Connexion : The Atlantis Project, Book.1 (22 page)

“That’s the tricky part. Senec is currently
working on the top secret development of a nuclear fission
generator, but to do so he must smuggle out plans and parts that
can only be found in the space center. It’s a practically eternal
source of energy because its fuel is deuterium, an element readily
available in sea water and also in polar ice, so we could obtain it
without leaving the city. Many pipelines are currently being
drilled to supply the reactor.”

“In that case, I suppose the city must be
beneath the ocean floor. But how could such an enterprise escape
the Council’s notice? It must require large-scale work!”

“The natural cavity that we have chosen to
use is located at the South Pole, only 300 meters below the surface
of Antarctica. The ice cap covering it in that specific area is
more than four kilometers thick. According to Senec’s latest
predictions, based on the data he recently managed to extract from
the space center’s database, the layer of ice should be
sufficiently thick to absorb most of the impact of the asteroid
shower.”

“You’re not worried that the shock will set
off a huge earthquake that could destroy the cavity? It would seem
quite a plausible scenario to me. I certainly don’t pretend to
compete with my brother’s expertise, which is far beyond mine on
the subject, but it seems to me that such a phenomenon has occurred
several times over the course of history, causing significant
modifications to the Earth’s crust each time.”

“As I just said, the ice cap, and also the
ocean covering the submerged land will act as a giant buffer zone.
Of course we can’t be certain of anything, but we hope we are not
too far wrong. No solution is 100 per cent foolproof. Ours isn’t,
any more than those developed by the Council, but we believe in its
chance of success. We will survive, the time it takes to rebuild a
society above ground. To begin with, we will rebuild it at the
bottom of the ocean if living conditions above ground take too long
to improve, but we will do it. We have to. We have to believe in it
and keep on believing for hundreds or even thousands of years. How
could we survive stuck underground and keep up hope for generations
if we were not convinced we made the right choice?

“The question should not even be asked,
Victor, and I hope now that you will join us, unless you prefer to
try your chance on one of the Exodus project vessels. It’s up to
you to make a decision now. I know your brother has made sure you
will be guaranteed a place on board the Navigator fleet. He’s a
very private man and does not share his feelings, even with me, his
childhood friend and closest colleague on this project. Even so,
the fact that he allowed you access to reports that compromise the
Council leads me to believe that he would like to count you among
the future citizens of our city. He has designed and is overseeing
the entire construction of this city; a last resort city, which he
has decided to call Australopolis because of its geographical
location.”

Charlie did not really know how to answer her
question about making the right choice, but he also supposed that
Vikern had not chosen that option at the time because they had
found him millions of years later, hibernating in what seemed more
like one of the bases built by the Council than a mythical lost
city. Did this city truly exist? Had they succeeded in completing
their project? If that were the case, it should be possible to find
evidence of it today. It was at that precise moment that he
realized deep down inside that he had just laid hands on the secret
Victor had sent him to find in the recesses of his memory. He
wanted to know what had happened to his brother, and now they had
good reason to suppose that Senec was not one of the Exodus
candidates, any more than he had accepted the hibernation plan
developed by the Council, contrary to what he had told Vikern some
time earlier. He was probably dead now.

Emma’s face froze, taking on the form of a
white wax mask with a fixed smile. Her pink lips made a striking
contrast with the immaculate white of her skin. He recognized her
perfectly, as if the mask had been poured directly onto her face.
The fine layer of wax followed its contours exactly, emphasizing
every detail, even the dimple that always accompanied her smile.
The image was a blow to Charlie’s heart. At that moment he knew
that he would probably never see her again and the realization was
more painful than he could have imagined.

He tried in vain to concentrate but he could
not escape the flood of emotions and suddenly began to cry as he
never had before. He was drowning, completely overwhelmed by this
emotional torrent. Hunched over, he grasped his head in his hands.
His body trembled and shuddered with intense spasms. The pain
washed over him uncontrollably in endless waves of images and
sensations jostling and jumbling around in the complete chaos of
his thoughts. It was the paroxysmal surge of cerebral hemispheres
whose destinies were intertwined.

