The Triple Rising — Chapter 4

Atlantis is dead — or is it

Semylyn found Owena sitting at the weathered stone desk in the corner of the Archivists’ athenaeum. Her white hair pulled slightly from its bun and dipped over her eyes as she studied the tablet in her hand.

“Excuse me,” Semylyn spoke as she approached.

Owena flinched and quickly flipped off the tablet. “Oh, Semylyn,” she said, rising from her seat, “you startled me.”

“I’m sorry,” Semylyn offered, clasping her hands before her.

“It’s quite alright, quite alright. Can I help you with something? Is there a log you’d like to review, or maybe something a little more entertaining?” Owena gestured to the walls of the athenaeum, covered with shelves and shelves of tablets.

As a child she’d asked her father why Sitnaltian records were not all kept on one tablet, there was enough memory on a single tablet to hold all the data, and then some. He’d told her that Sitnaltian records were so precious they were saved each to individual tablets. Even if one became corrupted, the rest of the collection wouldn’t be damaged.

“I’m going to speak with the Warder,” Semylyn answered.

Owena hesitated a moment. Semylyn stood with her characteristic stately straightness, her shoulders back and chin raised. Mastering this imperial stance hadn’t come easily but, as the city’s future High Guardian, it was necessary she command a modicum of respect. At least, those were her father’s thoughts. Her people would find it easier to trust her if she assumed a persona of confidence and authority.

“Of course,” Owena nodded. Though she was a Council member herself, she was careful to show the daughter of the High Guardian proper deference. Now that Semylyn was of bonding age, she had found that the city’s people were even more careful of her.

Owena turned and went to the high arch built into the back wall. With a hand pressed to the identification pad, she closed her eyes, and a brief moment passed as she communed with the Warder.

Besides her father and herself, only Archivist officials could commune with the Warder, and even then, only on limited venues. By her position, Semylyn didn’t really need Owena’s permission. But given the truth of another of her father’s lessons, those who first give respect gain respect, she’d learned to defer to others when she could.

Owena stepped to one side as the arches’ gleaming white doors slid open with an airy hiss. The open doorway indicated the Warder’s welcome. Semylyn approached the entrance.

“If you need me, I’ll be here.” Owena offered at the last moment.

Semylyn smiled her thanks and then stepped through the arch. With another hiss of air, the doors slid closed behind her and she stood in semi-darkness. The emptiness of the Warder’s Hall echoed her footsteps, the rounded walls sloping above and below to form a perfect sphere. She stood in the middle, on a suspended platform that jutted to the center of the sphere, where a chair sat for those addressing the Warder. Ten steps along a suspended, narrow walkway would take her to the chair. Her mind reeled against the consequences of veering even a single step to either side.

She steeled her nerves. This was always her least favorite part of visiting the Warder. In the near-total darkness, it was difficult to reign in her fear of heights and move forward without collapsing to a crawl.

She could still hear her father’s voice, “If a High Guardian cannot master this small test of confidence to speak to the Warder, what kind of High Guardian will she be?”

Finally, she reached the chair. Using its tall back for balance, she moved around it and sat. The storage cells hummed as the Warder’s massive intelligence prepared for the interface.

The familiar chill propagated a multitude of Goosebumps on her arm. She shivered slightly, pulling the long folds of her Council robe around her.

With a pure, almost musical tone, the Warder interface appeared on the spherical wall directly in front of her. It formed a pure white orb, which seemed to be three-dimensional, due to the curvature of the wall’s screens.

“I address the Warder,” Semylyn said, and watched as her vocal input was recorded and analyzed.

“Semylyn Vock, Daughter of Omree Vock, High Guardian of Sitnalta.” The Warder’s vocal projection, deliberately programmed to sound androgynous, always sounded masculine to Semylyn.

As a child, she’d been required to read a collection of Sun Dweller literature, including The Wizard of Oz. In her young mind, she’d pictured the Warder as a whiskery old man just behind the screens speaking into a voice amplifier, answering her endless questions patiently and thoroughly. As she’d aged, the Warder’s reality became less magical and more mysterious. Custodian of the collective intelligence of all Sitnaltian history, combined with all that was left of the Mother City’s records as well, she could never plumb its depth of knowledge in one lifetime.

“Your presence is authorized.”

Now that she was finally here, Semylyn didn’t know where exactly to begin. She thought for a moment then remembered her father’s counsel. “When a problem is overwhelming, start with the most basic, the most familiar components, and work your way up.”

“Warder,” Semylyn began, sitting straighter in the chair, “Show me Sitnalta.”

With a soft whooshing sound, the screens turned and moved as they assembled themselves into a projection of the city that filled the frontal viewing wall.

Her city was beautiful. Built directly on the ocean’s floor, it rose hundreds of feet upwards, covered entirely by a glistening dome. From the center, four conduits ran like spokes from a wheel out to the outer ring of labs, gardens, and other workstations.

The Warder now showed the inside of the city, its glistening walls and bright viewing decks. Then appeared the channel, a gleaming vertical column that connected the seven levels. Beyond that, the high-arched entries into the habitation ring, with their balconies and turrets.

