“The path has been laid, Lucy. Not just in our school, but in schools all across the country. In the workplace, in the hospitals. All of the people’s own will! There is nothing you can do to stop it—and why do you even want to stop it? It is for the betterment of us all! Pangaea has the numbers to prove it: they have the top happiness quotients, the most equal economy—”
“—It means nothing!” Lucy shouted.
“Excuse me?”
“It doesn’t mean anything—you could fabricate those numbers from thin air if you wanted! Have you ever actually spoken to a Pangaean, Miss Werther? Have you ever seen if they’re really happy, or is it just numbers on paper?”
Principal Werther did not reply.
“Of course you haven’t,” Lucy continued. “No one has ever spoken to a Pangaean citizen. All we hear are the Pangaean lecturers like Dr. Lucusta, and the Pangaean ambassadors. We’ve never actually spoken to a real average Pangaean, and asked him what he thought of the system. All we know about Pangaea is what their leaders tell us. Those countries get absorbed up into Pangaea, and then we never hear from them again. People move there, and we never hear from them again. Just last year my friend Penny moved there, and she hasn’t written me a letter since.”
The principal shrugged. “Maybe Penny doesn’t want to be friends anymore. You’re just giving me anecdotal evidence; how does one story prove that Pangaeans don’t have contact with us?”
“Not just Penny. My brother too. My friend. My aunt. My friends’ friends: George, Thomas, Gloria…dozens, all gone. No trace, no contact since they went to Pangaea. How do you explain that? It’s like the earth swallowed them up.”
“You’re being paranoid, Lucy. People move apart, and people grow apart. Just because you don’t hear from your friends doesn’t mean that Pangaea isn’t a good place. And in a way, we do still hear from them. We hear them every time we see a Pangaean report on television. We hear good things—very good things, but you just don’t want to accept it.”
“My god,” Lucy groaned. She despairingly pressed her ears, and shook her head. “You don’t see it—you’ll never see it. They’re enticing you and feeding you like pigs for slaughter, to do their every bidding. And the moment they don’t want you anymore, they just stop feeding you. They can cut off your food anytime they want, because they’re the ones giving it to you. That’s not freedom; that’s enslavement! Is that what you want for the children? Enslavement? Does that sound like happiness to you?”
“Lucy! Lucy! Please!” Principal Werther took Lucy’s hand in her own. “Calm yourself! Please! You’re clearly not well. If you were well, you would see that this is not enslavement of any kind; this is an opportunity. Pangaea is opening the door of plenty for everyone, so that we all have a chance to do well! So why are you fighting against it? And why are you encouraging those students of yours to fight against it?”
“Pangaea is slavery. No one offers you eternal gifts without expecting something in return. They want something—I don’t know what they want, but it’s something they can’t get without controlling us.”
“You’re delusional, Lucy.”
“No, you’re oblivious! You’re all oblivious! I’d rather be poor than be dependent on someone for my food, knowing he might starve me whenever he pleases.”
“They won’t starve us, though! Pangaea cares about all of us. They work towards fulfilling the collective human needs.”
“It won’t work! No two people have the same needs. Giving that kind of power over to just a few select people will have horrible consequences!”
“But we all have the same basic needs, which Pangaea fulfills, so that we can fulfill our bigger dreams. We will be free to enjoy life. Don’t you ever get tired of struggling, Lucy? There are people going hungry, while others are growing fat as pigs. A millionaire buys his fifteenth yacht, while someone dies of hunger just across the street! But the millionaire doesn’t care.”
“What do you expect me to do? I can’t change people’s hearts.”
“No. But we can change the laws to bend us toward fairness.”
“So you’re going to take money away from people who earned it.”
“Lucy, please! It’s not like that. We’re not stealing; we’re creating equality.”
“Why do you have to take their money? Why? Just let the people keep their money, and give it away as they want. Don’t take it away by force!”
