Still too many problems and too much risk.
He felt the plane start to descend, and when he looked out his window, he now found land passing below his eyes. Everywhere he looked, the same reddish-brown earth splotched with tufts of silver. The silver spread out in every direction, a writhing, serpentine mass.
The blue sparks became more scarce, then disappeared completely, and the plane’s speed decreased noticeably.
Charles took a deep breath and closed his eyes once more, remaining that way until he felt the plane bounce against the anti-grav runway and slow to crawl. Once the plane had taxied and parked, Charles gathered up his things and exited into the airport.
He made his way through the terminal, and since he didn’t have any luggage, made his way directly out onto the frontage road.
“I’ve arrived,” Charles called out over the network.
“Welcome to Eveling,” Broderick Wayland replied. “Are you feeling decharged from the flight?”
“I could use a charge,” Charles admitted.
“I know a good place.” This message came with physical coordinates and a web reference for a restaurant attached. “Meet you there at three?”
“Sounds good. See you then.”
Charles looked up the coordinates of his hotel and took off toward it. Best to freshen up first. It wasn’t every day you got to meet the source of your inspiration.
~
The train from Citrine to Adamantine was eerily vacant. Only two other passengers were in the entire car, a mother and her infant daughter, sitting up front.
Sahaan found himself constantly refreshing the news feeds on his handheld, looking for some indication that the news had picked up the movements Lachel had noticed. Sahaan wondered if a contingent from Citrine was headed toward the capital as well. If so, they had taken a train prior to his. And despite having put in a message to the Hilltop Suite that he would reach the capital by dusk, he had heard nothing in reply. Bharo had messaged that he was preparing for a morning departure to Citrine.
Under normal circumstances, Sahaan would have gladly taken such an opportunity for a mental break, but he found himself wracked with worry. He simply could not take his mind off of the congregation that Lachel had seen and its implications. He wished he could be in the capital now.
In the distant past, his ancestors had possessed the technology of flight, but with the wall’s effective vertical range not reaching higher than about ten stories, such modes of travel had been impractical since the war. It didn’t stop him, however, from wishing for a thirty-minute flight between Citrine and Portal City.
At the Adamantine train station, he switched platforms so as to board the next train heading through Adrine to Portal City. A train arrived within ten minutes, and he boarded, noting this one also, was nearly deserted, containing only a man in a suit and tie and a young woman carrying a backpack, probably still in school.
Both exited in Adrine twenty minutes later, leaving Sahaan alone in the train car.
Sahaan stood up, walked to each end of his train car and peered into each of the adjacent cars in turn. Both were also vacant.
As he walked back to his seat, his phone dinged. Then again. Before he had even sat down, a flurry of activity appeared on his feed.
First—satellite video of mobs of people gathering at the edge of the containment center; military and police equipped with riot gear gathered at their periphery.
Second—satellite video of a similar mob forming around the Alterran portal facility; military and police with riot gear were attempting to reach those few attempting to hold the barricade.
Third—messages from the Hilltop Suite notifying all staff of an upcoming presidential broadcast.
Fourth—government state of emergency notifications.
And then a new notification, a video feed, streaming directly from the largest news broadcaster in the Reclamation.
President Aavee appeared on Sahaan’s handheld, his form projected oversized atop the containment area facility.
“Citizens of the Reclamation,” the president announced. “We find ourselves in the midst of extraordinary circumstances. One hundred and twenty-one years ago, we were victorious in securing our land against a formidable enemy. But the time of war has been long over, and an envoy of that former enemy has reached out to us, extending the possibility of peaceful coexistence.”
The president was interrupted by shouting from the crowd, which grew ever louder. It was hard to hear, especially over the handheld, what individual voices were saying, but Sahaan did catch a few tidbits such as, “we’re being invaded,” “down with the Seditious party,” and “kill the invaders.”
“I ask you now to return to your homes. It is not possible to open the Alterran portal at this time. My government is working on a plan to return those trapped inside the containment area to their original human forms—”
A lot happened all at once in the moments that followed. Someone shouted “kill them,” and fired an energy weapon at the containment field.
“Do not fire at the containment center!” President Aavee ordered. “You will only damage our defensive network!”
Indeed, the shimmering containment field wobbled where bolts of energy hit it. Only a few at first, and then more.
And then Aavee, looking sadder, older, and more disappointed than Sahaan had ever seen him, said, “Troops are authorized to use any means necessary to neutralize those who threaten our containment field.” And his hologram flickered away to nothing.
Sahaan gulped and gasped simultaneously.