She sighed. If anything was worth saving, it was this beautiful city and those uniquely precious few who inhabited it. How could any other thing on Earth be as rare, or priceless? Sitnalta stood as the sole surviving daughter city of the great Mother Empire — Atlantis

“Warder,” Semylyn spoke into the void, “Show me Atlantis.”

Darkness rose to encompass the entire room. Semylyn sat still, careful to keep her breathing slow and steady, holding the claustrophobia at bay. Then, a glimmer of orange light grabbed her like a fishhook. In small increments, it brightened and circled the room, surrounding her in shades of red, pink, and yellow. A clear and beautiful blue followed and moved up the wall, pulling splashes of other colors with it. Daubs of color merged, forming familiar shapes. Water. Rock. Waves.

This was her favorite part. The projections moved over the panels, allowing the viewer to hover and circle like a bird in flight, giving her an aerial view of lush green meadows and gleaming white beaches ringed by clear aquamarine waters. Completely immersed, Semylyn freed her mind and allowed the images to spin her back through timeless centuries. Atlantis spread out before her, living, pulsing to the rhythms of an ancient world.

For a few seconds, she simply stared at the magnificence that was the Mother City. Cresting waves broke on beaches washed in golden sunlight. Bridges built so high she couldn’t even fathom their scope spun through the air like a silken web, connecting the layers of the city’s many markets and buildings. At a glance, the ancient city resembled a jumbled pile of children’s blocks. Upon further inspection, a whimsical elegance to the architecture was revealed from the lowest ports where the Prime-powered ships docked to the highest point of the city — Atlantis’ own Warder Hall.

Semylyn suddenly voiced the thought occurring to her for the first time. “Warder, were you in Atlantis?”

“That question falls within inadequate parameters. Please rephrase.”

Semylyn groaned. She could not count the times she’d heard that statement. “Is your existing program that of the original Atlantean Warder?” Semylyn tapped her fingers against her wrist as she waited. With a strobe-bright flash, the Warder’s interfacing orb reappeared, superimposed over the image of Atlantis.

“This program is the original used by the Mother City, engineered by Atlantean scientist Lohen Vimsck. The Warder program was included as part of Sitnalta’s architectural plan. Installed and uploaded on…”

“So,” She interrupted, “You’re Atlantean.” There was a pause.

“I am.”

Semylyn blinked. There were moments when the Warder seemed self-aware. He was, she reminded herself, the most advanced piece of technology Sitnaltians had ever known. Nevertheless, possessing all the information on an entire race, or simply being ancient in years did not make a machine sentient. What was it that her father had said on several occasions? “The Warder’s contributions were more than wise.” She pondered what that meant.

“Warder, show me the Prime.” Semylyn gazed at the image that shone from the screens before her. Undulating through the ocean, the Warder projected the Prime’s essence as finite silver currents that ran through the oceans of Earth somewhat like filaments of thread.

She drew in a deep breath, holding it as she sank deeper into her chair and thought about the most basic components of the problem.

“Warder, show me the realm of the Sun-Dwellers.” The familiar images conjured up mixed feelings, some awesome, and some dreadfully painful. For that reason, she’d not viewed them in over three years.

How could any world survive the contradictions of its existence? Vast mountains and green forests, sparkling rivers, and seething, powerful volcanoes passed in succession. Then came the true Sun-Dweller reality: steaming cities, belching factories, and miles upon miles of life-destroying pavement that crushed all wildlife, trees, and fauna. Worst of it all, the sickening tons upon tons of pollution dumped, buried, and scattered in all Earth’s waters, and the innumerable mining operations both sea-faring and not.

Troyak was right. They were the problem. How could any Sun-Dweller live amid such ruthless exploitation and be capable of helping anybody?

“Warder, please stop the viewer,” Semylyn said, shaking in disgust.

She sat in the resulting darkness, thinking for a long while. She would soon inherit all the problems presently weighing upon her father’s shoulders, that of Sitnalta, and by extension, the entire planet. It was enough to make her sick all over again. Tears formed and spilled over onto her cheeks as the sheer magnitude of the responsibility overtook her.

“War…Warder, will I be a good High Guardian?” she flung the question out despondently and awaited the expected failsafe reply.

“Semylyn Vock,” The Warder said instead. Semylyn sat up straight, intrigued. “Eighteen years of age. The last embryonic being to be animated, in line to inherit the High Guardianship of Sitnalta. Character profile: Intelligence aptitude: Extremely High. Social aptitude: Acceptable, slightly less adept than most. The primary motivation,” Semylyn held her breath. “Duty…”

The Warder stopped and Semylyn breathed out. Why had the Warder changed the answer format, giving her entire existence in a few analytical sentences?

“…Projected success as High Guardian,” The Warder continued, “High.”

Semylyn found a smile, mostly of disbelief, creeping into the corners of her mouth.

“Thank you, Warder. That’s comforting.”

“You are welcome, Semylyn.”

The personal reply alarmed her, forcing another question despite her reserve. “Warder, are…are you alive? Something is different, isn’t it? I mean…oh, I don’t know what I mean.”

“That question does not fall within adequate parameters. Please rephrase.”

“Never mind,” she said.

To be continued…