The Last City Page 6

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, back on Earth, people’s memories weren’t always that reliable.”

  “That’s because they were recalling the images and the sounds. This is extracted directly from their brain, during the insertion.”

  I suppressed a shiver. I hated hearing about the insertion process.

  Wanting to move past that subject, I asked, “How can I narrow this down to one or two people?”

  “Look down at the images and choose a person, then gently touch them.”

  I did, and his voice came to the forefront as the other people lowered back into the table, disappearing. Only my chosen person and his surroundings remained.

  The man stood before me upon the table, an almost solid form, three-dimensional, but miniature in size. Dressed in loose, long pants and a flowing shirt. His hair was pulled back from his face.

  He turned so that his back was to me, and he then grew larger as he moved upward and closer, until his form encased me, and all I could see was what he could see. He spoke and moved as though speaking to someone else, and as he did I realized that I could feel him as well. His emotions filled me as though we were connected; his thoughts became my thoughts, and I felt all that went through his mind.

  I gasped and held my breath as my own memories of the Colony invaded my mind. All of my thoughts and feelings while I was on Earth, communicating with Jordan, had been shared without my consent. Mine along with everyone else’s from the Colony before they were brought over. And I realized that this was where the Guardian had obtained that neat little trick from.

  But I pushed my feelings aside, allowing the man’s memory to take over.

  “To pause the memory, touch him and move him away from you,” Mason said. “Only you can hear them, their words, and their thoughts. Only you can feel their emotions.”

  “Why?”

  “Only your hand touched the table. You alone, are linked with them.”

  When a second person’s voice responded, an image of them, seen through my chosen person’s eyes - and now through my eyes as well - also came to life, taking a solid form. When their conversation was over, the second person turned as though to leave the room. The memory had ended, and another began almost right away.

  “Wow!” was all I could manage. I was mesmerized, watching the person move about his life, interacting with others, as his memories jumped from one scene to the next.

  “It won’t show you his entire life,” Mason said, and I focused upon his voice instead of the memory. “This is where the Central Unit protects us, our private moments. When people go into the Spire they can choose how much of their life can be touched and visited by others. Everything else will remain solely with them.”

  “Is that the case for everyone?” I asked thinking of Gia, Grid, and the others who had been forced into the Spire by the Guardian.

  “Yes. While the Guardian had access to them before and during the insertion process, what can actually be shared with us this way, is limited. That is one of the reasons why the Guardian shared everything, every memory, every thought, every emotion, during inter-dimensional communication.”

  I wanted to ask why, but I was sure he could see the question on my scrunched-up face.

  “Because it could.”

  “Why did you want me to see this?” I said, and paused the memory, moving the image away from me.

  “Well,” he said, and grinned a Jordan grin. I hadn’t seen too many of Mason smiles, but the corners of his mouth turned up the same way Jordan’s did. Not surprising though, after hundreds of years of being in each other’s company, they were bound to be similar in some ways. “You didn’t want a biology lesson, and I remember you once said that you loved history, so I’m giving you a history lesson.”

  “A history lesson,” I chuckled.

  I loved Earth history. Where we once were, how we once lived. I had been filled with that inner longing to reach out and touch the past, to understand all of the things that brought us to the present moment, all of the decisions that shaped us, and our world.

  This wasn’t Earth, but Threa was my home now. And it was Jordan’s home. The least I could do was understand what shaped him and his world.

  “I thought so,” Mason responded to my unspoken agreement. “They’ll be in chronological order, for the most part. When you’re ready to move onto the next person, gently touch the one you have, and move him with your hand, back down into the table. You can then select another. If you slide your hand across the table, you can move through the many people that have come and gone from the Spire. The faster you move your hand, the quicker the years will pass. The technology of this is a little outdated,” he said, and then stopped to smile at me, as though remembering who he was talking to. “But it will get you to where you need to be,” he finished.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, grateful for the privilege of bearing witness to their past.

  “Let me know if you need anything,” he answered.

  “You’re not staying?”

  “I… can’t,” he said, rising from his chair, and indicated toward his work that still hung in mid-air around the room. “But I won’t be far.”

  ∞

  The Spire memories were fascinating. I couldn’t tell how long I sat at the table listening, watching. I was absorbed by the people and places from years before, locations from all around the globe. At one point in their distant past, I could almost recognize an array of communication devices similar to what had been developed on Earth before I’d left. My current chosen historian spoke from a room filled with books, and I tried to focus all I had upon reading their titles. He pointed to one, and a light sprouted from the spine, creating a moving picture that hung in the air beside it, imaged from the words within. The historian spoke as he explained the scene, but his words barely registered. I was lost in the technology of it all.

  “Our world had become so overpopulated that we came to the brink of another type of disaster,” he said. At this I was reminded of Earth, and I made every effort to focus upon him. “Food and fresh water became scarce. We developed sustenance-generators to ease this problem, but you can’t generate something from nothing. The very atoms that make up the food and water are in the very least, a minimum requirement, and our recycling of every discarded substance couldn’t keep up. The need to expand to other planets became crucial, and the development of inter-planetary travel and colonization became our primary focus. Until finally, we made it. And there was no shortage of volunteers.” He brought up before him, an image that hung in the air; the planet of Threa and the path through space, from one space station, natural or man-made, to the next. Until finally reaching the first colonized planet.

