Emergence

by L. J. Suarez

  One of the Monad engineers turned to Gideron. “We are ready to commence with the upload.”

  Gideron swallowed. “Proceed.”

  The engineer turned to the console. “Initiate upload sequence.”

  The rest of the engineers began working, while the lead engineer peered into a holographic screen floating above the console. Below the readout, a vertical green bar moved toward the right, and a humming sound emanated from the main computer core, growing in intensity. Gideron watched with anticipation as the green bar filled up. Once the bar filled with green, nothing seemed to happen for a long while, and the sound from the core remained at the same pitch. Gideron started to worry. He moved closer to the engineers, who looked equally dumbfounded as they stared into the console.

  “What happened?” Gideron asked.

  “I am uncertain,” the lead engineer answered. “This should have worked. We ran hundreds of simulations.”

  Just as Gideron was starting to doubt that the plan would work, the console made several electric sounds. The lead engineer studied his screen closely. “I am getting a reading.”

  Suddenly, the parts inside the tube started to twist and turn independently, and an array of rainbow colors began to emanate inside the pillar with an eerie glow. Millions of tiny blue digital squares rose above the computer console, and Gideron and the engineers looked upon the light in awe as the digital squares formed a Monad head. A familiar female face came into focus, her eyes closed.

  Gideron took a few steps toward the floating head. As soon as he got close, the eyes opened. Gideron froze in place, and the rest of the engineers still looked shocked, not daring to move. The female head stared down at Gideron, and a gentle smile crossed her face.

  Gideron reached his hand out. “Sirah?” he whispered. “Can…you hear me?”

  “Yes Gideron,” Sirah said in a synthesized tone.

  The engineers turned to Gideron in astonishment, and Gideron returned the same expression. “How do you feel?” he asked her.

  The Archivist stared at Gideron for a moment. “I have not felt better.”

  Gideron felt a huge weight lift. He smiled. “It is good to have you back.”

  At last, the plan had worked. The lead engineer moved over to Gideron’s side and asked, “How do we proceed from here?”

  “Have your team run a full diagnostic on all of The Archivist’s sub-systems to confirm they are running at optimal levels. This operation is to remain classified.”

  The lead engineer appeared bewildered. “But…aren’t we going to let the people know that The Archivist lives?”

  Gideron glared at him. “The Council and I have decided on a different approach to reintroduce the Supreme Intelligence to the population. Now carry out my instructions.”

  “Understood,” the lead engineer said without further question. He returned to his team by the console.

  Gideron stared into the glowing eyes of the revived Monad leader. Indeed, Gideron and the Inner Council had a plan to bring The Archivist back into the public eye. Not as a mere mortal or machine, but as an ageless god. It was the only way to maintain control over the masses, and to ensure the survival of not just the Council, but of their way of life.

  On that day, The Archivist was reborn.

  Chapter Eleven

  NORTHERN PLAINS, THE OUTLANDS

  YEAR 12039

  When Ionne came around, she found herself still strapped into her seat.

  The forward viewport window of the airship was shattered, and the pilot appeared unconscious. It finally dawned on her that they’d crashed. The last thing she remembered was the airship nose-diving, spinning out of control toward the surface.

  Ionne wasn’t sure how long she’d been unconscious herself. Lar, who was seated next to her, rubbed his large forehead. Ionne turned toward the back compartment and found the rest of her team still seated in their chairs, seemingly awake. As dazed as she was, Ionne felt foolish to have attempted to flee from the dig site under these weather conditions. Part of her wished they had left before the storm arrived, but feeling remorseful was not going to get them out of their current predicament.

  Her automatic seatbelt retracted and she moved toward the cockpit. There was blood across the pilot’s face and over the controls. A screen appeared on Ionne’s Implants, revealing the pilot’s vitals and confirming what she already knew: he was dead, most likely from receiving the full impact of the crash.

  The ship rocked slightly in the fierce winds. She turned to the rest of the group in the back. “Is anyone hurt?” She tried to control the shakiness in her voice.

  Everyone shook their heads, though she could make out a few bruises and scratches on some of their faces.

  “What happened?” Lar asked from his seat.

  “We crashed.” She turned to the side window of the ship; the conditions outside were worsening. She zoomed in with her Optic Implants and spotted a ruined structure only a few yards from their downed craft. She turned back to the group. “We cannot stay here. There is a structure only a few yards away. If we hurry, we can make it there and use it as a shelter to wait out the storm inside.”

  “We cannot go out there now. It is too dangerous,” one of the scientists protested.

  “It is not safe here!” Ionne said firmly. “We cannot reach the other teams, or anyone else outside of this sector due to the storm’s interference. According to my Implants, the worst part of the storm has not yet passed through here. It may be only minutes before the full brunt of the storm hits us, and this craft will not withstand that level of force. We must go.”

