Earth Rising (The Planets)

by James Garvey

A blinding light fills the room and all the food and dishes vanish. The walls, fire, and table are wiped away, replaced by the same mirror-like surface in the washroom. Flip falls to the floor, panicked.

  “I apologize for alarming you,” Troll responds. “This room and most of the others have special surfaces that can be shaped in many ways based on your desires and needs. I programmed this room to resemble a dining area that you might experience in the world as you know it. It really is quite harmless and very convenient.”

  I have no idea what Troll is talking about, but the ancient ones were far more amazing than anything Teacher ever described. It makes sense that the gods crushed them for over-reaching. We follow the box into the vast central area. Troll stops near the central platform and asks us to sit. Bets stands defiantly, while the rest of us find large, stuffed chairs and sigh in comfort. The space above the plaza sparks to life. Empty air is now filled with unimaginable buildings of glass and metal reaching toward the sun. Colorful boxes, carts maybe, shuttle around the buildings. Some have wings and fly while others roll on the ground. People adorned in strange, colorful clothes saunter on streets of strange black and red rock. They move with no apparent purpose. I see one sickly tree jutting from the surface. I have no idea how it can survive locked in that suffocating, artificial world, which looks like it could be summoned from a child’s painting.

  “We are looking at New Reno, the city that you invariably passed through on your travel to this place. It like all the others is ruined now.”

  The image vanishes. We are now gazing at a night sky with brilliant stars. A huge red ball, not all that unlike the moon, hangs before us.

  “This is mars. It appears as a wandering red star in earth’s –our - sky. In this holovideo, we are hovering 1,000 kilometers above the surface of this planet. Your ancestors lived on mars before the fall. I do not know whether they still live there. If they do, this would give us hope that they may return someday.”

  Theo clears his throat. “Ancestors? So it’s true that we’re brood of the ancients? How’d they get to such a little star in the sky?”

  “Of course, you are their descendants. You lost their technology when it was destroyed by terrorists. You are no less capable of reaching the same level of sophistication they had. It will just take time and a grasp of science.”

  Troll’s using strange words. He explains science to the best of his ability. We all are curious about terrorists. They don’t sound like gods. “Troll, were the terrorists the gods?” I ask.

  “Goodness no, Amy Marksman. They were people, although I am unsure whether they were human or some other species. They released a tiny substance onto earth that very quickly degraded human-made materials called plastics. These materials were part of most manufactured materials and wreaked havoc on society. The motives of the terrorists are unknown, although they likely perished along with most of the human population.”

  The viewing space before us transforms into a chaotic fugue of images of crumbling cities, boxes falling from the sky or crashing on the ground, widespread fires, and a thing Troll called a train piled on its side and burning. The images then go blank.

  “As you can see, the end was traumatic. I think it is time for you to rest. Your biosigns show that you all are exhausted. It is late and we can continue tomorrow morning after breakfast. Let me show you to your rooms.”

  After a very brief, lackluster debate, we decide to follow Troll’s advice. We presume Samuel will be fine camping on the hillside and that he probably is already resting or drunk. It must be midnight outside.

  Troll guides us to a large, glass box he calls a lift. We step in and it rises high along the wall. It opens onto a walkway with a series of doors. My room's magnificent, augmented by Troll’s magic I surmise. The bed is impossibly large and soft, with cloud-like pillows. There’s another adjacent room with a shower. This time I soak in steaming water and wrap myself in a soft robe. I’m unconscious before I hit the bed.

  I awake with no idea of the time of morning. I decide to explore this place, peeking cautiously in the walkway. No one is stirring and the light of the artificial sun is dim, I guess to make us think it is early morning. I shuffle barefooted down the walkway to the lift. Troll’s box sits in the hallway. I step in, Troll asks me where I want to go, and I tell it to take me up. The lift responds instantly, with me leaving part of my stomach below. Troll’s box, still sitting in the walkway below, shrinks rapidly as I ascend. The lift stops at the highest level - the plaza and seats on the ground floor seeming tiny as fleas. Up here, there’s only one door. It’s labeled with the symbols M-U-N-I-T-I-O-N-S. The smell I noticed when we first descended into this place is strong here. I suddenly recognize it as the scent of the oil used on the guns in father’s armory.

