A Memory of Mankind: (This Alien Earth Book 2)

by Paul Antony Jones

  “You have alcohol?” I said, sniffing at the cup. It smelled wonderful—sweet and fruity. “Oh, my God. It’s delicious.”

  Freuchen downed the rest of his drink and smacked his lips loudly. “Vunderful! Ver did you find it?”

  Bartholomew filled his cup again. “Not found, my friend. We make it ourselves. A young woman, actually. Originally from Pompeii, a master mead maker who is unafraid to raid some of the local wild beehives and knows her craft so well she has refined the brewing technique to under a month. We are very happy to have her here, as I am sure you can tell, and we are keeping her very busy.”

  Freuchen raised his drink in a toast. “As am I.”

  Bartholomew chugged his drink, wiped his mouth, and said, “My manners! Please, let me introduce you.” He ushered us into the glow of the fire.

  “Hi,” I said, smiling, “I’m Meredith, and this is Peter.”

  There was a flurry of returned smiles and “hellos.” Everyone seemed very at ease with each other, and I said so.

  “Well, it helps that we knew each other before we all arrived here,” said a man who introduced himself as Evan.

  “Really?” I said, honestly amazed. “All of you?”

  Alysia, a tall statuesque woman with coffee-brown skin, nodded. “Maybe ‘knew’ is a bit of a stretch, but we all came from the same time and place.

  “Uh-uh,” a long-haired blonde woman by the name of Denise, who rested her head in the lap of a man. “James, Kelly, Bev, and I all worked together. So, technically speaking, we did know each other. Kind of.” She smiled broadly.

  “Hi, I’m James,” said the man cradling Denise’s head in his lap. He’d obviously had a few mugs of Bartholomew’s mead already, his eyes wide, words slightly slurred.

  I laughed gently. “So, how is it you know each other?”

  “We worked at the World Trade Center in New York,” Denise said, as if that explained everything.

  I knew what the Twin Towers of the Trade Center were but didn’t get the reference.

  “September 11th, 2001?” Evan said, his head tilted slightly as if anticipating a sudden realization from me at the date.

  I shook my head slowly. “Sorry.”

  “The two planes that were flown into the Twin Towers. No?” said James

  The memory of an old news story rose to the front of my mind. I thought I remembered something from around that date. Something about a terrorist attack that had been thwarted by the FBI. Yes, now that I thought about it, I did remember.

  “There was an attempted terror attack on New York back in oh-one,” I said slowly, as the memories bubbled back to the surface. “A group of terrorists planned to hijack some planes and fly them into buildings in New York, but the FBI got to them before they could follow through. A whole bunch of the terrorists and two FBI agents were killed. The rest ended up in prison.”

  Denise sat up and met the gaze of her friends. “Oh, wow. We were right. It was terrorists. We just assumed you were… you know…”

  Freuchen chimed in, “From the same universe as you?”

  Everyone’s head nodded. “Yeah, kind of.”

  I took a deep breath, “So you’re telling me that in the when you’re from those assholes were successful? And you would all have died in the attack?”

  Denise nodded. “I mean, we suspected it was a terrorist attack. A single jet could have been an accident. But two?”

  Freuchen shook his head. “Even though ve are from the same planet, it is amazing how very, very different those vurlds are. It doesn’t matter if ve’re separated by time or by universe; everything is all so… alien.”

  “But we’re still all human. That is the one thing that binds us all together, no matter where or when we are from,” Bartholomew said.

  James laughed, “Right. I mean, at least we haven’t met any actual aliens.”

  “Mmmm hmmm,” I said between sips of my mead. “Not yet, anyway.”

  From farther up the path, two silhouettes emerged from the growing shadows.

  “Hello, everyone,” Emily said, her dog Thor padding along at her side, tongue lolling, tail curled into a question mark. There was a chorus of returned greetings, and she took a proffered mug of mead from Bartholomew, thanked him, then leaned against the wall of the cabin while she sipped it. “How are you two settling in?”

  “Good, thank you,” I said. “We didn’t expect this kind of hospitality.”

