by Eliza Taye
Two different options appeared onscreen: start your journey or create your own experience.
“Which one do you want to do, Allie?” asked Dylan through the headset.
“I don’t know.” Speaking to the VRI, I asked, “What is create your own experience?”
The choices disappeared and in its place came an animation of what the VRI was describing. “Create your own experience is where you can choose a particular event in time to explore more thoroughly. Or you can choose from a series of events in time and create your own journey through time.”
The same choice screen returned, waiting for us to make our decision. Before I could press anything, the choice on the left was encircled by a green outline. In an instant, my reality switched from the real to the virtual.
Chapter 19
Creaking floorboards chastised me with every step I made. The room I entered was crowded with men in knee-length pants, tights, and jackets with fluffy white shirts underneath their main garment. No one looked at me as I walked in, but still, I felt like I was interrupting something important. Straight ahead of me stood a cluster of five men standing in front of a table. One man was seated and signing a piece of thick parchment.
Edging closer to the table, still checking to see if anyone in the room noticed my presence, I peered over the shoulder of the shortest man there. Near the top of the parchment were the words “The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America,” written in beautiful script.
My jaw plummeted to the floor as I realized I was watching the Declaration of Independence being signed. Funny, I’d never realized that the word “united” wasn’t capitalized in the title. Gawking at the paper, I didn’t notice the man in front of me turn around. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I recognized the face of Benjamin Franklin gazing back at me.
“Allie, are you seeing this?” came Dylan’s voice through the headset, nearly knocking me over in surprise. I’d forgotten he was there.
“Yes, I am!” I exclaimed, barely believing my eyes.
“Which one is George Washington?”
Craning my neck around Benjamin Franklin, I responded, “I think he’s the tallest one over there.”
“Amazing!” shouted Dylan, hurting my ear just a bit. “I never knew he was quite that tall.”
“Don’t you learn about American History in Oceania?”
“Yes, but we are mostly taught World History and Oceania History. America is covered of course, but we don’t learn about it as in-depth as you do.” Dylan’s voice went away for a moment and then returned as excitedly as before. “I’ve got to check every one of these people out. See who they are and where they’re from.”
Unlike Dylan, I was more interested in the document itself. I reached out to touch the single long sheet of parchment, the ink from the signatures still wet. Careful not to touch any of the wet ink, I brushed my fingers on the edge of the parchment, stroking it lightly. It was rougher than I had expected and the odor coming from the paper was something I couldn’t quite place.
Suddenly, the room disappeared and Dylan and I were propelled to a different place and time. I found myself on a beach somewhere I didn’t recognize. Darkness blanketed the land, minimal moonlight cast down from last quarter moon hanging low in the sky. I could just make out a hill rising up to my left and decided to climb it. Dirt crunched beneath my feet as I moved up the steep hill; a salty odor carried on the breeze from the sea behind me.
My feet felt awkward in the shoes I was wearing, gazing down I noticed both shoes looked exactly the same—there was no right or left shoe. Bunching up the various petticoats, I continued up the incline.
Just before I reached the top, I heard a deafening boom shatter the calm in the air. I snapped my gaze in that direction to see a ship firing up at what looked like a fort.
I wracked my brain, trying to figure out exactly when and where I was, but before I could determine it myself, a narration kicked in.
“You are viewing the first fire that caused the start of the American Civil War. Confederate forces shot upon Fort Sumter, which was held by Union forces at the time.”
“Thank you,” spoke Dylan into the headset. “Sorry, Allie, I was confused and had to ask.”
I was baffled myself because I hadn’t heard him ask. Just when I was about to say something to him, cannon fire drowned out my voice.
The program had once again moved us through time and we found ourselves in the midst of a battle during the Civil War based on the clothing of the men fighting. Pungent smells of blood permeated the air as men fired upon and stabbed one another. Cries of pain and anguish filled my ears as man after man was cut down on both sides. Standing in the midst of it, I was only a viewer and thankfully not a participant.
The battle raged on for what seemed like several really long minutes before we were once again transported to another place and time. On and on that went, jumping from one moment in history to another in chronological order. By the end of the tour, we had traveled through 500 years of history and my mind was boggled.
The screen went dark and the same female voice from before said, “I hope you found your journey insightful, educational, and inspirational. Enjoy the rest of your time at the San Francisco Museum.”
Taking off the headset, I checked the time on my omniphone. We’d been in the VRI for three hours already. Shocked, I quickly sent a message to Gran letting her know she could take her time visiting her friend and that we’d probably be there until closing in order to visit the rest of the museum.
Placing everything back the way it was before we came, Dylan and I moved on to the next room where we were each given five credit codes and directed to one of the fifty machines in the room.
“What is this for?” wondered Dylan as the robotic attendant walked away.
“It’s for the printing machine.”
Dylan cocked his head to the side and asked, “The printing machine?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “It’s a 3D printer. You can print whatever you want on it; any item commonly made up to 300 years ago. They’re pretty cool. I have some things at home I printed using one.”
