Long Paradise

by James Murdo

  “But, of course,” Vessel of Viruses picked up. “We’re more than happy to agree to your terms.”

  “In fact,” Slide or Glide said. “We insist on it.”

  “It’s polite to accept the hospitality of others, isn’t it?” Vessel of Viruses said, looking at the others for agreement. They all nodded. “Some now. More later.”

  Becoming quiet again, they focused on her and her open flask. She had their attention. “Well, then, if you all line up, I shall pour it in. One drop each, more on my return. Yes?”

  “Yes,” they repeated in unison.

  “Unless you’d prefer we wait? Surely there are others–”

  “No,” Connection of Choice said. “Don’t worry about them.”

  She nodded, smiling beneath her hood. “Very well. And if something happens to me during the trip and I come running down, I assume you’ll be here to help.” She looked at the mounds of disturbed earth around and further past the huts.

  “We’ll bury you,” Slide or Glide said, overly hastily. “There’s a short distance under the surface before the repulsion comes about, so we bury any copies that die. Cleaner, that way. You can crawl out if we make a mistake.”

  Connection of Choice glared at him. “Our travelling friend is unlikely to die, Slide or Glide, with so full a flask.”

  “I meant–”

  “Don’t be so rude.”

  “Fool.”

  “I understand,” Seremend said. “Don’t worry, I understand what you meant. You were just being thorough.”

  24

  TRAVELLERS OF FATE

  Seremend looked up and saw a fellow traveller clambering awkwardly down a thin, particularly steep segment of the path ahead. With her legs demanding a reprieve anyway, she waited for him at its base.

  “Good luck to you,” he said, curtly. His hands glistened with a silvery shimmer.

  “No luck?” she asked politely.

  He stopped, clearly agitated. “Appears not.” He raised his hands to display the shimmering, which was most pronounced along his fingers. “Terro-magnetic manipulation… Useless. Nothing. All this time, thought I was special. Told I was special. For nothing. I’m just as forgotten as everyone else.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Stupid to expect any different.”

  “What’s there?”

  “A stone wall!”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No revealing of the hatch-point, nothing.”

  “And Memories of Hope?”

  “She’s there…” He frowned, adding, “She’s odd.”

  “In what way?”

  “You’ll see. But, as I said, it’s all a waste of time.”

  “I’m sure the time shall come for us all.”

  He whistled. “How long? Ten thousand years? One hundred thousand? I’ll be lucky if this lasts another twenty.” He slapped his flask, miserably. “Anyway, what’s under the hood?”

  “Light sensitivity,” she said, pushing clear irritation into her voice. “Entirely unhelpful.”

  He shook his head. “Ridiculous, isn’t it? When does our struggle end? Where do we fit in?” he said incredulously. “It’s tough to figure out.”

  “Certainly is.”

  “Well, I’m off. No point wasting any more of my time here.” He pointed a silvery finger at her pack. “Nothing in there will help. It’s all been done before.”

  “One thing,” she said.

  He turned back impatiently. “Yes?”

  “I wouldn’t stick directly to the path all the way, if I were you. It’s not safe just yet.”

  “What are you talking about? And why’s your voice so strange?”

  “The copies at the base, they’re thirsty. And there’s more of them than you. I’m thirsty too.”

  “Ah.” He looked more hesitant. “I had the feeling they might. Thanks.” Then he turned and began walking back down, less hastily than before.

  Once he was out of sight, she pulled her pack around and dug a hand in. Bringing the instrument with the dual prongs out, she tapped its controls, as before, and pressed it against her neck. After completing the voice checks, she put the instrument away and slung the pack around her back.

  She turned and faced the steep climb ahead, sighing. Feeling to make sure her pack was properly fastened, she leant forwards. The climb up the steep slope was awkward, but once she reached the top, she smiled. Above her, a long, straight section with a gentle gradient waited. There were no other copies on the path ahead that she could see just yet.

  Barely taking a rest, she continued. The breeze remained as inoffensive as before. Curiously, aside from the elevation, the landscape atop the mountain was the same as around the base. Green, with only the yellow path and the blue sky to contrast against it.

  Almost halfway through the gentler stretch, a figure in the distance came into view, travelling in her direction – another copy, as expected. She was about to guess its particular difference when it burst up into the air, landing only a few paces in front of her.

  Startled, she stopped.

  The copy raised an arm. “Please – it’s okay.” It doubled over.

  “What was that?” she asked.

  The copy stood up, attempting to control its laughter. “It’s just me.” He pointed at his thick legs. “Quite some power in there, you know. They call me Bouncer.”

  “Just Bouncer?”

  “Yes,” he giggled.

  “Well, Bouncer. How did it go?” She nodded up the path.

  The laughter and his smile disappeared. “Just a cold, stone wall.”

  “I guess everyone deals with it in their own way,” she said quietly. “Is that all there is?”

  “A long cave and a stone wall.”

  “At the end of the cave?”

  He looked confused. “Haven’t you heard this before?”

  “I like to check.”

