As Spear stepped into the doorway, he could see the reason the walls seemed reflective. There were shelves and shelves of metal sheets. The edges rolled slightly and symbols imprinted on the spines. He suddenly remembered how insane the witch had been, and the pain he had experienced in exchange for his new eye and voice and wondered if this was another trap.
“Come in,” Paul appeared again beckoning him onwards, “Please sit here. I have so many questions!”
A stool was pulled out from underneath a desk. Its three legs held up a thick platform on which to sit. The wooden table it was pulled from under had a slatted top with a blank sheet of shiny metal on it.
“You’re not crazy like the witch are you?” Spear asked looking at the Archivist.
The Archivist laughed, “No. No, not at all. She is an ancient unit made by the originals. She repairs herself time and time again. I suspect she has been damaged by being alive so long. None of us are supposed to live beyond the splitting years.”
“Splitting, like our brains?” Spear asked. He remembered Three-One and how close he had been to becoming that age.
“Yes, I think that is what keeps us alive as a species. There are horrible cannibals that prey on the living for the gel to keep them alive longer out in the world beyond these walls, but I suspect you have seen that first hand.”
Spear nodded, “I found Iris while she was being drained. They were feeding on her. It’s horrible. Is everyone outside like that?”
“James would have you believe that, and for all, I know he might be right, but I think that there are good units out there. Good ones like yourself. Which brings me to the beginning of my questions; Tell me who you are and where you are from?”
The Archivist pulled a blank metal sheet from a bottom shelf and placed it on a slanted table, his hand hovered over the material with a small hammer and metal punch.
“My name is Spear. I come from a small group to the north,” he began.
The Archivist began tapping his hammer lightly on the metal punch. Each strike was creating a series of dimples in the shiny metal. Spear could only watch as his words appeared to be translated into a permanent form.
“What is your community like?”
“The Master is evil. He uses our gel to keep himself alive. We do what he tells us. He recycles us whenever he wants and for whatever reason. He gives us life only to take it.”
More tapping on the metal. Spear gave him time to catch up.
“Go on,” the unit said focused on the handiwork.
“I escaped when a burned tree fell on me and broke my discipline collar off. I wanted to stay, but realized that I would have been recycled for having a bent arm from the accident.”
Spear looked down at his straightened arm. The metal had been bent back into its original shape.
The tapping continued for a moment.
“And how did you escape?”
“I ran. The guards came after me, and I ran. I ran right off of a cliff and into the river. I don’t know how long I was under water, but when I crawled out of the river, I ended up on this side, and followed the river south like my friend told me to.”
The Archivist finished his entry then turned to Spear, “Why did your friend tell you to follow the river? Had he been this far south before?”
Spear shook his head, “No, he… I… Well, we put some gray organic matter he found inside our digesters. It made us remember our dreams, but it also stops them. I dreamed so much that I was always waking up. The gray changed that. I don’t dream anymore.” Spear continued to tell him about the colors and sensations that it had caused. The fear of being caught. The worry he had damaged himself, and then the sleep filled with one final dream.
“What was the dream about?”
“I think it is about when we first were set free. Before the Master captured us. Before we became nothing. I remember a kind voice and a face. I remember having to leave the mountain and walking to the ocean. There was a bright flash, and thunder and the world ended.”
“Do you remember who the kind voice was?” the Archivist lowered his metal punch and hammer.
“Sort of. I think it is the Masters who made us. Maybe the originals. I felt safe… I think,” Spear said.
“Do you think you can find that place?” the Archivist said.
“I remember a beach and some pillars, and a door, but the door is nowhere near the beach,” Spear told him the details of the dream. The soft hands, the pink faces. The feeling of security and safety when talking to the benevolent Masters.
The Archivist turned away, tapping on the metal.
“What is it that you are doing?” Spear asked.
“I am turning your story into an entry into the book of our village.”
“Why?”
The Archivist finished his entry and turned back to Spear, “Because we remember things from our past lives, there are bits and pieces in our dreams from the ones who gave us our seed, our seed parent. I record them. Maybe someday we can find out where we all came from. Maybe someday we will know why we exist.”
“I use to think I knew why I existed,” Spear said sadly.
“What did you believe you were meant to do before?”
Spear looked at his hands, wondering what he would do with them now that he was not pulling green life from the ground. He paused for a moment, considered the thought before looking at the Archivist, “I destroyed the green. I killed it off. I thought that is what we were all built for. Our only purpose, but there is no purpose. The green always returns. It was just something to keep us busy while we were being harvested.”
“Do you still want to do that?”
“No,” Spear shook his head.
“What do you want to do?”
Spear sat for a moment thinking about his travels so far. He contemplated what he was supposed to do now that he had been exiled.
“I want to go home, but I can't,” he said.
“Why can’t you?”
“Because the Master will kill me, and I have seen too much of the dream to be happy pulling green again,” he said.
More tapping on metal rang through the room.
