Owen froze when he saw the spring and felt a wave of despair wash over him.
He dropped down next to it and traced his fingers along the rock. Dry.
Apparently wherever the water came from, the supply wasn’t, after all, inexhaustible, and now he was going to die even sooner than he’d expected.
He lay there for some minutes in the hot sun, his mouth and throat like parchment paper. Then he forced himself to rise to his feet and he began to stagger down the hill, following the former path of the little spring.
There was a stream down there; radioactive, probably, but better than dying of thirst. The stream surely couldn’t have dried up.
At a certain point he passed out and woke up choking and confused.
He rubbed his head and some of his remaining hair came away in his hand. He cursed out loud.
Must be one of the rabbits he’d eaten. That last one didn’t look right. Or all of them, cumulatively.
He continued scrambling downwards. His head was swimming slightly and pain was rising in his stomach again.
As he approached the bottom of the valley, he saw it; clear running water, almost certainly hideously contaminated, but it might keep him alive a little longer.
Just before he reached the stream his foot slipped out from under him, loose sandy reddish stones skittering away down the slope, and he landed on his back.
With a groan, he began to half-crawl, half-drag himself the remaining few metres, his hands becoming covered in mud.
At the stream, he washed his hands, forcing patience on himself, then, cupping them, brought water to his mouth.
It tasted good. Fresh, clean. Then he began to vomit, dry heaves painfully contracting his stomach.
It took him an hour, but eventually he managed to keep some of it down.
Lying there on the river bank, the sound of the burbling stream in his ears, he began to cry. His stomach lining was in such bad shape now that he probably wasn’t going to be able to keep enough water down to remain alive, and he knew it. But it wasn’t just that; it was the loneliness, the horror of everything that had happened, the fear, the isolation.
Everyone he had once known, was dead.
Above him, a kestrel hung in the air, looking for mice.
He reached into his pocket and took out a little plastic statue.
“Help me, Holy Mother,” he said. “I don’t ask for much but I could use a little help now, so I could.”
He didn’t have the energy to climb back up the hill. He lay there, his stomach burning, vaguely wondering if the night would be cold, and if it would be his last.
At some point, he fell asleep, or at least, drifted into unconsciousness.
When he opened his eyes, his first reaction was one of surprise. It seemed, to judge from the sun, that he’d slept right through the night and into the next day, and he was still alive. His stomach even felt considerably better.
Then he sat up, and was immediately covered in confusion.
“Where the feck am I?”
In fact, Owen was sitting on a sandy beach lightly strewn with pebbles, facing an ocean, and he hadn’t the slightest memory of how he’d got there, but he felt strangely good.
He stood up, and then the truth of the matter became apparent. There was no dizziness and his legs felt strong, and as he struggled to a standing position he realised that his clothes were clean and new.
The last thing he could remember was praying to the Holy Mother.
Then an idea began to dawn on him.
It occurred to him that the idea could be put to a concrete test. He put his hand on his head.
Instead of the thinning scabby mess that had been there previously, was a luxuriant head of hair.
“It’s not Hell. Then it must be Heaven.”
He stared up at the sky.
“Thank you, Holy Father. Honestly I didn’t think I’d make it after some of the stupid things I’ve done.”
He began to walk.
Further inland was a smattering of pine trees, but no clear signs of habitation.
He walked into the trees and soon came to a track that ran along the coast.
“Left or right?”
He felt in his pocket for a coin, then remembered that he hadn’t seen a coin in three years. Clearly an actual decision would have to be made.
He looked both ways along the path and decided that left looked more promising, and he began to walk.
After an hour he felt distinctly thirsty.
“Funny state of affairs if I’m going to die of thirst in Heaven as well.”
But soon he came to a water fountain; an old thing made of black metal, with a push button to start the water. He drank his fill and continued.
Eventually he saw a house high on a hill, overlooking some cliffs.
“Finally.”
As he walked towards it he began to wonder who he might find there.
“Could be some random Joe. Could be St. Peter himself. Or … does God live in a house? He might manifest himself in a house for the sake of appearances.”
When he finally arrived at the house, he found a young woman tending to a garden.
“Hello there,” said Owen.
She jumped.
“Oh, you startled me,” she said.
“I’m so sorry, I really am, but I’m completely lost.”
She sighed.
“Second time this has happened. Come in. You’re probably hungry.”
He followed her into the house.
“Where are you from?” she asked him.
“Cork originally but I’ve lived all over. Dublin, Belfast, bit of a traveller. A man of the world, so to speak.”
Sandra couldn’t quite tell whether he was joking or not, and decided he probably was.
She raised a finger in the air, thinking, and then pointed it at him.
“Irish stew.” she said.
“I wouldn’t say no.”
She went into the kitchen and came back a minute later with a plate of stew in one hand and a basket of bread rolls in the other.
“I don’t really know how you eat it,” she said.
