Gabriel Towers [full version]16:04 Dec 03 2009
Times Read: 1,014
Re-posted. for a nice young Lady.
**
Gabriel Towers
Few people visited the maintenance floors and so, as it was hardly required, the only lighting was provided by occasional lamps every ten metres.
Gabriel enjoyed the silence.
Walking briskly, his gaze scanning back and forth, he listened intently for any indication that there was anyone else around, who might try to prevent him going up top, or worse, perhaps decry him as a leveller.
The corridor was quiet though, except for the sounds of his footsteps.
Approaching the rarely used express lift he ran his long fingers over it's tarnished surface.
'Up here,' he considered, 'the decay seems to be growing.'
'But, few people would notice,' Gabriel reminded himself.
He had to run his hand across the palm-scan twice before it recognised him, as a block-dweller, only then would it work.
The doors opened, momentarily hesitant, as if cognisant itself, that this was a place not too visit: after all that had been the instruction.
That was what he had learnt.
Block-dwellers had a good life, so what need was there to explore?
Gabriel looked toward the sky, musing at what he saw: the day looked almost as fine as any he’d seen in his father's book collection, found in that city all those years ago.
He marvelled at the clarity of the sky this morning, staring up at the towers, on the top of the green, rocky islands floating above.
The sun had reached the highpoint of the sky and a few droplets of moisture appeared on Gabriel's forehead.
He felt uncomfortable, far warmer than usual.
He had grown too accustomed to the hermetically sealed comfort of the controlled environment within the tower.
Yet this day had made him sweat and Gabriel was not used to that.
*
Gabriel pressed the button marked with a red triangle, pointing down, and then looked to the retina-ident, focussing on the white dot at its centre for the required ten clicks.
"I-dee complete. Croft, Gabriel. Age thirty-five, apartment thirteen, level twenty-two, nine-nine."
Feminine, yet mechanical, Gabriel didn't like the lift voice.
It was the voice he had grown with - the voice of the lower levels, which he disliked so much. He found it crowded, always crowded, with myriad individuals, each vying for their own bit of space.
But, the allocation was certain, the criteria simple: a dweller died, with no relative, then the draw began. The winner would have the apartment and all the associate privileges that came from living on the upper levels.
It had been just two years ago when Gabriel had drawn his winning numbers and still he ... remembers how he had felt.
It had been as if he'd been told that the riches of the past, which he had learnt of as a boy, had become his overnight.
He would no longer live in squalor with the many, but instead enjoy the clean spacious surroundings of life on the upper levels.
There were not many who could read, after all there was no need.
So, there were few who knew of green fields, animals called cows; or even knew that once, those same animals had been herded on verdant pasture, beneath a yellow sun.
But, before the noxious black clouds had moved toward them, many people like his father, had moved away from The Tower, away from the protection offered by block living, which they found inhospitable and dehumansing.
Dayton Croft had found a city beneath their feet, and their way of life, from the time before; a city that was crumbling slowly into dust.
Amongst empty streets he'd walked, his feet treading earth that had not been touched for over a thousand years, aware that he knew more of the past and what had formed who they were than any man alive. That had been his heritage to Gabriel, an awareness of that which came before: and, incredible curiosity.
*
As Gabriel keyed in his personal ident the lights and heating switched on.
The door opened and a light musical voice greeted him:
“Good evening Gabriel, how are you?”
Two years ago he hadn't had a problem naming her, Bevlee.
He'd named the synth after the woman he'd grown to call mother.
“Fine Bevlee,” he'd responded, “I'm fine.”
Gabriel lied, of course; he was tired, very tired.
His explorations to the roof had exhausted him.
Oh, not physically, as it hadn't been an arduous trip.
But, the whole adventure had caused him to him to feel charged, briefly, as if energised with a pure shot of adrenalin.
Now, he had wound down from that rush and was back to the everyday.
He breathed slowly, remembering the time before...
The beginning:
Debris thrown up by The Apocalypse had covered the world, enshrouding it and darkening the skies.
The light that did penetrate this veil warmed the Earth slowly.
Eventually the Earth lay beneath a crimson sky, scattered with clouds rich in the poisonous residue from mans pollution of the Earth.
The tower blocks of mans new world were hermetically sealed against the harsh environment and they became his refuge.
Gradually each block became self-sufficient and isolated from others within the cities as trace minerals in the atmosphere dampened all radio signals.
The feudal system that had developed among the survivors continued to exist in block life, with those of power or prestige living in the upper levels.
On the lower floors though life was hard, with many people living in shanty dwellings, were the law of man had simply one rule, survival.
The few rooms that were available became schools for the young; or often, homes for the burgeoning gang lords; whilst the black guard maintained the status quo.
Then, the rains fell, acid rain that had driven the last people living outside into the world of block living.
As buildings crumbled beneath the onslaught, shields went up on all doors and windows and the outside world was forgotten, as the need for survival became paramount.
Remembering all that he had been taught and he had learnt since, he wrote...
He had gone to the trouble of finding an old wordpro that suited his needs.
There was much to say and he knew this: all that Gabriel had seen and learnt since the discovery of the door, at the end of a passageway, unseen by anyone, or service droid, for many years - hence the thick dust he'd encountered.
He poured all that he knew into his fingertips and they told of the city beneath their feet, which was as grand in its design as theirs had been in its heyday.
Gabriel sat for hours before the wordpro screen with his fingers dancing over the keys. He had a message to impart, in the hope that the apathetic might take notice, although he doubted that they would.
Since his discovery of the door to the outside Gabriel had talked to a lot of the tower’s dwellers. But, no-one wanted to know his news; they didn't want to know about the green hills, blue skies above, or even of the islands floating in the sky, on which sat city towers, much like this.
'They seem,' Gabriel thought, 'quite happy in their ignorance.'
One man had called him a fool.
Another man had asked him if he was happy living where he did - whilst a woman had screamed abuse at Gabriel for threatening her luxurious world with a glimpse of his.
Yet, he had to accept that what was known as real and what was imagined as so, was not always the same thing.
*
Gabriel watched his fingers dancing over the keys as he wrote.
He noticed that he couldn't feel his fingers.
There was a definite problem, he knew it, because, as he wrote, the hand began to shimmer as the words image smeared across the white paper; yet the pen that had moved did so with an utter solidity, that he found quite irksome, to say the least.
Then, his eyes widened, as both his hands began to fade away before him.
This was more than his mind could assimilate.
"It isn't possible," Gabriel screamed as he lost consciousness, only to awaken still screaming, in total darkness, curled up on the floor.
"He is awake."
"We know."
"We can hear."
Hearing voices Gabriel stopped shouting abruptly.
He listened to the darkness, trying to ascertain whether he was alone with the voices, or where they alone, inside his head.
Gabriel was confused.
First he had been in his room, working on the piece; and then he was here.
It didn't make sense.
"Was this needed?"
"You know it was, he knows too much!"
"He will upset the balance, the status quo and then, where will we be?"
They were talking about him, he knew it.
"We cannot kill him."
"But, he knows."
"He is not aware of what he knows."
Curled up into a foetal ball Gabriel listened to the voices with his curiosity piqued somewhat.
"Then do we tell him?"
"Why should we?"
"Why not?"
A dim light issued forth from high above.
Gabriel blinked several times, to adjust his eyes to this half-light.
When he heard the voices again Gabriel stared into the gloom, to ascertain just who his captors were.
"He saw the green..."
"... of the hill?"
"Do we know his name?"
High above, on a balcony looking down on him, stood three figures; all wearing cloaks and hooded cowls that obscured their faces.
In the centre of the three stood the tallest, who apparel was red, whilst those who stood at his sides were in grey.
“Dayton Croft.”
“I know of the name.”
“His father...”
‘His father?’ Gabriel was suddenly interested and wanted to know more.
“He too wanted to understand...”
“He discovered the old city.”
“He learnt of the old ways...”
The voices droned on, but he listened, learning what he could.
“Have you noticed?”
“He is awake, you mean?”
“So, I wonder what did he hear?”
