The Ember

Lorenzo stepped away from his dyes and plucked the picture from the ground. Frowning, he tossed it away again, clicking his tongue. In the bustling marketplace, the picture was kicked and stepped on and brushed along this way and that. Anulti stepped away from her butcher’s booth to pick it up. Her brow furrowed as she studied with curious eyes. She slipped it into her pocket. Perhaps, she would manage to find its owner.

The light blinked, washing the tunnel with red. All of the noise shumped out as the door behind shut, leaving Michael alone. His breaths came heavy, but even. The simple, meaty heart thumped in his ears. He flexed his hand. Strong arms on this one. How long had it been since he’d been in a body?

Out the round port window of the metal door, the desert lay quiet. It was only four hundred yards. Four hundred yards of open sun and cruel sand to the door on the other side. He didn’t see any of them out there.

But, they were out there.

Each of the presidents had shaken his hand with their cool metal palms, nodding with resolute eyes. The Ember had flickered four times in the last decade and each time a brave citizen had volunteered. Each had been successful. None had returned. Elarra was there as well. He felt stupid to be excited to see her. Stupid, when he would not survive the night. His new heart pounded anyway. She shook his hand like the others, then winked. It was quick and he wondered if it had happened. “Lock it,” she said, tapping his chest.

Michael blinked, looking down. His suit was already locked. It must have been some gesture of luck. Was she unsure of what to say in such a moment? “Thanks,” he had blurted out.

Michael blinked again, standing alone, staring out the window. “Thanks,” he muttered. He shook himself, remembering the eyes on him. Focus. The sky outside went bright and flickered. Red. Green. Purple.

It was raining when the first solar flare pulsed the earth. Michael had always found that odd. A solar flare in the rain. A tenth of the world’s power flicked off in a moment. A significant problem when most people had already traded at least one of their limbs or organs for cybertronic replacements. Replacement limbs and organs that suddenly stopped working.

It took months for the power to be restored. Plans were made. Pulse-proof infrastructure was begun. Committees were formed. Then, the second flare hit. Then, the third. The fourth. Perhaps, we could have weathered it, if not for what the pulses had awoken in the deep.

Plans were forgotten. Infrastructure crumbled. Committees died. Survivors rushed behind non-reinforced walls and unfinished fortresses. Those here at the compound had fared the best.

Starnet’s former headquarters and living campus, a marvel of technology, overtaken by bedraggled refugees of the solar storm. A meritocracy was formed. Food was grown and bartered. People formed into the neat subsets of society. And here behind the Starnet walls, what electronics they had left were safe from the constant flaring pulses. Safe, as long as the Ember stayed on.

But sometimes the Ember flickered. Like a distant star. And each time, turned back on by a brave soul. One sacrificed for the many. And now it flickered again. Lights pulsing on and off. Nervous glances. Shortages listed on the news reels. Potatoes, tobacco, chicken, red dye, baking yeast, the endless list scrolled smoothly along under the concerned face of the anchor. Food had to be rationed. Luxuries done without. A small sacrifice, of course, said the presidents. And a nervous civilization waited for the volunteer. Who will go this time? Who will rekindle the Ember? It would have been easy on speeding cybertronic legs or powerful cybertronic arms. But outside the walls, where the pulses lit the earth a dozen times a minute, those limbs would quickly become useless.

Only a real, human body could survive this job. Only flesh and blood.

His shoulders rose and fell. This body was strong. They would have given it every genetic advantage. Strong, fast, with lungs that could sprint for miles. Four hundred yards. And then the door. He eyed the camera hovering above his shoulder. It would last until the first pulse, then the crowd would have to watch from afar. Inside the compound, the world had stopped. Storefronts closed, events halted, and all other screens went dim. All eyes would be on him. The one sent to rekindle the Ember. To save them all.

The door shook and a deafening buzz filled the corridor. Michael’s breaths came faster. It was all he could hear until the door shook again and began to rise. He closed his eyes. One last moment of safety. One last moment sheltered in the walls.

And then the open desert was before him.

For a moment, all was still.

Then he ran.

He ran like he had never run.

And for twenty quiet yards, he let himself hope that it would be easy. Forty yards and nothing. Sixty yards. The cameras buzzed beside him. He was one hundred yards in when the sky lit up and the pulse seemed to strike the cameras out of the air. They clattered into the dirt and in the same moment, the ground around him erupted in a mess of angry limbs and sand.

Michael didn’t look at it. He kept his eyes on the door, willing his body to move faster. He tried not to remember what they did to people. What he had seen them do.

The thing riled and rolled on the dirt, gaining its bearings. Its scuffle to gain its footing allowed Michael a few precious paces of space. His lungs were hot and full and angry, but Michael forced his limbs to move. As the thing began its bounding gallop toward him, he felt the tremors shake the hard earth. The pounding grew nearer, but all he could do was run. Two hundred yards. Halfway there.