  Another scientist spoke up. “What makes you believe we will be safer inside that structure than in here?”

  “That structure has been there for centuries and it still stands. It will hold.”

  The craft rocked on its side again, more noticeably this time. The scientists exchanged worried glances.

  Lar said, “She is right. We should leave now while we still have a chance.”

  The rest of the group nodded their heads almost reluctantly, knowing full well it was their best option for survival.

  Ionne nodded. “As soon as we are outside, form a single-file line. I need everyone to stay as close together as possible. I will lead the way.”

  Everyone rose to their feet, strapping on protective goggles and covering their mouths with scarves. Ionne moved to the side door, breathed heavily, and forced it opened with all her strength.

  Outside, amidst the violence of the storm, the excavation team followed Ionne to the ruined structure, fighting to keep their ground. The storm was ravaging the site. As they trekked on, heavy winds and huge sand gusts surrounded them, millions of microscopic pebbles blowing against their faces like sharp, tiny blades. Visibility was near zero, but Ionne could make out the structure ahead. They were getting closer.

  Suddenly a piece of debris—which looked to be a part of their excavation equipment—flew over Ionne. She ducked before the debris severed her head. She whipped around, watching helplessly as the debris knocked Lar back and out of sight.

  Ionne wanted to shout out for him, but the terror she felt inside took away her breath.

  The scientists all gasped as they watched their colleague disappear into the storm. “That was Lar!” one of the scientists shouted. “He has been taken by the storm.”

  “We have to help him,” another scientist yelled.

  “It is too dangerous to go back there. We must keep moving.”

  “We can’t just leave him.”

  “It is likely he did not survive the blow!”

  As the scientists bickered amongst themselves, Ionne remained frozen. She stared out through the raging storm. The scene playing out before her was eerily reminiscent of how her father had died two years ago.

  He could already be dead, she rationalized. But what if he’s alive? I can’t just stand here and let him die out there.

  Ionne saw flashes of her father making eye contact with her as he fell
through the crevice that had formed beneath him. She closed her eyes tightly. Breathing fast, she reopened her eyes. She looked out toward the storm, this time with a stern expression. I cannot let this happen again. I will not let another one die.

  Ionne turned to the other scientists and shouted over the howling wind, “Get to the structure. I will look for Lar.”

  “Are you mad?!” A scientist balked. “Lar is most likely dead. We must all continue toward the structure.”

  “I am not leaving him out here. This is not open to debate. Everyone go to the structure. Now! I will return.” With that, Ionne marched out in the direction Lar had been thrown, while the others stood behind and watched her disappear into the storm.

  She fought against the wind, kicking through the sand beneath her feet. She made it to the last spot she had seen Lar and shielded her face against the winds as she scanned the area. Even with her Optic Implants, visibility in the storm had been reduced to zero. One of her Implant screens worked feverishly to get a fix on Lar’s current position, but he was nowhere in sight.

  Ionne called out his name in desperation. “Lar!”

  All she heard was the screech of the howling wind.

  She called out his name again and again. Nothing.

  Taking a deep breath, she tried to reach him telepathically by linking her Optic Implants to his. Again, nothing. She kept moving in the direction the debris knocked him to. The skies above were blood red, illuminated by lightning strikes. If he was buried in sand, it would make locating him even more challenging.

  Ionne had started to feel hopeless. She could barely see anything in these horrific conditions, and the storm was intensifying.

  Then she had a realization: she could track Lar’s Optic Implants like a homing beacon. It was obvious, but the stress of the situation had made rational thinking difficult. With a single thought, a blue beacon appeared on Ionne’s Implants, indicating where Lar’s Implants were located. She followed the blinking dot on her Implants. After a few minutes of searching, Ionne spotted a body partially covered in sand on the ground. Atop it lay the debris that had collided with Lar.

  Ionne sprinted toward the prone body as fast as the deep sand permitted, dropping to the ground and turning it over. It was Lar, and she was relieved to find he was still alive; his chest slowly moved upward, then downward. But he was unconscious, and there was a long piece of metal tethered to the debris which punctured his lower abdomen. With a quick scan of her Implants, she determined that the metal had not penetrated any of his major organs.

  “Lar, can you hear me?!” Ionne shouted, shaking him.

  Lar finally came around and started to cough. He looked disoriented. “What happened?” he mumbled. He then winced as he attempted to move.

