by A. I. Zlato
He watched her, helpless, sliding into a bottomless abyss. He stood there, not knowing what to do, torn between the need to help and the desire to approach the tornado, to see what he came there to see. Unable to make a decision, he did not see Baley approach him, running.
He was startled when he saw her so close. He tried to speak to her, but the words did not come, and he could only stutter. He saw the attack in advance, within a fraction of a second, in the fury of her gaze. She punched him, a blow that made him take a step back. Completely lost, she blamed him for all this. In Given her distress, he renounced to respond and let her go.
He stood still, in the middle of this garden shaken by the cyclone. He had the strange feeling that he was the only one to see it and to feel its breath. Baley, and later the Special Agents arriving gradually at the scene, were moving effortlessly, without protecting their faces from flying debris. Was he hallucinating? No ... Edgard whispered ... he was just in a different time ...
“I’m becoming like you? Have I gone back in time?”
“No, don’t worry. You have to go now ... and…”
“What about Baley, I cannot leave!”
“You cannot do anything for her. Go and ...”
“I have to be careful, I know.”
Paul stepped forward, planting himself firmly on his legs, not to be rejected far away. He walked with difficulty, his chest bent while facing the wind, moving his feet carefully. At every step, he risked being swept away, and he redoubled his efforts. He wanted to see. He slowly approached the cyclone, this atmospheric anomaly, perhaps representing a link between two Spaces, with, inside, Nexus ... the Link and the Break ... the Space stabiliser ... the disconnection of Time ...
He saw it. A creature or rather a shade associated with a presence, was inside, in the eye of the storm, sheltered behind swirling mists. Paul narrowed his eyes, and extended his neck to see better, to try to interpret this vision. It was a chimera ... swimming in the unreal ... A sort of silvery mane floated around it, long threads that faded on the edge of the cyclone. Shards of glass lay in the centre of the mane, reflecting Paul’s whereabouts, but also another place he did not know. Nexus ... Where the beginning and the end are the same place, when the space is a different time ... the Link and the Break ...
Paul was irresistibly attracted to the creature. One step after another, he got closer to it, closer than ever, until being bathed in mist. Curiously, he no longer felt the pangs of the winds, yet violent, of the cyclone. Neither here nor elsewhere, he had no notion of space or time. The clouds of moisture condensed on his warm skin and trickled into droplets, which he did not feel. His clothes were quickly waterlogged, but the contact of wet tissue was not unpleasant. It was not pleasant, either; Paul was no longer conscious of his body, just a strange feeling of duplication.
His flesh had its own life, independent of himself. Somehow, his body was cold, shivering, curled on itself to withstand the gusts ... but not him. He was not in the same place, in this place ... elsewhere ... here ... now ... future ... past ... The duplication deepened. He tried to speak, but his mind sought his vocal cords, which were so far, inaccessible. He formulated a sentence, but no sound came out of his mouth.
Yet the creature turned around, and glass shards came closer to his head, to fill all his field of vision. He observed, in the countless mirrors, the Space H., its Unique Forest, in the centre of all images. In the distance, the City, across a lake and ... no, it must have been another Space, with the basics of a City nearby water ... no ... it was the Unique Forest ... another human community, away from the Machine ... was that possible?
Humans were busy there, working on a black construction ... on the other side of the Unique Forest ... He also saw a place the descriptions of which he had only read in manuscripts. An endless expanse of water, whose surface experienced rough jolts, creating mountains and ephemeral valleys ... it was called Ocean.
He had imagined, based on his readings, how the ocean looked like, but the view ... it was something else. At the same time scary and beautiful, the water ripple changed brightness and colours. The only comparison that came to Paul was the Edgard’s fur, which rippled and changed colour under the sun. This ocean ... it was another Space, he was convinced ... without knowing how he could be so sure ... another Space ... an ocean ... And in the depths of the water, a humanoid shape, covered from head to toe with electronic components, was staring at him.
Paul tried to speak to the creature, to hold its attention, so that it not disappear, but his body was so far away ... Suddenly, in his brain rang a deep voice. He sought to connect to Edgard, but could not find the Kandron. Frightened, he realised that Edgard was totally absent, like that day when 5th Hexa was really angry against him ... the Kandron had disappeared from his mind ... So who was talking to him? Only the Kandron communicated with him this way ... no, the connection was different ... here and there at the same time ...
“I'm not a Kandron; I'm not part of your Space.
Where the beginning and the end are the same place.
When space is a different time.
I am a Gateway.”
Paul remained silent, surprised ... it was the creature who spoke to him! A Gateway ... The Gateways know, Edgard told him ... The Link and the Break, the Nexus, said Philip ... all this ... there was nothing but the presence ... All this ... Nexus, the Gateway ... it was real ... and that thing was talking to him! The sentences driven into his brain seemed clear to him, in the deepest sense, rooted in absolute truth. He answered.
“I saw the Elders’ dream. I am seeking the imaginary of a minority to change reality.”
What an abstruse sentence! Edgard would be proud of him ... and yet that sentence was right on target. The Problem would be solved by understanding the origin and changing what could be altered.
“Do you see children dying?” He asked.
