Engineer Zero: The Waves Trilogy: Book One, page 20
Is that truth? I wondered
Leona scowled at Maks while sliding in between the other waiting passengers. The doors opened, and we followed the others onto a large black platform that descended towards a massive terminal full of people.
We jostled off the platform into the commotion of the station and walked toward a large exit emerging onto a thoroughfare. People strode and glided past on platforms, most wearing beige, green, and brownish-colored clothing, not uniforms but a distinct color scheme and style from that of the Apex. A statue, at least nine or ten people tall, of a man holding a massive stone hammer mid-swing towards an atom greeted us to Visros. As we started to walk away, the statue swung into motion, and the hammer slammed with a thunderous clap. The atom smashed and exploded in hundreds of different directions, sending light flying at us. A pattern coalesced out of the bits of the oversized atom, and words became legible. “The Spirit of Energy Discovering Power,” a firm voice said. “That is the pride of The H.E. Corporation, the third oldest private corporation in the entire Network.”
“Impressive, the H.E. Corp loaded some CC to my mark just for watching that,” Maks mumbled.
We followed Leona around the dull apricot-colored street that boasted arching buildings curving over the main street. In fact, ahead, all the structures followed a doughnut-shaped contour around the entire city. To the left, a giant hole stretched. I had to strain to make out the greyish lines of buildings on the other side. A squeaking apple-sized drone scurried over the surface, dodging feet and platforms. It crossed in front of me then circled my feet a few times.
“You make friends fast,” Leona said with a little chuckle.
The bot apologized then continued on its way.
“You scared it.” I nudged Leona in her side.
The city wore a more stitched-together appearance than the Apex. Seams in the plastics at my feet ran like leafy veins over every surface. The colors, un-faded as they were, held an aged quality to them, like a palette from a different era. Even though Visros was one of the first spires, and considered merely adequate by the ascending, to me it was still miraculous. I knew that the entire Visros spire and upper structures resembled an enormous parachute, with five rings circling down four cords, then at the smallest ring at the bottom, the four cords came together in a twisting braid and reached to the soil far below. I drifted over to the center railing and cocked my head up. Air swirled around the rings and the cords intoned faint clusters of harmony. High above in the middle of the top doughnut hole, great arches cut through clouds that then dipped back to the other side of the city. Tiny black specks zoomed along the arches like ants walking the tip-top branches of a winter-bare tree.
Maks handed me his goggles, bringing the specks into focus: humans wearing dark suits. They zipped up into the sky on thin spider-like threads at great speeds.
“What are they doing?” I asked.
Sema responded through the goggles, “These are the sail sweepers of the great Karman Solar Energy Project. The sails capture and transmit ninety-eight percent of the energy hitting their surface. The sails cover almost twenty thousand square miles. Tethered by nano-carbon cables, they collect enough energy to power our most ambitious projects, such as the G-wave Plexus. The workers wear special suits that glide along the cables as well as provide a safe working atmosphere. The workers attend to malfunctions that cannot be repaired by drones. There are over ten thousand drones constantly sweeping off the cosmic and atmospheric dust that collects on the surface of the sails. This is one of the great achievements after the Hundred Year Doctrine and the Wave Wars that liberated humans from suffering.”
Well, not everybody’s suffering. Still, it was amazing all the grandness the people of the clouds had achieved. At what cost? I have seen plenty of suffering back home, and murder in the Apex, so they are not that precipice.
“Spectacular, is it not?” Asher’s voice joined flatly with the ambient harmony. I marveled at one of the sweepers coasting across a sail then turned around only to find no one there.
“Activate, Aris. You can’t stand there all day,” Maks called out. I looked around for Asher but he was not there. These goggles are trouble. I jogged across the road to Leona and Maks who were in what appeared to be a tense conversation. Leona had her arms crossed and thrust her hip out. I felt differently for Maks. Now that I knew his guides were being basically tortured by the Guiding Council, I could not look at him the same way. There is still suffering for the ascending too.
“If we want to get to the surface we have to at least pretend to be tourists,” whispered Leona and shook her head toward a building that had a sign that read “The Development of Harnessed Energy Museum.” The entrance had a skyscraping waterfall, at least fifty levels high. The water cascaded down the front and sides of the building, turning wheels that then flipped levers that then activated a whole chain of mechanical activity. The water eventually crashed into a pool, creating a fine mist one had to pass through to enter the museum.
“Then we look like tourists.” Maks practically leaped through the water. The museum teemed with godlings—I chuckled to myself over the made-up word—running everywhere, and adults seemingly as excited pulling ropes and flipping switches. Everywhere devices whirled to life. Despite all the activity, the museum was eerily devoid of human sounds. As with pretty much everything up in the Network, all the people communicated with Jiǎo and then each other through their ocops so only sporadic pops of human exclamations broke through the machine sounds.
Misty drops rolled at their own pace down my face and hair. “I’m going to check out the fusion reactors. Come on!” Maks started at a bound through the crowd.
“We have to be pinged anyway.” Leona shrugged. “Let’s get through this, so we can explore some of the other attractions.”
