I allowed her to continue to try to distract me, but in the end the only thing that really mattered was my research. I spent my days in the corpus, my nights writing up my findings. The act of putting pen to paper is laughably old-fashioned now, but it was not enough for me to just see and know, I had to make sense of it in my own way – composing papers is my way of processing the information. I doubt they’ll ever be seen by another soul; after all, what could I possibly add to that endless stream of knowledge and experience?
That was a hard truth to accept: I’d always been a seeker on the edges of common understanding, always striving to comprehend more about the unknown. Now I was just a consumer. For all the bliss of swimming through that magnificent sea of information, I’d often lapse into black moods when I emerged, barely eating and spending days in bed until I summoned up the courage to venture back. To have my sole driving purpose made so cruelly irrelevant! That was the biggest blow of all, and still I couldn’t summon the will to leave, because where would I go that was not exactly the same?
Then, one evening, everything changed. Kelbee came to me and persuaded me to join her outside.
It was towards the end of the Bask, though I can’t in truth recall exactly when because I’d stopped checking the days. It was freezing outside but bearable in the new synthetic jacket and trousers she’d made for me. It was a clear evening, with no wind to stir up the powder. The sky was a bruising dome over my head, a few lights already piercing the gloom. I remember correcting myself – stars, I told myself, not lights, stars. For all the wonder of them, the thought of those appallingly huge distances frightened me.
We stood there for some time, watching the sky grow ever darker. The pair of annexes flitted about behind us, making little repairs to the outpost. With the external floodlights off, the night was a breathtaking speckled canvas. I was ready to thank her for bringing me to see it, though I didn’t see a purpose beyond raw beauty, but she told me to wait a little longer. Then, after a while, she pointed at a section of the sky where the Lattice stretched like a claw, obscuring the stars behind it. She didn’t say anything, just smiled. I watched, uncertain.
Then, bit by bit, I saw it come to life.
A few faint lights blinked on at first, then quickly spread in number and intensity. Yellows, reds and blues, running in neat lines along each of the five fingers. Those lights blazed, brighter than even the constellations that surrounded them. In moments, this hulking shape, this menacing reminder of the hubris of the old world became something else, a beautiful, sparkling, vibrant thing.
People would live there soon, she said. The annexes were busy making it habitable, sealing breaches and awakening long-dormant power plants. In time the inhabitants would work to repair the damage done all those centuries ago. I remember feeling like my chest might burst – a tear froze on my cheek as she told me of the plans, dug up from the archives, that would be used to one day expand it, finish what the original constructors had never managed! The Lattice would stretch across from horizon to horizon, as intended, a twinkling net that girdled the globe.
That was the moment. That sparkling shape in the sky was a physical manifestation of potential. I knew that I’d been fooling myself into thinking the knowledge we’d gained was absolute, unsurpassable. Instead, I saw it for what it truly is: a springboard to even greater discoveries, deeper mysteries. The chasm of space in front of me no longer gave me vertigo – I wanted to leap into it feet-first!
I told her I was ready to leave. When she asked where I wanted to go, I pointed at the Lattice. I remember her smile.
Tomorrow, a final goodbye. Then, the sky waits.
Heartfelt thanks go to:
Catherine Cho for being the book’s first and most fervent champion, as well as all the team at Curtis Brown for their notes and encouragement;
Cat Camacho, Davi Lancett, Miranda Jewess, Julia Lloyd and the folks at Titan Books for their diligent editing, designing and sage advice;
Tutors, comrades and peacocks (dead, or otherwise) of the Bath Spa University Creative Writing MA, and Paula for all the coffee and chats; the summer workshop crew, for keeping the ball rolling; the incomparable Maggie Gee for generosity of time and spirit, as well as the odd curry;
Those who said what was good and, more importantly, what wasn’t – Tim Aldred and Katie Wakefield, who swanned in late with wine; Gavin Allen, the most stylish Welshman I know; Luke Parker, brother in fisticuffs and beer; Christoph Wieczorek, who is definitely to blame; Rosemary Dunn for my first ever bit of creative feedback – it still hurts;
Mum and Dad, for a childhood full of adventure that moulded me, and for teaching me the magic in books;
My family, both natural and acquired;
Aurelia for changing everything;
Ali, with love.
About the Author
Patrick Edwards lives in Bristol and has never grown out of his fascination with science and the future. In 2014, he decided to give writing a go and graduated from the Bath Spa Creative Writing MA with distinction. His first novel, Ruin’s Wake, was inspired by the works of Iain M. Banks and modern-day North Korea.
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