by Thomas Zman
Frank seemed interested in the Galvanic Tap. He walked around its base, scratched his head several times, and then frowned. I though he was going to ask a question, but didn’t. He just smiled contently and commented, “Amazing. Simply amazing.”
I couldn’t figure him out. All this time we’ve been here and he hasn’t asked the Phoebians any questions. Just talked about himself. I remembered Frank as one with an inquisitive mind, always reading technical journals and science periodicals. His attention always seemed focused inward on something of speculative nature, pondering phenomenon that bordered reality and technology. And now, here he is about this ‘science fiction city’ with such carefree revere that I cannot reason it. I can only venture to guess that what were once his ‘empirical imaginings’ had now come to fruition. As if he’d known all along a place like this indeed existed.
“I think we’d better start back up,” said Kris. “There’s a lot more to see. And it is just a trifle warm down here.” He smiled; a moustache of sweat had developed above his neatly shaven lip.
“There is a question inside you,” Aylipsa conveyed to me as we started back up the stairwell; the heat making my face redden and heart race. The alien continued: “Let not a question be cast askance whence it can enlighten the days ahead and advance thy own self towards greater understanding. I speak to you this not to hinder your way, but to clear a path for the long journey of your mind. It shall be the first and last time I, or anyone, grasps a thought from the privacy of your conscience. For the conscience is most sacred and if one cannot have solitude within this inner abode, then their spirit surely lays open to waste.”
I felt imposed upon, paranoid; knowing that whatever I thought, the aliens knew -- though I already knew this. Kris and Dan were humans and so I didn’t have to worry of them having such abilities. Or did I? Frank, too – perhaps. Is that why he asked no questions, but already ‘knew’ the answers? I was letting my imagination run wild -- again. Despite what Aylipsa said (thankfully he spoke only to me, the others not hearing his lecture) I concealed my thoughts with a jumble of insignificant observations and used these obscuring thoughts to shield my inner thinking.
As we ascended the stairwell I could see thick cables running from the Tap assemblage into the walls. I reasoned these must connect to an underground power grid around the city. I tried to avoid thinking of what Aylipsa had said by keeping my attention focused on the sights before me – and the noticeable decrease in temperature as we ascended. I was just about to ask Frank a question when the stairs ended and we stood upon the upper most level.
Suddenly from the din of activity on the floor there appeared before us a small robot. “Hello,” it said in a pleasant, synthesized voice. “My name is NIM (Neural Independent Mode). No larger than a Phoebian it was a square-framed unit on a tractor-tread assembly. Its small angular head sported two sharp-lensed eyes as two pendulous arms extruding from its sides gesticulated a welcoming motion. “Please follow me. We are all to board an auto-hopper I have waiting outside.” The robot turned abruptly and whizzed along, its arms tucked awkwardly at his sides.
I looked at Frank who grimaced a smile, then too, Dan and Kris.
We followed the contraption outside to an awaiting auto-hopper. The hopper was of basic design, one of like the many I had seen flying around the city. Its hull was gray, saucer-shaped, with a ring of bench seats inside. In the center was a simple control stick jutting up from the floor. A slight gangway led up the side of the craft, which rested on three struts of landing gear. NIM rolled himself up the incline to take hold of the control stick. The rest of us followed and were quickly seated.
“Everyone ready?” NIM resounded.
“Proceed,” replied Aylipsa.
With a hum the craft came to life. My skin tingled as the auto-hopper left the ground, quickly gaining velocity and altitude. I could tell we were moving only by the passing of the city, for the vessel itself exerted no forces upon my body. With much excitement our group cheered out as NIM piloted the saucer between buildings and columns; however, the carefree ride was intense and I unsure of the robot’s proficiency. I did not let it be known that I was concerned – though I’m sure Aylipsa did. Instead, I laughed and shouted joyfully with the others.
Up in the hazy green mists near the ceiling of the cavern the entire city – that is a good portion of it – came into view. Many interesting sights caught my attention. Not only were there oddly shaped non-circular buildings, but huge sculptures and monoliths sprinkled throughout as well. There were even buildings resembling those of ancient empires; castles wherefrom kings once ruled. Aylipsa elaborated briefly about the cultural significance of a handful of these sights. All very interesting.
