The Archytas Page 9

  “If that was true, somebody would have come back for me a long time ago. There can’t be anything good over the other side. I can’t imagine a place like you describe,” said the old woman.

  “Can’t you see this isn’t living? We just work, all day every day, for some credits that disappear in a week. We can barely afford to survive. Barely afford enjoyment. Barely make friends. There’s nothing here but torture. We fulfil the roles that society gives us, and then there is nothing. We are all just waiting to die.”

  “Maybe so, but what makes you think anywhere else is any better? What if existence is the terrible life you’ve just described. Maybe that’s all there is. This world might look to be designed for us to occupy, but what if it isn’t designed at all. Nothing is for us. In a world where everything is perfect, only terrible things would have impact on our souls.”

  Grace listened intently to what the old woman was saying, but she knew that there was definitely somewhere better out there, there had to be. She had a strange but positive feeling burning brightly inside of her.

  “How far did you say it was?”

  “The wall? About three hours on foot. You will start to see it long before that though, even on a clear day you can see it from outside the Raven.”

  “I will go there tomorrow, go beyond the wall. And, if a true paradise does exist, I will do everything I can to come back here and tell you.”

  “And, if you don’t come back?”

  “Then you’ll know for sure that living is worthless.”

  45

  Carter wandered the Archytas with nothing to do. It had been a few months since he arrived on the ship, and if he was to be completely honest with himself, except for when he was talking with Yudar, he was relatively bored of his recreation travel.

  Over the previous months, Yudar had met with Carter once a card, to fill in the gaps of his species history. He had told him about the promises he had made to the humans, of shared technologies, glass cages and ecospheres. He had sold them a false idyll, tricked them. He had told of how the humans were a lot like their own species. Consuming and moving on. Consuming food, eating all of the fish in the oceans, eating all of the animals until only flora remained. How they, as a species, always strived for something better. Even when they had reached a state of perfection, it was never enough. His species were the same, they had a perfect system now, terraforming a planet, consuming everything until nothing remained, and moving on. But, they were never happy in their false society either.

  Carter discovered that Yudar had done some amazing things since he was animated, whenever that was, he could not be sure. He had designed the Archytas, he was the lone architect, the creator, a master designer. He had designed a ship of a hundred thousand rooms, a feat of engineering excellence. He was revered amongst his peers, praised by those who knew him, and had been trusted to infiltrate the human species. He had escaped slavery, escaped capture, and escaped Terra.

  As he passed the Dramatic Lounge, Carter thought about what his species was looking to find. Unlike a fake God, or perfection, it was an energy source, but Carter wondered why. It seemed to him that the Sol-ship functioned perfectly well, inevitably providing power to his species whenever they were on planet.

  He recalled the threat that Yudar had spoken of, unknown weapons from Terra. He wondered whether such a threat remained. Some other species out there trying to destroy his own. Surely if such a threat did exist, they would have encountered it already.

  In the corridor outside the Hall of Fame Room, Carter passed a man and a woman speaking about atmospheric water generation, before taking the steps down to the Fighting Hall. He wanted to clear his mind from distraction, and thought a good fight would relieve his stress.

  After punching a bag of straw for thirty minutes, Carter took a shower and started back toward his chambers.

  An hour later, he arrived at his room to find Yudar waiting outside.

  “Carter, I will be brief. I have a lot of work to do. It is very important work for the safety of the Archytas and the other ships. It will take time, a long time. I will find you when I am ready, when I can. When we reach the anomaly you will know, but they will keep you in the dark most likely. If you want to learn more, spend some time on the Observation Deck. It will be approximately three thousand nineteen years from now.”

  “I understand. But what should I do until then?”

  “I do not know, try to relax.” Yudar laughed. “Or you could check in with the rest of your unit from time to time. They know too. It is okay here, we do not record on ship, it is a waste of resources. You are free to talk, but do not do it so often, once a card would be about right.”

  “Okay, thank you, Yudar.”

  “My pleasure. Speak to you when we get close.”

  “Great,” Carter lowered his head toward Yudar as a mark of respect. Yudar returned the gesture before dashing off down the corridor. Carter watched until he was out of sight, before using the scanner and entering his room.

  Once inside, he decided to listen to music for the first time in years. He selected a harmonious yet dominant piece, the type of composition his species took with them from Fornax and kept with them forever. Outlasting time and all influence. A dance of ivories over a layer of atmosphere, the mood turning and twisting, perpetually fading and falling, before the inveterate sound settled to where it once glistened. An endless flow of melody and movement, captivating and controlling but always returning.

  Carter found himself standing, staring through glass as he watched space, fragments and gleams, oceans and sunbeams, their glares ever absent but forming in the dark reaches of his mind. He was home, just briefly, in chorus, yet hopelessly lost.

  46

  Jamie Somertri was standing in the field next to his farmhouse. Before him, a hole the size of a body, which he had dug, the shovel lay discarded at his side. Beside him, a corpse of a woman had been wrapped in thin plastic film. It was his mother.

