Tabula Rasa

by Filip Forsberg

  “Lisa!”

  Lisa froze and seemed to come to life in his hand. Lisa turned around and looked blankly at Lars.

  “Don’t you see?”

  Lars gave her a surprised look.

  “Yes, I see. I see that you and Tim seem to be completely gone. It's time to go now. We have to get out of here.”

  Lisa said with a soft voice.

  “Lars, it’s alright. It’s really alright.”

  Lars shook his head.

  “Lisa, it’s really time to go now. You and Tim shall turn back and get out of here now.”

  Lisa smiled at Lars, who shuddered and nodded against Tim.

  “Tim too. He’s coming with us.”

  Lisa gently grabbed Tim’s arm.

  “Tim, honey. It’s time to go.”

  Tim was completely mesmerized by the sphere and Lisa’s voice did not seem to affect him at first. Lisa saw to her big surprise tears that ran down on his cheeks.

  “Tim, baby. We have to go out now. It’s time.”

  Tim seemed to shake and nodded.

  “Yes, you’re right.”

  Tim turned around against Lisa and joy rose inside him.

  *

  Outside Paris, France

  2048-12-28

  The decay of society was not apparent but it was there, as a hidden disease waiting to break out. The sun had gone down below the horizon, but the remaining heat in the air still made the evening hot. It had taken Jonathan half a day's traveling to get here and now he was on the countryside just outside of Paris.

  The sound of crickets echoed vaguely in the air and mixed with the twittering from some swallows. A little further down the long, dusty dirt road where he was standing, was a large bakery that delivered bread to exclusive parts of Paris and the bakers were at full swing with preparing the nightshift. The bakery’s products were only for the elite in society and in the last years the bakery had needed to hire guards to chase of intruders and thieves. On a dented sign it the road name read Rue de Maincourt. He studied the aging, seemingly abandoned barn in front of him.

  The lovely scent of freshly baked bread was mixed with a weak odor of burning tires that came from the west. Although it had been forbidden for many years, some smaller shady industries illegally burned their waste. It was strictly forbidden and came with hefty fines if they got caught. But the authorities could not be everywhere and there were many different factions in the society that fought over the power in general and money in particular.

  Jonathan shook his head and continued to walk against the barn in front of him. He had been recruited by a friend to his mother. The friend’s name was Nicholas Backmann and he led a small, profitable enterprise called The Amber group. The name had come from their first mission they had carried out was to locate and return the original Amber room to its lawful owner.

  The Amber room was something of the most amazing that ever been created and was regarded by many as the eighth wonder of the world. The Prussian king, William I had in 1716 given the room as a gift to the Russian Tsar Peter the Great and the room was assembled in the Catherine Palace outside St. Petersburg. The room was made of amber, gold, precious stones and mirrors and had taken more than fifteen years to build. When visitors entered the beautiful room, it was like their minds were overwhelmed by an explosion of various shades of gold and extravagance.

  During World War II, the room was dismantled by German soldiers and transported away and hidden and numerous attempts to find it had failed. But in the beginning of 2042, a German businessman had contacted Backmann and he had been interested in the assignment as it turned out that the businessman had access to secret information from World War II that allowed the group to focus their investigations and narrow the area where the Amber room was hidden.

  It had been found in an abandoned mine in eastern Germany and Backmann and his group had together with the businessman delivered it to the Russian and German authorities. From that first, successful mission had a seed to a business grown and today they had ten employees. The group he belonged to was not that big though but had still considerable resources behind it.

  Although the worst heat that reigned during the day had passed, he would probably never really get used to the warmer climate that covered parts of Europe and turned it into an oven the last months of the year. It was that time of the year that millions and more millions of people fled the big cities and instead searched for refuge at different coastal cities. In the last decades the heat had, that normally during the summer months retained in Africa, started to crawl further north later in the year, which had shifted the seasons. Small, isolated areas in southern France had started to look more and more like deserts.

  He frowned. His shirt clinged to his back and he took of his sunglasses and put them in his shirt pocket. The barn in front of him was shabby, worn and seemed mostly to contain laid off agricultural machinery or old industrial material. It was long, maybe thirty meters along the side. He looked up at a row of crushed windows on the upper floor, it looked like a vandal had systematically smashed every glass window that could be destroyed. Rust had taken a firm grip on the sheet metal and the red, dark paint was flaking from the walls. Small cracks had got a hold between the pieces of sheet metal and tried to tear the building into pieces.

  But he knew it was all a charade. The Amber group had some of the world’s best experts on camouflage and they had been given free hands. The house was designed to be as anonymous as possible and resembled hundreds of other barns in the area. The dirty color fell down from the walls in chunks and rust and weed were allowed to spread as much as they wanted. But under the surface there was something else. The whole place was packed with the latest technology and the four floors contained equipment that would make any spy organization in the world green with envy.

