What Paradise Gave Me: Back in OS, I was a professor of Art. I wanted to understand the heart of the great impressionists, so I spent my life studying them. Their circumstances, their backgrounds, their families.
Even if I had somehow been able to find out every single thing they had ever said; every single thought they had ever thought? There would still be all the potential for what they might have thought up next. Something that no study of the past could offer was an insight into the future. It's said that Mozart has invented two new instruments, trying to get the sound 'just right' for his next concert. Van Gogh has spent two centuries on an artwork that he does not intend to show anyone.
~~/*\~~
Rika sat quietly for a long moment. The conversation had gone on from a late lunch, right through dinner. Megan was nearly crying all the way through. Rika took it in stride. She had never met Erica.
"When you were born, I thought you were ours. Genetically, I mean." Megan said quietly. "It wouldn't have made a difference to know it. But when you were about seventeen, I started to notice the similarities."
"And you didn't say anything for this long?" Rika was stunned.
"I didn't know for sure until recently."
"Rika." Her daughter said her name. "You named me for Erica."
"I did." Megan nodded. "I named you after your mom."
"You are my mom." Rika said immediately. "Hundreds of millions of Returnees started out that way. The ones that were already born? How many of them did you take in?"
"Hundreds." Megan agreed. "You were the only one I carried. The one I kept for myself." Her eyes were full of tears again. "Even before I knew, I thought of you as my reward for letting all your 'cousins' go to their new families." She smothered a smile. "I wanted to keep them all at one point or another."
Rika chuckled. "...love you, mom."
"Love you."
Biggs chose that moment to return with a tray of large bowls. "Heavy topics either need strong drink, good coffee, or ice cream. I made triple-fudge ice-cream with coffee and liqueur syrup."
"What a smart man you married." Rika quipped to her mother, grateful for something to break the emotion of the moment. They ate for a while, before she spoke again. "How did you prove it, by the way?"
Megan froze, spoon halfway to her lips.
"Brilliant detective work." Biggs put in lightly.
Rika saw her mother's sudden panic, and pretended she hadn't noticed. There had been enough emotional revelations for one night.
~~/*\~~
What Paradise Gave Me:
My name is Philbis. Paradise has given me my wife and partner, Penelope. The only woman I know who wanted to sing as much as I do. I was in the ninth century; and from cradle to grave, I worked in the fields. I loved to sing, but there was no chance that a boy from a tiny community in Eastern Macedonia would ever get a chance to make a living as a minstrel.
I would sing in winter, when the harvest was in, and we had to take cover from the storms. There was little to entertain us except each other. Nobody in the family was literate, and there were no scrolls to read anyway; so my father would have me sing for us. Once a year, we would be allowed to attend as the Minstrels came through our village. I would beg them to take me, but my father couldn't spare me.
When I was Returned, I was singing songs of praise with the chorus. Everyone agreed, I had talent, and love for singing. I died of old age, still threshing the fields; and now I sing with my wife; whom I met because we both loved to sing so much.
This is Penelope now, and as much as I longed to sing, I never had any talent for it. I would practice, day and night; but I had no skill at all. I was tone-deaf. Back in OS, I worked three jobs; to pay for vocal coaches to train me. And then I developed cancer in my throat; and couldn't speak at all. It got so that I hated to hear people singing, dreams broken beyond repair. When I came back and could speak, I didn't try to sing for many years; not willing to risk picking that dream up again.
Sounds crazy, I know; but I was terrified, because if my dream couldn't come true here then it meant I was a fool for dreaming it my whole life. Then I heard Philbis sing, and I loved it again. At the time, he was singing for a small group. I went back to that place every night, looking for him. He found me, and asked about my life. He encouraged me to take up singing. Except I still had no talent. But he kept encouraging me… And after over a century of practice, I could finally carry a tune. Another century, and I was good at it. Another two decades, and I felt comfortable singing duets with Philbis, who was my husband by that point.
For sure, I never would have had a chance to practice so long in my old life. It was a dream that I gave up on. And now my dream is my whole life. I love my life now, so so SO Much!
