If I’m honest, in the early days, I was exceedingly annoyed with the widespread unwillingness the population of Wild-Side had to physically combat the malevolent force attacking the fringes of their society. In the first month following my arrival, the creatures we’d come to refer to as the Elend grew bolder. Farms closer to the five main cities had seen the hulking, savage creatures with increasing regularity. Farmers were soon noticed to be missing.
No matter what came, none of the Seeley would fight. No one would join me in the hunt. Worse, most looked at me as if I were as dangerous as the massive reptilian creatures. I’d been willing to fight and even kill the vicious monsters from the start, but it brought me little favor from the Seeley. Some even claimed the very first sightings of the Elend coincided suspiciously with my appearance on Wild-Side.
We eventually determined that my arrival was related to that of the Elend. We were linked, but not in a way that made sense to me.
As a people, the Seeley didn’t trust or like me, but thankfully, they let me use their technology.
It was almost two hours past sunset, and I continued to slip noiselessly through the overgrowth of the forest. According to the small countdown timer in the corner of my heads-up display, I had just over thirty-six hours left on Wild-Side. It was one of my longer trips, and I was making the most of it. I’d explored this quadrant of the forest for the last two days and was confident the tracks I was following were fresh. Judging by the spacing of the stride and the shape of the more distinctive prints I’d seen in the mud, I was stalking what my team had recently started referring to as a Jay. Most of that breed was half again taller than a man, about twice as wide at the chest, had wicked triangular-shaped teeth that can bite through almost anything, and…did I mention they have wings?
Yeah. Freaking wings.
They can’t fly, though. At least, that’s what everyone kept telling me. I remain unconvinced. What’s the point of wings if you can’t fly, right? Still, the Doc and his people are far more intelligent than me, so I assumed they knew what they were talking about. It was something about weight and mass, lift ratios, and coefficients: they could be right. There are flightless birds in the world, so why not these things?
Still, the Elend are the closest I’ve seen to real-life dragons, though with human intelligence and what I can only describe as the instincts of serial killers. They couldn’t talk, at least in any language I understood. But they could communicate. I had never seen them in a group of more than two or three, but they absolutely communicated. I won’t describe them as social creatures, but they can organize at least so far as it’s convenient to try and kill me.
I’ve had more than one close call.
Thankfully, they don’t typically gather. They prowl the wilderness as solo, predatory hunters. They attack humans. I just can’t figure out what they do with them when they catch them. There are rarely signs of bloodshed. Signs of attack? Absolutely. But rarely signs of a mauling. Either the creatures are ambush hunters that take their prey back to a nest for feeding, or they consume them whole and leave little or no mess.
I’ll admit, I knew so little about the Elend back then. Sometimes, I wish I could return to those times because what I learned later was far more unsettling. It complicated my life and the future of Wild-Side in ways no one could have predicted.
I explored different ways to hunt and kill the Elend. A knife and a gun were tried and true techniques—anything I could use the penetrate the eye seemed to do the trick. We didn’t know if it was the destruction of the eye itself that killed the creatures. More likely, it was some kind of vital organ located right behind the eye that was lethally damaged—but either way—if the eyes were destroyed, the creatures were toast. Some kind of critical biological reaction resulted, and their bodies pretty much just dissolved.
The immediate, total vaporization of the Elend corpse was one reason we didn’t know more about them, scientifically speaking. I’d advocated for taking one alive for study, but none of the Seeley were receptive to the idea. Not even Doc Cormac was willing to experiment on a live creature in the interest of better understanding the enemy.
The people of Wild-Side were weird.
It didn’t matter. I didn’t have the expertise to study the creatures myself, and even if someone had been willing, the Elend were savage and dangerous. Any time I was near one, it turned into a fight to the death. Any attempt to take one alive would have invited tragedy.
I’d taken to hunting trips with different weapons to find better ways to kill the creatures. Since Tripp could fabricate anything I could dream up, I at least had him in my corner. I’d tried everything from rifles to baseball bats, but with little luck. Mostly, I just carried a backpack of gear around, so I had options.
More often than not, my pistol or my knife were the weapons of choice. The knife was good if things got hairy and I ended up a little too up close and personal with one of the creatures. The pistol worked best at a stand-off distance. The tech Cormac provided made aiming easy. The targeting capabilities in my HUD compensated for wind, bullet drop, and even moisture in the air. There was only one thing the tech failed at miserably. It only worked if I shot right-handed.
For reasons even the best minds on Cormac’s team couldn’t figure out, the targeting system worked perfectly when I shot right-handed, but if I switched to south-paw, the system went entirely haywire. The targeting reticle in my HUD would shift and rove all over the optical plane, losing all ability to acquire a target. Everything worked great since I was right-hand dominant, but the technology was more than useless as soon as I shifted to the opposing stance. At that point, the technology prevented me from shooting with my less-than-stellar left-handed proficiency.
