The Archytas

by Kinsella, Luke

  They sat in silence for a while, driving down the dimly lit roads. Meadows ended and on the distant horizon, a sea of flickering white lights loomed above.

  “So, if this planet is God, then why were we created?” enquired Tom.

  “Don’t you see? Your planet has been trying to destroy your species for years.”

  “So we are at war with our planet, at war with God?”

  “All the time you are made to suffer, dealing with volcanoes, earthquakes, typhoons, tsunamis, rising sea levels, these are sent by God. He is trying to rid the world of humans, wipe you all out. You are hurting him. This is his power, but it is not working; you became too strong, built up your walls, your floating cars, your sky shelters. This should not have happened; the world is not supposed to be like this. This planet should be full of splendour, nature, trees, plants, beautiful streams of clear water, and animals running wild. You were perhaps one of those animals once, but something happened, you changed into beings much like ourselves, a higher state of consciousness. We understand. We do not harm God. Even the planet we live on is as beautiful as the place I just described,” said Yudar, pausing for thought.

  “There it is,” said Tom, motioning toward the city lights in the distance. “The capital. We call it Utopia.”

  “See! You name your capital city after a word describing near perfection, but it is far from it. You demolished the trees, destroyed the land, murdered the animals, and built your city in place of the beauty that once was.”

  “Listen,” said Tom, “I am a simple farmer, I live with my son. Sure, I have a choice, serve my time, join the rich and powerful people that live in Utopia, but I am happy out here. There are no rules, no laws; we are a peaceful species now. I can live on my farm, grow enough food to support my family, and I do not have to worry about anyone else. The problem isn’t with me; I am one of the good guys, the Delusionists.”

  “Peaceful species,” Yudar laughed. “You shot down our ships without warning, and you sent in ground support to kill the rest of us. That is not the act of a peaceful species, far from it. We came here because God wants us here, but once again, it is you that intervenes, halts his plan.”

  Tom said nothing.

  Yudar began again, “I am sorry, Tom, I know this is not your fault, I should not take it out on you, it just makes me so angry, fills me with an indescribable rage.” Yudar held his hand out flat, it was shaking, unsteady; he needed to calm down.

  “Don’t worry,” said Tom, “when we meet the president I am sure we can straighten all of this up.”

  “I hope so,” said Yudar. “I really hope so.”

  7

  “They are evolving!” shouted Geoff Jenkins, his face filled with panic, brow thick with sweat.

  He was standing beneath his farmhouse in the laboratory of his grandson, Justin. His grandson turned from his desk, magnifying glass in one hand, cigarette in the other.

  “What?”

  “They are evolving!” Jenkins reiterated.

  “What are evolving?”

  “The pigeons!”

  “Calm down granddad, you don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “But I do. We had a town meeting, Mrs Applegate said that her son found a nest of them, and they were building each other. Building more pigeons from metal and string.”

  “Impossible,” said Justin, “my pigeons are programmed to do one thing only, eat the crops that are outside the boundary of our farmland. Did any of the pigeons break their programming?”

  “I am not sure what that means?”

  “Did any of the pigeons eat any of our crops?”

  “No, our crops are fine,” confirmed Jenkins.

  “Then there is nothing to worry about.”

  “But, they are evolving!”

  “Come on, they’re only pigeons. Nothing to worry about, trust me.”

  Geoff Jenkins went back up to his farmhouse, and poured himself a glass of whiskey, before heading out into his field to survey the horizon.

  The pigeon numbers had certainly increased since the beginning, a certainty that filled Jenkins with a deep sense of fear. What his grandson had said, about the pigeons not being able to eat his crops, that was certainly true, but the other farmers would not take too kindly to the fact that their crops were being decimated, whilst his were left completely alone. How could he have let this happen? He thought. What was he thinking when Justin had suggested he create the pigeons? All part of a bigger plan, his grandson had told him, but that plan was never clear to Geoff Jenkins.

  He waited outside, a chilling wind in his face, the night beginning to wash over him, casting a gloomy shadow across his prized turnips.

  8

  They arrived at the gates of the capital in just under an hour, just as Tom had said. They had no problem along the way, and were now at a metallic gate that acted as a checkpoint.

  “One moment,” said Tom, as he landed the Trac-car. “Wait here; I will only be a minute.”

  Tom stepped out of the car and walked over to the comp-scanner. He searched his pocket for his UDF passcard, and promptly scanned it across the terminal. He muttered a few words, before a screen came down behind his vehicle. A moment later, a screen in front of the Trac-car lifted up to reveal a vast metropolis; a city hidden behind walls.

  “Here we are,” said Tom, as he reacquired his seat in the vehicle.

  “So, this is Utopia? Not quite what I was expecting,” said Yudar.

  The Trac-car motioned forward again, entering a world of grey. There was concrete everywhere. No scenery, no beauty, no nature. Commuters buzzed around on foot as sunlight filtered in through a huge glass ceiling that stretched off over the endless skyline. Rows and rows of generic looking buildings displayed no clue as to what was contained inside—entirely absent of neon lights and advertising billboards. People going about their day-to-day lives looking happy and content with their concrete existence.

