The Archytas Read online

  Carter was at a loss when he left work. He could not possibly wait to understand. He could not spend each day allowing such crazy thoughts to fill his skull. But, he perhaps had no choice. His plan now was to dream around the date that Yudar had told him, dream immediately before and after it. The same dreams repeatedly. Try to remember, piece it together, find the connection, and understand.

  He selected a dream a week later than the previous night, Three-of-Hearts-5 2774.

  A sky of fire spread through his mind as he slept; an ocean of destruction; birds in the netherworld.

  18

  Jamie Somertri entered the small room at the top of the farmhouse.

  His mother was slumped over an ancient mechanism, its wheels turning slowly, churning power into the rooms below. Tubes took the power out to the Trac-car resting outside, to the light fixtures in the house, the farm; everything powered by this small room. His mother, having spawned him thirteen years ago, had been working in this tiny room ever since.

  She looked exhausted, and Jamie could only stay for a few minutes, the uneasy stench was far too intense for him.

  Although his mother was the same age as his father, she looked twice that. Eyes black with rings, skin thin and worn, fingers worked to the bone.

  Jamie felt no sadness though at watching his mother work, she too was a slave to the system, keeping the farm going to help feed those inside the capital. This was the way it was, the way it had to be. Someday soon, they would earn enough credits to keep her alive long enough, and eventually move away, move within the walls. His mother would sadly perish, but for Jamie and Tom, life would continue with importance and happiness, it was worth every sacrifice.

  “Keep going,” said Jamie to his mother, “only another twenty-seven years.”

  His mother didn’t say anything, she couldn’t speak, her mouth was dry, her eyes staring right through her son. For a brief moment, her glance displayed a look of absolute hatred, hatred for the human species, hatred for her own son and husband. The glance lasted just a second, but Jamie saw it, felt a trace of her pain, before her glance shifted back into the void, revealing a familiar emptiness that he was so used to seeing.

  “Only another twenty-seven years,” Jamie repeated.

  As he left the room, his conscience was completely clear as he thought about his new life in Utopia.

  19

  “They are just like the pigeons!” screamed Geoff Jenkins.

  “What?” asked Justin, as he calmly placed down the matchbox he was holding, before turning around in his chair.

  “What’s going on, Justin, why are they the same as the pigeons?”

  “Artificial intelligence,” Justin replied.

  As usual, Jenkins did not understand what his grandson was saying.

  “Artificial intelligence?”

  “Yes. I programmed the pigeons to develop thought. Their own intelligence. First they eat crops, next they salvage materials and build better versions of themselves.”

  “But why?” asked Jenkins. “Why would you want the pigeons to multiply so fast?”

  “You don’t understand, do you? We need to rid the world of the powers that control it. How many people are living miserable lives, all because the capital controls it all?”

  “We are not miserable. Sure, we could do with a little more food for ourselves, a little more alcohol, but we get by just fine.”

  “Do we? We live our whole lives working to fulfil basic needs. We are only surviving, nothing else. We have very little satisfaction, very little entertainment, and after we die, we leave no mark on this planet except for our legacy, our children that take over as the next drops of oil in the machine. It is completely pointless; all we do is pass down slavery from one generation to the next. How can you say that we are not miserable?”

  “You look at things differently. Can you not just be happy living? Can’t you just accept that the world can’t be controlled by you?”

  “Fine,” said Justin. “But what of those that do control the world. They became in charge because the rest of you are living in this bubble of an idea that nothing can change, no one can reach the top. You stand aside saying that you get by just fine, you stand aside and do nothing to better yourselves in this world. Be a slave as much as you want and call it by the different name of living.”

  “I’ve had just about enough of this, Justin. Turn them off.”

  “Turn what off?”

  “The pigeons.”

  “I can’t just turn them off, they are living.”

  “Please,” Jenkins lowered his tone. “Please, Justin, just turn them off and we can forget about all of this.”

  “Listen. It is not as simple as that. Those other farmers, they are like us. They have their thoughts, ideas, and dreams. They are just like before but programmed with ambition, a desire to achieve something, and to stop being slaves. The pigeons too, they will grow to be successful. First, they will destroy all the crops on this planet, and then, they will take over. They will be an extension of me, sharing my vision for this world. I will rise to the top. You can do whatever you like, but I can’t turn them off.”

  Jenkins turned around, slammed the door to the basement, and clambered back up the steps to his farmhouse, all the while muttering to himself, “I have to stop them. I have to stop them.”

  He went to his kitchen and poured himself a glass of whiskey, before heading up to his bedroom to retrieve his shotgun.

  Back downstairs, he downed his glass, poured another, downed the second, before stumbling outside into his field.

  He looked around at the vortex of darkness swirling around his land. He could not make out where the farmers were, enshrouded by the thick sea of pigeons. He wandered closer, in the direction of Tony Scargille’s farm, shotgun in hand, a confused look of anger on his face.

