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  I move through the apartment like a ghost. Pulling the front door closed slowly. The lock snaps into place more loudly than I’d like, but after a few moments pause nothing else disturbs the silence. Confident they slept through it, I make quick strides to the elevator and the lobby below. I can’t recall the last time I was in the lobby at this hour, but I expected it to be empty.

  The lobby is by no means full, but a steady flow of people are coming and going through the many airlock doors. Driven by the day’s objective, I become lost within myself.

  “Stop!”

  Flashes of yesterday’s chase stiffen my spine. Suddenly I’m on the ground pinned beneath a man wearing a brimmed hat over his mask.

  “My God, girl, you almost killed yourself. You need to pay more attention to where you’re going. Don’t you know what could have happened to you?”

  I push him off me. I stand up, then awkwardly extend my hand to help him up. He accepts it and with a short tug I have him back on his feet. He brushes himself off then stands, silently looking at me. His body language suggesting he wants a reply. I reach into my pack and in a single motion I pull my mask over my face.

  “Do you?” I respond. My words distorted.

  His head cocks to one side. Leaving him behind to ponder my retort, I enter the airlock. I break out into a jog as soon as the airlock’s opening is wide enough to pass. I can’t be that careless, I’m going to get myself in trouble. I need to put some distance between me and that mistake.

  Putting my head down, I zone out, engrossed by passing in and out of the meandering crowd. A few blocks away the strain of breathing through a filter builds sufficiently to slow me into a walk. Recouping my breath in long rhythmic gulps, I refocus on my task and begin the search for the landmarks that will guide me there.

  The density of people on the streets grows as the glow of the sun fills the sky. Approaching the library, I get a flash of dread. The massive stone building, built ages ago in a time before glass, steel, and machines, looms out of place among buildings lusting for the sky. It has no external airlocks so I place my hands on the enormous brass handles. After pausing to collect my courage, I shove my way in.

  The entrance hall has been retrofitted with airlocks. The steel and glass structure of the air seal looks like cancer on the intricately carved wood and stone. I enter through the single airlock. Its mechanisms are slower than I am used to and I nearly walk into the doors, they open so slowly. Equally as slow to close and seal me in, nervous dread builds inside me. When finally it hisses open I impatiently rip off my mask and jump out.

  Rows of dark wood bookshelves fill the cavernous structure from top to bottom. Its unfamiliarity is beautiful. Approaching the front desk I reach around and stuff my mask back into my backpack. I rest my hands on the aged wood of the counter. It feels foreign to my concrete- and steel-accustomed fingers. The librarian looks up from his computer screen with a mild look of surprise.

  “Do you need directions?”

  By the tone in his voice it’s clear he isn’t asking about directions within the Archive.

  “I do in fact. Where might I find the special collections?”

  The look of surprise grows even wider upon his face. I can tell he doesn’t get many visitors.

  “Sure, I can point you in the right direction,” he points off to his right at the last row of books. “Follow that row all the way back to the staircase and then simply follow it down to the bottom. Sorry for the look of surprise, we don’t get new people in here very often so I was sure you were lost.”

  “It is my first time here so you weren’t too far off. Breathtaking building.”

  “Isn’t it? We’ve lost this in architecture. Anyways, welcome. I hope you find what you’re searching for.”

  “So do I.”

  I follow his directions down the long row of encyclopedias to the staircase. Its wide stone wedges spiral down and out of sight. Descending the steps, I keep my hand on the rail to steady my building nerves.

  Floor after floor passes me by as I navigate the winding steps. Rounding the final corner, there is a small landing. A small wooden door adorned with a plaque reads Special Collections. I open the door and step inside. Nervous, I move my feet in short cautious steps. Rows of books fill this space like in the main hall, but the majority of the ones here are larger and appear to be much older. Against the far wall, glass cases filled with remnants and scrolls hum softly from the sound of their hidden climate control units.

  A small archway leads me into a room beyond. I peek my head through cautiously. More books. Feeling embarrassed at the height to which I had worked up my nerves, I stop my sneaking and start walking confidently toward the empty desk at the center of the radiating shelves. I place my hands against the wood, and my fingers rejoice to once again touch the rare material. Looking down the many aisles converging around me, I see only shadows cast by the dim light.

  “Hello? Is there anyone in here?”

  I wait patiently for a reply and receive only silence. Following the advice of an insane woman I’ve reached a dead end, who would have figured? Determined to make this trip worthwhile even if the promise of easy answers has been dashed, I step forward into the nearest row of books.

  The tomes are leather bound with thick, heavy pages. The subjects vary wildly and whatever order they are in escapes me. Coal and the Ideal Self, The Airlock Compendium. Still hopeful, I continue to rummage through the shelves.

  “Hello?” I say.

  The only response I get is the echo. I knew that lady was crazy. I guess I’ll just have to try and find some answers in these books.

  Looking around at the vastness of the shelves, the task feels unsurmountable. I pull my backpack around my body, unzip it and reach inside. Taking the sphere into my hands I squeeze it tightly. I should have known something so small couldn’t have held the answer I seek. A sigh of frustration passes my lips. The thought of throwing the sphere into the wall, shattering it into a million pieces entices me.