The inability to solve this relatively simple problem confounded Doc Cormac and the rest of his team. Their people had been using nanotech and augmented reality for over eighty years, and nothing like this had ever been experienced. While it amused me to see the technologically advanced people stymied, this imperfection threatened to undermine my ability to protect myself and them.
Plus, they were literally messing around with my brain. If they didn’t know exactly what they were doing, where did that leave me? The nanotech was only a portion of the futzing around they’d done to support my efforts to help defend Wild-Side against the Elend.
Stepping slowly through the ankle-deep water of a stream and into the mud on the far bank, I froze when the forest around me went suddenly silent. The constant murmur and buzz of nearby wildlife and insects disappeared in the span of a few heartbeats, and I knew it wasn’t a response to my presence. The ground under my feet was less than ideal, so I moved quickly up the stream bank. My eyes scanned the surrounding woodland, and my optical enhancements overclocked for the next twenty to thirty seconds in response to my biorhythms.
Nothing moved.
While the people of Wild-Side hadn’t been willing to join me in the fight against the Elend directly, a handful of their best and brightest had been willing to assist more passively. They had augmented me with nanotechnology, making me faster and more resilient in nearly every way. I was stronger, healed more quickly, and as was vitally important at that moment, I could see exceptionally well in the low light conditions of the forest. Even more helpful just then, I could tweak the settings of my augmentation on the fly. In this case, I could further overclock my optic enhancements to improve my night vision. I risked long-term damage to my eyes in a half-dozen ways. Thus, I could only maintain the adjustment for less than a minute, but in a fight for one’s life, if you’re not cheating, you’re not trying.
I sensed movement to my extreme right and responded with a spinning sidestep to avoid the unseen danger. A massive shape lunged at me, something hook-shaped and lashing out for my head as the larger mass missed what would have been a bone-crushing tackle. Bending back at the hips and knees, I continued to turn and saw the talon flash within inches of my face. Time seemed to slow, my mind already focusing on the contorted ducking move and the need to regain my footing after the inevitable impact with the dirt that would follow. If the Elend pinned me, I’d be torn to pieces without a chance to fight back.
Planning was a waste of time. A massive collision, this time from the other direction, sent my world into a tornado-like spin, and I didn’t so much hit the ground as roll across the dirt like a fumbled football. Even as I tumbled head over heels through the leaf litter, I understood I was dealing with a pair of Elend.
My fall concluded with me rolling to my feet, knees bent, and my knife in my left hand. I grabbed from my pistol, only to find the drop-leg holster at my right hip empty. My HUD was going crazy, the threat detection system blipping with indicators and telemetry attempting, unnecessarily, to identify the two Elend Drakes staring me down from my eleven and two o’clock positions. One was nine feet, four inches tall, and the other was ten feet, seven inches. While body mass estimations and other irrelevant statistics floated in my visual plane, none of it detracted from the other-worldly sense I felt at seeing the bipedal creatures glaring at me with large, reptilian eyes. Muscles seemed to ripple and bulge beneath their thick, scaly flesh with predatory anticipation as we sized each other up.
Both creatures appeared as curious about me as I was about them. Curious or apprehensive. I knew they were dangerous, but maybe they saw me similarly? I’d been hunting these creatures for weeks. If they were intelligent, as I suspected, they likely knew someone or something out there was culling their ranks. I wasn’t impacting their numbers as significantly as they were impacting the people of Wild-Side, but surely I’d made an impression by now. The pair of creatures before me, seeming to work as a team, spoke of a cooperative effort and, therefore, community.
The smaller Jay weaved slowly toward my nine o’clock. At nearly the same instant, the big Jay made a similar lateral move for my three o’clock. As they did this, two things happened. First, I became certain they were both social and intelligent. Second, a shift in the moonlight drew my attention to my lost pistol. If the Elend were moving around the perimeter of a clock, and I was at the six o’clock position, my gun lay almost precisely at the center of the dial. I still had no idea where my backpack had gone.
Size mattered, particularly when dealing with these creatures. If I had my choice, I would rather take out the big Jay first. But since I only had my knife and my angle was better on the little one, I would start with him. The creatures were ready to strike, both were slowly crouching, power building in squat, muscular legs thicker around than telephone poles.
I raised my left hand and pointed accusingly at the big Jay on my right and yelled, “Hey!”
The glare, outburst, and maybe the pointlessness of my tiny upraise finger seemed to confuse both creatures. They froze for a second, neither breathing for several heartbeats. The targeting reticle shifted in that instant as I turned my head to face the creature on my left. My right hand was already drawn back behind my shoulder and changing direction. The reticle locked on the left eye of the little Jay, who was now at my nine o’clock. The knife spun from my fingertips with such speed and force that even I had trouble tracking it across the twenty-eight feet separating us.