“We tried that, Lucy, and it doesn’t work. People are naturally selfish creatures; we can’t wait forever for their hearts to change. The law has to step in, and it will when we join Pangaea. Our every need will be met. The world has already realized this is our road to progress. And no matter how hard you may try, you can’t defeat the will of the entire world. So stop fighting. Stop chasing your dead dream, and join us in the new dream. Join us in Pangaea’s dream!”
Lucy snatched her hand away. “Never,” she muttered. She tore the lanyard from her neck and hurled it onto the desk. “I’m quitting.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m leaving. I’m leaving all of you. You’ll have to find a teacher who is willing to teach favorably about Pangaea, because I won’t. I can’t be expected to lie to all those kids about how good it is to live under enslavement, how wonderful it will be to surrender their freewill. And I don’t see how you can do so with such a clear conscience.”
“Lucy, no!” Principal Werther cried. “Be sensible now! Don’t do anything rash. I beg you. We will sort this out together.”
“I’m not being rash, Principal Werther. I know exactly what I’m doing. In fact, I do believe I’m the only sensible person left in this entire school right now.”
~
Lucy stormed down the street, unaware of where she was headed. Her mind had fallen blank, but her feet had taken on a mind of their own. For nearly a full hour, she wandered along the city streets and alleys, crowded with crumpled homeless bodies wrapped in newspapers. She knew she would be joining them soon, unless she somehow found another job. But finding a job in this economy was becoming increasingly difficult; most of the jobs had been transferred outside the country to the Pangaean territories, because their labor was cheaper.
Suddenly she paused. She had reached a cathedral—a very old cathedral of stone, with arched windows and a strong steeple at its head. Just the sort of building that would appear in a history book or on a postcard. Lucy did not even glance at the rusted sign, almost completely hidden behind the overgrown shrubbery. She headed straight up the path towards the door.
It was unlocked, and she went inside.
The sanctuary was empty, but she quietly slipped into the back row. She closed her eyes and began to pray.
She had not been to church in several years; she studied religion on her own, but never attended an organized service. Yet she vividly remembered the sanctuary packed with throngs of people, singing and worshiping joyfully. Now, as she knelt in the great abandoned hall, it was strange to see the place so empty and lifeless. As though she had returned home after years of absence, only to find her hometown a deserted wasteland.
“Excuse me, miss,” a gentle voice said, “can I help you?”
Lucy looked up. An elderly man had appeared at her side, seemingly from nowhere, dressed in a black coat. Round his neck was the white collar of a priest. “Oh, excuse me, Father,” Lucy began awkwardly. “I didn’t know anyone else was here…I’ll leave.”
“No, please stay!” the priest urged her. “All are welcome at this church. Allow me to introduce myself: Father McCall, at your service.”
Lucy smiled, but could not respond. A sob had choked in her throat.
“I can tell you’re troubled,” Father McCall said. “Miss…?”
“Lucy. My name’s Lucy Watson.”
He took a seat on the bench beside her. “Would you care to talk about it?”
“No, thank you,” she said, quickly rubbing her eyes before the tears could fall. “I’ll be all right. I’m just going
through a difficult time now. And I’m sure you have more important people to meet.”
“Not really.” He gestured at the row of empty seats. “As you can see, my visitor list is a bit scant these days. I haven’t had more than five people in a service for…oh, a year now. Ten years ago, even during a weekday like this, we’d have at least a few people in here praying. And the hall outside my office would be full of visitors, asking for help. But now things are so different. People seem to think they don’t need God.”
Lucy burst into tears.
“I’m so sorry,” Father McCall stuttered. “I didn’t mean to upset you so terribly—”
“No, no,” Lucy said hoarsely, “It’s not what you said. It’s what I’ve done. It’s what they’ve done! I thought it was enough to just believe in God on my own, but it isn’t. I need you, and I need them.”
Not just for times of happiness, but also for times of grief and doubt. And despair and depression. To remind each other that even if we lose favor in the sight of man, God will never forsake us. He would always be there for us—for whoever desires to see and hear Him.
