《CronoRevolution: A Slave in the United Provinces (Dystopia-Sci-Fi)》 Chapter 1
Do you want to be free? Those words of my master, old Greg, still echo in my head. Do you want to taste the flavor of freedom? It''s what I''ve always desired. To fly, to go wherever the wind takes me. To have the chance to see the world that has been forbidden to me since birth. Do you want to stop being a slave? But is this freedom? Is it? Because if it is, it''s not as grand as I imagined. I don''t feel as ecstatic as I thought I would. Freedom isn''t like it seemed in my dreams. I''m still enclosed, watched, and controlled. I can''t do as I please. If this is what freedom is, I''d rather remain a ragged slave.
To be honest, it''s not all negative. Today, I discovered the city after spending my whole life on the plantation. Finally, I laid eyes on New America, something I''ve imagined countless times. I''ve uncovered new and tantalizing perspectives, something I''ve been missing out on, something slipping through my fingers unknowingly. Because that''s what slavery is: losing your own life, giving it to the owner, and surrendering completely to hard work during your useful and functional years. Then you could be auctioned off to your Province or another, you could attain freedom if you have nothing more to give, or you could simply end your days serving as a domestic slave in some old mansion of a wealthier and luckier family.
No, not everything is negative. I''ve improved. I rest in a room with four solid walls. They''re not made of old, worn¡ªout wood like the barracks where I lived on the plantation. Moreover, they''re not on the ground but hundreds of meters above it. I almost got dizzy looking out the window when we rode the elevator. The walls have been dimly lit, with a bluish color, until a moment ago when the time appeared on them, ten o''clock, and they went dark. It''s all darkness now. It''s a small but comfortable room, and I have everything I want, much more than what old Greg gave us or what little I could obtain by trading with the other slaves on the plantation. I can eat until my belly is full, I have a bathroom similar to the one in Greg''s old mansion, and I can even turn on the Screen embedded in one of the walls and watch soccer. Many of the matches are repeats, but I never tire of watching them; it''s one of my passions.
However, I know all of this is an illusion, a moment that will pass quickly. Perhaps that''s why I lean out of the window on the seventeenth floor of this huge skyscraper, which overlooks the city of New America. Aeromobiles light up the black sky as they transit through the airways entering and leaving the city. There are five buildings as tall as the clouds, all of them, of course, belonging to the State of the United Provinces of America. The other constructions are much smaller, unable to surpass the majesty of the provincial buildings. The style is very similar. Despite never having seen anything like it, I tire quickly. I think my eyes aren''t accustomed to so much light and detail. I have an urgent need to enjoy New America and its streets, its extravagant people, so different from me... I want to verify if everything they''ve told me about it is true. I''m so eager that I forget I''m still not free. I close the curtain of the window and curse aloud, as I''m accustomed to doing. Then I look again at the back of my wrist:
Eric Moon.
55926.
Property of Greg Gordon.
Property of Greg Gordon. No. I''m still not free. I''m still a slave.
***
Every morning is the same if you''re a slave. You always hope the new day will be special, but it isn''t, and you realize it just as you wake up and sleep tries to take hold of you again. I have to do something with this hair, I tell myself every morning, but I prefer to spend the money at the plantation bar rather than go to the hairdresser. A matter of priorities. I slip into the white tank top and work jacket and head out of the house. Everything is the same, today, too. The streets, covered in dust and gravel, are filled with the daily chores of the multitude of slaves living in this town. I call it a town because that''s what it is, by all means. Dozens of ramshackle houses made of wooden logs, identical one after another, stretch around the vast plain. In the distance, the mansion of the plantation owner, Greg Gordon.
I start walking towards the cotton plantation, along with all my fellow workers. Old Greg boasts about us, about having more than a thousand human properties working on his cotton. If what Greg says is true, I''d like to know where so many people fit because I don''t know half of them. I think I see new faces every day.
¡ªGood morning, Mr. Hall. Good morning, Mrs. Hall¡ªI say.
Mr. and Mrs. Hall are a middle-aged couple who have taken care of me since I was little, and they are my best friends in this cursed prison. They have been here much longer than I have, yet they wear a smile every morning when they see me. They are the only ones who can tell me about my mother, who died when I was three years old. When that happened, I was placed under the guardianship of the owner, Greg Gordon, living in his house until I was old enough to start working: ten years old. Since then, I''ve been living the same day over and over again. It''s a real nightmare.
¡ªAre you ready? Let the day begin!
I hate that voice, and those words Luke repeats incessantly every working day. He''s in charge of the well¡ªbeing of the slaves and ensuring everything runs smoothly on the plantation, but in reality, he doesn''t fulfill any of his responsibilities. It used to be Greg who took care of that, but now he has aged and hardly ever leaves his palace, especially after the death of his third wife. How I hate Luke. He''s only older than me, but in everything else, I could teach him a tremendous lesson. I am much more capable, kinder, and more productive than Luke. I deserve that position.
Luke revs up his aeromoto, flying close to the ground. He wears his black vest, his hair perfectly groomed, shoulder¡ªlength, and the electric whip. And that face, with an expression of power. I should beat him up again. I''ve already beaten him several times, and maybe that''s why he dislikes me. I suppress my rage and focus on the work. I seem like a domestic robot because, to me, this is mechanical. All these years doing the same task have made me one of the best slaves on the plantation. I''ve won the Slave of the Year award twice already. My hands are swift; they separate the leaves, pick the cotton, and toss it into the basket. When the sun starts to scorch, I take off my jacket and start to sweat. I look up, seeing a white horizon. The plantation seems endless. The harvest season is undoubtedly the worst of all.
¡ªSomewhere down the line, I''ll get back at him¡ªI mutter to myself, watching Luke go back and forth on his aeromoto.
¡ªDon''t be like that. Time puts everyone in their place. Your moment will come¡ªMr. Hall, as wise as ever, advises.
¡ªI can''t stand him.
¡ªDon''t let it show, Eric. I don''t think you can cause Greg any more trouble.
¡ªI''ve never caused him any trouble¡ª. I laugh with Mr. Hall. We both know it''s a lie.
Despite my productivity, indeed, I haven''t been an exemplary slave. I''ve rebelled a couple of times. But they have to understand me: I''m young, and I''m trapped, I need to get out of here. Taste freedom. I''ve fought many times with other fellow slaves, always over trivial matters: card games, money, and vices. It''s the only thing that helps me escape from my reality. I''ve tried and succeeded in seducing forbidden women like Miss Green. I remember, newly married, I sneaked into her bedroom, and her husband caught us. What can I say, it was both our fault, hers for tempting me and letting me into her house, and mine for not resisting the temptation. Greg had to intervene. I escaped a severe punishment, but my meager pay, which only circulates within the plantation, was significantly reduced in favor of the Green family. It''s true; I''ve given old Greg many headaches, so many that I could have been sold or auctioned off to much more ruthless owners. He has always protected me and always found a solution.
¡ªHey! You two! What are you laughing about?
¡ªAbout you¡ªI reply quickly. I can''t help but lean forward in situations like this. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
¡ªNothing, sir¡ªMr. Hall interjects.
¡ªShut up, Mr. Hall. Repeat that to me if you dare, filthy slave. ¡ªLuke shows his yellow teeth and tightens his grip on the whip.
¡ªI''m laughing at you! At how pathetic you are¡ªI try to raise my voice so that everyone working can hear me. I''ve challenged him.
¡ªHow dare you! ¡ªHe lashes out with the electric whip, and my body is hit with a shock. I fall to the ground, writhing in pain. ¡ªIt''s you again, isn''t it? Next time, show me some respect. Respect for those who are superior to you!
¡ªSomeday¡ªI say with difficulty, almost unable to move¡ªI''ll crush you. You''re just one, and we are hundreds.
¡ªI said speak to me with respect! ¡ªHe lashes out again¡ª Come on, everyone, back to work! Move it!
It takes me a few minutes to get back to picking cotton. I catch up with the Hall family and start talking to them to make time pass faster, to distract myself from the task, and from the pain of the electricity still coursing through my muscles.
