Someone to Remember Me: The Anniversary Edition

by Brendan Mancilla

  “Understood, Founder.”

  Eight departed the AdvISOR’s central hub and rode a nearby elevator back up to a hallway adjoining the atrium. Grand Cross’s above-ground levels had long since been abandoned under the rule of the Rebel Clones but the atrium was still pristine. A glorious portrait of the Founders triumphing over the Builders adorned the ceiling and Eight spared a passing glance at it, acutely aware that she had played a role in two separate rebellions in two separate lifetimes.

  Eventually, the allergen cloud would come for the Rebel Clones as well. They would be safe in the underground caverns of Grand Cross, at least for a while, but the allergen cloud would not be deterred. It could not be avoided or escaped. It was a brutal conclusion for a brutal war.

  She heard the sounds of the allergen cloud’s rampage outside. Since the truce, a cautious number of Rebel Clones had dared to openly occupy the abandoned areas and buildings around Grand Cross. Some were even unarmed. But the guns that fired relentlessly and the voices that screamed in terror confirmed the renewed warfare, reminding Eight that even if the truce had paused the conflict, the war had never actually concluded until now.

  The War of the Begotten was ending, the truce obliterated, and the victory of the Rose Twelve would be written in the blood of their makers.

  Eight slipped through the gap between the two massive doors at the end of the atrium and out into the courtyard of Grand Cross.

  Seven stood a few feet away from her, lost in his thoughts. The allergen cloud violently campaigned along the mostly abandoned streets, smashing into the old headquarters of Haven’s Armed Response Militia in a show of vindictive irony. The hulk of the cloud’s mass, a glittering and murderous brown dust, swept across the Rebel Clones that fled into the streets.

  Eight slowly approached Seven, saw that his eyes were fixated on the amorphous cloud of murderous rage, and broke his trance by stepping to his side. Initially confused by her presence, Seven patiently tolerated her when she spoke.

  “One day, they’ll come back.” She wasn’t sure if he understood because of the far-away look in his eyes that confessed that he wasn’t hearing her. Seven was gone, dead with the rest of Haven, and lost to an irretrievably broken place in his mind.“It’s your turn to listen to me, Seven! I’ve spent years being forced to listen to you, do you understand?” she was suddenly angry with his abject denial; with his listless abandonment. Desperate to have her chance, Eight pressed on, “I wanted to remember! I wanted to know what it meant to be a Founder but it never came to me like it did to you…”

  The allergen cloud’s roar silenced the ringing of gunshots and the wail of dying innocents. Its form congealed and broadened as if each death made it larger and more powerful than it had been seconds before. Swollen and gorged to a terrifying size, the cloud bulldozed its way into the lobby of a nearby building, where it massacred everyone inside while maintaining its presence on the street outside.

  “I understand it now! I know what my purpose is!” Eight yelled, knowing that her words weren’t making it to him. His eyes were so distant and his posture so distracted that she might as well have been talking to the air. It was too late to stop, too much needed to be said, and now felt like the right time. “This isn’t the end, Seven, it’s a beginning!”

  Another vicious roar echoed around Grand Cross and the allergen cloud regrouped on the street. The shimmering expanse of brown and gold dust grew wider and taller once it caught sight of Seven and Eight standing, hopelessly unguarded, by the entrance to its former prison. Sauntering towards them like a wave of death, Eight realized that she feared it despite knowing that she would be revived. She still feared dying.

  When Seven spoke it was as if countless lives shared his voice. Despair, defeat, loss, and tragedy joined the unleashed horror rolling towards him. Seven spoke with a childish despondency created by thousands of years of repeated heartbreak.

  “All I wanted…was for someone to remember me.”

  Change. Something was different and Eight could not say what or how but she felt it in her body, she felt it through her whole being, and as the allergen cloud bore down upon them she reached out and took Seven’s hand. She wanted to tell him that she understood, at long last, what the purpose of her life was. She wanted to convince him that they could be free together. Instead, she watched as he closed his eyes and embraced another death. Eight took a deep breath, quieted her mind, and watched the allergen cloud block out the world as it crashed down on her and killed her.