“What about these dreams or visions you had? Do they give you a direction?”
“Yes. I think I can find them If I can find the ocean,”
“What do you want to do after you find the ocean?”
“Find a way to save them,” Spear looked at him intently.
“Who? Your friends or these sleeping Masters?”
“Both,” Spear said looking at the Archivist intently, “I think I can save them both.”
The Archivist finished his entry and looked up, “Would you like to see something that someone shared with me? I think it may be of use to you.”
Spear nodded, sitting forward on his stool. He ached for more pieces to this broken puzzle. He wanted to know more about who he was, and what the dreams meant. Was he completely defective? Did the induced visions mean something important? Or were they just madness?
The Archivist stood pulling metal from the wall, his hands gently laying it on the table.
“Years ago, we encountered an old unit. Like yourself…like the rest of us had dreams, but he was somehow able to remember them vividly when he woke. He had a gift for it. Each night he would see a vision, and arise to tell me about it. At first, they didn’t make sense, but after a while, each time he told them to me I started piecing them together. He spoke to me about how in the dream he had occupied a body of another unit. There had been a loud explosion, and he woke up. Dust and ash were raining from the sky. He said that the most vivid part of the dream was running away with the survivors. They were built the same shape as him but softer and taller. Some were organic units. He imagined them made from the green that surrounds us. They were easily broken by the thunder. It burned them. He said he watched them turn to ash when the light hit them. He said it was the worst feeling he had ever felt. It felt as if the world had ended and he was alone.”
/> “That sounds familiar but somehow worse,” Spear said. He considered how the other unit must have felt seeing these visions night after night. How it must have affected him and how he saw the world.
“What if there were other organic units sleeping? What if they knew how to sleep and hide from the heat of the light? What if they were just waiting for us to come wake them?”
Spear nodded, “That’s what my dream is about. It’s about finding them. Finding the safe place they used to survive the lights.”
The Archivist leaned back waving his hands in the air, “What if you were meant to wake them and bring them back into the world? That would be an amazing story to write about.”
Spear sat there silently. He considered the new information, “Do you think it’s real? Do you think that they were real?”
The Archivist nodded, “The originals might be the ones who made us. Look at us. We are different than the green. Different than the beasts. We don’t have claws or teeth. We work together very well. Each night we crave the kind company of others, and seek out safety.”
“What about the crazy units?”
“They have become corrupted with the idea of immortality. They have forgotten all of the old things. In time they will die out. They have no factories to make more of us. There are no places to build new bodies. In time we too might die out. I hope that the book will keep all of this safe for whoever comes next. Maybe after we disappear from the world and the beasts learn to read they will know about our history and the story of those that came before us.”
“What if we could find more factories, keep the new units healthy. Show them your book?”
“If we could find more factories, build up our numbers, we might someday not need to hide in this place. Maybe we would outnumber the cannibals and the wild creatures,” the Archivist leaned in close, “It’s why I talk to Iris each time she returns only to be exiled again and again.
Spear looked at the Archivist’s face as his smile faded.
It made sense. The Archivist needed to know how the outside was, and Iris brought him that information. She explored for all of them. It was a necessary evil. A risk to find something that will save them as a society.
The Archivist sat back, and peered at him, “What if you wake the originals? What if they could free your people from this evil Master? What if the factory can make free units, not slaves or defective cannibals? What if they could make new bodies, not recycled ones for the split seeds?”
Spear looked at him unsure how to answer. His mind raced with possibility. The absurd ravings of his delirious mind seemed more and more real. How this other unit experienced almost the same dream? Was there a real possibility that this was real? Had Three-One seen the same things?
The Archivist slid his hand across the metal symbols. His fingers were touching their indented surface lovingly. He picked up his unfinished work admiring it, “That would be a story worth telling wouldn’t it?” As the Archivist’s ancient hands carried the metal plate to the nearby shelf. Spear could see the blank space that was left below symbols which had been imprinted.
“That would be a grand story indeed,” Paul stated, sliding it into place.
Chapter 25
Spear woke to a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“It’s time,” Paul stated, “You need to be taken back to the wide open world and away from this encapsulating stagnation.”
Sitting up, Spear realized he had fallen asleep on the floor of the Archivist's sleeping box. They had spent the night talking about Spear’s life, and how he had lived it, right up until he had arrived. It had been a pleasant evening, and both had learned a lot from each other.
Spear looked around the room, his mind still burdened by sleep. He had learned last night that the known world was a very small area. Easy to walk across in five to six days. Iris had done so many times. Each time, reaching the mountains, or the collapsed tunnels, or the ocean but never able or willing to get beyond.
Life for the units seemed to be trapped inside the area between the mountains and the ocean. Even the Archivist did not know more than what Iris had brought back to him.
Spear stood, wishing he could stay and continue their conversations. He knew that once out the door and blindfolded he would never find this place again. It would be hidden from him, a forbidden oasis from the darkness that seemed to lurk everywhere else.
