Solarpunk: Ecological and Fantastical Stories in a Sustainable World

by Fabio Fernandes

  As you know, I had told you that I had a bad dream the night before the day I decided to travel here. It’s time to reveal the content of the nightmare. It is hard to put into words the visions that my dreams brought me, visions which, no matter how horrific, at first I thought they were only my imagination, but Paulsen’s letter proved otherwise. As a man of science, I have thought of all possible alternative explanations, and I must confess, none of them are satisfactory, which leaves only one possible conclusion: I had a premonition.

  Admitting this is very difficult. The Vatican is very strict in such cases, and priests are trained to face premonition claims with skepticism, whether they are experienced by others or by the priest himself. Contrary to what many believe, when it comes to supernatural phenomena, the Catholic Church acts with extreme scientific rigor. But it is no use denying the facts, and in my case, I am convinced that the dream was a warning from God.

  When I began my scientific studies, my only desire was to prove to the world that faith was not the enemy of science. I believed that I would revolutionize the world with my inventions and change the view that the scientific community had of the Catholic Church. Of all my discoveries, bioelectrography—which I regret now—was at first the one that most excited me. If I could prove that the luminous halo that appeared in the photos was really the human soul, this discovery would renew people’s faith in God. To prove the existence of the human soul was a step closer to proving the existence of God.

  Unfortunately, my findings revealed sad truths under the human condition. Conditions that ended my faith in God and reduced my priesthood practice to mere bureaucratic employment. I imagine you noticed the uninspired way in which I led the masses after the St. Joseph’s Church incident.

  I will explain the reason for my spiritual apathy: Paulsen, and especially myself, believed that we were about to discover the essence of life. That which makes the human being unique and different from all animals. To our dismay, however, research has revealed the opposite of what we expected to find. As you already know, the luminous halo is only one part of the human body that exists in another dimension. But I realized that you, being a man of humble origin, did not understand all the implications of our discovery. Please do not feel offended, my dear friend. If I make such a statement, it is only because I wish to clarify your thoughts.

  When we discovered that both living beings and inanimate objects possessed the luminous halo which I called perianth, the social, cultural, and philosophical implications perplexed me. Understand, my dear fellow, the human soul of which so many poets, theologians, and philosophers wrote about is a myth created to grant the human being more importance than he actually possesses. This property, of which our species so much prides itself, is only a form of energy that can be found in any dog, or even in a stone. If Charles Darwin shook the pillars of Christianity with his Origin of Species, my discovery would overthrow Christianity once and for all.

  I have written several lines and I have not reported my dream yet. It is no longer possible to postpone this task. The best way for you to understand how the dream developed during my sleep is not to think of it as a dream, but as a story that passes before your eyes. Remember that time we met by chance at the opening of Odeon Cinema in Rua das Andradas in 1910 and watched the movie Revenge of the Innkeeper? My dream experience was like watching a movie projected on a movie screen.