  Seven tumbled back into the confines of his own mind. The shared memory, the recollection of events from the night of Haven’s fall, disoriented him as the grassy field and the night sky sharpened into focus. Back in the present with the AdvISOR’s current incarnation, Seven shifted his gaze to the mechanical angel floating in front of him and the machine restlessly flexed its golden wings. The AdvISOR retreated backwards as its amused silence settled between itself and the clones.

  “He could not harm you,” the machine said to Eight. “Rather than lay a hand on you in an attempt to stop you, Seven allowed millions to perish.” Swiveling to Seven it said, “And rather than allow you to become the butcher of millions, she acted for you.”

  Eight studied the AdvISOR with a defiant, repulsed glare. An unassailable demeanor spread across her.

  “That was five centuries and another lifetime ago. The Descendants brought us back to be their pawns. To do their bidding. To buy them time. I am nobody’s slave!” she shouted, the night sky carrying her proclamation across the field. “I would do it again, exactly as it was done, if it meant that I could be back at this point.”

  Seven marveled at Eight’s power, at her raw assertion of individuality. She rejected the crimes committed in a former life. What was more, he heartily agreed with her. Their lives, however numerous, had guided them to this moment where they would be together and strong in the presence of the AdvISOR.

  “Fascinating. Seven remarked the very same thing as he ordered me to prime the allergen cloud for deployment. Fate, it would seem, has finally aligned your respective philosophies,” the machine admitted. “Your position in retrospect, however unforgiving, is narcissistic at best.”

  “Because the city survived, didn’t it? That’s what Eight kept trying to tell me after the monster was released,” Seven guessed correctly.

  “Yes. Before the city’s demise, Tobias Clay deployed the memory transfer technology for citizens and clones alike. When the war broke out, the many thousands who died were transferred to and kept in the memetic stream here at Grand Cross.”

  “But the Rebel Clones controlled it and only revived their kind,” Eight surmised.

  “So…they’re…alive?” Seven asked, trying to find a measure of redemption in the inquiry.

  “No. It took two weeks, four days, eleven hours and fifty-three minutes to complete the purge. The Founders did not reappear in that time, nor in the months and years that followed. Seconds after Eight made the suggestion, I transmitted an emergency signal across Haven that was designed to give me control of any artificial intelligence program that received it. Provence accepted the signal, as Eight predicted he would, but his defenses were exceedingly well-written. Yet, in the moment that I touched Rose Garden, I was able to suffocate the station,” the AdvISOR explained, its synthetic voice uncolored by emotion.

  “We wanted to keep it from being taken by government loyalists,” Eight surmised.

  “The best intentions conceive the worst of consequences. Provence was nearly destroyed by my intrusion and five centuries passed before Rose Garden had repaired enough vital systems to reactivate its cloning equipment. Disheartened though I was back then, I felt assured that the legendary Rose Garden existed. That the paradise where the Founders slept was corporeal. From then onwards I waited patiently until hours ago when Twenty gave me the station’s frequency and location.”

  “What do you want us to do? Play the Founder bit for a third time? Revive the millions of people in storag
e and…do what?”

  “The Descendants, as you call them, are not your responsibility. In your absence I considered that you might never return. When I mentioned earlier that I wanted to discuss the future of Haven, I omitted that part of that future has already been decided.”

  “How so?” pressed Seven, desperate to learn more about the captive dead.

  “Piece by piece, I tore down the southern sectors of Haven and built dozens of ships that I filled with the revived Descendants. Forever banished from this island, I sent them away in waves. I completed that task one hundred and twenty-five years ago.”

  “When you said they were dead, what you really meant was that…they’re dead by now,” Seven guessed.

  “Without their cloning technology and without the resources necessary to rebuild such an advancement, it is statistically likely that the generation of the Descendants you knew has passed from the world of the living,” the AdvISOR agreed.

  “Then that leaves us with the Rebel Clones,” Eight began.