¡ªThey say that in the city of New America, there are very strange people. They leave food on their plates. They wear shiny clothes. Giant houses that reach the sky. Machines of all kinds. They even say that every citizen has an aeromobile! Can you imagine?
¡ªIf they have all that, why do we have to work here? With all that technology, they must have some machine to pick cotton quickly, don''t you think, Mrs. Hall?
¡ªEric, you''re still young and innocent. This cotton is used for the clothing of the inhabitants of New America, and only with manual harvesting does it have the quality they need. That''s why they pay so much money. That''s why we exist. Without us, they wouldn''t have those privileges. It''s something you must understand. The people in the city...
¡ª...Is free.
¡ªWe will be someday. And it''s getting closer, Eric, especially for you.
¡ªWhat?
¡ªCongratulations! ¡ªThe Hall couple says in unison.
I blush. After all, it is a special day. It''s my birthday, and they remembered. That''s all I need, for someone to take me into account and care about me even if I''m sometimes stubborn and reject any kind of help. Pride. The Halls have always helped me and counted on me, and that''s something hard to forget.
¡ªEnjoy them, kid, I wish I could go back to twenty.
¡ªWith your advice, Mr. Hall, I will.
¡ªI''ve prepared a cake for you. When we stop to eat, I''ll distribute a couple of slices around. We should celebrate days like these! Especially here...
¡ªThank you very much, Mrs. Hall. I don''t know how to thank you...
¡ªThere''s no need to thank anything.
¡ªYou treat me like a son, and you know what? I''ve always wondered why you haven''t had children yourselves.
¡ªThat''s a good question. I don''t know; we saw how tough your early years were. Your mother would collapse into bed exhausted. We didn''t want, and we don''t want, to raise a child here. We don''t want him or her to walk in our footsteps because they''ve been very difficult. If we had been free, we would have had two or three children. But here, it''s not possible. Not here. Slavery persists because we have children. And it won''t be because of us.
¡ªBut how do you do it? ¡ªI mean, Mrs. Hall never gets pregnant.
¡ªGreg helps us. In New America, there are pills for everything you can imagine, or so he says. Greg is a good man.
Mrs. Hall looks embarrassed and hangs her head, still working and manipulating the cotton. I notice tears starting to well up in her eyes, and her husband doesn''t seem to notice. I look at them and understand that they have always wanted to have children, to have descendants and that at least they have had me, treating me like a son. Now I understand. The affection, the esteem, the care, and their smiles in the mornings. Despite the wrinkles on her skin, weathered by the cold, the heat, the passage of time, and work, Mrs. Hall could perfectly be my mother.
The sound of the bell snaps me out of my thoughts. We have fifteen minutes of break to replenish our energy before continuing with our work. Mrs. Hall takes out her chocolate and cookie cake and cuts it into small pieces, which she distributes to the slaves closest to the family, announcing that it''s my birthday. Everyone turns to me and congratulates me.
¡ªIt''s very delicious. Thanks again, Mrs. Hall.
The cake is truly delicious. I eat and ask Mrs. Hall to give me another piece.
¡ªEric? ¡ªI have my mouth full, chewing the cookies, when I hear my name. I see her from the corner of my eye. It can''t be. It''s her! It can''t be. It''s her! It''s Sophie! ¡ªEric!
Sophie looks unrecognizable. Her blonde hair, always straight, is now wavy at her crown and also at the tips. Her dress is intense purple, compartmentalized in what appears to be crystals that give even more shine to the color. Her long and pale legs are visible, except for some boots that reach her shins, the same color as her dress. She looks like a fairy godmother from the fairy tales.
¡ªEric! ¡ªShe says again, throwing herself into my arms. ¡ªIt''s been a long time! Five years since the last time.
Sophie Gordon is the youngest daughter of Greg Gordon, the owner of the cotton plantation, of all the slaves, and, therefore, of me. I met her when my mother died, and I became part of the Gordon family for a while. At the age of ten, when I had to start working as a slave, Sophie and I parted ways. Shortly after, she left for the city of New America to study and only returned five years ago on a summer vacation. I didn''t expect to see her again.
¡ªYou look gorgeous, different... but beautiful. And you''ve become a woman. What are you doing here?
¡ªI''m passing through and... I knew today was your birthday. I couldn''t leave without wishing you a happy birthday and, above all, without saying goodbye to you.
I take a moment to observe her and then to look at my hands. What a situation. My shirt is all sweaty from work, while she emits a soft aroma of wildflowers, a penetrating smell. No one smells like that; I don''t know where she got that perfume. To top it off, she''s shining, quite literally, with that dress. I compare her to some slaves I know, who boast of not changing their underwear for several weeks, and I understand the differences. Today, I understand many things, it seems. Maybe it''s because of my birthday, but it''s when I can see how different Sophie and I are.
¡ªCome on, let''s take a walk. ¡ªSophie pulls my hand, but I stay rooted to the spot, looking at Luke, who watches the scene from his aerobike, whip in hand just in case. ¡ªLuke, it''ll only be fifteen minutes. I promise.
¡ªAlright, Miss Gordon.
Sophie pulls me along again while I glance back at the Halls, who encourage me with smiles. We leave the plantation, heading towards the small forest at the boundaries of Greg Gordon''s property in the Central United Province. It''s the only spot that''s not exploited, neither for livestock nor agriculture. It''s like an oasis in the middle of the desert.
¡ªIt''s just as I remembered it. ¡ªShe whispers, slowing down her pace.
We''ve played many times in this place. In the small river, in the forest, and in the meadow that precedes another lord''s plantation. This was the hideout and the imaginary world we both had for a long time. I wash my hands and face in the river, then start splashing Sophie, who laughs heartily.
¡ªWhat brings you here, Sophie? ¡ªI ask when we''re sitting in the meadow.
¡ªI''m getting married, Eric. And I don''t think I''ll be back. I''m moving definitively to New America.
¡ªWow, and who''s the lucky guy? ¡ªSophie strangely looks at me. ¡ªThat''s what you say in these cases, right?
¡ªIt''s... a soccer player.
¡ªNo way! Who is it?
¡ªLeonard Montana.
¡ªLeonard Montana? Wow! What luck! Another day you''ll have to tell me what he''s like, how you met, I don''t know... Leonard Montana is the most famous player in the United Provinces. He''s the best forward in the world!
¡ªYes...
¡ªAnd he must make a lot of money...
¡ªA lot...
¡ªYou two are the perfect couple.
¡ªDon''t exaggerate, Eric.
¡ªSeriously. I''m happy for you; you deserve it. I can already imagine you in your aeromobile, touring the city, the Provinces, with your kids... It''s everything someone could wish for, right? ¡ªSophie lowers her head as I praise her. ¡ªWhat''s wrong? Aren''t you happy?
¡ªYes, I am, but... I don''t know, I thought you and I...
¡ªSophie, look at us. Look at yourself and look at me. Although I always believed in you, in everything... I''m just a simple slave. I''m not the god of the world. Not even the President herself. I''m just property. Cheap labor that you need to have everything you have. We are completely different. We belong to different worlds. You''re going to marry a famous soccer player, and I''ll marry another slave to keep giving your father little slaves. You and I are as different as the Sun and the Moon that when one goes away, the other appears.
¡ªI know what you mean, but... sometimes they coincide in the sky, right?
¡ªWe''re friends. We always have been. Friends with differences.
¡ªEric...
¡ªWe don''t have a future...
¡ªEric, stop. You''re not understanding me. I want to marry Leonard. I want to leave here and live in the city. I don''t want you as... It''s just that... I don''t want to leave without saying goodbye to you, I''ve already told you.