The blade stuck with a sound between a thud and a splat, and the creature made no noise whatsoever. I didn’t wait to see what happened next. I knew the knife was now hilt-deep in the eye socket, and for an Elend, that was a mortal wound. The shriek I heard came from my right. It wasn’t anguished. I didn’t think these creatures mourned one another, but then again, I was surprised to see them pair up against me. If anything, the bellow was one of rage.
I didn’t waste time pondering the nuances of the creatures around me. Halfway through the diving roll that was my reckless dash to collect my gun, I sensed the beast only a pace or two behind. My hand wrapped around the pistol grip as I tumbled. Something smashed the damp earth only inches away. I turned and fired three quick shots. It was a wasted effort. Shots hitting the creature anywhere other than the eye would be entirely ineffective. I’d tried that failed experiment more times than I care to admit. It was the strangest thing, as if the Elend were altogether impervious to small arms fire. Even knife wounds appeared to heal within seconds.
I rolled, trying to put space between me and the creature before it could pin me. Instead, I was caught with the back of a massive swinging fist. It glanced across the corner of my shoulder. The wind was knocked from my lungs as I was launched into the air. The forest spun around me. I think I brushed the side of a tree because the landscape shifted once more right before I landed on my knees.
Jolting to my feet, I eyed the darkness and tried to face the grunting, crashing sound of something advancing on me through the brush. At just that second, my ears rang, and my vision was doing some kind of wavy thing that suggested I’d bashed my head in the tumble. The thundering sound of the Elend’s advance seemed to be coming from every direction.
A bolder half the size of a VW Bug was about ten feet away, so I took cover behind it. I leaned a shoulder against the stone and was reasonably certain the sound of thrashing brush was coming from the far side. This was confirmed when the bolder shifted, wobbling left and right. A second later, I stumbled backward as a bulging pair of scaly arms heaved the massive rock shard from the dirt. The creature bellowed and raised the bolder over its head, ready to use it like a hammer and bash me into paste.
In that instance, I understood two things. First, these creatures were vindictive as well as savagely violent. It had talons and incredible strength, yet it would use a massive blunt instrument as a hammer. There was something troublingly human in the psychology of the attack. Second, while the creature outmatched me in terms of strength, I still had the advantage in terms of inteligence.
Somehow, I’d held onto my pistol this time and through the entire beating. The reticle appeared in my HUD and flashed as it acquired a lock on the creature’s eye. Instead, I shifted my aim. I placed the muzzle of my pistol against the knobby knee of the Elend and loosed half my magazine as fast as I could pull the trigger. Even as I did, I was backpedaling at full speed.
The look that crossed the creature’s face had to be surprise. I’ve seen pain, and this was something different. The Jay looked at me and then at the bolder still raised above its head. It was a thousand pounds if it was an ounce, and in that instance, I felt sympathy for Wiley Coyote. The creature’s knee began to fail, and its entire body started to fold like a thirty-story building that had just seen demolition charges blow out the basement. A crunching, watery splat followed a banshee-like howl. The bolder shifted slightly an instant later and the creature lay unmoving.
I would have thought that was the end, but just as the Elend couldn’t be killed by gunfire the crushing force of the bolder failed to destroy it as well. A single leg extended from under the end of the jagged stone, apparently the one I’d shot because I watched as the flesh and shattered bone slowly began to knit and mend.
The creature blinked soundlessly at me as some kind of viscous internal fluid oozed between chipped and worn fangs. It was trying to move. Likely, the required musculature was attempting to heal even underneath the hundreds of pounds of stone. If there was ever an opportunity for the Doc’s people to study one of these creatures, this was it.
But I knew the Seeley weren’t ready even as I considered it. Some day, certainly. They were in a battle for survival, even if they hadn’t fully come to terms with that yet.
My tech seemed aware of my intentions even before I decided because a targeting reticle shifted across my visual plane. The crosshair on my HUD settled on the nearest eye of the motionless Elend. I raised my hand and squeezed the trigger. The barrel hopped slightly in response to the discharge.
As it settled, the Jay’s head turned to the left by a few degrees. Within seconds, its body disintegrated to dust. When it did, the bolder rolled and adjusted. I noticed a significant split down the side of the stone for the first time as it began to widen. It sounded like slowly splintering glass or a fracturing sheet of ice. The resonance of the splintering was strangely delicate, as half of it seemed to sag and separate from the other half.
When the stone broke, half fell away and tumbled free. I watched it happen in what felt like slow motion. Idle curiosity made me wonder if the same thing would have happened if I’d been the one smashed to dust under it. The idea of it being a giant hammer played through my head on a loop several times while I imagined different outcomes.
