Fossil Time

а pastel-coloured star

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say.

Silence in my new world was even stronger on that day…

cutting through my senses like a chilly wind in May.

Wonder why I thought that space was far away.

Inscription on the memorial stone of Eric Dew - bless his journey –

as his last words are here to stay.

            .................................................

           The Tunnel was, in fact, an ordinary lane – between two tall buildings on the riverbank of the city. Men in black or blue suits passed through it every day, as did women dressed in similar colours, sometimes wearing summer dresses, usually on high heels. Tired after the busy morning, they crossed the waterfront street, drank from the fresh air, and inhaled the sweet feeling of the river carrying them to another life. Then they headed back to their stifled office space.

            Occasionally, especially on a foggy day, a man would enter the Tunnel and would not come out again. Since he was alone, no one would notice his absence. At the end of the lunch break, the stranger would appear again. As if in a trance, slightly dazed, he would spin on his heels and head back to his work. And life would carry on as normal.

            Until one day, a man with broad shoulders and ash-blond hair did not return. His colleagues were surprised that he was gone all afternoon but shrugged their shoulders and went on with their important business.

.................................................

             Bright light replaced the misty air, and the sky was illuminated with spring joy. I filled my lungs like a newborn child setting out to cry, rubbing my eyes to wake up. Nothing happened, and no one called my name. Only a message lingered on my mobile, “Eric?” but I was offline now. The song of nature continued to float in the distance, myriad colours and a cocktail of scents tickling my senses. I realized I was not where I was supposed to be but felt no fear. Whatever this place was, its ambience was more pleasant than the office.

            Dusty roads of a pale purple colour meandered between fields carpeted with pastel beige. A light breeze made the sprigs of grass dance, and the flower petals fly. I hit the road. Bushes surrounded by eager butterflies passed by, decorated with blossoms of all shapes. The air was saturated with a scent of lilacs and golden limes. My feet followed the voices of young birds drifting through a pristine forest next to the road. They chirped and sang as if it were for the last time. Among the tree shadows, a cool, naughty brook babbled in a lilting tune. I bent down to drink. It tasted of milk and honey, intoxicating with the flavour of figs. I had to quicken my pace not to fall asleep.

            As usual, I only thought of surviving the day. How was I to know that I was to become a leader, a prophet, and a messiah within a year? A year to find amazing love and lose it again in the dust of time and space. I am a normal guy, and these things do not happen to me.

            The road reached a few dozen houses with pastel-blue roofs. There were no people in sight yet. Staring at the purple door frames and windows, I went on, hoping to meet someone I could talk to. There were gardens in front of the houses, all about the same size. No tall shrubs or lush flowers–just small, humble pansies and the like. Soon I noticed there were no red, orange, or dark blue blossoms anywhere. Although they clearly existed, I had seen them along the way. Not a single flower or a house ornament in those colours. As if a pastel veil had covered the entire town.

            Suddenly, the street in front of me was filled with people, all facing me. Their voices grew more distinct, friendly smiles and inviting gestures indicated I was welcome. It seemed they were expecting me. A middle-aged woman with closely cropped dark blonde hair stepped forward and said,

            ‘You’re here at last. We have a lot of work waiting. Welcome to Anthropia!’

            ‘Work? I am on my lunch break…’

            ‘I'll explain, no worries. No one knows upon arrival what they're here for. You should rest first from the long journey. Alina, my assistant, will take you to your house. There is tea, coffee, different sweets, and snacks. My name is Layla and I'm in charge of our guests here.’

            ‘Could you perhaps tell me why I am visiting you?’

            ‘It's a long and complicated story. We’ll start tomorrow. You need a rested body and a clear mind to make the right decisions.’

            On my way to what would soon be my home, I looked again at the tidy gardens. In the corners, bushes were attracting countless bees. Something about the manner of the bees struck me – they flew about purposefully and not one of them wandered around or headed for some lonely flower, charming as it was. Their buzzing was monotonous as if I was listening to a recording on the radio. I asked Alina if she had noticed this.