The sky lit and the ground erupted again, this time in front of him. He growled away the fear that leapt into him as the tangle of limbs splayed directly in his path. Michael never broke stride, turning slightly to the right to avoid the creature. It scrambled to its feet, too late to strike him with a great sweeping limb. Another light in the sky and he heard the tremor of the earth breaking again. He could not look back. The sky lit again.

He cursed and yelled and ran. How many were behind him now? He remembered watching the last time the Ember had flickered, how the brave soul had outrun twenty creatures into the door. That man had been near death by the time he’d reached it. But apparently, he had done enough once inside.

Fifty yards to go and the door began to creak open. It was controlled from back home. They’d be watching and waiting to open it. It opened too slowly. Michael cursed. Thirty yards and the crack was too small. Twenty yards. Not enough. Ten yards. He grimaced.

He slid, feet first, striking the door at the same time as the wicked creature. His head knocked against it as he slid under, searing pain coursing through him. The beast clattered against the door, too large to fit. Michael forced his weary body to rise, slamming his hand into the button to push the door back closed. He collapsed, head pounding, vision blurred.

Tears streaked down his face and when he wiped them, the dust made mud on his wrists. He laughed in relief and fear and pain and when he had finally regained his breath, he stood. Shuffling down the causeway, he followed the set route he’d been given. He’d memorized his way in, tested repeatedly.

And there he was. In front of the door.

The door.

And behind it, the Ember, sustainer of life, power of the world, glowed. Michael stared blinking into the window. His shoulders fell.

There were hundreds. They crowded around the light. They bumped and prodded each other. They growled at nothing. The creatures from below.

It was impossible.

And yet, Michael stared past them. He stared at the glowing Ember. Glowing bright and constant. It did not flicker.

Michael sunk to the floor, shaking his head. This wasn’t right. Whatever was wrong with the Ember, it wasn’t obvious from where he stood. But, he had to try. He began to stand, readying himself to face the end. Ready to die.

He froze, staring, remembering. The presidents. Shaking his hand and sending him off. To rekindle an Ember . . . that didn’t need kindling.

But why?

His stomach dropped.

He’d known he was going to die. But, he hadn’t known it was for nothing.

He let the realization wash over him.

He was going to die for nothing.

But why?

He thought of his spot by the wall in the library, the rain pattering the window. He thought of his mother, smiling. She would be so proud were she still alive. He thought of Elarra. So beautiful. And even now, his heart pounded at the thought of her. Fresh tears filled his eyes. She had betrayed him too. Lock it, she’d said. He idly fingered the lock on his suit.

Then he felt the lump.

Frowning, he ripped open his suit, and there lying against him, suspended by the thinnest of chains, was a heart-shaped locket. He stared at it. This body had been dressed and suited when he’d been placed inside it. A locket? He frowned again, fingering the thick metal sides. “Lock it,” he muttered. He clicked it open.

It was digital, but the light inside blinked with power. Starnet metal, resistant to pulses. This locket would have been worth a fortune. He fumbled with the button with trembling fingers. Scene flickered to life. A girl playing outside with her parents. An old woman gardening. A coronation, a woman standing on a stage, bowing her head to receive a presidency. Elarra. Michael frowned. A meeting. Men reclining at a table. “Of course it’s not flickering. The Ember will burn for ten thousand years,” an old man said, casting a knowing look around the table. The others chuckled. “And the rationing. . .” said the wearer of the locket, off camera. Her voice fading with understanding. The old man smiled, gesturing to the table, where food was piled high. The locket flicked out, its scenes finished.

Michael nodded, shoulders slumped, eyes distant. Shortages, rationing, flickering. Always a few years apart. Always after a particularly hard season. And the presidents feasted.

He remembered his mother again, skinny and frail, breath rattling her tiny frame. He trembled, hand in a fist, body shaking. He stood, clicking a button on the locket one last time.

When the man came bursting forth through the far door, the tumult was raucous. And every eye watched as the first to ever reemerge from that door sprinted toward home. And even as the creatures closed in on him, they still hoped. And when he was pierced, the groan that rose through them reached every corner of the crowd. And still the man fought on, taking wound after wound, rising and running, hands balled into resolute fists, eyes ahead.

He made it under the door. He was lifted to the marketplace before the doctors wrested their way through the crowd. And there he was laid and there he died.

After, when the floor remembered him with a bloodstain, the market buzzed slowly back to life. The Ember was rekindled. The man had been successful. The citizens spoke of him with reverent and sad eyes. And the world carried on.

A necklace lay on the ground. An ornament on the thinnest of chains. In the bustling marketplace, it was kicked and stepped on and brushed along this way and that. Until a hand of red-stained fingers closed around it.