The fictitious cartoon ended when I looked at the newly exposed rock surface. A crescent of metal was clearly visible at what would have been almost the center of the bolder. I stepped forward, ran my hand along the exposed curve, and marveled at the precision of the shape. It was about the size of a basketball and protruding from the newly exposed surface of the stone.
It took almost a half hour, but I extracted the object. It was located in a cavity in the core of the bolder, surrounded by dirt, so removing it from the stone was fairly trivial, even without tools. What I thought was a globe-sized metal ball was even more unusual. It was more of a wedge. It looked more like the slice of an orange if the orange were the size of a basketball. The wedge was made of metal, entirely free from marks, writing, or oxidation. There wasn’t even scarring—not so much as a blemish from its time packed in the center of the stone.
Not knowing what to do with the unusual object, I found my missing backpack and bundled it up for the trek back to see Doc Cormac. I thought the crushed Elend was an interesting development, but it turned out the wedge was the key to one of Wild-Side’s greater mysteries.
Doc Cormac awaited me when I returned to Nosca, but he wasn’t alone. Sarah Hargrave was with him. The politics of Wild-Side wasn’t new to me, but it was still confusing. The people were under siege by a hostile, invasive race, and to a person, they were unwilling to take up arms against the creatures. Even after months of living among the Seeley—on and off as my condition required—no one could explain their unwillingness to my satisfaction. And now with my returning from the wilds with the strange wedge only to find the Primary Administrator for the Seeley people waiting for me, I had a feeling I was going to experience more unwelcome Wild-Side strangeness.
“Gray,” Sarah said as she extended a hand and stepped forward. I was only a few yards through the gate of the perimeter wall, and coming face to face with the Administrator, two of her aids, and Doctor Cormac was unusual. Sarah Hargrave was petite and round-faced. She had prominent eyes and short dark hair. All in all, her features reminded me of a pixie, though one that specialized in politics rather than magic. Reaching for my hand, she smiled. Shaking hands was not a custom of the people of Wild-Side, and it spoke to her efforts at diplomacy. As was her concerted attempt at eye contact. It was overdone, though I was sure that part was unintentional. I’d had little direct contact with her. So far, most of my political experiences on Wild-Side had involved her underlings, or Sarah had used Cormac as a proxy. “I understand you have completed another hunting expedition?” She said, still drilling me with her gaze.
I nodded, reluctant to speak until I understood what was happening. The Seeley were not hostile people, but I felt less in control at that moment than when I’d been facing down the pair of Elend.
Silence filled the vestibule, me eyeing Hargrave and Cormac and them looking back at me with equal discomfort. Finally, it was Cormac who broke the hush. “You said you saw the creatures heal?” He said.
I shifted the straps of the pack on my back and grinned. “Up close and personal.” I tapped the corner of my eye. “Wait till you see the footage.” Everything I’d seen would have been captured and available for Cormac and his team to review. They might not be willing to study the creatures firsthand, but they would be excited to use the footage my tech had captured.
“And the artifact?” Hargrave said. I was surprised at the coolness of her tone. I expected more anticipation or intensity. It was also odd that she referred to it that way.
I slipped the pack from my back and lowered it to the floor. The zipped flap opened a second later, exposing the orange-slice wedge’s matte silver finish.
I’m not sure what I expected from those gathered—I just know it wasn’t the reaction I received. Hargrave’s expression appeared to sour while consternation shifted across Cormac’s gaze. Hargrave gave a subtle shake of her head, then waved a hand to a subordinate. “Catalog it and place it in the vault,” she said.
The man knelt beside her, trying to collect the wedge from my bag. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but it struck me as somehow wrong. Knocking away his outstretched hand, I told them to stop. Flipping the flap closed over the wedge, I shut the pack and slung it over one shoulder. “Just like that?” I said. “I don’t get it. Someone needs to explain. What is this thing? I found it in the middle of a bolder the size of a small car. That’s messed up, but you guys don’t seem terribly surprised by any of it.”
That’s when everyone started to get uncomfortable. The Hargrave glared at Cormac while her subordinates looked at her like they were about to soil themselves. Looks passed back and forth between Cormac and Hargrave, but there were no words.
Finally, Hargrave spoke. “It’s what we refer to as an artifact,” she said. “They turn up from time to time. When that happens, they are cataloged and placed in the vault.”
She said the word like it explained everything. “Artifact,” I said and twirled a finger in the air for her to continue the explanation. The gesture was wasted on someone as unfamiliar with me as they were the people of my world so Hargrave looked to Cormac from under furrowed brows.
Cormac seemed about to speak but then stopped. I couldn’t tell if he was reluctant to explain because he was unwilling or because he was unable. His head tipped slowly as if struggling with some internal monologue. He looked back to Hargrave. “He’s asking for elaboration. As I’ve explained, deference is not in his nature.”
