Chapter Four
“All right, follow me, children,” Aris says to the restless group of eight-year-olds in white-and-blue uniforms.
They are surrounded by a 3D image of mountains and plains so realistic it makes Aris feel as if she were in the middle of the nature preserve she loves.
“Billions of years ago, the land you’re standing on was not here. Do you know how Southern California came to be?”
She looks around from face to face.
“Anyone?”
The children stare at her blankly.
“It slowly assembled from the earth’s crust, dust and ash from the air, and other materials accumulated from the rain and the oceans,” she says.
The image changes to that of a volcanic eruption. Angry geysers of red and orange lava shoot up from blistering melted earth. The gas-filled bubbles burst, sending explosions into the pitch-black sky like fireworks.
“Then volcanoes and earthquakes built up the landscape. Sediments eroded and were deposited along the coasts of the North American continent.”
Half the class yawns. One kid plays with a loose string on her skirt. Aris sighs but continues.
“Much of the continental crust that’s now California came from the crust that formed beneath the Pacific Ocean region. Over time it moved onto the margins of the continents. Land is built in many stages through Earth’s history. An endless series of materials being uplifted and recycled over and over again.”
A hand shoots up.
“Yes?”
“I’m hungry. When’s lunch?”
“We’re almost done. Okay?”
The image surrounding them turns into a wasteland of broken buildings, collapsed bridges, and upturned roads. Columns of smoke rise from the rubble. Orange flames flutter out of the broken windows of cars, making them look as if they had sprouted wings of fire. The children sit up straight, straining their necks to take in the entire landscape.
“Fast forward years later, after a prolonged drought that devastated the world’s crops, tornadoes and storms ravaged the lands. Famine led people to turn against each other. Governments became cruel and controlling. Neighboring countries fought each other for resources. Conflicts escalated and grew until the Last War. Half of California was destroyed in it. It wiped out most of the planet’s population. Major cities and the people in them perished.”
Aris looks around at the little faces stricken by fear.
“What happened?” a girl with skin the color of milk chocolate asks. Her eyebrows scrunch together in worry.
“There are historical records of people who reported seeing the sky light up and feeling tremors under their feet. And the world burned,” Aris says.
The image around them changes to a panorama of gleaming skyscrapers and lush green vistas.
“But there was a man. We call him the Planner. Before the Last War, he had created four cities in the desert, far away from civilization. These self-sustaining cities harnessed the energy of the sun and represented his ideal of what model cities should be. They’re connected to the coast and to each other by tunnels with high-speed trains. In his time, he was ridiculed. But they are what survived. One such city, Callisto, is where we stand today. Without him, the survivors of the Last War would have died from starvation. And without them, whose genetics were randomly mixed to create us, we would not exist.”
“How did the Planner escape the war?” a small voice asks. Its owner has hair that reminds Aris of cotton candy.
“History states he was in a space station,” Aris says. “And it was a good thing for us that he survived, because he was a peace-loving man. After seeing the horrific results of the war, he dreamed of a civilization where the same atrocities would never repeat, where people could learn to live alongside each other in peace. From that dream, he created Tabula Rasa. Can anybody tell me what that means?”
“It’s Latin and means ‘blank slate,’” a boy says in a proud voice.
“Very good. It’s also a philosophical idea. At birth, the human mind is a blank slate, without rules for processing data. Data is added and rules are formed solely by one’s sensory experiences. It is in these experiences that we’re exposed to prejudices that breed hatred, which leads to fighting, resulting in wars.”
She looks around. She has all their attention now.
“The event we call Tabula Rasa is like pushing the reset button. A rebirth. Every four years, we are born again into another life. We shed our prejudices and simply share the world.”
“When’s the next cycle?” a boy with a round face asks.
“About half a year from now. March twentieth. The first day of Spring. A new cycle always starts on that date.”
“How many cycles have we had?”
Aris shakes her head. “I don’t know. That information is not shared. But it doesn’t matter, does it?”
“How come we don’t change our lives?” a child in pigtails asks. Aris can almost count the number of freckles on her pink nose.
“Well, children must grow up first. Once you’re eighteen, you’ll graduate into a life outside the Center. Then on to higher education. After that, depending on where you are in the cycle, you’ll get your first Tabula Rasa.”
“Will we forget everything?” a girl asks. Her hand reaches that of her friend’s and holds it.
“Only the things the Planner believed would affect our ability to keep peace. So, learned knowledge, languages, and other innate abilities stay.”
A hand shoots up.
“Yes?”
“Are there others outside the Four Cities?” a girl with a solemn face asks.
“The Planner brought as many survivors as he could to the Four Cities. It’s a destroyed world outside our borders. I don’t imagine there are others. At least not close by. The Planner would have found them. Or they would have found us.”
The girl’s face falls.
“I’m sure everyone who could be saved was. We’re fortunate to be here. The Planner has given us all the gift of life,” Aris tells the class.