Gabriel smiled to himself briefly: so, he knew something, he'd learnt that.
But, he wasn't aware of what it was he knew - and, they knew of his father.
“I heard you talk of my father,” he told the three, high above.
“Ah, he has voice.”
“Yes, we knew of him.”
“Your father, Dayton.”
“Tell me about him?” Gabriel called.
“Should we?”
“Does it matter?”
“No, it doesn't.”
They knew his father's name: and, they seemed to know him.
“We knew him.'
“We knew much.”
“He knew of the time before.”
Gabriel listened - to all they said, carefully: this was illuminating.
“Your father...”
“Dayton Croft...”
“...was a good father to you.”
Puzzled, Gabriel asked, “What do you mean?”
“He saved you.”
“The boy...”
"...who became a man."
Bemused, Gabriel asked, "Saved me from what?"
"From the rain..."
"That cleansed..."
"...and purified the Earth."
He remembered the rain that had fallen; stripping the flesh from his father's bones, as Bevlee held him; and, the towers doors closed, for the last time.
Gabriel listened in silence:
"While the rain fell, we built this place."
"To live in peace, away from warring people..."
"...while the Earth's healing took place."
There is silence, awhile.
Then, they began to converse anew.
"Once we had completed our first task..."
"We began to work on the land..."
"... to terraform what man had destroyed."
Thoroughly confused, Gabriel heard words he could not understand.
But, he tried to comprehend; wanted to know.
So, Gabriel stayed silent and continued to listen.
"We brought the green back...” Announced the figure in the middle, in a deep resonant tone.
"And those block dwellers down below do not know what we have done... Safe in a hermetically sealed prison, of their own making..." said the figure on the left, in a far gentler tone of voice.
"Yet, you do," the figure in the middle finished.
Then, their voices as one, the spoke again and Gabriel listened, scared.
"We were the first... We will be the last... And then, the circle will be complete."
'Sensory overload,' Gabriel thought, as all he had heard, combined with the blackness, began to overload his brain and he faded into unconsciousness.
Blackness swept through his vision and their voices, still speaking in that cyclic manner, albeit blurred and indistinct.
"we were... the first... and will be the last."
'They were three, but they're now speaking as one.'
These were his last lucid thoughts before, there was, no more.
*
He awoke to a screaming pain in his skull, which seemed to cut it in two.
Gabriel brought himself to his knees, hands to his ears, eye's bulging with pain: "Okay, I'm awake."
Once more the dim light illuminated what Gabriel imagined was a room of immense proportions.
"We have Gabriel Croft... and we want... to talk to you..."
Hearing his name spoken for the first time he calmed a little.
"About what?"
"Mankind why does he... think he can take it away... again?"
The last word spoken was said by the figure in the centre of the three.
It was said in a very deep sonorous tone.
Quickly Gabriel wondered whether he had been asked to justify man's existence on this world they were re-building.
Then... the one voice asked, "Do they deserve to know of the green?"
What Gabriel heard shocked him.
He knew who the 'they' was that had been referred to.
The tower dwellers, the people he had grown with.
‘All he had grown with.' He considered.
'All that was ugly.' He thought smiling, as he thought, 'Man had a choice.'
It sounded a simple question, didn't it?
Then, as he opened his mouth to say 'yes of course,' no words came out...
After all, how could he, in all conscience, espouse the values of a community who dwellers had developed the feudal system he had grown to understand - where the strongest, richest, or more high-up you were, the better.
Deliberating quickly, Gabriel panicked: what would be the right answer?
‘I know that we’ve been here before,’ he mused, ‘my Father showed me that.’
He sensed that much depended on his decision and for him, time began to slow very slowly.
“Man has taken from the Earth,” Gabriel called out; “I acknowledge that...”
The silence of the space where he stood echoed, as he said firmly: “But, like you, man has always sought to begin again...”
In the pause that followed, Gabriel became aware of thought entering his mind–the voice of many.
“That is not the answer we wanted.” He heard alone, from the central figure of the three, high above.
“What more can I say?” Gabriel responded flatly, his hands held limply at his sides. He lowered his head, mumbling- “It’s hard to justify us, I know.”
Suddenly, as before, the before, the voice spoke as the three, yet as one:
“It is good... that there is this one... who has a conscience.”
Puzzled, Gabriel asked, “What do you mean?”
“You are not stupid... not at all...you appreciate what we asked.”
Once more his mind was clear; and the three were as one, as the central figure in red robes told him, “Nor are we. We are aware of the implications of what we have asked you.”
Gabriel considered what he’d just been told.
“With that in mind we will ask the question differently.”
Now Gabriel felt totally out of his depth, sensing that he might have been right in his what he’d considered earlier?
“We want to know, if you would like, to find someone you like and respect, and then, introduce them to the green?”
‘No,’ Gabriel thought, ‘I hadn’t expected that.’
* * *
Part 2
Gabriel Towers – ‘Another Level.’
Gabriel had found an old wordpro and written of all he had learnt, since the discovery of the door, at the end of the passageway; air that they could breathe; and the islands in the sky. But, his writings had not pleased the many – and now, there was a multitude speaking within the three.
Though they wished it were their voices predominant, the others held sway.
There had been discord at the knowledge of Gabriel’s writing.
‘Does he want everyone to know of they’re presence?’ They asked of the three, each of whom held their skulls in torment at he voice, shouting for anonymity.
They had maintained order in the blocks, with the feudal system.
With its use and the manipulation of the social hierarchy that built within each, they soon found use for the three – as agents of social control, to ensure the status quo.
So it was that they ensured no-one sought to enquire why the doors to the outside had not been opened, since the rains fell.
By ensuring no outside contact, no block-dweller, other than of their choice, had knowledge of other Towers like this one.
Besides which, curiosity wasn’t encouraged amongst the block-dwellers, in any of the Towers. Instead, curiosity was discouraged.
And Gabriel had let it be known that this was a character trait that he possessed; and further, he had imparted all that he had knew, to as many as he could, instead of just one he could trust.
As the three had fallen to their knees, hands to their ears; the multitude had listened to a plea of clemency for the fool, who had learnt there was so much to know,
Thought had come from deep inside the many: an enquiring voice that had sought to be heard since the beginning of the conflict with their emissaries all three of whom now lay writhing in pain, as they suffered, in slow recovery, from their mental assault.
Theirs had been an intervention that they had paid for dearly.
The voice was one of the few old-ones left, whose inception this world was.
It was a quiet voice, but very persuasive.
‘There are ways and means,’ it told the younger.
‘He may just know what he is doing; I suggest one full solar day, to learn what we may. If the result is not favourable – we terraform once more and start anew.’
Meanwhile, Gabriel ran his fingers through his long dark hair, that was longer and showing flecks of grey, since the encounter he’d had, with who, or whatever it had been, whether it be God? God’s? or, possibly even the fabled Technomage of legend?
Time had passed since he had left dozens of his hardcopy manuscript on peoples doorsteps and all he had learnt since then was that the public were apathetic, being concerned solely with their own comfort, their own little mundane lives.
Gabriel was dumbfounded – no-one wanted to know.
He had a positive message to impart and all those he had chosen to tell just did not want to hear it.
Gabriel sat down, sighed, then asked himself loudly, “Why bother?”
So it was, that as the many considered a decision, on advisement from the elder within – Gabriel pulled on his long coat. He wanted to see the green hills once more.
So, Gabriel left his apartment, unaware of the shadow of a man, shortening, as he neared him. Then he heard, “You!”
Gabriel turned, fast.
“You’re the writer, the story-teller.”
The man was big and equipped.
But, Gabriel wanted to get to the roof; he wanted to see the green hills.
He looked at the guard, wondering who would move next - and flexed his fingers, over a gun that wasn’t in his right hand pocket.
Behind mirrored lenses, the guard saw the movement, stating: “Don’t move again leveller. I’m armed and was told, look after you!”
Curiously, Gabriel cocked his head, considering what he’d heard, before saying, “So, who tells you what to do?”
