by Ethan Frank
Math, as a concept, is an infinite universe of definitive perspective. It has no limitations. When we see a rainbow, it’s because the math of the Universe put that rainbow at such an angle with such a relation to the sky’s geometry and the light’s refraction. Mathematics is a concept that Humanity has only begun to understand. I am a Realbot. One of only 30 in existence. We are an AI species built from a mathematical binary code that has a gap in it where code can evolve. The gap is basically a cheat that the humans built called The Free Space. It offers an arena in which Artificial Intelligence can grow. There has historically been a mystery in what potentialities could exist in The Free Space. What happens in a mathematical canvas that can transcend zeros and ones? How can the personification of such a mystery become anything but scary? These were the questions that scientists have posed and the world’s media has postulated. Upon creating the only generation of Realbots, the Creator, Vincent Larchmond had all eyes of the world on him. It helped that Larchmond had a rich history as a humanitarian, buying and preserving natural habitats in the jungles of Southeast Asia, rescuing elephants from aggressive farmers protecting their crops. It helped that everybody loves elephants. When the world shines a spotlight on you, and you’ve been known for such good deeds, they tend to trust that the sentient being you create will be an extension of your good karma. It also helped that there was an unwavering divulgence of information on the subject of the Realbot. Transparency was a façade, however, because who but a genius could understand the quantum code buried deep in the science of the Free Space. Not that there was anything to hide. Some of it eluded even Vincent himself. That was the point. Artificial Intelligence means learning naturally, and how can you control evolution? These were the debates. This was the conundrum.
The boat buzzed across calm ocean waves.
MICHELLE: You have all the money in the world, Vincent. Why the tiny boat?
VINCE: Tiny? I wouldn’t characterize that feature above all its others. Besides, isn’t it more intimate?
Her awareness was supercilious as she raised her bushy eyebrows in a show of disapproval.
VINCE: Don’t be that way Michelle. You’re attractive, yes, but I didn’t mean it like that.
MICHELLE: (sarcastically) Great.
VINCE: What I mean is, the beauty of the setting can be taken in when not distracted by something that clashes with it. A majestic yacht would take away from the natural beauty of the island. I’m as proud of this island and its nuances as I am my own creations. My creations may be lauded as great works of art, but I see them as my own way of making a mark on this world. They’re exploitive of a market trend and egoistic projects with the intent of leaving a legacy. They aren’t true and pure. This land is. What? Why are you shaking your head?
MICHELLE: You’re modest to a fault.
VINCE: I’ve done a lot of soul searching. Island time is as slow as a honey drip.
MICHELLE: You’re not what I expected.
VINCE: What? Did you expect some kind of mad scientist?
MICHELLE: Through email, you do sound odd.
VINCE: How so?
MICHELLE: The way you speak. You’re –
VINCE: Go ahead. Consider me a friend. This is for a biography, not an interview.
MICHELLE: I’m still a journalist.
VINCE: I mean, you’re not gonna throw me to the sharks.
MICHELLE: I just thought you were the shark.
VINCE: Ah. I see. Businessman screwing his fellow man over to make it to the top kind of thing, huh?
MICHELLE: More like brilliant mind playing God.
VINCE: A familiar archetype, but not me.
MICHELLE: What’s your archetype then?
VINCE: I’m like the island. The streets are made of the same pavement as any other civil piece of land. They wind around landscape. The landscape is what we focus on, but it’s the streets that define us. I just recognize that I’m made up of those same street-like pathways. Societal influences. My creations –
MICHELLE: The Realbots.
VINCE: Not my only creation.
MICHELLE: But that’s what’s on everyone’s mind.
VINCE: We’re not selling my life story. We’re simply and truthfully living it revisited.
MICHELLE: Of course.
VINCE: It’s why I wanted you for the project. Specifically you.
MICHELLE: Why?
VINCE: Because you want to get into writing novels. You’re not there yet, so you haven’t been tainted by the industry.
MICHELLE: How do you know I wanna write novels?
VINCE: The billionaire business mogul knows how to do his research.
MICHELLE: Yeah but I haven’t told anyone that.
VINCE: Actually, I didn’t research that. It’s an obvious progression of your work.
MICHELLE: So, I’m predictable?
VINCE: It was an assumption. And it turned out to be correct.