  “Why is everyone smiling?” asked Yudar.

  “Because this is Utopia, of course people are smiling.”

  “But it looks so miserable, so dark and grey.”

  It certainly was dark and grey, but that did not look to trouble Tom so much. He continued driving down symmetrical streets with no identity, passing rows of modern buildings that could be houses or offices, it was impossible to tell.

  Eventually, they arrived at a huge concrete structure, with another metallic gate. The same events occurred as before. Tom landing his Trac-car, using the terminal, and then entering through the now open gateway.

  “The president lives here?”

  “That’s right,” said Tom, “I will take you straight to him.”

  “What is he like?”

  Tom thought for a while, considering his words carefully. “There is something I need to tell you. It isn’t a person that is in charge here.”

  “Not a person? You mean like some form of creature, an insect maybe?”

  “Not quite,” said Tom. “You might be right about one thing, although, perhaps you have the details a little wrong.”

  Yudar looked confused, “What do you mean?”

  “God isn’t this planet,” said Tom. “God is the president of this planet.”

  9

  Carter was thinking about thousands of birds, but for no reason that he could ascertain. He checked the playback settings on his pod, a simulation dream from a rainforest planet they had terraformed years ago; a nature dream designed for relaxation, a world of rain and trees, with no mention of birds.

  He recalled his time working on that planet. There were no birds; in fact, Carter had never seen a bird, not once in his lifetime. He had only read about them and seen them in pictures.

  Usually, after waking, images faded from him, but this time, the image of birds remained vivid, as if trapped inside his mind, forever lost in recall.

  He took a shower and preceded to join the queue of others on their way to work.

  It was not strictly forbidden to
discuss thoughts and dreams with others, but it was not exactly common. Usually, discussions of such nature made his species feel uncomfortable, so refraining from those types of conversations was done with the interest of others in mind. However, Carter could not shake away the lingering memory of birds, despite how hard he tried to distract himself.

  Whilst cycling, Carter decided to break the atmosphere of his workplace and ask one of the other members of his charging unit about dreams. They had been on planet for three thousand seven hundred and four years, and he had, it was fair to say, got to know his colleagues quite well in the short time they had spent together.

  “Maxwell...”

  “Hey, Carter.”

  “I have a strange question. Do you ever remember your dreams?”

  “My dreams?”

  “Your simulation dreams, after you wake up.”

  “Not really. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I am fine, I just...” Carter broke off.

  They continued to cycle, charging the super battery for a time, before Carter decided to continue.

  “Maxwell, what if I said I...”

  “Sorry, Carter, I can’t talk about this now, I have to focus. We have to get these batteries charged. I heard this planet is close to retirement so we have to complete on time.”

  “I know that, but...”

  “Sorry Carter, another time maybe.”

  They cycled in silence until it was time to leave. Maxwell, clearly not interested in taking their conversation any further, and Carter, distracted, his mind full of birds.

  At home, Carter still had the images in his head, so decided that the best option was not to dwell any longer. He tried to ignore whatever it was that he had seen during the previous night’s sleep, and to replace birds with scenes of war.

  He programmed his pod to Four-of-Spades-5 1877, and had no trouble drifting off to a simulation dream of the Battle of Nez Perce.

  10

  “Are you saying that God is in charge of your species, your people?”

  “That’s right,” said Tom, navigating the Trac-car down long narrow corridors that spiralled down deeper beneath the ground. They were heading to Corebase, an area hidden away below Utopia.

  “So I will meet God?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you met him before?” asked Yudar.

  “Many times, he gives instructions, and I follow them. My purpose in life is farming; I grow food so that others can survive. In exchange, I receive provisions from the capital. They provide me with seeds, fresh water, chemical free soluble pesticides, and education for my son, Jamie. The system works. Whatever harvest I have left over, I can enjoy for myself. The way everyone works together guarantees us the path to the afterlife, but this comes with problems. The Utopians met God, spoke to him, embraced his existence and did as he asked. The rest of the Delusionists got it completely wrong. They fought wars between each other, couldn’t decide which God was the right one, and it caused chaos.”

  “But you said yourself, that you are also one of the Delusionists.”

  “I am, but a new breed. I have come to accept the fact that the God that lives here, below Utopia, he is the true and only God. Because of my confusion, I can’t live in Utopia. I am an outsider, but accepted as a believer of the true God. Believing in any other God is what leads to problems, and that is what most of the other Delusionists did. They never came around to accepting any other deity, any other creator, they just fought and argued and got lost to lies.”

  Yudar sat processing what Tom had told him. “Will God have a purpose for me? Will he tell me what I need to do?”

  “He will judge you, of course, and after that, he will most likely provide you with your life mission. You have made it this far, and after you speak with God, he will set you an objective. You might need to work on a farm like me, or perhaps he will have a completely different plan for you. You might get told to return home, and spread word of the things you have witnessed, or you might, as a lot of people do...” Tom shook his head, a troubled look taking away his smile.

  “What is it?” asked Yudar.

  “You might have to do some hard physical work.”