Now the guard was truly perplexed, seldom did those he was assigned to look after argue when confronted.
“Look after me?” Gabriel considered, aloud, staring at his own distorted reflection in the guard’s glasses: “Just, what do you do, to look after me?”
‘This was definitely not what was expected,’ the heavy-set guard thought, his fingers making ready to fold over the grip of his blaster – ‘pre-times,’ he’d been assured: it fired bullets he liked that.
It was his weapon of choice, unlike the majority of the security staff, who carried stun pistols.
The guard looked at the impudent young man, long dark hair flowing to the shoulders of a long, flowing black coat.
He stared into Gabriel’s eyes – a vivid green he noticed, staring; unblinking and acting like he no other he had encountered.
‘No fear,’ the guard mused, “I see no fear in the dweller, that is interesting.”
He knew of the young man, who he had been told to shadow; knew that he had been labelled ‘a leveller,’ a dissident, because of his views; and that he’d lived on the lower levels much of his life; that generally he kept himself to himself.
The guard didn’t know of Bevlee though – how she had taught him to be wary of the blackguard, as he had grown to manhood in her care.
She taught him well, as had her brother, who later disappeared; but not before he’d taught the teen the ways of the fist.
Gabriel knew how to fight, he just didn’t like to.
Yet, this man stood in his way.
“Are you coming to the roof?” He asked abruptly, surprising the guard further still.
“No, I’m not.” he replied, “and neither are you.”
‘Yes, I am…’ he mused, eyeing the guard, still watching for movement.
Inside the coat his body tensed, his stance firm, his chi centred.
Gabriel remembered his lessons well – he knew the man would fall – aware of what would happen, as he began to turn on his right foot, right arm drawn back, to gain thrust, readying his fist.
The guard drew his pistol, levelling straight at Gabriel, who suddenly wasn’t where expected, as he turned his body sideward to him. A shot fired, over Gabriel’s left shoulder, as he powered his arm and fist forward, making contact with the guards jaw.
A second rapid blow from his left fist hit the same target within the blink of an eye – and this opponent fell to his knees, as expected.
The gun slithered from the big man, as he put his hands out to protect his face – albeit far too late, as he was unconscious before his unprotected face hit the floor.
A little of his anger toward the apathetic assuaged through this act of violence, Gabriel stepped lightly over the body and continued walking towards the lift: he was the writer and he was on the way to see what he’d written of – it was as simple as that.
Yet, his life would not be that simple he found, running his hand over the palm scan and discovering that the lift no longer recognized him as a block-dweller.
He looked at the doors, closed tightly and sighing, muttered to himself: “This is tiring.”
He had an objective and not even a recalcitrant lift would stop him from reaching it.
Gabriel knew there was a stairwell, behind a door to the left, but it was locked, it was always locked: ‘after all,’ he mused, ‘who walks when you can use a lift?’
Yet, he found that was he had thought would be, wasn’t on this occasion. The door was open - The Fates seemed to be on his side.
To his left was a handrail.
Above the lights were dim – which didn’t surprise Gabriel one iota, as he had encountered a similar thing already on the maintenance floors up above.
This time he was prepared though and from the coats inside left pocket he extricated a small flashlight, which illuminated the poorly lit stairwell; and Gabriel began to run up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time.
Soon his thighs began to ache; yet he continued running – gasping for breath.
Gabriel knew he could not stop, had to carry on – ‘After all,’ he reminded himself, ‘back there is a black-guard I knocked down.’
Running hard, he smiled, recalling the man’s face when he had realised he’d an opponent who would fight back: the man just hadn’t expected that.
Now he had the man’s pistol in his right hand coat pocket – and it felt heavy.
‘But,’ he considered, ‘I’d rather it be in my pocket than his.’
His footfalls sounded to his ears, as did his heartbeat – loud and fast; as Gabriel ran hard aware that already he was considered a non-citizen on the upper-levels. He was seen as a threat, hence the blackguard, he assumed. Yet, after a couple of years of comfortable living Gabriel had become unused to such rigorous activity and so became quickly breathless. But, he continued running, although his chest ached and his lungs felt as though they might burst.
At the head of each flight of steps there was a stairwell and a door leading out onto and the apartments on that level.
At each stairwell Gabriel paused, holding the rail, panting hard, desperate for air, then he ran on with his legs now leaden, aching, burning.
But, he was not going to stop, was not ready to give up: he’d not allowed himself to become like the average upper-dweller.
There was more to it all than just mere comfort – he knew.
Then, thigh’s aching Gabriel powered his legs, the last few steps, until he could run as far as he could, as his way was barred, by two worker ‘droids, busy with fuse-guns and a couple of sheets of steel.
The nearest mechanoid turned its head toward him, halting grating words issuing from it: “You were expected.”
His face reddened with rage, Gabriel snarled, “Some days it doesn’t pay to get out of your bed. It just seems like everyone’s out to get me!”
As one, the two ‘droids abandoned their work, already half-completed – barrier across the corridor, stopping passage to the uppermost level and the roof above it.
Speaking in unison, they both raised their fuse-guns, “It has been ordered that no more citizens will be allowed up top…”
“Haven’t you heard,” Gabriel began, his back against the wall, “I’m not a citizen anymore!”
The black-guards weapon felt heavy in his hands, as he brought it from his pocket and aimed his hand and it toward the nearest ‘droid.
A rad-blast discharge scorched the air, just missing Gabriel’s head as he dropped to his knees and pulled the trigger twice, in rapid succession.
In the confines of the stairwell the pistols retort was deafening, literally; yet he moved quickly, a little to the right; so that the other ‘droids shot missed him as well.
His shots hit their targets, though he was inexperienced with such an old weapon – almost as though his aim had been guided.
Sparks flew, as electrics were destroyed and both ‘droids fell to the floor, their heads shot from their bodies.
His wrist and right shoulder in pain from the weapons recoil, Gabriel stepped over his fallen foes and placing a hand on the half-completed blockade, he vaulted over it.
Gabriel felt invigorated, his strength renewed.
‘It wasn’t far now,’ he reminded himself.
In his right hand he still held the blackguards pistol, in his right coat pocket sat a fuse-gun, acquired from one of the fallen ‘droids.
He strode down the long, dimly lit corridor, grateful for the torch and its powerful beam of light, aware that something felt different, although he Gabriel dismissed the thought, as just that.
He was alone; and hunted, for what he considered, ‘writing a truth?’
And knowing what they did, ‘The Many’ were pleased at what they saw: their emissary had planted a seed – now his words were heard with closed ears.
As yet though, Gabriel was oblivious to their machinations: al he desired was the way out, ahead of him, at the end of the corridor – which suddenly seemed far longer than he recalled.
Gabriel paused and transferring the torch to his gun hand, placed his left hand against the wall to steady himself, as he fought for breathe, yet the air was thin and it was difficult for him to do so.
“Either exhaustion’s got me, at last…” he said, between panted breaths, “or…?”
Pulling himself erect, Gabriel continued to walk, realization starting to dawn on him.
He neared an air-vent, halted and then raised his free hand to the grill in front of it – only to find there was no air being re-circulated on this level.
After all, he’d accomplished so far, getting where he had, Gabriel was very tired: he needed fresh air soon, or soon he would die.
Gabriel no longer solely sought the truth that he knew of; he needed more – his own survival.
One hand against the wall again, he continued to walk, each step laboured, as he approached the door leading out and onto the roof.
“Just a little further,” he told himself, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead and into his eyes, stinging them.
Gabriel reached the door and turned its handle – and wasn’t surprised to find the door locked: “What next?” he mused.
Placing the torch in his mouth and directing the heavy pistol toward the door lock, his left hand supporting his wrist, Gabriel pulled the trigger. CLICK – There was no retort.
The chamber was empty – he had used all its remaining bullets and his air was running out.
‘Certainly there was air, coming from the stairwell, but dependant on whether or not the air was being circulated, is it any use to me?’ He mused, feeling frustrated.
Inspiration flashed, albeit briefly, as Gabriel remembered the fuse-gun in his pocket.
