The ground on the far shore was nearly Ravager free. She looked down at the clear, fresh water. She had to drink or she’d die, and this seemed as optimal an opportunity as she’d find.
She reached up and undid the clasps sealing the helmet to the body of the suit, then twisted the helmet and lifted it off her head. The gentle breeze refreshed her in a way she’d never felt refreshed before. It was perhaps in part a mental fabrication, an awareness that, for the foreseeable future, she’d not feel anything but the interior of the armor. She closed her eyes, feeling her hair fan out behind her, before she opened them once more. She tucked the helmet under her left arm, bent down, and cupped her right hand, lifting the fresh water to her lips. She drank greedily, and her body felt as if some invisible burden lifted. She drank, again and again and again, until she felt she might burst. She looked at the helmet and saw the juice stain from the meat she’d eaten the night before. She dipped the helmet into the river, let it fill, and then dumped the water back out. She repeated the process twice more before regretfully tucking her hair back into the armor, returning the helmet atop her head, and attaching the clasps to reform the seal.
Time to get moving.
She turned to her left and began striding diagonally toward the shore. She’d taken ten steps when she noticed something, and her heart pounded loudly inside her chest, loud enough to echo inside the armor.
She saw the other suit of armor, the one Jeffrey had donned the day before, and she saw his face inside. His eyes were closed. He wasn’t moving. His skin looked pale. And a thin film of Ravagers crawled over the outside of the suit.
She ran toward him as fast as she could in the thigh-high water, praying she wasn’t already too late, hoping against hope she’d be able to help him if he still lived.
—12—
MICAH JAMISON
MICAH TURNED AROUND and watched Sheila.
He’d become fairly well attuned to emotion-based reactions. Sheila’s jaw dropped. Her eyes went wide. She turned around, slowly, taking in the space they’d reached, then staring at the door they’d just used as a portal to a place thousands of miles away. He knew that meant she felt an emotion called awe, a curious mix of excitement, happiness, and fear.
He slid past her, walked back through the portal, and began moving the carts through one at a time. He could push the combined weight without issue, but feared that in so doing he’d damage the portal door, and that would be catastrophic. He’d slid the first few carts through
before Sheila snapped back to reality and began pushing them farther into the room, giving him space to finish the operation. The last of the carts went through the portal door, the one with the picture frame. He picked the special doorframe up from against a nearby inactive portal door and grasped it with his right hand, delicately, while he reached into one of his many pockets. His fingers found the familiar shape of the disk. As he passed through the door, he pressed it against the frame and pushed against the center, activating a thirty second timer. He set the door frame down near Sheila, then closed the portal door. He turned and watched as the light above the door flickered a few seconds later and then went dark.
He turned to Sheila, who greeted him with a curious look. “What did you put on the door frame before you came through?”
“An explosive.”
“Wait. What? But why? Why would you do that?”
“What we’re attempting here, Sheila, requires an incredible amount of good fortune and luck for optimal success. That’s only possible if we eliminate anything and everything that can detract from our mission. I’ve eliminated one potential source of negative variance.”
“What?”
“I can’t risk someone finding the island in the lake and following us here. They could mess everything up.”
He could see the anger flash in her eyes. She hadn’t expected quite that much simplification. Most humans would interpret that as a sign that the speaker considered them to be of inferior intellect, unable to grasp more complex language and concepts.
In his case, it just made communicating simpler.
She seemed to understand; the fire dimmed in her eyes, moving from anger at him back to the determination he’d seen earlier. “There’s that risk of Ravagers hitting the lake island as well. Could they move through the portal?”
“They could if we left the portal active and the door open. That’s another risk we can’t take. I destroyed the portal door on that side. If someone wants to come to this island, they’ll have to do so via conventional means.”
“I don’t know what conventional means are any more.” She offered a faint smile. Humor to alleviate stress. A good sign.
A wistful look reached her eyes. “That means we can’t go back, either, doesn’t it?”
“No.” He paused. “Do you want to go back?”
“I… I liked the robots there. I’ll miss them.”
He snorted. “What about the robot here?”
She laughed. “Are you jealous, Micah?”
“I’m not programmed for that emotion.”
“What emotions are you programmed for?”
“I can simulate several, but I don’t actually feel emotions as you do.”
That brought a look of sadness to her eyes. She felt pity, sorrow that he couldn’t actually sense the emotions that so greatly defined and shaped human consciousness. But it saved him a great deal of lost productivity and stress. “If you truly miss them, then… perhaps we can try to go back and see them once all of this is over.”
“Assuming we survive.”
“Right.” And assuming the island robots survived. He doubted that; wind forecasts computed by the robots themselves suggested they’d be unlikely to survive another twenty-four hours. Unless they deactivated the Ravagers. More motivation.
And if they didn’t do so in time, he could rebuild every one of the bots. He’d done so before.