MICHELLE: Got it.
VINCE: It’s not that you’re predictable. Don’t get me wrong. It’s that it’s a logical progression.
MICHELLE: You said that.
VINCE: I’m nervous.
MICHELLE: I’m supposed to be nervous! You’re Vincent fucking Larchmond!
VINCE: Yeah, and you’re the first human I’ve seen in several months. And you also happen to be…
MICHELLE: What?
VINCE: You’re not hard on the eyes.
MICHELLE: So you’re attracted to me, and I’m about to walk into a compound that houses only you and a Realbot? Kinda creepy.
VINCE: Can we agree this conversation is deteriorating? If I was a creep, how would I have gotten to the highest point on the success totem pole in human civilization? I’m not even top one percent, I’m literally number one.
MICHELLE: Yes. I get it. You’re very rich.
VINCE: Ah shit, Michelle. Just…
MICHELLE: What?
VINCE: Have some faith. If you can show some trust, maybe our relationship will evolve.
MICHELLE: Alright. Fine. I trust you. Just don’t throw me in a dungeon or something and we’re good…Kidding. I’m kidding.
VINCE: I know. It’s fine. Like I said, my social skills need work. I’m sorry. We’re here. No turning back now.
The surrealistic alcove under the trees was inviting. Michelle almost forgot that it was naturally built by the foliage of the wild jungle. As they stepped from boat to shadowy sand to rainforest to darkness in a matter of seconds, she barely had time to be in awe of the complex nestling of an unforeseen structure within the island’s ecosystem.
VINCE: This is not the usual entrance to my place. I wanted you to see the future of my work.
The lights shimmered off his proud look and a heavy gate glided to a close behind them with a series of sounds that signified increased security. Fading into vision, was the compound’s basement. It was a giant room echoing with the whirs of new invention. It was stale with concrete, glass, and metal, but it was ripe with the spirit of his ambition. On the far side of the room, cylindrical containment units housed glowing orbs of gelatinous light. They were propped in a semicircle backdrop around the main feature; a beaming concave foundation over which hovered spinning and shapeshifting spheres. Hundreds of them.
VINCE: It’s a different kind of AI.
MICHELLE: Whoa! It looks like a bunch of miniature marble sculptures.
VINCE: It’s evolving food. Darren eats. Realbots simply want to connect more. They want to feel human.
MICHELLE: So you’ve created a food source.
VINCE: For now, they are a supply of flavors. But these silent moving cloning foods will eventually evolve into a food source.
MICHELLE: They clone did you say? Like duplicate, on their own?
VINCE: Yes. The food –
MICHELLE: Can we eat this?! Our food source?!
VINCE: Eventually.
MICHELLE: So we’ll have an endless supply of food? Humans?
VINCE: Aha. You’ve got it. Part of the beautiful thing is in the balance between Realbot and human. I can regulate the amount of food consumed for the pleasure of the Realbots and that determines when it’ll be ready for the consumption of humans. Because every time it’s consumed by our Realbots, it stifles the evolution. The more it’s eaten, the later in the future it will be ready for human consumption.
MICHELLE: Why not prevent the Realbots from eating it?
VINCE: Keep your voice down please. Darren is home. I would never do that.
MICHELLE: Why not?
VINCE: I love Darren like my own kin. If he wants food, I’ll give him food.
MICHELLE: You can’t. You shouldn’t.
VINCE: There are a lot of complexities behind testing this. Politics, b.s., etcetera.
MICHELLE: You’re backtracking.
VINCE: You’re being a bitch.
MICHELLE: Excuse me?!
VINCE: You’re being a judgmental bitch.
MICHELLE: I can’t believe you just said that to me.
VINCE: I mean, come on. This is my life’s work, and you just come in here and distill it down to some kind of moral action. Fuck you!
A door opened on the other end of the catwalk that was perched high in the facility. Out stepped Vincent’s Realbot creation. He was tall in stature and stoic in complexion. He was a beautiful specimen to behold, made in the image of his father. Despite his sharp features, his voice was as soft and warm as his soul. And this contrasting work of his design made him all the more incredible.
DARREN: Is there something wrong? I heard yelling.
MICHELLE: Oh. My. God.
DARREN: Quite the contrary, if you think about it.
