by Eric Swanson
Micah Trace and The Shattered Gate
Chapter One
(The Episode) September 10th, 2054
Two Hours Earlier
Games As a Reflection of Society
Dragged into Silence
Chapter Two
(The First Day)
The Walk
Breakfast with Eaton
Chapter Three
(The Second Day)
The Angered Walk
The Pillar
Chapter Four
(The Third Day)
The Royal Simulation Field
The Burning Valley
Chapter Five
(The Fourth Day)
The Royal Hall
The Ceran Senate Quarters
Micah and Sanballat’s Meal
Chapter Six
(The Fifth Day)
The Hybrid Gym
Back to Eaton’s
The Pillar Annex
The Helt Antisar Arena
Chapter Seven
(The Sixth Day)
Micah and Wes at The Statue
The Temple of Ahma
The Pillar Throne Room
Chapter Eight
(The Seventh Day)
Eaton’s Apartment
Garreous’s Lab
The Sanctuary of Ahma
Chapter Nine
(The Eighth Day)
The Path to Pollai
The Burning Valley
Hybrid Training Gymnasium
Chapter Ten
(The Ninth Day)
The Walk Toward Another World
Sanballat’s Request of Tobiah
Lahm and Po on the Path
Chapter Eleven
What Meremoth Leaves Behind
The First Steps Down the Path
Susa and her Path
Sanballat’s Plan
The List
Chapter Twelve
(The Tenth Day)
The Crew Assembles
Building ANDI
The Virtual Virgalis
Virgalis Loading Dock
Chapter Thirteen
Seeking the Third World
Managing the Mundane
The More Things Change…
Chapter Fourteen
Playing the Hand That’s Dealt
A Small Crack, Big Problem
One Step at a Time
Notes from the Black
Tobiah’s Walk
Hanging By a Thread
Chapter Fifteen
Passing Time Not Torches
The Continued Debate
Epilogue
Unity Day
Another World, Another Way
Chapter One
(The Episode) September 10th, 2054
Graham Shears heard what sounded like all-too-close thunder before he opened his eyes. Thumping thunderclaps shook the surface below him and Graham’s hands reacted while his eyes were still shut. The smooth surface confused him amidst Graham’s waking moment. Deep cuts on his palms rubbed strangely against the smooth surface and it pushed splayed skin on Graham’s hands in odd directions as more blood spurted from the wounds.
The pain in his palms fully woke Graham.
His eyes opened and he saw black space below him, the Earth past that. Fear stripped his mind of rational thought and Graham shot to a crouched position then slammed his back against his transparent prison.
Wide-eyed, completely crippled by fear and alone miles above the Earth, Graham sobbed a few times. Sweat poured down his face and matted his black hair against Graham’s skull as he looked around the pod that carried him away from Earth and into space. He turned in the direction the pod was taking him and sweat dropped from his eyebrows into Graham’s eyes.
Stinging blindness took his attention for a moment before Graham wiped the sweat away from his eyes with his dark blue t-shirt.
When Graham could see again, what he saw didn’t register with the rational part of his brain. The pod which contained only him and oddly rancid-smelling air was moving toward a massive black ship. In the distance beyond the ship was a bright blue glow that made even less sense to Graham, mostly because he couldn’t see the glow’s source.
“I’m in space…” His first words spoken to no one were hoarse and choked. A fear-wracked sob followed and tears joined the sweat on his face in short order. Irrationally, Graham screamed gutturally and pounded on the clear pod.
“Help!” Graham spun around the pod in search of something, anything other than more clear surface, above him, below and on all sides. The only thing he saw that wasn’t translucent was black steel attached to the outside of the pod that led to the ship dragging him through Earth’s outer atmosphere.