  A narrow dirt path stretched from road and wending its way up to the gates. The gravel scrunched lightly under his feet. Jonathan walked up to a rusty speakerphone that hanged by one of the gates. It looked like it would fall off the wall at any time. He pressed the only button there was and waited. He knew that scanners swept over him and at least two pairs of eyes watched him just at that moment. Small invisible rays swept over him and searched his body for weapons.

  A few seconds passed, and one of the small rusty doors opened with a click and Jonathan stepped inside. It was clearly cooler inside, the hair on his arms stood up. He passed another scanner and went through a hall and a metal door opened automatically. The room he entered was bright and modernly decorated. Two glass walls went from ceiling to floor and led the visitor to a long, modern reception. A middle-aged cheerful woman stood waiting for him and smiled.

  “Hello Jonathan, everything ok?” said Dolores Lee, receptionist and the one who knew all the gossip about all in the group. Dolores was heavy-set, not overweight or fat, but heavy-set in the way that make the female shapes more accentuated. The dark hair swayed and she liked to toss it around.

  Jonathan opened his arms.

  “Hello Dolores, yes, thank you, everything is ok. How’s it going with such a beautiful woman as yourself?”

  She smiled even wider and slapped him playfully on the arm.

  “You charmer. You know how to handle the women.”

  Dolores was a person who had a strange ability to make people confide in her. It also made her limitless appetite for gossip never got filled by the group's social life.

  He laughed.

  “No, not at all. My romantic conquests are probably not as impressive as yours.”

  She hugged him again and pulled him closer, this time a little more serious and carefully.

  “How’s it going with Chantelle?”

  He knew the question would come but it still hurt. Chantelle had been Jonathan’s wife for two short, wonderful years. They had gotten a child, Kristina, and their happiness had been limitless. It had been the happiest time of his life. They had laughed together, they had prepared themselves together, and they had done every
thing that a young couple on the threshold to adulthood would do.

  But when Kristina was eight months old she had gotten sick. It had started as a cold that did not seem to go away and after a couple of weeks, both Chantelle and Jonathan knew that Kristina was sicker than they had thought. It had been cancer. A rare aggressive form of leukemia. He had screamed and cried. He had punched and slammed the walls until his fists were bleeding. Chantelle and he had done everything to protect their child but it would not have helped. Approximately, half of those who get leukemia survive. Children has a better chance of surviving than adults and he had put their hope to that simple fact. But it had not helped.

  Their beloved Kristina had fought bravely but the cancer was so powerful and malignant that it had barely taken five months from her first symptoms to her passing. He had been sitting with her in the hospital bed. Her body was broken after all the chemotherapy and radiation, and she had laid in his arms. She had felt light like a feather. The chemo had melted away half her body weight and he could feel her bony skeleton through the hospital robe. Chantelle had been sitting beside. Petrified. Immobile. Beyond grief. Kristina had laid in his arms. Quiet. Soundless. So dazed by the toxins and the cancer that she could no longer open her eyes. Endless minutes had passed. He had listened to her weak breathing that had become shallower and shallower until he wondered if he had not noticed that she had passed away.

  The tears on his cheeks had dried a long time ago. He had sat there. As a father. A new father who got his heart torn out of his chest. Kristina had twitched. She had opened the eyes. She had looked at him with clear eyes and taken a deep breath. As she defied life and all the pain she had to endure, and did not want to feel out of breathe anymore, even for just a few seconds. She smiled at him and she had placed her head against her father's chest and he knew, he knew she left him just then, right there.

  The days after that had been a blur. He and Chantelle had supported each other, but as the weeks and months went by, they drifted farther and farther apart. They did not find their way back to each other, but were reminded of their loss every time they looked at each other. He had tried, she as well but they had not been able to find that special again. Something was lost. An innocence perhaps, Jonathan was not sure.

  He had laid sleepless many nights, tossing and turning and trying finding a way out of the maze they had gotten into. They had divorced six months after Kristina’s passing. In less than half a year, he had lost his wonderful family and the grief still tore in him. It was two years ago now and he had thrown himself into his studies. He and Chantelle had tried to continue to see each other, but it had been difficult. They met sometimes for a cup of coffee or a walk, but he got the feeling that every time they met, they were farther and farther away from each other.

  “It’s ok.” he said shortly.

  There was not much more to say. He had been through all kind of feelings the last year and it was not until now, in the last few months that he had slept an entire night. There was compassion in Dolores eyes.

  “Ok, tell her that she is in my prayers.”

  “I will.” He said and looked away.

  Dolores gave him an extra hug and pointed over the shoulder.

  “He is waiting for you.”

  Jonathan smiled and walked against the heavy elevator door, grateful that she let it rest.

  After another scanning, with both voice samples and fingerprints, another set of elevator doors opened. It went down three floors. After another fingerprint scan he arrived at Backmann’s office. It was at the bottom of the complex and he knocked on the door.

  “Come in.” a voice sounded from inside the office.