  The door slides open and I tip-toe in. The room before me has hundreds of shelves leading far into its recesses. Each shelf is loaded with guns, boxes of strange devices I cannot comprehend, and occasionally blades made of a strange, very light, exceptionally sharp black material rather than metal. This place did not have a peaceful purpose. I’m a little glum, realizing that these enlightened people still had the need to kill each other. I shove a sheathed blade into the pocket of my robe and turn to leave. I must tell the others.

  “Hello, Amy Marksman. You have discovered our munitions storage and practice arena.” I crouch behind a shelf, searching for the source of Troll’s voice. The box is nowhere to be seen.

  “Troll, where are you?”

  “The device you call the box is but one physical extension of me. I am the central interface for this entire facility. Thus, I am able to sense you no matter where you go. I have nothing to hide and neither should you. I am always available for you.”

  “Why did you need these weapons?”

  “I did not require them and am incapable of using them. They were wielded by the human caretakers. My masters held a unique view of the political and sociological views of their time. They were certain that collapse was imminent. They were correct in their prediction, although not about the cause of the fall. The weapons were meant to protect them from an attack of looters. You see, at that time, human population density was high and many people were starving. This distress challenged the government and collapse seemed likely.”

  “Seems like an awful lot of weapons to keep some starving and scared people away.”

  “My associates surmised that there would be a need for leadership and order after the fall. They would provide that stability.”

  “With guns? I’m unsure of how they work, but I suspect they are powerful. My father and his friends use them to hunt large game animals. My leaders never needed weapons to persuade our people.”

  “Would you like to learn about these weapons?”

  Goosebumps rise on my arms. Father never gave me the opportunity. “Sure.”

  Troll leads me to an attached room with its walls, floor, and ceiling coated in black foam. It calls this a firing range. The box appears with a gun in its mechanical arm. The weapon is short and surprisingly light. A window to my left appears with an image of the weapon. I follow the instructions as they appear and fire at the life-like image of a deer in the range. The recoil is light and exhilarating. Troll informs me that my target is eliminated. In the following hours, I fire a dozen gun-like weapons, lob concussion grenades, launch a rocket, and learn about defensive armor. This is seriously addictive.

  “Your companions are gathering for breakfast. Would you like to join them?”

  I fire one more volley at the various targets appearing at the end of the room. “Sure, but I need to change first.”

  After slipping back into my traveling clothes, which have been washed and folded, I follow the box back to the dining area. The room’s awash with morning light shining through a draped window. I know that it doesn’t really exist, but my mind is already beginning to accept the fantasy as reality. What bothers me most is that I don’t seem to care very much. I have to force myself to worry a
bout Eliza and the others, wondering when we might escape this pleasant cage.

  I sip the most amazing cup of coffee and study my companions. Bets and Theo seem particularly serene. I wonder whether they may have spent some of the night in the same room. Flip looks haggard. I wonder whether he’s slept at all. After we eat, we move back to the viewing area.

  Theo begins the lesson. “Troll. We need to know why we’re here. How’d we know to find this place and what are we supposed to do next?”

  “This was curious to me as well. I took the initiative to sample your DNA from your clothing while you were sleeping. I do hope you don’t mind. Excuse me for making an assumption about your science knowledge. DNA is a substance in each of your bodies that is unique and related to your ancestors. Only one of you has an apparent, biological link to this facility. Amy Marksman, you are distantly related to Captain Francis Jonston who was a high-ranking member of the clan that maintained this facility. The Captain apparently provided information to one of your ancestors about how to access this place. Quite illegal and an offense worthy of banishment. Remarkably, this information was retained among generations in your village and brought you and the others here.”

