Anthem's Fall

by S. L. Dunn

  Kristen’s mind raced as she considered his argument. “Prove it.”

  Professor Vatruvia walked to the side of the cages and picked up a remote control labeled twenty-two from a tray. “Look at the mouse in cage twenty-two,” he said as he examined the remote.

  Kristen scanned the glass enclosures for twenty-two. The cage was at her eye level. On the other side of the glass, a little brown mouse with white mottled spots was moving about frantically. Kristen frowned. The mouse’s movements seemed unusually agitated. It was charging the walls of glass over and over again. The impacts of the mouse’s head against the hard surface did not sound as though they came from a light mouse, but from a much heavier object. Kristen was glad it was enclosed in its cage; she would have been standing on a table if the mouse were loose in the room. The physical appearance of the mouse seemed to match a natural mouse flawlessly. Its fine whiskers and ungainly tail looked much like any other. Kristen watched the mouse pause for a moment and scratch the front of its button nose with tiny paws before running headlong into the glass once more. One would never consider that this little breathing animal before her was a synthetic organism.

  Then Kristen noticed the mouse’s eyes.

  She took her glasses out of her shirt pocket and pushed them against her nose, leaning closer to the glass and peering at the little mouse. The retinas did not look right. Kristen studied the mouse’s strange eyes for a long moment. They were an odd bluish color, strikingly inconsistent with the rest of its shabby pigmentation. The color was not a dull milky paleness from cataracts. The mouse’s eyes were almost . . . bright. Kristen could not be sure if it was due to the odd lighting of the room, but the eyes seemed to be emitting a bluish glow.

  “Watch this,” Professor Vatruvia said. He pressed one of the buttons on the remote, and instantly the mouse fell on its side, completely unconscious, its pink underbelly rising and falling with rapid breaths.

  “How?” Kristen asked, slowly taking her attention away from the sleeping mouse back to Professor Vatruvia.

  He smiled proudly. “Like I said, a microchip in the brain provides us complete control.”

  The few dozen other mice were scattering about their holding cells. Kristen sidestepped slowly across the wall of cages, her eyes lingering on each mouse in turn. The mice all appeared perfectly normal in every aspect, except for the overexcited behavior and the blue eyes. Kristen noticed every one of them had the same strange blue retinas. For a long time Kristen watched the mice, feeling only shame. Their research was no longer standing on the precipice of a slippery slope—it was careening and plummeting downward. Professor Vatruvia was playing god, a life giver to the concrete sentience of a new kingdom of life. And if Professor Vatruvia was to be Zeus, then Kristen undoubtedly also sat on a throne among the pantheon of Olympians.

  “Now there is no longer any concealment. No more secrets to hide,” Professor Vatruvia said at last, turning the controller in his hands. “I hope you will understand the prudence of my keeping the knowledge of these mice private. But it was time for you to see them.”

  “Who else knows about the mice?” Kristen asked.

  “Very few, and no one on the research team. That is a testament to my trust in you, Kristen. But you see,” he placed the remote back into the bin by the squealing cages, “on Friday we are scheduled to give a presentation at a hotel down in Midtown. Are you familiar with the ICST?”

  “The International Committee on Science and Technology?” Kristen asked, perplexed. “Yes.”

  “Well, their yearly convention is coming up. They’ve asked me to give a presentation on our research progression. The scientific world is begging for an update, and I think its only fair that I deliver.”

  “You’re going to reveal the mice?”

  “No, not the mice. But I will show the public our advancement of Vatruvian cell cellular replication. The same development you and the team saw today. The mice will have to be revealed after a series of slow steps.”

  “Many minds will jump to the same conclusion I did,” Kristen said. “Your peers will realize the significance of the cellular replication, even if the majority of the research team at the meeting didn’t.”

  “You overestimate the minds of the scientific community, I think.”

  Kristen found nothing to say as she stared at the cages.