Tentatively, Dylan walked over to one of the free printing machines and examined it. On the machine there was a small touchscreen in which to search for an item to print. There were several different categories to choose from, or the option to search for the item. Dylan stared at the machine with wide eyes, trying to take in everything before wildly searching for something, selecting it, using my omniphone to enter the two credit codes necessary for the printing, and pressing start.
Lifting the lid where the objects appeared, Dylan pulled out an exact replica of the Declaration of Independence—animal skin parchment and signatures included. Nonchalantly, he said to me, “According to the menu you can print items containing paper.”
I gawked at him.” You can print physical books with that machine?”
Dylan nodded, running his hands on the 3D printer as he spoke. “This machine is astonishing. I can’t believe we don’t have one this advanced in Oceania. This would be a great invention to have.”
“Never mind that, I’m getting a book!” Pushing Dylan aside, I started searching the catalogue for any books that sounded interesting. Finding one that seemed particularly apparent to my life right now called Twenty-Thousand Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne, I chose it and pressed start, anxiously waiting for it to print out.
Looking up while I waited, I noticed Dylan over by another machine scrolling through the various options. A ping sounded and my item was ready. It had taken a couple of minutes, but soon before me was a physical book with real binding, paper, and a detailed, color-filled cover. Cradling the precious object in my hands, I simply stared down at it in adoration. I now had my own physical book just like those in Oceania.
Suddenly, Dylan grabbed my arm and turned me toward him. “Allie, you have to show me more. I’m probably the most knowledgeable person about the world of the Land Dweller
s, but I haven’t even scratched the surface—I know nothing. You’ve got to show me more about his world and I’m not returning to Oceania until I find out everything there is to know!”
I grinned back at Dylan, my newest most precious possession clutched in my arms. I, too, couldn’t wait to scour every inch of this museum to see everything it had to offer.
Chapter 20
The doors of the museum closed and locked behind us promptly at seven p.m., as Dylan and I were the last two people to leave. One of the robots nearly had to drag Dylan from the last exhibit about the history of the technological revolution in America.
Gran was waiting outside in a loading zone, the car hovering only about two feet from the ground at rest. Dylan and I approached the car, the sliding door opening for us before we arrived.
“How was the museum?” wondered Gran, swiveling the front chair around to face us in the backseat of the vehicle.
“It was extraordinary!” exclaimed Dylan, fist pumping the air.
“I really enjoyed it too. It was a lot of fun.”
“That’s wonderful…I’m glad you both liked it.”
“So where are we going now?” I wondered, buckling myself in.
“Well, I figured that by now both of you would be pretty hungry for dinner.” Gran keyed in a destination to the car manually and it started moving, completing a U-turn mid-air and traveling in the opposite direction. “So, earlier today, I asked my friend if she could help us get seats to the dining car of the old trolley system.”
Like I was living in slow motion, I felt my jaw drop and my eyes bulge nearly out of their sockets. Riding on the historic trolley cars was a long-time dream of mine. It was one of the things in San Francisco that my father had promised we’d do, but never got a chance to.
“The dining car of the old trolley system?” enunciated Dylan slowly.
I whipped my surprised face in his direction. “Yes! It’s the historic trolley—or cable cars—that were historic landmarks in San Francisco. Well, I guess they still are landmarks, but each trolley was modified and restored to have the ability to last underwater. Because so much of old downtown San Francisco is almost fifty feet underwater, most of the trolley car lines are underwater as well. A station was built above the waterline with a connection to the historic rail lines now lying underwater. You board the trolley above ground and then it dives into downtown, taking you to the old part of the city. It’s amazing and I’ve always wanted to go there!”
“And there is a dining car?” Dylan’s brow furrowed even more.
“Well, what Alexandria here didn’t mention is that a special long car was made for those who’d like to have the experience of eating dinner underwater as they toured the old downtown region. It’s usually very expensive and hard to get into, but my friend used to be one of the head engineers of the restoration project. She found space for the three of us on the dining trolley tonight at 7:30 p.m.”
I anxiously checked my omniphone for the time. Breathing a sigh of relief, I turned off the screen. It was only 7:05 p.m.
“Don’t worry, Alexandria, we’ll get there with time to spare.”
Unbuckling myself and launching my body across the small space in the car, I grabbed onto my grandmother, embracing her. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
Gran laughed, squeezing me back. “You’re welcome, my dear, anything for my one and only precious granddaughter.”
I grinned widely and kissed her flabby cheek, squeezing her waist tighter.
“All right, that’s enough now. Get back in your seat and place your seatbelt on. I don’t want you getting hurt if we’re in an accident.”
“Okay,” I rolled my eyes at the unlikelihood of her statement, but still couldn’t help grinning. The last ever car accident was ten years ago and only because two cars malfunctioned at the exact same time.
Peering out the window, I watched as we made our way to the section of the city where people no longer lived and the shops were empty as if everyone left in a hurry.
