Planets Falling

by James G. Scotson

  The metal thing reappears from nowhere, startling all of us. “Please follow me. I do hope you enjoy what I have prepared.” We follow the box into a large, well-lit room adjacent to the central hall. The walls are made of rough hewn pine, while a fire crackles in an enormous hearth. A wooden table waits, adorned with platters of the most beautiful and strange-looking food. We cautiously sit down and begin exploring the dishes. I take a helping of something too pretty to be edible. I've never tasted something so delicious, the creaminess of the freshest butter and a savory like no herb I’ve ever experienced. Bets, Flip, and Theo are similarly enthralled.

  “My sensors indicate that you are enjoying the meal very much. Your pupils are dilated, your heart rate has risen, and endorphins are increasing. I am pleased.” The box is speaking in riddles. We don’t care. If this is what the ancient people experienced all the time, they must have been fat and enormously lazy. I’m enthralled and appalled simultaneously. I also have to pee.

  The box approaches me, somehow sensing my discomfort. “Excuse me. Would you like to use the facilities?” It moves toward a thin door at the back of the room that I swear wasn’t there earlier.

  “Facilities? Does that door lead out to a cess-house?” I whisper.

  “I am unsure of what you speak. The door leads to a washroom.”

  “How on gods’ earth do you know that I have to relieve myself?”

  “Human biosigns are quite easy to interpret, with the proper programming.”

  I have no idea what it’s talking about, but I take it up on its offer. The room is impossibly white with a basin on one wall and a loo-like seat in the center. I gingerly do my business, stand up, and the thing jumps to life, scaring the daylights out of me. I turn to see that the seat is gone and a voice, not unlike the boxes’ speaks from nowhere. “Please wash your hands. Would you like to take a shower or freshen up your clothing? Do you require make-up?”

  The walls are no longer white but shining like silver, reflecting everything as clearly as the finest mirror I’ve ever seen. Water scented like rose flowers appears in the basin. I cautiously wash my hands and splash my face. A robe made of a spongy blue fabric is draped on a chair. I consider wrapping myself in it, then think better of letting this place entrap me. I stare at my image in the mirrors. My sandy hair’s a matted, curly mess and my eyes are drawn deep in their sockets. I’ve always been thin, but I can see the outline of my bones under my arms. I breathe deeply and leave.

  “What happened to you, Marksman?” Bets is sitting back with her hands on her belly.

  “Looks like she saw a ghost in there.” Theo laughs, with a strangely serene look.

  “Give it a try,” I say. “It’s the strangest shithouse I’ve ever seen. Doing your business indoors. Doesn’t seem dignified to me. And you have company while you’re in there. Apparently, these people weren’t capable of passing gas without assistance.”

  Bets pushes her plate away and suppresses a belch. Flip heads to the washroom. Bets turns to Theo. “This is great fun, Theo. But we came here seeking answers to questions. I’m sure Marksman wants to know where her daughter, father, and husband are. And we need to know how to stop the coming war. We shouldn’t stay here.”

  Theo looks at his glass cup and marvels at the frozen chunks of water floating in it. He turns to the metal thing on the floor. “Box. We need to know where Amy Marksman’s family is.”

  The box does not answer. Theo boldly taps on it. It responds, “Yes, master, what do you desire?”

  “Do you have a proper name?” Theo asks.

  “I am called a Human Machine Interface. My masters called me Troll, although I never understood why. They considered it a source of humor. What are your names?”

  Theo pauses for a moment, considering whether it is wise to give the thing too much information. It continues, “I am only asking out of politeness. I know from your conversations that you are Theo and appear to be the leader. The thin, raven-haired, fetching woman in the animal skins and plant fiber is called Bets. Is that an abbreviation or a nickname?” Bets shuffles uncomfortably, but says nothing. “The young man enjoying a shower in the washroom is Flip and I surmise from his dress and manner that he is a new arrival to your party. Finally, there is Amy Marksman, an attractive, tawny haired but sad young woman.” Troll turns toward me with its dead, black eyes of glass. “I am sorry but I know nothing about the whereabouts of your family.”

