Anthem's Fall (21 page)

Was that the inevitability of all intelligent life, of all societies, to strangle out all less capable than themselves?

All of his beliefs and hopes were swallowed up by depression and despair. Gravitas desired with all his heart to turn the
Traverser I
back to Anthem and assault the Imperial Palace and all of Sejeroreich with his torturous hate. All of it, all of the grandeur of his people had been built with blood and misery. He envisioned toppling the columns of the palace and striking down the members of the War Council and Emperor Faris himself, all the while screaming that he was punishing them for the Yabu. For the Primus. The Primus race that could have been. The Primus race as it existed before the taint of Sejero blood and the profound scar of their near apocalypse so long ago. But Gravitas knew there would be no returning to Anthem. He was marked now as the bloodthirsty one, the enemy.

A reality where cruelty and indifference flourished, and the innocent shriveled away did not seem a reality worth living. Then, it was as though the very cosmos reached out and placed a reassuring hand on the tormented young man’s shoulder. Gravitas’s salvation came in the form of the first transmission from the planet Filgaia.

The humans.

When the list of received transmissions from Filgaia began to pile up, the language matrix started identifying and assembling languages. Gravitas put on the headphones and began learning all of the foreign tongues.

Gravitas spent the remaining days and nights fanatically learning everything about the human race. He read about the civilization’s history, cultures, sciences, arts, religions, and anything he was able to translate. The humans seemed like such a multifaceted and conflicted people. One thing was clear to him. The human race was still striving. They were still motivated to learn more, still determined to be more.

That was something the Primus had given up on a long time ago.

Gravitas was immersed in researching the humans when the
Traverser I
began to decelerate as it neared its destination.

Filgaia appeared no larger than a glowing dot, barely discernible among the stars in the encompassing blackness. But the celestial wonder grew larger and larger beyond the glass of the command bridge. Soon Gravitas was forced to squint from the brilliance as the gleaming and enormous globe filled the entire command bridge window. He gazed out at sprawling emerald continents, vast yellow deserts, snaking mountain ranges, oceans and seas glimmering in hues of brilliant blue beneath clouds of impregnable white. Against the expanse of endless nothingness, Filgaia danced in the radiance of its sun and the verdant dignity of its life. Gravitas embraced the majesty of being as Filgaia struggled stalwart and undimmed against the infinite cold of space. Both the sanctity and the resilience of this persistency shook him, and the splendor of the planet and its vitality left him speechless.

In that moment he understood why Master Tolland and his father had never spoken of Filgaia to a living soul. It was far too precious to endanger, and too beautiful to jeopardize. Here was a developed planet that had never been tainted at the hands of an overly voracious power. The flourishing lands he now looked upon had never been forced to host an all-encompassing war. The human race had never awoken to the screams of a cindering dawn and a reckoning cataclysm.

It was a new chance.

Gravitas could not help but feel a deep sense of hope and inspiration while taking in the young planet, and at the same time a pang of sadness at the fate of his own. He reached across his seat and picked up the crimson cloak, quietly holding it as he looked upon Filgaia.

Orion—a planet even younger than this place—was being sucked dry of its resources. The caustic runoff and pollution caused by the extraction process would be left to fester like clutter cast aside by a misbehaved child, the dead Yabu left to rot in the spots where they had fallen, carrion to time alone.

Gravitas came to a decision while holding the cloak and beholding the shimmering glory of the world before him. He would be no invader, for good or ill. His presence would go entirely unnoticed by the inhabitants of Filgaia. His life would be one of solitude. A lifetime spent ready to rise in defense of that which deserved it beyond all else. Until his last breath, Gravitas Nerol would be Filgaia’s sentinel—its unseen god and champion.

Years later, Gravitas now thundered across the lofty mountain range, the world below shaking under his inconceivable power. He exploded through the sound barrier between the narrow rows of peaks. His heart soared in the morning air.

With blinding speed Gravitas roared high over the land as peaks gave way to rolling foothills, the frozen ground falling farther away beneath his increasing altitude. He turned upward and ascended elegantly through the clouds and into the upper atmosphere, the crimson cloak whipping against his legs in the wind.

