Onliest

by J Daniel Batt

  The Barlgharel spoke again, “Quiet!”

  Syn jabbed an arm out at the audience and asked the Barlgharel, “What does that mean?”

  He looked down at her. “Do you not know?”

  Syn shook her head, unsure exactly what he meant with the broken sentence.

  “You are from the Sun, are you not?”

  Syn nodded. It was a lie, and it was the truth. She felt safer going with it.

  “My friend has said that you were sent here.”

  “Who—" Syn started.

  The Barlgharel ignored her and continued, “In the Mystery, we are told that we are only here as stewards—this is but a temporary assignment. This is not our home.”

  Murmurs of assent echoed. “Not our home,” was repeated from various bots.

  He continued, “It is written ‘Come thou long-expected one, to set thy people free.’”

  Syn had never heard that one. It wasn’t Paul, and it wasn’t Luke, and it wasn’t Lewis Carroll either. She frowned.

  The Barlgharel spoke louder, “We have been told there is another world of which this one is only a shadow. We know that we shall step through the mirror and journey to a world of which this is only a pale imitation. A land of milk and honey. A land of great joy. A land where the river of life flows and the great tree is planted from which all life began.”

  Syn teared up at memories of her own Disc. Why did I ever leave?

  He turned toward her, “And some have whispered that you are that ‘long-expected one.' To lead us there.”

  Syn backed up and put her hands in the air, “Woah! No!”

  The audience gasped in surprise.

  Syn turned, “I mean…”

  The Barlgharel looked at her, “Do you not come from the living garden beyond the Sun?”

  Syn stared at him, disbelieving. How did he know? The audience was hushed, awaiting her answer. Finally, she nodded. “I think. Yes, I mean.”

  “And do you know the way back?”

  Syn nodded again. She did. But she had no intention of taking them. How could she accomplish that? There were so many of them.

  “And will you not return to that world? Will you not first ascend to the Sun?”

  Syn hated the way he was describing it, but it was all true in a strange way. She could see their rapt anticipation grow with each answered question. “Yes.”

  “Perhaps you may not know who you are. You may not believe in yourself,” he leaned closer in, “But our faith does not need you to. We believe in who you really are.”

  Syn shivered.

  Across the room, the word was chanted again, “Expected. Expected. Expected.”

  The Barlgharel stood back up, “So, before she can return, she must first go ahead, just as the first Eve had to venture into the desolation beyond the Gates of Eden, so Syn must venture into the Desert of Nod. She will be tempted. She will be challenged, but tonight, we bless her before her journey into that haunt of all evils, the Desert of Nod, to cross the wastelands and to face the Hazards. Let us all stand as we recite the Blessing of Journey over Syn.”

  The room rippled as all of the bots rose up. The eye-bots floated along with countless others. Those that were close to the ground still managed to raise up by tipping themselves forward. Syn shook her head. They were all concerned with her. They all seemed to care for her. Perhaps it was because they had some strange belief about her, but she was taken up with the excitement, the hope that was exuding from them. They were all placing their hope in her.

  The Barlgharel called out, “May the representatives of the Houses join us down front. House Eya. House Ejel. House Oni. House Palote. House Jak. House Emrys. House Escielenn. House Aisleyn. House Taimer.”

  A few bots moved out from the audience and formed themselves in a semi-circle before Syn and the Barlgharel. Those bots all seemed to be gathered with others similar to themselves. She assumed Arquella was in the collection of chrome globes that bobbed enthusiastically when he mentioned House Palote. A group of dark floating bots a meter high with thin limbs and red-colored eyes nodded in unison at the name Emrys. Another collection of bug bots, all the size and shape of bees, buzzing around and forming a cloud, fanned out at the acknowledgment of House Oni. They moved forward as one to surround Syn with the other representatives.

  The Barlgharel called out, “The Blessing of Journey. May the blessing of the Sun be on you—light without and light within.”