  “Fair enough.” He looked through her hood, towards where he clearly assumed her eyes lay. “Certain you want to try?”

  “I need to try. If this is the true entrance, then it’s the only choice. How could I not?”

  “The only choice,” he mused, wistfully.

  “Everything points here.”

  “The rejection is difficult.” He held his hands up, sensing her response. “I don’t mean you won’t be successful. Quite the opposite – I hope very much you are. I’m only asking what Memories of Hope asked me.”

  The muscles in one of Seremend’s hands tremored. She clasped the hand into a fist. “How far is she?”

  “Not that far now.” He began to crouch down.

  “Wait!” Seremend said, taking a step forward. “Before you leave, try to stay clear of the path at the base.”

  “Oh?”

  “Or maybe jump over it, if you can.”

  “Bounce over it?” he asked. “Why’s that?”

  “The others are thirsty. Grouping together hasn’t brought out the best in them.”

  Bouncer nodded slowly. “Thanks for reminding me, but that was my intention. I’ve heard about them… understandable in a way, isn’t it? Anyway, I bounced over them on my way up – safety first. Understandable, especially with those Tracker rumours.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You’re different to the rest,” he said. “I’ve not met another like you.”

  “And I’ve not met another like you.”

  “Fair enough.” He motioned to her hood. “Whatever your difference is, I hope it allows you to pass through the hatch-point, finally. You’re smaller too, maybe that’ll help.” He peered even closer. “Different shape, like Memories–”

  “Underneath, we’re all the same,” she assured him, starting to carry on her walk up the path. “Remember what I said about taking care near the base of the mountain.”

  He nodded, turning down the path, away from her. “Good luck,” he shouted. She watched him spring high into the air.

  25

  MEMORIES OF HOPE
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  The gentle slope had ended far too soon, and the climb entered another steep patch that seemed far longer than any of the previous climbs. Sweating and breathing heavily, Seremend looked up. The steepness appeared to level out into a shallower gradient not far ahead, although the reprieve was temporary – an equally steep slope jutted up again only a short distance after.

  Her body gratefully accepted the shallower curve. As she rose higher, she looked up and her eyes opened wide. In front of her, on the brief plateau, the top of a head poked into view. A few steps later, Seremend was on the plateau. On the left side of the path and facing across it, down to the expanse around the mountain below, stood a cloaked figure.

  Seremend cautiously walked closer. Like her own, the figure’s face was difficult to see.

  “Memories of Hope?” she asked, calmly. The climb to halfway had been shorter than she had thought it would be.

  The figure’s hand raised, motioning for her to halt. A finger traced around the air, coming to a stop pointing at her pack, then down to the ground.

  “If that’s what you want, I’m taking my pack off,” Seremend said, placing it on the floor beside her. “I want to ask you some questions.”

  The same finger beckoned her closer, before motioning for her to halt again.

  “Memories of Hope?” she asked, again.

  “Yes,” a croaky voice affirmed.

  “Please.” Seremend took a step closer, but the hand shot out again. “I have questions.”

  “No closer.”

  Seremend bowed her head. A tear fell down her cheek. “Let me see your face.”

  “You will.”

  “I need to see you.”

  “And I, you.”

  “Tell me,” Seremend said, unable to help herself. “How did the Original make you?”

  “You were with him. You tell me.”

  “What?” Seremend’s heart began beating faster than it had in a long time.

  “You were made in his image, as all copies were, were you not?” The words sounded almost sarcastic. “Needing biological companions to navigate the Spires, and finally you escaped here, to the Outer Layer.”

  “Have you met him?” Seremend asked.

  “Once.”

  “And you want to find him again?”

  “That’s all I want.”

  “Is he your maker too, like all the others?” she asked.

  “I’ve waited one hundred thousand years to reach him.”

  Seremend tried to calm her breathing. “I don’t understand – you’re much older.”

  The cloaked figure began to turn. “It’s what I need.”

  Seremend stared. It was not Memories of Hope. One of the figure’s hands, which had been obscured to the side away from her, was holding something. An instrument with two prongs – although one was clearly damaged. She tried to move towards her pack when an invisible barrier pushed her back. Every direction was closed off, she barely had the space to stand.

  “Who are you?” she demanded.

  The cloak fell to the ground. It was a copy, as near to the Original as the rest. “You still don’t remember?”

  “What–”

  “This is a copy of him.” The copy lifted his arms to study them. “The same as you purport to be. Who knew we’d meet again under such… circumstances?” Gone was the croaky voice. That same voice, so similar to all the others, sounded instead.

  She tried to push against the barrier again. “Who are you?”

  “You really don’t know?”

  “Let me go!”

  “Interesting,” he said, smiling.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  He dropped the instrument he had been holding to the ground. “Useful things, aren’t they? Vebellar audiosynth tech. Hard to come across these days, too. Aren’t we fortunate?” He smiled. Seremend did not reply, staring helplessly at her pack. “Nothing in there can help you now.”