Hargrave’s lips drew tight, and her pale complexion began to color. As one, her subordinates shrank back by several paces. I noted that Cormac, however, did not.
“Please relinquish the artifact,” Hargrave said through clamped teeth.
The phrase, or what, was on the tip of my tongue, but I thought better of it. If these people wouldn’t rise up against a threat like the Elend, I couldn’t see them doing anything violent to me—not when I’m only asking for information. Rather than provoke the Administrator further, I simply tipped my head, eyed her thoughtfully…and hoped this gesture was universal.
It must not have been because Hargrave was further confused.
Cormac spoke up to clarify. Given how much time we’d spent together, he was far more familiar with my expressions and mannerisms. “He needs more,” he explained to Hargrave.
“Unacceptable.”
Hargrave wouldn’t budge, so neither would I.
No one moved.
Doc Cormac began rubbing his brow. “Maybe you should explain what the artifacts are,” he said reluctantly.
“Absolutely not,” Hargrave practically spat. “I demand you turn over the artifact immediately.”
I eyed the countdown timer in the corner of my HUD and considered my situation. In just over three hours, I would rebound to my world, and these people would gain control over the wedge by default unless I put it somewhere safe first. Cormac was sharp. He’d undoubtedly already considered this so I couldn’t help wondering how he would use the insight. Clearly, Hargrave wasn’t aware. She wouldn’t be this upset if she knew she had the upper hand.
“Sarah,” Cormac said, his voice calm and soothing.
She shot daggers at him. “He’s not one of us.”
“And as such, he doesn’t understand.”
“He has already proven he will never understand,” she countered. “He’s hunting these creatures. None of us would ever consider such a thing.”
“And he’s doing it to protect our people. He risks his life repeatedly to protect us—our people,” Cormac said. “We not might agree with his beliefs, but consider his actions. These creatures aren’t going away.”
Cormac’s words had a sobering effect on the Administrator. She remained quiet for several seconds. Finally, she said, “But the artifacts?”
Cormac nodded. “None of us can explain how or why he’s here. Maybe it’s related.”
She looked ready to argue the point. Opening her mouth, Hargrave took a breath to respond. After a long pause, she turned to her attendants. “Cancel my appointments for the afternoon,” she said, “and take the rest of the day for yourselves.”
Ten minutes later, I had teleported to an undisclosed location. Whenever I was outside the badlands, my tech could generate positioning information and note it on the screen of my HUD. Wherever Doc Cormac and Administrator Hargrave had taken me, it wasn’t a dead zone because the teleportation system worked. Though my HUD was functional, the location information was missing. That was obviously intentional.
“We’re below ground, well outside the city,” Cormac said. It must have been more information than Hargrave wanted to share since she shot him a disapproving glare that warned against further details. Cormac waved a hand and rolled his eyes in the slightest of ways that made me smile. “He’s not a fool. Acoustics and spacial resonance would reveal that we are underground. Given what we’re about to discuss, common sense would explain why we’re nowhere near one of the cities. I have given nothing away.
“Please stop treating him like he’s a threat. We’re here because you know Gray is our best hope for salvaging our future.” The frustration in Cormac’s tone was rare, and I sensed he’d had this conversation with Hargrave on more than one occasion.
I had a feeling Hargrave only gave into this outing—whatever it was—because she knew I was an hour away from rebounding home. I was watching the countdown in my HUD and thinking there were more constructive things I could be doing.
I followed Cormac along a wide, well-lit corridor. The walls, floor, and ceiling were coated in some kind of off-white resin or epoxy. The technology of the construction seemed somehow functionally utilitarian in an antiquated way. The construction of the few empty storage rooms and spaces we passed reminded me of what I’d seen above ground in the city, but this was an older, more primitive version of the building technology. Where everything I’d seen in their construction so far could be described as clinical and sterile in design, it struck me how the city’s architecture had all been built mainly of rounded corners rather than hard edges. Everything I saw here looked much the same but differed subtly. There wasn’t a single rounded edge to be seen. Something about the observation felt evolutionary in the design shift like the same minds had constructed this place and the city at different historical points.
“Our first city was much like this facility,” Cormac said as if reading my mind.
“Underground?” I said without pause.
Cormac turned a corner and nodded. “That too, but I was referring to the construction.”
I stopped our progression with a hand on his shoulder. “The city,” I said. “Is it still viable? An underground installation would make it harder for the Elend to attack. We could defend it much more easily.”
Hargrave grumbled something, paused, then clarified whatever point she’d been muttering to herself. “Garwin lost geologic integrity over a hundred and sixty years ago.”
“Garwin?” I said, unsure I heard the name correctly.
