John Hawks - The Golden City

When they reached the transit area, Maya saw that a second escalator led to the eastbound trains. She glanced upward. The two Tabula mercenaries had just reached the top of the escalator, and one of them was pulling out a handgun. A night of stars! one of the theatre posters read. You’ll never stop laughing!

Maya handed the mobile phone to Alice. “Go to the platform and take the next westbound train. Get off at Bank, change onto the Northern Lane to Camden Town. Ask for the African drum shop and avoid the cameras.”

“What about you?”

“We can’t keep running.”

“But they both have-”

“Do what I say!”

Alice headed down the short corridor that led to the Tube platform. Maya followed her for a few yards and dodged behind a pillar. The two mercenaries would reach this point in about five seconds.

The shotgun was ready. Her thoughts were clear and precise. Years ago, her father had left alone her in a tube station like this so that she could learn to fight alone. He had wanted her to be strong and courageous, but instead she had felt betrayed. That memory stayed with her like a wrathful spirit. But now, at this moment of danger, close to death, it had finally lost its power.

“They’re taking the train!” a man shouted.

She pumped a round into the shotgun’s firing chamber, stepped into the corridor and saw the two mercenaries. When she fired, the sound was immense, echoing off the walls of the tunnel. The shotgun pellets knocked the first man off his feet. Turning slightly, she fired again at short range. The second man’s chest seemed to explode from within and blood sprayed across the tiles.

Maya wiped off the shotgun with the pink smock and dropped it onto the floor. Leaving the two dead men behind her, she walked slowly onto the platform. Alice was there with her eyes closed and her hands clenched into fists.

When Maya stroked the child’s hair, Alice opened her eyes. “You fired the shotgun.”

“That’s right.”

“What happened?”

There was a slight movement of air, as if the earth itself was breathing out, and then a train rolled into the station. Maya turned her back to the platform camera and took Alice ’s hand. “We’re safe,” she said. “But we have to keep moving.”

Gabriel sat with his father on a balcony near the top of one of the towers. That morning they had wandered up the slope and picked some green berries from one of the hillside plants. Matthew boiled water in the solar oven and used the berries to brew tea. The tea had a sharp citric taste, but it seemed to go well with the cold mountain air and bright sunlight.

After days of conversation, the relationship between father and son had reached a certain equilibrium. They were both aware of each other in subtle ways, and complicated emotions could be expressed with a smile or a quick movement of the eyes.

Gabriel’s father reminded him of the figures created by Alberto Giacometti. The Italian sculptor used wire and clay to make a horse or a dog or a human being, then slowly cut away every unnecessary detail until only the elemental form remained. Matthew Corrigan had gone through a similar transformation. His face was thin and bony, and his clothes hung loosely on his body. Like Giacometti’s statutes, he was spare and unencumbered. He had lost the vanity and pride that others wore like armor in the Fourth Realm.

Matthew picked up a pot that was carved from a dark green stone and poured some tea into his cup. “You look very serious this afternoon.”

“I’m trying to figure out why these parallel worlds exist. Are there only these six realms?”

“Of course not. They are only a reflection of our human world.”

“And what if there was another form of life in the Alpha Centauri system?”

“I would assume that those beings would have their own six realms. The parallel worlds are infinite.”

“So what about the gods and the half gods? Did they create everything?”

“They don’t have that power. The creator goes by many names, but Aristotle called it the “Unmoved Mover”-that being that is eternal and indivisible. The half gods in the Fifth Realm are something else. I see them as ‘bad angels,’ and the ‘good angels’ were living here.”

“So why did these good angels build the golden city?” Gabriel asked. “Someone designed these buildings in a particular way.”

“Tell me what you felt when you walked through the first building.”

“At first I thought it was a trap, and then I realized it was empty.”

“Yes. It’s like an immense museum without guards-or visitors.”

“I looked around a little bit, but there didn’t appear to be any short cuts or hidden staircases. So I walked through every room until I reached the second terrace.”

“And then you entered the next building…”

“It was the same thing. There was only one way to go.”

“Did you examine the various wall paintings and the displays?”

“I looked at a few of them. But after awhile I just wanted to get to the next level.”

“That was my also my reaction,” Matthew said. “But then you entered the third building.”

“The staircases and corridors went off in every direction. There were dead ends and windowless rooms. I got lost a couple of times.”

“It was frustrating.”

“Definitely.”

“And frightening?”

“Sometimes.”

“Did your frustration and fear make you wish you were back in the first two buildings?”

“Not really. Maybe I was lost, but at least it wasn’t boring.”

Matthew held his stone cup with two hands and stared at the surface of the tea. The soft drone of the wind blowing around the towers reminded Gabriel of the lowest note on a wooden flute.

“During my stay here, here I’ve tried to understand this world using the theories I learned when I was studying physics. I think that the buildings are a lesson for anyone who finds their way to this world. The first two buildings show us a universe where our destiny is predetermined. There’s no freedom of choice; there’s only one direction for humanity. The entire structure has been set up by some all-powerful architect, and we are children forced to trudge through the rooms in the same direction.”

“And the third building?”

“It’s a model of the chaotic nature of reality. You can take this staircase or another, get lost and wander back the way you came.”

“You sound like Maya talking about her random number generator.”

“Quantum physics shows us that you can’t predict the position of subatomic particles. An electron or a photon of light is never in a particular place. It’s in a sort of super-position of all possible places at the same time. It’s only when something is observed that all these possibilities collapses into one actuality. What this means is that all options are possible and there are an infinite amount of pathways. We don’t live in a deterministic universe.”

“Okay. Fine. The universe is random and chaotic. But knowing that isn’t going to change anything.”

“I disagree, Gabriel. Religions and governments that follow a determinist model have caused the deaths of hundreds of millions of people. The strangest aspect of this rigid view of history is that the founders of every major religion believed in free will and made choices throughout their lives. Moses decided to lead his people out of Egypt, Mohammed decided to preach in Mecca, and Buddha sat down beneath a Bodhi tree. For me, one of the most significant aspects of the Passion story is that Jesus made a choice to enter Jerusalem and be crucified. The deterministic view is added on by followers after the founder’s death. When people decide that a certain way of faith is destined and inevitable, hatred and intolerance follow. Instead of saying ‘the Light is within you, choose the Light,’ the message becomes ‘agree with our version of history or we’ll kill you.’”