I don''t understand her. I don''t know what she''s trying to tell me, but I quickly understand. She takes off her purple boots and sets them aside. Then she stands up in front of me. I remain seated. She unfastens the shiny purple dress, slipping off the right strap, and the garment slides down her pale body, falling to the ground without Sophie caring about it. That dress must cost a lot of dollars. And she stands naked in front of me. Then I stand up and slowly approach her. With one hand, I grasp her waist, and with the other, I hold her face. I kiss her aggressively, and she takes off my shirt. She smiles, pleased. I know I shouldn''t do this, but I can''t let the opportunity pass. Sophie will leave and never come back, at least I won''t have the lingering thought of what could have been. We lie down in the grass, and she grabs my back with her hands. She hurts me with her nails. When she''s moaning, a voice makes us look back. It''s Luke, who has descended from his aerobike and is watching us with his mouth open.
¡ªWell, well, Mr. Moon. It seems you have no limits. ¡ªHe says, starting to whip me with the electric lash until I lose consciousness. Chapter 2 A bucket of water falls on my head, soaking me, and I regain consciousness. I feel the electricity coursing through every pore of my skin. I have convulsions and can''t control my body. When I manage to open my eyes, I discover that I am on my knees. My hands are tied with ropes behind my back. Luke throws another bucket of water at me. I look around and place myself; we are in the aircraft hangars near where Luke lives, right next to the slave population. The last time I entered this place was when I was a child, running around without really knowing where I was going. I was fascinated by those aeromobiles that Greg drove. The shelves are filled with parts and spares for the aeromobiles, as it is used as a workshop. This is what makes Luke valuable: he knows about electrical mechanics. If it weren''t for that, I''m sure his position would be mine. Slaves cannot legally study and learn a trade since I believe we are the only ones who know how to do everything we are asked to do. I don''t worry much about it, and I punish myself for it because, if I had the opportunity, I know I wouldn''t have studied much. My ears alert me that Luke is approaching. He lifts my face towards him, making me see, from my position, that disgustingly thick beard of his. He smiles maliciously. ¡ªHow dare you force her? She''s the owner''s daughter! ¡ªAnd what does that have to do with anything? ¡ªYou are a dirty, disgusting, and dreadful slave. You are far below her level. ¡ªI am still a person with my needs. And, by the way, I don''t think I forced her, what were you hearing? Pleasure moans or cries for help? He crouches down so that our heads are at the same height. He keeps smiling. He spits in my face and boasts about it. Then he punches me and splits my lip. I taste blood in my mouth. I''ve had enough. I need to teach Luke a lesson, and this time, he''ll learn it. I move my hands insistently, but the rope is tightly tied. I try to stand up. My knees buckle because I still have electric spasms in my muscles. If only I could... Luke comes back towards me, lifts me, and punches me in the stomach. I spit blood and fall to the ground again on my knees. ¡ªI should do this more often. You don''t know the tension it relieves¡ªhe says proudly. The two times you laid hands on me, not only did you hurt me, but you also undermined my authority over nobodies like you. And I won''t allow it to happen again. So, slave, think twice before doing anything foolish. For every rule you break, I''ll be there to punish you. ¡ªAre you scared, Luke? One would think you envy me. Sophie always preferred me to you¡ªI say. Yes, I don''t know where these words come from either, but I say them. One of these days, I''m going to end up in trouble. In situations where I feel most compromised, my cocky side always comes out. ¡ªEnvy of a slave? He kicks me repeatedly in the side. I can''t even protect myself because my hands are tied. I bend over and cough hard because it hurts a lot. He better kill me right now because if I come out of this alive, I''m going to hang him from the tallest poplar tree in the forest behind the plantation. I''m so angry that killing him wouldn''t quench this thirst for revenge. ¡ªStop it. Stop it! ¡ªSophie''s voice rings out. She kneels, placing herself between Luke and me to stop him from hitting me. She''s dressed again, and she''s crying because she knows it''s partly her fault, too. She helps me up, clumsily untying the ropes that bind my hands. My head is spinning, my mouth is bleeding, my side is throbbing, and I don''t even have the strength to hold Sophie''s hands as she holds me in her arms like a baby. Luke heads to his aeromobile and returns. I glance outside, through the open gate, and see Greg standing in the doorway. He looks older than ever. His face is now covered with a white beard, and his eyes are sunken. He wears a hat that covers his bald head. He leans on a dark wooden cane for support and to walk. He gestures with his hand, directed at his daughter. He''s telling her to leave me alone. Sophie obeys and stands behind her father. ¡ªMr. Gordon, I found them... ¡ªLuke interrupts one of the principles of etiquette by speaking before the older landowner. ¡ªBring him to my house, but don''t you dare lay a hand on him again. Is that clear? ¡ªYes, sir. He doesn''t even look at me. Greg doesn''t even look at me as if I don''t exist. He saved me, but he didn''t even see me. Maybe he''s pained to find me in this shameful situation, but what does it matter? I''m a slave, and I don''t matter. I mean nothing to him. Sophie takes her father''s arm, and they turn around, leaving the aircraft workshop and returning to their mansion. ¡ªYou''re lucky¡ª, Luke says to me as they leave, referring to the fact that he would have kept torturing me. ¡ªI don''t know what they''ve seen in you all along, but I''m afraid dear Eric, that this time you have no escape. I feel like punching Luke in the mouth, but I restrain myself. First, because I don''t even have the strength to walk, between the electric shocks and the beating, I can''t even move. Second, I don''t want to get into more trouble. Even though I want to answer him, I know damn well that Luke is right. Everything I''ve done so far pales in comparison to what I just did. I''ve shattered a family''s honor, me, a slave, has frolicked with the owner''s daughter, to whom I belong, and to top it off, she''s engaged to the most famous man in the United Provinces. Shivers run down my spine at the thought of what Greg has in store for me. No one visits him in his own house, no one of lower social rank, and certainly not a slave from his plantation. But I''m going to. And that''s because something important, and probably bad, is going to happen to me. A death sentence would be too harsh, I think. Most likely, he''ll sell me to another owner or put me up for auction in the Province. Everyone¡ªthe slaves¡ªknows that Greg Gordon is a good owner since having accumulated so much wealth already, he doesn''t exploit his slaves as much as other owners do. I don''t want to go to the olive fields to pick olives nor to the vineyards or the orange groves. I''d hate to harvest wheat. Cultivating the staple foods for all the Provinces is too hard. I''d die soon. It wouldn''t be bad to go to a smaller town and work in a factory. It would be much better than the countryside. I think about Mr. and Mrs. Hall. They are the only two people I would miss. In the tavern, there are only stubborn men, and no lady has been able to steal my heart in this place, although I don''t deny that one or two have left me speechless at times. On the other hand, I would leave behind the only place that connects me to my mother. Here I have the few memories I keep of her: her perfume and her smile. Walking through the plantation''s settlement comforts me sometimes because I know I''m following in her footsteps. After all, she walked here before me. If I think about it carefully, I only have ethereal memories of her left, and sometimes I don''t know if they really happened or if I just made them up in an attempt to create something happy to hold on to. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Not everything has to be bad. Although, well, if the sentence is death, I don''t think there''s anything worse. I say this because if they auction me off, if they sell me, at least I''ll change scenery. I''ll see other people, get to know them, work, and do business with them. I''ll see the world, something I desire with all my soul. I''ll leave many things behind here; that''s undeniable, but at least I''ll find monotony elsewhere. ¡ªMove. These are Luke''s words, who had been organizing and closing the workshop while I cleaned the blood with a dirty rag he offered me and regained the strength I would need. If it weren''t for Luke approaching and grabbing me by the shirt and lifting me, pulling me, I wouldn''t have been able to move. When I''m standing, he starts pushing me on the way to the Gordon mansion. Every time he pushes me with his hand, I stagger, and it''s a miracle I don''t fall. In one of those pushes, I can lift my head. First, I look behind me. I see, in the distance, the beginning of the slave village of the plantation. I think of them. They''re still working hard in the blazing midday sun. Those are the worst hours when you feel most tired. Then I look forward. I follow a path of well¡ªplaced stones among nature. A few meters away, I have the wall that surrounds and separates the world of mortals from the Gordon''s most private property. Luke presses a button that makes a strange noise and allows us to enter through the iron gate. One day, many years ago, Sophie explained to me that it was called a doorbell. I got used to using it to enter that house, but it seems so distant to me now that I don''t even remember it. We enter the garden, immense, where several workers are busy with various tasks. We keep walking, passing by a fountain located in front of the main entrance, which depicts tigers spouting water from their mouths. The animals are around a young woman, carefully and meticulously sculpted. I also remember that Sophie and I used to play there, splashing each other with water in the summer when it was hot. To be honest, numerous childhood memories were repressed in my consciousness and are now emerging. The facade of the house is immense and white. To access it, we have to climb stairs flanked by two columns. It has many windows and a very large balcony. I stand still, admiring what I once failed to appreciate. ¡ªWalk! ¡ªOf course, Luke is much more than a cretin. He just gave me the beating of his life and still demands. Whatever destiny Greg chooses for me, Luke will get what''s coming to him. No matter the cost. On the threshold of the door, Mac awaits us, one of the domestic slaves, who is in charge of directing the service and is the visible head to the master. He is dressed impeccably. Although that is distinctive of belonging to a higher social class, that damn suit makes him even more of a slave, although he seems to have gotten used to it. He must be around fifty. I say that because of his white beard, which contrasts with his dark complexion and the wrinkles on his face. He has a good position because, despite being a slave, he doesn''t work as hard as we do and has his family well¡ªfed. You could say he''s a lucky slave. ¡ªMr. Gordon wishes you to freshen up first and then accompany him and his daughter to the table for lunch. ¡ªHe says, addressing me. ¡ªGet out of the way, Mac. You don''t know what has happened. ¡ªLuke, who has taken a liking to shoving, puts his hand on the servant. ¡ªI''m sorry, Mr. Luke, but those are Mr. Gordon''s orders. Eric must freshen up and accompany him for lunch. ¡ªThat''s impossible! ¡ªEnvy again, Luke? ¡ªI say, strutting¡ªDo yourself a favor and check it out because it can''t be good. He grabs me by the chest and lifts me in the air, intending to punch me. He stares at me, showing his dirty beard and yellow teeth pressed against his lips. Mac clears his throat. Luke lets go of me and walks away. I watch him leave as Mac shows me the way. Not everything is as it was in my memory. The entrance has changed with extravagant decorations, although I know Greg changes them according to the season and urban fashion. The two staircases, which join together at the top and give access to the second floor, are still equally imposing. Mac hands me a neatly folded towel and appropriate clothing for the room I''m in and directs me to one of the bathrooms on the third floor. How different life is depending on your luck or misfortune at birth. If I were Greg''s son, I would have everything I desired in life. Food of all kinds on my table every day, free time, I could play soccer, and above all, I could shower with hot water every day, I could have a mirror like that... In reality, it wasn''t the big things that attracted me to the life of the upper classes but also the small details. Those things you don''t notice, but sometimes they turn out to be more important. I hurry to wash myself. The truth is, I need it. The hot water falls on me in torrents, and I can lather up with the gel. Showering is fun if done this way and not in the middle of the street or in an old shack in the bathroom with a tub and cold water. I take advantage of the moment to think, and no matter how much I try, I don''t understand it. I, too, have been surprised by Mac''s words, Luke hasn''t been the only one. I start to think that my destiny is at the gallows because Greg is being overly generous with me. Stepping into his house and his bathroom is much more than a privilege. If he behaves like this, it''s because he''s going to condemn me to death and wants me to enjoy my last hours, or, on the contrary, he''s going to sell me. What I''m sure of is that I''m not going to stay on this plantation much longer. I''ve earned it, I know it, and I accept it. One must take responsibility for their actions, know when they''ve done wrong, and endure the punishment. That''s what they teach us: slaves from a young age. As I dry myself, I''m careful because I have several bruises on my side. Besides, my head hurts, and I have a wound on my lips, which is still bleeding, although much less than before. I put on the black and tight pants and lace up the boots of the same color. The top is a very thin, completely white T-shirt and, on top of it, a black sweatshirt made of a fabric I don''t know, like the pants. It has a very bizarre artistic design that I don''t know why, but it looks very good on me when I look in the mirror. Used to stiff pants and shirts, this clothing is a delight to the sense of touch. ¡ªAre you ready? ¡ªThere''s a knock on the bathroom door. It''s Sophie. I open it and see her in the same bright purple dress as before. I remember her passionate kisses and my hands between the curves that are now hidden behind that dress. She smiles at me and looks at me. ¡ªEric... you''re... more... ¡ªShe continues admiring my figure. Surely it''s because I''m clean, because of the clothes. I won''t look like myself, the dirty and hardworking slave. That''s what appearances do. ¡ªMuch more... I avoid responding to the compliment. I grimace because I also have to avoid putting on a smile or a happy face. It''s as if she hadn''t been surprised with me in the middle of the job, as if those moments hadn''t existed. But they had, and now I''m going to pay for it. She, of course, wouldn''t be to blame. I''m the one with the reputation of a seducer and womanizer. It will be my fault, and she will be absolved, even if she undressed in front of me. I let her go down the stairs first. The last thing I want is for Greg to see that besides saving me and showing me his hospitality, I still want to hit on his daughter, who, if that weren''t enough, is engaged. What there was¡ªor had been¡ªbetween Sophie and me is nothing more than a friendship. When you grow up with someone, especially if it''s of the opposite sex, hormones eat away at your body and, above all, your brain, and you feel like experimenting, getting to know, and what better way to do it than with someone you trust a lot. Sophie is that. To which I must add the years we''ve been apart. The days when I thought of her seeing others, regretting not having told her something else. Now I understood it. All of that had been nostalgia, that feeling that makes you idealize everything that has happened to you, no matter how bad it is, as if it were truly the best in the world. The contained passion and nostalgia between Sophie and me had exploded that morning. We were going to separate again, and this time, it could be forever. We couldn''t leave with unfinished business. And we haven''t, even if we didn''t finish it. But was it worth it? I''m about to face the biggest obstacle life will throw at me, and I think it was. For Sophie, for a woman like her, it was worth it. To be honest, it would have been worth it for any woman. That''s how I am. I reach the main hall and see the hustle and bustle of several domestic slaves carrying and bringing dishes to the large table where lunch is being prepared. Greg is sitting on one of the sofas facing the fireplace. He holds an ancient book in his hands, which he reads. He takes off his glasses when he hears my arrival and looks at me. He stands up and observes me. He circles me, and I stay still. Then he bursts out laughing. ¡ªSir, I... ¡ªYou''d better shut up and sit at the table, Eric. Chapter 3
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Chapter 10
It was a sudden act. I didn''t think about it. We were so close...His eyes were looking at me and calling me in a way...I don''t know what went through my mind. It was a reflex action, what the lifelong Eric would have done, the one I''ve always been, who seems to have been hiding during these months, thinking if it was a good idea to go down that road of back and forth. I hope Paris took it well as a joke. It was a strange situation in which both of us, adrenaline-pumping after having risked our lives, responded strangely. We could have died in a place where neither she nor I, fortunately or unfortunately, belong. It meant nothing. A kiss, only. Nothing. A kiss only means something if the people exchanging it want it to. For me, it meant nothing, for her neither. But, then, why for an instant did Paris respond to my kiss? Why did she let our lips come to meet? And why the hell am I thinking all this?
I don''t like Paris. I mean, she''s pretty and very attractive, especially when she dresses like that to go to work, which gives her the air of an older, more confident girl. But she''s...normal. For all her quirks and oddities, she''s a very normal girl. She''s not my type. She''s not a star like Sophie. Paris and I just have a special connection brought about by a simple lease and belonging, which we share. I am her slave, and she is my mistress. I have kissed my mistress. Greg Gordon comes to mind, and I get chills.
I don''t give it another thought. Every time I relive it, I feel my cheeks redden, and I try to shake off the embarrassment and the embarrassing situation it has become. If I don''t think about it, it didn''t exist. I''ll apologize and never get that close to Paris again.