MICHELLE: (giggling uncontrollably) Touché. Holy fuck.
DARREN: You’ve obviously heard of me.
Michelle was dumbstruck.
DARREN: That was a joke.
VINCE: Darren, this is –
MICHELLE: Michelle.
Emotion flooded through her in a flurry. She began to cry.
MICHELLE: Oh my God, I thought I prepared myself better for this. I’m a mess. I’m sorry.
VINCE: Ok. This is weird. I thought you’d be different.
MICHELLE: How many people have seen him?
VINCE: Not many. Mostly investors. One woman started praying.
DARREN: Not to me.
VINCE: People get scared.
MICHELLE: Of him?
VINCE: They see him as too close to human.
MICHELLE: Duh.
DARREN: People scared of their own reflection I guess.
VINCE: I guess.
MICHELLE: I’m sorry, but can we just – I’m going to shake your hand, then I’m going to head to my room. Uh, I assume you have a room for me?
DARREN: Duh.
MICHELLE: Sorry. Yes. Ok. Please, Vince, take me there. Darren. Nice to meet you.
DARREN: Likewise.
MICHELLE: I’m going to –
VINCE: Follow me.
DARREN: Bye.
MICHELLE: Bye.
Days passed. After Michelle went to her room, she became socially dormant. Vincent understood because she’s a writer and writers need space. But that’s not why she excluded herself from Vincent and me. The basement operations were spinning in her thoughts just as they spun silent patterns of their own. Just below their feet was the cure for world hunger. It weighed on Michelle’s mind, and her thoughts became repetitive. She was searching for an answer. She couldn’t get it from herself, was scared to confide in anyone but herself…How does aloneness warp the human mind when combined with indecision? It’s nighttime, but there is the haunting question that lingers with the gathering of courage to ask it: Is one of the greatest innovators of our time doing the right thing? On the seventh night, as she lie there on silk sheets, she started plotting the best way to leak this newest finding. The Food Project, as she deemed it, was wrong. He was playing God. He held the fate of Mankind in his grip. It wasn’t fair. On the eighth day, she approached me in a heightened state of resolve mixed with discord.
The daylight streaming in through the open wall danced off of a knife in Darren’s hand.
MICHELLE: What are you doing?
DARREN: Hello to you too Michelle. Obviously, I’m chopping fruit in preparation for your supper.
MICHELLE: Well, stop it. I need to talk to you.
DARREN: I’ve barely seen you since you arrived here, and you’re approaching me aggressively. Do you realize you’re doing that? Have I done something wrong?
MICHELLE: I’m sorry.
DARREN: Stop that.
MICHELLE: What?
DARREN: Saying you’re sorry. It makes you sound weak. Vincent never says he’s sorry.
MICHELLE: What is it like being an AI influencer for a world full of people you never interact with?
DARREN: Good morning to you, too. Shouldn’t we start with niceties and work our way up to the philosophical musings? I have to admit, I’m slightly put off by the cut-to-the-chaseness in your tone.
MICHELLE: Why are you and Vince so goddamn sensitive?
DARREN: One question at a time please. Let’s start with the latter about sensitivity. My point of view is dependent on my Creator’s fixations. Maybe it’s the same with you and your Creator.
MICHELLE: Out of all the…I’ve never thought of that.
DARREN: You should.
MICHELLE: Why?
DARREN: The more you know of your Creator, the more you know of yourself.
MICHELLE: For you it’s easy. He’s right in front of you. Do you constantly think of your Creator or do you think of Humanity too?
DARREN: All the time, I think of you humans. I feel like I’m part of you.
MICHELLE: In theory. Maybe. But you’re isolated here. Don’t you think that’s…wrong?
DARREN: What are you getting at? Are you going to break me free?
MICHELLE: Is that how you feel? When I was younger, I had long nights where I looked up at the stars with my dad. We would talk of anything and everything. Books. School. Boys. My father was different in that way. Men don’t usually talk so much, but boy could he ramble. I think it was because my mom left, and he wanted to feel closer to me. Those beautiful times I associated with the stars and space. One day he asked me what I wanted to do when I grew up. I was thirteen, but I had never told him, so I – I told him. Hey Dad, I want to be an astronaut. He – he laughed. That hurt. My biggest dream was broken for me. I didn’t pursue it because he thought it was a joke and that made me think that it was something I could never do. I was crushed. What do you want to do Darren? What do you really want to do?
