“Of course, you are their descendants. You lost their technology when it was destroyed by terrorists. You are no less capable of reaching the same level of sophistication they had. It will just take time and a grasp of science.”
Troll’s using strange words. He explains science to the best of his ability. We all are curious about terrorists. They don’t sound like gods. “Troll, were the terrorists the gods?” I ask.
“Goodness no, Amy Marksman. They were people, although I am unsure whether they were human or some other species. They released a tiny substance onto earth that very quickly degraded human-made materials called plastics. These materials were part of most manufactured materials and wreaked havoc on society. The motives of the terrorists are unknown, although they likely perished along with most of the human population.”
The viewing space before us transforms into a chaotic fugue of images of crumbling cities, boxes falling from the sky or crashing on the ground, widespread fires, and a thing Troll called a train piled on its side and burning. The images then go blank.
“As you can see, the end was traumatic. I think it is time for you to rest. Your biosigns show that you all are exhausted. It is late and we can continue tomorrow morning after breakfast. Let me show you to your rooms.”
After a very brief, lackluster debate, we decide to follow Troll’s advice. We presume Samuel will be fine camping on the hillside and that he probably is already resting or drunk. It must be midnight outside.
Troll guides us to a large, glass box he calls a lift. We step in and it rises high along the wall. It opens onto a walkway with a series of doors. My room’s magnificent, augmented by Troll’s magic I surmise. The bed is impossibly large and soft, with cloud-like pillows. There’s another adjacent room with a shower. This time I soak in steaming water and wrap myself in a soft robe. I’m unconscious before I hit the bed.
I awake with no idea of the time of morning. I decide to explore this place, peeking cautiously in the walkway. No one is stirring and the light of the artificial sun is dim, I guess to make us think it is early morning. I shuffle barefooted down the walkway to the lift. Troll’s box sits in the hallway. I step in, Troll asks me where I want to go, and I tell it to take me up. The lift responds instantly, with me leaving part of my stomach below. Troll’s box, still sitting in the walkway below, shrinks rapidly as I ascend. The lift stops at the highest level — the plaza and seats on the ground floor seeming tiny as fleas. Up here, there’s only one door. It’s labeled with the symbols M-U-N-I-T-I-O-N-S. The smell I noticed when we first descended into this place is strong here. I suddenly recognize it as the scent of the oil used on the guns in father’s armory.
The door slides open and I tip-toe in. The room before me has hundreds of shelves leading far into its recesses. Each shelf is loaded with guns, boxes of strange devices I cannot comprehend, and occasionally blades made of a strange, very light, exceptionally sharp black material rather than metal. This place did not have a peaceful purpose. I’m a little glum, realizing that these enlightened people still had the need to kill each other. I shove a sheathed blade into the pocket of my robe and turn to leave. I must tell the others.
“Hello, Amy Marksman. You have discovered our munitions storage and practice arena.” I crouch behind a shelf, searching for the source of Troll’s voice. The box is nowhere to be seen.
“Troll, where are you?”
“The device you call the box is but one physical extension of me. I am the central interface for this entire facility. Thus, I am able to sense you no matter where you go. I have nothing to hide and neither should you. I am always available for you.”
“Why did you need these weapons?”
“I did not require them and am incapable of using them. They were wielded by the human caretakers. My masters held a unique view of the political and sociological views of their time. They were certain that collapse was imminent. They were correct in their prediction, although not about the cause of the fall. The weapons were meant to protect them from an attack of looters. You see, at that time, human population density was high and many people were starving. This distress challenged the government and collapse seemed likely.”
“Seems like an awful lot of weapons to keep some starving and scared people away.”
“My associates surmised that there would be a need for leadership and order after the fall. They would provide that stability.”
“With guns? I’m unsure of how they work, but I suspect they are powerful. My father and his friends use them to hunt large game animals. My leaders never needed weapons to persuade our people.”
“Would you like to learn about these weapons?”
Goosebumps rise on my arms. Father never gave me the opportunity. “Sure.”
Troll leads me to an attached room with its walls, floor, and ceiling coated in black foam. It calls this a firing range. The box appears with a gun in its mechanical arm. The weapon is short and surprisingly light. A window to my left appears with an image of the weapon. I follow the instructions as they appear and fire at the life-like image of a deer in the range. The recoil is light and exhilarating. Troll informs me that my target is eliminated. In the following hours, I fire a dozen gun-like weapons, lob concussion grenades, launch a rocket, and learn about defensive armor. This is seriously addictive.
“Your companions are gathering for breakfast. Would you like to join them?”
I fire one more volley at the various targets appearing at the end of the room. “Sure, but I need to change first.”
After slipping back into my traveling clothes, which have been washed and folded, I follow the box back to the dining area. The room’s awash with morning light shining through a draped window. I know that it doesn’t really exist, but my mind is already beginning to accept the fantasy as reality. What bothers me most is that I don’t seem to care very much. I have to force myself to worry about Eliza and the others, wondering when we might escape this pleasant cage.
I sip the most amazing cup of coffee and study my companions. Bets and Theo seem particularly serene. I wonder whether they may have spent some of the night in the same room. Flip looks haggard. I wonder whether he’s slept at all. After we eat, we move back to the viewing area.
Theo begins the lesson. “Troll. We need to know why we’re here. How’d we know to find this place and what are we supposed to do next?”
“This was curious to me as well. I took the initiative to sample your DNA from your clothing while you were sleeping. I do hope you don’t mind. Excuse me for making an assumption about your science knowledge. DNA is a substance in each of your bodies that is unique and related to your ancestors. Only one of you has an apparent, biological link to this facility. Amy Marksman, you are distantly related to Captain Francis Jonston who was a high-ranking member of the clan that maintained this facility. The Captain apparently provided information to one of your ancestors about how to access this place. Quite illegal and an offense worthy of banishment. Remarkably, this information was retained among generations in your village and brought you and the others here.”
We all are stunned. I ask, “So, this DNA tells you that my great granddad a hundred times over provided us with clues to come back here?”
“Yes,” the Troll says with no hint of surprise or concern.
“What happened to him?” I ask.
“He is still here.”
Flip is clearly agitated, motioning for me to talk with him. I’m not feeling particularly sane myself. I walk over to the boy and he whispers, “I saw stuff last night. Stuff that y’all need to see.”
Troll responds. “Flip is trying to tell you about the location of the masters, including your ancestor, Amy Marksman. Flip, please lead them to the chamber.”