  It was exactly one week since Tom had left for Utopia, since the ships had left Earth, since his father had disappeared completely. There was no news from the capital, no guards outside. Jamie had ventured that way but found nothing. The gate was not working, just a reflective wall of metal blocking the entrance, silence all around. He had no way of getting inside. He was completely alone in Outer, it seemed. He had not crossed any other farmers, had not seen a single vehicle on the road to and from Utopia. It was as if everyone had vanished.

  With no food and no provisions from the capital, Jamie Somertri was starving. He had eaten all of the scraps of salvaged remains that the birds had left behind, and now he was becoming weak.

  It had taken him an hour to dig the grave. He had sighed when he finished. His dreams of one day entering Utopia, just a distant illusion to him now. His mother had died two days ago. He had gone to check on her, only to find her slumped over the mammoth generator. Jamie did not cry, he went back to the kitchen and sat in silence for hours, contemplating his own life, his future.

  After a while, he returned to his mother and with great difficulty carried her down to the kitchen. He wrapped her in plastic and left her for a day. He was in no hurry to bury her. He thought about burning her, but could not remember which she had requested. He had guessed it did not matter anyway; the dead did not care about such troubles. It made no difference to Jamie if he just left her to rot, or fed her ashes to the birds.

  At her grave, he thought about saying a few words, but again he knew she could not hear him. He decided to say nothing.

  Jamie waited in silence for almost an hour. He was waiting to see if the birds would return. Any that remained confined by the fence, to see if they would be tempted by his dead mother’s flesh. They were not, and subsequently, no birds came.

  Finally, he kicked her body from one side, until she rolled over and fell into the grave. He sighed once again as he returned to his shovel, before piling dirt from the mound he had made onto her corpse. The sound of dirt hitting the pl
astic was satisfying to Jamie, and he was quickly disappointed once the layer of soil thickened, and such sound no longer occurred.

  After the burial, Jamie decided to check the border. He had not ventured too far toward the chain fence, and wondered if there were birds there trapped or trying to break through.

  He reached the fence in thirty minutes, and through the gaps, he saw the occasional pair of birds hovering around without direction. He also saw, for the first time in over a week, a sign of life. It was another person, a boy, and by appearance, he guessed only a few years older than himself.

  As they met through chains, the boy was first to speak.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello,” replied Jamie.

  “My name is Justin Jenkins.”

  “Nice to meet you, Justin. My name is Jamie Somertri.”

  “Nice to meet you too. Are you dead?”

  “What?”

  “Are you dead?”

  Jamie thought for a moment. He had no parents. No food. The world was not making any sense. Utopia was locked down. Birds had destroyed the planet. He had nothing left.

  “Maybe I am,” replied Jamie.

  47

  “They refer to us as the Left Behind. Our city doesn’t have a name. It probably did, once, but that’s a different story. The men that built this left a long time ago. There was an event, and the men left. I can’t put into context exactly where they went, you’re a city girl, like all girls, you won’t understand. They went to the skies, that much you can comprehend. They left us behind. After the event, they sought, much like yourself, a better life. A happier existence. They did this with selfish needs. Left everyone else, their whole civilization to collapse, to rot, to turn to the sour mess that it is right now.”

  “Who told you this?” asked Grace.

  “I’ve heard whispers, many whispers from many men. They all tell of the same outcome, but of various different events. I’m not sure what to believe, but they left us, that much is certain.”

  Grace was standing at the wall talking to a man in a smart black jacket, red necktie, and the cleanest boots she had ever seen. A middle-aged man named Samuel.

  Earlier that day she had spent the remainder of her credits on food and cigarettes and was now ready to face whatever other world was on offer, ready to cross over to the other side of the wall. Ready to escape.

  “I met somebody that said nobody ever comes back,” said Grace.

  “They don’t, at least from what I know. It’s the workers here. Someone has to collect the food from the tunnels. Another role for another fool. They say that the food is waiting for them at the entrance, every Monday morning, very early. It’s still dark during that time. Light hasn’t risen, nothing can be seen. They get their little glimpses through the darkness. They see things, they hear things. Whoever or whatever it is that supplies our city with food and alcohol, does so without wanting to be seen. Glimpses and whispers.”

  “And you, you’ve never been outside?”

  “Never. It is strange, but I actually like my life here.”

  “You do?” Grace was shocked to hear it.

  “It’s a simple life. I get credits for waking people up. It can be a little difficult sleeping when the light is up, but I manage. My job is easy and rewarding, and I don’t have to do any physical labour. I can enjoy my free time reading old books. I am pleased very easily. I am pleased by words.”

  “Your job is waking people up?”

  “That’s right, but most of the time they wake up by themselves. Every Monday morning, just before deliveries arrive. I stay up through credit reset and then wake up the Collectors. If they don’t wake up, then everyone starves.”

  “But what do you do the rest of the time? And the Collectors, what do they do for the rest of the week?”

  A solemn look slid across Samuel’s face. “Well, that is a less pleasant experience I’m afraid to say.”

  “Unpleasant in what way?”

