by Kir Lukovkin
As he sat on the floor in the middle of the room, he turned the talisman around in his hands. The light cast beautiful reflections from its sharp edges. They had not even taken the weapons away from him and Maya! The massive blaster he was given by Drachus was still lying around under the bed and a knife still hung from his belt. It turned out that Paris was sure that Rick was wise enough not to use it.
The most upsetting thing was that him and Maya had reached the final destination of their journey. Yes, they had got into the Control Center, but it somehow imperceptibly turned out that there was no point in going there. However...
Turning on the generators. They desperately wanted to turn on the generators. That was their goal—turning on the generators. But for whom? For all the people of Thermopolis. Rick remembered who he came across over the last few days—a collection of filthy and often truly ugly people. No, it was not for them that he overcame all of these steps and corridors.
It was for his sister.
Who was now by his side.
But what about Kyoto? What about Ahmed? Paris could probably free them to, if only he asked...
Rick froze for a second. But that would mean that they would break him. That would mean that he admits defeat and submits to the will of another.
He furiously spun the talisman on his palm, staring blindly at the wall. Paris wants to find out why some ratling from a dying lower sector managed to run the mysterious Uranus program. If only he knew himself! His mother had never talked openly about such subjects. She always gave evasive answers to questions about his father, and was more likely to turn away, hiding her tears.
Rick hissed with pain, as he dropped the talisman which had suddenly broken into two halves. One remained hanging on the chain, and Rick automatically put one on the bedside table as he looked at his finger and the blood coming out of the cut.
This was how Maya found him—with his finger in his mouth. She had looked happy only a second ago.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.” Rick got up on his feet. “I just cut myself.”
“Let me have a look.”
“It's nothing...”
Maya grabbed him by the hand and led him to the basin to wash out the wound.
“So, how was your day?”
“Great.”
“Any news?”
“Paris sends his greetings. He was sorry that you did not come to the aquatorium with us. He wanted to show us the museum of ancient art and sculpture, but Aurora got tired and I took her to sleep.”
“How is she?”
“Everything is fine. She is so sweet, unlike her brother.”
Rick did not bat an eyelid. Maya started to tell him about the aquatorium, the recreation halls for young people and children, who turned out to be lucky former residents of the lower sectors—some had ended up in this place by accident and some as a result of their abilities. It turned out that there were special people that tracked prospective candidates to become citizens of Epsilon. Maya even found an old friend from her own sector who had apparently vanished without trace. They thought he had fallen down a garbage chute. The girl kept telling him about her experienced, while Rick grimly listened.
Epsilon society was organized very democratically. Everyone had the right to use their abilities in the way they saw fit. Because they had no problems with food, heat and lighting, the people of the sector were not engaged in survival but in more highbrow activities that let them continue the development of culture. The history of humanity was greatly valued in the Epsilon sector. This was why the Council had come up with a way to keep these memories alive in the case of a global disaster, if the Main Computer was to break down and the library and archives were to be destroyed. The hundred most intelligent people in the sector were selected for this, and they took the names of the cities of the earth for themselves. They were united into a sort of Fund—a community of living memory, that included Paris himself and people such as London, New York, Moscow and Hong Kong.
“Can you imagine that?” Maya's admiration was limitless. “But that isn't all.”
She told him that the sector was divided into virtual ancient states that had once existed on planet Earth. There were many of them, and they were all different, with their own cultures and systems of values. The scientists from each of these areas of the sector studied the history of the country assigned to them. There were also universal scientists that tried to understand the way the world worked and came up with various theories. There were artists, poets and musicians.
Maya was especially impressed with how cultured everyone was in the Epsilon sector—the people were polite and friendly, and it was possible to speak about a whole range of subjects to any of them for hours. However, they were not particularly interested in outside space. It seemed that they were completely content with everything and they were entirely at ease in this comfortable world.
“Yes,” Maya said, “it is as if they are running in place. There aren't that many scientists compared to the majority. Everyone likes to play and enjoy themselves.”