“It was the name of our first city. It was near the northwest coast. The region was never geologically stable and not ideally suited for such construction,” she explained.
Garwin.
It was a good enough name. I didn’t need to create an analog for a place back home.
I wondered who had decided to build the city there and why. And if the Seeley people lived what seemed to be an endlessly long life, where did they come from? They were all the same age, and they never had children. Their longevity seemed improbable, and it was undoubtedly impractical.
Cormac was grinning at me. “The questions are starting again?” His eyes sparkled from behind his glasses and beneath bushy eyebrows in a way that was both wisened and amused. He seemed to be daring me to go down this rabbit hole again. It was a rabbit hole that, until now, held no answers.
Still, one question was poking at the base of my brain. I couldn’t get the Seeley to talk about their origin, but maybe I could approach the topic laterally. I gave it a shot.
“We’re underground now—your first city was underground.” I paused, unsure how to frame the question. “Your people aren’t the most robust,” I started. From what I’ve seen, they are not well suited toward manual labor.” I’d never seen heavy equipment, and it would be a requirement for a group creating extensive underground facilities. “How are you excavating the earth?”
“Interesting,” Cormac said with an arch of his brows. “A timely question given where we’re headed.” He motioned further down the corridor. “The Archives are home to the earliest technology we developed, including the displacement device we used to expand Garwin.”
I had a million questions, and the list was expanding at an ever-increasing rate. How could he talk about this so freely while still being entirely unwilling to explain the origin of the Seeley people?
Cormac nodded and waved a hand theatrically at double doors that had just come into view. “Today, you have an opportunity to find answers.”
My first response was to laugh, but the earnestness of his expression and reluctance in Hargrave’s disposition made me think better of it. I took a deep breath and pushed through the doors.
The room beyond was massive. I’ll describe it as a warehouse because there’s no question it was a storage space. The ceiling was arched like the inside of a barrel, the highest point about thirty feet overhead. The floors were the same off-white, pale lacquer polish that had covered every inch of every surface I’d seen. Still, only chaotic patches of the floor were visible between towering shelves and strange, irregularly shaped objects draped in dusty tarps. The tarped objects littered the floor randomly like a minefield. I counted more than a dozen near me, with countless more silhouetted in a massive expanse spreading off into the distance beyond the reach of the six or eight overhead lights.
The silver orange-slice-shaped wedge sat on a small wheeled cart near a crystal ball-like orb on a pedestal. I walked over to the wedge and ran a finger across its curved surface, surprised when my hand came back with a thick coating of grime.
Sarah Hargrave stepped forward, looking like she would slap my hand. She seemed to think better of it at the last second. “Do you have to touch everything?” She mumbled more, but it was under her breath. It was an affectation that I was seeing her do more and more as she became increasingly stressed. “Please keep your hands to yourself.”
Unsure how to respond, I focused on the dust collected on the so-called artifact. When the doctor spoke, I rubbed the grit between my thumb and forefinger.
“That’s not the artifact you found,” he clarified.
I leaned over the silver wedge and studied it. In my peripheral vision, I noted Hargrave as she moved to dissuade me. Cormac quickly placed an arm around her, and they moved out of my sightline. The soundless show brought a smile to the corners of my mouth. However, the fact that I could see no apparent differences between this object and the one I found quickly ended the grin.
“If you say so,” I said after an awkward silence. “It looks the same to me.”
“It’s the same in every measurable way,” a new voice sounded immediately to my right. It was modulated in a decidedly not human way and sounded out of nowhere so unexpectedly that I was startled. I did not jump or reach for the non-existent gun on my hip—and if Cormac ever says differently, it’s important to remember that he’s been learning about something folks on Our-World call creative license. He’s never gotten the hang of it and likely never will.
After I stopped backpedaling, I focused on the glass orb sitting atop a pedestal. It glowed with a pale blue light, dimming in a pulse that kept time with the words emanating from it.
“I apologize for startling you, Gray,” the device said. “Administrator Hargrave, I thought this meeting was part of a plan. Is my information incorrect?”
Hargrave just glowered at me.
Cormac grinned with unbridled amusement. “You are correct.” Whatever name he called the…orb… didn’t translate. It didn’t match a name in the English language. That kind of thing still happens from time to time, most frequently with names. That’s why I mapped it to the name Fenton. Like all Seeley words, I translated this way: When I said Fenton, the Seeley heard their version of the word.
Fenton would work. With a name like that, it couldn’t possibly scare the crap out of me again.
“We tend to get sidetracked,” Cormac was explaining. “So here we are.” He looked at me. “Gray, this is Fenton. Fenton, this is Gray.”
Suppressing the instinct to shake hands, I eyed the pale light emanating from the orb and wondered what the social protocol was in this situation. I also wondered what this thing was. I’d been on Wild-Side for so long and never heard of anything like it.