  I cock my arm back, ready to throw it. I pause, building the tension to throw it, and the memory of the woman’s hand on my shoulder keeping me from venturing outside uncovered, fills me with guilt for wanting to smash her sphere. It may be a useless trinket, but it will always remind me of her, and the steps I’ve taken in seeking the truth.

  I slide it into my pocket. Returning my focus to the bookshelves, I continue to search.

  Hours pass and nothing has come even close to what I’m looking for. Old manuscripts, poems, technical manuals and ancient religious texts offer intriguing insights into all manner of things, but none of them answer my questions. I’m looking for a key that will unlock my questions and so far nothing fits.

  Row after row, aisle after aisle, I flip through the pages of every book. My fingers are red from the dozens of little paper cuts I’ve accumulated sifting through the tomes. This journey is beginning to feel hopeless. I’ve looked and read for hours and I’ve only gone through a handful of the racks. A dozen more aisles and a hundred racks filled with thousands of books still sit unopened. And those are just the ones on this floor.

  Walking to the end of the aisle, I slump against the end of the shelf. Its rich, dark wood feels smooth and soft against my back, but I feel deeply uncomfortable. Tired and hungry, I have to give up for the day. I set out this morning with so much hope that today was the day I found the answers. That drive nags at me to keep looking, but the aching in my feet, soreness of my hands, and grumbling of my stomach beg me to go home.

  Vacillating between pressing on and giving up, I notice something out of place. The last row of books against the far wall is just like the others in appearance, except for a small sliver of yellow light creeping from underneath a section three meters wide. I jump up. What if the device is behind that door?

  Vigor renewed leaps through my veins. My foot falls echo loudly as I race to
the bookshelf.

  Face to face with the shelf I begin running my hands along the spines of the books. There has to be a hidden door handle somewhere around here. I feel slowly around each book with my fingers and scour them with a thorough examination.

  Halfway up the shelf my finger snags on the false book’s spine, producing a hollow thump. Tapping it again to be sure, I am positive there is more inside it than just paper. Grabbing hold of the book with one hand and steadying myself with the other I pull it back. Its mechanisms function smoothly. The shelf slides silently into the wall, revealing a door. As soon as my hand releases from the book the opening begins to recede. Jumping faster than I thought my battered body could, I jump into the small hidden opening, barely clearing the narrowing gap before it closes on me.

  Before me stands a door. Excitement tingles in my hand at the touch of the warm brass knob. Turning it open, I step into the room. There before me is massive mechanical device the likes of which I have never seen. This must be the device the woman spoke of; it has to be! My heart swells in disbelief.

  Its enormous size and beauty dwarf my wildest expectations. Impossibly large and crafted from seemingly every metal, it fills the massive space. All around it machines rapidly blink and whir. Jets of steam sporadically shoot from decorative pipes.

  A set of metal stairs lead up to a small landing and what appears to be a human-shaped cavity in the machine. Each step across the room and up the stairs is electric. My heart races and my lips curl into an uncontrollable smile. This is impossible. This is amazing.

  Across from the cavity is a command module. Its buttons and dials are foreign to me but they are clearly labeled. The dials are solid and cold. They turn only with effort, unlike the projected light interfaces I’m used to.

  I follow the instructions written on the panel, and the machine bursts to life. Startled and excited, I twist the last few knobs into place and throw the final switch. I feel as tense as a bound wire and as free as the clouds. I embrace the swirling contradictions and press on.

  The center of the module opens up revealing a spherical slot roughly the size of my palm. The sphere! Nervously pulling it from my pocket, I press the sphere into place. It snaps in effortlessly. A rush of energy springs my step, popping me up onto my tiptoes. She wasn’t lying about the sphere. Perhaps she told the truth about what’s inside it too. I’m glad I didn’t destroy the sphere in my moment of frustration. I need to learn to keep those types of emotions in better check.

  The panel closes up around the sphere. The Oracle Device releases a thundering bellow of steam. Turning around, the glass panel in front of the cavity lifts up. The steam swirls in vortices around it.

  When the steam clears, I stand facing the body shaped impression. Made up of thousands of little prongs, it appears to have only one way to enter it.

  Trusting my instincts, I press my back into the millions of tiny metal fingers. I am immediately enveloped by the device. I sink in until only my face is uncovered. The fingers hold me in their tight embrace.

  The cavity door closes and the thundering of the machine disappears behind the glass. The embrace is writhing and alive. The prongs are like countless metallic fingers ceaselessly groping. A fire begins to burn hot in my mind. This was a mistake. The helplessness of claustrophobia overtakes reason. Thrashing about, I struggle to free myself from the pressing, suffocating metal fingers. My breaths come quick and shallow. Beginning to hyperventilate despite my best efforts, it is far too late for me to escape the otherworldly embrace of the machine.

