The Destiny Of Of Eight 22552

THE DESTINY OF EIGHT

Daniel Escribens

Copyright © 2016 by Daniel Escribens. All Right Reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of very brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Table of Contents

Part I… Part II… Part III… About the Author…

PART I

Resting their backs on a wall from the forgotten times, two friends––a robot and a human––contemplated the sunset after a day’s journey. Gone were the violets and oranges of the streaking clouds, the blue of the ocean, the heat of the sand, and the seagull’s cries––only the sway of the waves remained constant. “Eight, will I my dreams tomorrow?” the man said. “Concentrate when you wake up, and you might.” “And why should I my dreams?” “Well, you don’t have to do it, but you asked me of ways of communicating with Blanca, and that was my suggestion.” “Oh, yes. Blanca from the mountains. She tells me that our destiny is in the jungle. I will try to my dreams tonight, I promise.” “Very well.” A cold breeze blew, and Elias hugged his bare knees. Eight stood up, producing a hierodulic hiss, and went behind the wall of the house, returning with a blanket. “Thank you, Eight.” As the number of stars multiplied in the night sky, the two friends built a fire with pieces of old furniture they had gathered from the ruined houses. When it lit, Elias pulled a can from his backpack, opened it, and put it in the fire. “Eight, is this contaminated?” “Yes, it is.” “And the fish in the ocean?” “They are too.” “Eight, do you eat?” “No.”

“How do you sustain yourself?” “I have a battery.” “That’s right!” With the help of two sticks, Elias picked up the hot smoking can from the fire, placed it on the sand, and started eating its contents with a spoon. Once finished, he prepared to go to bed, so he flattened the sand, then unrolled his sleeping bag. “Are you going to bed now?” “Yes, Eight. I am tired. Have a good night, my friend.” “Good night, Elias.” The fire still burned. Elias slept, and Eight activated ive surveillance mode: a small antenna rose from the top of his head, and his generous shoulders and chest descended just a notch––his long athletic figure not losing its impressiveness.

***

The cries of hungry seagulls woke Elias. As his brown eyes opened to diffused dawn light, he realized that he was forgetting something. Because he did not what he had forgotten, he did what Eight had taught him to do at this time of the day: go fishing. After rolling and storing his sleeping bag, he retrieved his equipment from his backpack and trotted to the shore. Sinking his fingers in the wet sand, he pulled out small and fat crustaceans. Selecting the small ones with the softer shells, he inserted them on his fishing hook. With his feet in the water, he swung the fishing line in circles until it buzzed, and threw it over the waves. He fished merrily. When the sun was warming his balding head, Elias returned with a fish––the sunlight reflecting off of Eight’s white chassis body blinding him briefly.

“I got a fish!” “A sole. That’s a good catch.” “I will that name.” “Look at its eyes.” “They are both on the same side.” “Yes.” “That will help me .” Elias placed the fish on a rock and played with last night’s fire with a stick. Suddenly lost, he stopped and gazed at Eight’s one enormous mysterious black eye in the middle of his head. Its depth helped him get his bearings back. “Eight…what was I doing? Why did I forget?” “It’s the virus.” “What does it do? Oh…I .” “What do you ?” “How to light the fire.” Elias placed some light wood on the fire and blew the embers. It lit. He added thicker wood. He pulled a knife out of his backpack, and gutted and cut the fish into fillets that he placed on a plank that he stuck in the sand next to the fire ed by a rock. It wasn’t long before a sweet smell invaded camp. “Do you smell that, Eight?” “I can’t smell.” “It’s delicious.” “Elias. Did you dream last night?”

“I am sure I did.” “Do you your dreams?” “I don’t.” “Concentrate when you wake up, Elias.” “I am sorry. I will.” Before noon, they left eastwards—Eight carrying a large black duffle bag, and Elias a small backpack with his sleeping bag and mat tied to its bottom. They walked on a paved road covered by drifting sands; a dune filled horizon in front of them. They started seeing abandoned vehicles along the side, which Eight would approach and touch. “Why do you touch those. Aren’t you afraid?” “I don’t feel emotions, Elias. I touch them to check if they are functioning.” “Are those things like you?” “In some ways.” “They don’t move or talk like you, but you kind of have the same surface material.” “We came in different forms.” They walked until they arrived at a larger road that was smooth, like glass, and black. It extended north and south endlessly. There was a small construction on one of the intersecting corners. Eight headed to it; Elias followed. “Where are we going? What is that?” “It’s a Service Station.” Once inside, Elias looked through the shelves and picked up some food and gizmos that he did not understand. Eight went into the garage next door, where he inspected a parked vehicle. It was roofless and had two doors. Elias caught up to him.

“We can fix this vehicle, Elias.” “Let’s do it, Eight.” “Do you how to do it, Elias?” “I don’t.” “Don’t worry. I’ll show you.” Thin blue rays shot out of Eight’s eye and drew a three-dimensional image of the car’s engine. Eight explained, step by step, what they had to do to fix it. After the lecture, Elias pulled the appropriate tools from the garage’s wall, opened the hood, and started to work, his hands moving with surprising ability. “Eight, I know how to do this.” “Have you ed?” “No.” “Do you the instructions that I gave you?” “Not much.” “If you don’t , how are you doing it?” “I don’t know.” “Think about that, Elias.” They both worked: first separately, on different parts of the car, and then together. Elias noticed the difference between his hands and Eight’s. “My hands move faster, Eight.” “Robotic engineering could never match the versatility of human hands or feet.” But Elias got lost several times as they worked, and Eight would tell him what to do. When they finished, Elias took step back from the car and contemplated it, proudly. Suddenly an expression of dissatisfaction appeared on his face.

