Eternity (Memory's Children Book 1) Read online

  Book One of Memory’s Children

  Eternity, Written by Clay Gilbert Published by

  Dark Moon Press

  P.O. Box 11496

  Fort Wayne, Indiana 46858-1496 www.DarkMoonPress.com

  [email protected] ISBN-13: 978-1976426971 © 2017 Dark Moon Press

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from author or publisher.

  For a full catalog of Dark Moon’s publications refer to http://www.darkmoonpress.com Or send a SASE with $8.00 USD to: P.O. Box 11496, Ft. Wayne, Indiana, 46858-1496 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in part or whole in any format whatsoever without first contacting the author for permission.

  Other books by Clay Gilbert: Annah and the Children of Evohe Annah and the Exiles

  Annah and the Gates of Grace

  Dark Road to Paradise, Dark Moon Press 2018 CHAPTER ONE The histories written by the Children of Memory say this of the Time Before: no one in the Black City knew how it all began. But there are tales that contain a thread of truth, woven here and there among legends, fantasies and lies. Suchwas the tale whispered from birth into the minds of every child born in the City, in hopes they might never look into the darkness and wonder if there was, somewhere, a larger world:

  “In the beginning was the end, and the end was darkness. Darkness, and silence. The world as it had been was over. The lights of the great cities went out like dying stars, and their people wandered, lost. The skies rained fire and steel, and most of the great cities were destroyed. Most of those that were not were, in time, deserted. The tribes of Man were set against one another. Out of this darkness, the Providers arose. Theyknew the ways of power; theytaught the lost arts of light and fire. They shaped the darkness itself, making from it the greatest of all the cities of Man. They gave the great city no name, so that it might remain hidden from the forces of Time and Change and not fall as had those before it.

  “In time, many of the wanderers returned. They beheld the Black City the Providers had raised from the desolation and were grateful. In their gratitude, those who made their home within the City’s walls slowly forgot all they knew of the time before the darkness fell.”

  Many heard those words, and many believed them. This is the story of one of those who dared to question and how his questions—and the course on which they led him—changed his life, and the lives of many.

  * * * *

  The Black City slept.

  Towers and spires of glass stood silent, electric lights flickering and pulsing like sentry eyes in the night sky, their rhythm the heartbeat of a giant or a god. The great buildings of black stood like temples, whose worshipers—citizens of the great glass midnight—came and went without a sound in the streets by day. Heads shaved smooth, bodies clothed in robes of granite-gray, the workers went about their sacred tasks, handed down to them by doctrine and by law since the Black City’s history began. They kept the heart of the glass giant beating—the Great Engine that the Providers had set into place long ago, and without which nothing that was now would have been. In that, the City’s people could take pride, for they were the keepers of the gods, and from somewhere deep in the Black City’s heart, the Providers’ voices echoed through every starlit corner of the urban labyrinth:

  “The efforts of bands of rebel youths to sabotage our City’s government have continued tonight and have been repulsed. The citizens who helped put down the attacks refused a reward and have requested anonymity, saying only that it was their duty in the sight of the Providers. May we all remember our duty. Good night, and live well!”

  * * * *

  The glass wall hummed and crackled, then went silent. Jonathan, who was seventeen, stared at the screen, which only moments before had been filled with the evening newsperson’s cheerful face.

  She’s always cheerful. I wonder if that’s her real face or a mask. He shook his head, wondering if the riot footage the screencrews showed every night was real. If the gangs were real. He hoped so.

  Jonathan got up from his chair, took the electrodes from his head, and went to the window. Night again. Silence again. And, as had been the pattern for several nights now, his parents were gone again.

  I didn’t see them leave, Jonathan thought to himself. Damn thoughtfeeds. It was always like that when he was connected to the neuronet—his mind locked in to the flow of information that Regulations required every citizen under the age of eighteen to take in for seven hours daily. He hadn’t minded it when he was younger. Back then, his mind had had a limitless capacity for absorbing knowledge, drinking in new ideas with the appetite of a black hole sucking down planets and stars in its path. As he got older, the time his parents referred to as ‘lessons’—though he’d learned the official term was ‘thoughtfeeds’—began to feel less like having the whole world poured into him and more like being allowed a drink of crystal-pure water, but only being allowed to drink so much, and only from one certain glass.

  Where once the lessons had been about the history of the City and the tribes of Man that had all but fallen extinct before the coming of the Providers and the City’s founding, for more than a year now, there’d been little more than briefings on the various ways a young man or woman might serve the Providers in the work force and how honorable that service was. Service like the meetings his parents seemed to always be getting called off to lately, since all the trouble started.

  I want to know more about the world Beyond, Jonathan remembered first thinking several years ago, when was only eleven or twelve years old. When he asked his parents, they told him the world beyond the City was only important insofar as it showed someone how lucky they were not to live out there.

  He hadn’t thought it made a good answer then, and it seemed like a worse one now. There came a nearly-imperceptible hum in the air, and the glass wall sprang to life again, and again, there was her face, her lips speaking the words of the unseen gods:

  “News has come in tonight of an attack on the Citybya band of rebel terrorists, led by a youth calling himself ‘Ace’. The rebels firebombed a building this morning. Citizens who rushed to thescene were unharmed, thank the Providers. The fire was quickly extinguished. Unfortunately, the perpetrators of the act escaped. It is estimated that some damage was done to buildings in Govsec, where the attack took place. How much, however, is unknown at this time.”