Putting that aside, I try to focus on Diego Marquez''s words and my mother''s reddish, star-embroidered scarf, which is still knotted around my wrist. It has become more than just a special gift from a deceased relative. Because this, not unlike the kiss, means so much more. I untie it and slip it through my fingers, feeling under my fingertips the embroidered stars and the soft feel of the fabric. I try to concentrate on the few memories I have of my mother, but they are all a blur. I get so frustrated whenever I try to remember because I can''t even conjure up the image of my mother''s face. I only keep her smell, and that makes my senses manage to reconstruct her in my imagination. What if my mother was a Priestess, and that''s why she had this scarf? Impossible. What if she was the one who stole it? Impossible. My mother was a slave but not a thief. I am sure of that. The only thing I manage to get clear from all this ruckus that makes my head hurt is that the religion of the disciples of the Priestess and believers in the Goddess was of vital importance to my mother. That''s why I have to find out more about her.
Since today is Sunday, and I assume Paris is spending the day, as usual, with Edgar, I spend the morning drawing conclusions and stirring thoughts. About Paris, about my mother, and the Priestess. Even about the Collapse. Then, to clear my head and stop thinking, I go down to the garden to unload tensions with a soccer ball. It''s like therapy.
¡ªYou look good. ¡ªAfter a while of jogging and shooting at the goal drawn on the wall, I hear the voice of Paris, who is sitting on the threshold between the living room and the garden. She sticks her knees to her chin and directs her eyes downward. She doesn''t look at me.
¡ªShouldn''t you be...?
¡ªEric, the day has come. It''s today. ¡ªHe doesn''t let me finish the question. Now he''s looking at me.
I don''t need to say anymore. Today is the day when the event I was bought for takes place. Today, I have to be the slave that it seems I have not been for months. The sooner we finish this work, the sooner we can begin mine, which is to find some clues about my mother. The future beyond that doesn''t matter to me.
¡ªWhen do we leave? ¡ªI ask.
¡ªThis afternoon. After lunch.
She gets up and gestures to leave. I know she''s weird about yesterday''s kiss because she avoids me. I run to her and take her hand to stop. She does. I gently remove my hand from hers.
¡ªAbout the other day, I''m... I''m sorry. ¡ªI shake my head, dead embarrassed. Helpless. Showing weakness. I''ve never apologized like this in my life.
¡ªForget it, Eric, I''ve already done it.
It leaves me there. Paralyzed. Feeling like the smallest thing in the world. I ask for forgiveness, and she says those words so decisively, so seriously...Like she''s another Paris than the one I''ve known for a couple of months. Actually, on the one hand, I''m relieved to know that for her, it was nothing, but on the other hand, my blood boils for the same reason. And I don''t know why.
After lunch, during which I don''t see Paris or Mr. Stonecraft, I retreat to my room to pack my luggage. I still don''t have much. A couple of changes of clothes, the music player, which is Paris''s, but I borrowed it, and the Bible, the book my mother left me as an inheritance. I look at the scarf on my wrist and decide to take it off and put it in the side pocket of my backpack. We are going to go to a remote place where, surely, the Goddess and the Priestess will be present, and I don''t want to have any more religious altercations. When I have everything ready, I go down to the living room to wait for Paris. She arrives with an empty backpack slung on her back and not very comfortable clothes for a long trip. She is wearing delicately designed jeans, typical of her economic status, and a shirt. I wear normal, comfortable clothes.
¡ªYou won''t need them, Eric. ¡ªShe tells me when he sees how bulky my backpack is. ¡ªEmpty it.
¡ªI thought we were going somewhere far away and dangerous.
¡ªAnd we are, but we won''t need anything you''re carrying. Unless you''re carrying a gun, which I don''t think you are. Here, go on.
She holds out a small, black pistol, which is quite heavy. It''s not electric but with bullets. I take it and hide it in the belt of my pants. Paris has changed. I can see it in her eyes, in her attitude, in her movements. In everything. She''s not her usual self. I don''t know if it''s nerves about seeing so close, something she''s dreamed of for so long, or what, but her tone of voice is different. She doesn''t look me in the eye when she talks to me either, so I guess the kiss did mean something to her, and she''s angry about it. Despite what she says, it seems like she hasn''t forgotten. Maybe it''s not because of the kiss itself but because of the trust forged between the two of them that has resulted in it happening. As if she, too, is partly to blame for what happened.
¡ªWe''ll be back home in a few hours, so you''d better take the empty backpack, in case we need more space for books or whatever we''re bringing. ¡ªShe says, dry and direct.
¡ªOkay. Hey, Paris... is everything okay? If it''s about...
¡ªEverything''s fine, Eric. Everything. ¡ªAs I approach her to whisper apologies again, she takes two steps away from me and answers.
¡ªAre you ready? ¡ªParis''s father appears in his white scientist''s coat with the biggest grin I''ve ever seen on his face. Paris and her father stare at each other. She slowly shakes her head back and forth as if in denial about me. ¡ªWhat, you haven''t told him yet?
¡ªI don''t think that''s such a good idea, I don''t know where to start....
¡ªWhat the hell are you talking about? ¡ªI ask because I don''t understand any of their strange communication.
¡ªEric, this trip is not on foot, nor do we need an airmobile. I have...built a new type of transportation...you might say. A machine that will transport you to where the target is marked. I''ve been working on this for years and years, running millions of tests to make it work. And here it is, at last. ¡ªNow, many pieces of Matt Stonecraft''s sacrificial work are starting to fit together for me.
¡ªAnd what does that machine consist of? ¡ªI''m not going to get into something I can''t get out of. I at least need to know what''s going to happen to me. Although, well, knowing that his daughter is coming with me and is exposed to the same dangers, I don''t care either. This guy knows what he''s talking about, and he knows what he''s doing. He has to.
¡ªEric, you''re here¡ªexpands one of his hands¡ªand instantly, you''re here¡ª. He expands the other one.
My brain fails to grasp what Mr. Stonecraft''s words, simple as they are, mean. And so, my face must let me know because they turn to look at each other. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
¡ªDisappear from one place and appear in another? ¡ªI ask to see if I''ve got it right.
¡ªSomething like that.
¡ªLook¡ªI say¡ªI don''t care what airplane or rocket you take me on to the place Paris needs to go. That''s all that matters. So whatever that machine is, I trust you because she''s coming with me. I don''t need any more explanations.
There has come a time when I just want to end this. Paris and I will never be the same again, and I understand that. I''m her slave, and she only wants me to help her get information that not even Edgar Scofield could. Nothing more. And I only want, with what she knows, to find a trace of my mother that will allow me to rebuild myself to achieve freedom. The one Paris promised me after this. So, everything is closer. Suddenly, I feel nostalgic for the cotton plantation and Mr. and Mrs. Hall. For my former life. I feel a melancholy of all that''s past. Of all that I have been. Because I know that, from today, nothing will ever be the same again.
Mr. Stonecraft, with that smile on his face, leads the way to the basement, where he has been cooped up working for too long, in my opinion. I walk right behind Paris, admiring his figure, knowing that she no longer wants to have that complicity, that a kiss has taken us hundreds of miles apart. Did she think we could be best friends? The same thing happened with Sophie. What happens is that I always forget who and what I am, a miserable slave with his destiny already written.
We enter a room illuminated with a yellowish light, whose walls are full of huge blackboards with thousands of formulas written in chalk. In the center is a huge table with hundreds of stacked papers. To be honest, Mr. Stonecraft''s hideout is no big deal either. There''s not much special about it. He goes to the back of the room to illuminate another room further down, which does fulfill all my expectations. In a very large room, lit this time with white lights. I see so much technology down there that I can''t make out much. Some machines on one side seem to be airplane seats, spare parts of all kinds, and tables full of computers turned on. Beyond all that is a sort of room with sofas and a small kitchen. Mr. Stonecraft, after all, has it pretty good. At the back, there is a desk with several screens and what appears to be a shower tray, a circular white platform surrounded by glass of the same shape.
¡ªI have delimited the space so that you can see the limits of the device. ¡ªHe explains, pointing to the platform. I just want us to leave now. I''m sure that''s Paris'' wish too. That we go where we have to go and that everything happens. ¡ªYou have just two hours. I''ve set the clock so that in two hours, whatever happens, you''ll be back. It''s the safest thing to do on this first jump. You must be side by side at the time of the jump. Otherwise...you could be stuck in...there.
