The Eve Illusion

by Giovanna Fletcher

  ‘Erm …’ He looks from me to Chubs.

  ‘I’ll go get us some grub,’ Chubs says, patting his mate on the back before wandering off.

  Air fills Bram’s lungs as he slowly sits down.

  ‘Out with it.’

  ‘What?’ he says, his smile unable to hide his discomfort.

  ‘Why do you keep running off?’

  ‘I don’t,’ he replies.

  ‘Want to answer that one again?’ I prod.

  He forces a laugh and shrugs.

  ‘It’s okay. I get it. You’re over it,’ I say, managing to block out any emotion that’s lingering in my throat.

  ‘Over you?’ Bram asks, his voice high-pitched.

  ‘It’s too much. I’m too much,’ I say, nodding at my own statement.

  ‘I’d say.’ Bram smiles, looking exhausted as he rubs his palms over his head. My head whips around in his direction. ‘I’m joking. You’re not,’ he adds, placing his hands inches from mine on the table.

  ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘You’re asking me that question?’ he replies. ‘I’m not the one marching around ordering people to sit.’

  ‘I didn’t …’ I stop, unsure how the tables have turned and I’m now having to defend my actions. ‘I need to do something,’ I say, frustration shooting out of me.

  ‘I forget you’re used to a daily routine,’ he notes. ‘Folk down here don’t need that. They make do.’

  ‘Well, I’m different,’ I snap.

  ‘Eve, calm down.’

  ‘I am calm,’ I shoot back.

  I look up and see his concerned eyes staring back at me.

  I feel like an animal that’s been plucked from its natural habitat and put into a cage. Although right now the cage is my own mind.

  ‘It will be okay,’ he whispers, leaning towards me.

  ‘That’s a lovely sentiment, but we don’t know it will, do we?’ I challenge. I know I’m being difficult but I’m unable to snap myself out of this mood.

  ‘What do you want me to say?’ he asks. ‘That it won’t be? That, no matter what happens, there will be some casualties? That your dad, Hartman and the Mothers might all be dead by the time we get there? That Vivian’s going to find a way to drag you back into that Tower?’

  ‘No.’ My chest tightens.

  ‘Well, then …’

  ‘I feel so anxious, Bram,’ I say, feeling my body soften as the words are released. ‘The waiting, the uncertainty …’

  ‘We’re all feeling like that. It’s not all on you any more, Eve. The load is not just yours to carry,’ he says, placing his hand over mine.

  ‘But it is,’ I say, exasperated.

  ‘Talk to me, Eve. It’s me …’ he says gently.

  I look into his beautiful brown eyes. ‘I want all this to be over so that life can start … but I’m worried about what that future looks like and who will be in it.’ The words come out as a whisper. I haven’t been brave enough to admit this before, even to myself.

  He listens. ‘It’s as though they have all the power and I’ve got none of the control – just like when I was in there.’ I shift in my seat. ‘I thought it would all be so simple. This is so hard. It feels like I’m playing games with my own head. I’m closer to the real world than ever, but in some ways I feel even further away from it than I ever was before … and you’ve been distant,’ I say.

  ‘Huh?’ He looks perplexed. ‘When?’

  My mind scrambles to find examples, but fails. Suddenly it all seems pathetic. ‘It was more a feeling …’

  ‘Yeah … What was that you were saying about your mind playing games?’ He tuts, sighing to himself. ‘Okay, okay … It’s not all in your head.’

  ‘It’s not?’ I ask, aware of the panic rising once more.

  ‘This hasn’t gone unnoticed,’ he says, his hands moving away from mine and gesturing between the two of us.

  ‘Saunders?’ I guess. Even after he apologized he’s been hot and cold with me. There seems to be something going on there, something bothering him, so it’s not too difficult to imagine him having an issue with something I’m doing.

  ‘And others,’ says Bram, his eyes giving a little roll. ‘I haven’t wanted to ruffle feathers. Make anyone jealous. There are too many people here with too much time to think.’

  ‘Glad I’m not the only one,’ I mutter.

  ‘Yeah, but they’re deluded …’ he says, a flicker of something unreadable, yet unpleasant, passing across his face.