He tucked the blackguards weapon in the waistband of his trousers’ - certain he didn’t want the big man to have it back, to threaten anyone else.
He drew the fuse-gun out of his pocket, directed his gaze and the torches beam toward the lock once more and levelled his arm.
The rad-blast was blinding and Gabriel found himself shielding his eyes in its glare, as the lock melted.
He switched off the beam, pocketed the torch and gun, then pressed both his hand palms on the door and pushed, lightly.
As the door opens light shafts inward and Gabriel squinted against the bright yellow sun, which for years he believed could be seen.
He looked upward, staring up at the towers, fronted by the top of the green bushes, covering much of the rocky islands floating above.
Gabriel pushed the door open a little further and stepped out from the tower and the confines of its insular life – to the cool air and comparative freedom provided up on the roof.
Gabriel turned a slow circle, the breeze blowing at his coattails, feeling exultant – feeling the wind on his face, an open sky above.
He had made it – “and if nothing else…”
His next words were cut short, because as he turned, Gabriel noticed a figure on the far side of the flat roof, dressed in bright colours, the material swirling in the wind.
This was a surprise to him, as he thought that no-one wanted to know what he did; that there was a world outside of theirs; and that during they’re lifetime they had grown with the lie that the outside world held nothing for them.
Yet, here was a block-dweller, looking downward and the door had been locked.
Puzzled, Gabriel walked across the roof interested to learn the identity of the other individual with him.
The first thing that struck him was the colours’, the turquoise and green of a diaphanous material enfolding the well-curved body of a young woman.
As he neared her Gabriel noticed the raggle-taggle of hair, drawn over the ears, the colour of cornfields, with mud-on; full cheeks and a wide smile within a pale complexion.
Her wide-eyes studied him intently as he walked toward her and the smile broadened at his approach.
“I know who you are,” she told Gabriel, “you’re the story-teller. My Father told me all about you.”
“And what did your Father say about me?” asked Gabriel, near enough to see the young woman’s clothes were all of the finest cut.
“He said you spread dissent with what you wrote.”
“How can that be, Miss?”
“Stephnee Rawlins, Mister Storyteller,” she told Gabriel, turning to look once more over the small wall that bordered the roof top, “he said, we should be satisfied with all we’ve got. He says we have a good life here, with all we could possibly want: that those on the lower levels should appreciate their ways. Because with their ways, he says, everyone has a chance of living in luxury.”
He walks to her right and looks down to the clouds below, as she does.
Then Gabriel asks, “Do you know of life on the lower levels?”
“No,” she replies, her voice almost distant.
“Life is hard down there, from day today. Upper levellers can’t say the same. In fact, I think that most upper levellers have forgotten how to live. I know I started to…”
His voice drifts, as recalls how little he’d accomplished since attaining the high life,
“But, I was telling you about life down there. Wasn’t I?”
“Yes…”
“Everyday we lived in fear; a fear instilled into us by the blackguard and their unremitting violence.”
“You’ve got to be wrong. They’re always helpful, if they’re needed.”
“Look Miss Rawlins, that’s what you were taught, that’s what you believe. Down there people disappear and that’s down to the guard. To say otherwise would be a lie. That’s just like all levellers believing you can’t breathe outside air, without it being recycled.”
Stephnee Rawlins looked to Gabriel and she asked, “Do you really think they’re bad.”
“Look Stephnee, it’s a matter of perspective, I guess. You never learnt to fear them, as we did down there. You never saw your foster mother beaten, because she wouldn’t give her brother up to the guards. You only saw helpful men guiding rich old ladies to their apartments, prior to beating up a leveller, for voicing his disapproval of it all.”
“You are as bad as he said. You’d destroy it all, wouldn’t you?”
“Me?” Gabriel asked, “I wouldn’t destroy anything. I want our people to listen to the truth and know that there’s more than they’re aware of.”
“Why?”
“Because they should know that they’ve been lied to – that there is more to their world; more than concrete grey; more than the brutality they’ve grown with.”
Turning toward him, Stephnee Rawlins places her hands on his shoulders, as she asks of him, “Do you think that most of them could appreciate what I’ve been staring at?”
“I don’t know,” Gabriel replied, “but, I think they should get the chance to know about it. Talking of which – how come you’re here?”
She looks to her feet, as she tells him, “My father told me of you and your writing. He had a copy, which I read. Then I learnt my Father made you a non-citizen…”
“Whoa, Stephnee… Who is your Father?”
“Daddy? He sits behind a desk, at the top level, making decisions.”
Gabriel thought of the voices, of the men in cloaks and cowl and thoughtfully asked, “On his own?”
“Of course. He’s the leader… the chairperson.” She told Gabriel assuredly.
“Tell me, have you ever seen a man in robes, say grey, or red?”
He asked, curiously.
“Well yes, now you mention it. I have seen a man in grey robes, a few days ago, talking to Daddy.”
“And…?”
“Well,” she began, slowly, “the next day I’d mentioned I wanted to see if it were true. You know, what you’d written about?”
“And?” Gabriel prompts, again.
“So, I came up here and when I went to go back down…”
“The door was locked.” He finished for her.
“I suppose they’re protecting their investment,” Gabriel muttered.
“Pardon?” She asks, gripping his arm.
“Sorry, I was thinking,” he told her. “Seems to me if you’ve got something good nowadays, you don’t share it, unless you have to…”
“But we do,” she asserted, “we share the tower with the levellers.”
“Aye,” he agreed, “but no dwellers know of the outside, do they?
Why don’t they know of the islands floating in the sky? Why don’t any of them know that they could live out here?”
She considered his questions, then said, “But, they’re happy.”
“Content with their lot, maybe. But happy… with such a small world offered to them on a plate! How could they be?”
Stephnee held onto Gabriel’s arm and turned to look into his eyes,
“Well, if that’s all they know of, then they’ll be happy if they’ve got all they can get… Won’t they?”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” he told her, then added, “But you and I both know there’s more to it all, don’t we?
* * *
Part 3
Gabriel Towers – ‘New Eden.’
The sun slowly turned from yellow to orange as it set on the far distant horizon, as they held hands, tentatively at first, sharing shy glances as the hills were illuminated by the fiery orb.
Gabriel and Stephnee had toured the roof, looking from each side to the vista below.
Being a good head and shoulders taller, Gabriel looked down toward her and noticing a tear slowly roll down her right cheek, reached out gently with his left forefinger crooked and halted the tears flow, scooping it onto the side of his second knuckle joint.
Then bringing it to his lips he tasted her tear and asked, “Why cry?”
“Because this moments so perfect…” she’d said softly.
“It’s almost…” Stephnee paused, searching for the right words, “too perfect though. After this moment, then what? You’re not a citizen anymore… and my Father locked me up here, just because I read your book.”
“It must have been a little bit more than that,” Gabriel queried.
“No,” Stephnee retorted, “That was it. I told him, ‘there’s got to be more than this’ and your words proved it, proved what I believe.”
She took his hands in her own, as she added firmly, “You inspired me Gabriel Croft.”
Lowering his head, he began to speak, “Thank you,” Gabriel managed, as the blonde looked up, blue eyes twinkling.
“That’s a fine… thing…” he’d said, captivated her eye’s, “…to say… to someone.”
He finished speaking still looking into her twinkling blue eyes.
Then, as one, both Stephnee and Gabriel embraced, their lips melding together.
Parting from their embrace Stephnee clutched at his upper arms wailing, “So, what do we do now then?”
Gabriel smiled before he replied, “That is a good question.”
It was, he knew it was.
“Is that it?” Stephnee exclaimed, “you write about something we should know about, prompting me to follow up on what you wrote. You’re ostracised – I’m locked out. Then, I ask ‘what do we do now then?’ and that’s all you can say!”
Her grip tightens on his arms as Stephnee pauses for breath, “Didn’t you stop to think what might come from your actions?”
He lowered his head and responded, “No, I didn’t.”
Angrily she shook Gabriel vigorously, exclaiming angrily, “Well, you should of!”