~~/*\~~
Grant stayed with Melody for another week. They both knew they couldn't stay together forever. There was a lot of history to sort out, and a lot to learn about the world now. And they had time.
Grant, feeling more at peace with himself than he ever had, asked his Device for a car to take him back to Rika. He had work to do; and it was time to get started.
~~/*\~~
"Found it." Belle told Rika. "It wasn't hard to find. Your mom must have used the same facilities that the rest of The Tree uses."
"If it's something she didn't want to talk about, she wouldn't go to family." Rika nodded. "So my DNA is somewhere in the Tree?"
"One of the latest additions." Belle nodded, holding out the results. "You sure you want to read it, though?" She asked before Rika could reach for it. "Life was hard in OS. Neither of us were there, but there's a reason people need DNA testing to find their families. Not all of them are because of the Returning. Even hundreds of years later, some people just won't talk about where they came from."
Rika took a breath. "I know. My mom never looked for her kin. My dad's a Trib Survivor who came into Paradise with his sister and nothing else; not even the clothes on his back. My family's made from bits and pieces of people they found along the way."
"So?" Belle nodded. "Does it matter?"
"To me? Maybe not." Rika admitted, and took the printout. "But somewhere out there is at least one person who never knew this 'Erica Knowles' had a daughter. Shouldn't they know?" She scanned the page. "Dexter Knowles." She smiled a little. "I have a grandfather."
Belle was about to respond when they heard something landing outside. "Ah. Your Green Letter?"
Rika nodded and put the page in her pocket, the two young women heading out to meet him. "Grant, welcome back!"
Grant nodded and took a breath. "I believe you." He said seriously. "I pride myself on being adaptable; and I might be more used to things getting worse, but this is just another surprise to roll with."
"It always amazes me how people from your era have an easier time with the idea of catastrophe than good news." Rika commented. "But then, I grew up in a world where there is precious little bad news out there." She made introductions. "This is my friend, Belle."
Belle nodded. "Sir." She gestured around. "Welcome to the Bio-Mimic Collective." She greeted him. "We'll set up a room for you, if you plan to stay for a while."
The 'Collective' was an apartment building, but was unlike any he'd seen before. There were apartments, and a common space the size of a courtyard, where there were tables and chairs, a large wood-fired pizza oven; and what looked like a laboratory. There were large terrariums set into the walls, and the courtyard was enclosed by something he couldn't identify. Small animals, both domestic and exotic scampered around between the ten or so people lounging around in the chairs, or working eagerly at the terminals. Music was playing from somewhere; and there was a buffet spread to one side. It looked like a college dorm, combined with a carnival petting zoo.
"This is where you live?" Grant commented to Belle as Rika slipped over to the kitchenette.
"I stay here fairly often." Belle nodded. "I study design and history at the Expo; and they have dorms for full-time students. This is where I'm based." She smiled around at everyone. "My friends put me up when I'm in the area; because I work on their projects in my spare time." She noticed him trying to identify the outer wall. "It's spider-web." She told him. "The Courtyard used to be open to the air, but we spend most of our time together out here; so we enclosed it. The wall was woven from tensile polymer based on Spider-Web. It's strong enough to be weather-proof, but not completely light-proof, so it lets a lot of natural light in during the day."
Grant shivered. "I hate spiders."
Belle laughed as Rika came back with a tray of food. "Our little Collective is all about bio-mimicry." Belle saw he didn't understand the term. "When the jet engine was designed, it took a lot of inspiration from how squid are able to jet themselves through water. Stealth aircraft, from how owls' wings are whisper-quiet. The Nanotech that builds your room was made possible by looking at how ant colonies communicate, and how bacteria work; replicating themselves to build up a workforce."
"A single bacteria in your stomach replicates itself a billion times every ten hours." Rika added. "Other bacteria can turn oxygen and water into sugar; or consume sugars and create gas. Natural chemical transformation. We learn from nature; and teach them to make many other things."