  ‘How so?’ I ask.

  ‘You really don’t want to know,’ he says. ‘How would you like to get out of here?’

  ‘And go where? Is it safe? I thought it wasn’t safe, that I was pushing my luck before?’ The questions tumble out. Bram is presenting me with a chance to break out of this place and suddenly I’m scared to do so.

  ‘I know somewhere we could go. We could do things properly …’ he says, his eyes soft and inviting. ‘We could call it a date.’

  I stare back at him, aware that he’s stopped breathing, waiting for me to reply. I smile. ‘I thought we were waiting for a war to start,’ I tease.

  ‘That’s going to happen no matter where we are,’ he replies. ‘You said you needed a break.’

  ‘You’re such a gentleman,’ I say mockingly, thinking back to the stories Mother Nina used to tell me of the time before. She was always so disappointed that I wouldn’t get to experience the romance of it all. ‘A date,’ I say, enjoying how the word sounds on my tongue.

  27

  Michael

  ‘Man, it’s tiring doing nothing,’ Reynolds says, as we walk with our Final Guard comrades to the dorms after another Eve-less day.

  ‘I know. We should at least be out there looking. Right?’ Hernandez adds.

  I get a nudge in the back.

  ‘You awake, boss?’ Franklin asks. ‘Got any words of wisdom for your crew?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Nice,’ he scoffs. ‘I guess that’s the human race done for then.’

  ‘She’s alive. I know that,’ I say.

  ‘Oh, got a feeling, have you?’ he teases. ‘Maybe a connection opened up between you when you got intimate in the lift.’

  I don’t rise to it. There’s nothing else to do in here but gossip and fight these days. I can cope with the gossip but not the fighting. Not after what I’ve seen lately.

  ‘So, what the hell was that about the other night?’ Reynolds asks, as we turn into the corridor that contains our living quarters.

  ‘Excuse me?’ I reply a little nervously. I’ve been dreading Reynolds asking me about our encounter outside the Gate to the Dome. A few seconds’ difference and the Cardinal would have killed him with my gun.

  ‘Why were you up at the Dome in the early hours? Don’t give me that crap about playing it safe for Wells. You know there’s nothing to guard in the Dome right now.’

  ‘Look, I just couldn’t sleep and wanted to make sure we weren’t letting things slip in Eve’s absence,’ I say. I think that’s passable as an answer. I hope.

  ‘And that’s very wise, Turner. Miss Silva is pleased with your dedication.’ The voice stops me dead in my tracks.

  ‘Dr Wells?’ I whisper, seeing him waiting outside the door to my room, cleaning his thin glasses on his cardigan.

  ‘Final Guard – attention!’ I command and the unit stops and salutes.

  ‘At ease, guards. I’m here for Turner,’ he says, and I can almost feel the relief wash over the squad. Everyone has been on edge since the mass execution of the pilots, and we all know that if Eve doesn’t show her face soon, the EPO will have no further need for any of us.

  ‘Sir?’ I say.

  ‘Follow me, Turner. You have unfinished business,’ he says, and walks towards me, splitting the Final Guard down the middle, like a ship breaking through the tide.

  The looks that hit me from my colleagues as they get beyond Wells’s eyeline are of total confusion and concern.

  I
try to respond with my own confused look but I’m not sure I convey it clearly enough before I have to turn and follow.

  The lift ride with him is intense. Silent. The man manages to make a ride in the fastest vertical-motion vehicle in the world feel like it takes eternity.

  DETENTION LEVEL. HAVE A GOOD EVENING, DR WELLS, the automated voice says.

  I follow him down the now familiar concrete corridor towards the traitors’ cells.

  ‘Any decision on a sentence for Mother Kadi and the old man?’ I ask casually, trying to break the ice while remaining professional.

  ‘Miss Silva will make that call,’ he says.

  I want to ask him about Miss Silva and Hartman’s execution. Is this man caught in the same trap, too tangled in Vivian Silva’s web to escape? Or is he just as much a part of this as she is? It’s on the tip of my tongue when I notice him looking at me over the top of his spectacles, as though he’s staring into my inner workings.