NIM piloted us up to the roof of the cavern where lightning sizzled passed us on several occasions, further increasing my anxiety. I laughed nervously. Ozone was overwhelmingly intense at this altitude and irritated my senses. Through the mists of the dense gases (and the tears of my eyes) I could scarcely distinguish the electrodes, which transferred the bluish energy from girder to girder. And so, as if to diffuse my inhibitions, I questioned – through a choking cough -- the Phoebian about the lightning.
“It simply conjoins the necessary free-flowing molecules in our atmosphere into the more complex nutrients we all breathe.” Aylipsa inhaled deeply, oddly bellowing his chest, enjoying the richness of atmosphere. NIM pitched the craft hard to avoid a protruding stalactite; a lightning bolt sizzled passed us, and my eyes widened. For a moment I thought there was a hint of a smile on the alien’s face. “There is little need of concern, my friend. Our pilots always remain a safe distance from the arcing energy and the bolts you see always follow the same paths.”
His explanation left me inquisitive. However, I’d give myself some time to ponder his latest response and perhaps try to reason out any other questions I might have by myself. Fortunately NIM lowered the craft’s altitude and the air became less pungent.
We continued on over the alien city. I sat silently and observed the outlandish below. I thought: NIM’s piloting of the auto-hopper was artistry; his servos performed in succinct orchestration via his computerized-cognition, which conducted the necessary nuances for flight. Kris and Dan talked of home; Frank, surprisingly listened earnestly. Frank, as I would later discover, was only trying to open up to his new friends by expressing himself – even if it was a little much. Aylipsa stared over the side of the Hopper; his head teetering slightly as he watched with ominous eyes the events of below. I thought of the alien; seeming so alone, detached from emotion, yet always in control. A figure of pure logic and authority.
As I pondered these thoughts, the craft rose and dove, pitched and yawed as it traveled the invisible thoroughfares of Neuphobes’ skies. I attempted, but couldn’t reason, as to why there were no forces exerted upon our bodies as the craft maneuvered; so I asked the alien:
“Auto-hoppers operate within a self-generated electro-magnetic field. This field, through instantaneous compensations from the onboard gravitron, then reacts to counter all natural forces, thus neutralizing inertia. An Auto-Hopper’s field is quite limited however, unlike that of our Inter-planetary Saucers which emit fields spanning great distances.”
NIM let out a hideous klaxon shrill that disrupted my thoughts (which wasn’t too hard to do since I still had yet to become accustomed to my new depths of cognizance). Throwing the auto-hopper into a dive it looked as though he was going to crash us into a support column. We all roared in horror. An instant before impact, however, the hopper righted itself and gracefully settled on the roof of a nearby building, some four hundred feet above the ground.
“On-board failsafe landing system,” NIM bleeped as he lowered the gangway. I removed myself from the hopper, admittedly shaken.
We were all led along the rooftop to a large cube. From the smooth whiteness of it a thin line appeared, and when Aylipsa waved his hand over the line it widened revealing an elevator. ‘The Main Control Center’, I
thought. That was odd, why here? No one said where we were going; yet somehow I sensed our destination . . . And so we stood silent as the lift plummeted us towards the brains of Neuphobes. Controlling my thoughts was becoming a bit easier.
The elevator door opened and a hive of technological activity engulfed us. A large room was filled with rows of communications equipment: glowing, flickering computer monitors, the buzzing jumble of indiscernible intonations -- all attended by a multitude of stoic Phoebian beings. I was overwhelmed by the clamor. I glanced at Frank, his face distorted; he too was awed.
“Let us go. There is much to see,” directed Aylipsa. NIM whirred his motors, as if an expression of excitement, and began a spinning motion of his torso.