The satellite imagery erupted into a veritable warzone of beams of light, some impacting officers, some impacting civilians, and many more being absorbed into the shimmering field. All at once, that field blobbed outward, expanding into and through a contingent of soldiers fighting hand-to-hand with civilians. Another blob emerged from that one, then another blob out the other side. The containment field continued expanding in fits and bursts, eating up buildings, streetcars, people, anything and everything succumbed. And it didn’t stop, rather the blobbing expansions came faster, picking up speed and engulfing whole city blocks at a time. Screaming people, tripped people, injured people all were overtaken by the field and absorbed. Before too long, the field wasn’t absorbing any gunfire, as all of the shooters had been absorbed into the zone, and still the zone expanded. The footage became a side-by-side view with the portal, where scared citizens had completely burst through the police and military barricades and were now hurtling themselves through the portal to Alterra. And still, on the other half of Sahaan’s screen, the expansion continued, the hazy white field spilling down streets and engulfing building after building, until— the Hilltop Suite! The blobs marched up the hill crashing through the parliament building’s west wing, then spilling over to eat up the middle and east wing, too. On it went, up the hill, all the way to the Suite, where it bulged again, engulfing the north half of the structure.
And there it stopped.
Sahaan gulped. His breath came fast, and his heart felt as if it might pound out of his chest.
The locomotive, oblivious to the calamity, continued on its course unperturbed, carrying Sahaan toward the disaster zone.
The news anchor remained silent, and the satellite image shifted to a single view, a full topology of Portal City, the new boundaries of the containment zone clearly outlined. It now encompassed nearly a quarter of the city, from the northwest city limits to the Hilltop Suite. The portal remained outside the zone, lying a kilometer south of the Hilltop Suite.
Sahaan’s handheld rang, interrupting the video feed. How much time had passed since the horrific images from his handheld? Five minutes? Ten? He wasn’t certain. From a glance at the handheld’s clock, perhaps ten.
He answered the call.
“Hello.” A young woman’s jittery voice. “Is this Senior Consul Sahaan Ekeer?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Assistant Communications Director Khatra
Aapada.” Sahaan remembered her. He’d introduced himself, and they’d spoken briefly about work-related matters on a handful of occasions since. “I appear to be the most senior member of staff remaining outside the containment zone. I’ve gotten everyone out of the Hilltop Suite, and we are headed southeast. Our destination is the meeting hall near the Alterran embassy. We’ll set up a provisional government there.”
“That’s a good plan, Mrs. Aapada. I take it, then, that the president—”
“He is inside the containment zone, yes.”
“And the Parliament Majority Leader?”
“We have not heard from him, and both parliament buildings were completely absorbed, sir.”
The ‘sir’ clinched it, and Sahaan knew what her next words would be before they were even out of his handheld speaker.
“I believe that makes you the acting president, sir.”
“Yes,” Sahaan said. “That is indeed the protocol.”
~
Although Charles had grown up in Grandtown, a suburb of Redwing, he’d visited a handful of other cities. It was a thought he’d had before, but now, seeing Eveling, it only reinforced his sense of the homogeneity of all the Pinnacle’s cities. The same prefabs had been used to construct everything, from train stations to storefronts to skyscrapers. Walking the streets of Eveling, Charles felt himself to be occupying a reorganized and somewhat smaller version of Redwing.
Did it have to be that way? He wasn’t sure. At any rate, it didn’t seem to bother most people. Brad had been the first person who seemed to notice the same things that Charles did. Whenever he’d broached the topic at work, he’d be confronted with befuddled stares and social awkwardness. Not that he’d tried much. He’d quickly developed a personal policy of his work relations remaining strictly about work.
At last he came upon the restaurant that Broderick had sent him. It had been duplicated from the same prefab as two restaurants near his workplace in Redwing, although this establishment had a different name and had chosen a different color scheme for the decor. But everything else: the chairs, tables, and layout of the furnishings were an exact copy.
“Charles?”
He turned around to find himself facing a man perhaps five to ten years older than himself, slightly taller, and imposingly broad frame. But his smile proved disarming, and Charles smiled back. “Broderick! I’m Charles Mayworth. Great to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
A waiter approached, and Broderick asked them to look up a reservation under his name. Shortly thereafter, they found themselves seated at a table with a north-facing view of the Bekel plains and a small, spiky offshoot of the Nakash mountain range.
“It’s great to finally meet you,” Broderick said.
“Same here.”
“Are you still thinking of writing an interpretation of The Politics?”
“I’m still going back and forth on that. No one would scan it. And I’d probably end up just repeating others anyway.”
“You should write it. Someone has to keep the torch of wisdom burning.”
“Torch of wisdom?”
“A very old metaphor for a very old human problem. It may seem as though we have entered a dark age for intellectual inquiry, but if you read enough Kenek, Rema, Xelas, and the other ancients, then you’ll see that getting too worked up in what’s best practically rather than actually is a human failing that far predates the Break. Though the Break certainly didn’t help it any.”
“But it’s caused all these problems.”
“That’s true, but think also about what good it’s done. Are you familiar with the concept of disease?”
“Sure.”
“It is very different for vestigs. For example, search for the term ‘cancer.’”