Matt Stonecraft stands behind the Screen and the desk computers as he gives us directions, fiddling and setting up various things I wouldn''t understand. Paris and I wait at the doors to the stage. Mr. Stonecraft approaches me and removes my slave bracelet. He then attaches a strange watch to Paris'' wrist. We stand inside the pallet and its crystals. I feel canned and again very close to Paris. Matt Stonecraft goes back behind the desk, typing fast on the computer keyboard.
¡ªMagnetic containers activated¡ªMr. Stonecraft says from his control panel¡ªElectron injection activated. Main computer in order. You''d better shake hands! ¡ªhe shouts.
Paris and I, not without difficulty, clutch our hands awkwardly, barely without strength. She doesn''t even seem to want to touch me. It was only a fucking kiss!
¡ªThree, two, one...!
Paris''s watch illuminates the entire stage in a white fog, which envelops everything and engulfs us. We stop seeing Paris'' father behind the glass. I notice how, now, Paris squeezes my hand very hard. So hard that it hurts me. She is afraid and excited at the same time. I feel how my body bends in half breaks. I am breathless. Everything is darkness.
I gasp for breath again, and everything seems to be normal. Everything is normal. I feel the touch of Paris, who is almost tied to me. I look at her after recovering and notice how she opens and closes her eyes continuously.
¡ªWhat a trip! ¡ªI tell her. ¡ªAre you all right? ¡ªShe doesn''t answer me and just abruptly lets go of my hand.
I look around to see where we are. Damn! Mr. Stonecraft is a fucking genius who''s out of his mind. Seconds ago, we were in his basement, and now... We find ourselves in an alley, small and narrow. Dark, even though it''s mid-afternoon. It has no exit. It ends in a big reddish brick wall that rises to almost touch the sky. They are buildings. They are houses. It looks like a city. When I come to, partly from the shock created by traveling a distance of thousands of kilometers in such a short time and partly from not knowing exactly where I am on the map of the Provinces, I realize that Paris has already left the alley. He''s running, not waiting for me. I have to lighten my legs to reach her.
¡ªParis! Paris! ¡ªI call out to her. I know she''s listening to me, but she doesn''t turn around.
She keeps moving. We are definitely in a city. We enter a large avenue, which is crowded with passers-by shopping, strolling, and going here and there...if I look up, the buildings, the houses, and, above all, the airway saturated with hovercars touching the clouds, leave me no room for doubt. We are in a city. But everything seems a bit strange. I see in the distance the five large and imposing buildings of the State of the Provinces, which no other can overshadow, and I confirm that we are in New America. We seem to have moved a few miles within the city itself: from the periphery, where Paris lives, to the center. We are still in New America! Mr. Stonecraft''s contraption hasn''t quite worked. Nevertheless, chasing Paris up the sidewalk along one of the avenues of New America, I discover that everything is strange to me. The colors, the smells. The people. The people. Everything. It''s like there''s a...rarefied atmosphere in the city. Indeed, I have not visited many cities the little I know about New America has to do with my stay in one of the State buildings before being auctioned as a slave, and then thanks to Paris, which has shown me the periphery, but I must say that everything has a different tone than I remember, especially after having spent hours and hours in front of the screen.
Even people''s clothes are different. Shirts and pants are wider than usual. The hair is generally long among men and shorter among women. Sunglasses and prescription glasses have strange circular designs. Nor can all these things seem like a novelty to me, considering the changes in style, design, and fashion of a city that transforms itself day by day, modifying the ways of thinking, dressing, seeing, and liking a thousand times a day. Seven thousand times a week. This is what the rich people of the Provinces are like.
¡ªParis! ¡ªAt last, I reach her. ¡ªIt didn''t work...we''re still in New America.
Everything is speeding up. I look around, and the stores are closing, the restaurants and bars changing the sign from ¡°open¡± to ¡°closed¡± and the illegal and temporary stalls of runaway slaves on the sidewalk floors are gone. Passersby are walking briskly, down the avenue as if in a hurry, as if they were running away from something. The giant State Screens on the top of some buildings, where they usually give economic and political news, are in black. Sirens can be heard in the background, where the eight main avenues of the city converge in a huge, circular square, the center of political power in the Provinces of New America, where the Presidential Palace and the House of Representatives are located. The sirens and air ambulances, flying at low altitudes, make me think that there must have been some kind of accident.
¡ªYes, it worked! ¡ªParis shouts at me. ¡ªIt worked, just...badly. That''s all there is to it. We have to find out...
¡ªParis, please. We''re still in the same place.
She holds up one of her hands as if she doesn''t understand anything that''s happening. She shakes her head and continues to walk up the avenue while all the people walk in the opposite direction. I guess the Provincial Police are cordoning off the area and getting out of the way of the people and any curious onlookers. Accidents involving airmobiles plummeting from the airways in the sky are rare, but they do sometimes happen. They are always the first news on the screen because they are usually dramatic and have behind them an individual or family story that sells and shocks the public opinion of the Provinces.
¡ªLook, I can''t take it anymore. If you''re angry about that fucking kiss, forget it. I mean it. Just do it. It was just a reflex action, what I usually do with girls! I didn''t think about it and forgot that you weren''t like the others...I saw my life flash before me when that asshole pointed his gun at me. I''ve been locked up in your house for two months, I''ve only seen you, you attracted me... ¡ªI try to explain myself even though my words come out choppy and abrupt. I want her to face her fears, her monsters, so that she stops thinking about them. If we both want it to be nothing, it isn''t. Why is she making it so difficult?
¡ªYou flatter me, Eric, but do me a favor and shut your mouth. ¡ªShe cocks her head at me, finally.
¡ªNo! You better not forget it! ¡ªParis shakes me out of my temper, and I flare up. ¡ªDon''t! Because you can''t do it. Because you liked that kiss too. That''s why, isn''t it? You feel guilty! You can''t look Edgar in the face. Is that why you''re avoiding me? Or because you''re too scared to accept that you wanted to?
¡ªYou want to shut up, Eric! This is not the best time to talk about it!
She raises her voice at me much more than I have raised mine. Several people look at us in their scramble to escape the accident as if enjoying a live couple''s fight. Paris takes one of my hands and pulls me close to her tightly.
¡ªI love Edgar, and you know it. You knew it. You betrayed my trust, crossing that boundary. Crossing that line. And yes, I liked it, but who doesn''t like kisses? ¡ªI see her very upset, like never before. Her hands are shaking. She''s very nervous. Her eyes are throbbing. Is she lying? ¡ªNow, please stay close to me and keep your mouth shut.
¡ªYou have to calm down, Paris. Let''s go home.
¡ªHome is far away. ¡ªShe breathes. She approaches a kiosk run by a sexagenarian who is collecting, like all the stores and businesses on the avenue.
¡ªWhat do you say?
¡ªHere''s what''s going on. ¡ªParis shows a newspaper, pointing out today''s date: October 7, 168 A.C.
¡ª168? That''s impossible!
¡ªYou still don''t get it? Home is close in the distance but far away in time.
¡ªWhere are we Paris? Did you trick me? ¡ªI''m furious.