The orb seemed to anticipate my discomfort. “You’re already familiar with non-organic inteligence, Gray?” Fenton said.
“AI? Artificial inteligence, I mean,” I elaborated and instantly wondered if I’d made some kind of mistake in the political correctness of the phrasing.
“Precisely,” Fenton said. “You have a working familiarity with Esker, correct?”
It was phrased like a question, but it didn’t feel like one. “You know about Esker?”
“I know about Esker, your world, the creatures you call Elend, and more.”
Fenton’s voice was decidedly not human, but it wasn’t digital or robotic either. The AI, or non-organic intelligence as it seemed to prefer, spoke with human tones and inflections modulated in a way that was just synthetic enough not to be confused with humans. The speech was artificial but not enough to be upsetting or unpleasant. The voice sounded a bit more on the masculine side of genderless. Still, again, it seemed to balance on a very delicate gradient that made it comfortable for interaction without being distracting or androgynous.
Sometime during my analysis of the AI, it asked Cormac and Hargrave to excuse us. It happened so quickly and with so little fanfare that it must have been part of the overall agenda. Before I knew what was happening, I was alone in the warehouse with the glowing orb on the pedestal.
“In point of fact,” Fenton said, “I am not an artificial inteligence. As you know, the use of AI technology is prohibited here. A nuanced distinction given my present form, but a vital point given the prohibition.”
Something told me the conversation I was about to have was intentionally private. There was a sense that this non-corporeal entity was yet another layer to Wild-Side’s overall mystery.
Given the countdown displayed in my HUD, time was running out, literally. I had to make the most of my few remaining minutes.
Not knowing what to do or what to say, I considered Cormac’s mention of finally getting answers and jumped directly into the proverbial deep end of the pool.
“Fenton, Doctor Cormac suggested you might be willing to answer some of the questions that no one here can answer for me,” I said.
“Queries about Wild-Side, the Elend, or Brane theory?”
My mind froze, suddenly wondering where to begin. Finding the right starting point might make things easier, thought it would be a lot more difficult if I messed this up. According to my timer, I was seventeen minutes from my rebound. “Can we start with you?”
“Me? I’ll admit, that’s not a question I was anticipating.”
“The technology here is amazing. It surpasses the tech of my world in every conceivable way. But when I asked the Doc why there’s no use of AI here, he said it was not permitted. When I asked what that meant, he wouldn’t—or maybe couldn’t—explain. It seemed like that happens with a variety of topics. Oddly, all of the significant ones.”
The blue light in the orb swirled slowly for several long seconds, and I took it as a sign of quiet contemplation. “You’re right in that there are a series of tenants core to the people of this Brane—all of which have been vital to their survival thus far. The reluctance you experience when attempting to get them to speak of these tenants is less intentional and more a product of their nature. For them, it’s like the grass being green and the sky being blue. It’s all they have ever known. You’re asking questions they have never asked themselves, in many cases.
“For the people of your Brane, they leverage the creative centers of their minds to grow and develop. As you’ve seen here, the Seeley, as you call them, have no creativity—at least not as you would define it. They have no art or music. There is no religion. They have only a logic-driven sense of science.”
I had questions specific to AI, but I felt we were pulling at a thread more critical to my overall understanding of Wild-Side. “There’s never been any organized religion here.” For me, this was more of an observation. But as far as this went, it was a multi-headed hydra that gave me a lot to unpack. Organized religion has inspired the world with countless works of art and music. It also caused people to organize for social improvement and also led to war and genocide.
“Yes,” Fenton said. “The source of so much beauty and devastation in your world. It begs the question, to avoid all of the devastation the religions of your world have brought, would you be willing to sacrifice the associated beauty as well?”
It was suddenly my turn for quiet contemplation. There was a heavy sense that this scenario wasn’t an abstract hypothetical. I found myself staring into the blurry orb and considering not only its questions but also my own, asked and unasked as well.
“You know a lot about my world,” I said finally.
Fenton said nothing, so I changed my approach.
“You know more about my world than I have told anyone on Wild-Side. How is that?”
“Those core tenants of life here,” Fenton said. I could only hope it was a lateral approach to an answer. “As you observed, the Seeley have developed much more advanced technology than the people of your Brane. They have done this in a much more limited time, too. As you have observed, the population of this Brane is two hundred and fifty-six years old. A single generation, while the people of your Brane iterate on the works of the generations before them.
“Both are forms of evolution, though perhaps not in the terms you normally associate with the principle. The shorter life spans of the people in your world function as a means of limiting development to a speed where intelligence and biology are commensurate. The equation on Wild-Side is similar. It just uses a different ratio. The people live longer, but they don’t reproduce. They have a long life span over which to evolve, but their population is finite.”