We arrived ten minutes before the trolley’s departure time. Although modern, the trolley car was designed like the historic ones of the past. Painted red on all sides with the characteristic gold-trim and grasping poles to use while standing garnished the outside, even though they weren’t functional. On the back of the car was the number 1 with Dining Trolley written underneath. It was probably twice the length of the other ones in the station. If I remembered correctly, forty of the original trolleys were still in operation, albeit with significant modifications.
Each group was allowed to choose their own seats once they boarded. Dylan, Gran, and I found one near the front to ensure we had an 180-degree view through the front and side windows. A waiter soon came around to ask each of us what we wanted to eat. The menu was very limited due to the fact that each meal had to be heated via the insta-oven, but I didn’t care. We each ordered burgers and fries, so the waiter moved on and eventually disappeared into a small section of the trolley at the rear.
The trolley took off and I glued my face to the window, ready to witness every moment of our tour. The tracks began to lead the trolley down into a nosedive, jerking the entire car as it plunged into the waters of old downtown.
Everyone made a yell of surprise when it hit the water, and didn’t seem to calm down until the trolley locked into the old rail lines and began moving through the water at a slow pace.
Outside, the whole atmosphere changed. All sorts of marine animals had made their homes on the outside of the buildings. Crabs scurried by on the algae covered ground and structures, with fish swimming by as if they were mimicking the people who once walked these streets.
“Look!” yelled a four or five-year-old boy sitting with his parents to my right. “It’s a shark!”
I craned my neck to see past the boy and his family to the shark swimming past a clothing store.
“Yeah, that’s a leopard shark,” matter-of-factly stated Dylan.
“Wow, that’s interesting. Do you know a lot about sharks, Dylan?” asked Gran.
“I wouldn’t say a lot, but I have an interest in marine species. I research information on them and watch immersion videos about them whenever I can. Leopard sharks are quite common along the San Francisco Bay region.”
“Looks like we have a shark expert aboard today,” announced the conductor of the trolley, a man who appeared to be in his mid-forties with auburn hair streaked in some places with gray.
Dylan merely smiled sheepishly.
“Hi, my name is Simon. I’ll be your conductor and tour guide for this evening. Your food will be arriving to you shortly. Until then, I’ll be pointing out landmarks and giving you interesting information on the old downtown of San Francisco.”
As if on cue, the waiter arrived with the food, starting at the back of the trolley and making her way to the front. When the three of us got our food, it looked to be tasty but wasn’t quite as good as I had expected when I bit into it. I didn’t care, though; this was more about the experience than the food.
“As I’m sure you all know, San Francisco was once an idyllic west coast major city well above ground. However, as the seas began to rise when most of the polar ice caps and coastal glaciers around the world melted into the sea, San Francisco’s waterline rose one hundred feet, causing the downtown street-level to be submersed in water.” The trolley went into a descent again and then up an underwater hill as he spoke.
“Due to the iconic nature of the trolley system, it was restored into an underwater experience to transport visitors through the lives of people at the turn of the millennium, when this area was still a booming metropolis.”
The conductor’s voice became slightly muted in my ears as the stores, shops, and homes that passed by in the background with all kinds of fish traveling leisurely past in the foreground transfixed me. Fish swarmed statues scattered through the downtown area that had become aggregation sites and feeding grounds. The dichotomy of it all fascinated me througho
ut the duration of the tour.
When the tour concluded at the end of the line, our hover car was waiting for us. Tired from our exhausting day, Gran and I dragged ourselves into the car. Dylan, still filled with boundless energy, hopped in and continued staring out the window at the trolleys.
Gran instructed the GPS to take us to her friend’s house where we’d be staying, then rested her head against the headrest.
“Thank you for taking us to the trolley cars,” Dylan said to Gran. “This day has been amazing.”
Gran chuckled slightly and replied. “You must not get out very much, do you? You’re acting like you’ve never been anywhere before.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just really fascinating. My parents never took me to these kinds of places cause they’re such workaholics. I’m really enjoying myself.” Dylan bounced in his seat like he had just eaten an entire pillowcase of Halloween candy. Glancing out the window of Gran’s car, Dylan’s face lit up in an expression of shock. “Tomorrow, can we go to the underwater tour of Alcatraz Island?”
I squinted out the window at the poster on the bulletin next to where our car was parked. It advertised underwater tours to Alcatraz Island for small groups leaving every three hours regularly from sunup to sundown.
“If Alexandria wants to go too, I’ll drop you both off, but I don’t go swimming underwater.” Although it was dark, I noticed the flash of white around Gran’s eyes in the rearview mirror as she plugged in her omniphone into the front panel. “Do you want to go, Alexandria?”
“Sure, that sounds like fun,” I genuinely replied.
. . .
The next morning was warm and clear, the searing sun beating down on us in the ninety-degree heat of the day. Dylan and I were standing in the harbor in front of a boat