            ‘Of course, bees must do their job as efficiently as possible. These are the first robots that our ancestors produced several centuries ago, a simple and useful device. It happened when the last bee populations in Anthropia were about to die out, which would have caused an ecological catastrophe. Surely you know what the role of the bees is?’

            The next morning, I had an appointment with Layla.

            ‘Hello, Eric. Please sit as comfortably as possible. Shall we begin?’

            ‘Sure. I’m all ears.’

            ‘As you may see, we live in a pleasant society, a stunning world built up over millennia. We have conquered all diseases, and there have been no shortages, famines, violence, and wars for a very long time. Science found ways to clone pedigree animals, and robots have replaced farm workers, applying advanced methods of animal husbandry and agriculture. They also organize transportation, logistics and cleaning.’

            ‘A delightful place, indeed. Except that, I don't know why I ended up here and when I can return to my world.’

            ‘It's up to you. We urgently need your help. As was the case with your predecessors.’

            ‘Have they ever returned?’

            ‘Most of them, yes.’

            ‘Well, that's reassuring.’

            ‘So, despite the achievements I mentioned, our society entered a mature phase of development which brought new challenges. Today, everyone can have exactly what they want at any given moment. Robots do not pose a danger, because we don’t make them intelligent – they only have powerful senses and excellent algorithms. One of the best decisions made in the past was not to create more intelligent robots. Any activity demanding some creativity or research-based thinking is left to humans so that they don't get bored. Still, people of lower intelligence and lacking any creativity began to loiter, drink, or get fat, which affected their health. Some even became criminals; in other words, the negative development of old returned.’

            ‘Hmm, I have to say I'm never bored.’

            ‘Of course. That's why you're here. But we have already dealt with this first enemy. We created huge sports centres and started giving awards to motivate people. Just to keep them from staying at home, getting fat or crazy. We also sent them to psychologists who figured out what was the one thing they would love to do – and gave it to them. For the more creative group, this process was easier - they became potters, gardeners, cooks and much more - all things a robot could also do. If someone told them what the best clay pot looked like, or the most beautiful garden or enticing recipe. We organized exhibitions, competitions, and prizes.

            An awful lot of people started getting into art or programming. They're taking care of themselves because that's what they're passionate about. Engineers and architects build, and so on. The only problem left was to find enough connoisseurs and customers because a society cannot consume endlessly. Unfortunately, fresh problems arose then.’

            ‘So far, the situation seems quite attractive to me – what could be better than being able to choose freely what to do every day?’.

            ‘After these investments in education and psychoanalysis, complications emerged with the most ambitious group – a new kind of aggressiveness. The feeling that you are entitled to everything leads to the expectation that you are bound to get recognition – but if your neighbours’ paintings are better than yours and more people visit their exhibition, it is as it is. So, we introduced even more education and new social norms. Nowadays no one, not even a friend, would dare to say their opinion on whether you cooked nicely, or whether they liked your new clothes and style. But then, you as a host would never risk trying an unfamiliar recipe to embarrass your guests, either.’

            I looked around. Layla's house was cosy. Living room stylishly furnished in natural, unobtrusive colours. On the wall hung agreeable paintings, neither provocative nor extravagant. I realized they were all in the same colour palette, comprising pastel and soft tones. They seemed familiar to me, rather like the ones in the house I lived in. Different motifs, but also painted in light, soothing colours.

            ‘And why is it I only see pastel tones everywhere?’

            ‘It is obvious. People have no tolerance for frustration. If there were other colours in the garden, maybe the neighbour wouldn't like them – and you don't want to be intrusive or offend anyone, do you?’

            The device in Layla's lap started blinking at a high frequency, and she grabbed it, excusing herself.

            ‘Yes, I understand. I know it’s serious. It’s happening faster than expected – does science offer any explanation? Good, I'll speak to Eric. Even though it's early, he's only been here since yesterday. He is not ready yet. And you know from experience what happens when we rush things.’

            Layla slowly placed the device down on the table and said: ‘Let’s get out of here.’

            We walked towards the end of town. She looked at the horizon and muttered, ‘It's true.’