  Emily took another sip of mead and paused for a second. “This is a new world. A chance to do things a different way. I think we’re all tired of the same dog-eat-dog routine, and I believe that whoever or whatever brought us here did so with a purpose, and it wasn’t to keep on doing the same shit we did back on Earth. So, why not try something new?”

  I raised my cup to her. “I’ll drink to that.”

  I liked Emily. There was something intangible about her... something powerful—a natural-born leader. I think we would have been good friends if we’d met back on my version of Earth, and I felt a flash of guilt at having to lie to her.

  “And you, Meredith? How did you get here?” Bartholomew asked.

  All eyes turned to me, and I felt my face flush red.

  “Don’t be shy, honey,” Denise said, smiling her encouragement.

  “Suicide,” I said. “I tried to kill myself.” It felt good being honest about something.

  “But the Voice thought you were worth saving,” Evan said. “That definitely counts for something.”

  I smiled politely back at him. “I suppose.”

  “No supposing about it,” James said, jumping to his feet. He took me by the elbow and guided me closer to the fire. “Sit yourself down and have another drink.” He nodded at Bartholomew, who dutifully topped off my mug.

  “No one can deny we’re all here for a reason,” Alysa said. “All we have to do is figure out what it is.”

  I glanced up at Freuchen, but he was talking animatedly with Bartholomew. I felt terrible about keeping the information I had from these people, but there was no way to predict their attitude, and the truth was, the less they knew, the safer they probably would be. If the Adversary discovered I was here, there was no telling how many of its robo-bug assassins might turn up.

  More people began to approach from the darkness until thirty or so sat around the fire, talking, or just relaxing. Freuchen seemed to be making the most of the almost party-like atmosphere, drinking and entertaining anyone who would listen with stories of his adventures.

  The woman with the guitar who everyone seemed to know and called Connie walked from the shadows and sat down next to Emily. Thor got to his feet and headbutted her until she gave him the attention he was looking for, then curled up between the two women.

  Emily caught my attention and tapped the ground next to her. “Meredith, come meet Connie Converse.”

  “Hello,” I said, “nice to meet you.”

  Connie looked to be in her early forties. She had delicate features, dirty-blonde hair, with only a hint of laugh-lines around her eyes and lips. Every once in a while, she slipped a pair of horn-rimmed glasses off her nose and cleaned them in the folds of her blue dress.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Connie said. Her voice was deep, American, but I couldn’t place from where exactly.

  “Connie arrived here from the seventies,” Meredith explained. “She’s a songwriter and a singer. If you ask her nicely, she might just sing us one of them.”

  Connie flushed a little red and dipped her eyes to her feet.

  “Would you?” I asked. “Please.”

  From the other side of the fire, someone called out, “Yeah, come on, Connie. Let’s hear something.” More voices added their encouragement.

  “Okay. Okay,” Connie said, slipping the guitar onto her lap. She began to strum. The people around the fire quieted and turned their eyes in her direction. She began to sing a melancholy tune about a place between two tall mountains called Lonesome.

  Over the next c
ouple of hours, while Connie slowly worked through her repertoire, more people joined us, drawn by Connie’s guitar. Freuchen put away enough mead to kill an elephant. He, however, seemed only mildly affected by it, his words slurring only enough to show the alcohol was having an effect. No one seemed to mind, they were all equally relaxed and happy. Occasionally, a couple would pair off and walk hand in hand into the night, but the majority remained, falling asleep around the fire, chatting, or just listening to Connie’s haunting voice.

  I sat back and watched the people interact—laughing, loving, singing, and for a moment, I got a brief glimpse of what the Architect had planned for all of us.

  “Here comes the bliss,” someone said excitedly, out of nowhere. Connie stopped playing and turned her head skyward as, all around us, pixie dust flared, while overhead, the aurora streaked across the sky. It was the first time I’d really seen it since we’d left the island and entered the Everwood.

  “I’d forgotten how beautiful it was,” I said quietly.

  “It really is quite something, isn’t it?” Emily said, her voice filled with awe. “The sheer power behind all of this… it’s… overwhelming.”