We were led down a central aisle. “These monitors scan all of the western hemispheres’ communication outlets,” Aylipsa began his narrative. “All news feeds, television, social media platforms, computer web-sites, and all the frequencies of the airwaves are simultaneously monitored. This Center is also inter-connected to similar Centers in each of our eleven other cities. We also keep watch over the ‘dark channels’ and military feeds as well, monitoring the world’s strategic areas, zones of conflict, governments, and of course the business world. Even the simplest ‘text’ or ‘tweet’ that ever leaves someone’s phone passes through one of our centers. What you see as blurs on these screens and hear as a jumbled buzzle are but a small sample of what is actually processioned across this and all facilities on a real time basis. Only the Phoebian mind can discern these flickering images and obscure intonations and extract any information that may be of importance.”
Aliens sat attentively behind the rows of monitors, wearing headsets, staring at the screens of flickering images. Amongst them all an occasional movement I did observe when an image on one of the screens would freeze, requiring the slightest adjustment of one of the various modulating controls -- via touch-technology -- then quickly meld back again into the coruscating jumble.
The entire room was efficiently arranged with all media/television scanners along the central aisle and radio/shortwave monitors flanking areas to the left and right. At the far end of the room was still another long counter stretching the entire width of the facility; twelve stations were set across it, evenly spaced one from the other. These stations had still further monitors that purportedly scanned the Internet and even security cameras in every conceivable nook and cranny from around the world. From behind all this equipment ran bundles of fiber optic cables which flowed themselves up collectors and into the ceiling. All the facility was abuzz with information of which no human could ever decipher, thus the reason for they’re being none present. If it was viewable on the worldwide web it was channeled through this room – which, by the way, had the smell of heated electronics and chlorine.
“There is another level above this facility that is solely for the purpose of keeping our atmospheric composition consistent here in Neuphobes,” Aylipsa informed us. “And still another level that regulates energy flow to all our buildings, walkways, and various other infrastructures about our city. Human workers, supervised by Phoebians, monitor all these facilities. To view them would be time consuming, thus the reason for my briefly telling you of them.”
NIM led our group out of the Control Center while Kris was telling us of another part of the Complex where Daily Activity Scheduling took place. He said he had worked there recently and found it to be very interesting in that all residents of the city had planned assignments and activities custom designed specifically for them in complementation of their personality. Frank questioned Kris along the lines of this revelation; Dan was mumbling something; as for myself, I was content to just take in the surroundings and listen to the others.
Sauntering down a long, slightly inclined hallway I asked if we could rest a moment. My legs were again getting a little weary. Frank seconded my request. Alypsa once again gestured and two benches slid out from the wall. The four of us were seated; Aylipsa stood, NIM beeped.
“Everyone has hidden intellect,” Dan’s mumblings suddenly became audible, “no matter how slight it may be. The mind is ever so vast, and if proper control is used, one may have dominion over one’s destiny; and by having this, true contentment is at hand.” Dan’s eyes widened, looking over Frank and myself. He then focused his words on me. “Mr. Coleman, you are eager to broaden, absorb, and perhaps ultimately influence. You have just begun your intellectual expansion. Remember always to control your thinking: once master of your mind the rewards are endless. Be not judicious: for we are all equals and all have good and bad about us. Respect others: strip yourself of ego and the higher meaning of life will be revealed. View life with inquiring eyes: and your mind will open. And as your mind broadens do not allow it to diminish your precepts. Never intellectually deceive yourself into doing something morally unjust. Self-fulfillment is the goal; leave not an uncomely mark upon any to achieve it. Not everyone here in Neuphobes accepts the higher intellect; many are perfectly content as from whence they came.”
Dan’s sudden outburst of philosophy amazed me. I was about to ask him questions, but he had already turned his attention to Frank -- It would be impolite to interrupt. Besides, our group was rested and eager to continue. I felt energetic, uplifted after Dan’s words.
“Dan really knows how to turn a phrase,” Kris commented as we raised ourselves to carry on.
“That’s a fact!” I returned.
NIM popped and whistled, once again out front of our group, waving his arms for all to follow.