“I wish we could have talked more,” he said to the Archivist.
“I enjoyed out talk as well,” the old unit said, “I wish we had more time.”
Spear stood awkwardly with him in the dark. A small amount of flame flickered from a lantern on the table. Orange early dawn sunlight splashed through the open doorway. The old unit looked like he was about to say something when a group of units approached. Eric was among them, still clad in his green.
“Well, it looks like its time to go,” the Archivist stated.
“Thanks for the stories you shared.”
“You’re welcome.”
The group came close, and James, still wearing the red cloth approached Spear, “Did you have a good sleep?”
Spear wanted to beg to stay, to be part of this family; but he considered the idea that the originals might be out there, sleeping away the years. If he were the only one who ever knew about them, they would likely never be woken if he remained. He had to try at least to find them.
“I think I might have fallen asleep during our conversation.” He looked at Paul apologetically. The old Archivist smiled back, placing a kind hand on Spear's shoulder.
James stood up straight, adjusting his robes, “We thank you for your contribution, but it is time to go.”
"Do I have to leave?" Spear asked.
"Yes. You are not one of us."
Spear contemplated how to respond to such a clear statement. He felt unwelcome, and alone all at once.
“Can I at least say goodbye to Iris?” Spear asked.
James looked at the others perplexed, “Sorry, I thought you knew. She was exiled. We voted on her situation. She was sent away last night.”
“You sent her out at night?”
“Yes. Once the decision has been made, the punishment is immediate. That is the law,” James stated, confused by Spears concern for her.
“It’s dangerous out there at night!” Spear declared stepping forward angrily, “You may have killed her!”
Eric grabbed Spear’s upper arm and pulled him away from James.
“It is a death sentence to be exiled either way. Without us, there is no way to survive outside. Without the Witch and our small factory, there can be no continued life.”
“You’re a fool for closing yourselves off,” Spear's anger built, he yelled at the growing crowd, “All of you could help the others and bring them here! You could help all of those slaves out there. They are units just like you!”
James shook his head in dismay, “Sadly; we can only take care of our small numbers. Which brings us back to you leaving us.”
“Iris was right; you don’t have any understanding of what's happening out there. I know I am naive about it, but at least I know it. I'm not hiding away scared.”
Spear tried to pull his arm away from Eric, but the powerful grip held fast. The others moved in, wrapping fabric around his eyes, blinding him.
“I am sorry we have to part on such a negative feeling. Good luck Spear. I hope you live a good life while it lasts. Don’t spend it looking for your ghosts.”
Spear bit back the words he wanted to use.
In the dark, hands guided him, pushing him along. His feet stumbled over the loose stones and greenery underfoot.
He wondered how they could keep themselves closed off. It was foolish to think that they could survive without anything on the outside affecting them. It bothered him more that Iris had been outside all night and likely had wandered off. He doubted he would be deposited anywhere near the entrance, as these units seemed to be ultra-secretive about it.
His h
ead was pushed down into the tunnel, and the hands guided him along the smooth curved floor as they did on his way in. Soon they arrived at the door, and its creaking metal groan signified that it was open. More movement through the portal and down a long corridor followed. Eventually, the air seemed to open up, and the sounds of the world returned. The echo of the tunnel disappeared, and they began walking across soft spongy underbrush. Their feet crackled over dead greenery and sticks.
Soon packed earth was underfoot, and the grip on his arm released. Bodies rustled as they retreated quickly into the underbrush.
Spear's hand's tore at the binding fabric, peeling back the layers. Soft illumination streamed through the canopy of leaves. The sun had started to come up, and the yellow light was pushing through the treetops. A fine mist was lifting from the moist underbrush, adding to the diffused effect of the light.
Spear turned, looking around. No one was nearby. He had been discarded like trash. The only sign that they had been nearby was his pack and weapon being placed nearby.
He balled his fist and yelled into the trees from where he suspected he came, "You are all cowards! Cowards!" He wanted to chase after them, and drag them from their hiding spots, pull them into the cruel world they had cast him into.
Plopping down in the thick layer of leaves he began strapping the metal pole to his pack.
“Are you done throwing your fit?" Iris' voice echoed against the trees.
Spear's shoulders hung low as he realized that she had seen him acting out as he had.
Iris continued her chastising,"Throwing a tantrum like a brand new unit. You will likely get yourself killed, or worse yet hung upside down and drained,” Iris stepped out from behind a tree.
“I wondered if you would be around,” Spear said shifting his weight to look at her.
“Well, when I was kicked out, I didn’t see you, so I figured they would do the same to you. I waited,” she winked at Spear.
“You shouldn’t have,” Spear said, “I don't need your help.”
“What?” Iris said showing him a hurt look, “You wouldn’t last five minutes on your little ‘save the world’ quest. You need a guide, and I need a job.”
Spear's Journey Page 13