“What’s wrong, Elias?” “It’s dirty…I am going to clean it.” Elias found several cleaning drags around the garage and started on the job quickly, revealing a bright yellow paint job underneath. He also did the interior carefully: the inside of the doors, the windows, and the seats. The control s he did with the utmost care, folding a flannel to reach the difficult parts. “Now, it’s ready.” “If you say so, Elias.” Then Elias stared at Eight. “My friend, you are dirty too.” He approached, kneeled, and started with the feet, legs and knees, using the tip of a damp cloth around the ts. As he worked upwards, he saw his friend’s immense and indecipherable dark eye looking at him and blushed. “I think you should clean yourself.” “I don’t need to. I am completely operational.” “You will look better.” “That’s unimportant.” “Clean up, Eight.” “Is that an order?” “Yes.” Eight took the cleaning cloths out of Elias’s hand and got on with it, but he could not reach his back. Elias saw this and helped him, getting on a stool to reach the top.

***

The yellow convertible emerged from the garage shiny and spotless. Eight was in the driver’s sit and Elias in the enger’s. They turned onto the highway and accelerated to a constant speed. Elias played at moving his hand against the wind. “Eight, how do the batteries in this car recharge?” “In the forgotten times, the batteries received energy from the highway. This energy came from the fusion power plants up north, but now there isn’t anyone to make them work. That’s why this car won’t last us long.” “And how does your battery recharge?” “My battery can’t be recharged anymore.” “Just like the car.” “Yes.” “And how long will the car last us?” “At the rate we are going, around three days.” “How long will your battery last?” “I’d say about ninety days. It depends on my daily use.” “Is ninety days a lot?” “That’s relative, but it’s more than enough to get us to the jungle.” “Are you spending a lot of energy now?” “Below average.” The sun neared the horizon, lighting it fiery orange. Elias ate snacks he had picked up at the service station. They no longer saw the occasional ruined constructions on the side of the highway: they were instead surrounded by a tangle of buildings interconnected with tubes and pathways. Cream or white colored, they towered over the road. And as Eight slowed to evade stranded vehicles, Elias could see menacing vultures eyeing him from some of the

structures. “What are we going to do, Eight?” “I want to show you a house.” They turned onto a narrower street. Suddenly, the structures around them grew smaller, with more space between them. They continued on, turning down various streets until they arrived at a house that, like the others, seemed like a pile of blocks and spheres of various sizes surrounded by a clearing of dirt and bushes. They parked a few feet in front of it. “Come, Elias. I’ll show you how the people of the forgotten times lived.” “It’s almost dark, Eight. We won’t see much.” “Don’t worry about that.” They stepped out of the car and walked to a rectangular gate. Eight went in first, walking decisively. Elias followed, but was quickly left behind. He was carefully observing his surroundings: invasive ground vines had taken over the floor and irregular angles formed at the corners of the ceiling, the wall, and the floor. As he touched the white, smooth surfaces of the structure, he was reminded Eight’s chassis. He stopped at the threshold of an opening and decided to inspect it. In it, diffuse light from a window-like opening outlined three bodies on a sleeping platform, two much bigger than the third. They wore deteriorated clothes, had long hair, and yellowing patches of dried skin on their bones. Elias kneeled in front of them and placed his ear a few centimeters from the chest of the smallest body. He concentrated, but couldn't hear anything. He touched the chest lightly with his fingers. Even though the surface was hard, it gave in. Elias stood up. It was so quiet that he could hear his heartbeat. Seconds later, he heard Eight’s hydraulic ts growing closer. When Eight stood motionless next to him, Elias heard his own heart beating again. “Eight. Are you alive?” “No,” he said, and the silence was heard again. “Elias, let me show you how the people of the forgotten times lived?” Elias followed Eight to an ample room in the house. It had tall ceilings and

various white-colored blocks embedded in the floor. Eight motioned to Elias to sit on one of them, and Elias was impressed by its softness. Eight moved to inspect the walls, then placed his open hand on a particular point. Light shone from the walls and many real-sized holographic images appeared in the room. One was of a man wearing a wool sweater sitting next to Elias. “What is this, Eight?” “It’s a hologram.” “And what is a hologram?” “It’s a projected three-dimensional image.” “Is it real?” “It’s an image.” A slender woman wearing a skirt approached the man. A few seconds after that, a little girl walked across the space. The man stood up from the sofa, kissed the woman and picked up the little girl in his arms. The three started talking. Fascinated, Elias stoop up and circled around them, paying close attention to the expressions of their faces, the movement of their bodies, and the tone and volume of their voices. Then he turned towards Eight’s undecipherable eye, then to the wall. “Where is the energy for all of this coming from?” “It’s my own energy.” “From your battery?” “Yes.” “Are you losing energy right now?” “Of course.” “And what happens if you run out of it?” “I won’t be operational anymore”