“Does Maks know why we are here?” We stepped over a couple of yellow-haired children who blew furiously into the blades of a miniature wind farm that made a tiny light flash atop a spire.
“Yes. He was supposed to be able to get us to the surface right away, but then he said that some precipice-tier security measures made it impossible. He mentioned something about the connection being full of bots, and that he couldn’t get through without brushing triggers or surv-spikes. And if Maks can’t get through then something is going on, and it probably relates to you.” She arched her eyebrows and pursed her lips, a truly Apex expression. Behind her façade, a tinge of jealousy slipped through. Is she jealous that I get all this attention that I do not want or ask for?
“Why is he helping me?” I asked.
“He likes you,” she said bluntly. “Or like most people in the Apex, he is interested in you and wants to be close to the action. Besides, I think he feels bad about what he did at Asher’s party. That is still a top destination in Jiǎo, by the way.”
“Are you here for the action? Or to get more wits?” I asked, nonchalantly letting out a chuckle at the scene of curious museum-goers, and the fact that this passed for action. But I was curious about her involvement with me.
“I’m here for the unknown.” She moved behind me from my right side to my left. “I’m also here for you...” We stopped walking, and all the mechanical clamor from before went out like pinching an ember between thumb and finger. Taking my cheeks with extreme tenderness into her cool hands, she held my gaze; perfectly curved lips pouted ever so slightly. “I will not”––she struggled to maintain a clear voice––“make the same mistake Maks made. This is the grey way of me letting you know I may care about you more than you think.” She let her fingers graze my cheeks and jaw and explored the tiniest segment of my neck before she dropped her arms. I remained in that quiet space for some time, entranced by her, not sure how to act around her, not even sure what she meant. And did all that go on her mark?
“Leona, did that go on—”
“No, I went grey a while ago. Though, a few here may load it.” She bounced ahead a few steps which got me going again. A whirring brought the museum back to life. Caught up next to Leona, I told her xièxiè, and that I was glad to have someone on my side.
We meandered through various displays of power generation over the course of human existence, allowing pings to track us to supposedly confuse anyone who may be watching us, which was almost certainly true. Most of the museum pieces glorified humanity’s intelligence through the ages, whereas according to my update it was because of such energy technologies that the Wave Wars and the Hundred Year Doctrine took place at all. In the Nether, we had no electricity, so we had no need for methods of collecting energy other than from sun to plants. No great wars took place, a squabble here or there about someone not working as hard as someone else, but conflict on the scale that could wipe out our village was unthinkable.
“Is Maks that interested in all this?” I asked.
“Maybe, he is easily excited, especially by anything tech. But, like us, he is planting ping decoys so when we are on the surface our signatures will read here and then wander around the city, at least he says he can do that.”
“So we wait.”
“Yes.”
Countless passageways boasted grandiose holo-signage and people flowed from one to another. However, one was deserted. “Energy from Plants” it stated. At times, I wondered if I was connected to Jiǎo after all. I had just thought about the energy from plants. I broke through a line of goggled youngones and headed over to the hall. Through a few bodies, a figure of an ox with a yoke and a squat man walking behind caught my attention. I squished between the tall people and clicked further down the hall until I was the only one around. The drooling ox’s ear twitched as I got closer. Amazing how real the tacto-grams, like Nenko, could be. On the stage, or set, the animal engaged in pulling a sharp gleaming metal plow through dark soil, overturning it in shallow troughs. Even something as simple as that metal plow would save lots of time in the fields back home, I thought. The holo-man behind the ox rose only a head or two taller than the ox’s rump. The finest red and blue work clothes I had ever seen covered his lean body. Crisp and pristine garments matched his dirt-less nails. Somebody did not get the update on what labor really looked like. Maybe a little soil on his boot to make it more authentic. I let some dirt sift through my fingers.
“Hello there.” I dropped the dirt and jerked back. “Ask a question, and I will do my best to answer,” the holo-man said with strange drawled out vowels. A wide grin covered his face. He pulled on the reins, causing the ox to take a step back with its hind legs, and stare dumbly forward at the other holo-exhibit of a band of ancient humans milling around, unconvincingly looking for something on the ground. The holo-man in front of me leaned or tried to lean, casually on the plow handle. I put my nose right up to his knee; a faint odor came from his blue pants. “What are you doing, youngone?” he asked. Holo-branches of fake trees swished in the background. Sunshine beamed from lights that appeared distant as the true sun. Is that sweat on his brow? I questioned myself. I did not answer his question but instead reached out for his calf. Solid, but solid in the sandpapery way that Nenko was.
“Are you real?” I whispered.
“In the flesh,” he faked a laugh. “Truth, I believe I am real so far as that takes me. Now I know you ain’t from here. Where you from?” he asked.
“The Nether.”
He shifted his weight to one side and turned his focus to the sky-blue ceiling as if truly pondering my response. “Hmm. I heard whispers of that place but know not much of it. In truth, I’m supposed to be a farmer, and I hear you all are farmers there. Truth?”
“Truth, we are farmers,” I answered. “I suppose the Nether is not much to see compared to Visros. Are you from up here?” Did tactos have birthplaces? Update: tacto-grams have designated birth areas within Jiǎo.