  Blinding pain, ten times what I have ever known, consumes me for an instant as millions of tiny needles emerge from the end of the prongs punching through my skin. As suddenly as the pain appears it vanishes. In its wake I feel groggy, drugged. The world begins to gently swirl.

  In the needles’ embrace, I feel the pain and anxiety of the last few months dissolve and leach from my body. However, the calmness lasts only a moment.

  Electricity floods into every pore. My teeth clench together painfully. My body stiffens like a board. Skin crawling with the sensation of creeping tendrils working into my veins, I feel myself slipping away and the machine forcing its way in.

  Vision spinning wildly, I begin to see tremendous flashes of light and dark. Trillions of colors, beyond the scope of normal perception, violently explode in front of my eyes. My body boils up to fever heat and down to hypothermia cold. I am as immobile as stone; my mind alone is able to writhe and protest the supernatural assault on my senses.

  Fully engulfed in the machine, I suffer its every will and whim whether I struggle or not. Deciding to let go, to stop fighting, is proving to be a herculean task, but I can’t learn if I can’t accept, and with that thought I plead with myself to let go. Is fighting more important to me than discovering truth? No, nothing is more important.

  Mind and body, against their own primal desires, reconcile to surrender completely to the machine. As I give up control, the Oracle Device wastes no time in seizing it. My mind and body are no longer mine to control.

  The journey begins and I am a puppet on a string. The world I grew up in drops away. Floating in the emptiness of space I feel my body give its last bit of self-control over to the machine. Rocketing off at unachievable speeds I cross over galaxies and solar systems, too quickly and too many to count. I can only revel in the scope of the universe. Far in the distance a tiny blue speck appears. Hurtling toward it, it continues to grow in size until I can see nothing else. A blinding light pulls me from the universe and I hang for a time in limbo at the whims of the Device. As the light recedes and I regain my sight, I know I have arrived. Experiencing everything I delve into the vision, and my first step toward the truth.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The thunderous roar of rockets overhead drops me to my knees. Holding onto the steel helmet on my head, I become aware I’m somewhere else. Looking around the small one room shack I’m in, I see radios and maps set up on collapsible wood tables. The walls of the tiny shack are made of sandbags. The roof looks to be made of heavy rough-hewn pieces of lumber. I’m not alone in this shack either. Huddled beside me are four men wearing brown uniforms and steel helmets. The sound of the rockets passing overhead disappears. Moments later the rumble of their distant explosions reaches my ears. I stand up, reflexively dusting off my highly ornamented uniform. Looking down at my chest I see all manner of ribbons and pins. The four men have returned to their positions behind the radios. Words form in my mind moments before they exit my mouth.

  “How is the assault going, corporal?”

  One of the men turns to face me. His face is young; he’s no more than twenty. His eyes are soft brown and innocent.

  “The barrage has broken their last line of defense surrounding the perimeter of the parliament.”

  “Order all units to fix bayonets and charge. I’ll personally give two weeks’ pay to the unit that captures the Prime Minister!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Turning back around, the young corporal relays my message into the radio. The chirping of units acknowledging the orders blares through all of the shack’s radios.

  Moving with the bearing of a person without self-doubt, I make large strides until I reach the shack’s one small opening. Picking up a long telescope from the table, I extend it to full length and peer out onto the battlefield through the window. Before me lies the outskirts of a devastated city with its many buildings smoldering and shattered. Columns of thick, black smoke billow high into the sky and make it difficult to discern much detail. Despite the thick smoke, I can make out several columns of tanks being followed cautiously by brown uniformed soldiers. They all appear to be heading toward the center of the rubble. Looking at their most likely destination, I see only black smoke.

  I watch it for minutes hoping to peer through a break in the dense haze but no such break occurs. Trying to find the soldiers again, I’m able
to spot the tail end of a column disappear behind the wall of smoke. The telescope collapses smoothly and I place it back on the table. Walking to the back of the shack with the same bravado, I take a seat on a small wooden chair.

  Next to me is a small side table with a beautiful hardwood humidor sitting atop it. Opening the box I see a row of fine looking cigars. My fingers roll over a few before finally settling on one from the end. A small guillotine shaped like a radiating star and clad in silver slides from its velvet slot and feels cool and heavy in my battered and aged hands. Looking into the reflective silver of the guillotine I see my face for the first time. A long nose sits framed by a trimmed short white beard. Dark blue eyes set into a thick brow stare back at me. In this moment my reality sinks into me. Whoever I am, I’m living his memories through his eyes. For the rest of this journey I’m going to be a passenger. Judging by how it began though, this is looking to be an unpleasant trip. Knowing I can’t change or interact here doesn’t help alter my feeling of helplessness. Fighting to suppress it, I light up the cigar and take a deep draw. Holding it in my lungs, I feel its warmth and every taste bud in my mouth dances in delight to the familiar taste. It billows from my thin lips in a grey, swirling cloud.

  “Sir, our men have reached the parliament building. The Prime Minister has surrendered and the remaining republican troops have laid down their weapons.”

  I stand quickly and take two massive strides stopping at the corporal’s side. Patting him on the back I take the microphone from his hand.