Mort(e) and Wawa pulled themselves onto the deck of the Vesuvius, a small balcony where two humans helped them to their feet. Mort(e) could not discern their gender because both were dressed in the same bug-like outfits that the first one wore, the one who had sacrificed himself. From here, Mort(e) could get a better look at the ship. The three main balloons supporting the cabin were coated in a shimmering silver material that reflected the ground, the sky, and the sun all at once. It could mimic the colors around it like the skin of a chameleon. And it must have absorbed the sunlight, providing a solar energy source so that the ship never needed to land. Mort(e) recalled a photo someone had once shown him, taken from a battle in a city called Chicago that no longer existed. A group of animal soldiers had taken the picture in front of some silvery blob, a metallic sculpture. That was what the blimp resembled. It took Mort(e) a moment to recall that this memory came from his own past and not from the translator.
Mort(e)’s eyes followed the reflective skin to the stern, where the propellers spun in blurred circles, powered by the largest engines he had ever seen. Encased in the reflective metal, the turboprops were each the size of a yacht, and yet the only sound they made came from slicing through the air. There were two engines for each balloon — Mort(e) could see the bottom four from his perch on the balcony. This was not one ship but several, lashed together to support the gondola, the pressurized incubator of human civilization.
The humans gave Mort(e) and Wawa a few more seconds to take it all in. Then they led the two fugitives to a metal door with a giant wheel in the center of it. One of the humans spun the wheel, releasing the air lock. This opened to a cylindrical chamber lined with track lights. While one human closed the door behind them, shutting out the wind, the other opened the next lock. When the door released, to Mort(e)’s surprise, the smell of trees and wildlife greeted him, a humid breeze filled with the spice of pine needles and soil. It made no sense. The humans motioned for them to proceed. Wawa hesitated. “It’s better than waiting outside,” he told her.
They entered an enormous oval room, some kind of promenade, with dozens of circular windows that let in the daylight. In the middle of the room was a fountain surrounded by trees and manicured grass. Plastic pipes interlaced the little garden, leading to the bubbling oasis at the center. Mort(e) figured that they had constructed a renewable source of oxygen, clean water, and vegetables, probably adapted from Colonial technology. The humans had turned this amazing aircraft into a small Eden in the clouds, though it remained a poor imitation of what the ants had accomplished.
The rear of the room featured a small amphitheater, a meeting area with benches and chairs surrounding it. Stairways and elevators led to other levels of the cabin — Mort(e) assumed these levels included living quarters, supplies, an engine room, and maybe even a house of worship, the transmitter of EMSAH.
Dozens of humans stood about, perhaps even a hundred, some in olive military uniforms, others in blue jumpsuits. They all gasped when he entered. A few even broke down crying. There were several mothers with their children. They whispered into the little boys’ and girls’ ears, saying, That’s him. That’s Sebastian.
There was a bald man with glasses who seemed hypnotized by Mort(e)’s medallion. The man held his hand to his own chest, clutching a St. Jude necklace that wasn’t there.
A woman in a black robe stepped out of the crowd. She was middle-aged, of East Asian descent, with silver hair and wrinkles. Her robe flowed down to her feet, making it appear that she could float rather than walk. A white collar held the robe in place on her thin neck. “What happened to the man who was with you?” she asked.
“He sacrificed himself to save us,” Mort(e) said.
She gazed at the floor for a moment and cleared her throat. “I am the Archon,” she said. “We must speak alone.”
Taking his hand, she led him toward an elevator shaft. Mort(e) was so entranced by the strangeness of it all that he almost forgot about Wawa. When he searched the room for her, the Archon squeezed his hand and told him that the dog would be okay. He had already seen Wawa attack an acid-shooting Alpha with nothing more than a fireman’s axe. These humans were no match.
As the Archon guided him past the disciples, each one took a turn placing a hand on his shoulder and muttering some prayer. It took a few times before Mort(e) understood what they were saying: We are delivered. We are delivered. Seconds later, he was in the elevator with her. The Archon herself was leading him into the inner sanctum of the humans. The elevator lifted them through a transparent tube to the cabin attached to the ship’s upper chamber.
The doors slid open, revealing the Archon’s command center and personal quarters. A table was in the center of the room, draped with old yellowed maps. To the side, near a row of bookshelves, was an odd piece of artwork: a glass case with sand in it. Spaces in the sand had been carved out, like tunnels.
“I knew you would find this interesting,” she said. “It defies everything you know. It may be the last of its kind in existence.”
Mort(e) detected movement in the little tunnels. He drew closer. The motion turned out to be ants, hundreds of them, thousands, all living in a miniature version of the Colony.
“An ant farm,” the Archon said.
“How did you do this?”
“We were created to have dominion over these creatures, not the other way around. We could scoop them up from the dirt and use them for our amusement, if God willed it.”
The ants went about their business of harvesting, digging, tending to eggs. In the floating cocoon of the Vesuvius, they were mere exhibits in a zoo.
The Archon offered him a drink, pointing to a pitcher of water and a bowl on a nearby countertop. He accepted. She poured the water and handed him the bowl. Mort(e) lapped up as much as he could with each gulp.
“You remind me of a cat I used to have,” she said. “She’s gone now.”
“You had dominion over her?”
“Yes, but only after rescuing her from a pack of dogs. She lost a leg, poor thing. You see, we were not the slaveholders you think we were. We cared about you. You were our friends. We were your guardians.”
“Tell that to the dog I came here with,” Mort(e) said after finishing up the last few drops. “Her guardian kept her in a cage. Made her fight to the death.”
The Archon nodded.
“The ants are our guardians now,” he said. “That’s not working out too well, either. So you’ll have to forgive me if I’m not that excited to be here. I’m curious about what you have say. But I didn’t have much of a choice.”
“I like to think that we always have choices,” she said. “But I know how it feels when it looks like we don’t.”
She took his empty bowl and placed it on the counter. “The Colony told you that EMSAH is an acronym, right?” she asked.
“That’s right.”
“Do you know what it means?”
“I may have briefly,” Mort(e) said.
“It’s a corruption of the word messiah, first spoken by an animal who was learning how to read.”
This word sounded familiar to Mort(e). He took it to mean some kind of revolutionary. A troublemaker. But the Archon’s reverence for the term seemed to give it a different connotation.
“You, Sebastian,” she said, “you’re the messiah for the Colony, for the animals, and for us. You will deliver all three into the hands of the Lord.”
She reached out and squeezed his St. Jude medallion. Her nails were painted silver, like the hull of the ship. “It’s been a while since I’ve see one of these.”