by A. G. Riddle
Ares didn’t know when the next attack would come, but it didn’t much matter. The future was a foregone conclusion for him, an equation working its way to a known end.
He rarely slept, and when sleep did come, it was fitful. He sat at the desk in the apartment they had given him, flipping through the letters his wife had written him, watching videos of her, and replaying endless scenarios in his mind, debating about how things might have been different. But the truth was that he had simply played his role, as many had before him and would after him. The avatar had been right. Ares knew it now. Ares wondered how many worlds he had seen rise and fall. A thousand? A million? More?
The avatar had advocated a simple existence, living by a shared code. Ares imagined that on those worlds, every citizen was an intellectual and a laborer, and every life was respected. They had it right.
Ares mused at his own words back then: We’re going to fight.
But there had been no great enemy to fight, only a few helpless victims. There had been no harrowing threat at their door, bonding his people together. The Serpentine Army had never come, and in the absence of a threat, his people had lost the very will to fight. In fact, confronted with the first taste of violence in thousands of years, their solution had been to dig him out of hibernation: a fossil of an almost forgotten past, back to vanquish the barbarian threat.
No, they didn’t want to fight. This was the dark side of the human reality: with no conflict, no challenge, the fire within winks out and without the flame, society stagnates, slipping into a slow decline. There was only one solution to his world’s problems: cutting out the cancer.
Ares dreaded it. But it was a conflict, a challenge, a reason for him to exist. He wondered if it was the only thing keeping him alive.
He walked to the window and marveled at the city they had built—one of thousands that covered almost every inch of the globe. They were meticulously planned. Unlike the cities of the old world he had grown up on, these metropolises blended nature with steel and glass in a canvas of art and function.
From his 147th floor apartment, Ares looked down at the green and brown forests, fields, and gardens that covered the tops of the buildings. Below the tops, catwalks connected the buildings like a spider web. People and pods moved across the catwalks, like a colony of insects snaking through a maze of metal and glass that twinkled, every light regulated to optimize beauty and function. Massive greenhouses topped some buildings, the lush plant life illuminated by the grow lights and city lights at night.
How could a civilization so advanced be so flawed—all the way down to its very core?
Across the city, explosions erupted. Catwalks shook and fell. Buildings crumbled.
Entire swaths were bathed in flame and smoke spread across, blotting out the canvas of light, glass, and steel.
The door behind Ares opened. “Blasts in sectors four and six, General.”
Ares dressed quickly and marched at the head of his newly formed army. He stopped just shy of the battle zone. Another blast went up, and a wave of screams and fleeing citizens coursed toward them.
The soldier beside Ares cleared his throat and spoke quietly. “Should we begin, sir?”
“No. Let it go for a while. Let’s show the world the type of people we’re fighting.”
39
Kate was sore and drenched with sweat when she woke up, but the worst hurt wasn’t from her body. Every movement was a struggle, as if her body were made of lead. She dragged herself out of bed and pulled her clothes on.
Outside her room, the mood among the others wasn’t much different. For the first time since she had met him, Kate saw true sadness in Milo. He stared constantly at the floor. Paul and Mary seemed overwhelmed, much the way they had been after their desperate run up the mountain in Morocco, when they had first seen the Alpha Lander a few days ago.
Seeing the three of them actually changed Kate, steeled her. They needed her. She needed to be strong for them, and knowing that gave her a new sense of strength.
“This isn’t over,” she began. “I have a plan.”
“You do?” Paul asked, probably not intending to sound so surprised.
“I do.” Kate led them out of the common area into the ship’s bridge. She activated the screen and panned the image to the view outside: the ruins of a burned out city. “I said before that we can’t go outside. I saw this world in one of the Atlantean scientist’s memories. She landed here—in this ship, and then ventured out. I think she was killed here by some group that guarded the planet. She could have been resurrected. That could be one of the reasons Janus erased the memory, and possibly why viewing it made me…”
“Sick,” Milo said, fear in his voice. “You can’t, Dr. Kate.”
“I have to.” Kate adjusted the screen to show the atmosphere where the beacon had entered, the streak of white the only remaining evidence. “With the beacon gone, we are trapped here. That’s the bad news. But we have a few options. This lander’s communications array is still intact. And it’s still fully operational—we can lift off and get into orbit.”
“How far can we travel?” Paul asked.
“Not far, unfortunately. The lander has no ability to generate a wormhole, no hyperspace travel ability. But we could send a communication—try to get help. With the beacon gone, this world is exposed.”
“And apparently well-guarded,” Paul said. “At least in the past.”
“Exactly,” Kate said. “And that’s where I’m going to start. There’s an adaptive research lab on this ship, just like the Alpha Lander. I used the portable data core to retrieve all the memories Janus wanted to keep from his partner. I’m going to look for any clues as to what this world is, who’s guarding it, and how we might be able to get help.” She motioned to Paul and Mary. “I’ve programmed these terminals to teach you the Atlantean systems. It won’t take you long to learn—David and Milo got up to speed in less than a few days.” That hadn’t come out the way Kate intended, but she pressed on. “When you can work the ship, I want you to start comparing the two signals—the one Mary received on Earth and the one from the Serpentine battlefield. That’s our other hope: figuring out what it is.”