  I don’t believe her , thought Jonathan, frowning Not about the fire—I know that happened. I saw the screenvid. But something about her voice, her words—the Providers are always right, the Providers are always good, and anyone who doubts or questions is always wrong. I don’t believe that, and I don’t think she believes it, either. How can someone lie like that and get away with it?

  The boy ran his fingers over his shaved head, looked down at his grey clothes, and felt a rush of anger. Who were the Providers? Gods? Gods didn’t live in buildings—he knew that in his heart. So who were they?

  His eyes wandered back to the screen, and he was pulled from his reverie by the footage flickering across the wall of glass—the face of the one they called Ace, the leader of the gangs. He was a vision in black—black shirt, black denim jeans, and a jacket and boots of black leather. He had long, black hair, which flowed to his shoulders, and a look in his eyes that couldn’t be restrained byanywall—a look that sent a shiver of awe and admiration through Jonathan at the sight of it. He wondered if it were this look that made the Providers hate and fear him so much.

  But then, why did gods need to hate or fear?

  * * * *

  The Providers ruled the Black City, and to some, they were the City. None of the City�
�s people knew who the Providers were, only that they were, and had been, for as long as memory. The Providers had commanded the City’s people to humble themselves, both in act and appearance, to their will. Because the Providers ruled the Black City, and because they were the ones who set the Great Engine spinning at the City’s heart, the people obeyed and acted to enforce the laws and the government of the unseen gods. Most citizens never even questioned the way of things. It was the only way they had ever known.

  What’s wrong with wondering why things are? Emily thought, feeling their thoughts—their words—leaving her, as they always did once the screencast was over and she wasn’t needed anymore to be the bearer of their message. She walked the long hallways of Studio Block toward the tiny dressing room where she’d spent most of her days for three years now. She’d be going home soon, but there were times, lately, when she hardly felt at home, no matter where she was.

  Is this all I’m good for? she thought, brushing the russet locks of her hair, more for comfort than from need. Just to be a vessel? Just to carry someone else’s words? There had to be more. She wanted it—and the desire itself filled her with shame.

  Emily cut off the light in the small room and started home, hoping her mind would be an empty vessel once more by the time she got there.

  * * * * The glass wall in Jonathan’s living room flickered to noisy life, as it had every night now for a week. While once this flareofsound had filled him with apprehension, he had come to welcome it. He felt a rush of excitement at the sight of the newsperson who, he was suddenly aware, had auburn hair and beautiful, sea-green eyes. He knew he wasn’t supposed to notice such things, knew even the most basic level of the thoughtfeeds taught that it was wrong, but he couldn’t help it. ItwasRegulation-length hair, which forher meant she had it (unlike him), although not much more than that. Jonathan ran his hand over his own bald head, cursing Regulations, before he let his gaze return to the newsperson. It seemed to him that she had just a bit more fear in her eyes tonight. He wondered at the strange new thoughts he was having, and then she began to speak:

  “Good evening, citizens. The raids in Govsec have increased in frequency over the past few days, climaxing in tonight’s attack on one of that sector’s central buildings.” There was no trace of the newsperson’s usual cheerful expression, and Jonathan felt a strange tenderness toward her. At that moment, the fear on her face made her look like a child, although he was sure she wasn’t much younger than he was—if at all. “No—” the newsperson hesitated, then regained her composure and continued. “No damage was done, but a City-wide search for the perpetrators has been organized. The government has issued a warning to the terrorists responsible for tonight’s violence that further disruption of the City’s peace will not be tolerated. Thank you, and live well.” A flicker and a click, and the glass wall faded to white noise and silence, in the room and in his head.

  “That’s it,” he heard his father, Jacob, saying through the white frenzy in his mind. “No more. This family is on isolation. No one goes out except to work, and you,” Jonathan wondered silently if his father had developed the ability to read his mind, “You stay in. It’s not safe, and I don’t want you hurt.” His father’s softened tone made Jonathan feel ashamed, yet he felt the flame kindled by the spark in that girl’s eyes burning inside him.

  She’s not really afraid of the gangs. She’s afraid of the Providers He looked at his father’s shaved head, his gray attire—so like his own. Then he looked into his father’s eyes, and saw there a fervor that frightened him. I know how she feels.

  Then a calm beyond reason came over him, sweeping away his fear. Somewhere, he knew in that moment, there was a place where he would never need to be afraid again.

  * * * *

  Gone. They’re gone.

  It’d been three nights since Jonathan’s father put the family on isolation, and this was the first night since that he’d been left home alone. He sat, eyes closed, and placed the electrodes on his head that would give him access to the neuronet. He’d heard stories of the days when netspace in the City had been individually owned and manually controlled, accessed from separate machine terminals. That, to him, might as well be one more myth. True or not, it wasn’t that way now.