  ‘Turner, you are only permitted to know what Miss Silva allows you to know. We are all here to assist her in ensuring the survival of our species, and sometimes doing what’s right for the people of the future means doing what’s wrong for the people of now.’

  I nod. It’s like he read my mind. Sounds like Miss Silva has him more brainwashed than anyone.

  ‘You are here because you have shown that you understand that. Unlike many others.’

  I do understand. That doesn’t mean I agree but being made aware of my compliance comes with a side order of shame.

  He continues towards the cells and a fresh brew of anxiety bubbles up in my stomach. ‘Last time I was here two men died.’

  ‘The time before that it was four,’ he replies, as though he’s simply stating a fact. ‘Tonight you will see quite the opposite.’

  We turn on to the cell block.

  The opposite? What the hell does that mean? Why does everyone talk in riddles in this place?

  Ahead of us I see the two masked security soldiers standing with their backs to the glass wall of the cell that was once Hartman’s as though they are guarding it.

  Wells approaches and they step aside as he places his hand on the glass. It responds instantly, allowing him total access to the cell’s control options, more than I’ve ever been granted. A glimpse of the power Miss Silva has given this man.

  He instructs the cell to open and the invisible seal in the transparent wall reveals the open door. He gestures for me to step inside first and once he follows the unbreakable glass reseals itself.

  His soldiers fall back into place on the other side of the wall and for a moment I’m relieved. That’s one less threat to worry about.

  ‘Privacy,’ he says clearly, and the transparent wall frosts over instantly, making it impossible for anyone outside to see in.

  And the relief disappears.

  ‘Sir, I don’t mean to speak out of turn but may I ask what unfinished business we have here?’ I ask.

  ‘That’s what I like about you, Turner. You don’t beat around the bush. Always straight to the heart of the issue. It’s unfinished business with Hartman.’

  My heart thuds. ‘Hartman, sir?’

  He holds up a small transparent disc, like the ones that stored the minds of the pilots.

  ‘Hartman.’ He rubs his thumb over the surface and, reaching into his back-trouser pocket, he pulls out a piece of flexible, rubber-like material. He unrolls it to reveal a flat pad about the size of a dinner plate.

  ‘What is that?’ I ask.

  ‘Not what, but who.’ He smiles as he kneels down to place the pad on the spot where Hartman died.

  ‘That looks close enough,’ he remarks, leaning back, better to judge the positioning. Then he inserts the clear disc into a perfectly sized slit on the side of the pad and steps back to watch.

  The lifeless pad illuminates, turning from matte grey to glowing brilliant white.

  ‘Emanate,’ Wells says, firm and clear.

  Words suddenly burst into existence before us – WELLS INNOVATIONS appears floating in mid-air – as clear and as solid as if they were carved out of stone.

  ‘What you are about to see is the result of my life’s work,’ Wells says. ‘There have been many failures. Too many. But with the help of Miss Silva I have been able to realize my vision.’

  I stay silent.

  What the hell is he about to show me?

  ‘When he wakes up he will be confused. For us, days have passed since his death but it will feel instantaneous for him and his mind will not comprehend the time lag.’

  ‘Hold on, who are you talking about? Who’s waking up?’ I ask, totally confused.

  ‘Hartman,’ Dr Wells says, with a slight smile.

  I stare at him. ‘Sir, Hartman is dead.’

  ‘Physically, yes. Our bodies are weak, poorly designed. They are nothing more than vessels for the true essence of our existence – our thoughts. Hartman’s thoughts don’t require skin or bone or blood, they just require a new vehicle with which to communicate them.’

  ‘And that’s what this is?’ I ask, nodding at the device.

  ‘Precisely. Think of that pad as a sort of three-dimensional printer of light, creating a way for us all to continue to communicate with those who are no longer physically available. Particularly useful when someone dies before they give you an important piece of information.’

  No longer physically available? I’ve not heard death described like that before.

  ‘Wait, sir, how is a recording of Hartman going to give us his thoughts?’ I ask.

  ‘Not a recording, not a simulation, real thoughts from Hartman’s own mind,’ he says, pointing to the pad containing the clear disc.