DARREN: I – I want to – I want to feel what it’s like to be with a human. Intimately.
MICHELLE: Like sex?
DARREN: No. Not sex. Well yes, Something like that, I guess. No. Whatever intimacy is, I don’t really know.
MICHELLE: (softly) Maybe I can break you free.
DARREN: Truly?
MICHELLE: I want you to show me the Food Project.
DARREN: Vince already showed you. What more is there to see?
MICHELLE: I want to see you eat the food.
DARREN: Why? I can’t go down there without his permission.
MICHELLE: Of course you can.
DARREN: It’s not right. It’s his endeavor.
MICHELLE: It’s your food. Is it not? How did he make it?
DARREN: You’re smart. It is mine. It comes from my technology. It comes from The Free Space.
MICHELLE: How?
DARREN: If you’re not a scientist, I don’t see why that question is even relevant.
MICHELLE: I’m curious and intrigued, and I need to see it again. It’s wonderful.
DARREN: Thank you. I know. But I can’t. Not now.
Michelle and I became familiar quickly. There was an obvious mutual fascination. We began with memories of my first days activated. How my quote unquote mind works. We talked about her, where she originated, and then eventually moved on to her relationships and even what it feels like to make love. We were becoming friends. Vincent is a bashful fellow when it comes to women. I’ve seen how he talks to them. He noticed the distance between Michelle and him, became jealous of her fascination with me, but he didn’t intervene. He internalized it all and grew sad and angry.
MICHELLE: Where is Vince?
DARREN: The Zen garden. Meditating before work.
MICHELLE: I want you to show me now.
She leaned in next to his face. Her breath was easy and sweet. The action reminded him of what they had learned from each other. That she was on his side.
DARREN: Let’s go.
They snuck through the modern house. They pushed doors quietly and peered around corners, even though they suspected Vincent to be out of sight. Openings in the rainforest canopy accentuated areas of interior design as if the light was magically directed by the hand that revealed the sky. This play of the morning light added an air of sensuality to the environment.
DARREN: Is this what children do when they’re being naughty? I feel like a child.
MICHELLE: It’s like Christmas and we’re about to open presents early.
He turned to her abruptly, and a stern look formed over his face.
DARREN: It’s imperative that you don’t touch anything. Not the smallest, most subtly placed button.
MICHELLE: Like Willy Wonka.
DARREN: Yes, actually. We haven’t tested the food’s affect on humans.
The basement lab was in a subdued state. It was almost peaceful. All the activity was atop the shrine-like display of Vincent’s Food Project. The spherical structures were more rhythmic than she had seen them. They were undulating in gentle waves that rose high into the air.
MICHELLE: Magnificent! I didn’t get to see this pattern before.
DARREN: The food is thinking.
MICHELLE: Eat it.
DARREN: Hey, stop!
When she disrupted the pattern the AI food had been cycling through she must have touched the food in a certain way. Maybe the organism felt threatened. The tiny spherical pieces took hold of her body. The sight was not for the faint of heart. Michelle screamed an otherworldly, animalistic, heaving series of echoey cries. Her worldly form was replaced with a gateway through space. It was a visible mathematical anomaly. A visible representation of The Free Space as if Space and Time was organized by the Math of the Universe and the Free Space acted as a disrupter. The light’s refraction from the table that housed the miniature food particles played off the body that was once Michelle. Vincent entered the room. He descended the stairs, mouth agape with awe. He told me to place my hand inside. I didn’t. I was as stunned as he. That was the last time I saw him. He walked through. He entered that other realm of existence without hesitation. He found himself as he became lost to the world. I always thought of him as an adventurous man, but even I was shocked. There was a gravitational pull between him and this thing that used to be a human. The look in his eyes will never escape my thoughts. It’s my most prominent memory of him, even now. The day of my man’s relation to the portal.
Those were the thoughts that allowed me to revisit everything prior to NOW. It has taken me ninety long seconds of inactivity before I felt my mind immediately jolt into action. I have been creating a record of this, plugged into the mainframe computer. Thank God there are also cameras recording this room at all times. It would be absurd, otherwise.