"We learned how to build the Arcologies from examining ant-hives that were millions of times the size of ants; and right now the rest of the Collective is trying to mimic the way a salamander grips the walls. Their little fingers have grippers that go sub-molecular, so they can climb anything." Belle enthused. "We make a glove that can do that, you can scale sheer surfaces or sit on the ceiling."
Grant held his hands up. "No. No, too much."
Rika chuckled and led him over to the table for a snack and a place to sit. "Roll with it, Grant. Remember this is the easiest part. The really interesting stuff happens when you get involved."
"Everyone here is part of the Project. We all live in the area; and we found each other because of expertise in the field. When this project is finished, we'll pick another one. There's a long list of options."
Grant's head tilted at the thought. "Is that how it works now? You don't have town projects, you have Project Towns? People all live in Communes?"
"Not a commune. A Community." Rika told him. "We've got cities, we've got suburbs. There are still Nomads, and people who live Wild, foraging for food and sleeping by campfires. But yeah, lots of communities are Company Towns. You've seen the Foundation. That place started out as an Expo; demonstrating Tech and educating people from across the timeline; but it's a full-sized region now; devoted to Research and Development. Pick your Passion: Reconstruction, Creative Arts, Animals, Farming, Emergent Tech, or 'Back To Nature'… Like seeks like. If you're interested in being a Sailor; you hang around with people who do that for a living. You want to be an artist, you find a place where Creative people hang out and bounce ideas off each other."
"Ah." Grant swiftly understood. "Of course. With no national, economic, racial, or religious barriers between people any more, you find whole other reasons to find 'your kind'."
"Finding a place is easy, choosing a Peer Group is the tricky part. Shared history and culture is a tricky thing to pin down when you live for centuries and all speak the same language. But like still seeks like. Personal interest was what we settled on." Belle nodded. "My mom was there to see it come to pass. She says nobody planned it that way; it just sort of evolved naturally. People with common interests found each other; they pushed each other to create better; and reputation grew…"
"Which just drew more people with the same interest." Grant nodded. "Not a new idea. Back in my time, if someone wanted to be a movie star, they'd go to Hollywood. They want to be a music star, they go to Nashville or New York. Places where the 'big leagues' are."
"We can do that in an area the size of a building now. How many people from your time never got the chance to pursue a dream because they'd never get out of the neighborhood they were born into?" Rika said as she returned.
"More than any of us would know about." Grant admitted. "I've been there. You never get past your first crime. Twenty years, you get out, and you last six months before you have to go back to crime if you wanna eat."
"Your slate is clean now." Rika offered. "You don't even have to mention the past if you don't want to."
"Good to know." Grant admitted. "I have a lot to learn, don't I?" He thought for a moment and started breaking it down. "I need to learn more about this world. I need to learn more about how it works. I need a… a place. I need somewhere that can help me settle. Everyone I've met has either a century of experience at doing simple things, or so many doctorates than I'm brain-damaged in comparison. Or both." He shook his head again. "If I'm going to fit into this world, I need a place where I know how to do something. Preferably something useful. Preferably somewhere that will let me stay in contact with… people I know. Preferably something that will let me catch up on a thousand years…"
"Nine hundred. And of course, you will find such a place. I'm thirty years old, remember. I grew up with this, but don't assume I can follow half of what these guys talk about; even if they're all my dear friends." Rika smiled. "So, I take it you plan to join?"
"I don't see another reasonable option, but not yet." Grant admitted. "Refusing your only option isn't always a bad thing. Back in my day, I had to choose between Prison Stripes and the Army. Most people in my old stompin' ground did."
"You chose prison?"
"Three squares a day and indoor plumbing. It was better than a lot of places I'd lived."
Rika smothered the saddest smile she'd ever had. "I know a Trib Survivor who said something similar about his time in jail. Though, he wasn't there nearly as long as you." She looked at him sideways. "So, once we're done studying, you going to try your hand at the Army instead?"
"Is there one?" Grant said in surprise. "I thought wars were done away with."
"They are, but all the soldiers were safely returned from the Dead. Like you, they needed a place." Rika tapped her fingers together again and consulted her display. "In fact, I have a stop to make near just such a place, if you want to talk to them."