¡ªNot where. When. That''s the question. Eric, the trip you were supposed to help me on is this one. A trip back in time. The destination was the time of the Collapse, the most valuable source of information anyone could ever have. But we''re in 168, two years before you were born. One before I''m born. Chapter 11
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Chapter 15 On the way home, walking slowly while Paris reads, I think that we have been left at the doorstep. One step away from discovering the key that seemed to tie everything together. My mother, the Goddess, the Collapse, Julie Bell. Diego Marquez also has his piece in this puzzle. Damn, smuggler! I''m convinced he can lead us to one of the Goddess and Priestess communities. But he doesn''t trust us, and that''s normal, to tell the truth. Diego will never tell us how to get to them. He protects a religion that is very persecuted in the United Provinces. If they were minimally visible, they would surely be annihilated. They have to remain hermetic to be safe. But there has to be some way in. So, we are still lost. Paris is racing against the clock with its investigation. There''s not much time left before the end of history studies at the University, which she says would be a terrible loss, though I don''t quite understand it. I am further away from my mother, from the real history of my life. The only thing left for both of us to do is to travel back in time. Maybe that''s the only way to dig into all the questions we have. ¡ªThe United States of America?¡ªI repeat Paris'' question loudly and slowly. ¡ªI''ve never heard that name in my life. No idea. You''re the historian, aren''t you? ¡ªThe Statue of Liberty was written by Marc L. Thompson in 139 AC. Relatively recently. It talks about the United States of America as the country that existed before, during, and after the Collapse.... ¡ªHow can that be? What about the Provinces? Are you sure that book is not just another hoax? Diego Marquez is not to be trusted, even if he has treated us with benevolence this time. ¡ªAccording to our History, the Provinces have existed since the Collapse. I''ll have to look into it more. Surely, it contains information or some idea to get me out of this blockage. ¡ªYou know what it sounds like to me? The United Provinces of America. That nutcase changed one word, and he had his theory already set up. ¡ªI say it without thinking about it. I avoid further reflection because my head already hurts. I focus on the moment. On Paris''s soft, slow walk, on my walking beside her. On the sea. On the crowd of people and their different faces. They are free. They play sports, they swim at the beach, they take a walk. I feel strange. It is a world that is not mine but one that I am entering. I must not forget that I am a slave, I remind myself. Although there are still a few hours before dinner, Mr. Stonecraft is waiting for us with the table set. I am too tired and need a shower to relax. Paris, engrossed in her reading and continuing to be angry with her father, runs up the stairs to her room at an incredible speed. Matt Stonecraft ducks his head and sighs as if defeated. He gives me a pleading look. I don''t know what to do in these cases. I wait a few seconds for Paris to close the door to her room, and I assault Mr. Stonecraft. ¡ªYou know where she is, don''t you? ¡ªMaybe Mr. Stonecraft keeps more things inside than we take for granted. I ask because it seems to be the last chance to get a clue to guide us. So we don''t get trapped in the maze. ¡ªI don''t know anything... Nothing. Me, nothing. ¡ª. He shoots that excuse without thinking, off the cuff, as if it''s not the first time he''s said those words. I remember what Paris said about working his tail off at Tecnofield Science Company, and I understand and sympathize. They must have been hard on him. I see him look me in the eye and calm down. He takes a sip of wine. ¡ªWhat exactly do you mean? ¡ªYou know, her. Julie. Do you know where she is or not? ¡ªOh, that. Unfortunately not, Eric. I tried everything I could, at first, to get her to come back. For Paris. I tried to persuade her, to make her happy. Nothing was enough. As the years went by, I wanted to look for her, but it was impossible. Her trail was lost. As she said in that letter, she gave her life to the Goddess. There is nothing more I know of her. ¡ªThe Goddess. The Priestess. Everyone here knows them but me. So do you. ¡ªI remember the young Matt Stonecraft from the past, sitting in that bar. Committed to the slave rebellion. ¡ªA lot of people know them, Eric, but we had to forget them. It was for the best. Now Paris has brought her back into our lives. ¡ªMaybe she should and can help us. I''m sure there''s something that... ¡ªI don''t know any more than you do, any more than she does. The world has changed so much in the last twenty years. Knowledge becomes obsolete within days. Things change, they don''t stay the same. It''s been an eternity since then¡ªhe remains thoughtful and nostalgic for a second. Does that melancholy look into the past have something to do with his time machine? Is Mr. Stonecraft lying? Could he have answers to our questions? Or is he just a genius who dabbles in science? I look at him. He is devastated by this misunderstanding with Paris. Confused, too, by my curiosity. So, he just strikes me as a superb technoscientist looking to give his daughter the dream she craves. I think that if Matt Stonecraft knew for certain Julie Bell''s whereabouts, he would have confessed it by now to get Paris'' credit back. Dinner stays cold. At the table, only the level of the bottle of wine has dropped. Mr. Stonecraft soon leaves for his workshop. Paris is still in her room, and I take the shower I need to relax my muscles. When I finish, I start watching soccer on the Screen, but not before swallowing several ads about the Provincial Elections. I settle into bed five minutes into the game when Paris walks in without knocking. ¡ªYou have exactly five minutes¡ªShe says. ¡ªWhat? What''s wrong? ¡ªShe catches me totally off guard. ¡ªWe''re leaving. And we have to go now. Diego Marquez has given me a book that changes my whole vision of the Collapse and our world. He knows perfectly where we can find the Goddess, and he may also know where my mother is hiding. And he is going to tell us¡ª. She seems very determined, although I''m afraid it''s going to be another trip for nothing. The smuggler is going to kick us out of the traders'' camp. That''s if he doesn''t pull his gun on us again. Paris seems to have read my thoughts since I do not understand much¡ª. Diego Marquez is hiding a lot more than he lets on. That rare book...The Statue of Liberty breaks all the historical schemes of the United Provinces. ¡ªCome on, Paris, the smuggler himself has said that they were the tales of a madman, that he didn''t believe in them either. ¡ªOr maybe that''s what he wanted us to believe. ¡ªAre you sure? What did he give you that book for, then? I don''t understand. ¡ªEric, it all fits perfectly with what we don''t know, with what we''re looking for. With the Goddess, the Priestess, the Collapse... ¡ªCan you explain? ¡ªI''m getting it, but in bursts. I can''t see a logical connection in his words. ¡ªBefore the Collapse... there was a world. Before ours. Something happened, and everything was destroyed by the Collapse, and it was built again. And we started counting the years from zero right at that moment. And the Goddess sent the Priestess to preach to the Earth. The Bible was written. Then, little by little, the United States of America became the United Provinces of America. Without the Collapse, there would be no Goddess religion and no United Provinces. The origin of our today is the Collapse and...the Goddess and the Priestess. It all goes hand in hand! It makes sense, doesn''t it? ¡ªIt makes sense, but it may not be very real... ¡ªEric! Trust me! It''s a big step for my research! ¡ªThis could be very dangerous for you, Paris. ¡ª. And for me. ¡ªWhat does it matter? ¡ªIt could be a momentous discovery in our history! For our world... ¡ªThey won''t let you publish that. You''re bringing together two issues that would shatter all the structures of the Provinces: their true history and a forbidden religion. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. ¡ªI know. But it''s the most important thing ever discovered. I will find a way to...do it. I stop to think about it for a moment. If what Paris says were true...If we could find a way to publish that and spread it...We could give new hope to the slaves. We could unmask the Provinces... What if my mother bequeathed me this handkerchief and her Bible for a reason? So, I won''t forget! So, I would remember! And not only her... Freedom... ¡ªThere''s only one way to check. To see if you''re right and if it''s all true¡ª. I say to Paris, convinced. ¡ªThat''s right, Eric. Another jump in time. ¡ªAnd what are we waiting for? ¡ªI open my arms. ¡ªThings aren''t good with Dad right now, you know. Besides, he''s still making adjustments, and I''m afraid we''ll have to wait a little longer. But first, we have something else to do. Why aren''t you dressed? I told you you had five minutes! I quickly put on a T-shirt while Paris explains her crazy plan. It''s crazy. I''m her slave, and I don''t have much to say on the occasions when she looks so convinced. I empathize with her because if I had the slightest clue about my mother, I would exhaust every possible avenue. According to Paris, since it''s not yet dark, the market on the outskirts of New America City must be buzzing. Crowds of people doing last-minute shopping, dining on fast food, strolling along the boardwalk, watching the sunset on the beach... There, at his stall, at the foot of the barrel, and as always, would be Diego Marquez, the smuggler, showing off his exotic, old-fashioned wares. ¡ªEric, think about it. Diego belongs to a community of the Goddess. We are both sure of that. At some point, he will have to attend their rites. That''s what religions are all about. You have to attend the meetings and live small moments in the community. You have to. ¡ªAre you saying we spy on him? ¡ªBecome his shadow. Day and night if we have to, Eric. That prick knows my mother. ¡ªI like it when Paris brings out his temper. ¡ªAnd you might be able to get something that relates to yours, too. I hope she''s not just saying that to give me vain hope and follow her blindly. I''m going to do it anyway. She needn''t fool me. It is now that doubts are gnawing all over my body. Diego Marquez''s poisonous words settle inside my brain for a few moments. I am just a slave. A property. What if it all went wrong? Would Paris get rid of me? Would she be able to do it? If she didn''t, her boyfriend, Edgar Scofield, might. I''m still waiting for him. I''m not afraid of him. ¡ªWe have to keep a low profile. ¡ªShe says, continuing with his plan. She puts a cap and sunglasses on me. She puts on another pair of sunglasses and puts her hair up in a ponytail. We walk around the market, full of people. Dirty and ragged slaves, others cleaner and well-dressed, a sign that they belong to a family with more resources. I see free people, former slaves, living in misery. Families are happily dining on hamburgers and fries. Children are tasting cotton candy, and little thieves are also hungry, stealing from fruit and candy stalls. Paris stops at an ice cream stand and buys two tubs. We walk away from the market and sit on one of the benches along the promenade. It has grown dark, and a gentle breeze rises over the beach and the outskirts of New America. ¡ªDo you know this is the first ice cream I''ve ever eaten in my life? ¡ªI say, tasting the mint and chocolate flavor. ¡ªIt can''t be true! ¡ªShe laughs as she shovels another spoonful into her mouth. Little by little, the market empties. Waiting and watching is very boring. I sit down with Paris. I get up and take a short walk. I lie down on the bench. The night is getting cooler, and my skin is bristling from the cold. The traders dismantle their stalls and go to the camp to rest. Diego M¨¢rquez is one of the last, with the help of his son. When they finish, they leave. The remaining people parade along the promenade towards the city. ¡ªDo you still think this is a good idea? ¡ªWe are both tired, sad, and disappointed. We thought it would be easier. ¡ªTrust me, Eric. ¡ªIt''s okay. I lie back on the bench, my head resting on her legs. Paris strokes my hair. I haven''t forgotten about not crossing the line. To stay in our place. This I don''t think I will. I watch her from below, scanning the horizon, looking for some movement that will set off all the alarms. However, the market and traders'' camp are quieter than ever. ¡ªEric, Eric! ¡ªParis shakes me because there, between her legs, I have fallen asleep. ¡ªSomeone is coming! I don''t know how long it''s been since I fell asleep. Judging by how cold it is, it must have been a couple of hours. ¡ªIs it Diego? ¡ªI ask, startled. ¡ªI don''t know. I can''t see. It''s too dark... I sit up and look straight at Paris. I don''t want to make any sudden movements and look back. It would be too obvious. If it''s Diego Marquez, the smuggler... I hear his footsteps. Paris squints to see if she can catch a glimpse. ¡ªDo you trust me? ¡ªI say and move very close to his mouth. She nods, and I place my lips on her cheek, very close to his lips. I stay like that for a few seconds, feeling my heart beating and her through the veins in my neck. Thus, glued together in silence, we listen as the intruder passes us by. I peel myself away from her a few inches. Paris looks at me. She is as if paralyzed, scared to death. I raise my head and see a silhouette disappearing along the promenade. We both sigh in relief. I look into Paris'' gray eyes staring at me. We are still so close. She runs one of her fingers down my cheek and through my hair. I close my eyes to the touch. I would die, truthfully, to kiss her. But I shouldn''t. I can''t. Her fingers stop. I open my eyes. ¡ªThere. It could be him. ¡ªShe points. The magnetism between Paris and me unravels as I quietly stand up and discover she''s right. A figure glides through the market, forward, straight to the beach. ¡ªA swim? ¡ªEric, it''s cold! Beyond the beach, there''s nothing...just rocks. The cliff. ¡ªIt''s all right. I''ll go over and check if it''s him... you stay here. ¡ªNo. ¡ªWe''ll both go. ¡ªParis, please. I''ll just make less noise. If anything happens, you hide and run. Okay? Paris nods, and I run stealthily towards the market. I camouflage myself in the dark. The streetlights don''t reach that far. I try to move fast because I''ve lost the figure I was following. I reach the beach, and it becomes more difficult to continue. The moonlight illuminates the sea, and the crashing waves make music to my ears. I hide behind one of the small rocks that are deposited on the beach until I end up on the great cliff. I see no one. I''ve lost him, damn it! Just as I want to get back to Paris, I hear someone''s footsteps approaching the beach. I can see the lights of the city in the background and how the man is turning his head backward. I hide because he passes very close to me. I can''t tell if it''s the smuggler. He is leaving, between the rocks, towards the cliff. Where is he going? I follow him, at a safe distance, from rock to rock stuck in the sand. Beyond, there is nothing. A vertical wall, the cliff. I watch as he dives into the seawater and disappears. I count to two minutes. He has to come up for air. It doesn''t. I count to four minutes. I think he has drowned. Another person appears on the beach and walks to where the previous one was. He reaches the water, and despite the cold, without hesitation, he goes into the water and also disappears. I return to Paris. Hiding and watching as more men and women cross the beach and are swallowed by the sea. I counted eight in total. I don''t know if any of them were Diego. Paris is still on the bank. I reach her height, sheltering between the trees of the promenade. ¡ªParis. ¡ªI whisper to her. She understands that something is happening and comes quickly to the shelter of the trees. I quickly explain to her what I have seen. ¡ªWe''ve found it! It has to be that... the entrance? Under the sea... We have to go there. I have to go. ¡ªI don''t think it''s a good idea, Paris. It''s dark and cold. The sea has swallowed them! ¡ªDon''t you know how to swim? ¡ªNo, but what does that matter? In case that''s the entrance to one of these communities, we don''t know how to get there. We should go back in daylight. We can''t risk it... ¡ªWe''re so close... ¡ªBut Paris... She looks me in the eyes for a second. I''m lost. She''s going to do it anyway, no matter what I say. She sees her mother so close...I would do it too. As I''m left thinking, Paris steps forward and slowly walks through the market. I catch up with her, and we reach the beach. I take her to the place where I''ve seen those people disappear. ¡ªIt looks like the end of the world, doesn''t it? Beyond that, according to the maps, there''s nothing. Just water. Sea. ¡ªMy mind can''t comprehend the immensity of what Paris is saying¡ª. Well, this time, it''s my turn. ¡ªWhat? No! I''m going with you. ¡ªYou can''t swim, Eric. I''ll just take a look and come back. That''s all. She grabs my hand, trying to convince me. She''s right. I don''t know my way around in the water, and without knowing where we''re going, I may be more of a burden than a help. Still, despite using logic, I am surprised by Paris'' decision. I am the slave, am I not? The expendable one. That''s what he bought me for. It seems that Diego Marquez''s words were just poison to torment my head with. I trust Paris, and she trusts me. Paris takes off her blouse, staying in her bra, and leaves it for me. I can''t help but stare at her white back, dotted with polka dots. She smiles at my rapt attention and takes her steps towards the sea. I watch her splash as the water engulfs her. She sinks. Then everything calms down again. The waves and the sand of the beach. I take refuge on one of the big rocks that cling to the cliff. I''m scared to death that I won''t see Paris come out. I don''t know how to handle myself in the water, but if she''s not back in ten minutes, I''ll have to go after her. I try to make time, keeping watch in case any more traders from the camp cross the beach. I look up at the moon, cursing. I shouldn''t have let her go. If anyone should die, it''s me. Paris doesn''t. I think of how close we''ve been before when we''ve had to dissemble so we wouldn''t be discovered. The fear had both of us distraught. I think of her words of the Collapse, the Goddess, and the Priestess. I think of my mother and death. About her research. Maybe that''s not so important. None of it. Just being alive. It doesn''t matter if I''m still a slave. But alive. Thoughts I wouldn''t have in a normal state, I know. I estimate that only five minutes have passed. Time dilates. It takes forever. ¡ªWhere are you, Paris? ¡ªI whisper to myself. Chapter 16
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