John Hawks - The Golden City

“What do you mean-the gods?” Michael looked around. “No one’s here.”

“The gods will display themselves if you show obedience and faith.” The elevator door closed and then Michael was left alone.

The tower’s glass panels were tinged with a smoky grey color that allowed some light in, but made it impossible to look outside. “Hello?” Michael said. “Anyone here?” He whistled and clapped his hands, and the noise echoed off the walls.

He sat on the floor and leaned against one of the panels for awhile, then lay on his side with his arms for a pillow. The image of the prisoners being torn apart on the visionary screen kept floating through his mind. There were only three classes in this society-servants, militants and guardians-and he didn’t belong to any particular group. The blond man had called him a “barbarian,” but he might also be considered a heretic and a criminal.

When he woke up a few hours later, the room was dark and much colder. Light came from the other eight towers, but he felt as if he were trapped in a cave. Michael stood up and began to pace across the floor. He noticed a breeze touching his face. How was that possible? He was inside a building with no windows. Michael touched one of the panels with his hand, feeling the cold, smooth surface. His heart was beating faster and he sensed that someone-or something-had entered the temple.

He spun around quickly and saw that three columns of light had appeared in the center of the room. The light seemed grainy, almost textured, and each column resembled a luminous green cloud with specks of gold dust floating within its gravitational field. Were these the gods that controlled this world?

The light grew more intense until the columns appeared solid-green pillars glowing in the middle of the temple. And then he heard a voice coming from the center column. It was an older man’s voice, not loud but filled with authority.

“Who are you?” the voice asked.

“Are you a barbarian?” a woman’s voice asked. “A stranger from the outlands?”

Trying to figure out what to say, Michael took a few steps toward the light.

“We are waiting for your answer!” the first voice said. “We are the gods of this world and all other worlds…”

Michael laughed softly and the sound filled the room. “I’m Michael Corrigan and I’ve traveled a long way to get here. Who am I? I’m a man who has made money selling things to other people.” He sneered at the light wavering in front of him. “And that’s how I know what this is-bells and whistles, tricks and mirrors to sell the product. It may be enough to impress the locals, but I’m not buying.”

“He’s a heretic!” a young man’s voice shouted. “Call the guardians and give him his punishment!”

“You can do whatever you want,” Michael said. “But then you’d punish the very person the gods asked to come here. I’m a Traveler from another world.”

The columns of light gained power and intensity; they were so bright that Michael had to shield his eyes. Wind howled around him, almost pushing him off his feet. Then, just as quickly, the wind stopped. There was a moment of darkness, and then lights attached to the struts of the tower were switched on.

Michael heard the elevator door open and three people-two men and one woman-stepped out and strolled across the stone floor. “Welcome, Michael,” the older man said. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

The young man on the right had a muscular neck and shoulders, and long black hair that covered his ears. He carried himself in a confident manner and raised his chin slightly as if he expected to be obeyed. In contrast, the older woman on the left looked delighted to meet the Traveler. She leaned forward as if she were going deaf and didn’t want to miss a word. The oldest man-clearly the leader-stood in the middle. His hook nose and sunken eyes remind Michael of a marble bust of a Roman emperor.

“We apologize for the severity of our demonstration,” the older man said. “But we needed to discover if you were a Traveler or someone from the outlands.”

“A barbarian would have fallen to his knees,” the woman explained. “They weep and shiver and pray to our light.”

“Do you have names?” Michael asked.

“Of course,” said the older man. “But they would sound strange to you and you wouldn’t understand their meaning.”

“We want you to feel like you’re talking to friends,” said the woman.

“So we’ve picked names from your world,” said the older man. “I’m Mr. Westley. This is Miss Holderness and-”

“I’m Dash,” said the young man. “Mr. Dash.” He looked pleased with the name he’d given himself.

“Are you the people who contacted us using the quantum computer?”

Mr. Westley nodded. “For many years, we’ve been trying to communicate with your world. Finally, you reached the level of technology that could pick up the messages we sent across the barriers.”

“We wanted a Traveler,” Miss Holderness explained. “But we didn’t know if they still existed in your world.”

“And you call yourself gods?”

“We are the gods of this reality,” Mr. Westley said. “There are more of us, but we three were given the task of meeting you.”

“In my world, we have a different image of God. He’s a powerful force who knows everything.”

“We know about everything that goes on in our Republic,” Miss Holderness said. “The computers track every negative thought and sign of rebellion.”

Mr. Dash looked annoyed. “And we’re powerful as gods. If we gave the right order, half the population would kill the other half.”

“But God is…” Michael hesitated, not knowing how to finish the statement. If he thought about God, he pictured the man with the white beard painted on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. “God is immortal.”

The three half gods glanced at each other, and Michael sensed that death was a sensitive topic.

“Our power isn’t dependent upon an individual being,” Mr. Westley said. “If one of us disappears, a new god is chosen from the guardian class. Mr. Dash is our newest recruit.”

“The faithful never see us directly,” Miss Holderness said. “Sometimes we punish citizens who have prayed every day and followed all our laws. People fear us because they can’t predict our actions.”

“But you didn’t create this world,” Michael said. “You’re not-”

“Of course we created the world,” Miss Holderness said. “Ask anyone who lives here. They’ll tell you that we placed the three suns in the sky and made the spark grow in the waterfields.”

Mr. Dash was getting angry. “God is whatever is worshiped. Perhaps you are a Traveler, but you seem rather ignorant about religion.”

“There’s no reason for an argument,” Mr. Westley said with a soothing voice. “Michael has never been to our world and he still doesn’t understand our system.”

“I’m sure he’s tired and hungry.” Miss Holderness turned to the others. “Aren’t we going to feed him?”

“An excellent idea.” Mr. Westley pulled a black disc out of his shirt pocket and pressed one corner. There was a humming sound directly behind Michael. When he turned around, he saw sections of the floor open like an elaborate trap door. Slowly, a black metal platform with furniture on it was raised up from a lower level.

The three half gods guided Michael over to benches surrounding a glass table covered with plates of food. The various slices and salads looked like different kinds of vegetables, but Michael wasn’t sure. Everyone sat down, and Mr. Dash mixed water and a blue liquid in a gold drinking bowl.

“We’ve had Travelers visit us as long as we have recorded our history,” Mr. Westley said. “Some of the Travelers were only here for a brief time. Others, like Plato of Athens, stayed and learned from us.”