From a very young age, they had been taught that departing from religion was the answer to world strife: that God was a dead fairytale of primitive minds, leading to judgment, wars, and oppression. That we could never be truly free until we shook off those ancient shackles and accepted only what we could see and touch before us. But they had forgotten that the greatest things only begin as untouchable thoughts. Dreams. Ideas. Revelations. Did it not make sense that the greatest thing of all might be something we could not see? A Being that inspired some of the finest poetry, artwork, and architecture ever created in world history. Who brought comfort in times of grief. How could mankind just throw it all away? A nation under men, instead of a nation under God—it would never work. Man might turn at anytime against his fellow, and deprive him of bread.
But God would never turn against man.
I don’t bow before men! I bow only before You!
“It’s not easy for humans,” Father McCall said. “Being made in the image of God means we’re more than just animals: man asks questions, man demands answers. And when we don’t understand, we just can’t let our questions go. We get angry. We get bitter. We start to think we don’t need God telling us what to do; we can create our own rules, and do just as well. But look at history: see the civilizations built on God, and see those built without Him. By their fruits you shall know them, Lucy: and you cannot expect to yield the Fruit without the Tree.”
“I see that now,” Lucy sobbed. “And I want to return: I want to come back. But I don’t know where to start. Show me how…please…”
“The door has always been open. You need only knock, and God will answer. God is always ready for you; it is only a matter of when are you ready for Him.” He knelt on the floor. “Would you like to ask Him right now? Right here?”
“But…but I don’t even know which prayer to say.”
“It doesn’t matter. God always understands His children.”
And Lucy knelt beside him, and folded her hands.
~
Miss Smith shut the front door and spilled her armload of mail across the floor. Her eyes greedily scanned the pile. “Surely they would have responded by now,” she murmured thoughtfully. Suddenly her eyes alit on a single yellow envelope, marked “POPULATION CENTER.” She grabbed it and tore it open.
Dear Miss Smith. We are most pleased to inform you that your request has been received, and we have complied. Your egg was fertilized on the fourth of this month, at 2 PM.
But what about a picture? she wondered. Why didn’t they send a picture?
~
“Before you leave, Lucy,” Father McCall said, “I have one more thing for you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny piece of cardboard, which he pressed into Lucy’s hand.
It was a single puzzle piece.
“What is this for?” Lucy asked.
“A reminder,” Father McCall continued. “A reminder that we don’t have every answer, or the entire picture. We have only part of the truth, what God wants to reveal to each of us. This is why we need each other, so that we can draw closer to finding the complete truth. But even as we rediscover God together, don’t forget: your piece is beautiful in its own right, designed by God Himself. Your identity does not depend on everyone else. You, with your talents and faults, are designated for a special purpose. May God guide you and bless you to find that purpose.”
5.
Several months passed. Dr. Gilac continued to ask the strange questions; he would give Clara an object, and ask her to report any visions that appeared in her head. Sometimes Dr. Gilac held up an envelope, and asked Clara to say what was in it. She guessed correctly, again and again. Eventually she was able to pick up an object, and within seconds, start receiving information on it. “What does it all mean?” she asked Dr. Gilac.
“We call it atomic reading,” he said. But he would not offer any further explanation.
And so Clara discussed the visions with Bertie. The two of them would meet together whenever they were released from the offices earlier than usual, and sit beside the large window that overlooked the courtyard. “I don’t know either,” Bertie admitted. “The visions just come, if you know how to open your mind to it…like composing a song. I guess there’s a part of our brain that most people don’t know about, but these people have learned how to access it. Most people use only ten percent or so of their brain. But not us.”
Clara sighed wearily. It would be nice to use only ten percent, just like everyone else, and to lead a boring normal life. To choose her own way, to pick her own job. To find buried treasures and keep them all for herself.