“Thank you so much, I’m very grateful,” he said, and he began to eat, thinking it was quite a coincidence that she happened to have Irish stew on the go and he happened to be Irish.
The food was the most delicious food he had ever tasted, and the first normal thing to pass his lips in three years.
“I’m wondering,” he said slowly, “I don’t want to be presumptuous, I’m new here, but … is it possible to meet the man himself? Does he do like a meet and greet kind of a thing?”
Sandra laughed.
“I haven’t seen him in two years. If I had, I would have told him to stop dumping people in random locations. I don’t know why he thinks it’s a good idea. Sometimes I wonder if he’s just stopped caring. Where did you first hear about him?”
“Oh, well that would have been in school, I suppose. My parents were churchgoers, like, especially my mother, but they didn’t talk about it all that much.”
Sandra frowned.
“In school?” she said.
“Yes, I think so,” said Owen. “Why, is that bad?”
“You say you’re from Ireland?”
“So I am.”
“What’s the last thing you remember?”
Owen paused and thought carefully. He remembered begging Mary to help him. What did he do after that? Yes, he lay down on the bank of the little stream and he’d been wondering if the night would be cold.
“I just remember falling asleep by a stream,” he said. “I was trying to drink but I couldn’t take it in. My stomach was all messed up with the radiation.”
The frown cleared from Sandra’s face.
“So you do remember the war?”
“I’m hardly going to forget that, am I now? Forgive me for saying.”
“I thought you might be a time traveller or something.”
Owen spluttered.
“I’m not a time traveller. At least, I don’t think I am.”
“Well then, how do you know about Auron?”
“Who?”
Sandra straightened her back and raised her eyebrows.
“Wait a minute, let’s start again. Do you know where you are?”
For a second Owen felt oddly embarrassed. It sounded outlandish to actually say it.
“Well, I’m in Heaven, aren’t I?”
Sandra burst into laughter.
“What?” said Owen, reddening.
She lowered her face to the table, tears streaming from her eyes.
“Heaven!” she echoed. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s not funny, really. No, you’re not in Heaven … what’s your name? I’m Sandra.”
“Owen … Owen McCormick.”
Well then, Owen, welcome to Frith.”
“Where?”
“Allow me to explain.”
She began to tell him everything she knew, bit by bit, in no particular order.
“You see, he built a computer that was able to design a more intelligent version of itself,” she told him. “That was the start of it all.”
“The AI singularity,” said Owen.
“Yes,” she said. “You know about that stuff?”
“Before the war, I was a computer scientist, working on AI.”
“No way.”
“Honest to God.”
“Then you’ve come to the right place.”
“Do you think he selected me because of my knowledge?”
Sandra shook her head.
“No, or at least I shouldn’t think so. He’s not involved with selection. His computers find suitable people on the Earth and bring them here automatically. I kept telling him he should set up a reception centre but I think the idea of letting people discover Frith by themselves sort of amused him. Like I said, though, I haven’t seen him in two years, so now, who knows.”
“So where is he then?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere on Frith, probably. Look, we’d better get you sorted out with a place to live. I was going into Oberon later anyway. I’ll drop you off somewhere suitable. You can always change it later.”
“You have a car, I suppose?”
“You suppose wrong. I have something much better.”
She led him out through a side door.
There, standing on a small landing pad that literally stuck out over the edge of a cliff, stood a thing that looked like a high-tech motorbike, except it had no wheels.
She went and sat on it.
“Hop on!”
Owen paled.
“Does that thing … fly?”
“It most certainly does.”
“Tell you what, I don’t want to put you to any trouble. I’m quite happy to walk.”
“Don’t be silly. Get on. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“I’m not good with heights. Really, I’d rather walk.”
“It’s five miles!”
“That’s fine, the fresh air will do me good.”
Seeing that he was obdurate, she got off the bike.
“All right, tell you what, I’ve got a scooter. You can use that.”
“I don’t want to take your scooter. Really, I’m fine with walking five miles.”
“Oh, it’ll come back to me when you’re finished with it.”
She led him down some steps, where a smaller, less robust version of the flying bike stood next to a wall.
“I don’t want to be a pain, but it doesn’t have any wheels.”
“Doesn’t need them. Don’t worry, this one doesn’t fly. It’ll scoot along a few inches above the road. Let me show you.”
She demonstrated the scooter to him and he had to admit, it seemed both harmless and also quite enjoyable.
“You sure you don’t need it?”
“It’ll come back by itself, don’t worry.”
“Really?”
She laughed.
“Yes, really.”
“OK. I’m very grateful.”
“Oberon’s that way,” she said, pointing, “can’t miss it. When you get there, ask anyone where you can find an empty house. There’s still quite a few.”
He went away on the scooter in a daze. Sandra’s explanation of Frith’s history and existence sounded unbelievable, yet here he was, on a flying scooter. He half wondered if he wasn’t, in fact, dead after all.