“If we want to, can we leave the Four Cities?” a boy with a mischievous smile asks.
“Nothing is stopping you. But why would you do that?” asks Aris.
The boy shrugs.
“We’re in an oasis in the middle of a vast desert,” Aris says. “Here, you have everything. Out there, you have nothing. As long as we live here, we’ll never go hungry. Speaking of which, you may now go have lunch.”
The children rush to form one line and walk toward the cafeteria.
At least they’re obedient.
Her job would be astronomically more difficult if she had to wrangle them into order. The Matres are doing a fine job raising them.
“Oh, remember, children, in each life, we all have the freedom to author our own souls,” she yells at their backs.
Aris makes her way up the circular stairs to another part of the museum. It’s a dark and quiet section where there are rarely visitors. It is her hiding place, a sanctuary after every docent duty.
She never gets used to the children. They do not venture outside the Center of Discovery and Learning except for occasional field trips. They ask too many questions, sometimes the most random ones. They always stare at her like they expect her to give them something or say something or do something for them. On their faces is always a mysterious smudge. And they are so . . . little.
But the worst thing about being with them is having to show them the most horrific part of the past. Especially to the littlest ones. The terror in their eyes. The look of panic and anxiety. She wants to comfort them, but there is nothing she can say. She knows they question whether humanity needs to be regretted. She has done it many times over.
It’s hard to believe she was once one of these children. She cannot remember her time at the Center of Discovery and L
earning or the Matres who raised her. Her life began at the Waking.
She doesn’t like to think of it—her first memory—the moment she opened her eyes after Tabula Rasa. Inside a bright room filled with hospital beds lined up like the keys on a piano, she startled awake to the sound of screaming and crying. She was drifting. Alone. Terrified. Around her was a sea of white-clad men and women in various states of confusion, trying to grasp for logic with their frail, muddled minds. She thought it was death, but it was worse. It was a birth into blankness.
She remembers feeling herself drowning inside the chaos, her legs and arms tied down by fear. Until a calm voice spoke, soothing her. Everything will be okay.
The voice told her stories. Through it, Aris learned about the Last War and how the Four Cities came to be. It taught her the way things worked in their world, gave her a name, told her where home was, and assigned her a place of work. It was her access to every book and all the knowledge contained inside the Four Cities. Without it, she would be lost. Lucy.
Aris lets out a big sigh, and the sound echoes in the dark space, making it seem as if she is surrounded by others hiding from the weight of the world. In the cool room, dead animals of the Americas gaze out with their marble eyes. Stuffed bison, bears, and deer perch on their constructed habitat behind their glass confines. They are frozen in postures that resemble their living states—or someone’s perception of them.
A black bear stands on its hind legs, startled by a rattlesnake at its feet about to strike. She thinks of the angry man from earlier, wondering where he is now. Professor Jacob said the man’s dreams were the culprits behind his outburst. She thinks of her own recurring dream. It leaves her with many conflicting feelings, but never anger.
She swipes across her watch absentmindedly. She sees something she likes on the screen and taps on it.
“That was quite a lecture,” a familiar voice says.
“Oh hey, Thane,” she says without looking up.
Aris has given up being surprised by his presence. He shows up in the most random corners of the museum, as if he can materialize anywhere inside its walls at will. Maybe Thane is a part of the museum, like its walls and its exhibits. She has never seen him outside it. He is always here before her and never leaves until after. Does he even go home? Does he have a life of his own? She rarely hears him talk about dates.
She cannot understand why. Although plain by her standards, Thane is not unattractive. He has nice periwinkle eyes. He wears his brown hair cropped short. Though his pale skin could use some sun.
“If that’s to butter me up to do more docent duty, you’re in for a world of disappointment,” she says. “I was horrible. Kids yawned. One asked to go to lunch. I almost forgot to close with the slogan. If I were you, I’d reexamine whether I’m equipped to do docent duty.”
He laughs. “I’m not here to butter you up. Just wanted to say thanks.”
“For what?”
“For getting Professor Jacob here.”
Aris waves her hand. “Oh, it was just a happy coincidence.”
“He’s quite taken with you.”
“The professor?”
“Said you’re charming. For a young lady.”
“There’s a disclaimer?”
Thane laughs.
“So why was the superstar of academia here?” Aris asks.
“There’s a project he wants my help with.”
“Really? What’s it about?”
“Oh, nothing fun,” Thane says. His eyes are on the mountain lion stalking a rabbit behind glass.
She narrows her eyes. “A secret mission?”
Thane scoffs. “Why do you always think everyone has a secret?”
“Because they do.”
“Most of the time it’s just boring.”
“So why aren’t you telling me?”
“Because I can’t.”
“Aha! It is a secret. Come on, you can tell me. We’ve known each other long enough. I’m trustworthy.”
He sighs.
“Thane?” she says, advancing toward him. Her lips curl up on one side as if he has already given in.