“Does that mean that you will be like the bodies in the room?” “No.” “Like what will happen to the car?” “Yes, exactly.” Other holograms appeared. They showed waterfalls, mountains, crystal lakes, oceans, beaches next to a forest instead of dunes, and many other places that Elias had never seen before. There were canons, grandiose monuments, entire cities in which all the buildings were connected to each other, vehicles of all types, many people, lights...but Elias was no longer paying attention. He did not hear the man talking about the epidemic. Another thought haunted his mind. “Stop this, Eight!” “It will help you .” “I order you to stop.” The holograms ceased. “I don’t understand your decision.” “Turn off the light in the walls too.” Eight turned everything off, only the dim light coming from a small opening on the top of the wall remained. “I don’t want you to spend your battery.” “Your recuperation is priority.” “I am feeling better.” “That’s why I am showing you this.” “I don’t like it that you shorten your life because of me.” “I see that you are ing indeed. It’s preferable to me that I spend my

battery in activities that get me closer to my objective.” “What objective?” “To help you.” “I don’t want to talk anymore, Eight. What if we leave this conversation for tomorrow?” “We should take advantage of your lucidity. You tend to relapse soon after periods like this.” “My head hurts.” Elias felt his way out of the now darkened house. Eight followed behind him. Elias picked up his bags from the car and walked back to the house. “Let’s camp inside,” he said. Eight picked up his bag and followed.

* * *

Night found Elias thoughtful. And even though the room was pitch black, he could not sleep: he was ing the images of the family and the strangeness of the times when people had walked everywhere. Then he thought about the dead bodies in other room and grew anxious. “How long do you think the family lived here for?” “Ten years.” “How do you know?” “I pulled the info when I connected to the house computer.”

“Did they live happily?” “I don’t know.” “Could you extract that data?” “No.” “Why not?” “Computers can’t understand human happiness with a reliable degree of certainty.” “Are you a computer?” “In a way, I am.” “Is that why you don’t have a heartbeat?” “Yes.” “I promise that I’ll teach you happiness one day, Eight. What did the old ones do when they died?” “Their practices varied according to their culture.” “And what would these people have done?” “They practiced the incineration of their bodies.” Elias got up from the sofa and walked in the darkness, stumbling a few times, feeling his way along the walls to the smaller room, then to the bed. He lifted the biggest of corpses in his arms and made his way to the front door of the house. He walked about ten meters to the middle of the yard, carefully laid the body face up, and returned to the house. He did the same with the second body, which had traces of a skirt. As he prepared to return for the third, smallest body, he saw Eight stepping out of the house with it in his arms. “Please Eight, lay her next to her family.” Eight obeyed. Elias walked to the car and rummaged through his things, finding

an axe. “Let’s go cut some wood, Eight.” Elias walked to the periphery of the yard, where he had seen some bushes that would work for kindle. A beam of light came from Eight’s eye. “Stop, Eight.” “You can’t see without the light, Elias.” “You are right. I’ll hurry up.” Elias looked for firewood, but soon realized that there were only dried twigs. There wasn’t anything thick enough to burn the bodies with. He asked Eight, with a hint of urgency in his voice, “Do you know where I can find good firewood?” Eight turned his beam of light towards the west. Elias ran in the direction of the light; Eight followed with his long steps. They arrived at a park with an enormous fallen tree in the middle of it. Once next to it, Elias lifted the axe and dropped it with all his strength, producing a thud––the result of a bad hit––that echoed across the structures surrounding the park. “Elias, calm down. Altered emotions increase the likelihood of relapse.” “I don’t want you to waste your battery anymore, Eight. I have to finish this quickly!” “Can I help you?” “No! I want to do this by myself!” Finally, a dried branch fell to the dirt, cut. Elias started on the next one, and the next, his poorly executed swings shaking the tree violently. When he had enough wood, he picked it up and ran back to the house. “Hurry up, Eight.”

As soon as they arrived, Elias dropped his load and started hastily to build a structure for the fire, but when he placed the bodies on top of it, it crumbled. Eight approached him to help again. “Don’t help me, Eight. Stay there!” Elias tried unsuccessfully two more times. Frustrated, he decided to try to light the unstructured pile and place the bodies on top while the fire was burning. When he attempted this, the feeble fire was not strong enough to burn the thicker logs. He gathered more kindling, put it on the fire, blew, and rearranged it as the flames caught again. It was a grueling effort, but eventually the thicker logs lit. But, again, when he placed the bodies on top of the structure, it crumbled, and the flames died. Desperately, he fed and coaxed the fire until, finally, it roared. Drenched in sweat and exhausted, Elias sat in the dirt. Eight spoke to him, “Elias, you have shown great initiative but poor judgement. I am analyzing if this is a sign of progress or regression.” “Why do you judge, Eight?” Eight did not respond, and Elias silently contemplated how the fire consumed the bodies. When they became unrecognizable, he stood up and walked towards the house. “Don’t help me with the light!” Eight obeyed but followed Elias. He was detecting a lack of coordination in his friend’s walk, and this activated an internal alarm. Elias entered the house and felt his way along the corridor, but collapsed a few feet from the living room. Eight caught up to him, kneeled, and inspected his breathing, which was irregular. He picked him up by the shoulders with the utmost care. Suddenly, Elias recovered consciousness and tried to himself, but failed and fell again. Eight lifted him up in his arms and placed his palm on the wall, activating the house. A rectangular structure came out of the main room’s floor. He took Elia to it, laid him on it, retrieved the sleeping bag from the one of the backpacks, and covered him. Elias was trembling, and his eyes seemed to be stuck looking up, closing and opening erratically. Spit came out his half-opened mouth. Eight stood next to him all night.