He motioned for her to follow. “I’ll show you around.”
“We aren’t staying here?”
He glanced around at the dirt-lined walls and rocky ground, the natural cavern interrupted solely by the heavy metal door. “There are better places on the island than this.”
“Okay.”
Micah opened the door and walked through. Sheila followed, hesitating as she passed the threshold. It was a typical reaction for those who’d traveled via portal for the first time. Walking through a standard door was a case of extreme anticipation… followed by the inevitable letdown in finding that the door was just a door.
The hallway provided quite the contrast to their entry point, lined with smooth white walls featuring a marble-like coloring and texture. Lights glowed, gradually brightening as they moved down the corridor, following them as they walked. Micah climbed the steps, his heavy footfalls rattling the treads, and then opened the door at the top.
Sheila paused as she moved through the opening, but Micah suspected that the reaction this time came from what she saw as she reached the final stair more so than any expectation of portaling to yet another locale.
She stepped out onto the soft turf near the door, taking in the pure natural beauty of the island. It was the same reaction most humans had after seeing this place for the first time. There was something almost surreal about it all; the air incredibly clean and fresh and sweet, the ground spongy and soft, the vegetation of incredibly vibrant colors and scents, the sound of the water trickling in the nearby river and the surf crashing against the shore several miles away… all of those facets brought a soothing peace to even the most stressful circumstances.
After a few moments spent absorbing the intense sensory experience, Sheila let out a contented sigh. “Wow.”
Micah glanced around the familiar space, his eyes drawn to the seabirds gliding overhead, adding their own harmonies to the sounds of the island. “Humans lived here once, many years ago. They found it idyllic, a paradise, a place they never wished to leave. While they did, it remained in their minds for the r
emainder of their lives. Or so I’m told.” He paused. “They called this place Eden, after a place many traditions believe was the first place people ever lived. That place was also considered a paradise, so the name fit.”
Sheila moved toward the river, glancing to the tree lined river banks to her left and the rocky hills in the distance to her right. She took a deep breath as she moved, and he could see the stress leave her body. Mostly. She looked back over her shoulder. “The name still works. I don’t want to leave, either. This place… beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe it.” She stopped walking and turned back to him. “You mentioned that people lived here many years ago.”
“I did.”
“Long enough ago to make them contemporaries of the people who built the portal system that didn’t make it into the real Time Capsule?”
That triggered his eyebrow arch routine. “Impressive connection. They weren’t just contemporaries. The people who lived here were the ones responsible for the portal door technology.”
“I’d like to know more about them.”
“Good.” Micah nodded. “You need to know more about them.”
“Really?” Sheila looked intrigued.
“Yes. Knowing more about them will answer some of the questions you’ve asked that I’ve thus far avoided. And others you’ve probably just not gotten around to asking me yet.” He held out his hand. “Let’s head inside. There’s more I need to show you.”
Sheila’s gaze turned wistful. She turned slowly, taking in a panoramic view of the island called Eden, as if photographing it with her mind’s eye for future recall. Then she closed her eyes and took two deep breaths before heading back inside.
He took her through a different door this time. They’d emerged onto the surface of Eden through a modern, smooth metal door; this door was hewn from solid wood, and the aging patterns suggested that the door—and the structure to which it supplied access—had been here for a very long time. Sheila noted the simple desk strewn with papers yellowed with age near the entryway. She looked at the solid wood interior walls and hand-carved furniture throughout the space.
She noticed the curiosity consuming much of the interior. “What exactly is that, Micah?”
Unlike the other materials in this area, the contraption she’d noticed looked modern, metallic, and sleek. It was large enough to hold both of them inside, though, curiously, there were no openings visible on the smooth exterior.
“The people who lived here thrived on technological innovations, often making breakthroughs centuries before the general population.”
“Did they have a Time Capsule too, then?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Micah murmured. Sheila gave him an odd look. “Sorry. No, no Time Capsule, just persistent and imaginative minds with the occasional dose of inspiration. The creative process for technology typically involved creating prototypes, test models to enable them to ensure how everything actually worked before they’d use it in sterner conditions. Such is the case here.” He pointed. “That is a prototype of something called a submarine.”
“Subma… what?”
“Submarine. It’s a boat, but it’s designed to travel below the surface of the water, rather than floating on top.”
She glanced sideways at him. “Is that where you got the idea for the cars that moved under the water?”
He shrugged. “I borrowed ideas and technologies from a number of inventions, including later and more sophisticated versions of this vessel.”
They moved further into the structure, toward another door. This door seemed out of place; in a room that thrived on simplicity and more archaic building techniques—save for the prototype of the underwater boat—the smooth plastic door stood out. “This door isn’t a portal. But you will probably feel like you’ve stepped through another one because what’s on the other side is so… unique.” He turned the handle and pulled the door open. After motioning Sheila in before him, he stepped through and pulled the door closed.