  “I am strong,” said Yudar, confidently. “Whatever God asks, I will obey. Whatever takes me to the Promised Land, I will do.”

  They continued their descent in silence for a while, following sweeping corridors that continued to spiral deeper and deeper beneath the surface.

  “What did you do before?” asked Tom, “on your planet?”

  “I was an engineer,” said Yudar. “Energy farming and ship building are my specialities.”

  “Interesting,” said Tom.

  “It is. I have done it for a very long time, longer than I can remember. This is one of the main reasons that we found your planet; we were interested in how you created energy. One of the problems we are facing as a species is that nothing is renewable. Stars fade, planets die. We wanted to find a better way, a near perfect way,” said Yudar. As he finished his sentence, they reached the final gate, the entrance to Corebase.

  “Here we are,” said Tom. “We have to walk from here, it isn’t far.”

  Tom parked the Trac-car and they entered Corebase on foot. They began to walk a long straight corridor. At the other end of the hallway existed the God Chamber.

  “It’s about half a mile,” said Tom.

  They walked in silence. Yudar looked anxious, his shaking hands resumed and he began to fidget intensely.

  Eventually, they arrived at a huge metallic door, much like the others.

  “Are you ready?” asked Tom.

  “I think so,” replied Yudar.

  “Good, you’re about to meet President God.”

  11

  A week had drifted by, and Geoff Jenkins was beginning to get worried. He had not left the comfort of his farmhouse for days.

  Outside, the intensity of the pigeons had increased, as if they had continued to double their number with each passing day.

  Another town meeting had been signalled, so Jenkins decided to finally roam out into the daylight, but what he saw as he left his home startled him.

  A thick black cloud shrouded his land, a column of darkness that stretched off vertically toward an unknown oblivion.

  He took out his binoculars, and as he brought them to his eyes, a wave of guilt passed through him.

  The darkness was a sea of birds, hovering around his farm, trying to penetrate an invisible force field that protected his property.

  As he reached the edge of his acreage, he could see a thick wall of pigeons. Next to his property, Tony Scargille’s farm had been decimated—there was nothing left but a few scattered pieces of torn up grains of corn, and those were steadily being consumed. He continued on, pushing through the wave of pigeons as he headed toward the town hall.

  The intensity of birds lessened as he wandered over the fields toward the meeting. It was clear to him that the pigeons had exhausted all other farms, and his was the only one left. However, if their programming was to be believed, they would never be able to cross over to his land; his farm was perfectly safe from destruction, and soon the other farmers would come for him.

  As Jenkins pushed open the doors to the town hall, the wave of fear that had often drifted through him over the previous week returned, with intensity, but before he could safely acknowledge his fear, the other farmers were already talking, discussing the aftermath of ruin caused to their land.

  “We have nothing left,” said Tony Scargille, in a tone that suggested he had completely lost the will to live. “I got news from Peterson that they’ve reached there too. His farm is three days from here!”

  “But what about my cabbages?” shouted Mr Jones.

  Even the calm Raynard Batty was beginning to panic, with his crops almost completely wiped out. “If we have no crops, we can’t survive, the world can’t subsist without food.”

  Jenkins began to worry. If his farm was the only one in the world th
at still had crops, then surely people would find out, they would come for him; they had to.

  “How about that pepper and those anti-roosting spikes?” said Mrs Applegate, an obvious air of sarcasm laced in her tone.

  “That doesn’t matter now, and you know that,” said Bruce Margrave.

  “True,” said Mrs Applegate, “look at this.”

  She held up the remains of one of the pigeons, its outer shell was thick with feathers, but its innards were what startled the farmers. The inside of the pigeon was robotic, and made, as Mrs Applegate had said, from cogwheels and string.

  “What should we do?” asked Raynard Batty, panicked.

  “I don’t know!” an angry tone had now replaced Tony Scargille’s earlier expression of emptiness. “Maybe ask him?” he remarked, pointing directly at Jenkins. “His crazy grandson has something to do with this, I know it. That’s why these birds, or whatever they are, that’s why they are leaving his farm alone. He knows, ask him.”

  Jenkins did not know how to react, so chose to remain silent.

  “We all know you are responsible,” said Batty, as he began to rise to his feet. The other members of the Farmers' Alliance also stood up, shifting their attention to Jenkins. A look of grim menace painted itself on Bruce Margrave’s face, a look that could easily be mistaken for emptiness, but to Jenkins, displayed a complete sense of total wrath.

  The farmers started toward him. Mrs Applegate gave a fierce look, a look that was desperate for revenge.

  “Wait, wait just a minute,” said Jenkins, but his words were lost on them. “We can fix this, I promise,” his words drifted off into nowhere, unheard by the angry farmers as they got closer. “Come on guys, they’re only pigeons.”

  As the farmers approached the door, reaching to within inches from where Jenkins was standing, a panic coursed through his veins. He quickly turned around, opened the door to the town hall, and ran.

  12

  The door to the room slid silently open. There was no need for a key card or terminal, no cameras either; the door seemed to open by itself, powered by the presence of Yudar and Tom.