  The images I saw in my dreams were of a metropolis of unparalleled grandeur, with skyscrapers whose end you just couldn’t see, walkways connecting the buildings with each other and lanes suspended for gigantic vehicles that traversed the bowels of the buildings. I felt as if I were inside one of the designs of the architect Antonio Sant’Elia. In this strange world, which I somehow knew was a future age, I witnessed the story of Gary Johnson. It was the name on his uniform, which was easily identified as that of a prisoner. He was standing before the judge in a place I thought was a courtroom from the way everyone was dressed, and especially from the opulent costumes of the court. Johnson was a relatively young man, said to be about 42 or 44 years old. After the judge pronounced the sentence—like a movie, there was no sound and therefore I did not know what words came out of his mouth—the guards took the prisoner into a vehicle that climbed an ascending walkway and entered a tunnel that crossed several buildings at great speed, that made me feel nauseated. His fate was a gray, windowless quadrangle flanked by two side columns. Gary Johnson was pulled out of the vehicle by the police and taken to an elevator. The prisoner’s next scene unfolded in a corridor accompanied by two jailers. Along the corridor walls were a number of doors where many young men, mostly black, dressed in uniforms equal to Johnson’s and others where old people were leaving, entered. Finally Johnson was led to the left, entering one of the hallway doors. Inside was a chair and another internal side door. The cops tied Johnson to the chair. I thought it was an execution. Since I did not know I was dreaming, I prayed to God that He would have mercy on Johnson’s soul. I closed my eyes so as not to witness the horror of the execution. All I heard was the prisoner’s cries of pain. I wondered how I had not been able to hear the judge’s sentence, but it did not matter, because when I opened my eyes I saw what you saw that night of August 15th, 1909. Gary Johnson was no longer a young man but an old man who could barely walk. Before I could recover from the shock of seeing the prisoner in that condition, the inner door opened and from there came a man carrying an object that I would recognize anywhere: it was the cylinder Paulsen and I designed to contain the perianth.

  The scene changed once more. Now I saw the city of clouds, as God sees it, and I discovered the source of energy that moved the vehicles, lifts, the unspeakable objects that flew through the heavens and, above all, that tortuous city. As if watching a documentary, I was shown the inside of those machines that infested the streets and how the perianth fed them. That world was a nightmare. Humanity had been reduced to fuel that moved the metal organs of that city.

  I woke with a start. I sat on the edge of the bed and thought about what I had dreamed about. I concluded that my dream was just a way for my unconscious to deal with what happened to the young Dorival a decade earlier. But when I opened Paulsen’s letter that morning all my certainties were shaken in a way that transformed me forever. I will not tell you what was in the letter, I will tell you what happened when I met him in the United States, since what I saw was exactly what was in the document.

  To not take more of your time and get you to act promptly, I’ll summarize what happened. Paulsen himself pursued his research with the perianth in the United States. Our machine had a serious problem: it could not contain large amounts of energy, which caused the incident in St. Joseph’s Church. I will use an analogy so you can understand me. Imagine the cylinder containing the perianth as a dam and the perianth the water of a river. What happened on the night of August 15th was a breach of the dam, but not of the whole dam, only an insignificant hole from which a small splash of water escaped. In other words, what destroyed the Church of St. Joseph that night is but a tiny fraction of the perianth of a human being. I can scarcely measure the destructive power of the perianth in its entirety.

  Well, Paulsen solved the problem of containing the perianth. The American government was funding his research and there was, even, an experimental submarine operating based on perianth. He began to lecture on the possibilities of the perianth, as he had done on other occasions, and how we were to revolutionize the world with a source of energy that would make solar power itself look like a campfire. I interrupted Paulsen and this is the appropriate time to say where this conversation took place: the address was a prison in the state of Arizona. Upon arriving at the scene, I was led by the guards to a laboratory set up in a decommissioned wing of the prison. That’s when I found a disfigured Paulsen and knew he was using convicts in his experiments. I do not know what moved me the most, whether Paulsen’s amorality or that of the American government—which I have always admired for advocating the ideals of l
iberty and equality—for sponsoring such an atrocity or Paulsen’s undisguised preference for using black convicts as guinea pigs. He appealed urgently to my scientific spirit. He said that science was above moral issues, and when I objected to the use of human beings as guinea pigs, he countered with the racist theories of Herbert Spencer and Francis Galton, who preached, among other outrages, that the progress of mankind was for the white race, and that Primitive races, like blacks, are destined to disappear. It was the law of survival of the strongest who, in Paulsen’s prejudiced mind, justified his actions.