“Of course, I see disruptions. These are the consequences.”
“Do you know the cause? The Equilibrium?”
“The Equilibrium is growing, yes; however, temporary nodes are the main cause. Why do you create them?”
“I…”
Paul realised that he did not know how to call the creature. He needed to know its name in order to speak to it, he had to. Yet ... He almost asked it its name, and then he recalled a prior chat with Edgard, in which the latter told him that naming things was a human obsession. Therefore, he refrained from asking its name ... knowing how to name one thing did not make it real ... that was self-evident.
“I don’t know what a node is.”
“Where the end and the beginning are the same place.”
“The connection ... the connection between Spaces ... the same place ... a node.”
“Why do you create temporary nodes?”
“Are there permanent nodes?”
“I'm a Gateway.”
“I don’t know how to create connections between Spaces; I did not do anything.”
“You perceive space. You perceive time. Spaces are the same place in a different time. A node is a non-linearity vortex that must exist only under the control of a Gateway. Let me ask you for the last time: Why do you create temporary nodes, human from Space H.?”
“I generate no such thing.”
“Are you part of the solution?”
“That is what the Spirit of the Multitude says.”
Paul had no idea of what the Spirit of the Multitude was, and yet he had just provided that answer. How could he name something he did not know? A name does not make a thing real ... could a reality generate a name? His mind expanded, apprehending concepts that until then were foreign to him. On the edge of his consciousness, someone said, The Equilibrium is everyone’s dream, not a dream we all share ... He resumed the chat.
“The Equilibrium, as the ultimate objective, is a trap, the one found in the Elders’ dream. I dreamed it; the Spirit of the Multitude had seen it. The past and future are connected. Temporary nodes are only the conse
quence, and the nodes are the cause of children suicides. This is the non-evolution of the circle. I must act on the cause.”
“You sound like the Kandron.”
To speak like a Kandron? Why not? A piece of Edgard’s consciousness lay in his brain, changing his perception of things ... his essence ... who was he? Where was the Kandron? The causes and consequences ... an infinite and complex chain, varying in accord with decisions ... changes ...
“The Kandrons know a lot”, he said.
“They only see their Space.”
“They had seen the future in the time that is theirs.”
“They had seen one future ... I don’t know. You are either the cause or part of the solution. Perhaps the Kandron was right; maybe my perception is right. The node is undecided.”
“Cae ...”
“Don’t talk about what you don’t know!”
“The Spirit of the Multitude ... I need ... to avoid nothingness ...”
“5th Hexa had already said that. I have to think.”
Suddenly, Paul returned into his body. He felt the cold, the wind; his vision darkened, his conscience found the physical limits, so narrow, of his flesh. The fog thickened; the creature shrank into a bright spot. Then, nothing. He found himself alone in the park. The storm was gone, the bodies too. It was dark. How much time had passed?
Several hours, several days? Impossible to say. He shivered, and felt the bite of the cold, intensified by the moisture from his clothes. The fabric clung to his skin, a rough, unpleasant feeling. To feel his body again was a real ordeal. A headache pounded his skull, and made him stagger. How long? That was not the right question ... time ... was not linear ... not in this here and there ... the node ... He took a deep breath and looked around. The park had a calm appearance, and the darkness of night enveloped the vegetation and surrounding buildings. He heard an owl hooting in the distance, rustling in the grass; nightlife was speaking.
Haggard, bombarded with answerless questions, Paul called Edgard. His connection to the Kandron, which had become inactive when he got closer to the storm, reappeared instantly. This connection, which seemed strong to him earlier, appeared weak and dull compared to what he had just experienced. Yet Paul was happy to feel the connection again. Edgard ... the fifth element of a six-member structure ... a name closer to his true nature ... the Spirit of the Multitude ... everything was so much bigger than what he had always believed. The Kandron appeared at the entrance of the park, and Paul headed towards it, staggering. On his friend’s back, he saw this ordinary place disappear into the horizon, in harmony with the beating of Edgard’s wings.
It landed in the garden, and Paul went home. Had he only dreamed about this meeting? No, he had not imagined what had happened. He felt he had reached a level of consciousness that until then was inaccessible to him, an increased perception of reality ...
He thought about the reasons that prompted him to meet the creature ... the desire to outdo Baley in solving the Problem ... and ... the excesses of the Equilibrium ... he had no answer.
And yet ... Any road followed precisely to its end, leads precisely nowhere... connections occurred through the space and time ... because he perceived both.
He should not be focusing on the Problem. The latter would solve itself as a mere consequence, if he could find in Thomas’ writings the clues he needed in order to do something. His enemy was not the Special Agent. His battle was not against the suicides. He was born to counter the emergence of the Permanent Equilibrium as a founding concept of the City. It was up to Servants to take care of the tool, that is to say, the Machine. Their message was not for him ... now he knew why ... as the Gateways did.
Only people who are still alive can talk about the past.
Each known past event is the result of what remains but also what had disappeared.
The Legend of the Elders, the History of the Machine
Chapter 62
H. Space (1st Circle)
“No instructions.”
Laconic, the words pierced through Baley.