“What about me?” Milo asked.
“You’re going to help me. You’ll monitor my vitals while I’m in the resurrection chamber. If anything goes wrong, you’re to get Paul and help him navigate the ship’s medical systems.”
Milo shook his head. “I don’t like this. David wouldn’t like this.”
“David and I talked right before… we came here. After seeing the Serpentine battlefield, he realized our situation was dire, that we had to take chances to have any hope. This is one of the chances. The other is the signal. This is our plan.”
Kate led Milo out of the bridge, and although the teenager didn’t protest further, she could tell he dreaded what might result from Kate’s trip into the giant yellow vat similar to the one he and David had found her in several days ago. Putting on a brave face had prepared Kate for entering the vat once again, but once inside, standing in the virtual train station, staring at the board that was now full with a complete listing of all the Atlantean scientist’s memories, fear started to set in. What would happen inside the memories? What would it do to her outside? She had no choice.
She selected the first memory, the earliest entry Janus had deleted, and loaded it.
The train station disappeared, and she stood in a science lab. Janus stood before her, talking excitedly and pointing to a projection of a world on the wall. The wall of windows on her left revealed a vast city, twinkling in the night. A network of catwalks connected the buildings, and the city teemed with life. Momentarily, Kate was captivated by it, but the feeling faded quickly. In its place, comprehension rose. She instinctively knew where she was: the new Atlantean homeworld. She knew things about herself. Her job. Her desires. This memory was different. In the others, Kate had possessed some control over her thoughts, though the actions were those of the
scientist. Not so here.
Here she had complete access to the Atlantean scientist’s thoughts, and they joined her own, crowding them out. Kate was gone, simply a spectator, seeing, feeling, and reliving the Atlantean scientist’s past. The woman’s name was Isis, and her life began unfolding, out of Kate’s control. Kate’s last thought was wondering what would happen to her when Isis died in the memory, as Kate knew she had on Earth thirteen thousand years ago.
Janus clicked through the images of the worlds again. “All these worlds hold hominid life.”
“Or did,” Isis shot back.
“True, these surveys are as old as the exodus, but assuming there haven’t been any population collapses, these worlds still hold human life. In fact, some could have grown into advanced civilizations or even evolved in ways we can’t imagine. Think about it. For an evolutionary geneticist, this is the opportunity of a lifetime.”
Janus paused for effect. “There’s no one I would rather have by my side, Isis.”
She turned from him and faced the window that looked out onto the city. “I appreciate that, Janus. And it’s an incredible opportunity, but it’s hard for me to trek off into space when our world is in this kind of shape.”
“I know your feelings on the labor debate.”
“The equality debate,” Isis corrected.
“Quite right,” Janus said, nodding. “The equality debate,” he said, repeating the mantra of the labor supporters, the words he and the other pro-intellectuals never uttered in private.
When Isis said nothing, he pressed on. “The equality debate will work itself out with or without us. We can make history, advance the Atlantean cause. We’re calling it the Origin Project.”
“It’ll never get past the Serpentine Restrictions.”
“That may change.”
“What have you heard?”
“Just rumors but there’s talk of relaxing the restrictions to resolve the labor revolt.” He quickly corrected himself. “Equality debate.”
“Interesting.”
“All the pieces are in place, Isis. We’re already retrofitting the survey fleet.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am. I know the ships are old—”
“And they haven’t been used since they mapped the new sentinel line just after the exodus.”
“They’ll do just fine. We’ve tested them. And in time, we could build new ones.”
Isis shook her head, still uncertain.
“Can we talk tomorrow, after your speech in the forum?”
“Sure.”
In truth, Isis had found Janus’ proposal fascinating. It was the opportunity of a lifetime; that much was true. But turning her back on the equality debate that raged on their world was unconscionable to her.
She thought about her speech the next day—the research she would present that she hoped would turn the tide in the great debate, altering the course of their society. The stakes were high, and she could already feel her nerves as she exited the building onto the skyway. She loved moving between the buildings at night. The glass corridors gave the sense of flying over the city, and sometimes she couldn’t help but stare out as she walked.
In the distance, a plume of fire rose, and a split-second later, a building sank, then another. Skyways in the distance released, and the web of walkways seemed to ripple as the cascade of explosions rolled toward her like a wave. The ground loomed over a thousand feet below her.
She glanced between the entrance and exit. She was closer to the end, and she bound toward it, her feet pounding the floor. The building ahead shook, and the walkway swayed, the floor cracked, and tiles from the ceiling rained down.
She held her arms up, covering her head as she cleared the skyway. The building’s lifts were inoperable, and Isis crammed into the stairwells, flowing with the masses trying desperately to escape.
At the bottom floor, masked, armed troops corralled them into a dark holding area, occasionally shouting for them to move faster and pushing anyone who got out of line.
When the trickle of people ended, one of their captors stepped forward and said, “You are no longer citizens. You are no longer members of the elite who perpetuate the intellectual feudalism that has oppressed us for thousands of years. You are instruments; tools of the revolution. You will be given a number. You are now a hostage of the equality movement.”