“It’s terrible, isn’t it?” Bertie continued. “They think they own every inch of our minds. They honestly believe they’re gods who will live forever.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes. And then Clara suddenly asked, “Bertie, why do you look above my head when you talk? Why don’t you look me in the eye, like other people?”
Bertie looked away from window, and faced Clara directly. “Your mind’s eye isn’t in your eye. It’s above your head.”
This answer only confused Clara further, and she wanted to ask what Bertie had meant by the strange reply. But before she could speak, an angry shout cut her off. It was the woman with the stick, demanding that the girls line up for supper. As Clara slipped into the row, the woman snapped, “No, not you. You are to report to Dr. Gilac’s office again.”
Clara felt a terrible panic rise in her chest, but she obediently walked down the hall towards Dr. Gilac’s room. She wondered what she could have done wrong; maybe he had overheard her discussion with Bertie. If he had, how did he intend to punish her—
She opened the office door. Dr. Gilac was seated behind his desk as usual, but in his hand was a syringe. “Oh, hello, Clara,” he said. “Have a seat. And here, take this—” he handed her a wedge of cheese—“your supper.”
Clara eyed the syringe suspiciously as she ate the cheese. “What is that for?”
“Oh, this?” Dr. Gilac chuckled innocently. “Let me explain. Today you are getting your first assignment. You have been hired to find a hidden treasure for one of the Benefactors.”
“A treasure!” Clara exclaimed. “What do the Benefactors want with a treasure?”
“I don’t know. But of course, your employer does not want you to know where he lives. He has required that we drug you, before we take you to see him.” Without another word, Dr. Gilac thrust the syringe into Clara’s arm.
She barely had time to gasp before she fell unconscious.
~
How much time had passed, Clara did not know.
She was still dizzy from being drugged, and her vision was fuzzy, but the room was slowly coming into focus. She was in a spacious sitting room, with wall-to-wall bookshelves; on one wall, a fireplace crackled warmly. Beside her, in another armchair, was Dr. Gilac. And besi
de Dr. Gilac, on a large red couch, sat an old man.
He was very sallow, with age spots speckled across his face and hands, and a wooden cane sandwiched between his fat fingers. He smiled, showing a mouthful of stained jagged teeth. “So,” he said, “you will help me find that treasure?”
Clara rubbed her eyes tiredly. “I need the artifact first,” she mumbled.
The old man snapped his fingers. From the shadows, a young man suddenly appeared, with a wooden box in his hand. Clara jumped; she had not even noticed the boy before. He was about thirteen years old, yet he walked with an old man’s hobble, and his foot was bound in a metal brace.
The boy presented the box to Clara.
“Open it,” the old man directed her.
Clara opened it. When she saw the contents, she gasped and covered her mouth in disgust.
It was a mummified finger.
The old man laughed. “Pick it up,” he demanded. “Pick it up, so we can get on with this. That’s the mummified finger of the ancient king.”
Clara looked at the old man in horror. “Oh, please,” she begged. “Don’t you have any other artifact?”
The man’s eyebrows knitted angrily. He looked at Dr. Gilac. “You promised she would not put up any trouble!”
Dr. Gilac glared at Clara. “Obey the man’s directions, Clara,” he whispered fiercely.
Clara stifled a sob, and gingerly picked up the finger from the box. She expected it to be wet, but it was hard and dry. She shut her eyes tightly. The visions came almost instantly.
A large beautiful palace, and it was a warm sunny day. There in the distance, the mountains rose tall and dark over the horizon. Of course the vision was not real, Clara realized; she knew she was seeing all this through the king’s memories. But it was so vivid, she could feel the sun burning across her cheeks, and even some of the king’s emotions: pride, contentment, even a slight arrogance…
“What is taking so long?” the old man’s voice cut into her thoughts.
I have a massive treasure, but I want no one to find it. Where can I hide it? The greatest place to hide a treasure is in the humblest of places. In the mountain, high above the city. At…that mountain. With the peak, like a jackal’s head.
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