  “Well,” Professor Vatruvia sighed. “The convention is at the Marriot Marquis hotel next week. The ICST event planners asked me to come with one of my top graduate students to help present our work. The scientific world wants to know more about the young minds I choose to work with. I thought you might enjoy the networking opportunity.”

  Kristen was familiar with the convention. The ICST was a huge foundation that published a number of prominent peer-reviewed journals. It was a big deal. There would be top scientists in attendance from all around the world. Professor Vatruvia’s presentation would almost certainly be the main event. It would be a huge opportunity for her, though at the moment Kristen was unable to focus on anything but the Vatruvian mice squealing beside her.

  “What do you think?” Professor Vatruvia asked. “Want to do me a favor now that there are no secrets between us?”

  Kristen stared at the mouse in cage twenty-two. It was still out cold, its tiny chest moving with breaths. “Yeah, I’ll go to the hotel convention. But I’m not finished with questions about these mice. And I’m absolutely not through with questions on the applications of this technology.”

  “Well. Security closes the building down at six.” Professor Vatruvia said, checking his watch. “It’s five of.”

  Kristen slowly drew her attention away from the unconscious mouse. All the other mice were moving excitedly, hysterically. The nature of their movements seemed strange, not timid like one would expect from a mouse. But Kristen thought she may have perceived it that way because she knew what they really were. “I will come along with you and explain what I have done for the project. But if I’m asked what I think about the ethical issues around Vatruvian technology I will give my honest opinion, which is that they are in desperate need of regulation.”

  “Look,” Professor Vatruvia said. “We’ll have plenty of time to discuss all your issues. I wouldn’t expect you to answer any question at the convention untruthfully. I’m only going to announce the Vatruvian cell’s replication for now. I don’t think the public is ready for the knowledge of the Vatruvian mice. I showed you them so you understand we are on the same page. No secrets.”

  Professor Vatruvia opened the stainless steel door to a gust of the airlock and they left the mice in darkness. As they walked through the lobby and out of the building, Kristen found herself unable to hold a thought. The enormity of what she had just witnessed was hard to comprehend, his nonchalant attitude staggering. When they reached the cool autumn air and bustling crowd of the street, Kristen turned south toward her apartment, and Professor Vatruvia began to walk north. She paused, her gaze lingering on the rooftops of Columbia’s buildings. She knew what she had to do. If she did not do what was right, who would?

  With mustered resolve she turned and jogged down the sidewalk after him. “Professor!”

  Professor Vatruvia turned to her and stepped aside to avoid the crowding sidewalk. “Yes?”

  Kristen shook her head, fully aware of the significance of her decision. “I’m sorry, professor, but maybe you’ve made a mistake in telling me the truth. If you don’t want to tell the scientific community at the convention about what I just saw, fine. But I want proof that you’ve privately informed regulatory agencies about these mice in the next few weeks. If you don’t, I’m going to resign from my doctorate program and go public with what I just saw. I know how much it means to you, I really do, but this is too immense to be held secret between a few people.”

  Professor Vatruvia looked physically stunned, his expression crestfallen. He shook his head with deflation and leaned against the glass of a storefront. “You would jeopardize everything we�
�ve done? All the things we can still achieve? And for what? So some opportunistic journalist can vilify what we are doing and twist the nature of our work until the self-righteous voice of the naive masses demand us to stop?”

  “I—”

  “We have a chance to achieve greatness here, Kristen, a chance to introduce the world to a future brilliant with innovation.”

  Kristen shook her head. “I’m sorry, professor. But this is too big. The world needs to know.”

  Chapter Nine

  Vengelis

  Dreams, nightmares mostly, emerged and receded like the ebb and flow of a shadowy tide in Vengelis Epsilon’s unconscious mind. Familiar faces cried out in pain, and venerated buildings fell to ruin with excruciating vividness. All the while perilous blue eyes stared unblinking at him through the void, filling his heart with hopelessness and exhaustion. Memories came to life in his tumultuous visions. Vengelis looked through a window into his own distant past.

  In his mind he was sixteen again.