  I knew exactly what she meant. This nightly display of super-advanced technology that repaired our broken and damaged bodies was God-like. And the aurora was just one small piece in an even bigger jigsaw puzzle of hidden pieces.

  “I try not to dwell on it too much. It can drive you crazy,” I said.

  I closed my eyes and allowed the sense of wellbeing to wash over me.

  When I opened them again, Freuchen was seated next to me, a scowl creasing his face. “Vell, this is very disappointing.”

  I looked sideways at him, puzzled. “What?”

  “Not only does the aurora heal us, but it also removes all the effects of intoxication from our bloodstream. I am as sober as a priest.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” I said, rubbing his back. “But at least it’ll save you a hangover in the morning.”

  “I guess I vill have to start drinking earlier tomorrow!”

  I laughed, and before we turned in for the night, Freuchen and I quietly discussed what our next move should be. The people of New Manhattan were genuinely friendly, we both agreed on that. They’d welcomed us into their community with open arms and seemed more than happy for us to stay—an opportunity I would have jumped at under other circumstances. The question now was, could we rely on their help? And how much could we tell them of what we knew of my quest to get to the collector, the Architect, Adversary, and what little information we had as to why we had all been brought here? Emily had no reason to trust us, but she would have a reason not to once she learned that we’d lied to her.

  “I feel like they have the right to know that there is danger out there,” I said.

  Freuchen agreed. “But I vurry how they vill react to our mighty metal friend.”

  “Silas is going to be a bit of a shock for them,” I whispered. “But at least they’ll know we are telling the truth when they see him. And he can answer their questions directly.” I paused for a moment. “I think we should approach Emily directly in the morning. Tell her what we know and offer to take her to meet the rest of the group.”

  “It vould be better than having them stroll into New Manhattan,” Freuchen said. “Can you imagine the commotion that vould cause?” He laughed good-naturedly, his beard shaking. “Emily seems like a good leader. I think she vill understand vy ve had to deceive her. And I am sure that the boy and Chou could use some rest and the company of others for a day or so.”

  “Sounds good…” I stifled a yawn. “…to me.”

  It was well past one in the morning, and the effects of the aurora had worn off long ago. Now my body just wanted me to sleep.

  We thanked everyone for their hospitality, wished them all a good night, and headed along the torch-lit path back to our cabin.

  Freuchen insisted I take the bedroom for myself while he slept at the table.

  I’d become so used to the constant rustle of the leaves overhead and the howls of the unseen night-things, I found it difficult for my mind to ease into sleep. The cabin’s log walls made me feel mildly claustrophobic, and I couldn’t get comfortable in my cot. A small tallow candle spluttered on a shelf next to my bed, sending shadows dancing across the floor. I blew it out, and the room vanished into darkness, leaving me with only my thoughts. It was strange being so alone, and my mind naturally drifted to my friends, waiting in the forest for me. I wasn’t worried about Chou or Albert or Silas; they were more than capable of looking out for themselves, but I did find myself missing them horribly. Although we hadn’t really known each other that long, the bond we’d formed was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. I missed the sounds of their nighttime breathing. Albert’s gentle mumbling as he dreamed. The way Chou always seemed to be awake whenever my sleep was restless—watchful, ever vigilant. Silas’ shadowy figure standing silently over us...

  I woke with a start, confused for a moment as to where I was until my sleep-slowed mind reminded me I was in New Manhattan. I slipped from beneath the fur blanket and pulled on my clothes. I wrinkled my nose—they smelled ripe. I was really going to have to take advantage of the washing facilities here.

  “Good morning,” said Freuchen as I walked into the main room. He sat at the table, eating from a large bowl of mixed fruit. A second bowl sat across from him. “Bartholomew dropped these off for us a few minutes ago. I hold him ve needed to speak vith Emily as soon as possible, and he said he vould come back soon.” He nodded at the second bowl of fruit. “Tuck in.”

  The fruit was delicious, oranges, pears, and a handful of grapes. I held up a fleshy purple fruit, unsure of what it might be.

  Freuchen shrugged. “I have no idea vat it is, but it is delicious.”