* * *

Dawn light filtered through the window, giving shape to things and finding the two companions in the same place as last night: Elias lying on the platform; Eight next to him. As Elias opened his eyes, their usual sparkle appeared. Eight asked instantly, “Did you dream yesterday?” “I don’t .” “Try.” “I am on a wall that sures many trees. I see great a river. I hear a roar.” “What else, Elias?” He closed his eyes to . When he opened them again, they moved around the room aimlessly without seeing. He grunted, tossed the sleeping bag aside, and tried to stand up. His body moved awkwardly, but he managed it on the third attempt. Then he wandered in a lurch around the room, completely ignoring Eight. He finally followed the day light from the hall. It led him to the front door of the house. Eight followed him outside. They had ed the parked car and were about to leave the yard when Elias turned towards Eight violently, clenching his fist and growling at him. Eight did not move, and Elias seemed to forget his presence––he wandered again, but only for a few moments, before he again turned aggressively to whatever was following him. This continued, but with increasingly longer intervals between. Then Elias stopped paying attention to Eight. Elias walked the dusty streets all morning, sometimes entering the strange whitelimestone colored buildings. When this happened, Eight managed to put himself between Elias and seeming danger––acting as wall to direct him back to safety. Midday arrived with excruciating heat. Elias panted as he walked, and Eight could do nothing but watch.

Elias collapsed on the sidewalk of an ancient plaza: face down, gasping, hungry and thirsty. His awareness was reduced to the dust on the ground near his nostrils and the uncomfortable sensation of pointy pebbles against his ribs. But these mattered less and less. He was tired, and he wanted to close his eyes and sleep. Hungry vultures landed near him. They had learned how to detect the symptoms. One of them dared to bite, tearing the shirt at his shoulder. Another followed the first, snipping at the neck, drawing blood. The feast was about to begin. Suddenly, dust rose wildly as they flew away. All except one. The vulture with a piece of Elias’s skin dropped to the ground, dead. Elias did not recognize the sound of the hydraulics nor the metallic feet that were suddenly next to him.

* * *

The scent of fruit tingled Elias’s nose. He opened his swollen eyes and saw a blurry shape in front of his face. He opened his mouth and licked it. It was sticky and sweet––he wanted more, but the shape moved away. His stomach rumbled with hunger and thirst. He stood up cumbersomely and walked toward the substance. Eight backed slowly so that Elias could follow his hand. They reached a creek, and Eight sank his hands in the water, pretending to drink from it. Elias’s thirst was greater than his hunger. Uninhibitedly, he walked up to Eight, took his hand, and dunked it into the water to try to drink. But most of the water slipped away. Without hesitating, Elias bent and drank directly from the creek. His thirst satisfied, he felt strength returning, and he looked back at Eight’s other hand, which held the sweet substance. Eight led Elias back to the camp and placed the smashed figs on the hood of the car. Elias ate them straight off the hood. As he did, Eight grabbed the axe, the slingshot, and a sack from the trunk of the car. As Eight walked away, Elias felt a primal sense of emergency. He grunted towards the figure, but it did not stop; he had to follow it again. Then the figure

bent and picked small rocks from the ground. Elias looked at his hands, which were very similar to the figure’s, and proceeded to do the same. Then the figure put the rocks in a sack; Elias dropped them to the ground. Eight led the way to the park with the fallen tree. Once there, he stopped next to the giant log and lifted the axe high––one meter and a half above his twometered body. The axe came down with a great swing, making a deep cut in the target branch. Elias, suddenly alarmed, kept his distance. Eight cut the thick branch with three swings, hitting the same mark every time; he then chopped the branch into smaller logs of the same size. Elias’s eyes were no longer seemed swollen—they were wide-open and focused on what they were seeing. The impressive figure stopped chopping, and placed one of the logs vertically on the ground, ing it with some rocks. It walked back to Elias, took the sling shot out of the sack––along with a handful of small and smooth rocks––and began shooting at the log, hitting the same spot again and again. Numerous turtledoves were perched on the structures surrounding the park. Eight walked towards them, stopping at about the same distance that the practice log had been from him, loaded and shot. The rock hit one of birds in the chest. It fell as the rest flew away, and landed on the ground near them. Eight picked the dead bird up, put it in the sack, and walked towards the flock again. Elias watched, enthralled, as the sack filled up quickly. As the sun set and its light left, the two companions walked back to camp: Eight leading the way; Elias behind him. But Eight did not have to slow down much this time; his friend’s walk was less clumsy and more upright. And when Eight reached for the ground––just as he had done before––picking up dry sticks, twigs, and tinder, Elias copied him, without dropping his cargo. At camp, in the house’s yard, Eight built a fire by arranging a pyramid-like structure, placing the lighter wood in the middle and the thicker on the outside; then lit it by scrapping magnesium powder over the kindling and producing the spark using a flint and a steel knife. The fire grew rapidly; Eight sat cross-legged in front of it. He pulled a turtledove from the sack and began plucking it. Elias was not shocked when the fascinating figure also tossed one of the dead birds to him. He held it, inspected it, and began plucking, at first slowly, then faster, as if ing an old, forgotten skill rather than learning it from scratch. Eight used the knife to sharpen some thin sticks, stuck two of the

plucked birds on one, and roasted them over the fire. Their aroma drifted through the campground. “A kebab,” he said to Elias as he handed it him the first finished batch. Elias did not have to copy Eight to know what to do next. He devoured as many of the delicious birds as he could, then, satisfied, he fell asleep gazing at the fire’s flames. Eight laid him on a mat and covered him with a light blanket to protect him from the cold.