Staring into the distance, her eyes were widening. I followed her gaze to the end of the road, where it crested the hills. One dark grey streak, uneven and shimmering, covered the horizon like spilt mercury. Here and there, glittering tongues of grey stretched forth, others followed them, and thus, little by little, the mercury crept on. This sight was disturbing and did not fit in with the world around us. The dark streak cast an ominous shadow over the earth. Layla stood speechless until she said,

            ‘We need help, urgently.’

            I was starting to feel uncomfortable because I had heard her say that this had something to do with me. It didn't bode well.

            ‘Alright, let’s go back. I need to tell you everything else you need to know about our world. Otherwise, you won't be able to make the right decisions.’

            This time we sat in the garden, where the violets were smiling kindly at me. I got some coffee.

            ‘You already know that we all feel the normal fear of hurting someone. That's why we protect society in every possible way. Zero risk is the maxim above all. There is nothing in everyday life that we must fight for so that we can learn to take risks. This has brought forth our biggest enemy – the inability to take responsibility and decide on anything. This is a serious problem – since you can't punish anyone or, as in the past, send them to prison for not choosing a course of action - they just can’t do it.’

            ‘Well, in my world, only some people are capable of making important decisions.’

            ‘Yes, but you are at least taking responsibility for your life.’

            ‘Some people aren't – and they keep saying that others are to blame. Or wait for someone else to solve their problems. But I understand what you mean, although I can't quite picture the situation yet.’

            ‘This leads to stagnation in any small or large undertaking. Institutions and individuals cannot decide about purchase orders, project commissions, holiday destinations (so they stay home), or game outcomes (all matches end in a draw).’

            ‘Sounds complicated. How do you deal with these issues, then?’

            ‘For certain cases, we have introduced a dice-rolling mechanism by law. This is, of course, against the Constitution when important topics are concerned. Such situations may remain unresolved for years, or we pursue two solutions in parallel. As in the present case.’

            ‘Regarding the cloud?

            ‘If only it were a cloud. This phenomenon could end everything.’

            Layla looked anxiously at her tablet.

            ‘Excuse me, I must start the morning review of the open questions report. Under normal circumstances, we should get down to business now.’

           She told me that there was an institution, like the court of a feudal lord in medieval times, where any citizen could register and report his dilemma on the spot. Some standard cases could also be solved online, but the on-site report would be brought to the attention of the Determinator.

            ‘Tomorrow, we will solemnly announce you as our new Determinator in front of the entire congregation,’ added Layla with a complacent smile.

            I choked and almost spilt my coffee. ‘Wait a second. I couldn't quite follow that.’

            ‘Very simple. You are used to reviewing a set of data to make a credit decision in your bank. Same here, you look at the case and decide. It's easier than you think, often about prosaic things. But we can't do without them. Otherwise, a bunch of other things won't happen, as I explained.’

            ‘If you say so... Surely my cooperation would have a positive effect on my leaving here, wouldn't it?’

            ‘It may be. The faster we tick off the big tasks, the better. But it's more complicated this time because of the Threat.’

‘You mean the cloud?

‘The possible end of our civilization. Have you heard of the Ice Age?’

‘Yes, we had one in prehistoric times.’

            ‘We know it destroyed the first primitive species of mankind, and this phenomenon could destroy us. An impenetrable, stringy, dark mass that won't allow a ray of sunlight to penetrate here for centuries to come. It will not happen immediately, but at the latest in a hundred years – for that much, we have shelter and supplies. Scientists believe Mercury can occasionally drop some juice, that is, rain poison over our heads. But we can talk about alternative solutions tomorrow, after you have spent at least a day making up your mind. Otherwise, it would be as if we were putting our future in the hands of a newly qualified bank clerk, while we need the experience of a director.

            I couldn't help a broad smile, and Layla threw a reproachful look at me. I added:

            ‘Sorry, I did not mean to interrupt you. I just thought that the title "bank director" was not the ultimate guarantee for making the right decisions. ‘ 

            The door opened and Alina stepped into the room.  

            ‘Alina will keep you company tonight – she is a psychologist and knows what you need to refuel your brain.’