  “But that’s impossible, uh, Troll.” Theo says as he sits back down. “The book handed down to me brought us this far. The answer has to be here somewhere, somehow.”

  I lightly touch Theo’s hand. “Theo, did you think it’d be that easy? This is like a puzzle. The answer to our questions is here somewhere. Troll, we need to know many things. I suppose it’s best for us to know a little about where we are and what you’re doing here. We didn’t know that anything survived after your masters left.”

  “Oh, my masters never left,” Troll answers.

  “What do you mean by that?” Bets asks. “They were punished by the gods and forced to leave earth to the moon. Or killed, right?”

  Troll sits silent for a moment. Thinking? Then it answers, “You poor souls. After so many generations, you have experienced significant information loss. It will be better for me to show you images of the incident so that you may understand the conditions leading to the loss of our society and my isolation.”

  Flip appears from the washroom, hair dripping wet and wrapped in one of the blue robes. “That was great,” he says with a grin.

  “Boy, you smell like flowers.” Theo waves his hand past his nose.

  A blinding light fills the room and all the food and dishes vanish. The walls, fire, and table are wiped away, replaced by the same mirror-like surface in the washroom. Flip falls to the floor, panicked.

  “I apologize for alarming you,” Troll responds. “This room and most of the others have special surfaces that can be shaped in many ways based on your desires and needs. I programmed this room to resemble a dining area that you might experience in the world as you know it. It really is quite harmless and very convenient.”

  I have no idea what Troll is talking about, but the ancient ones were far more amazing than anything Teacher ever described. It makes sense that the gods crushed them for over-reaching. We follow the box into the vast central area. Troll stops near the central platform and asks us to sit. Bets stands defiantly, while the rest of us find large, stuffed chairs and sigh in comfort. The space above the plaza sparks to life. Empty air is now filled with unimaginable buildings of glass and metal reaching toward the sun. Colorful boxes, carts maybe, shuttle around the buildings. Some have wings and fly while others roll on the ground. People adorned in strange, colorful clothes saunter on streets of strange black and red rock. They move with no apparent purpose. I see one sickly tree jutting from the surface. I have no idea how it can survive locked in that suffocating, artificial world, which looks like it could be summoned from a child’s painting.

  “We are looking at New Reno, the city that you invariably passed through on your travel to this place. It like all the others is ruined now.”

  The image vanishes. We are now gazing at a night sky with brilliant stars. A huge red ball, not all that unlike the moon, hangs before us.

  “This is mars. It appears as a wandering red star in earth’s –our - sky. In this holovideo, we are hovering 1,000 kilometers above the surface of this planet. Your ancestors lived on mars before the fall. I do not know whether they still live there. If they do, this would give us hope that they may return someday.”

  Theo clears his throat. “Ancestors? So it’s true that we’re brood of the ancients? How’d they get to such a little star in the sky?”

  “Of course, you are their descendants. You lost their technology when it was destroyed by terrorists. You are no less capable of reaching the same level of sophistication they had. It will just take time and a grasp of science.”

  Troll’s using s
trange words. He explains science to the best of his ability. We all are curious about terrorists. They don’t sound like gods. “Troll, were the terrorists the gods?” I ask.

  “Goodness no, Amy Marksman. They were people, although I am unsure whether they were human or some other species. They released a tiny substance onto earth that very quickly degraded human-made materials called plastics. These materials were part of most manufactured materials and wreaked havoc on society. The motives of the terrorists are unknown, although they likely perished along with most of the human population.”

  The viewing space before us transforms into a chaotic fugue of images of crumbling cities, boxes falling from the sky or crashing on the ground, widespread fires, and a thing Troll called a train piled on its side and burning. The images then go blank.

  “As you can see, the end was traumatic. I think it is time for you to rest. Your biosigns show that you all are exhausted. It is late and we can continue tomorrow morning after breakfast. Let me show you to your rooms.”

  After a very brief, lackluster debate, we decide to follow Troll’s advice. We presume Samuel will be fine camping on the hillside and that he probably is already resting or drunk. It must be midnight outside.