Emma’s question had just opened something up
in Victor’s memory. It was a crack, or not exactly a crack, but
rather a bridge, a meaningful pathway which had suddenly made it
possible for memories, which had been buried for millions of years
in the recesses of his mind, to emerge. These images and sensations
were not all that emerged. They were accompanied by an emotional
explosion that neither Victor’s mind nor his own could cope with.
The spasms got stronger and soon became convulsions. Thick, white
foam oozed from Charlie’s open mouth. His unseeing eyes were wide
open. One last spasm convulsed his extremely rigid body then there
was nothing. He lay immobile, curled up on the floor; his open eyes
staring blankly.

27 FINAL CONVERSATION

All was quiet. Intense fatigue steeped
Charlie in a strange torpor. His mind seemed foggy and his vision
only allowed a halo of soft, blurred light to filter through. Even
so, he felt a sense of well-being, as though he had barely awoken
and was ready to sink back into a long, refreshing sleep. It was as
if his thoughts were in limbo, and he was simply enjoying this
peaceful state without trying to grasp at any sort of reality. He
needed rest; a dreamless sleep devoid of stress and apprehension.
Even though he could see nothing in the flood of white light;
internally he was perfectly conscious of his body and the total
relaxation that dominated it. The only slightly unpleasant
sensation came from his eyes. They felt scratchy, but not a single
tear managed to escape from his tear glands. A tear would certainly
have soothed that dry, itchy feeling. Charlie had no idea what
could have happened to put him in such a state, incapable of moving
or thinking. Only one thing mattered for now: sleep, to sleep as
long as he needed to. Nothing else was important.

But try as he might, sleep would not come.
Instead, he was still overwhelmed by this ongoing torpor. His
thoughts gradually began to flow again. They floated by slowly,
without him being able to catch hold of them and follow their
course. They were like little dead leaves, carried along by the
slow current of a stream. He observed them like objects with no
particular content or meaning, and endeavored instead to carefully
study their physical appearance: their color, shape, texture and
also the way they moved along in the constant flow of the current.
It was a hypnotic, contemplative state, completely free of any
urgency or feeling of obligation. Charlie let himself be carried
along, but could not find the sleep that he so willed to come.
However, the silence was gradually broken and a subtle, slightly
tangy odor filled the atmosphere. It was the delicate, intoxicating
smell of bergamot which he easily identified. Background noises
were still muffled and difficult to make out, but he seemed to
recognize the clinking of metal on china. He knew it; Victor was
here, having a cup of tea nearby, probably sitting on one of the
kitchen chairs. He was waiting patiently for him.

“How are you, Charlie? I was worried about
you.”

From the very first words, he recognized the
old man’s voice. He could not see him yet, but the tone he used
seemed friendlier, less domineering than during their previous
encounters. He would have liked to get up and join him at the table
but could not manage that yet. He had only just regained control of
his thoughts; his will was not yet strong enough to command
physical movement. His body ignored him. It remained deaf to his
commands. Concentrating again, he thought he managed to move a
finger on his right hand, but the scope of the movement was so
small that he could not be certain. Perhaps it was only an
illusion. Words would not come out of his mouth either, so he was
unable to respond to Victor, who continued the conversation on his
own.

“I thought you weren’t going to make it, you
know. That surge was violent. It seems that your brain was not able
to cope with the effects of convergence.”

Then the silence returned. Charlie perceived
sound with unusual sharpness. He could hear quite clearly the old
man swallowing his tea. He also heard the metallic sound of the
biscuit tin being opened. It probably contained the delicious
orange zest biscuits they had eaten together. Then came the sound
of a soft crunch, followed by regular, conscientious chewing, of
which he could hear every minute detail.