            Alina gave me a friendly smile. She wore a carefree expression, her eyes radiating sincerity and kindness. The young woman had wavy, ebony hair that gently framed her face, while her eyes held a glimmer of curiosity. While I was being pulled into their blue depths, Alina shook her head and said,

            ‘I will take you home, you are my guest tonight. ‘

            Any fatigue evaporated. At her house, I received a glass of aromatic wine and waited while she prepared some snacks. The window reflected her slender body, born of an ancient sculptor's dream. These were the smooth, graceful movements of a black panther, although Alina was unaware of them. Nature was part of her, and not a garment. 

            ‘Thanks for the invite. May I ask what exactly you do?’

            ‘I work as a psychologist and psychoanalyst. Human beings are never boring. Right now, I have the role of a school counsellor. Working with children is very satisfying. I help them find and accomplish their dreams.’

‘Did you find your dreams?’

‘I think so. I have one of the most desirable jobs in the world.’

‘You “think so”?’

         ‘Well, I was supposed to become a chemist. I specialized in dyes, especially for textiles, and it was great. But at one point I left. The work became monotonous. I could never produce new and different dye colours, only shades of the existing ones – since nobody would need others anyway.’

‘It does sound boring. A robot could do that, too.’

‘Yes...’ A shadow flew over Alina’s face.

‘And do you have the technical equipment to produce other dyes?’

Her face lit up.

‘I do. Here in my basement, during my studies, I experimented a lot...’

‘Show me some. We can try painting textiles together.’

‘Good! I'll get something white from upstairs.’

       Alina walked into the bedroom and fetched some clothes. Then she proudly showed me all her equipment in the cellar. A lot of it was automatic, she only changed settings on the computer and pushed various buttons on the machine.

‘What colour should I choose for the demonstration?’

‘Not sure – what about red?’

‘Red? But it's such an intrusive colour...’

‘It’s only an experiment.’

‘True – so be it.’

        The idea pleased Alina, I hadn't seen her in such an ecstatic state since we first met. Five minutes later, a drawer came out of the machine; on it lay the dyed piece of clothing. Alina grabbed it with the eagerness of a toddler being given an ice cream on a stick. It was exquisite lace lingerie. She looked at it with delight - then at me, full of doubt.

‘Will I ever be able to wear it?’

‘Why not?’

‘What man would like that?’

‘Me, for example. Try it,’ I said, smiling.

‘Okay, wait here!’

           Alina hid behind a screen. Next, she came out wearing red lingerie barely covering her divine body. I took a deep breath. This was far beyond my expectations.

           ‘What do you say?’ Apparently, the fact that she was standing in front of me in such attire embarrassed her less than the question of whether I liked the red colour.

‘It's incredible,’ I tried to produce a calm tone, ‘But something is missing.’

‘What exactly?’

‘Black shoes,’ I said confidently, hoping that this would make her look more dressed.

‘No problem, I've got plenty of shoes!’

Which woman doesn't?

‘But we only wear black at a funeral...’

‘I think black fits well. The only thing missing is a black hat.’

           ‘I have one from my grandmother's funeral. Stay here!’

           Her return caught me like lightning in the middle of a field, with no place to hide. A red explosion, wearing infinitely high-heeled black shoes with a graceful design, curving around her exquisite ankles and feet. The hat was not, let’s say, a top hat, to make her look like a cheap bedroom cliché, but an elegant work of art, featuring a huge, asymmetrical brim covered with a few dainty flowers – worthy of a royal court. A cocktail of innocence, grace, and sexiness. Dizziness overcame me. Alina didn't realize she was presenting me with a sight that did not come along every day. She looked at me with a radiant smile, without any embarrassment, expecting a meaningful comment. So, I said something stupid:

           ‘Everything fits perfectly. Can I see what material the hat is made of?’

           I approached Alina in awe, seemingly focused on the hat, and reached for its periphery, but my hand stayed lingering on her hair – I could not resist. Gently brushing Alina's face, I only touched her smooth porcelain skin like a gentle breeze - to savour her without eliciting a response, and only keep the picture in my memory. But she felt the breeze, and her expression changed. Her lips parted slightly in an unspoken thought, and she looked at me like a bewildered child who was suddenly struck with something incomprehensible. Question marks flickered in her eyes, while her black, curled lashes sought to hide them.