He takes a step back. “All right, all right,” he says, “But you have to promise.”
She nods vigorously.
“Professor Jacob is getting on in age. He wants someone—me—to help him.”
“On what?”
“Research, mostly. He’s writing another book. On the Planner’s personal life.”
“You’re right. It’s boring.”
Thane looks at her as if she has an arm growing out of her head.
Aris laughs. “I’m kidding. It sounds fascinating. I’d like to learn more about the Planner. I can’t imagine it being easy to find personal information about him. But why can’t you tell anyone about it? It doesn’t sound like a secret to me.”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m not going to ask. I’m just happy he chose me.”
“I forgot he’s your hero.” Thane had often spoken of his admiration for Professor Jacob over the three and a half years he and Aris had worked together.
“He’s an amazing man. I don’t know how he did it. His book is a marvel.”
Professor Jacob’s book on the Planner’s ideology was published near the beginning of this cycle. The behemoth tome is so complete and thorough that some refused to accept he had worked on it for only a few months after the Waking. Rumors flew that he had composed the book over multiple cycles. But that’s not possible. All minds are wiped every four years. Aris suspects the gossipers are jealous, latching on to an absurd idea to discount the professor’s brilliance.
“We saw someone being arrested today,” she says. “He looked like he was from Elara. Not sure what he was doing here.”
“What happened?”
“He was yelling at people mostly. He was so angry. At the world. At Tabula Rasa.”
“Why?”
“For taking his past away.”
Thane looks confused. “But that’s its purpose. Why would anyone want the past back?”
Aris shrugs. Like Thane, she doesn’t see the point. Tabula Rasa is the reason they have peace.
“Although you should have seen the expression on the guy he grabbed. He was looking at his watch and wasn’t paying attention.” She couldn’t help but laugh.
“That’s not funny. Disturbing the peace in the Four Cities is an offense.”
Aris scrunches her nose.
“Listen,” Thane says, “I have something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
Her watch beeps.
“Sorry.” She glances at it and smiles at the message.
“Something good?”
“Looks like I have a date tomorrow night,” she says.
“Another first date?”
“Are there others worth having?” She remembers. “You have something to ask me?”
“Uh, when can you do docent duty again?”
She rolls her eyes and walks off, leaving Thane to the collection of dead animals.
Metis’s practiced hands move in quick, successive motions. His fingers are like waves as they travel across the ocean of azure paper, changing its shape in a choreographed dance he has made countless times this cycle. He finds the task meditative—a meandering journey from one thought to another, to different places and times.
Always, the path leads him to the same face. Her face. It rises like a phoenix from the ashes of dreams.
“You see that over there? That’s called the Summer Triangle,” she said, holding his finger and drawing with it an imaginary triangle.
In the nature preserve on the outskirts of the Four Cities, they can see the night sky in all its magnificence.
“What are the stars?” he asked.
“Altair, Deneb, and Vega, the brightest stars in t
heir constellations.” Silence followed before she continued, “You should really get to know Vega. It’s the next most important star in the sky after the Sun.”
“Oh yeah?”
“It’s the second brightest star in the northern hemisphere. It was the northern pole star around 12,000 BC and will be again around the year 13,700.”
“Do you think we’ll still be around?” he asked.
“No, we’ll be long dead.”
“I meant humanity.”
She laughed. “I know that’s what you meant. It’s such a human-centric question. But whatever I say would just be a guess.”
He touched the tip of her chin and turned it to face him.
“I’ll still be around,” he whispered.
She made a sound in her throat that implied her skepticism.
“My soul will fly to Vega. I’ll be watching over you for eternity.” He pressed his lips on hers. Her skin was warm from the summer heat, making her scent all the more intoxicating. She smelled like lavender, sweet and grassy.
She pulled away. One side of her lips curled into a smile. Without another word, she climbed on top of him, her hands on his chest. Her body overwhelmed the sky, just as she did his heart. His hands traveled to her waist, encircling it. The thinness of her body felt fragile in his hands.
“Sweet husband,” she said, “If anyone’s going to be doing the looking down, it’ll be me. You’re staying here with me until we become stardust when the earth collapses.”
Metis folds one side of the paper down, making a triangle shape. He runs the top of his nail along the edge to form a sharp crease. He picks the folded form up with one hand and pulls at the tail with another. A crane, the bird of happiness, appears. He places it on the wooden table, joining it with the rest of the flock as blue and freeing as the sky.
Chapter Five
Aris plays with a corner of the tablecloth. The feel of the crisp material against her index finger relaxes her. Linens in expensive restaurants have the best texture. Her date chose the place.
Golden light shines through a perforated metal ceiling, creating geometric patterns on the floor below. The walls are a combination of rough-hewn granite and dark taupe paint. Thick mahogany tables paired with tailored chairs in soft mohair are strategically placed in the intimate space to give each table privacy.
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