~~/*\~~
"Well well." Brother Averill said with a cunning smile. "Never thought we'd meet again. I thought for sure you must have bought it on A-Day."
"You two know each other?" Rika was surprised.
"Very briefly." Grant explained to her. "My first arrest, I was given the choice of going to jail, or joining a branch of the service."
"I was a captain then." Averill said. "I argued against him as a candidate. I figured he was bad news. Training him to use a gun didn't seem like a good idea."
"Especially when you found out I was selling contraband to your own men." Grant quipped. "Getting kicked outta boot camp turned out to be good for me. It was a few years later the war was on." He gave the former soldier a look. "I heard you made Colonel, right before you were killed in action."
"Surprised you were keeping track." Averill commented.
"I remember everyone who cut me off from a lucrative opportunity." Grant waved that off, suddenly realizing that Rika had excused herself, slipping out of the room to let the two of them talk. "But I'm impressed you managed to keep the uniform. Is there still an army?"
"No, this isn't the Army. It's more like a Peace Corp; if you'll forgive the OS Term." The Uniformed man said to Grant; who finally noticed that the 'uniform' had no flag, but there was a rank insignia. The man was still a Colonel.
"Why have either?" Grant asked, following as the Colonel went to the window, looking out over the Barracks. Like everything else in Paradise, there was organization, everyone seeming to be on their way to somewhere, or working together on something else.
"At the end of the Last System, more than half the world's money and Resources were dedicated to the Military." The Colonel explained. "Some places in the world, if you wanted an education, or medical care, the only way to get either was to enlist. But the thing is, once all those soldiers returned to life; whether they retired or were Killed in Action, they still wanted to come back to the Service."
"No other way to think after a while, I suppose." Grant commented.
"Less so in this world, but you're not wrong. As the scripture put it, we turned the sword into a plowshare. That doesn't just apply to the weapons. We took in millions of people who didn't recognize anything but a barracks. The world they 'woke up' in was jarring enough. Finding out their flags were long gone made it harder; and then telling them they weren't soldiers anymore… Some guys just couldn't handle that much change."
"So you kept the hierarchy and threw away the guns."
"Not such a huge leap, when you think about it." Averill nodded. "Militaries were deployed in the event of natural disasters, there were some humanitarian missions where they built schools, or dug sewer lines; set up some infrastructure… We have a workforce of millions of people who are trained in all sorts of skills, who are skilled in how to both give and follow commands, and expect to live by a certain code of conduct. They're On-Call for any matter that takes manpower." Averill gave him a look. "You're the Last Returnee. You must know by now that you couldn't set up another 'market' here."
"I do." Grant agreed quietly.
"Then why don't you ask your real question?"
There was a pause, and Grant finally said what he was thinking. "How'd you handle the transition?"
"Si vis pacem, para bellum. 'If you want Peace, Prepare For War'." The Colonel told him. "It was the motto, back in the day, but I was career military, and so was my father, and so was his father, and all three of us Killed in Action, against enemies that other generations considered to be allies. Trust me, a Soldier does not long for war any more than a civilian. It's good to know what you're useful for, but nobody enjoys writing letters to parents."
"How long have you been in the Service Corps?"
"Since I was Returned. Truth is, I barely knew what a civilian was back then. This place kept me together until I could get my head around the idea that the Wars were over. In my experience, Peace was code for 'building up decimated forces before the next war'. The idea that war would never come again was ridiculous to me… But I got there."
Grant shivered a bit. "Tell you the truth, Colonel; I don't know if I can."
"In OS, I led an army to destroy a whole city under enemy control. In this world, I led a Company made up of almost the same men and built a city. Then another. And the civilians there were glad to see us coming."
"So… it's like a civilian version of National Service?" Grant tried to see it. "For citizenship in the world, you sign up?"