I could see where Fenton was going, if only in the vaguest sense. It was super messed up. And even if I agreed with the explanation, and when I say agree, I’m doing that in air quotes because—whoa—so messed up. That still points to some kind of guiding hand balancing the scales. It suggested someone or something set up a sort of cosmic Petri dish with one set of organized parameters for Our-World and another for Wild-Side.
I’m the guy tripping dimensions, and even I can’t drink that Kool-Aid.
“So, the AI?” I said. It was all I could think of to bring us back to a topic that didn’t feel like celestial quicksand.
“That rev-limiter that keeps the people from your world from outpacing their own social and genetic capabilities? It’s your relatively meager lifespan. For the Seeley? It’s a short list of tenants. Core among them is a prohibition against the development and use of artificial intelligence.”
I was pacing slowly back and forth across the short open space in front of the pedestal on which the orb sat. I’ve been doing it for a few minutes and only just noticed it. The question on my lips crossed some kind of line, but it had to be asked.
“With all the advanced technology here, why prohibit artificial intelligence?”
“Those core tenants,” Fenton said. “They keep the Seeley from growing too fast or beyond their means before they’re ready. The people of your world expect AI to one day reach what they call Singularity. Some believe this is where AI will become the future of humankind or the cause of its destruction.”
I nodded. “I’m familiar with the concept. Some also think it’s when machines become self-aware and self-replicating and start doing things that no one has predicted.”
“And so we return to the concept of the rev-limiter,” Fenton said. “Here, on Wild-Side, if you will, the restriction against AI is just the most obvious of the limitations. The population’s unwillingness or inability to take up arms against the Elend is perhaps the most glaring example, and one you’re unlikely to circumvent.”
“I don’t understand an entire people’s unwillingness to protect themselves against a hostile force. The Elend threaten their survival as a people.”
“You’re dealing with more than mere reluctance,” Fenton said with a tone of finality that had not been used in the conversation so far. “You’re dealing with cognitive dissonance. You see a people ruled by thought and reason, a population now fighting emotions such as crippling fear for the first time in their lives. They are experiencing things they have no concept of and are being asked to do things they never imagined before. It’s more than most can process.
“The fact that you gained the support of Doctor Cormac and several of his contemporaries is exceptional. I did not think it was possible, even for you.”
Even for me?
I wanted to know what that meant, but it was more important not to lose the thread of our conversation. I sensed that I might not be allowed a return visit once I left this warehouse. Hargrave certainly wasn’t in favor of me coming in the first place.
“Tell me about the Seeley? Where did they come from?”
The blue orb pulsed with an unusual set of swirls. I don’t know what to say other than there was something distinctive about what I saw. It meant something. Not to me, certainly. But it must have been relative to the question I’d just asked. “Cognitive dissonance also applies to non-organic life,” Fenton said after a pause.
My mouth was suddenly dry and I felt the answers that were inches from my grasp just a moment before were slipping away. “Say—huh?” Maybe not my most eloquent question in the conversation so far, but…come on.
“As you have already deduced, I have familiarity with not only Wild-Side but your Brane as well. For this reason, there are topics I cannot offer insights into and questions I cannot answer. The artifacts gathered in this repository have been sequestered to maintain Equilibrium.” The way the word equilibrium was used, seemed to have import. “Administrator Hargrave and Doctor Cormac know only enough about the nature of these devices to collect and sequester them.” Something in the way Fenton said sequester gave me the sense he actually meant quarantine. “They don’t know why they must act as they do.”
I looked at the countdown in the corner of my HUD and knew I had time for one last question before I was forced to return home.
“Esker,” I said, referring to the AI helping me back home. “If there’s a prohibition on AI, how could Doc Cormac provide Esker to me? He’s been essential to my efforts to undermine Breslin. How did he get around the prohibition?”
“Doctor Cormac didn’t create the AI you call Esker,” Fenton said. “I provided the source code and instructions for compiling it on your Brane. They didn’t know what was provided until you unpacked and deployed the payload.”
Time was short, and I knew there was something more to say. I had the sense that Fenton knew more about this place than anyone, but the how and why of that concept escaped me.
“You believe you’re the only chance the Seeley have to survive, and you are correct,” Fenton said. “Go to Garwin. It’s not the entire solution,” he paused as if carefully considering the following words. “Think of Garwin as the tool you need.”
The countdown in the corner of my HUD reached the two-second mark and I felt a burning in the pit of my stomach. Creativity and deception might not come naturally to the Seeley. Still, for the non-organic intelligence they kept buried in some remote warehouse, vague hints and suggestions were something of a game.
Fenton seemed to know I was about to rebound. The last thing I heard was, “Nice visiting with you again, Gray.”