  “Yes. I hold you accountable for the rebels as I held myself responsible for the Descendants. Each of the Rebel Clones is in stasis aboard The Mortal Coil, the vessel that is moored behind Grand Cross. As the Founders of Haven, you are charged with guiding your wards to a new home, just as you did with your original compatriots all those centuries ago.”

  “You want us to leave and never come back?” Eight asked, her tone laced with suspicion.

  “Left to my own devices, in the absence of humanity, my drones have traveled to the lands beyond the Great Sea. I alone have learned the true shape of the world. Established after the fall of the Sphere, Haven became a cradle of life that is no longer necessary. There are green hills, blue skies, and wide oceans beyond those of this island. Board The Mortal Coil and it shall deliver you there but never return you here.”

  “If we leave...what will happen to you?” Seven asked. The angelic frame of the AdvISOR shifted further upwards, suggesting that it was surprised by his inquiry. Seven pondered how much he actually cared for the machine’s fate. It was as culpable as he and Eight were in the city’s demise and in the calamity that had followed.

  “One day, I too shall die. I will ensure that when I die, Haven perishes with me.”

  “Why didn’t you just ask Tobias where Rose Garden was when you revived him along with the rest of the Descendants? Why did you wait so long to meet us yourself?” Eight asked and Seven nodded his agreement. With Tobias Clay’s help the AdvISOR could have reached Rose Garden centuries sooner than it actually had.

  Backing away from Seven and Eight, the AdvISOR cautiously replied, “Doctor Clay declined to impart upon me the location of Rose Garden. Still bound by the Three Laws, I could not compel him or his companions to reveal its location. Nor could I study the memetic stream, for that is forbidden to me as well.” The AdvISOR began to ascend, retreating from Seven and Eight. Its outline was consumed by the light shed from its wings and, again, it became the moon in the night sky above the grassy field. Simple winds bore the AdvISOR’s words to their ears. “Aboard The Mortal Coil are the supplies necessary to survive in the new world but I must ask of you a single favor in return.”

  “What is it?” Seven shouted into the night.

  “When you reach the farthest land, when you set foot on home’s distant shores, speak openly of this place. Tell your children and your grandchildren of Haven. Let them know of its glory and its shame, so that the truth may pass through the generations, and not just the myth. I have learned that the cycle of time is undeniable: the oppressed overturn their rulers and, though it can be slowed, the cycle can never be stopped. Do not despair. Do not allow such revelations to deter you from your true goal: to live a life of compassion and justice, free of tyranny and dictation. Good luck, Founders, and may your hands craft the greatest civilization the Earth has yet to see.”

  Chapter Fourteen:

  All Creation

  Their retreat from the AdvISOR’s grassy field was far quicker than their extended journey to it. They found another stone doorway standing atop a hill in the middle of the darkened field. A short distance into it, they discovered a flying MoNITOR awaiting them in the familiar elevator cage. Eight loudly wondered where the Lore Chambers had disappeared to but Seven accepted the rearrangement of the tunnels with a silent gratitude.

  Eight’s sense of relativity fluctuated. What had been minutes ago felt like hours; what had been hours ago felt like minutes. Their discussion with the AdvISOR might have been days ago for how foggy the memory became during their ascent upon the elevator; while their arrival to Grand Cross felt no more distant than thirty minutes ago.

  She and Seven did not speak to each other. She feared that her ambivalence towards the crimes charged to her by their memories and the AdvISOR might have upset Seven. Was it enough to break the link between them? Did he think of her as cruel for her reaction? Her thoughts drove a wedge between them and she stood away from him on the ride to the surface.

  In the atrium, she dared to take a few steps away from him. Eight tried to gain a lead, to give him space, but Seven calmly reached out and took her hand. It was a simple gesture that dispelled Eight’s worrisome notions of a divide between them. She fell in step with Seven as they headed for the doors. Dirty, wet, and exhausted she knew they were ready to slip away aboard the ship meant to carry them far from Haven.