  Another bot, tall and asymmetrical, a sleek black surface with a dozen sensors scattered across him, bellowed in rhythm, “May the blessed sunlight shine on you like a great home fire, so that stranger and friend may come and warm himself at it.”

  A third bot, one of the jellyfish-like water workers, sang out, “And may light shine out of your two eyes. And may the blessing of the rain be on you, may it pour upon your spirit and wash it fair and clean, and leave there a shining pool where the blue of Eden shines, and sometimes a star.”

  Arquella added her own voice, “May the great Mystery be the echo of your soul. May those who meet you, know the hope you carry with you. And may the blessing of the world to come be on you, soft under your feet as you pass along the roads, soft under you as you lie out on it, tired at the end of day; and may it rest easy over you when, at last, you lie out under it.”

  The Barlgharel picked up the blessing. “May it rest so lightly over you that your soul may be out from under it quickly; up and off and on its way to God. And now may the God above, the great voice of Her amongst them and above the Ecology bless you and bless you kindly.”

  In unison, the whole of the representatives sounded, “Aṣẹ.”

  On “Aṣẹ,” the entire audience echoed in unison, “Aṣẹ” and then again they said, “Aṣẹ.” The chorus of voices sent a shiver through Syn. She had never experienced a moment like that. She had never felt a part of something so intent, so true. They were strange, they were confused, but they cared for each other, and they cared for her.

  The Barlgharel cried out, “And let us celebrate the journey of the Expected tonight! For she has come. She will stay and walk among us. She will soon leave, and then she will return to lead us back to the Garden. Back to Eden. She will bring us with her as she returns to Paradise beyond the Sun.”

  With that, the lights turned back to the colored array and the Theater screen lit up. The neat, ordered rows of bots broke up into miscellaneous disarray, chattering loudly to each other.

  Then, above all of the noise, as if his voice emanated from the walls themselves, the Barlgharel boomed, “Let’s dance!”

  Music erupted—a thudding bass sound overlaid with bright, melodic tones. The entire crowd of bots fell into a moving mass without any organization. Bots circled each other, turned upon themselves, and shouted in joy. The lights above moved in sync with the booming rhythm and bathed the crowd in deep washes of color.

  With a tug, one bot, its arms like a crane, pulled her out amongst the crowd. She spun into the center of them, and their energy slammed into her. Syn lifted her hands into the air and added her voice in a shout, unable to hear her own words above the din of the bots and the rhythm of the music. She shut her eyes and lost all compunction, allowing herself to move and turn with the throng. Sweat poured from her forehead, and she danced with abandon.

  Long minutes or perhaps hours passed, and she sloughed off to the side, panting and thirsty. She was never given rest as over and over, bots came up to her to meet her and talk. For hours, she was asked questions. For several, she had no answers, but for many, she did.

  “What is your favorite color?”

  “What music do you like?”

  “Do you like the rain?”

  “Is the Sun hot?”

  “Have you met God? What is she like?”

  “What type of metal are you?”

  Before she could answer, they filled in their own responses to questions she hadn’t asked. A green thin creature, perhaps what would’ve been a gardening bot, gushed, “I
love the rain. I love the haze on the edge of the cradle, where the smoke moves in rivulets through the bright lights. Cantoni, the great painter, drew on those edges, intending for the smoke to blend…”

  These bots were in love with existence itself. They were consumed with the myriad details of just living. Oh, she loved it.

  And, much to her surprise, there was food. Trays of apples and bananas and other fruit along with carrots and potatoes were brought in. These were all the staples of the garden greenhouses in the lower levels surrounding the Disc—the levels between the base, the livestock pastures, and the body farms below that. The bots would pick up the food and mime as if devouring it, mimicking the actions of eating without ever consuming it.