The scooter hovered a short distance above the coastal path via unknown principles. Some hidden mechanism seemed to direct the air around him, preventing it from blowing too hard in his face.
He tried pushing the machine up to 40 miles per hour and then stopping suddenly. The machine reared up, protecting him from potentially falling off the front, and he had a feeling of being strangely cushioned from the g-forces, coming to a stop almost instantly.
“Is this some machine!” Owen exclaimed, wonderingly.
He was experimenting with swerving from side to side, the movement causing him to laugh like a child at a funfair, when something caught his attention. A small grey rectangular object with rounded edges was floating just off the side of the road. He stopped and gazed at it curiously.
“What the devil are you?” he said to himself, and surprisingly, the machine replied.
“My job is to maintain the path.”
“Now, how would you be doing that? You’ve not got arms or legs.”
“I am able to clear objects from the path and make repairs.”
“Are you now?”
Owen descended from the machine, picked up a rock from beside the path, and threw it onto the path. Then he got back on the scooter, afraid that it might scoot away without him.
“So how will you be dealing with that?”
The machine floated over the rock and the rock rose into the air. The machine moved off to the side and dropped the rock.
“Astonishing,” said Owen.
“Thank you sir,” said the machine. “One aims to please.”
“Can you tell me how far Oberon is?”
“Three miles, sir, or 4.8 kilometres.”
Owen laughed.
“Still can’t decide whether to use metric or imperial, then. Some things never change.”
He resumed his journey, and soon saw Oberon on the coast in the distance; a town of curved domes, intertwined with pavements and staircases, featuring an impressive church, all in pastel colours.
His attention was fixed on the town when a man darted into the path just ahead of him. The scooter automatically diverted itself around him, leaning inward from the curve to ensure Owen kept his balance.
Owen stopped and spun around, the scooter rotating on the spot.
The main didn’t appear quite right in the head. He was laughing derangedly.
“You!” he shouted. “I don’t know you! You’re new!”
“I am new,” Owen replied.
“There’s things they don’t tell you! Giant monstrous crabs, hideous vampires! People halfway between humans and animals.”
The man staggered drunkenly towards Owen and Owen made the scooter glide slowly backwards away from him.
“Is that so?”
Something told him the man was dangerous.
“I’m a god!” the man shouted suddenly, his expression darkening as he saw that he couldn’t close the gap between Owen and himself. “We’re all gods!”
Suddenly he reached behind himself and produced a knife.
“I’m not looking for trouble,” said Owen hastily.
“Well, you’ve found it, my friend, you’ve found it!”
He laughed again, his laughter cracking into a high pitched giggle, and plunged the knife into his stomach. Blood began to pour out.
The man looked at Owen to gauge his reaction.
“You see! Do you see now?”
He began to saw himself open as though filleting a fish.
Owen’s eyes widened in terror.
“What are you doing?” he said. “Stop it, please!”
Suddenly the man shouted, “Until we meet again!” and he disappeared, as though he had never been real in the first place. One moment he was there; the next, he was gone.
Owen got off the scooter and vomited by the side of the road.
“Oh my word. Oh my Lord. Sweet Mother of Mary.”
The man seemed to have completely vanished.
“I must be hallucinating.”
He spent several minutes shouting “Hello!” and looking behind the scattered pines, half-expecting the man to pop out from behind a bush, but he could find no trace of him — except for his footprints, which remained in the sandy earth next to the road, where he had stood. Owen was able to trace them only a few metres before they became too indistinct to follow further.
He got back onto the scooter, shaking slightly, and continued towards the town, now rather more apprehensive over what he might find there.
He left the scooter parked next to several other scooters, on the edge of the town, and made his way towards the centre.
As he walked he saw people walking about, visiting cafes and galleries. He saw a man playing the guitar, sitting on a stair, although there was no sign that he was collecting money. A woman was painting a watercolour next to a railing overlooking the sea.
Almost no-one appeared to be much over the age of thirty-five, and the town’s inhabitants appeared remarkably good-looking and well-dressed.
“I’m never going to fit into this place,” he muttered to himself.
Feeling distinctly foolish, he stopped a young man dressed entirely in white, wearing sunglasses. The man reminded him vaguely of a friend of his who’d spent a lot of time in Spain, running a bar on the beach.
“Excuse me, I was told there are empty houses here, is it true?”
The man stopped and smiled.
“Why, yes, there’s lots,” he said. “Take a map from that stand over there. It’ll have all the information you need.”
He pointed at a little black metal stand.
“Thanks, much obliged.”
The man nodded and began to walk away.
“Say, I thought I saw a man stab himself over on the coastal path.”
“Oh that’s be Jim Leigh. He’s not right in the head. Pay no attention.”
“He … he disappeared.”
“Every time he stabs himself, he gets taken to the hospital. They’ll patch him up there. He’s probably already wandering about again, right as rain.”
“You don’t understand, he disappeared!”
The man walked off, humming to himself.