He looked around and carefully examined the surrounding sky. A few days previous, he had seen an airplane plummeting in the distance. It was over such a secluded area that Gravitas had made the decision to risk rescuing it. He had easily caught it on his back, placing it to rest in a field to the south.

Today, however, the open sky belonged to him alone. Gravitas took a few deep controlled breaths as he focused his mind and senses. The frigid air seemed to ebb and crackle from his power. He snapped into action, throwing a shadow punch that echoed across the barren landscape.

His daily training had begun.

R
yan pushed open the door to Kristen Jordan’s apartment building and paused before pressing the doorbell to her third-floor studio. The entrance hallway was warm from the sunlight beaming through the glass doorway. Ryan stopped to check his appearance in the dusty mirror nestled between the rows of narrow mailboxes and grid of doorbells. He was wearing a dark gray button-down shirt and jeans. Turning slightly from side to side, he decided the attire looked appropriate—neither dressy nor unkempt. After an encouraging nod to his reflection, he pressed the buzzer to her apartment.

“Ryan?” Kristen’s tinny voice sounded from the ancient speaker.

He pressed the button. “Yeah.”

“Hi, I’ll come right down.”

Ryan turned his attention to some stacks of catalogs that were too big to fit in the mail slots. Kneeling down, he saw one of the stacks—addressed to Kristen Jordan—was comprised mostly of scientific journals, the majority old editions, some dating back to the previous winter. There was a sound of feet descending the stairwell, and the locked door opened.

“Hey there,” Kristen said.

“Hi.” Ryan rose from his haunches. “Just looking at some of your old mail here. I take it these journals don’t interest you?”

“Um, no. Not particularly.” Kristen’s lips turned in a smile. Her hair fell below her narrow shoulders and rested weightlessly against the curves of her chest. “They keep sending them though. Columbia must subscribe their graduate students or something. I certainly never signed up for them.”

“Cool,” Ryan said, returning her smile. During their recent text correspondence, he had been caught up in Kristen’s intellect and forgotten how attractive she was. In a simple faded chambray shirt and shorts, she was remarkably attractive. Kristen pushed her shoulder against the heavy door and let the cool outside air into the balmy atrium as she held it open for him. Ryan buried his hands into his pockets as he walked out to the sidewalk. He noticed a fruity scent, probably her shampoo—her hair was still damp.

“How did your essay go over?” Kristen asked.

“Eh, mostly how I thought it might.”

“So . . . not well?”

“The class pretty much shot down my ideas,” Ryan said. “They’re critical of any perspective that hasn’t been hashed out to them in detail during Professor Hilton’s lectures. You have to love it when people laugh off your views as naive just because it differs from the ones they’ve been taught.”

“I know it.” Kristen reached out a hand and languorously dragged the tips of her fingers across the coarse bricks of an old walk-up. “I’ve found people often disregard views that differ from their own, especially at the highest echelons of education. The more you think you know about something, the more stubborn you tend to be.”

Ryan nodded. “Totally. But what really bothered me was that they relegated my stance as not only unrealistic, but outright
impossible
. I mean what kind of one-dimensional thinking is that?”

“It can be scary, that’s for sure,” Kristen said, casting him a sidelong expression of admiration. “I think the most rational outlook is the one that isn’t convinced of its rationality.”

“Yes. True intellect is doubt.”

“I couldn’t agree more. But I wouldn’t sweat your classmates. They’re just trying to get A’s, not break any philosophical ground or earn a Nobel Prize with a midterm paper. You shouldn’t let them get to you.” Kristen took in a long breath and let it out slowly, her arms folded against her chest. The autumn trees lining the sidewalk were roused to life, their branches swaying at the caress of a breeze rolling off the Hudson. “Beautiful day, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s incredible.” They strolled southward across the Upper West Side sidewalks, the leaves of the maples and birches overhead painted in rich russet and gold. Their exquisite rustic quality, even in the heart of New York City, was a herald of the season’s change—of things grander than urban concerns. Under their feet, the brittle and curled fallen leaves crinkled pleasantly against the drab concrete. A chill lingered in the autumnal air, yet the sun still held warmth.