  Troll guides us to a large, glass box he calls a lift. We step in and it rises high along the wall. It opens onto a walkway with a series of doors. My room's magnificent, augmented by Troll’s magic I surmise. The bed is impossibly large and soft, with cloud-like pillows. There’s another adjacent room with a shower. This time I soak in steaming water and wrap myself in a soft robe. I’m unconscious before I hit the bed.

  I awake with no idea of the time of morning. I decide to explore this place, peeking cautiously in the walkway. No one is stirring and the light of the artificial sun is dim, I guess to make us think it is early morning. I shuffle barefooted down the walkway to the lift. Troll’s box sits in the hallway. I step in, Troll asks me where I want to go, and I tell it to take me up. The lift responds instantly, with me leaving part of my stomach below. Troll’s box, still sitting in the walkway below, shrinks rapidly as I ascend. The lift stops at the highest level - the plaza and seats on the ground floor seeming tiny as fleas. Up here, there’s only one door. It’s labeled with the symbols M-U-N-I-T-I-O-N-S. The smell I noticed when we first descended into this place is strong here. I suddenly recognize it as the scent of the oil used on the guns in father’s armory.

  The door slides open and I tip-toe in. The room before me has hundreds of shelves leading far into its recesses. Each shelf is loaded with guns, boxes of strange devices I cannot comprehend, and occasionally blades made of a strange, very light, exceptionally sharp black material rather than metal. This place did not have a peaceful purpose. I’m a little glum, realizing that these enlightened people still had the need to kill each other. I shove a sheathed blade into the pocket of my robe and turn to leave. I must tell the others.

  “Hello, Amy Marksman. You have discovered our munitions storage and practice arena.” I crouch behind a shelf, searching for the source of Troll’s voice. The box is nowhere to be seen.

  “Troll, where are you?”

  “The device you call the box is but one physical extension of me. I am the central interface for this entire facility. Thus, I am able to sense you no matter where you go. I have nothing to hide and neither should you. I am always available for you.”

  “Why did you need these weapons?”

  “I did not require them and am incapable of using them. They were wielded by the human caretakers. My masters held a unique view of the political and sociological views of their time. They were certain that collapse was imminent. They were correct in their prediction, although not about the cause of the fall. The weapons were meant to protect them from an attack of looters. You see, at that time, human population density was high and many people were starving. This distress challenged the government and collapse seemed likely.”

  “Seems like an awful lot of weapons to keep some starving and scared people away.”

  “My associates surmised that there would be a need for leadership and order after the fall. They would provide that stability.”

  “With guns? I’m unsure of how they work, but I suspect they are powerful. My father and his friends use them to hunt large game animals. My leaders never needed weapons to persuade our people.”

  “Would you like to learn about these weapons?”

  Goosebumps rise on my arms. Father never gave me the opportunity. “Sure.”

  Troll leads me to an attached room with its walls, floor, and ceiling coated in black foam. It calls this a firing range. The box appears with a gun in its mechanical arm. The weapon is short and surprisingly light. A window to my left appears with an image of the weapon. I follow the instructions as they appear and fire at the life-like image of a deer in the range. The recoil is light and exhilarating. Troll informs me that my target is eliminated. In the following hours, I fire a dozen gun-like weapons, lob concussion grenades, launch a rocket, and learn about defensive armor. This is seriously addictive.

  “Your companions are gathering for breakfast. Would you like to join them?”

  I fire one more volley at the various targets appearing at the end of the room. “Sure, but I need to change first.”

  After slipping back into my traveling clothes, which have been washed and folded, I follow the box back to the dining area. The room’s awash with morning light shining through a draped window. I know that it doesn’t really exist, but my mind is already beginning to accept the fantasy as reality. What bothers me most is that I don’t seem to care very much. I have to force myself to worry about Eliza and the others, wondering when we might escape this pleasant cage.

  I sip the most amazing cup of coffee and study my companions. Bets and Theo seem particularly serene. I wonder whether they may have spent some of the night in the same room. Flip looks haggard. I wonder whether he’s slept at all. After we eat, we move back to the viewing area.