“I think you call it epilepsy; a disorder
which we also know, but we have learned to limit its effects. I
noticed when the first signs began. As for me, the metabolic
decompensation was only partial, thankfully, but I couldn’t do
anything to help you. Believe me; I’m very sorry, Charlie. I had to
protect myself to avoid the seizure becoming too severe. I’m not
sure you would have survived total decompensation of both our
brains. Even if you had survived, the intensity of such an
electrical surge would probably have erased your memory, which is
something I want to avoid at all costs. Do you understand? In a
way, you could say that I just saved your life, but it’s the very
least I owed you.”

Charlie began to move his jaw slightly and
could now flex all his fingers. The old man fell silent again and
swallowed another mouthful of tea before placing his cup delicately
on its saucer.

“Come along, Charlie. These biscuits are
delicious. I’ve left some for you. I know you love them.”

“I’m not sure if the effects of convergence
were the only cause of the seizure,” said Charlie, who had summoned
all his strength to respond.

“Ah! It’s about time you woke up!”

“Yes, I’m back, but I’m not sure whether I
should thank you for that yet.”

He struggled to his feet as he spoke and came
to join Victor at the table. Without a word, the old man smiled and
gestured for him to sit on the chair he had already pulled out for
him.

“What do you mean?” he asked, calmly.

“Just before passing out, I saw a large part
of my life flash before my eyes.”

“Does that surprise you?”

“What surprises me is that a lot of the
images and memories were not my own. How do you explain that,
Victor?”

The old man took time to think before
replying. His smile had faded slightly, but he did not seem overly
concerned by the question.

“You know, my friend, I am not omniscient.
That is precisely why I needed your help. However, you are
undoubtedly right; convergence was probably not the only cause of
the seizure. When Emma asked us if I was ready to follow her and
Senec, it was like an electric shock to me. I had such an intense
feeling of guilt and then a whole raft of memories came flooding
back which I couldn’t control. And it wasn’t only memories that
came back.”

“They weren’t simply memories! The surge of
emotion they brought was violent! I suppose that’s the very reason
you buried them.”

“You’re not wrong, Charlie. I didn’t have the
courage to join them in their adventure. And yet I loved Emma
deeply. I have always loved her, but she was my cousin so it was
not allowed.”

“I thought that it wasn’t a true memory. I
thought it was only a virtual experience that we were building
together – a sort of waking dream that allowed us to look into the
deepest parts of your memory. Isn’t that what you told me, Victor?
I didn’t dream that too, did I?”

“That is effectively what happened, Charlie.
The experience you just had never existed, except in both our minds
at the moment when convergence made the two of us one and the same
person.”

“But how did you memorize the information
used in that dream, then? Have you ever even been to the space
center?”

“Emma and I maintained a relationship by
correspondence after she went away to study in Irignia. After a
long period without any news from her she suddenly began to write
letters which came to me covertly, through one of one of her
friends. She knew her mail would be monitored by the Council, as
was the case for all personnel working at the space center. She was
in the habit of confiding in me, but her last three letters were of
quite a different nature. She gave me all the details of the
project she and Senec were working on and asked me to join them as
soon as possible.”

“And you never did.”

“No, I didn’t even answer her.”

For the first time, a tear flowed out of each
of his large, gray eyes. This new fragility made a poignant figure
of the old man from the mists of time. Charlie knew that he was
only an image, a symbol of the true Victor; the colossus that lay
alongside him in the great hall of domes. Even so, he wanted to
take him in his arms and console him, as he would have done an old
friend on the verge of breaking down and confiding his pain to a
lifelong companion. He had only known him for a few weeks, but
convergence had united them forever; maybe not as Jacques and
Charlie were united, but in another way; a way that was both
virtual and quite real. It was the union of two minds, two
fundamentally different lives; an unnatural union whose full extent
they probably had not yet measured. Charlie would never be the same
again. Victor would always be a part of him and he sensed that,
even though he was not fully conscious of it. Even so, he could not
quite bring himself to touch him, and settled instead for looking
at him with a face full of compassion.