  When he finally reached the wall of pigeons, he began to open fire. The noise from the first shot did not appear to startle the birds, and they continued circling in their state of ignorance, an act that amused Jenkins.

  “Intelligent!” he shouted, bellowing with laughter.

  He fired again, hitting one of the pigeons full on. Cogwheels and string exploding, bouncing off in every direction.

  He stayed for a while, reloading, firing, laughing, until his ammunition became sparse. With a shake of the head, he scooped up as many cartridges, cogwheels, and bits of string that he could stuff into his pockets, before returning to the farmhouse.

  20

  Carter had been focusing. For the last six months, he had dreamt through the events that his species had recorded. Skies of fire, barren fields, ships departing hurriedly. Fragments again, but a much clearer image than before.

  He was still not sure what had caused the images that had now embedded themselves into his mind. He did not understand why birds were burning and crops were dying, and he did not understand why he, of all people, was beginning to remember his dreams. Still, Yudar would explain in time, he was sure of that.

  As Carter wandered to work on the penultimate day of the card, he looked around at the others, walking in line, blissfully unaware of their dreams; just another day heading to work.

  Carter remembered something, a thought he had pushed away a very long time ago. A thought about the irrelevance of all of the things he does. The irrelevance of working every day for eternity. Slavery.

  In a perfect system, slaves do not know that they are slaves. They believe that everything they do is for a higher purpose. And of course, he knew too that his species had a purpose. But at that moment it did not feel as though he was a part of anything at all. It was as if he did not belong anywhere.

  He continued walking, following the line of men. Birds on fire flashed through his mind, slaves fulfilling orders, turning generators, new images. Had he really observed those events, or was this his real memories seeping through? After all, for his job, he too powered generators. Every day turning wheels to create power to allow his species to leave the pl
anet once they had exhausted its resources, only to move on to the next planet and repeat the same process again. He could choose time, it was possible, but it too was just as futile. Both life and what came after would just bring on an eternity of more slavery.

  As he arrived at the plant, Carter felt that his day had no purpose. He sat at his kinetic cycle, and prepared to spend the next ten hours working, as he always did.

  21

  In the kitchen, Justin was smoking a cigarette.

  “It won’t work,” he said.

  “What’s that?” replied Jenkins, as he set down the shotgun and reached for his pockets.

  “I saw you there, firing. It won’t work. They will keep multiplying until there are not enough resources. You can’t stop them.”

  “Fine, but I can try,” said Jenkins, as he scattered the empty shotgun cartridges and pigeon scraps on the kitchen table.

  “Listen, it won’t do any good going crazy and destroying the pigeons. Just relax, enjoy being the only person on the planet with any food, and die happy knowing that your legacy will live on through me, and the birds.”

  Justin extinguished his cigarette, and Jenkins stayed silent for a moment, lost in thought.

  “What happened to the other farmers?” asked Jenkins, eventually.

  “That was nothing to do with me,” said Justin. “If the pigeons want to build humans, that’s their choice. They have free will after all.”

  “Free will? What if they suddenly decide they want to eat my crops, what then?”

  “They can’t.”

  “They can’t? Are you sure?”

  “Certain. I programmed them that way. Don’t worry, they can never cross over into our fields. They will try, but that’s a good thing. We have a wall of pigeons protecting our land. A barrier of protection. Don’t you see?”

  “But my crops, they need light. Those blasted pigeons are blocking all the light. My crops will die eventually, and then we’ll starve.”

  “Ah,” Justin conceded, “I didn’t think of that.”

  “Didn’t think! We’re going to die here because of your stupid pigeons.”

  “They’re not stupid!” shouted Justin.

  “Then tell them to leave so my crops can grow.”

  “I will build a light source. There, problem solved.”

  “And how long will that take? Not long I hope,” said Jenkins.

  They both turned their heads toward the entrance to the farmhouse. Outside there was a huge roar followed by the sound of an explosion. Jenkins reached for his shotgun and marched outside, Justin followed.

  A Utopian Defence Force ship was firing at the pigeons from outside the vortex, burning a huge hole in the spiral of birds, only for the void to be quickly refilled by an onslaught of more pigeons.

  “What do you suggest now?” asked Geoff Jenkins, a painful look of loss on his face.

  “I don’t know,” said Justin. “Hide?”

  22

  Tom Somertri was waiting for his toast. It was early in the morning, and Jamie had not yet emerged. As he waited, from out of the corner of his eye, he saw the shadow of an image outside.

  He walked to the window and looked out at his meadows. There was a solitary bird, a pigeon. It began to peck at his crops with reckless aggression.

  Tom left his house, and once outside, collected a rake. He walked over to the pigeon and tried to scare it away by hitting the rake into the ground. The bird did not move. He hit the ground again, this time harder, but still the pigeon did not move.

  Tom was not one to harm birds, so he gently pushed the rake in the direction of the pigeon. He had hoped that this would cause the bird to fly away. The bird did eventually move, but only because it had destroyed all the vegetation it could reach from its position. It moved a few inches further into the field, and started the same destructive process.