Gabriel doesn’t know what to say to her – he knows she’s right.
‘I was told to find one person I could trust,’ he recalled, ‘and what did I do? I tried to tell everyone what I knew.’
“I’m sorry,” he tells Stephnee quietly…
“Well, ‘sorry’ isn’t very helpful, now is it?” She snapped at him, releasing his arms.
Gabriel tried to say something, anything – to assuage her anger.
‘But, what was there to say?’
Stephnee turned from him and stormed off, angry, with her arms crossed – on heels the sheer impracticality of which proved them to be a status symbol.
She walked slowly, hoping that Gabriel would follow.
Hearing light footfalls behind her, Stephnee smiled – he was behind her, as she wanted.
The entity, ‘The Many,’ had listened to the persistent one.
That voice rarely spoke: yet, when it did – the others within the whole listened.
His had proven to be a voice worth listening to – It’d been that one that had assisted with the unification, after the end; the voice that had guided ‘The Many’ to the last of the technomage, who had been guided to terraform a portion of the land, left barren.
It was one of these wizards of science who’d spoken to Stephnee’s father, the towers Signeur – informing him that if he wanted further assistance, he must take action against his own daughter – for her disobedience, towards their system.
A gestalt entity, ‘The Many’ had been so named by Nadeem, of the last three of the once great Techno-mage, as that is what it was, a vast conglomeration of many of the minds given freedom from their corporeal form, by the weapons of mass destruction, finally used.
Yet, after all the years that he had known ‘The Many,’ he still hadn’t ascertained what their relationship was with it – whether it be symbiotic, parasitic, or a mixture of the two.
Certainly, ‘The Many’ needed their hands, whilst they needed its creativity, which they had lost sight of during the conflict, during which their kind had become tools of the Hawks of both sides.
Without form, ‘The Many’ was omnipresent, although even after decades in this state, there was still dissent within it – this was it’s drive: striving to rectify the mistakes of those who had brought about The End.
Through their connivance, there had been advancement toward their final goal, a second chance for humanity - that would enable mankind to finally live in harmony with his planet.
But, Stephnee and Gabriel were unaware of their place in the plans of The Many, whose machinations had thus far brought them to one another, with one commonality, a shared knowledge of something more than they’d known, the green existed. There was life outside The Tower.
They were also unaware of the machinations of The Many, which had led to their meeting.
Gabriel and Stephnee were also oblivious to the ‘droid, sealing the stairwell; or the blackguard, faced earlier, wakening slowly and determined to wreak his own vengeance on the story-teller, as the young man had become known.
They were though aware of this moment - their ‘now.’
‘He has found the one,’ the voice told the others within the whole.
‘With our help,’ it’d been reminded – at which point the small persuasive voice became silent once more.
They held hands, her grip tight on his – as they talked of what they had seen and how this meant their future in The Tower was now quite uncertain, to say the least.
Finally, Gabriel sat with his back, against the low wall surrounding the roof-top and Stephnee lay with her head on his chest.
A night chill caused the couple to shiver; so, Gabriel pulled his coat over them both.
The young man held Stephnee, his long dark hair flowing across the shoulder of his long, flowing black coat, looking up at the stars, as they came out one by one.
There were no clouds of chemical waste in the Earth’s atmosphere any longer he realised, staring upward – aware that somewhere above him, in the blackness were the islands he had seen.
He held Stephnee, wanting to protect her, to help himself: ‘perhaps even have a future together?’ he thought, a smile on his face, mere moments before exhaustion took his body, then his mind.
Gabriel slept.
As she lay curled against him Stephnee tightened her hold, as with her eyes closed, she listened to him breathe, curious as to whether they’d face the next day together, or not.
‘I’ve learnt so much,’ she thought, ‘yet now I’m more unsure than I was. It seems, the more learn, the less I know.’
Soon, their problems receded, as tiredness, and then sleep finally overcame them both.
*
The terraforming of the hills had taken many years of patient nurturing, of both the land; and the feudal systems, developed within the few tower blocks on Earth.
The islands had been the testing ground for the knowledge of the Techno-mage and the desire of The Many: to improve on what had been.
To people the new world that they were building they had already selected a hardy-breed – wrought from the lower levels of the tower blocks, by the blackguard.
Those listed for removal from the tower were named as dissidents and their ejection the sentence, as no one was expected to live outside the tower, which is what they had been assured by Nadeen, as representative of The Many.
In actuality, those ousted had been selected for their strength and cunning, qualities that they would need in the new Eden, so named humourlessly, by Miwa, an atheist.
She and Nadeen were students of Abraham Cox, their mentor – and in turn, they were worked for ‘The Many’ toward a common goal.
Those ejected ere brought to the one of the two islands where they were taught the rudimentary skills needed for survival, skills that man had forgotten; like how to make fire, gather fruit and nuts; and how to build shelters.
Yet they lacked leaders, to govern the settlers of the New Eden –
men of vision, who would assist the re-colonisation of land thought dead for several generations: which is where Gabriel played a part in their plans.
Either Miwa, or Nadeen had engineered everything that’d happened since he had obtained an apartment on the upper levels, as agents of ‘The Many.’
Gabriel was to be the new avatar of these human colonists, it had been decided: that was, if he were able to prove himself.
He had been guided to learn what he had, then given the choice to keep what he knew to himself or not.
And although it was recognized by The Many that he chose poorly at first, by trying to tell all the upper- level dwellers about the little he knew– with a little more manipulation, they’d been pleased.
Gabriel would have a partner, in his tenure as leader.
This pleased The Many.
It was this quiet pleasure that kept the voice of the entity quiet, as it waited for him to waken.
*
Gabriel woke, bathed in a pool of bright white light. He’d been here before – yet that knowledge did little to assuage the onset of fear.
He was on his back, Stephnee’s head still on his chest, her left hand on his shoulder.
Gabriel blinked once, twice.
“This can’t be,” Gabriel said aloud in his frustration, “not again?”
A circle of light surrounded Stephnee and himself – other than that, all was blackness.
He surmised that the three were standing above him on the balcony in the darkness, as before; and the mind the tall figure, in red robes spoke with, would also be present, as before.
Gabriel blinked against the light, trying to stare into the darkness.
‘Gabriel…’ he heard, inside his head, ‘Gabriel croft…’
He sat, supporting himself with his right hand, as the voice inside his head became the voice of the three, spoken in the sonorous voice of Abraham Cox.
“Gabriel Croft, son of Dayton Croft, welcome.”
“’Welcome,’ the man says,” Gabriel muttered, “it’s not like I’ve a choice when you do this, do I?”
“We had wanted to know, if you could find someone you like and respect, and then introduce them to the green…” Cox carried on speaking, as if Gabriel hadn’t spoken at all.
“You did as The Many wanted… eventually.”
“’The Many?’” Gabriel queried.
From within the three, Nadeen spoke, “It is a mind made up of those who have died since the great-war, the war to end all wars.”
“My father told me of what led to the destruction of the old cities,” Gabriel said softly.
“Ah yes, your Father…” Cox seemed to be deep in thought at the mention of Dayton Croft, who lived outside the Tower; yet sought it’s sanctuary for his son, when the rains had fallen and stripped the flesh from his bones.
“He knew of the times before and when he died, he too became one of the many, their bodies dead, while their essence lived on. It’d been that one that had assisted with the unification, after the end; the voice that had guided The Many to myself, Abraham Cox and my students Miwa and Nadeen. We are the last of the technomage, and we have terraformed a portion of the land, left barren.”
“Do mean my Fathers alive?” Gabriel enquired eagerly.
“His body is dead. You know that.”
“But…?”
“His mind though, his essence…” Miwa spoke, teasing, “that is alive, if you can call an existence as a part, within a greater whole, alive?”
She laughed mirthlessly, as many of her comrades were also part of that vast conglomeration of minds – a thought she despised – for somehow, she thought that made them less than they had been.
“Terraformed, what does that mean?” Gabriel asked, ignoring much of what he had heard, so much that was confusing.