            ‘I'm engaged,’ she murmured. ‘The wedding is in six months.’

           As soon as her lips moved, I had to catch them – I kissed her in a rush of ardour I couldn't tame. Then I pulled back and sank into her eyes. She drowned in mine, and we were both searching for a lifeline to get to the nearest shore.

           ‘I should go, it's getting late.’ I coughed awkwardly.

Alina looked at me like a bird with crushed wings.

‘Can we talk again tomorrow? Did you like my outfit?’

           ‘The best outfit I've ever seen in my life. May I take a picture for you? There's no mirror here.’

‘Why not? No one will ever see it, anyway.’

My last words worked like ointment on a fresh wound, and she smiled fondly.

‘I'll see you to the door.’

           Alina put on a robe and kicked off her shoes, opting to come barefoot to the exit. She seemed to understand now how it all happened.

.......................................

           ‘Layla, you owe me a few explanations. I want to know where I am and why this world is so much like mine. And how I came here.’

           ‘Of course, Eric. Here is the dominant dogma, as taught at school:

         Once upon a time, there was a planet called Earth. Life was born on it, the result of a violent bolt of lightning crashing in stormy weather on damp seaside rocks. Tiny organic cells evolved into marine animals, which crawled ashore, where the evolutionary process continued. After an asteroid stroke, many huge species died out, and niches emerged for mammals and the primitive man. About 100,000 years before the time of a person called Christ, the Earth was inhabited by at least two kinds of humans, Neanderthals and Homo sapiens. One difference between them was the maximum brain size, which was 0,015 gill in Neanderthals and only 0,013 gill in Homo sapiens. They lived in remote areas or next to each other until the next asteroid came along.

            Asteroids are random in shape – this one was huge and had the shape of a sabre – flying towards the Earth at a furious speed. It sliced it open at one end like a ripe watermelon, only to break off a small piece before diving into the ocean. At the same moment, because of the spectacular collision of natural forces or unknown properties of the world the asteroid came from, a syncope of time occurred. Maybe you know what a syncope is?’

            Here, I felt at home:

            ‘A short-term loss of consciousness. But also the most interesting pause in music. The rhythmic element that gives it dynamism and expressiveness by placing a pause in place of the accent usually reserved for a strong first note. Without it, there would be no jazz, blues, soul, drum and bass, or funk.’

            ‘So, time was to hiccup in a syncope and immediately resume its normal rhythm again. In this brief span of time, the two new, separate parts of the Earth shifted to occupy a different place in the time-space continuum, albeit close together. For this reason, the astronomers' instruments do not detect another celestial body nearby. We live next door but billions of years away.

            At the very last moment, before the time gap closed like a guillotine, a tiny connection remained between the two worlds, like a spiral-shaped fettered time (relatively so, since it can translate your time to ours). The Earth resembled a balloon with the smaller part separated at one end and tied to it by a thread – like the balloons clowns make for children to create an animal figure. This connection is the Tunnel. A fossil of space and time.

            Subsequently, asynchronous development occurred. Since the Neanderthals, our ancestors who lived in this calmer and warmer side of the Earth, were smarter and more peaceful, they developed faster. As you can see, our world is undoubtedly far more advanced than yours.’

            ‘Then why do you seek help from us on a regular basis?’

            ‘This only started in the last two hundred years. When we solved all our old problems, new ones appeared. In earlier times, we assume that some Earth inhabitants would regularly stumble and fall into the Tunnel by accident since it happened to be in a major human settlement. This phenomenon was not yet known here, and everyone would think the stranger was crazy if he claimed he came from another world. So, he would indulge in the craft he knew – this is how wine, beer, potatoes, influences in music, architecture and arts came to be.’

            ‘And at some point, you started listening to the outsiders, believing there was another world?’

            ‘Correct. With modern technology, we can detect anything - unknown DNA code, chemical residues in the lungs, you name it. Some of our guests even made technological discoveries if they had education and enhanced it here.’

            ‘But didn't you say that most of them went back?’