  Paulsen called me for purely scientific reasons. He had solved the failure of the cylinder that holds the perianth, which he called the “transdimensional energy collector.” The unfortunate man even gave a name to our blasphemy. The perianth could be safely used and was a more efficient and clean source of energy than is currently known. But there was a problem. The perianth could not be used to its full potential. By Paulsen’s calculations it was only possible to use 10% of the energy of the perianth. He believed that the cause of the problem lay in the fact that the perianth did not belong to our dimension. According to him, bringing it into our world caused the dissipation of most of the energy. I gave him no chance to continue; he was not interested in the scientific questions of the perianth. I did not believe his boldness to ask for my help.

  I killed Paulsen. With the same hands that write this letter, I took a microscope from a table near me and crushed his skull when he turned his back in a moment of distraction. I took advantage of the existence of inflammable products in the laboratory to set the scene on fire and leave before the guards appeared. The fire consumed Paulsen’s notes and the prototype of the transdimensional energy-collecting machine, which was similar to the one you saw at various times in St. Joseph’s Church.

  I sent a letter to the Vatican describing what had happened. They want to hear my story firsthand and hold a conference behind closed doors to decide the next steps. I will be meeting in a few weeks with the highest authorities of the Catholic Church. They asked me to take my notes and project diagrams with me. It is precisely in this part that I need your help, my dear friend. All the documentation, which includes all the information on how to build the machine that brings the perianth to our dimension, is in a steel safe in my office. You must have seen it several times, it’s that gray vault next to the pedestal where I keep the Holy Bible. The password is 14-87-23-89. I want you to take the documents out of the safe and send them to the address: Hotel Marchant, 457 Street, New York. USA. I will deliver the documents to the Vatican. I hope they will keep them in a place where no human being finds them, for the good of both humanity and the Christian Faith, and I hope there will never be born a scientist as brilliant as James Paulsen, who will unravel the secrets of the perianth as he did. Although Paulsen was a despicable man, I am obliged to admit, unwillingly, that he was a true Leonardo da Vinci among the cavemen of our time.

  I look forward to receiving the documents that I request.

  Eternally grateful,

  Roberto Landell de Moura

  PS: As I said before, my belief is that my dream was an omen of the future that awaited humanity if James Paulsen continued his experiences. I also believe that God commissioned me to stop him, which is why I feel no remorse for the murder I committed. This morning I had an experience that further strengthened my faith already restored. After buying my ticket to Italy, I stopped at a bank and bought a newspaper. My shoes had to be polished. I saw a young black man, about eight or ten years old, on the corner working shine. I gave the boy a coin, sat on the bench, and he began his service. I looked at his face. He looked very familiar but I did not know where I knew him from. Then I asked the boy what his name was. His name was Gary Johnson.

  * * *

  Daniel I. Dutra is originally from Pelotas, Rio Grande do Sul. He holds a degree in Letters (UCPEL) and a Master’s Degree in Comparative Literature (UFRGS). His Master’s Dissertation gave rise to the book Literatura de ficção-científica no cinema: A Máquina do Tempo — do livro ao filme (Sci-Fi Literature in the Cinema: The Time Machine — From Book to Film), a study on the work of H.G. Wells. In fiction he participated in the anthologies Deus Ex-Machina — Anjos e Demônios na Era do Vapor (2011) and Erótica Fantástica v. I (2012) from Editora Draco.

  Xibalba Dreams of the West

  André S. Silva

  Come to think of it, it all began on a morning like this.

  Maiara walked slowly from one end to the other of the semicircle of children. Seated on cushions on the floor, with the tomes of the day on their laps, the little ones watched the teacher with the eagerness of those who yearn to discover the world and trust her as their guide.

  The topic of the morning was the same as the past few weeks. It really couldn’t be any different when it came to Societal Studies. No event in recent history was so important. After all, Maiara and the children were on the verge of a historic event that would change the world forever.

  “Who could answer me which city was chosen as Mark Zero?” A smile crept to the teacher’s lips when dozens of little hands rose before she even finished the question.

  “You can answer, Anirê.”

  “Xao-Kuna, teacher!”