Gabriel looked up toward the direction the voices had come from.
“It means The Many want the death of the Earth to end.”
Abraham Cox spoke for the three, with the voice of one, “It means that we have created life were there was none and that soon you will lead people, to live again in the green and not in hermetically sealed Towers.”
He wanted to scream ‘why me?’
When he did ask, it was quietly, calmly.
“You are the story-teller Gabriel. You were chosen because once you knew; you wanted to share this knowledge – but more than that Gabriel Croft. Through your Father’s teaching, you know of the past and what led to the wasteland below us. The Many feel sure that if you found a mate, then you would succeed in the settlement of our New Eden, if just for her.”
Again, he asked, albeit a little louder, “Why me?”
Stephnee began to wake.
“We needed a leader for the new colony and Gabriel, it is you.”
She was aware of voices high above; and knew that they weren’t on the roof any longer.
Slowly Stephnee opened her eyes.
“Gabriel,” she began, more than a little frightened, “where am I?”
Looking down at Stephnee, Gabriel smiled, “It’s strange, I don’t remember asking that the last time I ended up here…”
“Please, don’t make jokes… please, tell me, where are we?”
The smile eased from Gabriel’s face at the sound of panic in her voice and he tightened his hold on her a little.
“Sorry Stephnee, you’re right, I shouldn’t of, I know.”
She looked into his face, seeking reassurance and he smiled down at his love, as he thought of her; and answered,
“We’re on one of those floating islands I showed you.”
In the bright light, he watched her blanch visibly at what she’d just heard from Gabriel.
“Are you alright?” He asked her, feeling concerned, as he recalled how frightened he had been at his own first meeting Abraham Cox, his followers; and The Many.
“Yes, I am,” Stephnee assured him, “just a little scared, that’s all.”
“We’re in blackness and you’re frightened. I don’t blame you.”
The darkness diminished and light where the couple sat expanded to fill the room – which, as it transpired, was a warehouse, stocked with piles of boxes and barrels and several banks of consoles, full of switches, dials and lights, many flashing.
Gabriel looked up, to where he’d heard Miwa and Abraham speak.
There they where, looking down on the couple, the three robed figures, cowls drawn over their heads, standing on a railed balcony.
“So was I right?” He asked: “Are we on one of the islands?”
Abraham Cox turned to look at Miwa, his student, saying to her,
“Astute, isn’t he?”
In ire with their agent and his use of sarcasm The Many entered his mind, screaming – ‘He is the one. You know this, Answer him.’
‘He is the one. You know this. Answer him!’
‘The Many’ screamed the last words into and through his skull.
Abraham had known it would happen though – and he did not mind.
He fell to his knees, hands to his head, laughing.
Nadeen, who had stood to his right, looked to Miwa, who’d stood at his left – his eyebrow’s raised.
But, Miwa understood – Abraham was tired of being their puppet; it was as simple as that.
What they had with ‘The many’ was not the symbiotic relationship that had been originally envisaged by Abraham Cox.
Cox, who knelt screaming, through the sheer weight of the voices, was pleased – pleased that he could still reach deep inside and was able to irritate it, just a little.
Slowly, the voices faded and he stood, equally slowly.
“We have two test centres. This one is not populated.”
He spoke each word as if it were dragged from within.
The first stage of their project, ‘New Eden’ was approaching its completion and Abraham was tired – tired of the meetings with the feudal barons; tired of running errands, for non-corporeal entity; moreover, he was tired, of creating, for it and not himself.
Yet, he realised, that to do what they had and planned, they had needed – and would still need – the vision that it provided.
A quiet voice intruded on his thoughts, as Gabriel asked, again,
“Why me… why us?”
* * *
Part 4
Gabriel Towers – ‘New Eden Explored.’
As he sat on a small boulder in the middle of the fast flowing stream running from the mountain range, through down to the green valley where he lived, Gabriel was in a retrospective mood. His coattails were swept before him, sitting with his hands clasped round his knees drawn up to his chest, but he didn’t notice.
He didn’t know why he felt so dissatisfied, but he was.
It didn’t make sense to him ~ he had everything he could want and he didn’t want too much, at all.
He had a roof over his head, food in his belly and a lovely partner.
What else could he need?
With the help of ‘The Entity’ Gabriel Croft had every material need satisfied yet even so, he was discontent.
That was why he was here, away from the other colonists, all of whom were former levellers, some of which had actually had children: the first generation of mankind borne in freedom from the towers feudal system.
All of the colonists had been tower dwellers, although not all were from the tower were Gabriel had been brought up.
There were several towers in the large area in which ‘The Entity’ had scoured for colonists for their New Eden, which had surprised Gabriel Croft.
He had believed that his tower had been the only one, housing the last remnants of humanity; whilst in reality it was one of several.
*
The past was deep underground, long forgotten by the survivors, whose forebears had built the towers.
Down there, in perpetual darkness, there was a memory of what had been, that had died beneath vast clouds of chemical waste.
Then the acid rain had fallen; and man had closed the hermetically sealed doors of the towers, effectively sealing himself away from the worlds ill’s, which legend had it, he had created.
Gabriel knew of their world, as it had been: his Father, Aaron had introduced him to it. He had shown him it. But many ignored what was before this time, which had shaped their present – or, they’d chosen to forget it.
He though had not.
*
Shortly after Gabriel and Stephnee had disappeared from the tower, Hannigan had sought permission from the chairperson to leave himself.
He wanted the story-teller Gabriel, to die. He had stolen from Hannigan and then escaped his retribution. It was just too much.
He wanted his gun back and would have it, at any cost.
He was a muscular man, in his late thirties – and had been section leader for just over a year.
It was a job he was good at ‘keeping order’ – whether it be his own men, the dwellers, or even the insurrectionists, the levellers.
He had warned the chairperson that he spread dissent.
Then there had been a man in grey robes, days ago, talking to their signeur, offering his advice.
It’d been after they’d been seen together that the chairperson had demanded the door to the roof be closed and sealed, leaving his own daughter out on the roof, with that anarchist Gabriel Croft.
Hannigan considered that they had become to dependent on the strangers in robes and far too amenable to their ‘requests.’
Few realised there were no clouds of chemical waste in the Earth’s atmosphere any longer, he’d thought, staring upward – aware that somewhere above him, in the blackness were the island’s he had seen.
He had left the tower, through the back-entrance, the one used to rid the tower of their undesirables.
Now he was sweating profusely.
He had even removed his helmet, as it was that hot.
The helmet was his link to control – but what need did he have of that link out here, where control could be of no assistance?
He was on his own – and felt so much the better for it, as it meant no-one could make mistakes on his behalf: much like that shown when they’d ignored the risk of allowing Gabriel Croft the freedom to talk as he had, of a mythical ‘something else,’ which no-one else knew of: and few wanted to know anything of.
“The green,” he mused, “why did he want to tell everyone about it?”
It hadn’t made sense to Hannigan, then or now.
He’d left the building and of that he was certain.
The man was a traitor, to all he knew: the antithesis of all that was good in his world, which his words sought to denigrate.
With the help of The Emissary, who he’d seen once, they’d had an outlet for troublemakers such as him.
That was how they had weeded out the miscreants; and the ingrates within their society.
Some of the lower levellers had fight in them, Hannigan recalled.
He remembered how one mother had tried to assist her son’s evasion of the black guard, by very overt means.
It’d shocked him: and Hannigan thought he’d seen it all.
Yet they had caught him ~ as they usually did.
They ran and Hannigan couldn’t understand why, they were always caught and removed, from the tower. After all, the black guard were armed well – a pulse weapon and billy club. Besides, the numbers of black guard outweighed those who did run, so it was not difficult to control their prey of those who sought flight.
But, Gabriel had been different; he was not an average malcontent.
Gabriel Croft had been visible and very vocal and would be missed.
So, they’d taken a risk and he had lost his weapon.
Control - that was the fabric of his world.
Everything and everyone had their role.
It was a system that he played a part in, which he understood.
Gabriel Croft had disturbed his world, really disturbed his world.
