by David Salvi
Herein lies a larger problem: The outside world has discovered that we’ve made a cosmic bomb. And they are tracing our location. So much for not patenting it.
End of Entry.
Oscar Marian
CHAPTER 10
CHRIS DEDICATED his first few days exploring the island and atoll. The Motus people were pleasant and offered to help when he looked lost or confused, which was frequent. He entered a foreign land with few companions he knew by name. So he wandered with curiosity, but he did not mind. The exploration made his time nice and enjoyable.
Weeks passed since he leaving his world behind, yet he adapted.
To him, the grounds and waters were majestic and special. Less humid too.
The island was home to hundreds, if not thousands, of rebellious souls trying to figure out a purpose on their home planet. The people derived from all forms of human diversity—men, women, children, different skin tones, and hair colors. Back on the mainland, Canaanites used genetic engineering to alter certain genes.
On display around town were plants in pots, ornaments, and artwork like wood carvings, some of animals or creatures of Earthly myth. Some Chris recognized. Others he did not. He’d have to learn later what these creatures were.
Navigating the mountain proved easier than Chris had thought. Homes were carved out in the mountain and featured modest accommodations of a wooden bed stuffed with wool and fabric and a desk with candlelight. Each also had a closable, sealable window for airflow. Rock-like creations reinforced parts of the mountain, so the top didn’t collapse on the entire Motus population.
The underground was connected by an intricate and reinforced tunneling system. Detailed mapping and directional aides helped new members. Intermittently placed between the homes were storage houses that were stocked daily for supplies and rations. That preparation came in handy when a ‘cane roared through the island, which was often.
The young man met several personalities of whom he grew fond. Many of the shopkeepers looked happy to be alive. Custodians smiled and pushed along debris and loose garbage without complaint. Fishermen were slightly grumpy, like their Canaanite counterparts, but he was accustomed to a seafarer’s hard exterior. Children said hello and asked who he was. Chris took in the delightful nature of Motus’s people, which conflicted with the bloodlust of their leaders. He ignored that fact and allowed his assessment to lie within the hearts, minds, and souls of the Motus people who simply wanted to live each day when Apollo would rise in the west—new day to that they all took kindly.
Often Motus people spoke of philosophy and history at great lengths. Everyone knew how to read, which led to compelling conversations, no matter a person’s trade. Frequently they discussed their latest musing. Children showed off how many linguals they had by speaking in different tongues.
Over time, Chris’s interest piqued. The source of Motus’s power came in their knowledge and understanding of their species’ history—often collating pages of information into singular conversations without effort. So, he sought out the source.
Chris discovered the Library and the Laboratory.
***
THE LIBRARY
Motus’s library stacks, which were located near the entrance to the mountain, contained Earth’s lost encyclopedias and robust collections of eclectic book tastes.
Chris walked in on a brown rocky shelf that was the floor made from the mountain’s natural material. Carved out on second levels were terraces with metal stacks screwed in and supported with beams from the mountain ceiling. Lights hung from above. Lamps were adequately placed for private reading.
He once read about Earth’s libraries, understanding them to be a peaceful place but evidently undervalued. Once in sight, he had dozens of question about the contents.
Here on Motus was the opposite. Most of the young minds on the island were buzzing about the stacks and rooms in the library. Loose pages stuck out of books and tomes of all colors, shapes, and sizes. All the leaves and bindings pushed the library’s capacity to the maximum, but they weren’t going to say no. Lots of color, little color. An entire section was dedicated to screens with moving pictures and blasting sounds of which Chris had never heard. Other kids pressed buttons on plastic handheld devices while shouting friendly vulgarities and echoes of victory or defeat. Many huddled in corners of the stacks with their fingers on pages going from left to right, up to down.
The awe of the volumes sent him in a tizzy. He wanted to open his knapsack right now and stuff it with tomes.
Chris headed to the librarian, a young, bright woman stationed in front by the entrance. She was tall, almost as tall as Chris, with straight blonde hair that past her shoulders. She spoke with rehearsed pleasantries.
Chris said, “Hi, I’m new here.”
“Hello, New Here. Interesting name,” she said. Her eyes were hazel and radiant like Apollo as it eclipsed the western horizon surrounded by blues and purples. She articulated clearly and succinctly.
He blushed.
She replied, “I’m Olivia.”
“Nice to meet you.” There was a pause for Chris to glance around. The cavernous space wowed him with nooks and pockets dug out to accommodate the material. He continued, “What kind of library is this?”
Olivia smiled, extended her arms as a tour guide, and walked around her desk. She motioned to Chris to join her, and he did. Sounds from around the library bounced off the mountain walls.
“Over here are the literary stacks. These volumes are reclaimed from Oscar Marian’s personal collection he brought aboard Stargazer…” His ship that traveled from Earth to Canaan. “...and include primarily S.T.E.M. topics with few exceptions to non-fiction biographies and autobiographies, thousands of medical and scientific research papers, Motus’s history on Canaan, and his favorite fiction works. The only largest section is Ernest Hemingway’s complete bibliography, including reprints, editions…”
Chris half-paid attention until he heard Hemingway. He interrupted before she could start her next line, “All of Hemingway’s works are here?”