  “Very good!” the teacher congratulated her. “Your father has already visited the Silver City, isn’t that right, Luc?”

  Maiara knew the answer would be yes. She had asked the question over and over again. However, the children didn’t care and she didn’t either. Repetition was part of the learning and Maiara liked to share with her students this interest in the new, in still undiscovered things.

  “Yes, teacher!”

  “And he enjoyed the visit?”

  “He loved it!” the boy replied, excited. “He said that everything seems to be made of diamonds, and that the bridges open and close all the time for ships to pass under, and that the whole city moves from side to side as if alive!”

  “Where do they get the energy?” another girl asked.

  “You moron, they have towers, just like ours!” a less than kind classmate intervened.

  “You are a moron, beetleface…”

  “Children!” Maiara exclaimed, gaining instant silence. “Actually, Iracema’s question is a very good one.”

  Saying this, Maiara reached for a small copper ring that hung from the ceiling’s support beams and brought it down, unrolling an old map of the world. She picked up an improvised plank of stone and twisted wire from the ground and hung it on the copper ring to keep the map in place. The presence of a huge star with a human face was drawing attention in the far east, beyond the Rising Ocean.

  The letter was very worn, as was, in fact—Maiara didn’t go a day without being angry about this—the whole system of education of her country. Educating one’s own children seemed to be far from a priority for the High Priesthood.

  Even so, now that she put the facts in perspective, it made perfect sense.

  “Come here, Luc. We’ll do a little Geography review.”

  The boy got up promptly and headed for the map.

  “Point to us on the map where our city is.”

  The boy traversed the broad continental mass outlined over the blue infinity with his eyes. He wasted no time on the top of the map. He focused on the lands to the south and east and, with an uncertain finger, pointed to the coastal region where Guanabara was located.

  Or close enough, at least.

  Maiara took the boy’s hand and shifted his finger a few millimeters to the right across the dusty sheet before continuing. “Yes, very good. Here we are, right at the tip of South-Tenoque. Now, let’s find Xao-Kuna.”

  Under the attentive glances of the rest of the class, the boy went back through the map with the tip of his index finger, every inch going over hundreds of miles, heading north. It crossed the entire continental mass corresponding to South-Tenoque, passed through the Isthmus of Mexico, arriving then at the tropical expanse of Nahuá, the greatest nation and heart
of all Tenoque. From there, he went on, skirting west by the Great Navajo Plateau, and finally reaching Xueiuã, the snowy lands at the north end of Tenoque.

  At that moment, the boy stopped. His hand trembled and doubt cast on his face an involuntary grimace. The little eyes went rapidly from the map to Maiara, and to the map again.

  “You can continue, Luc,” the young teacher reassured her student. “You’re doing well.”

  In fact, it was only a few miles away that the boy’s finger transposed in a matter of seconds. To the west of Xueiuã, the map bore a peculiar design: two serpents, one winged, intertwined. The figure overlapped the territorial belt identified as the Dong-Dang Strait, popularly known as the Embrace of the World, the place where, many baktuns ago, West and East were reunited.

  “Perfect. You may sit down, Luc.”

  The boy practically ran back to his place.

  “As we can see, Xao-Kuna is the great link between Tenoque and our brothers in the west, the great Zonguá Empire. It’s not quite a city, but several small towns, scattered along the entire strait separating our two continents.”

  The teacher pointed to the drawing of the two serpents. To the west of the figure, the territory identified as Zonguá had its geography considerably less detailed than the rest of the map. In fact, it was little more than a sketch of a border, with half a dozen cities identified here and there, which then disappeared into an empty, unknown wilderness as it advanced inland.

  “Answering your question, Iracema, the energy that powers the turbines and allows the Xao-Kuna complex to function originates from the zonguanese side of the Strait. As far as we know, they get their energy the same way we do. After all, it was their engineers who brought to Tenoque the technology we needed to build our towers. But the truth is…we are not sure.”