We next toured the Water Separating Facility located adjacent to the Control Center. Here, Kris explained, the facility served two purposes: In that the limitless supply of ocean water -- inducted via intakes on the ocean floor -- was filtered and separated on a most grand scale, wherefrom all the necessary minerals and nutrients were extracted before it was ever channeled through the series of strategically engineered aqua-ducts surrounding the city. Many of these minerals were collected and stored, used for monetary endeavors on the surface. The extracted complex nutrients however were bio-modified, re-synthesized high up in the formulators over the city where they produced the life-sustaining atmosphere of Neuphobes. I believe he phrased it as: “Free flowing molecular chains of proteins, carbohydrates and other essential nutrients, which are directly absorbed into our blood streams via aspiration –“
“Excuse me for interrupting, Kris,” Aylipsa began, “but I see that you have matters well in hand. I shall be going now for there are things amidst the city that require my attention.” Aylipsa affably extended his hand to Kris and Dan, who shook it gently. Then it was my turn. For the brief moment of contact the cold clammy palm felt so frail that if I had wanted to I could have easily crushed it –along with the ‘monster’ that had imprisoned me here. Though I quickly subdued that rage with sympathy for the delicate being. He turned to Frank, then NIM, and somberly shuffled away.
Aylipsa had been silent for he was obviously allowing Kris to lead. These thoughts occupied my mind as we passed through the Water Separating Facilities’ network of outlandish plumbing, pipes, tanks, and coils of every conceivable configuration. I was beginning to see the aliens as celestial teachers.
“Hi,” a female voice startled me. “My name is Cornelia, and this is Rosa.” Two dark haired women of Latin descent welcomed us to their monitoring station.
“Why hello ladies,” Frank chimed in, introducing us all. Frank attempted conversing with Rosa, but no matter how tactful his charm he received only a polite exchange of platitudes from her as she then continued on to describe their duties. Conella, on the other hand, was more interested in Frank; though he not of her. So when we had learned from the ladies as to all their responsibilities at the facility, and their hometowns they had left behind, we continued on; having to listen to Frank’s remorseful recanting of the encounter.
Aloft again in the Auto Hopper, NIM piloted us to the Celestial Gardens. Flying to the eastern most end of the city, ov
er near where tributaries of ocean waters coursed and branched off through the metropolis, we were treated to a variegated landscape that was a comfort to both our eyes and noses. It was not the usual shades of greens one would normally see while visiting a park, but a mixture of autumn reds, oranges, and yellows. We skimmed over low-cropped lavender trees, passing openings where secluded cobblestone enclosures provided retreat for park dwellers. The Celestial Gardens was where the mobile walkways ended and narrow footpaths of phosphorescent blue began. These pathways vivified the surrounding shrubbery, as well as a vast rolling red field of poppies. In the midst of all this the paths converged on a circular courtyard, a plaza, with seven high-steeple temples (Houses of Worship) of gothic grandeur. The Temples stood with intricate carvings, precious gems, and gold moldings affixed to their elaborate exteriors. The largest of these stood center to the others with a huge bell tower atop it. It was on the plaza before this Temple that we set down.
Before exiting the craft we all sat in silence a moment and looked about at the splendor. It was an extremely solemn place, a sanctuary where one and all came to rest their minds. A place (I was later told) that would come to play an integral part in our lives; a place for which this entire city and the others around the world had been built.
The five of us stood upon the cobbles of the plaza. Looking about I noticed small, meticulously clipped topiaries lining the pathways that led here. In the midst of the court there stood various marble statues of world humanitarians, arranged around a white fountain that sprayed forth-glistening blue waters from its crown. Benches ringing the court were occupied by a few people, conversing couples, lovers, who sat gazing at the fountain and the delicate flowers, which adorned its base. Other robust plantings were placed about the foot of the Temples, each yielding a variety of multicolored blossoms, each too, meticulously maintained. Off across the crimson field were bordering hedges of golden azaleas, and beyond them, the lilac trees whose sweetness floated along the most gentlest of breezes. All about the park there was not to be found one leaf or bud out of place, and all that standith high from the hedges to the trees be no taller than that of the temple roofs. The Garden’s botanical beauty was secluded from the rest of the alien metropolis; the impending city’s tallest buildings barely discernable through distant assuasive mists.