The room was completely dark, so dark that neither of them could see the other, though they stood close. And that wasn’t the only odd feature.
“Micah?” Then: “Why is my voice so muffled?” She sounded as if she were standing miles away.
“It’s the acoustics in here, which were built because… never mind. Computer?”
Yes, Micah Jamison?
“Please replay the memory from February 17, 2219.”
Yes, Micah Jamison.
He heard Sheila gasp.
The darkness faded, and they found themselves inside a well-lit room. A large, wooden, oval table filled the space, with light colored walls surrounding them. Green plants rested on shelves around the perimeter of the room, and a dozen people sat in comfortable chairs around the table, engaged in fervent, though respectful, conversation.
Sheila slid over to him, trying not to draw attention to herself. “I thought you said no one lived here now?” she whispered.
“They aren’t really here, Sheila.” He spoke those words at an unnaturally loud volume level. None of the others paid him the slightest attention. He reverted to a more conversational decibel level. “This is a replay of a memory recorded over a thousand years ago, complete with sight and sound, shown to us at life size and in three dimensions.”
He turned to look at her, to watch her reaction. Her face tightened and her eyes squinted slightly. “What?”
“We’re watching someone’s memories as if watching a movie. But it’s better than any movie you’ve ever seen. We can move through the scene, so long as our location is within the confines of the space where the memory occurred. We can examine every person’s facial expressions, hear every word spoken just as it sounded that day. It’s a fantastic tool, because conscious human memories tend to be selective. People can only recall in their conscious minds the specific details they focused on while experiencing the event. Their actual memories, like the one on display here, perfectly record every detail. We know exactly what each person said, where they sat, what they wore, what they ate, with no detail tinged by personal feelings.”
“You stole someone’s memories?” Her eyes had gone wide, and Micah’s emotions translator registered anger. “How could you do such a thing?”
That reaction caught him by surprise. “We didn’t steal his memories, Sheila.” He stepped back and moved to his left around the table before gesturing at the man seated at the table in the spot they’d just vacated. “While others participated in this particular gathering, he’d become so accustomed to the process that he freely offered his memories for recording, to serve as the official minutes of this meeting.”
Sheila’s face softened. She motioned at the people sitting around the table who continued conversing as if unaware two strangers stood among them. “Who are these people?”
Micah watched her, wondering how she’d handle the news. If she’d thought the events of the past few days were strange…
“Many years ago, the world boasted a remarkable group of people, unique in humanity’s history. Though they were microscopically small in numbers relative to the overall human population, it was that group which guided humanity’s ascent into what we today call the Golden Ages, a time of massive prosperity and genuine peace not seen before or since. The people you see here in this room are representatives of that group.”
Sheila’s face filled with awe.
“But they didn’t always live in those peaceful times. The people here were powerful in ways you might not believe, but they weren’t the only ones so blessed. Whereas this group desired to improve the lives of all, their counterparts thought themselves elites, meant to enslave, exploit, and control the rest of humanity through the use of their unique power.”
Sheila snorted. “Charming. They sound just like the Phoenix Group you’ve mentioned before.”
He paused. “They sound just like the Phoenix Group, Sheila, because they are the Phoenix Group.”
Sheila laughed. “That’s funny.” But she
watched as his face retained that same impassive look, the one he wore when dispensing facts, not humor. “You’re not joking, are you?”
“No, I’m not.” He began pacing, not because he needed the movement, but because he’d learned that his pacing seemed to keep her at ease. That seemed contrary to most humans, who equated pacing with a nervousness that demanded replication in others. “These people were so far advanced beyond others of their time that they feared that a mass panic would set in if those advances were revealed all at once. Such a panic could result in massive loss of life. Even the kinder souls, like those at this table, were hesitant to share everything too quickly for just this reason. Their counterparts, the Phoenix Group of the day, had their own reasons for withholding all of their knowledge.”
Sheila was moving around the table, studying the faces of the people talking. For her, these were the unspoken heroes of a time of seeming myth, now so realistically displayed that they seemed alive. “Let me guess. The second group thought sharing too much meant they’d lose their source of power?”
“Exactly.” He paused. “Technology wasn’t the only form of massive advancement they made. They also discovered the secret to eliminating physical aging. The men and women at this table all look to be in their thirties, and in excellent health. None of them, at the time of this memory, were less than two centuries old. Several were far, far older.”
Sheila stared at the nearest member of the group, a man with thinning brown hair who visibly looked the oldest of all, a man she’d likely guess to be in his late thirties. “Now I know you’re joking, Micah. People don’t live that long.”
“No, they normally don’t. But if you prevent cells from aging, if you prevent each cell division from producing successively weaker copies, you won’t see the usual physical decline we associate with aging. They figured out how to do just that. They lived for centuries.” He paused once more. “And some still live today.”
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