  Theo begins the lesson. “Troll. We need to know why we’re here. How’d we know to find this place and what are we supposed to do next?”

  “This was curious to me as well. I took the initiative to sample your DNA from your clothing while you were sleeping. I do hope you don’t mind. Excuse me for making an assumption about your science knowledge. DNA is a substance in each of your bodies that is unique and related to your ancestors. Only one of you has an apparent, biological link to this facility. Amy Marksman, you are distantly related to Captain Francis Jonston who was a high-ranking member of the clan that maintained this facility. The Captain apparently provided information to one of your ancestors about how to access this place. Quite illegal and an offense worthy of banishment. Remarkably, this information was retained among generations in your village and brought you and the others here.”

  We all are stunned. I ask, “So, this DNA tells you that my great granddad a hundred times over provided us with clues to come back here?”

  “Yes,” the Troll says with no hint of surprise or concern.

  “What happened to him?” I ask.

  “He is still here.”

  Flip is clearly agitated, motioning for me to talk with him. I’m not feeling particularly sane myself. I walk over to the boy and he whispers, “I saw stuff last night. Stuff that y’all need to see.”

  Troll responds. “Flip is trying to tell you about the location of the masters, including your ancestor, Amy Marksman. Flip, please lead them to the chamber.”

  Flip leads us to the lift, which takes us down further into the ground rather than up. We stop in a dimly lit chamber, with blue lights along the walls. I grasp the knife I lifted from the armory as we descend. Flip points. “Over there.”

  I’m startled to see the shadows of about one hundred people standing along the far wall. Each is motionless, rigid. I walk up to one of the figures. Its skin is drawn, lips rigid, teeth jutting forward. Nails extend from shriveled, bent fingers. The mummy is adorned in some type of bl
ue outfit with metal buttons. Strangely, the one non-desiccated feature is the mummy’s eyes, which are strangely lucid and a striking blue.

  “That is Private Silian Dorse. She became inactive 1,112 years ago. She was the top in her class at Dartmouth – a university. I do miss her.” Troll the box rolls to each erect body, producing a short biography. This person enjoyed a game called tennis; this poor soul detested breakfast; this individual was the best rifle shot in the unit.

  “Where’s my ancestor, Jonston?” I ask.

  Troll leads me to a tall body with broad shoulders. Strange, lively brown eyes stare at me - my mother’s eyes. My gut squeezes and breakfast is on its way up. I turn away and gain my composure. I want so desperately to sob, but my brain won’t allow it.

  “Troll, all these people died young, didn’t they?” Bets asks cautiously.

  “Yes they did,” the machine voice answers.

  Theo looks at all of us with silent concern. We understand that we are in danger, although the nature of the threat is unclear. We realize that we still haven’t accomplished any of our intended goals. Theo clears his throat, “Troll, please take us back upstairs to see more about what happened during the fall of the ancients.”

  “Very well.”

  The room grows dark as we ascend into artificial daylight.

  The viewing space is now filled with a giant blue, green, and white sphere, rotating slowly in a field of ebony velvet. I gasp at its beauty. “Is this our world, Troll?”

  “Yes, Amy Marksman.” A small, blinking white dot appears on one of the green blobs of earth. “We are here at this spot.” I presume the blobs are continents floating in the ocean. There’s so much ocean. Troll continues. “The mysterious terrorist attack likely began at this spot, a place once called New York.” Another dot appears on the globe. “The world that culminated in creatures like me was connected in many ways. Communication among the human machine interfaces occurred through a vast, complex network of cables of optical fibers.” The globe before us bursts with white lines like webs. “Power was distributed by organic materials usually in parallel with the communications system. Most facilities were not completely independent. When the attack by the substance occurred, the wires connecting all the cities, homes, factories, schools, hospitals, et cetera, began to degrade quickly.” The lines on the globe connected to New York thin and disappear. We have little idea of what Troll is talking about, but it’s apparent that the loss of connections was a problem.