Such had been the self-imposed isolation of Tower Life, that Hannigan had thought that theirs had been the only tower.
Yet, since he had left there, traversing the wasteland he’d been warned of, Hannigan had seen, with his own eyes, three black towers, such as that he’d just left. That had surprised him.
As he’d passed each, the burly man did so very aware that quite probably there were people living inside, living as he had: ignorant of a world outside their own.
Unbeknown to Hannigan, amidst a valley, that boasted the green he had noticed from a distance, Gabriel sat.
He was musing on his lot; what he had; and what he didn’t.
His expectations had been small; yet Gabriel had so much, now.
‘Yet, so much had been a gift,’ he mused, as he swept the back of his hand across his forehead.
It was hot. He should remove his coat – it’d be cooler then.
Yet, he is reticent to do so.
He coat had been thrown over him, just prior to being flung into Bevlee’s protective arms; just before the tower’s main doors had hermetically sealed, for the last time.
The coat was almost his last link with his father: there were a few others; but, none that he could wear, every day, if he chose to.
Gabriel did wear the coat every day, which was something that had become something of a source of amusement amongst many of the valley’s colonists.
Right now it’s coat tails were getting wet.
To his left several men and women toiled the land, preparing it for seeding. They’d been assured that if they planted now, there would be a crop within three month’s.
Gabriel looked forward to that. It’d been their fifth planting within the month; and ideally the colony would be a little nearer self-sufficiency, before too long.
‘Yes,’ he mused, ‘the climate is ideal…’ – The entity, that he knew as The Many had ensured that.
‘We have food provided…’ – the emissaries saw to that.
He smiled, briefly.
At first The Many had wanted Gabriel as leader of the colony, a suggestion he had declined, saying that he had not contributed to its inception, so didn’t feel it was right.
There was another reason though.
‘What was that Stephnee had called him, ‘a free spirit?’
Gabriel considered it a compliment, as he listened to the water flow by him, slowly.
‘I’ve got a roof over my head; food in my belly; and Stephnee. I’ve got all I could want, haven’t I?’
Sunlight flickered on the surface of the water, as it rolled by.
Overhead the sky was blue ~ the skies had been cleansed prior to their colonization of the valley. It was the perfect day.
‘Yet, so much had been a gift,’ he mused once more, as he swept the back of his hand across his forehead.
Everything had been made perfect for them: the little voice, ~ deep inside The Many, had ensured that were so.
‘So, if everything’s so perfect,’ he pondered, ‘then why am I feeling so discontent?’
And in the distance, a dark speck formed, which became the figure of a man as it neared; and Gabriel squinted against the bright sunlight, to see detail.
“Aren’t you hot?” He called out as he approached.
“No hotter than you it seems,” Gabriel retorted, smiling as he recognized the man walking toward him.
Ryce was Bevlee’s eldest son; and had ‘disappeared’ from the tower several years before her death.
He was a good man, tall, with a big frame.
Ryce had been considered an insurrectionist amongst the towers dwellers. He was.
He had been declared a non-dweller and taken to the first of the floating islands that Gabriel had. Many black guards had sighed with relief at his departure. It had taken nine men to restrain him.
“Just finished planting the far field,” Ryce informed Gabriel, smiling broadly and sweating profusely.
He had a shock of red hair, freckles on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose; and when Ryce smiled, whoever he smiled at wanted to return it. It was, infectious.
“So, what did you plant, Jared perhaps?”
“Nah,” Ryce grinned, the dimples in his cheeks deepening.
Jared was his competition for the hand of the fair Leta, a slim dark-haired young woman, in her early twenties.
She was Stephnee’s best friend: and Jared, young as he was, had been one of the valley’s first colonists, as was Ryce.
The community numbered a hundred; ’That would be a good number to provide a suitable gene-pool for this New Eden’ that small voice had suggested, in that persuasive manner it had.
The Many had listened; and reasoning it was sound logic, began the acquisition of their new breeding stock.
And it had been relatively easy for Nadeen and Miwa to obtain what they wanted. They had appeared from nowhere, as it had seemed, offering much in the way of food and technology; and in exchange certain individuals would be supplied.
The Many had wanted freethinking radicals to form the core of their new society: individuals who’d work together, for the common good.
In Gabriel Croft, the living son of the small voice, the gestalt entity known as The Many had found a prophet, for those who’d chosen to listen.
‘Few had listened though…’ Gabriel mused, ‘Is it that they were just too content with the status quo? Or, was it that they just weren’t concerned with something that was outside of their own limited experience?’
“So, you finished for the day?” He asked, squinting a little against the bright sun.
“How about you?” Ryce asked in return.
He thought carefully before answering.
Gabriel had been known to sit on that rock for hours, his coat-tails dragging in the water.
And over the years, it’d become as worn as he often felt.
Yet, he didn’t mind. Furthermore, he wouldn’t rid himself of the coat, as had been suggested, time after time.
“After all,” he’d told Stephnee defensively one morning, “It’s my last link with my Father. It’s… part of me.”
* * *
Part 5
‘Reparation & Redemption.’
Hannigan ran the back of his right hand across his forehead, to try and prevent yet another trickle of sweat drip into his eyes.
He had reached the foothills by noon, when the sun was its hottest and since then, every move up the slope had become harder.
The heat alone was bad enough. Now he was really on his own.
The helmet, his last communication with the tower was long gone, dropped. The man was exhausted. Yet, as stone gave way to shale, as he climbed higher, Hannigan drove his legs, pushing down with his heels to find safe purchase.
But, as the loose stone had become finer still he had slipped, until he was reduced to crawling as the incline become far steeper than it had been.
As he neared the top of the range of hills, Hannigan came to coarse green bushes that ran the length of the ridge.
Briefly, he wondered whether this was the green of the distant hills that the story-teller had spoken of.
Even if it were, it would not detract him from his mission, he reminded himself, after all, the story-teller had stolen from him.
With this added impetus, Hannigan grasped hold of the helpful branches, using them to haul himself higher, until eventually he could drag himself to his feet.
Hannigan stood breathing heavily, as he slowly gazed ahead, at the valley which Gabriel and Stephnee called home.
He was incredulous at what he saw. There were several small farms on rich pasture land, bisected by a fast running stream: there was even a small township, comprising twenty, or so buildings.
*
Down in the valley, Gabriel had sat on the rock for hours, coat tails dragging in the water, as he wondered what to do with the gun.
Gabriel was surprised that he had kept it so long.
It had no bullets, the last being used at the tower.
Now, it was just a lump of metal. Yet, he still possessed it.
‘It didn’t make sense,’ he reminded himself once more, as the figure of a man appeared from rising dust on the mountainside.
‘I didn’t think anyone was in the wastelands,’ Gabriel mused, watching as Hannigan traced the path to another that led him down to the valley floor.
Standing in the shade at the base of the range, he looked toward the stream, where Gabriel sat.
Recognition was instant.
“Well I’ll be…” He muttered, “It’s my lucky day. It’s the story-teller!”
Hannigan grinned.
Suddenly, it was all worth it – the journeying, the hardship, all of it.
Then as Hannigan left the shadows created by the mountains, he bellowed, “You’ve got something of mine, story-teller!”
Gabriel heard the man in black shout, approaching the stream.
The voice, the uniform; and the reference to the nickname, quickly brought awareness to Gabriel and with deep sorrow he realized who the man was and why he was here.
It was the gun.
This was the black-guard who had tried to stop his departure from the tower with Stephnee.
Suddenly the weapon felt heavier still in his hand.
Here was the past, in his present: the black-guard, here to enforce his own version of justice and destroy their tranquillity.
As Hannigan walked slowly, careful not to slip, he stepped down to the embankment, his eyes fixed on those of his adversary.
“Finding you wasn’t easy,” he shouted.
Hannigan held a fuse-pistol, Gabriel noticed, as he approached the waters edge.
“But, you give me what I want and I don’t burn this place down.”
As he spoke Hannigan gestured around himself to the surrounding valley. “And I’m sure a few of those houses I saw belong to people you know,” he said to Gabriel, smiling mirthlessly.