***

Eight’s enormous eye was the first thing Elias saw when he woke up the next morning. “Eight…” he said, suddenly recognizing his friend. “ your dreams, Elias.” But Elias’s eyes became dull. “Come fishing, Elias. You always liked that.” Eight stood up, motioning for Elias to follow. Elias stood but wandered around the campground, rubbing his eyelids and grumbling, seemingly lost. Eight held out his other hand. It held a bag of figs. At the sight, Elias followed the familiar figure. They walked west, Eight always slightly in front to make sure that his friend did not get lost. They arrived at a clearing covered with lilac-flowered vines twisting down cliffs that overlooked an ocean. They followed a concrete path that zigzagged down. Vines sometimes covered dangerous cracks and holes, and Eight would warn Elias where to step and what to avoid––Elias lamenting unintelligibly out of confusion and frustration. Many times, Eight took his friend by the hand.

Eight’s white chassis reflected the morning sun brightly as they reached the shore of a vast beach. Eight gave Elias the figs and walked to the wet sand. Eight sank his metallic fingers in the sand, pulling out many small crustaceans and placing them on the dry sand. He then selected the smallest and softest ones and hooked them onto a line he had brought from camp. Elias, who had been watching attentively while eating, growled and pointed to another line that Eight had left on the sand. Eight nodded, and Elias picked it up and proceeded to copy what Eight had just done—hooking up the fleshy creatures as bait. But when he walked to the shore to fish, he was lost. Eight had to teach him how to swing the line in circles to throw it past the break, and how to pull the line to get the most bites. Numerous mornings had to in order for Elias to fish again without assistance. And so it was with many of the other activities in his road to recovery.

PART II

The last embers of last night´s fire warmed a small metal pot. Elias picked it up and poured the water into a cup that had long, slim leaves in it. Eight had told them they were lemongrass, and Elias had not known if he had learned the name or had ed it. Everything he saw, smelled, and tasted felt new and familiar at the same time. Eight was his only certainty. Elias took one last look at their camp as he sipped, his gaze stopping at a dark stain on the ground not too far from him. “Eight. We are going to see Blanca today!” “Yes, we are.” “You’ve told me the skies are clearer in the mountains.” “This fog stays along the coast.” “Why?” “Do you see the steam coming off the water in your cup?” “Yes.” “Something similar occurs here.” “Are you saying that the sun heats the ocean and we get fog.” “I’m impressed Elias.” “Thank you.” “Do you know how that black spot on the ground was made?” asked Eight, pointing at it. “From a big fire, I am sure.” “Do you it?” “No.” “Eight, how can we stop the virus from attacking me again?”

“The first step is to analyze how it got to you last time. Try to .” Elias finished his tea and packed the cooking equipment. It was time to go. They carried their bags to the convertible, put them in the trunk, and got in. Eight touched the dashboard with his palms. He heard hydraulic sound beneath the dash—it reminded him of Eight’s movements when leaving surveillance mode. They left the way they had come, driving first through the narrow streets and small buildings, and then on to the wider streets below the enormous interconnected structures casting strange and menacing shadows over them. One building caught Elias’s eye more than the others. Standing in a central plaza, it looked like an enormous white sphere cut in half with tubes connected to the buildings surrounding it. “What is that?” asked Elias. “It is the Supplier.” “Supplier of what?” “Energy. It supplied energy to the city.” “What for?” “So that it would function.” “I don’t understand…” “The city moved, and the energy needed for that was distributed here from the North.” Elias imagined these structures moving and restructuring and looked at Eight, who drove the car without his hands, his movements so smooth and calculated. Elias imagined these giant structures would have moved the same. “And do you need energy too, Eight?” “Yes.” “Interesting.”

They reached the highway and picked up speed. An enormous tube, like an endless worm, ran along the road. “What is that?” “It’s a regional provider tube. It provided energy to the mountains.” “Eight, how do you know all of this?” “I ed a great amount of information before the network’s fall.” “Was the network like my dreams?” “In some sense, it was. It connected you.” “Eight, why is Blanca so important?” “It has always been so.” “Well, I guess I have forgotten the reason, Eight.” “Have you dreamt with her lately?” “I don’t think so.” “That will change.” “If you say so...” The tube veered off as their surroundings changed to green hills and slopes. Elias twisted to look at the city behind them. It was like the mangled legs of many dead insects. “I have to say, Eight. Even though I have no idea of what’s coming. I think I’ll like it more than the city.” “And more than the ocean?” “The ocean doesn’t count… it wasn’t part of the city. How about you, Eight? Do you like cities? Perhaps the ocean?”