"Not exactly." Averill tried to explain. "In OS, you had a responsibility to your community. Paying taxes, obeying laws, that sort of thing. In this world, your responsibility extends to helping your brothers. Most people can do that on a person-to-person level; others want something a little more organized. You saw the Work Rosters in the townships? Well, the Corps is the same sort of thing on a global scale. People are free to pursue their own interest, but other people are important too. People are very aware of what they owe to each other these days."
Despite himself, Grant felt a pang.
~~/*\~~
What Paradise Gave Me:
I was colorblind. But I didn't know that. My family was always very concerned with 'what people would think' and I learned at a very young age that anything abnormal was the worst thing for people to think about you. So when we got to crayons and pencils in kindergarten, I knew immediately that I wasn't normal, and I knew I couldn't tell anyone. Not even my parents. What would people think?
My teachers didn't notice. Schools in that era weren't set up for 'special needs' kids, and mine was fairly mild. But I was the only kid in my class to fail crayons. A stigma that stuck with me until I met the Witnesses. When I started studying with them; my family went crazy, because after all 'what would people think?'
When I became a man, my son was also colorblind. He told me, worried about my reactions; and I vowed never to make him feel bad for being different; because we were JW's, and that meant we'd always stand out as different, one way or another.
When I was Returned, my son was there to meet me. He immediately took me to a flower garden. Colors that I'd never seen. The sprinklers filled the air with rain, and several small rainbows were cast off the water. I'd never seen one before. Rainbows are made of color that I couldn't see, and had no shape or form beyond them.
~~/*\~~
"I think I should want to join the Corps." Grant said quietly. "Once I sort things out, I mean."
Rika nodded, but it was clear she was waiting for him to say more.
"The 'Officer' in there made a point that the world is different, but the rules are the same. We all know what we owe to the world we're a part of." Grant admitted. "I've never paid taxes or obeyed the law in my life." He almost smiled. "Of course, I wasn't really part of the world. The people who lived in my time were desperate not to think about villains like me; and those that did think of me wanted me shot."
"Hard to feel any social responsibility to a world that hates you." Rika nodded without judgment. "I'm not going to argue that the old world was a fair place, where obeying the rules was easy and hard work was all it took. I've heard horror stories about the old world."
"I'm still not sure about this one." Grant said quietly. "But I'm running out of things I want to make sure of."
"And when you do cross everything off that list?" Rika gestured at his notebook.
"That's not what my notes are about, but I take your point." Grant nodded. "I never had much time for people of faith; but I'm self aware enough to recognize that it's starting to take more faith to refuse this world than join it." He looked around. "If you don't mind, I'd like to peel off here for a bit. There are some people over there that I'd like to talk to, compare some notes…"
"I could introduce you."
"I'm sure." He glanced back at her. "Back in my old life, there were moments when my business associates had to 'get our stories straight'. You know how you can tell a cover story? All the people involved use the same words; give the exact same account. I don't believe you have the capacity for outright deception, Professor. But the people here have a certain amount of 'uniformity' in how they see the world."
"Well, you're not wrong." Rika checked her watch. "Actually, I did have something I wanted to do while I was in this area…"
Grant was already back at a nearby Terminal, searching names. His notebook was out, and he was writing down names and addresses. "Go." He told her easily, not even looking at her. "I can find my way from here for a while."
~~/*\~~
The Service Corps was mobile, but they had several bases of operations, as did every global workforce. One of them was a quarter mile from an out of the way house; which turned out to be reasonably close to Rika's own family home. When the New World began, the land was apportioned to everyone who came back. Many of them had donated the land allotment to a common cause as the cities reformed. But some still kept their small homes in the middle of their own land. Those that did generally preferred the quiet life.
What do I say? Rika prayed absently as the Auto dropped her off. Please, Jehovah God, have this go well.
She walked up and knocked. The door opened, and the man within froze when he saw her. It was a look she recognized. Her mother had the same face when she confessed the 'secret' of Rika's parentage. "Hello. Dexter Knowles?" She said, projecting as much friendly confidence as she could.
"Erica?" Knowles breathed in disbelief as he saw her face.
"Oh good. I do have the right place." Rika shuddered again. "My name is Rika. I'm… Well, I'm your granddaughter."
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