  “No time to explain.” She took out a small plasma cutter from her belt. “Remain still.” Ionne steadied her hand as she aimed the cutter at the metal’s center and a thin red beam began cutting through. In almost an instant, the metal broke off in half, freeing Lar. The small tip of the metal still protruded from his abdomen. Ionne holstered the cutter and said, “I am going to remove the metal lodged in your abdomen.” With a swift movement of her hand, she pulled out the remaining piece of metal.

  Lar let out a yell of pain.

  “We must move now!” Ionne said. She pulled Lar’s arm over her shoulder and slowly helped him to his feet. Lar groaned as he was lifted off the ground. They made their way, stumbling and fighting the wind, to the shelter where the other scientists had headed. The wind was unrelenting, and Ionne had trouble maintaining her balance while holding onto the archeologist. She wasn’t sure of the shelter’s position with the sand blowing everywhere and blinding her. A smaller screen that tracked the storm displayed at the top right-hand corner of her Implants; they only had seconds until the worst part of it was on them.

  That was when Ionne spotted the rest of the scientists coming to their aid. One member of the group lifted Lar’s other arm, and between him and Ionne, they carried Lar the rest of the way to the shelter.

  They made it into the protection of the ruin just as the wind reached its maximum strength. Ionne and Lar rested their backs against a wall. One of the other scientists approached Ionne. “Are you alright, Doctor?”

  Ionne nodded slowly. “Yes. Check on Lar—he is wounded.”

  The scientist placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and went to Lar’s aid with a medical kit in hand. He was coughing uncontrollably, and still looked a bit disoriented, but Ionne was confident he would make a full recovery. She looked up at the ceiling of the ruin and heaved a great sigh of relief. They would call for transport back to Empyreum once the storm cleared.

  Ionne felt something inside her, something she had struggled with for a long time: inner peace. She hadn’t saved her father’s life that day, but in a way she’d redeemed her honor by saving Lar. Yes—Ionne was at last at peace with herself.

  Chapter Twelve

  EMPYREUM

  YEAR 12039

  Ionne entered Kieran’s genetics lab, passing several technicians and scientists at their stations as she made her way to the back.

  Kieran stood in front of a vertical glass tube filled with blue liquid. She stopped next to him and looked inside the tank. A human male clone, apparently unconscious, floated inside.

  “Magnificent,” Ionne said. “He does not look that dissimilar from us. I hope this one survives.”

  Kieran smiled. “Everything looks quite promising thus far. My instincts tell me he will.”

  Since the excavation crew had returned from their last expedition to the ancient city several days ago, Kieran and the other geneticists had been attempting to clone the human remains they had brought back to the Institute. Most of the remains were in a too severe state of decay to have enough DNA extracted for cloning—except for one: the human male floating before Kieran and Ionne.

  Despite a successful cloning of the remaining human specimen, he didn’t survive for very long. In the first few trials, he came out horribly deformed and died within minutes. During the last few trials the human form seemed more intact, but still died quickly.

  That was when Kieran realized that humans could not breathe the air; Earth was different centuries ago compared to today. Kieran theorized that, due to eons of global warming and other atmospheric alterations, it wouldn’t be possible for a human from the past to survive in their atmosphere. After making a few alterations to his genetic sequence and mixing in eight percent Monad DNA, Kieran was confident they had at last successfully produced a healthy human.

  Suddenly the human’s eyes opened, startling Ionne. Looking dazed and confused, the human pressed his hand against the glass.

  “Can he see us?” Ionne asked.

  “Unlikely. His eyes are new. It will take time for his vision to normalize.”

  The clone extended both his hands out, pressing against the glass at either side of the tank. He slowly dropped his arms, and his shoulders fell with them. He seemed to be calming.

  Kieran turned to Ionne. “I want you to know that your father would be very proud of what you have accomplished here, Ionne. I am fortunate that you are a part of the team.”

  Ionne smiled warmly. “It is an honor to be a part of something greater than myself. And you were right about one thing.”

  Kieran gave her a curious look, waiting for her to finish the statement.

  “This is what I was meant to do,” Ionne said. “Thank you for the opportunity to be here, and for believing in me.”

  Kieran nodded proudly. Since joining Project Extant, Ionne had taken on a leadership role among the scientists and had become a prominent member of the Science Institute. She had even developed close relationships with many of the team members here, especially with Kieran. Not only was she his apprentice, but also his trusted ally. She saw a lot of her father in the elder geneticist.

  As Ionne turned back to the tank, she found the human had lost consciousness: he once again floated lifelessly ins
ide the tube. “If this one does survive, he will be introduced into a whole new world he will not recognize. We must prepare him for what awaits him.”

  “I have already seen to that,” Kieran assured her. He then asked, “What name should we give him? HCS-6 seems so impersonal.”

  Ionne turned to Kieran with a wide grin. “Perhaps we could call him Six for short.”

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