Charles did as instructed, and within moments he’d absorbed the synopsis of all relevant data on the many permutations of the disease. Charles gulped twisted up his face, revolted. “And this can just… happen to any of them?”
“And now think of what it must have been like to contract this disease before public medicine, before the various therapies you’ve just learned of. And us? We just correct the offending code. Done. Do not blithely discount these advances.”
Charles couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “But deceleration, everything you’ve written…”
“It’s all true. I think that biological forms of the vestigs offer a deeper, fuller human experience than ours, even if it is more fragile and more fraught.”
“And what do you think of communication with them?”
Broderick initiated encryption of their conversation. “It needs to happen.”
Charles took a quick glance around the restaurant. “Is it safe to talk about this here?”
“Encrypted, it is safe enough.”
“Brad and I wouldn’t think twice about talking about such things in Redwing.”
“Redwing is far from the vestigs’ walls. Here in Eveling, the topic cannot be discussed as lightly.”
Charles nodded. “Why does it need to happen, though? We could go on as we have been.”
“No. That’s exactly why everyone is moving toward the extremes of the political field.”
Charles quirked an eyebrow. That the political arena was growing more tendentious, that the extreme parties were growing and the moderate ones shrinking, was all common knowledge. But no one had publicly presumed to analyze why that was occurring.
“You like stories, Charles. I can tell that from our letters. When you scan a lot of stories, you can start to compare them. Once you’ve compared enough of them, you can start to analyze them, and once you’ve done enough analysis, you can start to tell the true ones from the false ones, false in the sense that they are distorting reality rather than making it clearer.
“Now, here’s the thing. Everyone, everywhere, is telling themselves stories all the time, without even realizing it. An example is the extreme left. The story they are convinced is true is that the vestigs behind the walls are dangerous barbarians with weapons of mass destruction, their fingers poised over the ignition buttons. You and I know that this is likely a false story. But to the people who believe this, it is reality. That have no framework with which to make a better evaluation.
“The reason we need to contact the vestigs is that, if we did, we would all finally have real data about what their intentions are, and we could all stop guessing. I worry that, if we become too extreme, then even real data wouldn’t matter anymore. The crazy stories would simply become reality. No amount of contradictory information has ever dissuaded the true zealot from his crusade.”
“Crusade?”
“Search it.”
Charles did. Then he checked that the encryption was still active. “But contacting them could also disrupt them. What if they’re telling themselves crazy stories, too, and all it would take is a message to send them into chaos?”
“Yes. That is a risk. But then they would merely be proving our hard left-h parties correct, and that would make for a very bleak future of Asura.”
Charles pondered that for a time. “Do you know how to read, not scan, but really read?”
Broderick smiled and unencrypted their conversation. “Yes.”
“So, when you read, can you really hear the words’ pronunciations in your mind? You could synthesize speech if you needed to?”
“I used a scan of a very old book out the University of Nightbridge. It’s a very technical document from an ancient field of the academy called linguistics. It was a comparison of acoustic and digital encodings of meaning. Part of it contained a synopsis of the phonetics of the vestigs’ language.”
“Two hundred years…” Charles’s shoulders slouched. “Then, the pronunciations of the words have probably all changed.”
“It’s possible, but my understanding is that it takes language much longer to change, especially in societies with a public education system, and it’s extremely unlikely that they’ve given that one up.”
/> Charles perked up. “Is this research you could share?”
“Certainly,” Broderick said.
The waiter returned and asked for their order just then. At that moment, Charles couldn’t have been more glad he’d made this trip. He’d found just what he’d been looking for.
~
Sahaan stepped into a room that felt like a parallel reality version of the meeting hall he remembered. It contained all the familiar decor, the flags on the wall, Alterra’s and Asura’s side by side. But the rest… an intern with disheveled hair talked frantically into her handheld. A young man wearing a headset sat at the far end of the conference room furiously typing on his computer, and on and on. All in all, perhaps some forty of the Hilltop Suite staff were here, all busy, some sweating, others jittery.
“Mr. President?” Assistant Director Khatra Aapada stood at his side.
“Mrs. Aapada. What’s our status?”
“Yes, sir. First, the containment field. It is, thankfully, stable. However, the emergency generators in all twelve cities are now active, and it is only with their combined output that the containment field is stable. However, we estimate that we will run out of fuel first at the Enerine reactor in ninety-seven days, at which point the containment zone will begin to expand again. Second, is our military capacity, which has yet to be determined. We have not been able to contact any members of Central Command. We are continuing to try to find out who is still in charge at the portal, but it sounds like most, if not all, of the senior officers were near the containment zone. We are working on getting estimates of how much of the military remains and where they are. Since we ordered the military to divert as many troops as possible to Portal City, we expect casualties to be quite high. And finally, civilian casualties. Now, I’ve been told that these numbers are a guess at best, and we won’t be able to tell for sure unless we can get our nanites into the containment zone—”
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