  “Pelas,” the historian stated. “Our nearest habitable neighbor.” He zoomed in upon the planet’s surface. It was similar to Earth, rolling hills, mountains and oceans. “Over the many years of colonization, the relief it brought to Threa, changed our society, little by little, as societies will change. Our planet once more flourished. We had no need for anything,” he said, and brought forth other images as he presented a tour of Threa. They were divided into giant, self-contained cities. Each city nestled harmoniously within its landscape, completely self-reliant and self-sustaining. “And people for the first time, relaxed into the purity that our community had become.”

  When he finished speaking, I waited for more, but he remained motionless, and I couldn’t move him forward. The historian had no doubt, finished his tour, but I was mesmerized and ready for more.

  I followed the development of the colonies throughout the Galaxy, but with the next historian that overtook my senses, came an overwhelming sense of loss. Colonies, fifteen and sixteen were gone. The need to improve both the military and their defenses grew, and from this the initial plans for the Spire were developed. Their idea was to store the physical imprint, and the memories of every human, along with all known life-forms - every animal, every
plant, every molecule, from every remaining world. And each person would keep their own memories updated, sending the data to Threa. And from this, should anything further occur, each person, along with all of the life on each world, would not be lost.

  When the scene concluded, the historian whose memories I was viewing, ended my access.

  I stared at the pool of people below me, in awe of their idea to save all life, and I could feel my antipathy for the Spire slipping away. And I wanted more. However, as I moved the historian back into the table, I felt my stomach growl, and I decided instead, to stop. I had no idea how long I’d been lost in their past, but I was sure Mason would have pulled me away if too much time had passed.

  Not knowing how to shut it off, I looked up and about for Mason, but he was gone. There was however, a small, open doorway on the other side of the room, and so I strode toward it in search of him. But the only object within the room was a large, floor-to-ceiling, blue tube. It resembled the Spire, and I wondered if the tube was part of it.

  At first, the sight was startling to see, and I paused in the doorway. But despite the surfacing memories of my fight with the ward, and my attempted self-insertion, I felt an urge to step forward, to inspect it closer. And as I did, I saw movement inside the tube. The blue contents appeared to be fluid, as they swirled back and forth, almost as though there was something inside. And the closer I got, the stronger the movement became.

  I took another step into the room, but then stopped. I thought I could see a shape, or a shadow within, and I wondered if I would be able to see what was inside.

  However, before I could get any closer, Mason grabbed both of my shoulders and spun me about so that my back was to the tube. Then grasping my hands, he pulled me from the room.

  “Mason? Is there something in there?”

  “Lydia,” his whisper was almost a growl. The shock in his wide-eyed expression however, told me he was not angry, he was concerned.

  “What is it?” I questioned, attempting to look back at the blue tube, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever was in there.

  “Eyes on me,” Mason demanded. “Don’t look back.”

  “Mason?” I questioned, startled by his tone. I’d never heard him speak so forcefully before. I didn’t think it was in him.

  “Promise me, you’ll never go near it again.” He squeezed my hands, shaking them slightly. A sense of urgency overcame his tone, as he pleaded with me to agree.

  “I promise,” I whispered.

  He pulled me tight against his chest, squeezing me, before leading me away from the room.

  I waited for him to say more about it, but he didn’t, not another word. I felt a need to ask him what it was that he was afraid of, but again I didn’t want to push him. I first wanted to reassure him that I would do as he’d requested. Perhaps then, he might entrust me with more of his secrets.

  I pointed back toward the table at the other end of the room, and informed him that I was finished for the day, but I didn’t know how to turn it off.

  He smiled, seeming relieved, and I followed him back to the table.

  “Here,” he said, taking my hand. “When you’re done, if you decide to come back,” he paused, glancing toward the other room. “Place your hand on the table beside the image, let the Unit know your intention. Just a quick thought is all it takes, and it will suspend the interaction.”

  “Seems too easy,” I complained.

  He chuckled at my comment, “Most things are.”

  I started to say goodbye, but the thought of Mason here, alone amongst all of his work, seemed more like an oppressive burden. He was so isolated.

  “Do you want to come with me to see Jordan? He’s in his house, painting. Maybe have a bite to eat?”

  “I would love to,” his smile was sad though, no doubt thinking of how Jordan would react to his presence. “But I need to be here,” he finished, and glanced about the room at his many screens, and I followed his gaze.

  “What is it you do here all day?”

  “I’m analyzing the Guardian. Trying to figure out where it went wrong.”

  “All of this, is the Guardian?” I asked. This couldn’t be good.

  “Not quite,” he chuckled.

  “You didn’t destroy it?”

  “Destroy hundreds of years of programming and AI evolution?” He paused to stare at me in disbelief, before resuming. “I… need to understand it. Find out what language, what string of words it picked up on, that led it down the path of destruction.”