  The first tray was brought near her by a clunky square bot with several tentacles—perhaps this one was designed to serve and cook food, but this black and gray unit was entirely new to her. Syn looked at the apples and was sure they were fake. They were too perfect. Solid and thick and round and gleaming in the multi-colored lights from above. The apple felt real in her hands, though. Its weight assured her, and she took the risk of a bite. The juices rushed across her tongue, and she gave an audible “mmm.” She had tasted apples this fresh on her Disc but had assumed that everything on this side was barren of life. She looked around her at the buzzing crowd, more and more moving in and out to greet her, and laughed. They were mechanical—she knew they couldn’t taste the fruit they had served, but they had surprised her with something amazing nonetheless.

  Syn sat down in awe at the scene and in exhaustion, the juice still running down her chin and the half-eaten apple in her hand. The Barlgharel moved close, leaned in and said, “You are much loved here, little one.”

  Somewhere deep inside, something moved in Syn. Her eyes welled with tears and she muttered, “Thank you.”

  22

  The Days of Delight

  Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by such slight ligaments are we bound to prosperity or ruin.

  —Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

  Syn woke up the next morning on the Theater floor. The great hall was empty, and apart from loose confetti scattered about the bits of litter and one flashing colored light above that was switching between red to orange to green every few seconds, she felt sure this could have been the Theater in that she had lost days upon days binging movies and shows with Blip and Eku. She took one deep breath after a yawn, and the acrid smell of the air brought into sharp focus the fact that this was not her Theater, and outside the large wooden doors an alien world waited.

  She marched back up the theater stairs, leading to the entrance and the outside. She felt the thin carpet on her bare feet—a coarse, thin knit that she had overlooked in her awe the night before. .

  She instinctively brought her hand up to plant her spear for support but was surprised to find it empty. Where was her spear? She glanced behind her, back to the front stage, but there was nothing there. Her pack was gone as well. Perhaps the Barlgharel took them. Or perhaps Arquella. For some reason, despite the girl’s assurances, that thought made her shiver—Arquella searching through her belongings.

  She did not dwell upon the thought too long—a tap tap tap came from the wooden doors as if something small were knocking to be let in. Syn opened the door with a great heave—an action that brought back a wave of nostalgia—the doors on both sides were unusually heavy and required an effort to open and close. There, at the edge of the entrance, was the small black bot she had spied when she had been first ushered in. Once again, it was on the ground and that unnerved her. Eye-bots were to zip around throughout the air, constantly vying for the best angle to film and observe. They were everywhere on her Disc—as ubiquitous throughout the sky as birds. Yet, this one rolled and didn’t even attempt a hop to find itself airborne.

  “Oh, you sad little thing,” she said, bending down to cup open her hands, inviting it to roll into them.

  To her surprise, it did so without hesitation. Yet, in her palms, there was a quiver to it. It was anxious to be held and nervous about it at the same time. She examined the black bot and gave a short whistle. “I think you might be broken. I wish I was back…” She almost said on her Disc but realized that she wasn’t confident this little thing wouldn’t share that bit of information with the others. She had no desire to lie, but they had constructed a different idea about her, and she feared any deviation might delay her getting to Blip. Instead she continued, “I was back in…my Garden. I have tools there and a workshop. I’m sure I could get you flying again.”

  The eye-bot shook and rocked back and forth in her hand. It rolled to the front of her palms and teetered on the edge, repeating the motion twice. Syn twisted her head and pressed her lips together, furrowing her brow. “I’m not sure I—” The bot repeated the motion and Syn smiled. “You want to go that direction?”

  The bot moved back and forth in what Syn was sure was to be a nod. “Okay, point the way. But I don’t have long. I have to get going. My friend needs me.”

  The ebony eye-bot rolled around in her palms in various directions, guiding her through the quiet but still lit pathways, around corners, and up two flights of stairs, that led back into the closest settlements. All was silent, and there was a blue-orange glow above the ever-present haze in the air. The world around her missed all the normal cues of early morning, but Syn was certain she had slept through the night and had awoken early.

  Before long, the bot directed her to a series of garage doors, one after another. It nudged her toward a regular door between the second and third one. Syn glanced around and noticed the larger pathway beyond them—this was a vehicle repair section of the settlements—quite like where she had discovered her Ogun and had set up her own workshop. Syn stepped to the door and the access panel lit up and the door slid open.