  I took a bite. He was right, it was delicious, and I eagerly began working my way through the rest of my breakfast. I was almost finished when the door cracked open, and Bartholomew’s head appeared.

  “Emily is free to see you now if you want to come with me,” he said.

  I popped the last piece of purple fruit into my mouth, wiped my lips with the back of my hand, and followed Freuchen out the door after Bartholomew.

  The morning was hazy and a little on the cool side. The sun was going to have to climb higher than Freuchen and I were used to if it was going to reach us down here.

  “You slept well?” Bartholomew asked as we headed toward Emily’s cabin.

  “Yes,” I lied.

  New Manhattan was already busy with people going about their business: men and women fetching water from the pool; carpenters working on the half-finished cabins we’d seen yesterday; kids being shepherded toward a large lean-to that must act as a schoolroom; women hanging the hides of deer up to dry on bamboo frameworks; a man baking bread in one of the kilns.

  “All these people, from so many different times and dimensions.”

  Freuchen threw a brotherly arm around the other man’s broad shoulders, and said, “Tell me, my friend, what are your thoughts on vy ve are all here in this land of plenty?”

  Bartholomew said nothing for the next couple of steps. “Some people think we were brought here by whichever god watched over them in their time. Me, I have no time for such superstitions. But to my mind, it seems indisputable that whoever is responsible has brought us here for their own reasons. Whether those reasons are good or evil, that is the real question.”

  “And what reason do you think that might be?” Freuchen said.

  Bartholomew shrugged. “I am just a man. I do not pretend to know the how or why of any of this. I just trust that at the right time, whatever plan there is for us will be revealed.”

  “And the rest of your people?” Freuchen said. “How do they feel?”

  Bartholomew gave it some thought. “The majority seem to feel the same, I believe. Everyone who I have spoken with was facing certain death. They know that they were singled out, saved, and delivered t
o this land. But they have no more of an idea as to why than I do.”

  Freuchen clapped Bartholomew hard enough on his back that it would’ve sent any other man flying. Bartholomew did not budge. “I knew I liked you for a good reason,” Freuchen said, grinning.

  A deeply-tanned young man approached us, carrying a large bundle of branches stripped of their bark. “Hello, Bartholomew,” he said in broken English, “Please tell me where I am to take?”

  Bartholomew planted a hand on the young man’s shoulder and gently turned him around until he was facing a row of three half-finished cabins.

  “That way, Kyril. Just give them to—“

  Bartholomew’s sentence went unfinished as a dazzling flash of orange-and-white light seared my retinas, momentarily blinding me, but not before I saw half of the cabin Bartholomew was pointing at explode in a ball of fire and splinters. In the instant it took for that image to register in my brain, a crash like thunder engulfed me, and I was knocked off my feet, flying backward through the air, daggers of wood zipping past me. I landed with a grunt on the path, skidded on my back, rolled two or three times, then came to a stop, staring at a bush with a flaming chunk of wood protruding from it. My ears rang while white and orange ghosts of the explosion paraded in front of my eyes.

  A pair of booted feet shuffled into my line of sight. I heard a voice, muffled like the words were being spoken into a pillow. The bush was on fire now. I began to get annoyed at whoever the owner of the boots was for blocking my view, and if I had been able to speak, I would have told them so. But my mouth didn’t seem capable of forming words just then, and my mind swirled in confusion.

  A line of warmth trickled over my forehead then dripped down onto my cheek. I raised my hand and wiped at it, then brought my fingers to my eyes. Blood. My blood. I was bleeding.

  The boots’ owner kept talking to me, but I just couldn’t bring myself to take my eyes off the burning bush. There was something prophetic about it that my brain just wouldn’t let go of. The boots were replaced by a man’s heavily bearded face. It looked familiar to me. The man’s mouth was moving as he yelled something at me… Freuchen! It was Peter Freuchen. As if the realization that the face belonged to my friend and traveling companion had acted in some way to free the stuck gears of my brain, my senses returned with a sound like rolling down a car window when you’re doing a hundred on the freeway.