“I don’t categorize information in that manner.” “How do you know if you like or dislike something?” “I don’t.” “You are difficult to understand.” “I am robot. I work differently.” “Touchy!” They turned eastward, taking a road that climbed into the hills. An hour later, it curved dangerously up the side of a valley. The river was lost in the depths of the cliffs and the air was lighter, with a scent of wildflowers. Suddenly the tube that had followed them in the city appeared, arching across the river. Elias spotted many animals. “What is that, Eight?” “It’s a dear” “And those?” “Wild turkeys.” “Will we eat all of them? “Not me. You.” “That’s right, you don’t eat.” “Do you feel short of breath, Elias?” “A bit.” “It’s the altitude; there’s less oxygen here.” “Eight, I want to know everything there’s to know about oxygen.” For the next few hours of the trip, Eight lectured Elias on the subject. Inevitably, this led to a discussion of the elements, some chemistry, the lungs, the human

body, atmospheric pressure, and the biosphere. Elias listened attentively, sometimes getting lost out of incomprehension, sometimes because he followed his own thoughts, but he always managed to return to thread of the dialogue and even ask questions. He liked what was happening in his mind when he listened. It expanded and connected ideas. It created images, pondered more questions, arrived to conclusions. As afternoon arrived––its light casting drastic shadows on the mountain wall–– the road disappeared under a landfall of rocks, blocking their path. Night would arrive soon. Eight stopped the car and turned to look at Elias longer than usual. “What do we do, Elias?” “It´s dark. We can camp here and continue on foot tomorrow. We can hunt and there’s plenty of water around here.” “Is that the option that you like the most?” “It has nothing to do with liking. It’s just the best that we can do.” “Do you still find it difficult to know how I think?” As Eight unpacked, Elias decided to explore the area before darkness arrived. He walked into the wilderness, sidestepping thorny bushes and breathing in the soft scent of the greenery around him. He hiked to an enormous rock incrusted on the side of the cliff. After climbing it, he sat and focused on the sounds of the birds, the insects, the winds scurrying through the gully, and the temperature of the rock; he ed the sunsets at the coast—the contrast of the dark blue sea and the intense orange of the sky. Here the sun was hidden behind the mountains and its light was like a delicate veil covering the land. And as this veil lifted, Elias gazed up. He had never seen so many stars. He lay back on the rock and relaxed to the point of closing his eyes. He felt very thankful. None of this would be possible under the effects of the virus. He focused on his mind, feeling thankful for it too, and, with his imagination formed images that reminded him of his dreams. He opened his eyes, and saw a bright cloud of stars. Why were they there only at night? There was so much he didn’t know. And his dreams? Could he dream awake? He imagined the night sky with his eyes closed. When he opened them, the stars were in different places. He tried to memorize their position and closed and opened his eyes again. He failed.

His imagination was powerful, but unreliable. Suddenly, he heard a familiar whisper within him: first to the mountains. Then, to the jungle. “I know,” he said. A beam of light blinded him. He glanced around, blinking. It had come from Eight, who was looking for him on the trail below. Anxious to tell him of his experience, Elias slid down the rock and quickly started on his way back, but his enthusiasm suddenly turned to alarm. “Turn the light off!” he screamed. The light died and Elias continued the rest of the way franticly, stumbling towards the small fire Eight had built. His heart was beating rapidly when he arrived. “I just ed why I lost my memory.” “What were you doing on that rock, Elias?” “That’s not important anymore. What are we going to do about you? “The important one here is you, Elias.” “What are you talking about, Eight? Stop talking like that! Are there any batteries anywhere? Answer me!” “Yes, there are.” “Where?” “They are in the North.” “Then there’s a solution to this?” “Real solutions only happen in mathematics.” “Stop talking nonsense. We’ll go to the North.”

“The probabilities of success are low. Not only is it five-thousand kilometers away, but it’s also very dangerous.” “I don’t care. We are going. It’s an order!” “Then I will fail again.” “What are you talking about! I don’t understand you!” Elias shouted, kicking one of the logs off the fire. It landed on a dry bush and the branches caught, and Elias ran to it, cursing himself, to throw dirt and water on the spreading flames. He walked back to face Eight. “Elias, relax.” Images of his last relapse suddenly came to his mind. Alarmed, Elias tried to regulate his breathing to calm down. After one deep breath, he started to fix the fire, methodically, giving it the same structure that Eight had given it, and then spoke as calmly as he could, “Eight, why don’t you want to go to the North?” “Because it’s not really what you want if you really listen.” Elias felt the anger and frustration building in of him again. What kind of answer was that? He thought about asking for clarification, but decided that he could not right now: it affected him too much. He stayed quiet and attempted to forget about the situation by concentrating on another activity: he retrieved the pot from the car, filled it with water and lemongrass, and put it on the fire. He patiently waited for it to boil, served himself in a cup, and took a few sips. He thought about addressing the issue again, but knew he wasn’t ready. That night, he woke scared several times with the thought of Eight’s dwindling battery on his mind. It wasn’t until a few hours before dawn that he was able to sleep.