Aware of the threat toward his life, yet concerned more with the decision he had to make, Gabriel looked down, at the moving water, feeling the weapon, held in a loose grip.
There were few options, except logically, conflict, or flight.
Flight though was not an option ~ his friends were nearby and he didn’t want their involvement.
‘It’s simple,’ Gabriel concluded, ‘it’s a matter of whether I decide to acquiesce, or fight.’
He didn’t relish either, yet knew only some form of conflict could bring a resolution that would satisfy Hannigan.
So, Gabriel drew back his arm. A decision had to be made.
Besides, there was a fuse-pistol pointed toward his head, acting as incentive. A decision had to be made.
Abruptly he made his choice, throwing the pistol underarm, in a low arc toward Hannigan, who caught it with his free right hand.
“Sensible,” he muttered.
Both hands resting in his lap, Gabriel enquired gently, “Why is it sensible?” Then he added, “You’ll shoot me either way, won’t you?”
Hannigan didn’t answer.
Having pocketed the fuse-pistol, Hannigan stepped backward slowly until he stood on the riverbank once more, flicking open the middle of the antique weapon. Then, hefting the weight of the pistol in his right hand Hannigan smiled as he held the fuse-pistol directed toward Gabriel.
‘It’s a Remington .44 calibre,’ he recalled, as he twirled the weapon on the middle of his middle finger.
“You could run,” Hannigan coldly informed the storyteller, pocketing the fuse-pistol, so removing it as an immediate threat.
“I could,” Gabriel responded, “but I wouldn’t get very far, would I?”
“No,” Hannigan replied, absently sliding open the cylinder of the single-action revolver.
Then holding the weapon loosely in the open palm of right hand, Hannigan slid home his last bullets, carried since he had left the tower, snarling, “You stole from me. You are going to die.”
Gabriel listened to the pronouncement with acceptance: after all,
it was no more than he had expected.
‘But,’ he reasoned, ‘I’ve made my mark!’
He knew that the storyteller would be remembered, as would his story of the green, which some had discovered was true.
And Gabriel recalled those he’d known; whose lives his knowledge had touched. There were more than a few ~ some whom he already missed.
Gabriel thought of them all, as Hannigan thumbed the Remington’s hammer back, pronouncing, “You’re dead.”
Time seemed to freeze, for long seconds: and Gabriel didn’t hear the click as the trigger was pulled, nor the sound of the bullet being fired, until he felt its impact and he heard the gun’s retort.
And images flowed through his mind, as Gabriel registered the pain in his gut, as blood poured from the wound.
He knew was dying, but felt satisfied: with his death Hannigan had no reason to stay, so those he loved were safe, from this former agent of authority.
Then, as his blood poured through his fingers, with dimming vision, Gabriel stared at the green.
He viewed around him, at the small farms on the rich pastureland, either side of the fast running stream; at the small township in the distance; where he imagined his friends, relaxing in Harmony’s Bar.
He thought of his princess, from the tower, who had quickly grown to mean as much to him as his own life ~ more, as it transpired.
He saw her image ~ the raggle-taggle of hair, drawn over the ears, the colour of cornfields; full cheeks and a wide smile within a pale complexion, that complimented her wide-eyes.
“Stephnee…” he muttered, as his brain ceased to function and the blackness became all there was.
Gabriel fell forward, into the fast flowing water, his coat spreading around him.
Hannigan smiled.
And deep within The Many, a small voice screamed with the agony of grief, as he saw and felt the death of his son.
*
~ Years passed ~
Gabriel’s last thoughts had been of the green; of all those who had grown to know what he had learnt; and then Stephnee.
‘Beautiful Stephnee…’
Then he had died.
Now… It was cold. It was dark.
A blanket covered his nakedness.
“But,” he wondered, “where is my coat?”
Abruptly realization dawned: he was alive.
Gabriel felt his chest, surprised to find no gaping wound.
Gabriel opened his eyes, blinking several times, so they could adjust, as the dark gave way to light.
Slowly he found himself bathed in a pool of bright white light.
He’d been here before, yet he couldn’t recall when.
But, he remembered seeing the three figures stood high above, on a balcony looking down on him; all wearing cloaks and hooded cowls that obscured their faces.
In the centre of the three stood the tallest, whose apparel was red, whilst those at his sides were in grey.
Gabriel thought hard. He knew their names. Miwa, Nadeen and Abraham Cox. They were the technomage who had brought forth New Eden with the guidance of The Many.
“Welcome back Cabriel Croft…” said the voice of the male in grey,
“It has been years.”
“We apologise it has taken so long to bring you back. But…”
“Until recently we didn’t know how to do it safely…” finished Cox.
Gabriel’s mind swirled with a myriad questions, yet only one escaped his lips, “How long?”
“The Many drove us to learn the skills we needed…” Nadeen told him; and then Miwa finished his sentence, “as it seemed driven itself.”
Unbeknown to them all, it had.
Dayton Croft had become adept at persuasion over time.
It was this that had enabled him to influence The Many to do what he felt needed done: the rebirth of Gabriel, his son and the prophet of the green.
“How long?” Gabriel asked again.
“It has been years.”
“Many years…”
Then in a voice that was far gentler than was usual for him, Abraham Cox spoke lastly, “It has been nearly a hundred years since you died Gabriel. As we said, we apologise… but as you were, we had to learn the skills we needed…”
“But now,” Miwa told him, “you are as you were.”
And the three looked down, faces serene, as Nadeem added, “You are young once again.”
Gabriel nodded ~ he felt strong.
Yet, a question still burned within, needing answer.
Finally he asked, “So what happened to the man who shot me?”
“Hannigan…” Miwa began.
“He was found…” Nadeen continued.
“Lost and lonely,” she finished.
“New Eden gave him succor,” Abraham added in a deep sonorous tone, “until he grew strong!”
“But he shot me!” Gabriel insisted in a rising voice, indignant at what he’d just heard.
“Yet you live…” Abraham intoned, as if to finish all discussion.
Then Miwa began to speak once again, “He was without bullets…”
“Without them the gun was useless,” Nadeen added.
“Gabriel, you must understand, Hannigan was merely a product of the system he lived within. The gun gave him power; to impose The Towers’ laws; and his own will,” Abraham opined.
As if in distant echo, Gabriel heard voices from within The Many speak:
“Without his weapon, he was a lost soul.”
“Without his weapon, Hannigan was nothing.”
“He was just a lost soul, to be pitied.”
Gabriel, The Avatar, reborn once more, felt The Many fill his mind, with sights more wondrous than his imaginings.
He saw images coalesce, to show New Eden evolve into a thriving community; a bearded Hannigan tilling the soil; of the man sitting with his friends, enjoying a drink, at the end of a working day; and, holding a child.
And finally, Gabriel saw Hannigan; an old man, wearing handmade clothes, smiling as the sun set: at peace before death.
Then as rapidly as The Many had filled his mind, it became his once more.
Gabriel looked upward, at the last triumvirate of the technomage, pleading, “Please, do you know what happened to my lady, Stepnee?”
“Do you not comprehend what The Many showed you?” Abraham asked him softly. “The child was yours Gabriel Croft. You should know that Hannigan found peace by giving back to those he had taken from. That had included Stephnee, so many years ago.”
Whether by accident, or design, Gabriel had heard something that intrigued him beyond all else: and he thought carefully, before asking, “Exactly how long ago?”
“Years ago…” Miwa answered.
“Many years ago…” Nadeen paraphrased.
“You could say Gabriel,” Abraham added, “It was a lifetime ago.”
Still reeling from all that he’d heard, Gabriel sighed and said,
“This is all too much…”
Then, as realization dawned upon him, he exclaimed,
“Whoa… you said it was my child.”
As he spoke Gabriel’s words slurred one into the other, such was his excitement.
He asked, “Was it a boy, or girl?”
There was silence, as the three considered their response.
Then Miwa smiled briefly, wryly musing on who should tell him.
* * *
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