  We all are stunned. I ask, “So, this DNA tells you that my great granddad a hundred times over provided us with clues to come back here?”

  “Yes,” the Troll says with no hint of surprise or concern.

  “What happened to him?” I ask.

  “He is still here.”

  Flip is clearly agitated, motioning for me to talk with him. I’m not feeling particularly sane myself. I walk over to the boy and he whispers, “I saw stuff last night. Stuff that y’all need to see.”

  Troll responds. “Flip is trying to tell you about the location of the masters, including your ancestor, Amy Marksman. Flip, please lead them to the chamber.”

  Flip leads us to the lift, which takes us down further into the ground rather than up. We stop in a dimly lit chamber, with blue lights along the walls. I grasp the knife I lifted from the armory as we descend. Flip points. “Over there.”

  I’m startled to see the shadows of about one hundred people standing along the far wall. Each is motionless, rigid. I walk up to one of the figures. Its skin is drawn, lips rigid, teeth jutting forward. Nails extend from shriveled, bent fingers. The mummy is adorned in some type of blue outfit with metal buttons. Strangely, the one non-desiccated feature is the mummy’s eyes, which are strangely lucid and a striking blue.

  “That is Private Silian Dorse. She became inactive 1,112 years ago. She was the top in her class at Dartmouth – a university. I do miss her.” Troll the box rolls to each erect body, producing a short biography. This person enjoyed a game called tennis; this poor soul detested breakfast; this individual was the best rifle shot in the unit.

  “Where’s my ancestor, Jonston?” I ask.

  Troll leads me to a tall body with broad shoulders. Strange, lively brown eyes stare at me - my mother’s eyes. My gut squeezes and breakfast is on its way up. I turn away and gain my composure. I want so desperately to sob, but my brain won’t allow it.

  “Troll, all these people died young, didn’t they?” Bets asks cautiously.

  “Yes they did,” the machine voice answers.

  Theo looks at all of us with silent concern. We understand that we are in danger, although the nature of the threat is unclear. We realize that we still haven’t accomplished any of our intended goals. Theo clears his throat, “Troll, please take us back upstairs to see more about what happened during the fall of the ancients.”

  “Very well.”

  The room grows dark as we ascend into artificial daylight.

  The viewing space is now filled with a giant blue, green, and white sphere, rotating slowly in a field of ebony velvet. I gasp at its beauty. “Is this our world, Troll?”

  “Yes, Amy Marksman.” A small, blinking white dot appears on one of the green blobs of earth. “We are here at this spot.” I presume the blobs are continents floating in the ocean. There’s so much ocean. Troll continues. “The mysterious terrorist attack likely began at this spot, a place once called New York.” Another dot appears on the globe. “The world that culminated in creatures like me was connected in many ways. Communication among the human machine interfaces occurred through a vast, complex network of cables of optical fibers.” The globe before us bursts with white lines like webs. “Power was distributed by organic materials usually in parallel with the communications system. Most facilities were not completely independent. When the attack by the substance occurred, the wires connecting all the cities, homes, factories, schools, hospitals, et cetera, began to degrade quickly.” The lines on the globe connected to New York thin and disappear. We have little idea of what Troll is talking about, but it’s apparent that the loss of connections was a problem.

  “The first course of action by the network of human machine interfaces, including me, was to cut back the growth of the attacking material, which was more insidious than any weapon every envisioned. We began to send as many materials to destroy the advancing wave.” The images before us change to explosions, fire, and dirt billowing into the sky. The boxes we saw flying in the air of the cities are now crashing into buildings. Large, bird-like vehicles that Troll calls planes fall from the sky into the earth. The worst vision is of a box that is clearly full of children. They are looking out of their windows helplessly as the box crashes into a stone building, exploding on impact.

  “You killed people in their carts and destroyed cities?” Bets asks breathlessly.