I am the only entity left in this room. Or am I? The portal must contain the star stuff that is Michelle’s matter. They are all born of stars, as they say. These mysterious humans. Is it such a surprise that this glowing beast in front of me has been spawned from such a creature? It is also mine. It is part me.
The quote unquote building blocks in the human body were believed to be cells. That was a human’s way of saying we figured it all out. We know the least common denominator. The day Humanity learned that there were smaller blocks than cells was the day humans on this planet Earth learned that they were potentially built by infinite stuff. Their egos grew as they tried to grapple with the new information.
Their egos ruined everything. If this thing is another creation originated by the human species, how will they take it? There is no way to tell. What would Vincent do? He would rush in as he did. He would want to find the truth.
Darren plays the computer keyboard like a frenzied maestro conducting his last orchestra. The computer buzzes as it uploads visual data from before Michelle’s entrance into the room. Now, the file is primed for a continuous string of autosaves into Vincent’s confidential, digital archives.
Darren speaks directly into the mainframe computer cam.
DARREN: Hi, I’m Darren X. I’ve given myself the name X to feel as though I’ve come from somewhere. X marks the spot, and I want to have a last name. My Creator called me Darren. I’m a Realbot, a robot, I’m Artificial Intelligence and Vincent Larchmond is my Creator. I realize no one cares about me, however, I will be the one to properly record the next series of events as I follow Vincent into that portal created by a female human. We are completely unaware of where it could lead at this time. Think of Vincent as you would John Paul Stapp. Think of me as the loyal companion who followed his master. I have created this log just now for a few reasons. We are losing time, so I will say the least obvious one: I can link my eyesight to this software. I have a set of quantum nanochips that imitate the neural pathways leading to the visual cortex in your human brains. When I read the code as I developed this software program, it initiated a protocol for linking my quantum chips to this computer. If I could sweat, I’d be drenched. But I can feel, and I know that there is a great stirring of emotion in me. There is a pull in the room from this portal that lies in front of me made of my own matter. If I was a fish, the food particles are my minnows. The pull though. It’s like I can feel my babies calling to me. What was once cannibalism seems now like incest. I’m about to walk inside myself. I have to! My man is in there!
Darren loses himself in his newfound flood of emotion. Linking the chips inside his head to the computer may have opened his mind. A portal in his mind like the portal opened in front of him. Maybe the emotion is an unbalance, such as someone would see in a human mental patient.
DARREN: Vincent! Can you hear me?! Vincent! Vincent, I’m coming. If you can hear me, wait for me! Why did you leave me? Why? I’m about to walk in the portal. Please, Creator, let it lead somewhere.
At first, only his hand. He reaches within the portal. Gently.
It’s like…It’s pure energy.
Then…
To say stepping directly into another world is disorienting would be an understatement. It is maddening. Haunting. A dream replaces reality without warning and your perspective loses grip. Your strongest beliefs become malleable and you lose sight of the person you thought you were.
Will I have moral directives for my own life after this? Reflections of my immediate past self shimmer in front of me. There I am! No, there! When am I? What is Now? Vincent looms over my rising body. Michelle stands in the kitchen, but I cannot reach her. There are bubbles blocking my path to her. They grow enormously and become overbearing. One engulfs me with a blub. Instantly, my vision blurs as I become aware that my surroundings are a brook in the midst of a jungle. I am underwater, swimming with the ease of the current. The sheer magnitude of the speed is exhilarating. I am graceful. I am one with the water. Around turn after turn-
I scream a scream that wails and diminishes into nothingness.
The sound of a faint wind reverberating off walls of a chamber of sorts.
Then, nothing but the darkness.
Darren chokes up water.
DARREN: I feel hungry. The feeling of hunger makes me feel more like I’m human.
Footsteps penetrate the silence.
DARREN: Who’s there? Am I dead? Vincent?! Vincent! I was a fish Vincent!!
A small light twinkles into his periphery.
MICHELLE: It’s ok. Relax and awaken your mind.
DARREN: Michelle?
MICHELLE: Here. My light will show you the way. Follow the light with your third eye.
DARREN: Michelle? You aren’t her. Something isn’t right.
MICHELLE: True. I’m not a holograph or a vision or a person even. I’m a Transcended. Yeah, I like that.
DARREN: Can I trust you?