Maya looked happy. Her eyes shone as she laughed about some amusing detail or talked ceaselessly as if she was afraid to forget the details of this eventful day. Rick could feel the smell of spices coming from her.
Suddenly, Maya fell onto the bed, stretched and yawned.
“I think I'm tired as well...”
Rick sat down by the bed.
“Maya,” he called out.
“What?” She was almost asleep and closing her eyes. “I hope you don't mind if I stay with you?”
“Of course not.”
“Thank you. I almost forgot, Paris was saying something about the rebels. That they had fought back against the mutant attack and they are now... pushing Cornelius back down towards the reactor... Paris was very satisfied. He promised that Ahmed would not be harmed.”
Rick sat down on the floor with his back to the bed. Then he felt her hand on his shoulder.
“Rick,” she paused. “I'm cold.”
He took her by the hand. Her palm was burning hot. Rick sprung up in concern, bent down over her and touched her forehead. No, everything seemed to be fine. Now, he sat by her side and carefully looked at her face—her fiery red hair was strewn across the pillow. Maya opened her eyes wide, and her sleep seemed to be gone in an instant. The girl's palm gripped his hand tight.
“Promise me,” Maya whispered.
“What?”
“Promise that you won't leave me.”
Rick spent a long time looking into her big, bright eyes.
“Why are you asking me to do this?”
“I'm afraid,” she said. “I have had a headache all day today. I tried to read the sign above the recreation hall, but the letters turned into spots. Paris was telling me something for a while, but I did not remember a word. He said things to us, and I nodded without understanding what he was talking about.”
“You just got tired by the end of the day.”
“I am forgetting words. What's happening?”
“I don't know. Don't be afraid, you are just very tired. You will wake up as good as new tomorrow morning.”
“Promise me anyway.” She gripped his hand so tight that it seemed that she was hanging above a chasm and Mother Darkness was about to accept Maya into her bosom.
“I promise,” Rick breathed out quietly.
Maya spent a while looking at him and then closed her eyes. Rick sat there, not daring to move until she started to breathe deeply and evenly. Then he carefully disentangled himself and crept out into the corridor. He did not want to sleep.
The ceiling lamps had been dimmed a little, but even this soft light would have been considered a frivolous luxury in the Omicron Commune. Rick slowly walked along the corridor, without thinking of the direction. There was music playing somewhere ahead. The flowing chords brought forth mixed feeling of joy and sadness at the same time. He approached the source of the sound and soon found himself by the entranc
e to a small hall where the lights were out. Only the stage was lit. A man sat on a stool there and conjured up sounds using a giant box which stood on three legs. It was so unusual that Rick could not help but stop and listen.
The music poured forth, full of dignified grief and sublime pride, like a long dream. The melody seemed to be an echo of someone's life, a life lived millennia ago. This was the music of the ancients and it was full of such hidden meaning and such substantial depth even though it was devoid of words that Rick was in awe of the masterful skill of its unknown composer. The music was doing something to him, it was changing him from inside, taking over the most hidden corners of his soul, bringing forth emotion and an incredibly strange but once familiar feeling. It was as if someone spoke to him and sent their greetings from the depths of the centuries, someone he knew, “Hello! At last, we meet again!” Standing still and holding his breath, afraid of disturbing the fragile harmony of the feeling that engulfed him, Rick looked at the stage where a stranger performed an ancient melody, gently swaying in time on the stool in front of the instrument.
The stage was bathed in the soft, silvery light of lamps hidden from the eye by a drape under the ceiling, and Rick suddenly thought that this light was coming here from outside. His perception of time seemed to disappear, it seemed that it had stood still and only the sound of music could be heard. Suddenly, the stranger in front of the instrument was still. The last chords rang out like a faint echo, and the light that poured upon the stage went out. Rick left in complete silence, not daring to look back.
He was thinking about the ancients.
The corridor led him to the balcony over the gap between segments. The windows on the opposite side were dark, apart from one or two, as well as a long row that was lit below—something was happening there. Rick saw a figure walking back and forth behind a translucent curtain, but he did not look closer. He just leaned on his elbows on the railings and stared into space, deep in thought.