  Vengelis recalled the day. Frost in his lungs, cold air against his skin, the wind swirled around him and whistled in his ears. It was his first journey to the bitter North, his first glimpse of Mount Karlsbad and Master Tolland. He was up to his knees in snow, a thick coat wrapped him in his own heat and a bag of spare clothes slung over his back. He stood in front of a rundown wooden cabin that was little more than a shed, its walls barely standing upright against the blistering gusts in the late afternoon dimness. Gathering clouds brooded around him, impenetrable against the side of the mountain. A smell of coming snowfall filled his nostrils. Vengelis called out to the cabin, knowing he would soon be enveloped in what the clouds had to offer him.

  “Tolland! Master Borneo Tolland!”

  After a moment the door to the hovel opened. Vengelis caught a passing glimpse of a fireplace burning within. From inside the cabin, an average-sized man emerged. The hermit looked to be in his early sixties, his features more seasoned than old. He was holding a wide ceramic pot against his chest. Taking no notice of the heir to the Epsilon throne, the graying man turned and trudged through the deep snow toward a lofty snowdrift left by the relentless wind. As Vengelis watched him, flakes of snow began falling silently from the gloom of clouds. They eddied around him, weightless and beautiful. Vengelis pulled his fur hood over his head and took a step toward the man, who seemed entirely unaware of the impending storm or the bone-freezing cold as he brushed loose snow into the pot with an outstretched arm.

  Master Tolland then spoke.

  “This is perhaps the most crucial chore to living here, because it is the only real necessity. The snow must be boiled down of course—even this northern isolation provides little reprieve from the pollution of Anthem. But among the many other unnecessary chores, creating water is a must.” Master Tolland peered up into the dark drear overhead. He said nothing for some time and seemed to savor the imminence of the blizzard before he lowered his eyes and looked at Vengelis. “But that is ultimately the purpose of living here. Only necessities.”

  Vengelis remained silent, taking note of the man’s unkempt condition with disapproval. Behind this man’s disheveled appearance was unmistakable Royal blood. His brow was sharp, cheekbones high, and his hands looked strong and enduring, but it was hard for Vengelis to look past his threadbare impression. He was not impressed.

  “Though over time,” Master Tolland smirked, as if he could read Vengelis’s thoughts. “Over time I can’t deny that I have developed an appreciation for the mundane. There is some cathartic value to the structure daily chores provide. It is, after all, our routines that root us in our reality. I take it you are Prince Vengelis Epsilon?”

  Vengelis nodded, in disbelief his father had ordered him to this place—to this unsophisticated man.

  “Even here, rumors have reached my ears of your deeds,” Master Tolland said. “Very impressive to be declared the greatest warrior of Anthem at your age. Especially considering your lack of formal training.”

  “I have received formal training.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I worked with the most prestigious coaches of the Imperial First Class for many years. They awarded me their highest rank when I was thirteen. Their lessons were marginal at best.” Vengelis’s tone was indifferent. “Now I teach them.”

  “Hmm.” Master Tolland raised his eyebrows. “Tell me, Vengelis, how old are you?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Do you think you’ll be able to disregard my tutelage as easily?”

  “Yes,” Vengelis said at once.

  “Perhaps you will.”

  “I read about you before I left Sejeroreich,” Vengelis said. “You used to be quite a warrior. Used to be. I have to say, you’re older than I was expecting.”

  Master Tolland chuckled in a genial, confident manner. “It seems as though we are experiencing similar disappointment in our first impressions. You are shorter than I had envisioned.”

  “Bold of you to insult an Epsilon. I’ll give you that at the very least,” Vengelis said. “You are the last of the Tolland family line as I understand it?”

  “I am.”

  “And you have no heir?”

  “My Sejero bloodline will die with me, if that is what you are getting at.”

  “Waste,” Vengelis said with genuine anger. “It’s against the law for a Royal son to have no heir. Though I’m sure you already know that.”