  I moved amongst his screens, fascinated by the code, the words, and the images that appeared. But in spite of not understanding any of it, I was still amazed at the volume of his work.

  “Any chance it can find its way back into the Central Unit without you knowing?”

  “No. The Guardian is not connected in any way to the CU,” he said. “This room is its own power source.”

  I was relieved to hear him say this. Glad at least, that I didn’t have to worry about its return.

  “When can I come back?” I asked him. I wanted to talk more with him about his work, and view more of the memories of Threa, but in that moment, my need to return to Jordan was greater.

  “You’re welcome to come back whenever you choose,” he said, his smile brightening his face. “I’ll be glad of the company.”

  ∞

  I made my way out with his directions, back toward the front of the Spire building. However, I wasn’t entirely sure which path would lead to Jordan’s house, and so I closed my eyes, hoping the Central Unit would sense my need to find him. After several moments, images of the roads and the lane-ways that I needed to take, formed inside my mind, and I saw a clear map to him.

  However, I decided to go one better and will myself to Jordan’s house, to save the walking time. But also, to see if it would actually work… for me. I hadn’t tried it before. I’d never had a good enough reason to even want to.

  As I made my request to the Central Unit, I felt a gentle push around me. As though everything, the air and all of its particles rushed toward me, forcing me out, to fill the space that I was vacating. No air filled my lungs, and for the briefest of moments, it didn’t matter; I didn’t need air. Then the softest sound of a whisper rushed through me, as the air was shifted from its place, dispersed by my growing presence, and forcibly pushed aside to allow the substance of me to fill the void it was now forced to vacate.

  And then it stopped. The gentle movement of air and space settled around me. I opened my eyes, and smiled. Before me were the two wooden steps leading up to Jordan’s front door.

  “Thank you,” I whispered to the Central Unit. Whether it could hear and understand I didn’t know, but I felt the need to show my gratitude anyway.

  6

  Painting the Ocean

  I tiptoed down the hallway, unsure where in his house I would find him; if he was busy painting I didn’t want to disturb him. And even though he repeated every chance he got, that it was our house, I still thought of it as his. It had mostly become his work area now. We had our tree-house, and we had our home at Tira-Mi.

  And as expected, I found him in his round-room, hard at work. It was a room of immense size. To see it from the inside, and then to compare it to the outside of his house, boggled my mind every single time. It didn’t make sense. The size of his round room should have taken up an entire city block.

  He’d once tried to explain it to me; that he could only work on one part of his painting at a time - since there was only one of him - and the room adjusted around him as needed, keeping him mostly near the center. The picture, as he created it, moved in and out of storage within the walls, floor, and ceiling. The whole affect gave the appearance that the room consisted of endless proportions.

  When he’d explained this to me, I could only stare at him for several moments. I then placed one finger upon his lips and slightly shook my head. It was moments such as that one, that I’d felt sur
e I’d hallucinated, that I’d imagined the words coming out of his mouth. And every moment since he’d given his explanation, I tried hard not think about it. I tried not to rationalize away, the impossibility of his room.

  Before entering, I watched for several moments from the doorway. He was standing thigh deep in his ocean, shirtless. And my heart jumped in my chest as it always did upon seeing the beauty of him. I silently planted myself in the only piece of furniture in the room - a small couch that lived near the entrance - and I watched his whole body move in rhythm with every brush stroke, as though every part of him aided in the creation process. He’d painted so far, the whole ocean as seen from our hill-top, although it didn’t move. It was a motionless, three-dimensional picture, one in which he easily manipulated to move through. But I was sure upon his command, the ocean would come to life.

  He waded through the water, from one side to the other, the surface easily parting for him as though he were a giant in a miniature sea, and then seamlessly it reformed around him. With one touch at a time, he added the patchwork of gold to the water’s surface, and to the sky he added touches of clouds reflecting the sun’s golden glow.

  His hand, his mind, the image he conceived and established, all worked harmoniously with the Central Unit, giving him total control of his creation.

  I was lost in the motion of his arms, his shoulders, and the muscles that rippled down his back, when his voice broke through my thoughts. I slowly scanned back up his body to see him looking over his shoulder at me. A smile stretched the corners of my mouth. And I wanted him to come to me in that instant. Maybe my face expressed my thoughts enough for him to read, for his eyes never left mine, and before I knew it he was beside me. He cradled one hand behind my head as he leaned in, and gathered me in his arms.

  ∞

  That was the first night we’d spent in his house. Though I couldn’t sleep in his bed. He’d died in that bed. And when at first, we couldn’t decide upon what to replace it with, we tried a little experiment by placing our entwined fingers upon the Central Unit’s panel, located near the room’s entrance. And together we generated a delicately carved, four-poster; a kaleidoscope of different wood colors and patterns, that scrolled and swirled across the open canopy overhead. He claimed it was my making, that the Central Unit retrieved the image from me, from my memories, for he’d never seen such wood carvings before. Its many curves, and the flowing movement of the structure, fascinated him.