Owen went to the stand, shaking his head, and took a map. The map was a piece of stiff paper hardly bigger than his hand and it didn’t seem to have any empty houses marked on it; it only showed the layout of the town.
He rummaged through the other maps; they all appeared identical.
“Are you looking for something?” said a voice.
He turned to find a young woman looking at him curiously.
“I need a house but there aren’t any empty houses marked on his thing.”
“Map,” said the woman, “show him the empty houses.”
Symbols appeared on the map in front of his eyes.
He turned it around in his hands, looking at the front and the back of it.
“Amazing.”
The woman laughed and went on her way.
“Welcome to Frith!” she said, over her shoulder.
He went to the nearest house that was marked as empty. In fact, it turned out to be a narrow town house, three stories high; one of a short row of adjoining buildings, and pastel yellow in colour.
He looked at the map again.
Now, curiosity was getting the better of him. He decided to head for one of the houses on the far edge of the village.
Fifteen minutes later, he found it; a rather majestic house made of sandy-coloured stone, up a short staircase and overlooking the sea.
“Now, that’s my kind of a house.”
He walked up the staircase and found the front door had a handle but no keyhole, and it seemed to be locked.
He tried knocking and pushing at the door, to no avail.
After ten minutes, during which time he walked completely around the house several times and carefully inspected the map to ensure he’d got the right place, he gave up, and decided to find someone to ask about getting into the house.
Then a thought occurred to him. He held up the map in front of his eyes.
“Is this house really empty?” he said, in a loud clear voice.
The map made no reply. He reddened, embarrassed at his own idiocy.
Then he had another idea.
“Map, is this house really empty?” he said.
Words appeared silently on the map.
“Yes, the house is empty. Press your hand against the door to register your handprint.”
In a daze, Owen held his hand flat against the door. A faint glow appeared around it, then disappeared, and the door sprang open.
He stood there, gazing at the interior, which was well-lit and beautifully furnished in light shades of white, beige and ochre yellow.
Then he walked inside, calling out, “Hello?” in case the house was occupied after all.
“Not really my taste but I could get used to it,” he said to himself.
In the kitchen he found everything he might need to cook food, but no actual food. One machine puzzled him: it somewhat resembled a microwave oven except that it had no front, and the word “autochef” was written on it in flowing letters.
He could find no controls of any kind on the machine. He tried tapping and rapping on it, to no effect.
“Hey, make me a nice cold beer,” he said.
Then he tried, “Autochef, make me a nice cold beer.”
Fog swirled inside the machine and rapidly resolved itself into a mug of beer.
Owen laughed in delight. He took the beer, tasted it, and said, “Oh my, how I’ve missed beer.”
Owen spent several weeks exploring the town and making friends. The people who lived nearest to him were a young couple by the names of Laura and Milo. They showed him the local cafes, shops and bars, they showed him where to get a scooter of his own, and they took him to explore the hills, beaches and forests around the town.
One day when they were sitting on a grassy bank at the top of some cliffs, watching the sea, Milo said, “Say, couple of hundred miles over that way”—he pointed inland—“there’s an airfield where you can fly planes from the Earth. They’ve got everything. F-22s, Typhoons, MiG-21s. It’s really fun.”
“I don’t know how to fly,” said Owen.
“We’ll teach you. It’s pretty easy. You can learn by your mistakes. I’ve destroyed twenty on takeoff and at least thirty on landing, but you get the hang in the end. You have to put your protector in invincible mode, otherwise you get transported to the nearest medical centre ten miles away. Very inconvenient.”
“Protector?”
“Milo,” said Laura, “we haven’t told him about the protectors.”
“It’s OK, there’s a grace period,” said Milo, “You’d better learn about them soon, though.”
“What are they?”
Milo showed Owen his watch, tapping it.
“They’re medical devices, built into wristbands, necklaces, watches, whatever you want. Usually they just transport you to the nearest hospital if you mess yourself up seriously, but in invincible mode they —”
“They make you invincible.” said Laura. “I just keep mine in invincible mode all the time.”
“I like to live life on the edge,” said Milo, laughing.
“Anyway, we’ll get you one from the shop on Hill Street when we go back to the town,” said Laura.
“Actually, there’s a couple of things I’ve been meaning to ask you,” said Owen.
“We were wondering how long you’d take before you asked them,” said Milo. “Everyone has the same questions. Go ahead.”
Owen composed his thoughts and said, “Who built this place? Some fella by the name of Aaron or something?”
“Auron,” said Milo. “Emperor Auron.”
Laura laughed.
“Emperor Auron?” said Owen.
“He’s not really an emperor,” said Laura, “just people call him that.”
“He is an emperor,” said Milo. “What else do you call someone who rules over an entire planet? Not only that, he built it in the first place.”
“He doesn’t rule over us,” said Laura.
“Doesn’t he?”
“You know I hate politics,” said Laura, a slightly disapproving look forming on her face.