* * *

The first thing Elias saw when he opened his eyes next morning was Eight’s enormous dark eye looking at him. “Did you dream, Elias?” Elias was taken aback by the mysteriousness of his friend’s gaze. It reminded him of the depth of space he had seen yesterday in the stars. But he did not want to share last night’s depressing thoughts. Not until he thought about what to do. “I am fine, Eight.” “That’s good to hear.” “We shall go, Eight.” “Go where?” “Keep on the same way we were going.” “I am glad to hear that too.” “Let’s go then.” They had breakfast, made sure the fire was out, packed for the trip––Elias his small backpack and Eight the large duffle bag––and made their way around the landslide. Elias was faster; Eight’s feet were not as flexible and sometimes slipped. They finally reached the road on the other side, and started walking, quietly, under the overcast sky. Eight often scanned his friend for symptoms of the virus. They walked for two hours before Elias spoke with deliberate calmness, “I can’t talk to you about last night without getting worked up, and I don’t want the virus to attack me anymore. How can I control it?” “Controlling your emotions. That has worked before.” Elias nodded; he had already known the answer. “Elias, what were you doing yesterday on that rock?” “I just sat there and enjoyed the sky, the stars, the rock, my breath…then I closed

my eyes and played with the images that came to my mind…I heard a voice.” “That voice must have been Blanca.” “It came from me, but if you say so.” “Those images that came to your mind. Did you attach to any of them?” “What do you mean?” “Did any of them take a hold of you, made you feel something to the extent that you forgot about your breath and your surroundings: the rock, the sky, your body.” “Not really. I knew where I was and what I was doing. I was just playing around.” “You have to do something similar with your emotions when you think about my battery. Understand them as they rise, but let them go, and stay grounded. Could you do that?” “But you…” “Relax.” Elias fell silent again as they walked. Then he saw a large tree with knee high roots breaking through the dirt road. “Let’s sit, Eight.” Sitting on one of the roots, Elias calm himself as he had done on the rock. Almost instantly, he thought of his fear for Eight. How could he solve this problem if thinking of it angered him to the point of a relapse? Eight noticed his friend’s heart accelerating. Alert mode activated: he was now scanning Elias continuously. Thunder crashed. A few seconds later, it began to rain. Elias remained motionless, and his heartbeat slowed. Just as he had done on the rock the day before, Elias expanded the moment

through his awareness of the different aspects of his experience: the thunder and his pulse; the sweat from his pores and the raindrops falling on his head; the scent of the moistened earth and the coolness of Eight’s nearby metal. All while focusing on his breath. He closed his eyes, but an image appeared on his mind: Eight, metallic body dead on a river rock. His feelings clawed at him as he tried to remain clam. He breathed deeply, again. He understood why he felt these things––he did not want to lose his friend––but to engage them was disaster, at least while carrying the virus. He attempted to distance himself from them. The city and the bodies of the family came to him. He tried to distance himself from them too. Then other images came: other cities, other bodies. He was losing himself. Then he ed Eight’s comment: to not forget himself, to stay grounded. He concentrated on his breathing again, and he felt himself calm. But the problem was still there––the battery. How can I resolve this? What do I do? Suddenly, Elias saw, from a bird’s-eye view, a great ochre colored river winding its way through an immense forest of trees, like an endless snake. Then he heard the same voice from last night at the rock. It felt more intimate and familiar now, whispering the same thing: cross the mountains, go to the jungle. “And Eight’s battery…?” Elias whispered back. There was no answer, but he did not stress. He drifted back to the awareness of his breath, his moist skin, and the sounds of the water flowing down newly-made grooves in the dirt. He opened his eyes and saw the flora of his surroundings. Its many colors were neat and bright after the rain. He turned to his dear friend, and the same inevitable thought flashed through his mind again, but the frustration and anger were distant this time; the thought and its corresponding emotions were manageable. But he did not want to talk right now; he did not feel the need for it. If he could maintain this way of being, everything would be fine. He touched Eight with his fingertips and signaled the path they had been on: eastward, towards the mountains. He stood up, and they began walking across the mud. Later, they hunted wild rabbit and turkey, then they camped. And so it went for days on end.

***

There wasn’t a dirt road anymore, only a narrow path zigzagging along the side of the mountain. It was past lunch, which had been loads of berries they had picked up on the way and wild potatoes they had dug out and boiled at breakfast. The valleys were green and lush, the sky was blue, and Elias’s breathed the thin mountain air as his legs carried him up the many stone steps of the path. “I like it here, Eight. I feel very comfortable.” “How about the cold nights?” “Yes, they make my thinking clearer.” They continued walking until they reached the summit; the mountain peaks weren't visible. An extensive high-altitude prairie stretched before them, uninterrupted save for large rock formations, spaced as if they had fallen from the sky. In the distance, they saw a herd of animals. “Are those llamas?” “Yes, and other camelids. Good job at ing their name.” “It just came.” They kept walking. Afternoon faded as the clear night opened over the plains. The two companions walked to one of the rock formations to set camp. They built a fire, heated water in a pot with an herb called muña, and Elias ate rabbit jerky that had dried hanging on sticks on Eight’s back. Elias watched the play of the shadows and the fire on the smooth rock next to them. “Elias, what are you thinking about?” “Eight, you’ve asked about my dreams many times, but I think this is the first

time you've asked me what I am thinking about.” “You have improved significantly.” “Are you serious?” “Absolutely. And I ask because people have arrived, throughout history, at complex ideas while looking at shadows on rock walls.” “These are the shadows made by the fire. That’s all.” “The situation lends itself to metaphors of coexistent realities within one source.” Elias was thoughtful. “Is it like my dreams?” “Exactly.” “Do you dream, Eight?” “That’s not important, Elias.” “Do you?” “I am a robot.” “Yes, that’s right. You don’t have a heartbeat, but I think that you dream.” “I don’t Eight.” “And what do when you raise your antenna at night?” “I look for signals.” “From other places?” “I see you have improved drastically. I think we will get to the jungle this time.” “Why do you worry so much about that?”