“Yes, New Here, all of Hemingway’s works are here,” she replied without batting an eye.
Of course they have all of Hemingway here, Chris. Duh. He drifted off and tried to eye the famous author’s section. When he saw “E. Hemingway Collected Works,” Chris felt the hair on his neck stand up at full attention. He’d have to comb through that later though. Olivia proceeded with her tour.
“How did they get all this here?”
“Most texts originate from digital files, either scans or manuscripts. Some of the more sacred material was chosen by Oscar Marian himself.”
“And you printed all of it?”
“Yes, years and years ago. Oscar Marian left plans for a printing press. After some refinement, Motus Society built an efficient machine.
They kept walking—at a slow pace to let Chris absorb the overwhelming knowledge before him.
Olivia’s next sentence struck Chris. “And this is the movie room.”
“What’s a moo-vie?” Chris sounded it out.
“Oh, right, you are a transplant. Movies are visual stories. Think about whenever you read. Typically you’d generate an image in your mind’s eye and play out the action. A movie does that for you.”
Chris’s jaw dropped. He again drifted and ogled at the screens.
These were large, clear screens with colorful displays. Much more sophisticated than those on Canaan, which were never used for entertainment. The only information Canaanites showed were security related—Motus member on the loose in the city or the next public hanging.
“They are watching Star Wars,” she said as she pointed to the far group of youngsters in front of a screen glued like lemmings, “And Avatar on this one. These were some of the biggest movies on Earth. Science-fiction, space battles, aliens, and distant worlds. Sound familiar?”
Amazed, Chris drifted his eyes back and forth between screens. First, some character in a black mask say
ing, “No, I am your father,” which was met with a round of gasps and shouting. What’s the big deal? Chris thought. On the other screen he saw several lanky blue creatures riding vibrantly colored beasts that flew around mountains floating in the sky. Chris was stunned.
“Come on, please,” Olivia said as she shepherded him onward.
“Are there more of those?” Chris asked of the movies. Olivia said thousands, to which Chris blurted out, “Why would Canaan care about showing movies??” Chris felt robbed of experiences as a child.
“Because the material gave people ideas. Empowered them to challenge the status quo. Luke Skywalker and Jake Sully aren’t exactly standard-bearers for population control. They are rebels. They are fighters for justice. Fighters for people who can’t fight for themselves or don’t know there’s harm suppressing them,” she said bluntly.
“What’s that?” Chris said, pointing to the kids pressing buttons on the handheld devices with wires connected to the screens. Another enthralling visual.
“Video games. Put the story in your hands with interactivity—full of challenges, riddles, ideas, and more empowerment. They helped people feel like creators and heroes of worlds,” Olivia said. She shook her head when she watched the youngsters play though.
“What are they playing?”
“Um, this one...is Halo or one of its many sequels. A shooting aliens game. Kids love it.” Olivia rolled her eyes and walked away. Again Chris was fascinated.
Chris said, “There has to be just as many games as movies, right?”
“More,” said Olivia with another eye roll. She paced back to her desk, a rounded off wooden desk with several smaller screens and a main console for data entry.
“Where are all the games and movies?” Chris asked.
“We only have a select number of each, several hundred for our programs. Sadly not thousands. We’re aware of thousands of titles for each platform, but can only chronicle them by title and approximate year. Oscar Marian may have had an extensive interest in movies and video games, but only brought his favorites aboard to share with us in posterity. Maybe one day we’ll make them again.”
A nice idea, Chris reveled in the thought. Make your own movies? Wow, wouldn’t that be something?
Olivia then told Chris that Arch Canaanites tried to conceal the materials for years to avoid free thinking.
“Many people died during the first uprising…” she told Chris with a somber face as if she were there, although it was over a hundred years ago. It was the first of the three uprisings in Canaan’s history. The third one, as she stated, was happening right now. The war.
“But that’s what they did. They kept people down, uninformed, and negligent of their own creative and innovative aspirations. They pushed down progress to control what they wanted to control so they wouldn’t lose it,” Olivia grumbled with a snarl on her fair face.
“Quite the perspective from a librarian,” Chris said offhand.
Olivia took a deep breath and gazed at him with a furrowed brow. “I’m Motus like everyone else.”
The Motus environment, Chris realized, bred philosophers and intellectuals. Thinkers and creators. Some more keen than others, but Olivia was one of the good ones. Insightful and passionate. This meant more than reading books, watching movies, and playing games. This was freedom of one’s soul and mind.
A moment passed between then. He took her comment to heart.
Then something in the corner of his eye caught Chris’s attention. Over Olivia’s shoulder, he saw a pedestal with a single book opened to a page that appeared to be the centerfold. It was leatherbound and thick. He walked over in a trance and the librarian followed.
“What’s this?” Chris asked.
Olivia smiled and held her mouth shut. Instead she watched Chris’s reaction.