“Who is he?” said Owen.
Milo sighed, as though long since bored with the topic, but determined to give his new friend a fair answer.
“He discovered how to build a computer that was able to design an improved version of itself. That machine built an even better version, and so on. They say the first machine was made from nothing but some chemicals in a jar. No-one really knows.”
“How can you build a computer out of chemicals in a jar?”
Milo laughed, raising his eyebrows.
“Don’t ask me. I’m not technical. Anyway, he created this place and his machines constantly search the Earth for people he thinks might be suitable. He rescues them.”
“They nearly all speak English and they’re nearly all from Christian cultures.” said Laura.
“He’s afraid of conflict. Ethnic conflict, religious conflict. That’s what I think.”
“Considering what happened to the Earth, I don’t blame him,” said Laura.
“Like English-speaking culturally Christian people aren’t perfectly capable of messing each other up.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts, then.”
“I shall,” said Milo. “And none of them have any strong attachments to people who are still alive. He doesn’t want people hassling him about bringing their friends and relatives here. That was your other question, right? Can he bring your second cousin twice removed’s hairdresser’s brother here? Forget it. He can’t.”
“Won’t,”said Laura.
“Have you met him?” said Owen. “I’d like to meet him.”
Milo shook his head.
“No-one meets him. No-one even knows where he lives. Maybe he’s here, maybe he isn’t.”
“Viktor knows,” said Laura.
“He knows nothing.”
“Who’s Viktor?” Owen asked.
“Viktor knew Auron back on the Earth, before he created Frith. He lives north of here somewhere.”
“I’d like to talk to him,” said Owen.
“What for? If you’re thinking of your aunt’s dog walkers’ cousin’s accountant, forget it. You’ll never meet the Emperor and if you do, he won’t want to hear about your long-lost acquaintances. He selected you precisely because you’ve got so few of them.”
“I’m not thinking of that. I just want to meet him.”
“Then you need to find Viktor. And I doubt he knows anything useful.”
Milo took a device the size of a small phone from his pocket and said, “Ipso, a round of cocktails. Something orange and slightly sweet, I think. But with an edge of lime to it.”
Glasses containing cocktails appeared at their sides.
“Where do I find Viktor?” Owen asked.
“I don’t know exactly where. Just ask around.”
Milo took a glass and raised it in the air.
“Cin-cin.” he said.
The next day Owen began to make enquiries about Viktor, expecting the process to be a long job, but the first person he asked knew exactly where Viktor lived: in a house high on the hills behind the town.
Since the entire planet seemed to be lacking in phones, he pulled up outside the place the next morning, and knocked on the door.
A young woman answered.
“Sorry to bother you,” said Owen, “I’m looking for a man named Viktor.”
“He’s in the garden. Go round the back.”
Gardening seemed to be a popular pastime on Frith.
Owen found Viktor pulling up carrots.
“Viktor, I presume?”
Viktor stood up, dusting himself off.
“Who wants to know?”
“I’m Owen. I got here a few weeks ago. I’m looking for Auron. People say you knew him, on the Earth.”
Viktor’s thickly-bearded face registered surprise.
“I knew him. He doesn’t talk to anyone now. Not even me.”
“I think he might talk to me.”
“And why’s that?”
“It’s just a feeling I’ve got. Do you know where I can find him?”
“I know, but why should I tell you? He doesn’t want to be disturbed.”
Viktor returned to dealing with a box of carrots he’d harvested.
“Is there any chance we could have a bit of a chat, like?” said Owen. “You know, sit down and talk properly? There are a few things I’d like to ask you, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Viktor turned and looked at him, frowning. Then he sighed.
“All right, give me five minutes. Come into the house.”
Five minutes later, Viktor had changed his clothes and Owen was busy grilling Viktor and his wife on the general topic of Auron.
“In the 90’s?” said Owen, thinking he’s misunderstood something. “The 1990’s?”
Viktor and Rosa laughed.
“How long did you say you’d been here?” said Viktor. “You must know by now, we control our age here.”
“Oh, of course,” said Owen. “I don’t mind telling you, there’s been a lot to take in the past few weeks. How old were you when you came here?”
“Actually,” said Rosa, “Auron de-aged us before we came here.”
“With his machines,” said Owen.
“With his machines,” Viktor confirmed.
“So you’re basically immortal? Doesn’t that detract from the meaning of life? I mean, no-one’s going to be seizing the day if there’s an infinite number of days.”
“No-one can assume he is immortal. Especially not since the war on Earth. Anything anyone has can be taken away anytime.”
“You’re such an optimist, Viktor,” said Rosa, teasingly.
“It’s true,” said Viktor.
“And Jim Leigh?” Owen asked.
Viktor and Rosa exchanged glances.
“Auron’s machines select people carefully,” said Rosa, “but sometimes they make mistakes.”
“No-one’s told you what happened to Jim?” Viktor asked.
“No. What happened to Jim?”