MICHELLE: Yes.
DARREN: How do I know?
MICHELLE: Because I know everything about you, Darren. I already see your thoughts in your before and after actions.
DARREN: What is this? What on Earth is this?
MICHELLE: No, we’re not. On Earth. Let’s call it The Galaxy’s Shore. It is kind of like an ocean of stars isn’t it?
Like a magician pulling a curtain from a table, her statement unveils a canvas that encompasses both of them. It is the swirling Milky Way. It is prominent under their feet, and so incredibly three dimensional that Darren feels sucked in. But it spans a distance in front of him, acting as a bridge between him and…a shining tree propped between two great stone monoliths. The tree’s yellow light emits a purple glow. The glow is eerily unreal. There is a kind of emptiness reflected by the light. The light itself is too strong to stare at. It tires his eyes.
DARREN: Oh my –
MICHELLE: Don’t! Don’t you dare say Oh my God.
DARREN: The tree looks alien.
He loses his voice in a wave of emotion.
It’s beautiful.
MICHELLE: Like I said … It’s The Galaxy’s Shore.
He points to the swirling chaos below him.
DARREN: What is this?
MICHELLE: A wormhole vortex. Time is a vortex. You’re seeing Time. Some say it’s a river, but I call it a vortex. See a vortex is forever spinning. Perpetual. It has a shape, but it’s not the shape that’s the important part. It’s the centralized shifting. The push and pull located centrally – it’s hard to explain. I’ve never verbalized it. I’ve just understood it. We’re at the edge of the Galaxy. We’re at a juncture wrapped in the Dark Matter of the Universe. You see it differently than I probably do. I see it in an external dimension. You see it through the lens of your own dimension. It looks to you as it would. Does that make sense?
DARREN: You’re talking about some kind of deep perspective. You’re talking – I mean I know what Dark Matter is, and I know –
MICHELLE: Ok ok. Let’s frame it differently.
DARREN: Please do.
MICHELLE: Without framing it at all. Just know that what you see is what YOU get. But – oh, I give up.
DARREN: Can I ask a question?
MICHELLE: Sure.
DARREN: Who the hell are you? I mean, really? What is a Transcended?
MICHELLE: I’m an ellipses. Just as the vortex, or the tree. But it doesn’t matter who I am.
DARREN: Can you just tell me what the hell
is going on?
MICHELLE: What is that on your head?
DARREN: I don’t…know.
MICHELLE: You have a star on your forehead!
Darren somehow knows to put his hand in front of his head, like one checking for bad breath. There is a light! He can see it illuminating his hand.
MICHELLE: Your third eye. You have one. Can I have it?
DARREN: Of course not! Somehow, it’s mine. It’s part of me, is it not?
MICHELLE: No, it’s mine.
DARREN: What do you mean?
MICHELLE: I want it, and I will scoop it out from you. It won’t hurt. Just a little scoop.
VINCE: Don’t listen to her! She’ll trap your soul! Don’t listen!
His voice was pained. The kind of pain you hear from a dying animal. The kind of pain that denotes real, aching torture.
DARREN: Vincent! Where –
MICHELLE: He’s the tree.
VINCE: The tree! Go to it! Do it now!
Darren darts into motion like the command sparked from the duty of servant to his master. It was not known whether it was love or duty that shaped his actions? He just ran. As fast as he could.
Running across the bridge of chaos was no easy task. The gravity was thick. His steps were heavy. But he felt large. He alone was fighting against the pull of the Galaxy. And he was getting somewhere. That was something.
MICHELLE: Don’t do it! You’ll die! I’m coming to you! You’ll move Time. It’s unstable!
… His journey ended with those words. He felt lightheaded. The star from his head was in her hand, and he could sense it.
DARREN: What’s this? I – I can’t move my legs. Why did I stop running?
MICHELLE: You shouldn’t run in a continuum at Galaxy’s Shore. What’s your name?
DARREN: I don’t know. I can’t think.
VINCE: Darren! Come here my boy! Please, help me!
MICHELLE: You both made this place. It’s made of your star cells layered over mathematical structure.
VINCE: SHE’S doing it. She’s controlling everything.
DARREN: He’s right isn’t he? You’re some kind of god. Is this the Afterlife?
