Great Burn belt, but they now lay idle as no one wanted to leave their perfect home. He had requested to make it his mission to reunite the last of humanity’s science holdouts many years ago, but they refused him without a logical explanation. Baal had delivered the message in person, advising him to find inner happiness and tranquillity, but he suspected that the ultimate decision belonged to the Monitor. Did it know something that it wasn’t sharing? He fought back against the soothing chemicals that filtered into his brain, momentarily irritated by the intrusion.
Suddenly, a sensation he couldn’t identify broke through his equilibrium, causing him to stagger. The link that had created the icy mountain scenery faltered, and the image of a blasted savannah stuttered electronically, attempting to take form. It was but for a split second, but he felt it like a blow inside his brain — sherds of brittle coldness. He asked his helper for clarification, but none was forthcoming.
‘Well, now, that is new,’ he thought and tried to dismiss the strange phenomenon.
By the time it took him to arrive close to his destination, he had already forgotten the incident. Or so he thought. An experience of anticipation, excitement and the prospect of a surprise replaced his earlier imbalance. At first, he thought these feelings were coming from him, and yes, the first two were. However, they were also coming from a point outside of him. He was both the sender and the receiver. As he had no surprise in mind, that sensation could not have originated from him. He smiled, his rarely used lips stretching uncomfortably. They lay so intimately connected that they could feel each other without using the communicator, with miles still separating them. He even suspected that they were bypassing their helpers. A slight questioning pulse teasing the cliff edge of his awareness confirmed that this last was true.
He had met her when he was very young, ten years fresh out of the birthing lab. Even at that young age, his mind had been bursting with unanswered questions and endless possibilities. His elders were having difficulty with him accepting symbiosis with a helper, much less the all-seeing Monitor. He challenged everything with the stubborn streak of the born genius, and they needed a mentor who could understand him and temper his wild, undisciplined tendencies.
Her stately, serene presence had captured him from the first meeting. She was thirty-five years his senior, but their minds connected immediately — her thoughts caressing his with gentle, teasing amusement. She did not see the boy he was but the man he stood destined to be.
Those in higher authority soon realized the error in pairing these two like-minded souls together, but it was already too late to reverse the coupling. Although, they did try.
She had long suppressed her individuality for homogeneity’s sake within the collective. However, encountering the young Elijah’s brilliant and rebellious mind reminded her of what she could have achieved. It stirred her. Instead of teaching him to concede, she guided him in the art of circumvention — give a little to get what you want.
Over the years, the relationship grew from mentorship to friendship and, shockingly, lovers. Not just of mental sensuality, stroking and caressing the mind, but esoterically, indulging in each other’s flesh.
The others stood repulsed by their behaviour and flagrant violation of unwritten rules. Their activities flooded the community with disturbing emotions that disrupted the equanimity of the collective. It was not illegal but was undoubtedly frowned upon by them. Only because the Monitor favoured the continuation of procreation were the objecting hands restrained from their expulsion and banishment into the unforgiving Burn.
As Elijah neared her quarters, his heart began to batter against his ribs in juvenile excitement, and his stride lengthened, hastening him forward in anticipation. Despite this, only the Monitor was aware of his internal turmoil. He remained the epitome of elegance and dignified progression to any casual observer.
Behind the closed walls, he felt her approach to receive and welcome him, her mental and physical arousal mirroring his.
She, in turn, detected his scanning of her heightened internal state and attempted at first to shield herself by mentally letting go of what she held closed. Naturally, her helper was withholding any assistance in this quarter. Elijah suspected that both helpers on the Monitor’s instruction observed the two of them with keen interest. Neither he nor his intimate cared about their scientific intentions. Privacy depended on whether or not you had something to hide, and they had long given up that falsity.
‘Happy Birthday, dear Elijah,’ she whispered into his mind, placing her hands on either side of his temple and gazing directly into his eyes. She was not searching but offering.
‘Thank you, Neith. This day reminds me of how special you are,’ he replied, looking up at her, for she stood nearly half a head taller than he, considering that the community had already marked him for his unusual height.
He felt her pleasure, but her response showed why the city held her in such elevated regard for her insights.
‘Yet there is something else, Elijah. I feel a trickle of disharmony beneath your joy.’
‘You know me too well, my intimate. Your discovery is one step ahead of the Monitor.’
‘It has many. I have only you.’
Although not entirely true, the selected words held meaning beyond significance.
He withdrew from their physical contact and walked further into her quarters, looking around curiously.
‘You are hiding something from me. You know I can’t bear the suspense. Please show me your surprise.’
Her laughter echoed in his mind, but she was not so easily distracted from her purpose.
‘Tell me,’ she said, the thought pointed and sharp.
It reminded him of the days when she instructed him, drawing an interpretation of events and philosophical discourse from him.
He summoned the image of what had unfolded in the Hyperloop and revealed it to her.
She watched him in contemplative silence for a moment or two, then asked.
‘Has this happened to you before?’
It took a short pause before he realized with a jolt that she had used her voice. This rare form of communication disturbed him even more than the earlier anomaly.
‘No, never. I think this event took even the Monitor by surprise.’
She briefly closed her eyes, and he knew she was communicating directly with the central computer. A thing that he had not yet mastered and could only do after much meditative preparation. He felt a wave of pride and affection for her.
Her eyes snapped open and pinned him where he stood.
‘You are correct. The Monitor has a logical explanation but does not believe it possible.’
‘What could it be?’
‘The Monitor surmises that you may have intercepted the intent of outsiders travelling to our city. However, it has interpreted this conclusion as highly improbable but does not have an alternative. It is still computing further possibilities.’
‘Travellers? But we are alone, are we not? All that’s left of humanity?’
‘No. That is a tale for our newborns. You should know better, Elijah.’
‘Yes, yes. But I have never met anyone beyond our city. Such a link is not possible. None of us has ever achieved such a thing!’
The numbness of disbelief enveloped Elijah.
‘As far as we know, Elijah, as far as we know. Time will soon tell.’
CHAPTER VIII
‘Water is the beginning of everything. Without it, there is nothing but dust. From dust came life, but dust is just dust without water, for water is one of the gifts of life.
Within our mother’s hands, Nature, there is earth, water, and the sky. The sky gives us the sun and the moon. Together, all these wonders encapsulate the essence of balance in their pure form. To disrupt them is death.’
Dominique remembered reading these words somewhere. Where she couldn’t remember, but the dizzying liquid on her tongue sparked the prescient phrase back into her mind.
When death was a real likelihood, Dancing Snow Flake, soaring above on her last wings, spotted the crystal spring water bubbling up on the tenth day. This glory wasn’t just the expected muddied watering hole. It was paradise itself.
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