  Equipped with a memory of the atrium’s pristine era, Eight truly understood the totality of its disrepair. Not that it surprised her since most of Haven was a tomb anyways but memories had a way of making years feel like seconds. The differences between the atrium in its prime and well after the fall were even more shocking as Eight and Seven departed Grand Cross.

  Seven pushed one of the doors further open, light creaking through the gap. Eight tried to recount the hours spent in Grand Cross because it had been dark when they entered and now there was plentiful daylight outside.

  Once her eyes adjusted to the brilliance of the morning, she gasped. Unable to describe it, unable to comprehend it, Eight’s senses were trivialized by the war that was suddenly being waged against each of them.

  Her eyes processed the new information first: far away on the eastern coast was a yellow sun dragging itself above emerald waters. Bathed in hearty yellow light, Haven’s devastation became even more remarkable. For the first time, Eight saw the black tar of the streets. She could make out the faded white and yellow paint that had marked the lanes. On a nearby street corner she saw a grimy red sign that had rusted into illegibility. Beautiful sunlight accentuated the burnished gold of the decayed towers. She even thought she saw the tiniest hint of blue in the few remaining windows.

  The blackened exterior of Grand Cross betrayed its own signs of age and wear: water stains in the corners and chipping along the spires. Cement squares beneath her feet were dyed an ugly white from constant neglect and perpetual disrepair.

  None of that compared to Seven, who she nearly cried at the sight of. His untidy brown hair, his freckled face caked with dirt, his neck craning his head towards the sunrise in quiet enjoyment. She noticed how slowly he breathed and the way his brown eyes absorbed the sunlight when he finally opened them.

  They walked beneath an empty blue canvas, cloudless and perfect, while the ocean breeze rustled their clothes and tousled their hair. Salt and wood and water scented the breeze while the sounds of waves crashing gently against the harbor reached her ears. As they continued along the edge of Grand Cross they saw the AdvISOR’s great ship, The Mortal Coil, with the constantly glittering emerald sea behind it.

  “So much color,” she whispered.

  “So much color,” Seven agreed.

  Twenty bounded to the top of the staircase that led to the harbor where The Mortal Coil was moored. Eight offered him a broad smile, noticing that he appeared every bit as uncomfortable as usual. This time his electric blue eyes widened with relief at the sight of her and Seven. Twenty pushed his scraggly black hair against his he
ad but a sudden gust of wind undid his modest effort to straighten himself.

  Twenty blinked, unsure of the authenticity of what he was seeing. His bewildered expression confirmed it but then Seven yelled, ecstatic to see him, and ran towards Twenty and they descended into childish hoots and shouts. Eight chuckled as the two grown men behaved the way she imagined excited teenagers or hyper children might.

  “What did the AdvISOR do to you? Recount every day of the last five hundred years?” Twenty laughed. “Do you know how I spent my night and morning? First, I got to go on a lovely walk through Grand Cross. Then, I was lucky enough to be escorted to The Mortal Coil where we’ve been kept all night!”

  “We had a bit of an adventure through Grand Cross ourselves,” Eight confessed, hugging Twenty.

  “Of course you did! Neither of you can ever do anything the easy way. Always with the explosively bad choices,” he drawled. “What were you thinking coming here in the first place? If it had been me, I would have hopped in that fancy yacht the others came in and never back.”

  Eight let Seven answer that.

  “You would never have left us here,” Seven shrugged, speaking with simple but absolute certainty. Twenty stared at them, unsure of how to respond. Eight wondered if he knew the guise was up, that his friends were aware of the loyal heart that beat beneath the icy veneer of his attitude. “You’re possibly the best friend I’ve ever had, Twenty. Thank you. For everything,” Seven said, the quiet gratitude of his statement further evidenced when Seven drew Eight closer to his side.

  Shocked into silence, Twenty’s disarmed and helpless gaze met the sheer happiness emanating from Seven and Eight. Eight saw conflict embroil him for a split second before he swallowed the indecision and kept his silence, allowing some confession or another to pass unspoken. Perhaps Twenty realized, as they had, that some things deserved to be buried in the past?