Another half-word rumble came from his chest before Graham slumped back to the bottom of the pod. Between his legs, Graham looked at the Earth as it got further from him. Other ships that pulled pods like his followed Graham into space. For an insane moment, seeing other people being stolen from their planet and yanked into the black void with him calmed Graham. At least he wasn’t going to die alone…
Graham shook his head hard to clear that crazy thought. If he died up here, in this pod, that certainly qualified as “alone” by any definition.
Isolated, bleeding and almost crazed by fear, Graham screamed and pounded his bloody fists against the interior of his pod. His blood marked the podwall a bit and trickled down in tiny rivers as Graham kept roaring. His face reddened with exertion, every newly drawn breath filled with putrid air. More sweat rolled down Graham’s face as he continued to panic.
The pod jolted as the ship at the other end of the black steel appendage increased speed and the sudden motion slammed Graham’s sweaty forehead against the pod with great force.
Unconscious once more, Graham Shears continued to sweat, bleed and fly further from the Earth.
Two Hours Earlier
Leaves swirled at the feet of Graham Shears as he made his way toward Soldier Field. Somehow, the most aged stadium in professional football still held nearly 90,000 fanatics without crumbling with most of them remaining within. The same breeze shuffling the leaves blew his dark nearly black, hair over his hazel eyes.
Walking the cobblestone path past the Field Museum, Graham was momentarily romanced by the scent and bite of fall in the Windy City. Graham moved to Chicago from suburban Minneapolis three years earlier with his fiancé, Sarah.
Sarah had repeatedly reminded Graham to take his sunglasses with him to the game. Absent the benefit of her wisdom, Graham’s eyes narrowed to slits against the setting sun. A hand holding a translucent cell phone rose to his brow and provided some shade.
“Don’t forget your shades, G…” Graham muttered to himself. A smile shifted his face as the memory of Sarah’s voice took the place of the din created by Graham’s fellow fans. Squinting still, Graham shifted the phone in his hand and held it out. “Picture to Sarah.” The device beeped once then gave a muted tone as its own reply.
Graham took barely three more steps before the phone in his hand rang, playing a pop hit from almost a decade ago. He hummed a note or two of the tune after the call was already answered.
“Still love that song…” Sarah’s voice came through the small earpiece linked to Graham’s phone. “How’s the sun, babe?”
“Brutal.” Graham replied. He stared absently at his palm as he continued. “I’m thinking a magnet in my palm that attracts my keycard and sunglasses as I leave the apartment. Good idea?”
Graham’s eyes drifted away from the sun toward the stadium which approached in the distance. Clear blue sky mixed with wispy clouds sat atop the curved open roof. About a quarter-mile of cool air and aggressive sun
shine stood between him and football, beer and a couple close friends.
“Awful idea, G.” Sarah’s voice rang like a bell, even with a teasing tone. “Magnets and keycards don’t play nicely together… You’ll have the card but still be stuck outside until I get home.” Her laugh wrapped around Graham like it did the day they met. “Speaking of… what’s the plan? Still late-night Malnati’s?”
Lou Malnati’s pizza was Graham and Sarah’s culinary welcome to Chicago their first night in the city. The Auto-Cabbie recommended it and they both swiftly became functioning addicts of deep-dish pizza. Late-night Malnati’s was usually followed by a lengthy run to burn off the cheese, sauce and crust the next morning.
“Definitely, babe.” Graham pulled his phone from his pants pocket and held it up to a scanner. A wave of red washed over the phone, then the rest of Graham’s body. The wave turned a light blue and scanned his face once more before sweeping his eyes many times quickly.
“Welcome, Graham Shears.” An automated voice greeted Graham. “Please enjoy Soldier Field. Go Bears!” Feigned electronic excitement and a voice which landed just south of “human” combined poorly.
“Alright, walking in.” Graham said as he passed into the concourse. A fresh cacophony rose, peppered with his name and scattered personal details.