  She flinched as he moved towards her, coming right up to the boundary of her invisible prison. He raised a hand to drag his fingertips against it, pulling them down until he was bent over with his hand almost touching the ground. Shuffling around her prison while still dragging his hand against the base of the invisible wall, he stopped once he was on the opposite side, and knelt down. Scraping at the ground with his nails, he pulled something up and held it flat on the palm of his hand.

  “Helpful little shield units. I traded one from a Simshim. He got to keep his life.”

  He picked it up and walked to her pack. Seremend watched helplessly as he delved inside, studying each object briefly as he placed it onto the ground beside him.

  “What’s this?” He held up the connection sphere, waiting for her response. She was silent. “Fine, you don’t have to tell me. Compelling piece though, isn’t it?” He placed it on the ground.

  Once he was done, he put the objects back into the pack, picked it up, and turned to her, still holding the Simshim device. Tapping it with his fingers, the walls of the prison began to push against Seremend.

  “Probably best we move away from the path. Don’t fight it, you’ll only hurt yourself.”

  She was pushed helplessly, unable to stop as they moved further and further from the path. They walked across the green side of the mountain until their original position was no longer visible.

  The copy put Seremend’s pack down.

  “Take off your hood.”

  “Make me,” she said.

  He laughed. “I’ve heard about Memories of Hope’s little tricks. You’re similar, aren’t you? Must be… different, in some way. Why don’t you remember?”

  “Remember what?” Seremend tried to crouch down, but the invisible walls did not give her much room.

  “Fine – have it your way.” He pressed something on the device in his hand. Seremend felt the stronger contact of the invisible walls as the prison contracted. “Just pull the hood off.”

  “Idiot,” she said. “I can’t reach it now.”

  He tutted, tapping the instrument again. The prison wrapped itself more tightly around Seremend, bending to her body shape and restricting any movement.

  “Okay, okay,” she said awkwardly. “Release it, and–”

  “Good.” The prison receded around her. She released the breath she did not realise she had been holding. The copy laughed. His face became serious. “Remove the hood.”

  She reached up and pulled it back.

  “Ah,” he said self-satisfactorily. “I was correct. It is you. Memories of Hope isn’t unique, is she?”

  “Who are you?”

  “You made quite an impression on the others you passed, back on the path.” He gestured back where they had come from. “Useful advice, telling them to stay away from those fools at the bottom. It gave you away.”

  “How did you know that?”

  He tapped the side of his head. “Interesting abilities, this copy.”

  She stared at him. “You’re not making any sense.”

  “But you – you’re not there.” He tapped his head again. “Just like Memories of Hope – she’s got some tricks too. What do they call you? And what did you call him? The Original must have had a name.”

  Seremend did not reply.

  “No matter. I’ll know soon enough.”

  She pushed against the invisible walls.

  “I’m reliably informed it’ll last a thousand years.” He exhaled slowly, for effect. “We’ve got all the time we need.”

  She sat down.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” he hissed. “Time to find out.” He pressed the device in his hand, and the bottom of the invisible prison forced Seremend up into a standing position, wrapping itself almost completely around her body and rendering her immobile. It was difficult to breathe.

  She stared, alarmed, as the prison glided over the ground, carrying her closer to the strange copy. Feeling a gentle breeze across one hand, she realised the invisible prison had been opened up, in part. The rest of her arm was
completely locked into place, but she could move her fingers.

  “There we go.” He looked at her greedily and gestured to himself. “This should be interesting.”

  She clasped her hand into a fist.

  The copy carried on. “He can’t hide behind his stone wall from me – I was made for him!”

  Seremend’s eyes bulged out. There was nothing she could do. There was a blindingly bright flash. Darkness engulfed everything. Her vision came back at the same time as the invisible field was dissipated, and she fell to her knees. The copy was crumpled on the ground, motionless.

  Hearing footsteps behind her, she pulled her hood back up and turned around quickly.

  The newcomer smiled. “Welcome to my mountain.”

  26

  TRICKS OF THE TOP

  The real Memories of Hope took them both back to the path and led them to another plateau a little way up.

  “Don’t worry,” Memories of Hope said, still holding the device she had used against the copy who had imprisoned Seremend. “This overwhelms their internal mech-valves almost completely. Fuel just sloshes around inside them, unable to be used. They’re basically frozen. Not the first time I’ve had to use it.”

  “How long do we have?”

  “A thousand years, like his own prison.” Memories of Hope smiled. “Give or take.”

  Seremend sank to the ground. Her rescuer sat down beside her.

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I know my mountain,” Memories of Hope said. Seremend turned to her and saw she was facing up the path. “He was acting suspiciously – watched other copies, which is something they rarely do. Plus, he didn’t come up the usual way. So, I watched him. He’s a determined one, I’ll tell you that.”

  “Who is he?”

  Memories of Hope shrugged.

  “He said strange things.”

  “Some of us have tricks beyond that which you can see. Perhaps he could read your thoughts,” she said, winking. “Or those of the other copies you met. Can’t ask him now, can we?” She looked exaggeratedly around them. “This is my gift.”

  Seremend waited, but there was nothing else forthcoming. “Was he the Tracker?”