            ‘Yes. Until we decided to put a barrier at the entrance. Some saw a high risk after your society developed weapons of mass destruction. Now the strategy is to only let someone in for specific purposes when there is a need. Ever since a modern city developed around the Tunnel with thousands of rational thinking people in it, we open the tunnel during lunch break and wait to see who will come through. Most guests turned out to be helpful.’

            ‘And how do you know that the ones who go back won't forcibly enter again with a bunch of dangerous people?’

            ‘To that, we found a solution. In your world, everything is about money, and everyone has a price, even the most selfless ones. If he's a banker, we transfer a huge sum to his account and a lifetime pension to keep him quiet. If he's a priest, we fund his church and all its projects; if he's a scientist, we give him some key information to win a Nobel Prize. No one wants to deprive himself of luxury and recognition in his home world. Realizing that he'll be declared insane if he tells his true story.’

            ‘I understand.’ I clenched my muscles.

            ‘So, back to the Threat,’ Layla said hurriedly. ‘Living underground should be our last resort. Currently, scientists and philosophers are discussing alternative solutions, referring either to their research or to ancient legends. According to some, after death, the energy of the human soul undergoes a process of distillation and is divided into two parts, positive and negative, by higher powers. The negative part is a sort of sludge, of which a large amount has built up after thousands of years of human development. Every world has a reservoir, or rather, a dump, for it, since the higher powers are only interested in acquiring positive energy, which has a high value in space. Some argue that the grey mass could be sediment from the Earth that has seeped from a reservoir through another spiral of time and space to our world. Apparently, the tank has ruptured and is about to spill over onto us.

            Some philosophies say that soul energy may be reincarnated in various forms. That is, even if the grey matter is not poisonous, if it rains down and floods our world, it will cause genetic changes through the food we eat, ultimately destroying our value system and social norms.’

            ‘I see. And you sit around and do nothing? I want you to introduce me to the representatives of all the theories so that I can come up with a course of action. How much time do we have left?’

            ‘Three weeks.’

            ‘Great!’ I frowned, and Layla shivered as if shrinking in her chair. I felt sorry for her and realized for the first time what responsibility really means – making everybody believe there is a solution before you know it yourself.

            In the following days, I met scientists and intellectuals. Among them was a little man with a gaunt figure – a shy, grey-haired scholar, not respected much because he studied the culture of a primitive society like the Earth's. When people came through the tunnel, the books they carried with them had been collected and kept in a secret library. The man's name was Olomon, and he started talking quietly, as if afraid he could be interrupted at any moment.

            ‘I respect your abilities inherited from the planet Earth. I don't have many sources of information, so I make do with what I get by chance. For example, Borges’ short story "The Garden of Branching Paths" reinvents an ancient parable presupposing a myriad of different versions of the future, i.e., branches of time. The eminent scholar of human myths and cultures, Mircea Eliade, speaks of the attraction that matter exerts over spirit, and that time wants to materialize in space. When this is not possible because of some contradiction, a void arises, an unnecessary link in the chain, leading to a side effect – the penetration of something unwanted. I believe that because of the simultaneous division of time and material from the Earth, the boughs of space and time clashed, like two slingshots without an elastic loop, snagged on each other. Since this pressure cannot be overcome, a resin-like substance comes out, as if from the core of a tree. What does this substance consist of?’

               I moved uneasily in my chair. Why do intellectuals always need to beat about the bush?

            ‘Eliade says that a man knows different rhythms of time. When he listens to music, makes love, or prays, he enters another present, called abbreviated time. The result of all these activities of the spirit is synthesized in images and symbols, memories, and dreams that have not found the surface. In my opinion, the grey resin contains the remnants of the spirit, discarded by humanity posthumously – a forgotten or unlived reality.

            A symbol is a source of knowledge, it reveals the hidden qualities of the being. Religions and ideologies use images, symbols, and myths because people trust them. They are more powerful than gods. Without them, humans have no compass. Interestingly, I find not a single example of emergent symbols in the literature of this century. But countless ads and signs awaken a longing for things payable in money. Then, there are people called Influencers, the new gods, who create diffuse myths meaning nothing.