  *

  The jungle, Costa Rica

  2048-12-28

  It was not an easy choice. In the tent, Doctor Lisa King was sitting deeply absorbed in her thoughts. The soft scent of the jungle surrounded her. She sat at the work desk and in the light of the little strong battery-powered lamps she looked fascinated at the floating sphere in front of her.

  It was not big, maybe thirty centimeters in diameter. The surface on the sphere did not look like anything she had seen before. It was silvery but still not silver. Small whirls on the surface moved across it. The whirls glided in and out in each other and created one amazing pattern after another.

  She went over the last day in her head and what it implicated. They had dragged in a metal box and placed it under the sphere. She had no idea how they would get the sphere down in the box but it had worked out by itself. While they were talking about how they would get the sphere down in box, it had without warning started to move downwards. She, Tim and Lars had stood as hypnotized while the sphere had sunk down and put itself in the box. It was almost as the sphere itself demonstrated intelligence.

  Lisa reflected on what consequences it would have for them. They had obviously discovered something amazing. The question now was how they should proceed. They could not stay there in the jungle. She had spoken to Backmann the day before, who had asked her to bring the sphere to the Amber group in Paris but she was not sure it was the right choice. Of course, she trusted Backmann, but she could not be sure it was right.

  Maybe it would be best to give the sphere to the local authorities. They were after all responsible. But she doubted if the authorities would find out, they would take over and Lisa and her team would be shut out or something worse. She could not be sure. If they instead went to the press, it risked to become a media circus that they could not control. No matter how she twisted and turned the problem, she could not find a solution on how they should proceed. Her thoughts were interrupted by Tim who came in.

  “How’s it going?” Tim walked up to her and put a hand on her shoulder. The warmth from his hand penetrated the fabric.

  “Well, it’s alright I guess” she smiled at him, “I’m glad that you are here.”

  The warmth in his eyes could not be misunderstood. Tim gave her a gentle squeeze and bent down and gave her a light kiss. He pulled out a chair and sat down beside her. He looked at the shiny sphere that laid in a box in front of them. It was something supernatural about it. He had never seen anything like it except in science fiction movies. But after all that had happened, he was not afraid. There was nothing in the experience with the sphere that made him alarmed. Curious, sure. Interested, no doubt. But not afraid.

  It was warm in the tent. The hot Costa Rican sun warmed up the surroundings so much during the day that still late in the evening it was still warm and comfortable. Tim studied the sphere with fascination.

  “What do you think it is?”

  Lisa laughed.

  “What it is? I haven’t got a clue what it is” her voice was frustrated. She continued. “What do you think it is?”

  Tim glanced at her and back at the sphere, he hesitated.

  “Something that we haven’t seen before. Something that is not from this world.”

  Lisa shook her head and tapped softly with the fingers against the table. The sphere was still floating a couple of centimeters above the bottom of the box. Small, shining whirls moved on the surface of it. As clouds gliding in the sky. The whirls seemed to rise up from inside the sphere to glide over the surface and then be replaced by new whirls. His voice was soft.

  “And now what? What do think we shall do now?”

  Lisa’s thoughts were racing. Which way should they choose? There were pros and cons with all the alternatives. The Amber Group contributed a large part of the excavation so it was natural that they should be part of the discovery of the sphere. She had also promised Backmann but she still hesitated. If instead they turned to NASA or one of the other space authorities, it would be complicated and maybe more dangerous. The Costa Ricans would get offended that they were not informed and if they found out they were not informed, Lisa would be thrown out of the country and her excavation will be closed immediately. And if they went to the press, it would all explode. Her mind was spinning.

  * * *

  I
n the second tent, on a folding chair, Lars was sitting by his computer. A battery-powered lamp hung from the ceiling and spread its warm light. A fly buzzed angrily around him and Lars slammed it when it landed on his leg. He turned his eyes back to the screen. The last few hours he had spent surfing the social media sites and the major news agencies. On CNN's website, he clicked on the latest live broadcast from Flor Fria. A small holo video faded in on the screen. A light rain fell over the female journalist that was standing in front of the camera in a raincoat and spoke directly into the camera.

  “Behind us we see how the riot continues in Flor Fria and the surrounding areas. Over the last twenty-four hours several thousand have been injured and over two hundred killed. Two of the factions have joined forces and are now combating the regular Chinese forces sent in to retake Macau and also Flor Fria. Similar scenes are also taking place in Hong Kong where confirmed reports mention up to one hundred and ten dead.”

  The reporter continued her monotonous reporting, he turned off the video and continued to read and gather information for another half an hour and then shut down the computer.

  *

  Tabula Rasa, Madagascar.

  2048-12-28

  From his elevated position he felt like a lion who was surveying his kingdom. It was what he was telling himself anyway. The feeling of doubt of his own ability that he sometimes felt he kept well hidden. The pleasant tones of Wagner’s Tannhäuser overture caressed the room, and he focused on the beautiful music.