James Scotson - Planets Falling

The door slides open and I tip-toe in. The room before me has hundreds of shelves leading far into its recesses. Each shelf is loaded with guns, boxes of strange devices I cannot comprehend, and occasionally blades made of a strange, very light, exceptionally sharp black material rather than metal. This place did not have a peaceful purpose. I’m a little glum, realizing that these enlightened people still had the need to kill each other. I shove a sheathed blade into the pocket of my robe and turn to leave. I must tell the others.

“Hello, Amy Marksman. You have discovered our munitions storage and practice arena.” I crouch behind a shelf, searching for the source of Troll’s voice. The box is nowhere to be seen.

“Troll, where are you?”

“The device you call the box is but one physical extension of me. I am the central interface for this entire facility. Thus, I am able to sense you no matter where you go. I have nothing to hide and neither should you. I am always available for you.”

“Why did you need these weapons?”

“I did not require them and am incapable of using them. They were wielded by the human caretakers. My masters held a unique view of the political and sociological views of their time. They were certain that collapse was imminent. They were correct in their prediction, although not about the cause of the fall. The weapons were meant to protect them from an attack of looters. You see, at that time, human population density was high and many people were starving. This distress challenged the government and collapse seemed likely.”

“Seems like an awful lot of weapons to keep some starving and scared people away.”

“My associates surmised that there would be a need for leadership and order after the fall. They would provide that stability.”

“With guns? I’m unsure of how they work, but I suspect they are powerful. My father and his friends use them to hunt large game animals. My leaders never needed weapons to persuade our people.”

“Would you like to learn about these weapons?”

Goosebumps rise on my arms. Father never gave me the opportunity. “Sure.”

Troll leads me to an attached room with its walls, floor, and ceiling coated in black foam. It calls this a firing range. The box appears with a gun in its mechanical arm. The weapon is short and surprisingly light. A window to my left appears with an image of the weapon. I follow the instructions as they appear and fire at the life-like image of a deer in the range. The recoil is light and exhilarating. Troll informs me that my target is eliminated. In the following hours, I fire a dozen gun-like weapons, lob concussion grenades, launch a rocket, and learn about defensive armor. This is seriously addictive.

“Your companions are gathering for breakfast. Would you like to join them?”

I fire one more volley at the various targets appearing at the end of the room. “Sure, but I need to change first.”

After slipping back into my traveling clothes, which have been washed and folded, I follow the box back to the dining area. The room’s awash with morning light shining through a draped window. I know that it doesn’t really exist, but my mind is already beginning to accept the fantasy as reality. What bothers me most is that I don’t seem to care very much. I have to force myself to worry about Eliza and the others, wondering when we might escape this pleasant cage.

I sip the most amazing cup of coffee and study my companions. Bets and Theo seem particularly serene. I wonder whether they may have spent some of the night in the same room. Flip looks haggard. I wonder whether he’s slept at all. After we eat, we move back to the viewing area.

Theo begins the lesson. “Troll. We need to know why we’re here. How’d we know to find this place and what are we supposed to do next?”

“This was curious to me as well. I took the initiative to sample your DNA from your clothing while you were sleeping. I do hope you don’t mind. Excuse me for making an assumption about your science knowledge. DNA is a substance in each of your bodies that is unique and related to your ancestors. Only one of you has an apparent, biological link to this facility. Amy Marksman, you are distantly related to Captain Francis Jonston who was a high-ranking member of the clan that maintained this facility. The Captain apparently provided information to one of your ancestors about how to access this place. Quite illegal and an offense worthy of banishment. Remarkably, this information was retained among generations in your village and brought you and the others here.”

We all are stunned. I ask, “So, this DNA tells you that my great granddad a hundred times over provided us with clues to come back here?”

“Yes,” the Troll says with no hint of surprise or concern.

“What happened to him?” I ask.

“He is still here.”

Flip is clearly agitated, motioning for me to talk with him. I’m not feeling particularly sane myself. I walk over to the boy and he whispers, “I saw stuff last night. Stuff that y’all need to see.”

Troll responds. “Flip is trying to tell you about the location of the masters, including your ancestor, Amy Marksman. Flip, please lead them to the chamber.”

Flip leads us to the lift, which takes us down further into the ground rather than up. We stop in a dimly lit chamber, with blue lights along the walls. I grasp the knife I lifted from the armory as we descend. Flip points. “Over there.”

I’m startled to see the shadows of about one hundred people standing along the far wall. Each is motionless, rigid. I walk up to one of the figures. Its skin is drawn, lips rigid, teeth jutting forward. Nails extend from shriveled, bent fingers. The mummy is adorned in some type of blue outfit with metal buttons. Strangely, the one non-desiccated feature is the mummy’s eyes, which are strangely lucid and a striking blue.

“That is Private Silian Dorse. She became inactive 1,112 years ago. She was the top in her class at Dartmouth — a university. I do miss her.” Troll the box rolls to each erect body, producing a short biography. This person enjoyed a game called tennis; this poor soul detested breakfast; this individual was the best rifle shot in the unit.

“Where’s my ancestor, Jonston?” I ask.

Troll leads me to a tall body with broad shoulders. Strange, lively brown eyes stare at me — my mother’s eyes. My gut squeezes and breakfast is on its way up. I turn away and gain my composure. I want so desperately to sob, but my brain won’t allow it.

“Troll, all these people died young, didn’t they?” Bets asks cautiously.

“Yes they did,” the machine voice answers.

Theo looks at all of us with silent concern. We understand that we are in danger, although the nature of the threat is unclear. We realize that we still haven’t accomplished any of our intended goals. Theo clears his throat, “Troll, please take us back upstairs to see more about what happened during the fall of the ancients.”

“Very well.”

The room grows dark as we ascend into artificial daylight.

The viewing space is now filled with a giant blue, green, and white sphere, rotating slowly in a field of ebony velvet. I gasp at its beauty. “Is this our world, Troll?”

“Yes, Amy Marksman.” A small, blinking white dot appears on one of the green blobs of earth. “We are here at this spot.” I presume the blobs are continents floating in the ocean. There’s so much ocean. Troll continues. “The mysterious terrorist attack likely began at this spot, a place once called New York.” Another dot appears on the globe. “The world that culminated in creatures like me was connected in many ways. Communication among the human machine interfaces occurred through a vast, complex network of cables of optical fibers.” The globe before us bursts with white lines like webs. “Power was distributed by organic materials usually in parallel with the communications system. Most facilities were not completely independent. When the attack by the substance occurred, the wires connecting all the cities, homes, factories, schools, hospitals, et cetera, began to degrade quickly.” The lines on the globe connected to New York thin and disappear. We have little idea of what Troll is talking about, but it’s apparent that the loss of connections was a problem.