            In your world, people go to psychoanalysts and yoga classes to find a sense of life. In ours, they look for a Determinator. Finding the way is difficult without examples and symbols, heroes to imitate and myths to aspire to. Relativism provides no orientation. Surely, this misfortune is due to the detachment of modern man from legends that preserve the wisdom of mankind. Maybe now we have the chance to touch it and reclaim our heritage – a chance to be whole again. The threat is an elixir of all insights. If we awaken the images and understand their message, we can experience again an enlightenment, a discovery, or a timeless melody.

            On Earth, there is a philosophy entailing a strange image – that of the innumerable universes emerging from the body of Vishnu. According to it, every society has four eras, one of which is ‘golden’ – after which there is invariably a regression. It is related to a man's destination-state – only in this state can he make a step forward or pursue a goal.

Anthropia has become a world of levelling. Life is under the sign of existential relativism - everything can be done, and nothing should be. Every action and each decision can constitute a mistake. But have you ever experienced a friendship or love with a perfect person, or a discovery not preceded by trial and error? We have forgotten what zest and infatuation mean, with no promise of a secure result.’  

            I thanked Olomon and even if I did not understand everything he said, it brought some relief. Like when you know there is a variant B.

            At some point, I made the first and most logical decision. We would send rockets to pierce the mercurial cloud, take some tests, and if it turned out not to be poisonous, we would let it rain down on our heads. It was not easy to persuade everybody, but I held a speech that was broadcast on all communication channels:

            ‘Surely, if we wait any longer, we will never know what the Threat consists of, if anything. You were lucky at the creation of your world - who knows, you may be that now, again: to utilize the better side of humanity. It may even bring you more abilities and a surplus of love,’ an approving murmur followed, ‘and there will be no more hard decisions to make, for each will gladly accept the recognition shown to his neighbour or do him a favour. You will also be freed of any vestige of aggressiveness.’

            A rousing cheer erupted all over the network. Intoxication with their imminent strength and superiority over the unknown enemy was flooding the listeners’ brains. Elation reminding of readiness for a new war. After the speech, the media called me a visionary, a brilliant mind, a leader, and a saviour.

            The last few days were spent in hectic preparations. These people were about to encounter for the first time something fearsome, with an uncertain end. But they trusted I would lead them to the cherished shore. I planned to leave Anthropia at this point. I told everyone that I would monitor developments from another location using special equipment. In the last hours, everyone was too busy to look for me. I sat in the shelter of the rocky cave that was the entrance to the Tunnel, hidden behind impenetrable bushes. Observing the sky made me recognize the ephemeral nature of the theory we relied on.

            At the same time, I realized that I did not want to spend another day of my life as a link in the chain. I had little influence and few days of gratitude or passion at work… even if I never expected any. So, I made a decision. Stretching my hands out of the rocky cave, I bathed them in the slow, unassailable stream of quicksilver that poured from the sky onto Anthropia, swathing roads, parks, and plazas with a sticky blanket of monotonous grey. I splashed it on my face, collected some of it in a bottle, and took a sip for courage and inspiration. Then I sent Alina a message. 

............................................................

            The man with broad shoulders and ash-blond hair stepped onto the waterfront street and squinted. He swayed slightly sidewards as if he had been drunk or fainted after a shipwreck.

            On the stone staircase of the bridge was a young couple. A man, his hair unkempt, went down on his knees, offering a small box with a gold ring to a black-haired, blue-eyed girl – the only savings of this yet unknown musician. The hat on the ground had just filled with coins, as he had presented the passers-by a wonderful song. He watched the girl with devotion, anxiety, and longing, waiting for her to make up her mind, as did the small group of people gathered around them.

            Turning with a smile, the castaway made his way across the bridge and up the steps, leaving his stuffy office behind. No one has seen him in this town since. They say he has found a new coat, happiness, and insight.

            Only occasionally, drifting off into memories and melancholic thoughts, would he gaze at the picture of a fairy dressed in red, waving cheerfully and throwing delicate black flowers at him. She would wander in his dreams, and he would reach out to touch her and whisper her name, which, however, no one has yet been able to understand. The man often says he will find her beyond the cleft of time.