“Graham Shears!” A voice called from the Gino’s Pizza booth. A direct competitor and long-time Chicago pizza stalwart, Gino’s had a lengthy list of devotees. Graham wasn’t among that list. “We know it’s been a while since your last slice of Gino’s Deep Dish! Step this way and discover the difference between Gino’s pie and the rest.” The machine repeated its siren song as Graham passed the booth, attempting one last tactic once he was a few feet beyond Gino’s. “Don’t forget! There’s a Gino’s East on East Superior Street, not far from your residence! We’ll see you soon, Graham!”
“Still so creepy.” Sarah’s voice popped back into Graham’s ear.
Big Data was nothing new to American life in 2054, but Data Driven Advertising pinpointed a potential consumer based on their residential situation, economic status and previously demonstrated affinities. Habits, preferences and attitudes were all gleaned from social media activity, purchases, web traffic and it was rumored even seemingly private conversations. The advertisements didn’t just bark at you from behind a screen. They grabbed a passerby with their name and pulled them in with personal touches.
“So, Malnati’s after the game?” Graham asked over the noise.
No advertising, targeted or not, worked perfectly.
“You know it. Have fun, babe!” Sarah said.
“Definitely. Love you.” Graham replied.
Graham ended the call as several texts from friends silently hopped onto his HUD contact lens over his left eye. Graham answered all of them with a single “On the way!” and added a little speed to his trip through the bowels of the stadium.
Games As a Reflection of Society
The steady roar of nearly 90,000 football fans debating topics from play calling to beer (maybe a little politics sprinkled here and there) made conversations difficult. Graham and his two friends took to what they considered an ingenious workaround: each brought a digital air pen. The printing glowed for a few seconds in the air then disappeared, allowing for anything risqué or wrongheaded to be quickly dismissed.
The utility of this mode of communication faded as the trio drank more beer. Clear thoughts written in neat block letters just before kick-off devolved into mashed scribblings like confused graffiti, usually by halftime. Their seats were in the first row of the lower bowl of the stadium, on the 50-yard line. Hundreds of feet above the field, their view was likely better than those spending far more to be far closer to the synthetic grass.
“Martin’s done.” Peter Bueller scratched in the air before patting his own left shoulder. Peter’s red hair and shining emerald eyes led to more than a few jokes about his heritage, though Leprechaun jokes fell somewhat flat due to Peter measuring in at just under six and a half feet tall.
Graham swiped a question mark in the air. It was short-hand for: Where did you hear that?
Peter held out his phone then pinched just above the screen. His fingers splayed and a translucent image of his screen came before the three. A message from Bears beat reporter Lester Wiltfong hung in the air for a moment.
“Shit!” Courtland (Cory) Hill’s voice leapt over the white noise of the crowd. Drinking more aggressively than his friends, Cory abandoned the air scribbling over half an hour earlier. Bald (by choice) and thin, he had a severe look made more so by his volume and cursing. “That asshat is on TWO of my teams!”
Briefly, Peter and Graham sheepishly scanned the crowd in their immediate area, looking for parents with small children they might owe apologies in Cory’s stead.
“Damn it! Didn’t he lose a ball before he got hurt, too?” Cory yelled (somehow) over the crowd. Both his friends nodded. The animated nature of Cory’s anger made it difficult for Peter or Graham to empathize with him, but they fought the smiles curling their lips all the same. “So, they’ll allow PEDs now but still think AutoDocs are—” Cory held up ‘air-quotes’ – “wrong for the game?”
After decades of debate over the use of steroids and other performance enhancing substances, most professional sports began allowing and regulating them in 2045. Major League Baseball, the Continental Hockey League and the World Basketball Association all adopted similar guidelines: PEDs were allowed so long as they came from League-Approved vendors.
Additional revenue was generated and the world kept turning.
“Violent game.” Peter wrote. “Staying healthy = skill.”
His words shined as the stadium exploded with cheers. Marcus Mayfield, a Chicago cornerback intercepted a pass and ran the ball back toward the end zone. He weaved deftly through a pair of defenders (one blocked by a teammate). The free defender lunged and Marcus hopped backward, just beyond his opponent’s white-gloved hand.