A light wind was howling as it flew among the air ducts between the segments. Or maybe it was Mother Darkness herself that was crying and calling out for lost souls. This quiet howl got stronger or weaker, sometimes replaced by barely audible whistling.
Suddenly, the whistling had a pattern. Rick did not immediately realize that the rhythmic sound was not made by the wind when he felt the presence of another.
He turned his head and saw Tommo sitting on the railing a mere two paces away. Dark ocular lenses with red dots stared directly at Rick, who tried to say something in greeting to his old friend, but Tommo softly shook his head and raised a finger to his chin, which meant, “Be quiet!”
The prole slid onto the ledge on the other side of the railings and called Rick over with a wave of his head. Rick approached. Tommo was stubbornly indicating that he should follow. Rick looked down and the world swam before his eyes, with an idiotic desire to jump into the black abyss as he felt weakness in his arms and legs and an unpleasant ache in his bones. The prole continued to insistently make signs at him, despite his silent protest. Rick looked around, but mostly because he wanted to get himself together and get his thoughts in order. The corridor was still silent, and this was when Rick made his decision—he breathed out and climbed over the railing. Holding on to it for dear life, he followed Tommo using small and careful steps.
They passed around ten sections this way. Rick moved his feet trying to keep his head clear and not think of anything. He knew that if he looked down, fear will overcome him and he will be unable to ever move again, gripping the railings until his muscles would cramp and he would fall into the chasm. A gust of wind suddenly blew into his back and Rick lost his balance for a split second. His palms immediately got covered with sweat. One of his hands slipped, and Rick clumsily waved it, balancing on the edge, but Tommo was quick to react and supported him, preventing him from falling. The prole pulled him after himself and then suddenly disappeared from sight in a niche, dragging Rick inside forcibly.
Ough... Rick was staring into space, unable to stop trembling.
He was alive!
Meanwhile, Tommo opened up a panel on the wall, pressed something inside and a rectangular section of wall slid aside right in front of Rick with a faint hiss. Tommo grabbed him by the sleeve a dragged him through the opening.
Bending down under the low ceiling, Rick followed the prole along a long tunnel. They turned into separate branches several times. Unlike the lower levels and the air ducts, this place smelled of something unusual and chemical. The tunnel came to an end at last. They stood in a huge space which looked like some sort of warehouse. There were boxes and box racks as high as several grown men, with removable shelves and labels. Some of the boxes had glass doors and shelves full of glass flasks could be seen inside. The flasks contained germinated seeds and were labeled in two languages. Rick walked along the racks and read the labels, choosing them at random: “Flour Corn (Zea mays amylacea)”, “Apple tree (Malus domestica)”, “Radish (Raphanus sativus)”. The shelves full of plants ended and shelves full of thousands of flasks filled with multicolored liquids began. The boxes were shut tights and radiated cold. Rick read a couple of the labels: “Horse (Equus ferus caballus): 10 000 embryos”, “European Perch (Perca fluviatilis): 100 000 eggs”.
Tommo kept walking on towards a pillar of light that could be seen among the racks. Rick decided not to fall behind and think on what he had seen later. They crossed several large halls, which were connected with archways, until they arrived in a round room that had a strange diagram on the floor: uneven yellow blotches on a blue background, with a net of curving lines drawn over the top that were at an equal distance to each other. He walked over a small blotch labeled “Australia” and stepped on slightly larger one labeled “Africa”. A comfortable chair with a control terminal on the side towered over the largest blotch. Tommo looked at Rick and pointed at the chair, as if he was saying “Sit down”.
“How did you find this place?”
Tommo stayed silent. Rick did not hurry to sit in the chair. He carefully examined the space around him—several storage galleries led into the room from different directions, containing plants, animals and definitely some other things, but there was no time to stroll around the galleries and look at the details. The room had a high ceiling, forming an ideal semi-sphere. Mysterious drawing and diagrams were drawn on the ceiling, but without the blotches this time—instead, there were many flickering dots scattered against a black background, some of them connected by lines into odd figures that were labeled with names.