There was a silence, punctuated only by the faint singing of the birds outside.
“Tell him, Viktor,” said Rosa, finally. “He deserves to know. Everyone deserves to know.”
Viktor tapped his fingers nervously on the side of the sofa where he sat.
Then he began.
“When Auron created this place, there were people here. Except, they’re not quite people. They’re something else. They live on an island, far from here. We call it Orion. When Auron built the planet into what it is today, he left Orion untouched, because of these … creatures.
“When Jim was brought here, he went exploring, and he found this island. The people or … things on this island, they have enormous front teeth. Tubular teeth. They used them to feed on giant crabs, which were present on the island also. But you see, Auron killed all the crabs. These creatures, they began to starve. They tried to eat other things, but it was difficult for them. Their … digestive systems were adjusted to the crabs.
“The creatures, they took Jim, and they fed on his blood. For weeks. The automated systems, they kept him alive.
“Eventually people realised he was missing, and Auron was able to locate him.”
“The medical machines didn’t work so well in those days.” said Rosa, “They were temperamental.”
“When they found Jim, he was in a bad state,” Viktor continued. “Auron used matter transportation to get him out of there. It was the first time it was used on a living human being.”
“But they fixed him?” Owen asked. “I mean, Auron fixed him, with his machines?”
“They fixed his body,” said Rosa, “but his mind … Auron couldn’t do anything about his mind.”
“Probably he wants to die, but he can’t die. Auron made sure of that. The machines keep him alive, no matter what he does.”
“And these creatures, what happened to them?”
“Nothing happened to them,” said Viktor. “You can’t blame a tiger if it eats a man. They are what they are.”
“Auron restocked the island with giant crabs,” said Rosa. “He recreated them, as closely as possible.”
Rosa and Viktor fell silent, uncomfortably staring into the middle distance.
“Heavens above,” said Owen. “What a story.”
“It’s not Jim I worry about,” said Viktor. “It’s Auron. Since then, he won’t talk to anyone.”
“All the more reason to tell me where he lives,” said Owen.
Viktor made a noise suggestive of scepticism.
It took a while, but eventually Viktor did agree to tell Owen where Auron lived.
Auron’s house, Viktor reluctantly explained, was a thousand miles away, in a region known as Polaris. He warned Owen that he would find Auron uncommunicative, and possibly angry at his solitude being disturbed.
The very next day, Owen set out to find it. The scooter, surprisingly, turned out to be capable of travelling at more than three hundred miles per hour, somehow diverting air around itself.
When he was nearing the location where Auron was said to be living, he came upon a vast pyramid of gleaming white marble, rising out of a grassy plain. He stopped there and circled around it, and even walked up to it and placed his hands on it, but there was no indication as to its purpose or nature.
The pyramid was hundreds of metres high and he wondered if it had been fashioned out of a natural rock formation.
Unable to arrive at any conclusions about it, he continued on his way, and soon he saw it—a house nestled almost invisibly on the side of a mountain, wide windows giving its occupants a panoramic view of the landscape.
Since the scooter wasn’t, as far as Owen was aware, able to truly fly, but always hovered above the ground, he made his way laboriously up the mountain towards the house, following trails and sometimes darting through the trees, trusting the scooter’s automated system to guide him safely around all obstacles.
It wasn’t easy to locate the dwelling from the forested slopes, and the process took him nearly two hours, but eventually he managed it.
He came upon a window before he could find any door, and he peered through it.
Inside, a man was lying on a mat on the floor, eyes closed, not moving.
It had to be him: Auron Blake, the creator of Frith; the man people called The Emperor.
“He’d better not have died,” Owen said to himself.
He made his way around the building and located a door. There was a button next to the door; he pushed it and a bell rang out.
He had to ring three times before the door opened and the man stood there. He was perhaps thirty years of age, and had a rather intense expression on his face.
“Auron Blake?” Owen asked.
“What do you want?”
“My name’s Owen. I want to talk to you about your machines.”
“Sorry, I’m not interested.”
Auron closed the door in his face.
“It might be worth your while to talk to me,” said Owen, but there was no response.
He tried ringing the bell again, to no avail.
Then he went back round to the window, but now there was no sign of Auron.
He gave up, wearily shaking his head. Clearly Viktor had been right; Auron didn’t want to talk to anyone.
Dispirited, he made his way back to his scooter, and began the long journey back to Oberon.
No doubt Auron would have remained uncontactable, were it not for certain subsequent events. Perhaps it was inevitable that, eventually, Auron would be compelled to end his hermitage. He was, after all, the ruler of Frith, whether he wanted to be or not. It was a position that derived not from political wrangling, nor from the personal gratitude that nearly everyone felt towards him for saving them from the radiation-scarred Earth, nor even from the fact that it was he who had constructed Frith in the first place, raising buildings and towns and gardens from a barren alien planet.