As the home crowd roared, Mayfield streaked down the east sideline toward the end zone. With his last stride toward pay-dirt and six points for his team, Marcus Mayfield left his feet and front-flipped into the end-zone.
Graham, Peter and Cory high-fived each other and many celebrating Bears fans in the seats around them. “Bear Down, Chicago Bears”, the orchestral fight song of the team blared over the PA and thrilled fanatics sang along.
Peter scratched “PLAYOFFS!” in glowing, leaning block letters in front of him and the trio celebrated anew.
A crack of nearby thunder jarred Graham and rang in his ears for a moment. Startled, he scanned the stadium. The cannon in the far end zone billowed gray-blue smoke.
The crowd quieted for a moment after the song ended and most settled back into their seats. As a stripe-shirted official placed the ball on a tee at the 30-yard line, the teams took positions on the field, ready for the action to continue.
“You and Sarah doing Malnati’s after the game?” Peter asked during a moment quiet enough to skip the pens.
“Yeah. Stuck in a rut, you know?” Graham laughed then pulled his beer out of the cup holder before him and took a quick drink. “Can’t seem to shake it.”
“Sound like an old married couple, G.” Peter said.
A dry laugh later, Graham locked eyes with Peter. He shook his head quickly. “I’ll be ready to ask when we’re ready to say yes together.”
Peter thoughtlessly played with the platinum wedding band on his left hand. “Take your time, man. Karen and I jumped in, but we both felt connected from day one… everyone’s diff—”
Another cannon shot fired… This time so much louder that it drowned out every other noise like a floodlight in pitch black night. Several people around Graham covered their ears but just a moment late. An older man behind them pulled his hands away from his ears with small drops of blood on his palms.
“Why the hell would they –” Cory grimaced in pain and lost his train of thought. His gaze fell ove
r Peter’s shoulder and Cory’s eyes nearly bulged from his head. Shock took his voice and Cory dumbly pointed to the horizon beyond the stadium’s half-open roof.
A black half shell rose over the edge of the stadium’s roof. The louder cannon-fire sound issued from the flying machine once more and a black appendage slid from it. At the tip of that black appendage a clear pod flew toward a man in the upper bowl of the arena. The ship rose slowly over the lip of the stadium’s bowl, like a monster that stalked the thousands within deliberately.
“It took him! It took that guy!” Peter screamed. He pointed in the direction of the ship and the man just taken; the abductee was pounding the inside of the container which held him, face contorted in fear and confusion. “Holy shit! What…” Peter’s voice trailed off, choked by horror as he watched several more people find themselves inside a container. Tears of awestruck horror welled in his eyes.
Screams came from all sides and crazed panic set in. Like ants from kicked hill, people scattered in every direction the stadium allowed.
“—to go!” Graham’s voice broke through Peter’s fear-stupor as one of the arms reached toward their section. The pair ran toward the partially covered stairwell leading to the upper level concourse.
“Where’s Cory?” Peter screamed as they ran down the stairs.
“He jumped.” Graham spoke hoarsely.
“What?!” Peter called from a stride behind Graham.
Both men jumped the last few steps and ran with the crazed masses toward the ramps that led to the street level. Screams, cries and calls for help mixed together in a disorienting soundtrack. Graham looked back at Peter, unable to respond. A sadness Peter had never seen in another man’s eyes met his gaze for a moment.
“Cory jumped. We have to go, Peter.”
They ran down the 300 feet of ramp at top speed. At several points, one of them tripped and the other reached out to stabilize the falling party. Peter and Graham pushed through the crowd until the ground level exit was in sight. Once the crowd could see perceived salvation, a maddened dash toward the street began.
In this renewed chaos, a child yelped as he fell from his father’s arms. Several unaware stampeding parties behind the father shoved their way toward the street as the man desperately pushed against the human current.