  Tom decided to prod the pigeon with his rake, but the bird was unresponsive.

  Just as he was about to give up and return to his house, two more pigeons landed in his field, and instantly began to consume his crops, much like the first bird.

  “Strange,” said Tom.

  He returned to his kitchen and collected one of two pieces of toast from the machine. He took a large bite, set the toast down on the kitchen counter, and headed into his storage cupboard in search of a net.

  The cupboard was the place Tom kept all of the everyday objects he rarely had a use for, and it took a good while searching through boxes of junk, before he eventually found an old fly fishing net.

  “This should do the trick,” he said, to nobody in particular.

  With net in hand, Tom grabbed the rest of his half-eaten slice of toast, and headed for the door.

  Outside, he could see his field being ruined by at least a hundred silent birds. Gnawing at his crops, tearing them apart, decimating them. In the skies above, more birds appeared to be circling. Some landing, others seemingly calculating the best place to land.

  He went back into his house, making sure to lock the door. He took another bite of toast before reaching for his two-way communication tube, and after a few short seconds, a voice was coming from one end of the cylinder.

  “I have an urgent matter, is the president available?”

  “Is this about pigeons?” asked the voice.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Don’t worry, Tom, everything is under control.”

  “You better hope it’s under control, my field is in tatters.”

  “It’s okay, the UDF are on their way. We’ve already been notified and the situation is under control.”

  “Right, any procedures I should follow?” asked Tom.

  “Stay calm and wait inside.”

  “Fine by me.”

  There was an awkward pause where the only sound to be heard was the soft crackling of burning toast.

  “Do you have any other messages for the president? I can pass them on to him if you like.”

  “I think I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

  Tom ended the call and returned to the machine that was cooking his breakfast. He took out the charred remains of what was once a perfectly toasted slice of bread, and stared out of the window, wishing he had stayed in bed.

  23

  Carter was returning home from the Sol-ship with his colleagues. It had been four years since Yudar had appeared to him, and Carter wondered if they would ever meet again.

  Over the last four years, he had been viewing as much of his species long history with each night of dreams. As time went on, the images became more vivid and his memory had begun to maintain them. There were still a few blank patches, times where no information could be recollected, but he was finally showing signs of progress.

  He had not mentioned what he knew to any of his friends, and had been keeping a low profile as not to attract any attention to himself.

  It was hard for Carter. A ball of knowledge burning brightly inside of his mind, like a secret waiting to be shared. He desperately wanted to speak to somebody but knew he could not. His mind locked, a cage of thoughts, and the only person with the key was of course Yudar.

  As his ship neared the planet that his species would soon be leaving, Carter stared out of the porthole. He traced in his mind the outline, a perfect sphere; he stared intently at the wash of brown that made up the land, and the flecks of blue that made up the oceans. He could not see any of their synthetic cities, but then again, he never could from such distance.

  Carter always enjoyed the return home. He enjoyed the strange glow around the planet, the ring of dusty light that contained everything within. He enjoyed the contrast of complete darkness that made up the backdrop to the wonderful glow of outline. He traced it in his mind again, admiring the beauty, watching the strange shape, one that had allowed his species to live. The glow of light from the Sol-ship illuminating the Northern Hemisphere, and the mass of blackness that shrouded all that was below light. An unbroken ring enveloped in darkness.

 
Ideas of slavery drifted in and out of his mind, but Carter could take solace now. He knew that his species would be leaving soon, which meant years of space travel as they moved on to their next home. Recreation travel, a break from working for as long as it would take. That was the part of living Carter enjoyed the most, or at least he thought he did.

  He reminded himself that he looked forward with anticipation to recreation travel after they abandoned the last planet, but after two years, he had become frustrated, at a loss. There was nothing to do and he knew it. Working every day was tough. Having nothing to do was tougher. He just hoped that the next planet would not be too far away, and that his recreation travel would be just long enough to appease his desire for relaxation.

  Carter shifted his focus back to the planet, traced the outline once again in his mind, and wondered if he would ever have a place that he could really call his home.

  24

  Jamie and Tom Somertri were sitting at the kitchen table looking out of the window. A swarm of pigeons had continued to surround their farm and the meadows beyond. Tom was biting his fingernails in an obvious state of panic.

  “Dad, what’s going on?” asked Jamie.

  “Don’t worry, the UDF will take care of it,” Tom replied.

  They watched for a while as the pigeons circled their barren fields; it was like watching the autumn leaves swept around in the wind, swirling from the ground in an upward movement, before swooping back down again from the top of the vortex.

  “What are they doing?” asked Jamie.

  “I think they are hunting.”

  “Hunting?”

  “Yeah, they are hunting for food,” said Tom, “but they’ve already got all of ours.”

  “Where do you think they came from?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine, most likely from beyond the border.”

  “Do you think the invaders brought them with them?”