  ‘You mean, like Stephanie, a Projectant?’ The words sound crazy as they leave my lips.

  ‘Very good.’ He nods. ‘As far as Hartman is aware, he did not die. In a few moments his consciousness will experience coming around from blacking out, just as he did before, triggering the emulated network of synapses – thoughts – to work just as they would if he were alive. It will be Hartman’s mind, thinking, working and, hopefully, cooperating.’

  I blink slowly.

  Mind totally blown.

  ‘I know it’s a lot to understand. It will be for him too, which is why you are here. To ease the transition from matter to Projectant. The closer the environment is to the last one the mind experienced, the more likely the mind is to accept.’

  ‘Look, sir, I’m not going to lie, but this is all a bit much for me to deal with right now.’

  ‘You have no alternative, Turner. Now that the doctor is no longer with us, and Miss Silva is occupied with finding Eve, you are an anchor point, a physical link between his existence before and now. When he wakes he will expect you to be here. You are a necessary part of this and will do as I say, or I’m afraid Vivian will not be as understanding as she has been thus far.’

  My heart sinks.

  I know what that really means. Is that what Miss Silva really wants for me? Dead, like the pilots, like Hartman?

  ‘Now, forget the way the last questioning ended. When he appears we are still there, on that day, ready for another round.’

  ‘What about Miss Silva? What about Dr Chaudhury? Won’t he notice they’re missing and you’re here?’ I ask. I’m subconsciously avoiding the spot on the floor where he died.

  ‘He will be disoriented and unless we draw attention to it he won’t question uncertain memories. His mind will want to cling to the reality with which it is presented. You and me. Here and now. The consistency of you being present will be enough, providing you play your part.’

  My heart starts to beat fast.

  My head starts to pound.

  He’s actually bringing someone back from the dead.

  Someone I killed.

  He turns to the light-pad and readies himself.

  ‘Wake up,’ Wells instructs, strong and clear. More like a command for a piece of software than a request of a person.

>   The floating words suddenly glow brighter until it’s impossible to look directly at them. They fill the whole room with white light and I shield my eyes. Then the light disappears, and in the middle of the room a body has formed.

  I see him right before my very eyes, in the exact position he was in when he died, wearing the same prison overalls and suspended by cuffs that are no longer there.

  ‘Hartman, can you hear me?’ Dr Wells asks.

  He coughs and splutters, gasping for air. His image is so vivid, so perfect, it’s as though I could reach out and touch him. He doesn’t glow like he’s made of light. I see now how Holly would have appeared to Eve in the Dome and get it. It’s impossible to see the difference between this and the real Hartman, and as far as this Projectant knows he is the real Hartman.

  ‘You blacked out momentarily, Hartman, but you are back with Guard Turner and me now,’ Wells informs him, while he regains a regular breathing rhythm.

  ‘Where … where am I?’ he asks, glancing around the room.

  ‘Your cell. You’ve been detained for your traitorous actions that resulted in Eve, the saviour, being kidnapped from the Dome and you are going to tell us all you know about the Freevers, their plans, location and anything else that Bram told you.’

  I can’t take my eyes off Hartman.

  It’s crazy.

  He’s there – like, actually there! Moving and talking and breathing and existing … except he isn’t existing, really.

  What the hell is going on?

  ‘I feel strange,’ Hartman mumbles.

  I look at Wells, who subtly nods at me, as though this is normal behaviour. Like any of this could ever be classed as normal.

  ‘You have been through a lot, Hartman. Resisting is useless. I will not stop until I have what you know,’ Wells says in his calm, eerie tone that has almost an undertone of pleasure.

  I see Hartman reflected in Wells’s glasses and the glistening in his eyes, like the wonder of a little boy seeing something incredible for the first time.

  ‘Hartman. Do as he says,’ I interrupt.

  Hartman stares at me and I see Wells’s head twitch in my peripheral vision. Obviously taken aback. I’m here to be seen, not heard, but I’ll be damned if I stand by and let him go through whatever hell Wells has planned for him. I killed him once to put him out of his misery. How do you kill a beam of energy?