“Nooo, no, I used to be a crofter, or so my memories tell me. I used to work in the Heat on the surface. But then this job opened. I say this is more comfortable than walking the rows, fixin’ old panels and heat glass.” He shifted his feet and brought colorless eyes back to me. “I stay up here, and I mean, right here, and that suits me all right.” He stamped his shiny brown and white boot heel on the stage.
“You mean you live here? In the museum?”
“Yep,” he assured me. “I have energy and a place to shut down, even if it is with Thomas.” He jabbed his thumb towards the ox. “Oh, by the way, how is my accent? I have worked diligently on it, though I have never heard anyone who is an actual farmer.”
“It is great. You could easily fit right in with the village folk.” I figured this little lie would hurt nobody, and he beamed back at me. “Do you get lonely up here?” I gestured to the empty room.
“You are an innocent. I do get lonely, but it is better than not existing, and it is certainly better than walking the Heat day and night.”
“The Heat?” I asked.
“No ocops? Whew!”
“No, like you said, I ain’t from here.” He laughed easily and squatted to his haunches.
“No you ain’t.” He brushed the already clean sleeve of his shirt. “Well if you do not mind, I could show you my past.”
I pulled my hair over my shoulder and turned around. Instantly an update with his past hit my brain: The Heat is the slang term for rows of ultra-heated hafnium, nitrogen, and carbon that are then funneled into the earth to store as energy for later use. The crofters on the surface maintain the lines and panels that transfer energy from the sun to the underground pool of seven thousand four hundred-degree liquid. Crofter is the term for the underdwellers who work the lines and rows. The crofters are officially called “confined nomads.” They sleep alone during the day in huts, where there is only enough food and water for one person.
The holo-man was loosely constructed from a collection of drone survs and memories harvested from the brains of deceased crofters. The holo-man was once a babe and grew up in the shadow of an elder crofter, one who taught him how to not get burned alive, and how to survive in the extreme heat of the desert. He remembered long nights when the crofters worked within the glow of ‘the Heat,’ and he could not help but remember the flames of those who got too close to a line. He had a fond memory of a leathery dark-skinned woman who would wrap his tender feet with despiked cactus to protect him from the desert floor’s heat that percolated up from the underground pools of energy liquids. Memories of drones observing their work or even the gods themselves descending to guide the crofters in their labor. The most special day of all was being called to be a part of the museum.
“Why do drones not do this work?” I asked.
“Why do drones not work the fields of the Nether?” he countered with a smile. “I reckon they could, but it has always been thataway, as far back as my memories takes me.” His face caved, and his already-sunk eyes turned darker.
“It sounds a little like the Nether,” I said, and took up a seat on the edge of his stage. “Instead of fields of power, we grow fields of food, but we get to live in a village, and have friends, family, children, and festivals. We believe the cloud folk are gods. We offer sacrifice to them.”
“What sorts of sacrifice? A few gigawatts?” He stroked his chin thoughtfully in calculation.
“The lives and blood of our friends and families!”
He made a gagging sound. “Truth, I was ‘bout to say that sounds nice,” he said. “But that ain’t good neither. We know they ain’t gods, well a bit more godlike to me than most, but on the surface, the only god is the sun. It has given all, and one day will take all, or so we believe.” The ox’s tail made a dry swishing sound. “Anyhow, why you up here, dressed like them? The cloud folk?”
“Long story, but basically, Agents took my pa, and, for some reason, sent me to live in the Apex.” Maybe it was not such a long story when put like that.
He delivered a long whistle. “Musta be something special to get the attention of the Agents and live to tell about it. Are you looking for your pappy? Is the sun still with him? I’ve always wanted to meet my pappy or mammy––I mean the human who made me me. I do not know if the sun is still with’em.” He sighed. “I guess the memories of another’s pappy will have to do.” He spoke with real emotions. This tacto made me reconsider my definition of alive.
“I am trying to find him, but how am I supposed to get anything from the Agents? This feels like someone else’s problem, until a chest-collapsing weight throws me into a panic, and I realize it is me. I am in this moment. I was not, am not ready for this,” I admitted. It was good to say it out loud. I felt like this random tacto was the closest to home I had come since being taken.
“We are never ready for the trials put before us. If someone had asked ‘Hey, d’you want something to happen in your life that will push you to the breaking point? Something that will destroy what is most precious?’ I think most people would say, ‘No, thank you.’ However, something tells me you ain’t no ordinary girl. Otherwise, they would have left you in the Nether, or worse.” I turned up to face him. He showed his slightly twisted teeth.
“Truth, you sound like my pa.” He nodded taking the compliment. “I do have one lead. Well, not a lead, but more like a hunch,” I explained, but hesitated to take it further, who knew who was listening or watching.
“And that hunch is...” he pressed.
“It sounds silly when I say it out loud, but I have been having these dreams of a dusty old man with a deeply creased face, his clothes blowing wildly around him, and then I saw this same guy when I put on a thought mask, and then again in a book, and when you loaded your memory, some of the crofters looked similar.”