“Want to go for a walk in the park?” Ryan asked as he looked up into the clearness of the pale blue sky. They had not yet hammered out any plan for their afternoon.

“Yeah, I’d like that. I haven’t been outdoors much recently. Work with the Vatruvian cell has been . . . well . . . it’s really picked up steam. I’ve lost count how many hours a week I spend in my lab.” Kristen walked closely beside him, her head barely reaching Ryan’s shoulder. Their strides in harmony, they passed several blocks of brick walk-ups and stately awnings, all the buildings looking especially striking in the sleepy fall afternoon. They crossed into the broad expanse of Central Park and found they were far from the only ones to have considered a stroll. The bench-lined paths and open fields were busy with people walking side by side, clutching leashes of eager retrievers, or sitting in the grass with a book and enjoying what was likely to be one of the last basking days of the year.

“How is your research going?” Ryan ventured. “If you want to talk about it, that is.”

“No, no. It’s okay. It’s going great, really great. I just . . . ” Kristen faltered and fell silent, staring at her shoes as they trod over leaves.

Ryan looked down and saw she was holding back emotion, her expression filled with conflict. He could tell her thoughts were somewhere else. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m sorry—it doesn’t have anything to do with you.” Kristen gave him an apologetic smile. “The research work has just been stressful this week.”

“Is everything all right?”

They were walking across an old stone footbridge that rose over a perpendicular path below. Kristen stopped and leaned her elbows against the railing under the shade of an elm’s golden foliage. A sweet smell of cut grass and fresh soil lingered in the breeze, and a faint buzz of a lawnmower could be heard. Aware that his gaze might make her feel uncomfortable, Ryan shifted his attention to some teenagers tossing a Frisbee.

After some time, Kristen let out a sigh. “To answer your question, I don’t know if everything’s all right.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m just worried about the Vatruvian cell, and frustrated with the negligent bureaucrats in charge of regulation agencies. They should be vigilantly watching our research, but instead they’re sitting on their hands while this technology grows in the hands of—in my honest opinion—reckless minds working behind closed doors. And the notion of the media acting as a watchdog is laughable; all journalists seem to have is praise for the Vatruvian cell. I feel waves of hopelessness sometimes, like nobody has the slightest touch of integrity or common sense.” Kristen brushed away a few strands of hair the breeze had blown across her cheek. “Something as groundbreaking as the Vatruvian cell shouldn’t be under the authority of one mind, and no one seems to feel that way but me.”

“Well, I wasn’t aware people beyond myself consider the Vatruvian cell to be potentially dangerous. My impression is that the scientific community is in agreement that it’s a harmless technology.”

“It was.” Kristen said.

“
Was
?”

Kristen did not seem like the type to be easily flustered, and she suddenly looked sick with anxiety. Behind her reserved quirkiness was undeniable sophistication, and Ryan knew there must be a just cause behind her obvious trepidation. “I came out to get my mind off of all this heavy stuff.” Kristen turned from the railing. “The weather’s too nice to spend wallowing in dark thoughts.”

Ryan smiled, but regarded her with concern. “Yeah . . .” He looked to the lightly swaying trees and sky beyond. “This is pretty tough to beat.”

“So, Ryan Craig.”

“So, Kristen Jordan.”

“
So
. What made you decide to come to Columbia? I’m sure there were plenty of other good schools you could have attended.”

“You mean beyond the obvious?” Ryan said, indicating their surrounds.

“Yes, apart from it being in New York City—though I’m partial to Boston myself. Where are you from?”

“Chicago.”

“Oh,” Kristen said. “I’m surprised you didn’t want to go to college there. I’ve heard it’s an awesome city—lots of top notch schools, too.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” Ryan paused in contemplation. “But I needed a change of scenery. Plus I figured I would have the best odds of finding a situation I was happy with in New York.” He absentmindedly kicked a pebble on the path, sending it forward a few feet. “Also, I’m not from a lot of money, and Columbia offered me a serious scholarship.”