40
For the last three hours, Ares had been touring the hospital, talking with the citizens undergoing treatment for burns, broken bones, and shrapnel wounds. The small facility was overwhelmed. The halls were chaotic, with people darting in all directions. Ares was a beacon of calm in the storm. Seeing the carnage readied him for what he had to do, confirmed he was making the right choice.
A staffer led him out of the main hospital into an adjacent building, which had been used as office space but now served as a makeshift psychological hospital.
The citizens in every room looked the same to Ares: vegetables.
“They’re suffering from resurrection syndrome,” the doctor said.
Ares had never heard of the condition. His tour guide read his expression.
“It was never diagnosed in your time. Possibly never even seen. Mentally, the patient is unable to cope with life after resurrection, or more specifically, their brains are unable to integrate certain memories, in this case, those of their violent death. The syndrome has become more prevalent as our lifestyle has changed. We think the shifting emotional range of our citizenry is partly to blame. Repeated resurrection is also a risk factor. Some of these patients died in the first wave of terror attacks with no symptoms or a very mild case of resurrection syndrome. This time around, they’ve been reborn in almost a catatonic state. Either way, this could become a pandemic in itself.”
Ares nodded, wondering if, in another few thousand years, any of his people would be able to survive resurrection.
Ares’ ear piece activated, and his second in command said, “Sir, we have a new development. The terrorists have taken hostages.”
Ares smiled. Now we’re getting somewhere.
Isis was scared, but not nearly as frightened as the people around her. This will turn the whole world against the labor faction, she thought. This would truly be the end of the revolt, the last straw that steeled the citizenry to take drastic action. Isis could only imagine what that action would be. She pushed the scenarios out of her mind as she stepped forward in the line.
“Your number is 29383,” the man said. “What is your number?”
“29383,” Isis answered.
Beyond the line, two men were arguing.
“You’ve dug our grave.”
“I’ve saved us, Lykos. I’ve done what you didn’t have the guts to do.”
The other man, Lykos, caught Isis’ eye. He stopped, as if he had recognized her.
The masked man issuing numbers motioned for the next person in line and said to Isis, “Move on, 29383.”
Isis shuffled forward, joining the group in front of her, but Lykos stopped her, pulling her over to join the other man he’d been arguing with. “This is what I’m talking about,” he said, pointing to her. “Do you know who this is?”
“Of course. A hostage. What’s your number, hostage?”
Isis opened her mouth, but Lykos cut her off. “Don’t answer that. Her name is Dr. Triteia Isis. She’s an evolutionary geneticist—”
Lykos’ adversary raised his hands. “Forgive me, I don’t know too many evolutionary geneticists—”
“She’s created a genetic therapy that would enable our people to do anything the intellectuals can.”
The rebel leader paused, and Lykos continued. “She’s presenting her research to the full forum tomorrow, or she had planned to before we took her hostage. She was a supporter of our cause.” Lykos focused on her. “And I hope she still will be, and that she accepts our apology for the barbaric methods of some members of our cause.” He waited for her response.
&
nbsp; “I… am. I do.”
“Now we’re going to release you,” Lykos said. “And I hope you’ll still give that speech tomorrow.”
Isis nodded. “I will.”
Lykos led her away.
The other man called to them, “If they listen, it’s because of what we did here.”
Lykos led her through the corridors, not speaking to the guards who simply nodded and let him pass. When they were alone outside the building, past the last checkpoint, he said, “I’m very sorry for what happened to you. We’ve lost control of the situation. Please tell them that, whether you give your presentation or not. Something has to be done. These methods only represent a minority of our people. We’re ready to make whatever sacrifices we need to.”
The council was in full panic now, and that pleased Ares greatly. He had them right where he wanted them.
Nomos was speaking, and Ares sat at the head of the table, barely listening.
“The revolutionaries are running all over that army of yours.”
“They can’t fight,” another councilman said.
“Quite right,” Ares answered, standing.
“What’s your solution, General?” a woman asked.
“You’ll hear it tomorrow in the forum.”
Another council member slammed his fist into the conference table. “I want to hear it now. We might not make it to tomorrow. All options, ladies and gentlemen. Can we create a pathogen that would only target labor? Cut our losses and have the sentinels bombard the occupied zones?”
The room erupted in shouting. Ares slipped out the door. Strangely, the night before he knew the battle would begin, he slept well.
41
In the forum the following day, Ares sat in the chairman’s box and watched silently as speaker after speaker took the central stage and shouted at the three thousand attendees in the auditorium and the tens of billions around the world watching. This was the moment every politician had always dreamed of: the issue that would shape generations to come. A single vote that would ensure that they were remembered, that their pitiful name and face would be put down in the history logs, immortalized. They scrambled for the spotlight, practically tripping over each other, grasping desperately for every second of fame. Half the time was spent arguing about time itself—how much the current speaker had left, how much the previous speaker had run over, and how much would be allotted to the current time-waster. The spectacle left no doubt about why compromise had broken down.