  It hadn’t been that way in his lifetime, or in his parents’ lifetimes. Not in the City, at least, and he’d heard stories that the Net didn’t exist outside the City any longer, in any form—if life itself even did. Now each Citizen was microsurgically connected to the Net shortly after birth, implanted with a biochip that allowed interface between the individual’s brain and the greater electronic brain of the City’s central computer in Govsec. Electrodes such as Jonathan wore were just shortcuts. Connection could be made through mental effort alone. Chipping people had not only made Net access fast and easy, but it had made schooling obsolete. Each Citizen was born with everything he or she would ever need to know just the pulse of a neural pathway away, and that information was fed to the Citizen gradually, in time-release fashion, over the first seventeen years of life. When a Citizen turned eighteen, it was time for learning to end, and for work and service to begin.

  The chips also served as a means of identification. Each chip gave off a subtle electromagnetic emanation which, with time, merged with the brainwaves of the individual who housed it to form a unique pattern. It took eighteen years for the synchronization to be complete, it was said, and Jonathan thought it had to be true. If the Providers could see the things he thought, he was sure he’d be dead by now.

  Jonathan reached out with his mind, hoping that somewhere, someone from the other side was listening. Someone from the gangs.

  Anyone there? He thought.. Silence. This is probably useless. The rebels probably communicate some completely different way.

  All at once, he felt the presence of another mind touch his, and then there was a voice:

  All right. I hear you.

  Jonathan couldn’t believe his luck. He’d really done it. He’d gotten through. Who—who is it? he asked, still barely daring to accept it. This is Ace. Go ahead.

  The name struck Jonathan back into silence for a moment, and he looked around himself as if he expected that at any moment, one of the citizen patrols would apprehend him.

  Well? Are you there or not? Ace’s voiceinsisted in his mind. The voice sounded brash and strong, just as Jonathan had imagined Ace would sound.

  I’m here, Jonathan responded. In the City. Where are you? He thought he heard Ace laugh inside his mind. The Forgotten City. Out beyond the Deserted Sector. You probably think it’s a bunch of ruins, ‘cause that’s what we want you domes to think. But it’s not. We’re here. We have our own place.

  What’s a dome? Jonathan asked.

  You are, Ace answered. Think about it.

  The boy ran his fingers over his hairless scalp. Gotcha. But how did you know I was a dome?

  You’re not here, are you?

  Jonathan had to admit Ace had a point. Okay. But I don’t want to be. A dome, I mean.

  That’s up to you. You don’t have to be anything you don’t want to be. That’s what they don’t understand. Jonathan thought for a moment. Ace was right, it seemed, but he wasn’t sure. What about the bombings? The violence? Was that just something that ‘domes’ like him didn’t understand?

  I’ve got to go, Ace cut in. If you want me again, find me tomorrow night. I’ll be listening for you. Same time. Hey, man, I know this probably doesn’t make sense to you right now, but just try to remember: you don’t have to be anything you don’t want to be.

  “I’ll remember,” Jonathan said to the silence, since Ace was already gone.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Alone again. Jonathan’s mind was a cloud of confusion, but as he put the electrodes on, he took a deep breath and tried to focus. He crossed his fingers and banished every thought from his mind but one:

  Ace, are you there? The already-familiar voice filled his mind after only a moment’s silence. I’m here,
dome. What’s up?

  What do you mean, what’s up? The City’s going to hell, that’s all.

  Everyone in the Black City had gone out of their minds. By sunset every night, the citizen patrols descended on the streets in a fog of gray rage, covering every square inch of ground where a threat to the government might lie. Rather than making them afraid, the rebel uprisings in Govsec had seemed only to increase the people’s devotion to the Providers. Jonathan’s parents had even been on a few of the patrols, although they’d never mentioned catching anyof the rebels, or even seeing them. Maybe they just didn’t want to worry me. That has to be it, he told himself.

  How can you do these things, Ace? Jonathan asked. Do what? Ace replied, without a moment’s hesitation. The raids? We don’t hurt anyone. Come on. Have you ever heard of anyone being hurt?

  Well, no. Jonathan found that he really couldn’t remember ever having heard of anyone being harmed in the raids, although he thought he might have seen a shot or two of wounded people on the screencasts—but he wasn’t sure. Okay. So maybe you don’t. But everyone’s afraid here. Why should I trust you?

  They shoot every scrap of the riot footage on a soundstage in Studio Block. Betcha didn’t know that.

  Jonathan didn’t, but he wasn’t surprised. Listen to me, man. The ones in the streets, they’re afraid. Sure. The ones in those black buildings you domes are all so psyched about protecting—they’re afraid too. They should be. But not of us. We’re not gonna hurt them. It’s not what we do. But I’m telling you, they ought to be afraid of their own people, once they wake up and see what’s happening. Then those black buildings are gonna fall. Are you afraid?

  Jonathan hesitated only a moment before replying. A little, yeah. I don’t know what to believe, Ace. We hear this stuff all our lives. You know that. We’re right, the Providers are right, and you guys and everybody else in the World Beyond—if there even is anybody else—they’re wrong. I’m not scared of you, Ace. I just wish I could be myself. I wish I could even find out for sure who I really am, but I’m kind of scared to try.