Rick looked around at the labels, greedily memorizing the ancient names, as he knew that it was important even if he did not understand their meaning. There was one there that looked like a scoop: “Ursa Major”. Or another one that looked like a worm coming out of a cup of compost: “Hydra”. And that other one was called “Orion”. And that twisted figure was called “Bootes”. He was moving his lips, looking up as he walked around the chair and reading the same labels several times. There was a thick scattering of dots going diagonally across the middle of the semi-sphere, which looked like a dusty path.
What did it all mean?
Rick took another step and almost fell as he walked into the chair. He looked at Tommo, who was patiently waiting and pointing at the terminal. Then Rick turned around and fell with his back into the chair. He raised a cloud of dust which tickled his nose and made him have to make an effort not to sneeze. He examined the control panel and moved around, getting used to the seat and the armrests. The chair was very similar to the one that Rick had once sat in the particle accelerator control room.
His hand stretched towards the screen all by itself.
The mechanisms hidden within the terminal and chair made their familiar, steady sounds, breathing life into the ancient machine. When his fingers touched the screen, Rick felt a wave of energy that ran along his arm to his shoulder and then throughout his body. It was very pleasant.
“The future does not come instantly,” a
confident voice suddenly spoke.
Rick flinched—a gray-haired stranger in a gray suit was looking at him from the screen with a smile. The figure of the stranger rippled for a moment, as it if was coming from the surface of a cup of water, but then the picture became clear.
“It surreptitiously sneaks into the present,” the gray-haired man added.
“Who are you?”
“I am the Architect.”Rick's hands, legs and chest were suddenly fixed in place by soft bands of tape. At first, he only felt the pressure of the belts but then started to feel heat in the places where they touched his body. His head suddenly cleared, and a wave similar to the one he experienced when he touched the screen passed through Rick's body as he suddenly understood that this was the pulse of Thermopolis.
“Greetings, my distant descendant,” the gray-haired man said.
“Are you still alive?”
“Of course not.” The Architect smiled. “I passed away a long time ago. You are speaking to my interactive projection. There is no other way to have this conversation. I don't know how many years have passed, whether it is a hundred, a thousand or even more or if you even keep track of the years. But you are here, and this indicated two facts. The first is that you are a bearer of the unique genetic code of the descendants of the Spanidis family. Which means you are my distant great-grandson. And the second fact is that Thermopolis is ready for the Uranus program. The fruit is ripe.”
Rick's mouth went dry.
“What is the Uranus program?” he whispered.
“It is the salvation of humanity.” The gray-haired man waved his hand. “This is an Ark, which was created a long time before the end of the world. Do you know the Biblical legend of Noah?”
“No.”
“Noah knew how to talk to God. One day, God told him that humanity will be destroyed, but he had a chance to save everything that was best. And Noah started building a great boat, an Ark that he used to gather every animal to begin afresh. The people laughed at him but when the end of the world came, they were washed from the surface of the world like dirt. And now I have become Noah for the people of my time. I predicted the epidemic long before it occurred and started to prepare a plan for salvation, preparing for it all my life. The virus that appeared attacked the brain and destroyed neurons, turning humans into mindless animals. Nature's self-preservation mechanism did its work, as it turned on at the last moment when we had used up all the resources and almost destroyed the planet's biosphere, as we got obsessed with the modification of antibiotics and thought that we had defeated all diseases. However, we forgot about natural entropy. In principle, nothing on Earth could save itself from the virus, even the population of Thermopolis. This is why I predicted the gradual deterioration of our civilization to a medieval level, to slave ownership or even to a prehistoric tribal system. I don't know how long the deterioration will continue, but it will end one day. The Earth will have a rest from humanity and will be ready for our arrival again. I predicted this development. Evolution needed hundreds of thousands of years to turn the neanderthal into homo sapiens, but I decided to speed up this process. Thermopolis is not only an Ark, but also my evolutionary machine that must drag you, the people of the future, from your animalistic non-existence, awaken your dormant intelligence and give you the keys to the future. That is the Uranus program.”