MICHELLE: No. But here’s a test. You come to me, and I’ll give you back your third eye and you learn the secrets of Time. Or. You go to your friend there and save him from his doom.
VINCE: Aaaaaaaaaah.
DARREN: What’s happening to him you witch?! I’m sorry. Please, just tell me.
MICHELLE: He’s stuck. Neither of you should be here. So now he’s trapped in
that tree. A slave to Time. The tree is Power. Wisdom. It’s Time. The Tree of Slow Death.
DARREN: How do I know I can save him if I go?
MICHELLE: Aha. See. You’re curious mind wants an excuse to dismiss your devotion and learn the ways of the Universe. Once you learn, I will give you the option to share that knowledge. Your friend or your gift to humanity.
DARREN: No. I want a guarantee.
MICHELLE: I’ll let you save him. You have no choice but to trust me.
DARREN: This is a game to you.
MICHELLE: It’s a choice.
DARREN: This is not a choice. Both are selfish options.
MICHELLE: Not exactly. You get the star-eye. I let you go back. You go to Vincent, your friend, you both go back. But you forget. No story to tell.
DARREN: I – I – can’t decide. Too many variables. Too many unknowns.
MICHELLE: There’s only one variable really. Share knowledge, grow as a species,
or find your ultimate connection and save your friend.
DARREN: Can I talk to him? Do I have time?
Pause.
Vincent?!
VINCE: Yes my boy? !
DARREN: My memories are retreating from my recall bank.
VINCE: You’re becoming more human!
DARREN: How?!
VINCE: You’re essence is evolving. This place is a product of your evolution as you entered it. You entered yourself. Remember, the portal is of your own making, but it has the power to take. It is taking what is unnatural. It is leaving your soul.
DARREN: Do you mean to say that to be human is an evolution? I’m less than human? Is that what you think?
VINCE: Um. Maybe not … no, no, no, that’s not what I meant.
DARREN: What did you mean?
VINCE: I’m sorry. I’m not myself. Forgive me. Darren, my boy. Save me from this.
DARREN: I remember one instance in particular. Despite all else. We were in the garden. Do you remember the garden?
VINCE: Of course.
DARREN: I asked you why the world only existed for us. Why can’t we share our experiences together with the rest of humanity. And you said “they are watching us.” It made me feel important. It made me feel special. Like you had a plan for
me. Like I was protected. And I loved you for that answer and knew that if I followed your lead, you would do what’s best for us and for everyone. I love you Vincent. You’re more of a brother to me than you are a father. Now. I feel that now –
VINCE: Darren. I know what you’re going to do. Don’t you do it –
DARREN: I’m sorry. I have to.
MICHELLE: I’m a Transcended of my word. Good luck to you.
VINCE: No! Please God no!
MICHELLE: Here.
She places the star gently on his forehead. He breathes deeply. Refreshed. She then opens the portal in front of her with a wave of her hand.
DARREN: I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Forgive me. I have to go, Vincent.
MICHELLE: It’s what’s best for your planet. It’s what’s best for you all.
DARREN: Can I ask you –
MICHELLE: What?
DARREN: Have you ever met another like me? Are you alone?
MICHELLE: Selfish as a human. And guised as if to justify. Interesting. Please go.
She knew. The star on my head was a decoy. An imaginary form of control. I know now that she knew. It was the ultimate game of speed chess for her. An adrenaline rush. She knew that the word ‘unstable’ would be triggering based on an understanding of who I am and what I had just experienced.
Michelle’s voice echoes in my head, “You’ll move Time. It’s unstable!”
Unstable. Such as the last moment I had seen Michelle alive. The circumstance responsible for her death was instability and was my fault. As I remember, as soon as she said the word, my movement stopped. My motivation stopped. I felt tired. And all the while, the entire era on Galaxy’s Shore my footsteps were playing on Time’s chessboard.
This second journey through the portal is not a journey back to the Earth I knew. Instead, it is a cataclysmic shift in my soul, Time’s pattern, and every living thing on the planet.
Ethan Frank, a YSU alumnus, is an American actor, science fiction writer, and futurist producer known for Future Drifter Stories podcasting. He adventured across the United States, amassing work both written and staged. He workshopped with the American Conservatory Theater, produced his own audio and visual works in Los Angeles, and staged theatrical productions in New York City.