  “I do not consider myself a member of your father’s empire, in case you couldn’t tell.” Master Tolland raised a hand, indicating their thousand-mile harsh isolation on all sides. “As such, I am not obliged to follow anything but my own will.”

  Vengelis nodded skeptically.

  “You are here by the mandate of your father?” Master Tolland said after a prolonged silence.

  “Yes.”

  “Welcome to Mount Karlsbad. Here you are a guest. Here you are the student, and I the teacher. Such superficial notions as lineage and heredity are irrelevant here.”

  Vengelis smiled smugly as he looked at the veritable beggar standing before him. He tossed the bag of spare clothes his servants had packed for him into the snow, and he began to limber up. “All right, I’ve had enough. I’d like to get back to Sejeroreich by sundown, and it’s cold as hell out here. I came here to appease my father, but this is becoming ridiculous. I really don’t want to inadvertently kill you, old man. If you submit and walk back into your . . .” Vengelis eyed Master Tolland’s shack. “House. I won’t tell anyone. I can lie and say you put up a surprising fight for a guy your age.”

  “I suppose this is one way to do it.” Master Tolland placed his pot in the snow beside his front door. He also began to limber himself, stretching with a flexibility that surprised Vengelis for a man his age. “If you can defeat me, I will allow you to leave for home immediately. I will write a personal letter to your father, Emperor Faris, stating that I have nothing of worth to teach you. Does that sound fair?”

  Without the slightest word or nod of agreement, Vengelis erupted forward, throwing his right fist at the man’s nose. Master Tolland easily sidestepped, and Vengelis’s arm crashed through the door of his cabin. Warmth and the fragrance of simmering stew wafted through the doorframe.

  “Your first task will be to build me a new door.”

  Vengelis laughed and launched another wild swing. Then something happened he did not entirely understand. He registered Master Tolland moving very quickly, and then within an instant, his back was buried in the snow. The old man had tripped him. Vengelis tried to jump to his feet, but Master Tolland had a strange hold on his right arm. He was pushed shoulder first into the snow once more, and Vengelis realized with a shock of pain in his elbow that he was caught in a submission lock.

  He seethed. He screamed. He threatened.

  “What are your thoughts on discipline, young Prince?” Master Tolland asked from behind his shoulder, his voice as calm as it had been a minute previous.

  Vengelis was
covered in snow. It melted on his fuming and trembling cheeks.

  “I . . . don’t . . . have . . . thoughts . . . on . . . discipline!” Vengelis screamed, his eyes nearly bursting out of his sockets with rage. The pain in his arm was beyond anything he had ever felt, beyond anything he could have imagined.

  “How?” Vengelis gasped.

  Master Tolland released him and Vengelis rolled over and sprawled his limbs through the snow as he gasped for breath, steam pouring off his body from the exertion.

  “Then that is your first lesson on the subject,” Master Tolland said. “The subject of discipline, that is. I suspect it will be the first of many.”

  “I don’t . . .” Vengelis coughed as newly falling snow landed on his face. “I don’t understand.”

  Master Tolland looked at the young man through the veil of snowfall. “I take on one student at a time. My last pupil recently completed his training. I would not normally take on someone your age as a student. However with him gone, and your unusual circumstances—being heir to the throne—I will accept you. If you wish to possess the kind of abilities I have just showcased, then I encourage you to stay with me here in this northern desolation. I will teach you how to unlock the true potential of the Sejero blood that resides within you. Your training will be complete the day you are able to best me. You will learn technique and theory of the physical arts, as well as the philosophies of power.” Master Tolland crouched down to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “There is more to Sejero power, in all of its infinite glory and peril, than the blunt strength and foolish arm wrestling contests of the Imperial First Class and the Grand Arena. I hope one day you will come to see that.”

  Pitch-blackness descended over Vengelis’s memory. His dream began to shift and dissipate: thin rays of light penetrating into his chasm of darkness. Even in the diminishing oblivion, hopelessness dominated. Real vision began to come into focus, and with it came excruciating pain.