  As she stepped inside, she gave a quiet, “Lights on” command. The room came to life with an electric blue light as the recessed LED strips in the ceiling and floor turned on.

  Around the edges of the room, several white tables stood, now covered with dirt. In a washbasin against the far corner, dishes piled up, a soft black fuzziness creeping across the surfaces—it had been food a long time ago but had since crumbled and darkened beyond recognition. A glass pane hung to her left with marker scribbles of various robotic shells and the calculations for power conversions—simple math but definitely the handiwork of a specialist. Along the right-hand side, a red hoist and cart stood with the shell of a guard bot hanging from the chain. She had only seen a couple guard bots on her Disc, and they were all inert. They were the closest to a human form she had encountered, and they always unnerved her. The first one she had encountered had been in Captain Pote’s office, standing right in front of the entrance. She had been sure he was alive in the dim-lit room—finally another human. The mistake had hurt.

  Along the walls hung several baskets with an assortment of gears and wires and circuit boards. The floor had brown crates and boxes, each overflowing with shells from robots. Syn spied three different fire extinguishers—this person was definitely accident-prone and had learned to take precautions.

  Syn smiled and gave a deep breath of relief.

  A workshop.

  A quick glance at the eager eye-bot reaffirmed her suspicions. “Do you want me to fix you?” It wobbled back and forth. She let the ebony eye-bot roll out of her hands onto one of the few clear spots on the center table and said, “Let’s see if we can get you back to normal again.” Syn searched around for a few tools—she’d need a magclip to release the shell and a gravometer to confirm if his grav-pump was working, just to start. She moved papers and boxes and tossed aside a couple paint-speckled vacuum bot shells. The owner was definitely messier than Alileen, the original owner of her garage back on her Disc, had ever been.

  The repairs were smooth and simple. The challenge was keeping the little bot still—its unease and anxiousness made it jittery. After a few pauses to calm it and reassure it that ev
erything would work out, Syn was able to look around inside and determine that the problem was a short in a power tube. She patched it up and then repositioned its outer shell into place. She used the opportunity to clean it up and make sure that it gleamed under the cyan light overhead.

  The tiny bot leapt up and zipped around, zooming from one corner to another, causing Syn to duck several times as it careened past her head far too close. “Watch it, little guy!”

  After a few minutes, it slowed down and then floated down in front of Syn. For a moment, it paused without movement, staring at her, its large iris shuttering open and closed. Memorizing her. Then, it nuzzled up against her neck in what Syn assumed was a hug. She reached a hand up and said, “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re better.”

  The black bot pulled away, gave a nod, and then moved to the door that opened with a swoosh, sliding to let it through. The door closed after, and Syn was left in the quiet workshop.

  This was not her workshop. Everything was out of order. Hers was messy, but this was chaos without purpose.

  In her workshop, the tables were cleaned (for the most part). This table was full of scattered items, garbage, scraps, pits of wire, equipment, and gunk. Whoever had called this place their garage wasn’t tidy.

  Yet, this was the first moment Syn felt at rest since crossing over to this Disc. Even amongst the junk, this was a shop where things were fixed and problems were solved. It felt comfortable. It felt sane. At one time, life had operated normally here. There were days when whoever owned this awoke and came out here to begin work on projects. A normal day in a normal life.

  The room preserved this individual’s daily activities but held no keepsakes. After Syn’s first glance around the room, nothing personal turned up. No photos. No letters. No trinkets of any sort. Whomever had toiled in this garage had seemingly done so without much connection to the rest of those around. Or perhaps this was their retreat, and only when surrounded by these walls could they be alone. In that situation, reminders of others might be an intrusion. Syn shook her head at that thought. She couldn’t imagine not wanting to crowd her life with the artifacts of relationships. She had dreamed of sending notes back and forth to a sister. She had looked at photos of a group of friends and imagined herself pressed into the group of smiling, laughing faces.