The Machine had given her no order, and had not inquired about her progress in the investigation. Or rather, her fiasco. She had not even had time to do research on the priority order that the Special Agents had received, nor the time lag... The given time period was too short. The Machine had not given her the opportunity to file her report, and sent her back without a new instruction.
“No instructions.”
It was over; the mission would be handed to another Special Agent. Someone more knowledgeable than she was. Who would succeed where she had failed. She had never experienced failure. Never. She had always completed all investigations that had been entrusted to her. She could not lose; that was not possible. If only she had more time, she might be able to solve the Problem. Inevitably, she had always completed her tasks ahead of the deadline; she had been trained to do so, for years. She was selected for her skills; she could not fail. She only needed more time, but the Machine had decided otherwise.
The Machine ... She had built her life around It and her work. Lars and she shared the same vision of the world, the priority they had to give to the Machine ... Her world collapsed the moment she received, via her chip, this terse sentence, No instructions. She had failed.
She had identified at-risk children, detected their anti-Machine posture, found the cyclone that triggered the deaths, predicted its appearance ... but nothing seemed to have prevented the Problem. Now, the Machine was rejecting her, assigning her away from the investigation. Baley withdrew her hand from the membrane, no longer feeling electrical impulses, but the shock wave of the Machine’s instruction (or lack thereof).
Her nerves transmitted a nervous flow so powerful that it shook her whole body, making her unable to move. Yet the meeting time was over; she had to return to the column. The ground under her feet bent and became slippery as ice. Still unable to move, she felt her body slowly sliding back towards the exit, her feet no longer able to stick to the floor. She hit the column, which opened under the impact, and fell into the alcove, which closed immediately. Dazed, she staggered on her way out.
In this den comprising the best of technology, in this place where she loved being, Baley walked hesitantly, her head down. Instead of visually scanning terminals, the starry corridors, the floor accesses, the translucent walls, instead of looking at people, Special Agents, mechanics, Kandrons ... she looked down on the floor. What would she do, now? She felt that the whole Tower was hostile towards her, pushing her outward. Was that possible? Did the building possess some kind of consciousness? Did the Machine’s instructed the structure to act this way? She was not feeling well here. She was no longer feeling okay, actually.
She went out, eyes still on her feet, and crossed the Square. Crying, she walked opposite to the hordes of people going to work. She had been one of those people. In the old days. That was so long ago. Now, she was a stranger, making her way in the reverse direction of the general movement.
She pushed the door into her empty apartment. Lars had left early that morning, and Iris was not there. Baley could not tell if her daughter had even slept home. When was the last time she spoke to her? And Lars, her husband, what was the date of their last chat? She was not able to remember. She was alone. No one would support her. The weight of the guilt and sadness she wore deepened further. What to do? Like a caged animal, she paced her apartment in all directions. Nothing caught her attention. The place, which she considered home even yesterday, evoked nothing to her. Pictures on the walls — she and Lars on their wedding day, Lars holding a baby Iris, their daughter on her first day of school ...— were mere memories of an era irretrievably lost.
Her whole life crumbled, reeling from her failure and the Machine’s rejection. She sat on the floor and curled up on herself, her head between her arms. What to do in all those hours ahead? All these dead children. How many were dead since the Problem started? She refused to count them. The last ones, she had seen them when she emerged
from the cyclone. Thirty children divided into three circles, lying on the ground. She had not been able to do anything. Nothing. She wept abundantly, not trying to hold back tears. She was all alone. Silence reigned in the apartment and in the building, whose inhabitants were all either at work or at school. She was all alone.
Baley sat up, her heart ready to explode with grief and anger. Unable to sit still any longer, she resumed her comings and goings, bumping into each wall. She then stopped at a picture of her near a campfire, smiling. Lars took this photograph during a hike, which they used to do regularly before their marriage. They would leave for several days, camping in their favorite park. North of the City, it stretched over several hectares, mixing meticulously well-kept gardens and long trails winding through the woods, at the edge of ponds, on hills. She remembered the feeling of fullness she experienced every time they hiked. That was what she needed to do. Instead of staying in this apartment, where she was choking, she would go to the park, and perhaps she could clear her mind, find new ideas and soldier on.
She went into the bedroom and poured contents of her closet on the bed. She found her backpack, sorted with clothing that had not served in a long time. She shook it to remove the dust that had accumulated there, and a paper fell. She bent to pick it up, and rediscovered a message from Lars, who said that he was eager to meet up with her in the tent ... She smiled bitterly while pondering that memory. All this was far, far away ... What were they now? What had happened to their yesterday’s dreams, their hopes?
Resolved, she shoved food, a sleeping bag and a few clothes in her bag. A walk, alone in nature, would help her to get back on track. For several days, perhaps. She then thought to go to the Tower to notify the Machine of her ‘little vacation.’
During her hike, she would not be able to log into the first floor on a daily basis, as she was required to do, even if that meant hearing a terse No Instructions. To go to the Tower, to face the disapproving stares ... she could not do that. A simple message conveyed through her chip would be enough. She sent Request for Time Off, which generated almost immediately a terse response, Granted. Voilà!