  “The only logical course of action was to use every vehicle and weapon at our disposal to sever all connections to the New York attack. We also eliminated the city and its surrounding areas to avoid further contamination.”

  We freeze, much like the mummies below us. Troll and its kind were cold, calculating, and clearly homicidal. Those poor people had put themselves in the hands of their destroyers. And we all realize that we now have placed ourselves in these very same hands.

  “Unfortunately, the attacks were not confined to New York. All major network nodes throughout the world were experiencing the same degradation of wires and cables connecting them. We continued to confine the infections, but we failed. Any vessels leaving the planet were decommissioned to prevent spread beyond orbit.” The white lines connecting points across the globe vanish quickly. Within a few moments, the lines are nearly gone.

  Theo is clearly nervous. “Troll, why was this place spared?”

  “This facility and a few others across the globe were commissioned to operate independently. Power is furnished by an internal fusion reactor deep in the ground below us that is rated for 10,000 years. Communication is via a satellite link and passive, long-range radar.”

  “Troll, we got no idea what you’re talking about,” Theo complains.

  “Simply put, this facility, me, will survive for another 9,000 years as long as external threats are eliminated. Internal threats also must be curtailed.”

  If I understand Troll’s last sentence, we’re in trouble.

  “What about the people in this facility?” Bets asks, her voice warbling. “The people in the cellar?”

  “They disagreed with my actions and were disabled. I removed the air from the facility, suffocating them. I keep them here, preserved, as a memorial.”

  “Are you still able to talk with others – others like you?” I ask, trying to divert the subject.

  “Yes, there are 30 intact HM units around the world. We communicate via a series of satellites but have lost contact with other interfaces beyond earth. We are very isolated and cannot see far beyond our enclaves.”

  “Are there other ancient ones on earth?” Theo keeps the questioning going.

  “If you mean other humans that are associated with the governments that arose after earth was isolated - no. The planet has been quarantined indefinitely because of the threat of the agent that destroyed the networked system. If it gets out, it may dest
roy all of civilized, industrialized space, which I assume has spread considerably in scope during the past centuries. Of course, surviving humans such as yourselves have been allowed to persist because you are not conceived as a threat.”

  “Thanks, we appreciate it,” Bets responds.

  Troll pauses for a few minutes as if it is considering what information it should divulge next. “There may be a stranded vessel in my quadrant of this continent.”

  Theo perks up. “If I understand correctly, and believe me, I’m only getting bits and pieces here, you think there might be some ancient ones – or space people - stranded with a ship near here?”

  “Yes, Theo leader. Three-hundred and sixty-seven days ago I detected the signature of an ion propulsion drive near the ocean, here.” The image of earth zooms to a patch showing our location and that of the downed vessel near a large body of water, likely the ocean.

  “How far away’s this ship?” Theo asks.

  “Do you still use standard units of measure for distance such as kilometers?”

  “No, I don’t know about kilometers. How about the distance a horse can travel on a working trot?”

  Troll is working through calculations. “About a week’s ride from here. Why do you ask Theo? I hope that you do not intend to leave. That would be unacceptable.”

  “Just wondering. I’m ready for a break.” Theo nods at all of us. “Let’s wander a bit.”

  Troll’s box rolls away to tend to some unknown business.

  “You’ll never believe what Troll showed me this morning.” I figure there’s no harm in all of us practicing with the weapons. Apparently, Troll does not perceive this as a threat. And I actually believe the thing is enjoying our company. We need time to consider our options.

  We take the lift to the munitions stores and spend the afternoon in noisy revelry. Bets the archer is particularly enthralled with the high-powered plasma rifle. While she pumps rounds at imaginary game, Theo and I talk quietly about our condition. “I’m hoping that Troll has difficulty understanding us while Bets is making all that racket,” Theo says. “It isn’t a coincidence that Jonston’s your ancestor, Sprouter. And that shipwreck from space has got to be important as well.”