He grazed his finger across its razor-thin pages. They felt delicate. A golden shine reflected off edges of clumps of pages. Yet when he investigated a single page, he hardly saw any reflective golden shimmer. Individual pages were easily rippable. But when together, hearty and decadent.
“This is the Bible. It was the most popular book in the history of…Earth.”
“It’s beautiful.” Chris was in awe.
“One of the original settlers smuggled it on board Stargazer during the Grand Exodus. Oscar Marian banned all religion before their journey.”
“Why?”
“He feared it would cause disagreements. Then those would turn into some sort of fighting. And the social construct on Canaan would falter.”
“What’s in this book?” He examined the cover. Leather and precious.
Olivia nodded. “It has two parts. An old part with a bunch of stories of the beginning of the world, and lessons, and prophecies. The new part is about more lessons and fulfilling of those prophecies. And it’s all about the son of God.”
“I’ve seen this in my reading. What’s ‘God?’” Chris asked.
“Oh, boy. How do I explain it…” Olivia looked around for a prop or piece of paper as a teaching aid. She found it helped with explaining concepts to children, not that she wanted to offend Chris in such a way.
Chris spoke up, “Like Apollo?”
“Sort of. Apollo is just a life-giving star. God is a deity or supreme power that controls the entire universe.”
“Oh, so more than Apollo.”
“Right. Just a tad.”
“More like Oscar Marian to the Canaanites? Bunch of rubes.” He winked at her.
She bursted out a laugh and drew the attention of the game-players and movie watchers. She gently slapped her hand over her mouth and giggled underneath with glowing red cheeks. Her fair skin was unlike anything Chris had seen. She was quite beautiful.
“Let’s just say the concept of God is a bit complicated for a first day at the library,” the librarian said.
“Fair enough.”
Olivia awkwardly walked back to her desk. Chris took the world about worlds around him. His jaw dropped. His mind wandered. Chris finally meandered back to the front by Olivia after pondering different possibilities.
“Thank you, Olivia. I’ll be back.”
“Look forward to it, Terminator,” Olivia said while diverting her attention back to her console.
“What?”
“Nevermind. I’ll show you one day.”
Chris walked out, turned his head and smiled at her. The distraction led him right into the wall.
Bump!
Olivia giggled behind her desk and resumed her work. Chris laughed it off and scurried out.
Onward with the day after an enlightening ride through the library.
***
After his first visit, Chris would frequent the Library every afternoon to watch a movie or watch the kids play video games. Maybe read a book when one caught his eye.
Before he left each day, he’d eye the Hemingway section without going over to leaf through its contents. To him it felt like an untouchable celebrity, like he wasn’t worthy to read it yet. In time, he’d tell himself. Olivia made a comment to him every day about Hemingway, urging him to visit. He’d always have an excuse not to.
Soon.
THE LABORATORY
Riley’s words echoed in Chris’s head.
“Ask Brody sometime about the mission. He’s our chief engineer...and he was the flight director on your dad’s mission.”
After one day at the library, Chris took her up on the offer.
Wallock told Chris where to find Brody—the farthest side of the mountain, down the winding tunneling system, after the library, after the residences, and a distance past the storage houses. It was a seldom-visited area, needless to say, by the Motus folk.
Chris walked and walked, worried he may have gotten lost in the tunnels. But Wallock said, “Even when you think you’ve walked too far, keep walking.”
The tunnel narrowed and caved toward a single light bulb beside a metal door, bolted with a silver metal framework. On the door read the wor
d “laboratory.” Chris walked up to it with a lump in his throat.
Before turning the nob, he inhaled. The air felt thick and poorly ventilated. Then he pushed the door open and a flush of fresh, crisp air hit his face. There the laboratory lived and breathed with machines, organisms, and the fine stewards of the work before his eyes, all well-lit. Machines hummed with electric current.
For all of its rustic, jungle-like nature, Motus had a self-contained and sophisticated operation deep in the mountain. Central computers lined against the wall. Giant tubes of information and current flowed in sprawling directions like the root of a plant stretching into the soil. The scene reminded him of Canaanite City more than he’d like.
Looking around, Chris half-expected whoever was there to question him for trespassing. That was the mentality back at the City—doubt aimed at those who look like they don’t belong. Instead he found a small group of people, he counted more than a dozen, intently aware of only their work in front of them. They were focused. They were determined.
One such man, eyeing his work with obsessive tinkering, adjusting, and tinkering again, shouted to his colleagues, “I have to take a leak. Be right back.” He was an older man, more than double Chris’s age, with a furry white beard and balding head. He was pale and thin, almost emaciated from his time deep in the mountain. Most people on Canaan, however, are thin. Humidity hardly stirs the appetite. But he was taller than Chris and moved in a goofy way with his feet kicking out in front of him and heels stomping the ground.
The older man spotted Chris on his way to toilet.
“Ah, a visitor,” the old man said with a delightful cheeriness. Then he countered it with, “Hang tight, sir. I must relieve myself.” Chris awkwardly waved.
The other scientists stared at Chris without saying a word. After a few more seconds, Chris sat in the closest chair he could find. Their gaze lifted and they went back to their work.