Parallel Worlds- Equilibrium in Threat

by A I Zlato

  Paul was irresistibly drawn to the creature. One step after another, he got closer and closer to it until he was bathed in mist. Curiously, he no longer felt the pangs of the gusts of the cyclone even though they were violent. Neither here nor elsewhere had he a 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, only of a strange feeling of duplication. His flesh had its own life, independent of himself. Somehow, his body was cold, shivering, curled in 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. In the countless mirrors, he observed Space H. and its Unique Forest in the center 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 near 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 the ocean. Based on what he had read, he had imagined what the ocean looked like, but the view... it was something else. At the same time scary and beautiful, the water ripple changed brightness and color. The only comparison that came to mind was Edgard’s fur, which rippled and changed color 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 covered from head to toe with electronic components was staring at him.

  Paul tried to speak to the creature, and to hold its attention so that it would not disappear, but his body was so far away... Suddenly, in his brain, a deep voice sounded. He sought to connect to Edgard, but could not find the kandron. Frightened, he realized that Edgard was totally absent, like that day when it was very angry with him... the kandron had disappeared from his mind... So who was talking to him? Only the kandron communicated with him in 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 had told him... “The Link and the Break, the nexus,” Philip had said... All this... there was nothing but the presence... All this... the 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 realized that he did not know what 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 conversation with Edgard in which the latter told him that naming things was a human obsession. He, therefore, 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 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 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 dialogue.

  “The Equilibrium as the ultimate objective is a trap; the one found in the Elders’ dream. I dreamed it. The Spirit of the Multitude saw it. The past and future are connected. Temporary nodes are only the consequence, 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? It was 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 and some rustling in the grass; nightlife was speaking.

  Haggard and 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 had 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 ha
d always believed. The kandron appeared at the entrance of the park, and Paul staggered toward it. 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 inside. Had he only dreamed about the 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’s 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 has disappeared.

  The Legend of the Elders, the History of the Machine

  CHAPTER 62

  SPACE H. (1ST CIRCLE)

  “No instructions.”

  Laconic, the words pierced 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 over to another special agent; to someone more knowledgeable who would succeed where she had failed. She had never experienced failure; never. She had always completed the 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 statement, “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 toward 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 — a 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 toward her, pushing her outward. Was that possible? Did the building possess some kind of consciousness? Had the Machine told the structure to act this way? She was not feeling well here. She was no longer feeling OK, actually.

  She went out, her eyes still on her feet, and crossed the square. Crying, she walked against the tide of hordes of people going to work. She had been one of those people in the old days. That was a long time in the past, she felt. Now she was a stranger, making her way in the opposite 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 at 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 was she to do? Like a caged animal, she paced her apartment in all directions. Nothing caught her attention. The place, which she considered home even the day before, evoked nothing to her. Pictures on the walls — she and Lars on their wedding day, Lars holding a baby Iris, Iris on her first day of school — were mere memories of an era irretrievably lost.

  Her whole life crumbled; she was reeling from her failure and the Machine’s rejection. She sat on the floor and curled in on herself, her head between her arms. What was she to do in all those hours ahead? All those dead children! How many had died since the Problem started? She refused to count them. The last ones... she had seen them when she emerged from the cyclone. 30 children divided into three circles, lying on the ground. She had not been able to do anything; nothing. She wept profusely, 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 that 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 acres, mixing meticulously well-kept gardens and long trails winding through the woods, at the edge of ponds and 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 the contents of her closet onto the bed. She found her backpack, and sorted clothing that had not been used in a long time. She shook it to remove the dust that had accumulated there, and a piece of paper fell out. 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 past dreams; their hopes?

  Resolved to go, she shoved food, a sleeping bag and a few clothes in her bag. A walk alone with 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, and 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”, and it generated almost immediately a terse response, “Granted.” Done. Everything was OK on that front. Instead of feeling the freedom she would regain through the hike, she was even more depressed to see how nonessential she had become. The Machine had not even given her a date of mandatory return... She was no longer relevant in that city.

  With a heavy heart, shoulders sheared by the weight of the bag, she walked quickly, head down, all the way
to the rail station. The square was nearly empty because the Machine had absorbed a large part of its workforce. Away from the non-place that the Tower was from that distance, she hopped on the rail without thinking. She hit with full force a rigid surface and was thrown back. Shaken, she realized she had collided with the protection barrier. The latter aimed to ensure the integrity of the rail, preventing unauthorized individuals from crossing the perimeter. As if her chip had only been grafted the previous day, Baley had forgotten to identify herself and announce her destination, a combination of things that had triggered the electromagnetic barrier. How could she lose her mind so blatantly? She had become astoundingly stupid. No wonder the Machine had rejected her! Hurt in her pride more than in her flesh, she stood up angrily, without addressing the curious glances around her. She identified herself and inputted her destination, and the protective barrier opened up. Contrary to her habit, she chose a seat and sat down for the ride.

  The rail dropped her off in the northern section of the periphery. This place was similar to the rest. Large aisles separated squares of greenery in which lay individual dwellings. Civilization seemed so remote there, so much so that the periphery was not called a circle. After the Ninth Circle, there was no tenth. No, there was just the periphery.

  Baley quickly walked across the large, empty streets to step away from those houses which always made her too uncomfortable. To get to the park’s center, she had to use an archaic means of transportation — a moving walkway. The departure platform was at the entrance, a few hundred yards from the rail. On the edge of the platform lay a sphere, two feet in diameter, which was an extension of the Machine. The sphere relayed its impulses, allowing chips to remain active in the park, although the latter was outside the city. Approaching the platform, she felt the orange-yellow ball take over her chip. The data stream, lessened in the periphery, recovered all its power. The Machine was everywhere.