  “It involves the dead. Their possessions. Their things. We deliver crates of fresh food to the markets, and we collect the bodies and belongings of the dead.”

  Grace began to feel uneasy, “What do you do with the bodies?” she asked.

  “We put them in the crates, and then return the crates to wherever they came from.”

  “And you enjoy your job?”

  “My job is waking people up; I don’t go near the crates.”

  “But, have you never wondered? Where the food comes from and where the dead go?”

  “Of course I have, but I can’t trouble myself over it. I can’t let it get to me. I put my own happiness first, and won’t let a few glimpses and whispers shatter my good feeling.”

  “Where is the entrance to the tunnels? I want to leave.”

  “That’s fine by me; just don’t mention my name to whatever you encounter on the other side. I don’t want to be involved in this, if you understand.”

  “I understand,” said Grace. “Please show me.”

  “Come,” said Samuel.

  They began walking together along the edge of what was a smooth metallic wall. There did not appear to be any gates, doors, or entrances. It was just one endless mass of metal. After five minutes, they arrived at a small apartment building.

  “In here,” said Samuel, motioning for Grace to follow him.

  He opened the door and the two of them entered what was clearly not an apartment building at all. A vast open space with multiple doorways carved into what looked like more metal.

  “Each of these doors leads to a different tunnel, but they all go outside. There are buildings like this all along the edge. I think they used to be for the people who fought. A way to get outside and defend the city.”

  “Which one? Which tunnel?”

  “That’s up to you, but I go no further. Pick a tunnel and follow it, you’ll be at the edge in less than an hour. Then after that you’re all alone.”

  “Fine,” said Grace. “Thank you, I won’t forget you.”

  “Don’t mention it, Grace, good luck on the other side. I hope it’s what you’re expecting.”

  Grace bowed her head gracefully, and began through one of the doors and into a long metallic tunnel. She had done it, she thought, she had finally escaped.

  48

  Carter could not find the other six living members of his unit. Maxwell fell to time long ago, and Yudar never left him a list of their room numbers. He had searched the ship for the last three thousand years, alone. Hoping that he would accidently meet one of them in the corridor or at a tournament or a sports match. He never did. He checked team rosters for sporting competitions, he checked the dancers, the dramatics, the competitive gamers, but the lists were absent of any of his colleagues names. They had either been placed on other ships or were lost to time, Carter did not know.

  Instead of being miserable about the whole situation, he had treated it like a game. Walking the ship was like being in a vast labyrinth, and he could win the game by meeting one of his old friends. Like a private mission that only he knew about, only every day he had failed.

  He wondered what had happened to them as he wandered the steps up to the Observation Deck. A crowd of people, black and white clothing entwined like the fabric of time, held together by light and darkness. They were chatting amongst themselves, looking out into the emptiness of space.

  Carter stared out through the glass and into the vast void of darkness.

  “What’s happening?” he asked.

  “There’s something out there,” a woman whispered.

  “Where?” asked Carter. “I see nothing but space.”

  “Look closely, you can see their shapes. There’s something there, lots of them.” The woman pointed vaguely in the direction of where almost everyone else on the Observation Deck was looking.

  Carter narrowed his eyes, and after a few seconds, he could make out dark objects with the faintest trace of having a solid shape.

  He focused intently on one shape
in particular and sketched its dark outline in his mind.

  “What the...” uttered Carter.

  The shapes, the outlines, the other objects, everywhere he looked he could see them. The briefest of silhouettes cast against a blank sheet of space. They were birds, and just as the woman had said, there were lots of them. Thousands of pigeons floating in space.

  49

  “I am not alive,” said Justin.

  “You’re not?”

  “Nope. I am made from parts. Built by birds. I am one of them.”

  “But you can talk?”

  “I can. I can think and I can talk. It feels just like it did when I was alive.”

  Jamie was not sure what Justin was saying. “When you were alive?”

  “I was alive once, just like you. We all were. Then I wasn’t. I’m not sure how it happened or why.”

  “And you feel exactly the same?” asked Jamie.

  “Exactly the same, but with less hope, soulless. I am dead, but if I am, then where is my mind? Did I go to the afterlife? And, if I am in the afterlife, then why am I still here, in this form?”

  “I don’t know,” said Jamie, “I never really thought about those things.”

  “I can’t understand it. I often wonder how different I am from the person I once was. The living person. I have the same thoughts and memories and I can feel and think, but at the same time, I know this isn’t the real me.”

  “Sounds tricky,” said Jamie. “How do you know you’re a machine?”

  “I saw myself, my body. I had been shot. I was dead, I checked.”

  “Maybe the body you saw wasn’t your own?”

  “It was. I know it was me, I am certain of that.”

  “How long have you been like this?”

  “I don’t remember, a few days maybe.”

  “And you think the birds made you this way?”

  “Right, but I don’t understand why. What troubles me the most is death. If I die now, I worry about where I will go next. I wonder if machines go to the afterlife. The birds that built me, where do they go? I saw many destroyed. I wonder if only humans go somewhere else, and if not, is the afterlife just full of mechanical birds?”