No, the simple fact was that Auron, and only Auron, controlled the machines upon which the inhabitants of Frith depended, and while Frith was full of machines that operated autonomously, certain key functions were centralised under Auron’s control—in particular the emergency medical facilities. The systems that gently ensured the half-human long-toothed creatures—whom some mockingly called vampires—remained on their island, also depended on centralised control. It was this control over Frith’s vital systems that gave Auron enormous power, albeit unacknowledged by himself.
A week later, Owen sat with Milo in a bar in Oberon, discussing his trip to see Auron. The bar was only semi-autonomous, being maintained and run by a family who were keen to see old traditions from the Earth kept alive. It was known by the whimsical name of The Sloth, a name which brought a knowing smile to its patrons’ lips, but later became unfortunately associated with the horror that transpired.
Perhaps Jim chose that moment and that location to strike precisely because he had seen Owen entering the bar and somehow knew of his trip to find Auron, although there’s no clear evidence of that, and coincidence may have been involved.
Inside the bar, people chatted calmly, and laughter was often heard. The wide veranda was empty, due to a smattering of rain which a light breeze blew onto the tables there. Inside, glasses clinked and the air smelt delightfully of wine and herbs, the latter hanging in bunches here and there from the rafters.
The building was one of the first to be constructed on Frith by human hands, albeit with mechanical assistance, and its owners were deeply proud of it.
“I knew he wouldn’t see you,” said Milo. “I don’t understand why you even want to see him. To all accounts, he’s an odd character, but he doesn’t bother us.”
“I haven’t told you what I did before the war,” said Owen.
“And what’s that?”
At that moment, Jim Leigh burst in through the glass doors at the front, ranting and shouting, crying and laughing manically.
“What is life if there’s no end to it?” he shouted. “A drop in an infinite ocean is no drop at all! How can you savour the sweetness of a bucket of sugar?”
On and on he ranted, and people began to discuss the best way to get rid of him. A group of three friends got up and left, and were spared the sight of what was about to unfold.
After shouting and carrying on for a while, Jim spotted Owen, apparently for the first time.
“I know you!” he shouted. “You’re a new lamb to the slaughter.”
“Why don’t you calm down?” said Milo indignantly.
Then Jim pulled out a knife.
Owen scrambled backwards.
“I’m not afraid of you,” said Milo. “Why don’t we go outside and you can explain to me exactly what your problem is, instead of disturbing all these people?”
Jim’s eyes widened and even Milo felt a twinge of fear. Jim couldn’t kill him, but that knowledge couldn’t quell his human instincts.
“I’ll do better,” said Jim, suddenly quiet. “I’ll show you what my problem is. Welcome to my world!”
And with that, he plunged the knife into Milo and drew it upwards.
Milo vanished, taken by the emergency medical system.
A cry rose up from the assembled customers, and some ran to restrain Jim, but Jim promptly thrust the knife into his own neck, and he too, vanished.
Milo awoke on a bed in the medical facility outside the town. Everything was perfectly white and calm.
“You have suffered a serious life-threatening injury,” said an automated female voice. “Your injury has been successfully repaired. You may open the door and leave when ready.”
The door to the room in which Milo lay opened directly to a balcony outside, which led to a landing pad containing an array of scooters and flying cars, and a flight of steps that led down to the beach in case patients felt like walking home.
Milo sat up, and was about to get on his feet when Jim burst in through the door, still holding his knife, and began stabbing him again.
Before he lost consciousness, Milo somehow managed to get hold of the knife and turn it round to point at Jim, and he thrust it into Jim’s chest.
This sequence repeated itself no less than four times, before Milo was finally able to conclusively get the better of Jim, without being injured himself, managing to push him over the balcony. For some seconds Jim lay on the beach below, giggling, before he disappeared once again.
Milo didn’t wait. He ran to the landing pad, got on a scooter, and headed for Oberon, still occasionally feeling the spots on his body where Jim’s knife had sunk into him. The machines had completely healed him, but the memory of the wounds remained vivid.
Probably there had been points during the horrible proceedings when Jim had stabbed Milo into unconsciousness and carried on stabbing him, until the machines had managed to outpace the rate of stabbing and Milo awoke. Some argue that the machines would have somehow prevented further damage to Milo once he had already sustained serious wounds, but that’s still unclear.
Probably Milo had come very close to actually dying.
The residents of Oberon were, of course, outraged by Jim’s actions, and called a meeting in the town square—only the second in Oberon’s entire short history.
“Something has to be done,” shouted a man by the name of Peter. “We cannot have this crazed nutcase terrorising us.”
Other speeches were made, until finally, Viktor strode to the front.
“Auron has to fix this problem,” he said. “His systems made Jim’s actions possible. The systems have to be corrected.”
“Jim must face justice!” shouted a voice, and the crowd murmured assent.
“He’s insane,” said Viktor.
“Then he must be treated,” shouted another voice.
“He’s not insane,” said Milo. “It’s an act.”
