by Anton Stark
ocular panel across the room, to which they went. The crystal was magnified before their eyes until they could distinguish small Flux atoms, swirling about and fighting for space in the blue haze that was its surface.
"In each of these atoms lies a universe. In every atom in that universe, ours can fit. Unfortunately, they are too small for our instruments. An entire universe, too small for a magnification lens to grasp.”
“There is no way of perceiving the Strings, then.”
“No.”
“Is there way to prove the Itz’mucan’s theory then? And yours as well?”
Hara’can bit his lip, and ruminated on it for a moment.
“There is one. But not here. Not now.”
If his grandfather had murdered him in another universe...
“What then?”
But he couldn’t have. He hadn’t done it, he was certain of it. It was but a theory. It was just a dream. Nothing more. Hara’can’s lenses retreated back to the ceiling.
“Would you like to help me?”
“Yes.”
“You will have to follow my instructions to the letter, without fault.”
“Certainly.”
Hara’can breathed in deeply.
“Very well. You can go now. We shall meet tomorrow at the sixth hour, after your classes, before Cuomaten’s temple.
“But...”
“Tomorrow, academician”, Hara’can repeated. “Now go.”
He had waited anxiously all day. It was the first time he participated in one of Hara’can’s scientific experiments. An honor for many, and for him the opportunity to explore the dream of the previous day, now almost completely forgotten. Every time he tried to grab hold of the memory it faded like so much mist into the recesses of his mind. He attempted to access it several times as he waited for his grandfather, without success.
The ruin of Cuomaten extended from a square, in front of which the carcass of the majestic temple to the Great-Fire stood. It had been a grand city in its time, but the Purge had gutted it out, as it had done with so many others. Tents and shanty towns, assembled from scrap metal and old technology, rose in heaps between tall columns, erupting like mushrooms throughout the district. Toltep waited on the steps of the Temple, watching the sun slowly dip on the horizon in the Great Desert, beyond the wren around the Academy, beyond the crumbling city walls. When the loudspeakers in the Palace of the Scribes began singing the sixth hour Hara'can appeared, still wrapped in his laboratory coat.
“Follow me”, said the old man, and Toltep obeyed.
They went west. Hara'can guided him through the maze of abandoned, silent streets. The city, or its remains, fell behind.
“Not long now”, Hara'can said over his shoulder. He stopped shortly after. They were in the middle of nowhere. The old canals of the metropolis, roads and aqueducts and sewers, reaching far into the wilderness, stone walls the height of a small pyramid. Toltep swallowed. He wondered what kind of experience would have to take place so far from the Academy. He had the distinct feeling of having seen that view somewhere, despite never having been there before. Something was not right.
“Yes, this will do perfectly.” His grandfather turned to him. In the palm of the hand that he held out to him was a blue pill. “Take it.”
The boy hesitated, but took the pill and swallowed it.
Something was not right.
“What…”
His legs failed him. He tried to cling to Hara’can, but his hands had become useless. His grandfather held him by the arms, with a strength Toltep hadn’t known in him. He looked above the old man’s shoulder. Behind him the canal opened yawning, chasm-like. Hara’can dragged him towards the edge.
“The pill is a powerful paralyzing and anesthetic agent. It should act in just enough time for you to feel no pain…”
“Grandfather…”
“Forgive me”, the old man asked, and in his eyes there was only sadness and honesty. It made everything worse. The breeze enfolded their bodies for a moment, then left them.
“The experiment...” The words echoed distantly in his ears.
“Yes. Not here, not in this universe, but in another ... In others, I shall know.”
Hara’can let go of him. Toltep wavered but remained standing. The old man took a step forward.
His stomach twisted into a knot. He knew what was going to happen. There was nothing he could hold on to, nothing he could do.
“I am sorry”. A tattooed hand pushed him.
For a fraction of a second he felt free of all constraint, floating in Space and Time.
Gravity exerted its pull and he plummeted, howling, towards the ground.
Then the darkness.
Toltep awoke with his heart trying to escape from his chest.
He struggled to control his breathing. Just a dream. He exhaled, panic receding from his mind. Just a dream. A hand reached out for his. Hara’can’s, his grandfather’s hand. The same hand that had pushed him to his death mere seconds before.
“You were dreaming.” It was an assertion, not a question.
“I dreamt that… I was on a cliff.” He could still feel the wind’s caress on his skin, rough dirt beneath his sandals. “And that you pushed me…”
Hara’can nodded sadly, moist eyes glistening in the pre-dawn’s gloom. The elder leant to embrace him.
“I know.” He kissed Toltep on the forehead. “I know.”
About the Author
Other Books by Anton Stark
IN ENGLISH
Mapmaker
The Crossing
The Somass Affair
Timekeeper
IN PORTUGUESE
As Cordas de Itz’mucan