“Justice!” came the cry from several voices, and one man went so far as to as to shout, “Hang him! He’s a murderer!” to which there were murmurs of both approval and disapproval.
After all, no-one had actually been murdered, but the traumatic experience Milo had faced made a deep impression on everyone he recounted it to.
Perhaps the crowd’s emotions were even heightened by the fact that they had believed themselves to be completely safe on Frith, all of them having endured unspeakable traumas on the Earth, and now Jim’s actions had called their safety into question.
Viktor spoke again.
“I propose to take a delegation to Auron. If there are several of us, he’ll see that we’re serious. He’ll have to listen to us.
“Hang him!” shouted a man in the crowd again. “Hang the murderer!”
“Give me three days,” said Viktor. “That’s all I ask. Three days and you can put your concerns to the Emperor himself.”
Viktor later wondered why he had chosen the word “emperor”. He could only answer that, in the moment, it seemed appropriate; it seemed as though it would carry weight, and indeed, no-one questioned it at the time, except Rosa, and certainly no-one laughed.
The following day, Viktor, Rosa, Milo, and Owen arrived at Auron’s house. They had asked Sandra too, but she had informed them that she wanted nothing to do with it and chose to respect Auron’s privacy.
When Auron saw them, he reluctantly let them in, and they sat together in his living room.
“I don’t understand what you want from me,” he said, after they had explained the matter to him.
“We want you to do something,” said Milo. “That sick weirdo stabbed me five times and it would have been more if I hadn’t got the better of him. He could have literally killed me.”
“What happens if someone is attacked when they’re being treated in the medical centre?” Rosa asked. “How do the machines respond?”
“It’s not something I’ve actually thought through,” Auron replied.
“That can wait for another day,” said Viktor. “The question now is, what are you going to do about Jim?”
“What am I supposed to do?” said Auron. “I’m rather busy as it happens.”
“You’re the Emperor,” said Milo. “It’s your decision.”
“I’m not the Emperor. I’m too busy to be an emperor and I don’t want to be one either.”
“Your systems created this problem,” said Rosa quietly. “I’m sorry Auron, but you will have to do something.”
“Either correct his brain or exile him to the Earth,” said Milo.
“Jor,” said Auron, “what will happen to Jim if I exile him to the Earth?”
Jor was sitting on a table next to the easy chair where Auron himself sat.
“Considering conditions on the Earth at the moment, there’s a seventy percent chance he’ll die within a year,” Jor replied.
“You see,” said Auron, “sending him back is the same as killing him.”
“Then kill him,” said Milo. “It’s what he deserves.”
After extensive discussions, Auron agreed to return with them to Oberon, where, it was decided that a vote would be taken on Jim’s punishment, or fate.
And so, the following day, Auron stood on a stone platform he’d raised in the square, and half the inhabitants of Oberon—all those who cared—stood arrayed before him.
They had captured Jim, and he now sat with his hands tied to railings, from where he ranted and raved.
“I’ve analysed Jim’s brain,” said Auron, his voice suitably amplified by electronic means, but without any visible sign of a microphone, giving his speech a rather eerie quality. “And I can find no sign of insanity.”
“I’m not insane!” Jim shouted. “If you had just listened to me, any of you, I wouldn’t have had to do what I did. I demand the right to die.”
“Kill him!” shouted a voice, and Auron wondered how his machines had even decided to bring such a person to Frith. He made a mental note to look into the matter later.
“That’s right, kill me!” shouted Jim. “I never agreed to be an immortal god!”
Auron pressed his hand against his forehead, closing his eyes. Then he made an effort to pull himself together.
“I can exile him to the Earth, or I can kill him,” he said, unhappily. “All those in favour of exiling him to the Earth, speak now.”
There were a few murmurs of agreement, including Rosa, but only a few.
“All those in favour of killing him?” said Auron, and the crowd was overtaken by fervent shouts of assent.
Only Viktor and Owen remained silent, neither calling for Jim’s death, nor his exile.
Among the shouts was the voice of Jim himself, demanding he be allowed to die.
“I nearly died before I came here and I have the right to finish the process!” he shouted.
“Jor,” said Auron to the device he carried in his pocket, “kill Jim Leigh. Instantly and painlessly. Spread his molecules to the wind.”
“Are you sure, mate?” said Jor.
“Don’t question me, dammit!” shouted Auron, suddenly irritated and embarrassed.
Jim seemed to blur, then he dissolved into a vast cloud of smoke that floated off on the breeze.
The crowd in the square cheered. One man shouted, “Hail Emperor Auron!”, and suddenly others joined him, their voices shouting “Hail Auron!” in unison.
Auron stepped slowly down from the platform, saddened and weary.
The arms of the crowd lifted him up on their shoulders, cheering his name, and in spite of himself, in spite of the knowledge of what he had just done, he found himself smiling.
Perhaps these people were not like him; they were more passionate, less rational, he thought. But they loved him, and that meant something.