“It’s my directive.” “What’s that?” “That’s what I have to do.” “And what do you have to do?” “Help you find your destiny.” “Is that why you care more about going to the jungle than saving your own life by going to the North.” “My directive is more important than my life. You are more important than I am. I wish you realized that.” “I hate it when you say that, Eight.” “I am sorry, Elias.” “So, according to you, my so-called destiny is going to the jungle.” “I am very sure of it.” “This ‘destiny’ is the same as a directive?” “It’s not, because you have freedom of choice.” “Eight, you are giving me a headache.” “You did not tell me much about the shadows on the wall.” “Eight, if you keep on like this, the virus is going to attack me again.” Eight didn't say anything else, and Elias drank the rest of his tea in silence. After finishing, he prepared the ground for sleep, making sure there were no pointy rocks and placing a layer of dry straw between his mat and the ground to further isolate himself from the cold. He placed a pile on one end of the mat to use as a pillow, then he unrolled the sleeping bag, undressed, and climbed in it. He contemplated one part of the night sky: a long cluster of stars, like frozen

dust. ‘The milky way,' Eight had told him a few nights ago. It was our ‘galaxy,' and it spun around a great density of light called a 'black hole.' The names were interesting, but so insignificant in comparison to the feelings inspired by looking at the awesome night sky above him. His friend, he decided, was so complicated and hard to talk to sometimes because he was always looking beyond what was in front of him, at thoughts and directives. It would do him much good to appreciate his surroundings instead of thinking so much. Elias did his breathing exercise before falling asleep. He had noticed that he could get his heartbeat low enough and close his eyes to fool Eight into thinking he was asleep. When he did, Eight would go into surveillance mode, his tiny antenna rising above his head.

* * *

It was subliminal grey as dawn’s light spread across the plains. Elias woke and listened for the sounds of animals. Although not many at this altitude, their solitariness reminded Elias of himself and Eight. This made him smile. Cuddled up in his sleeping bag, he thought about his dream, which had been dense, noisy, and incomprehensible. He wanted to clear his head, so he stood up, put the sleeping bag on his shoulder, and walked towards one of the rock formations standing like sea-stacks on the prairie. Eight pretended to be asleep as he watched his friend. Upon climbing the rock, Elias sat and contemplated the thin whitish band of light that gradually pushed the darkness at the horizon. He wanted to make sense of his dream, so he started what had become a familiar practice––though he did not know what to call it––and felt the cool air going into his nostrils, the cold rock under him, its smooth surface…how many sunrises had it taken for the wind to polish the rock? Hundreds, thousands, more than he had a name for? He had counted the sunrises since he had been able to do so. There had been twenty. He felt small in the vastness of time, and in this vastness, he attempted to make sense of his dreams.

He closed his eyes and saw himself on a beach. Was this an image of him or the dreamer of the dream? This thought was Eight’s doing. Elias ignored it and tried to concentrate on the scenery even though he could change it at will. In this willful co-creation with the dream world, he found himself on a dune, next to a sitting on a chair, who looked similar to Eight: it had the same white chassis, but was smaller, thinner and with softer angles. He looked at its one eye, which was red, and as he did so, the surroundings changed to the enormous structures he had seen on the city, but bigger, menacing, and interconnected with more complexity. He recognized the strange sounds of his dream now. They were loud, grating, streaking, but with a rhythm. He had nothing to compare it to, except, perhaps, to Eight’s hydraulics when walking, but on a much larger scale. “Is that you, Blanca? Is this the North?” he asked the figure. There was no answer. “Can you help Eight?” Suddenly, he heard Eight’s hydraulics––not in the strange sounds of his dream, but coming from below. He looked at his feet and saw he was standing on a heap of scrap metal. Elias knew with certainty that Eight was beneath it. He dug desperately, unearthed Eight’s upper body, and hugged it. At this moment, Elias noticed that he was no longer controlling the course of the dream; the dreamer had become the image of him. Elias started to carve a figure in the middle of Eight’s chest, two horizontal loops meeting in the middle. The figure began to glow. As it did, all the scraps of metal seemed to come alive, and the menacing structures surrounding them stopped moving, as if they had become suddenly aware of the scene or were now connected to the heap of metal, and to Eight. Elias woke up. The sun was high in the sky and cast soft light on the tall grass. He did not care about last night’s dream anymore. He had learned something more valuable. He stood up and made his way back to camp. Eight had already prepared some tea. “How was your time on the rock?” asked Eight. “You don’t miss anything, do you?” “Are you vivid dreaming now?”

“What’s that?” “When you control your dreams, that’s vivid dreaming.” “Yes, I have been doing it for a while.” “Amazing… did you dream of Blanca?” “What does she look like?” “She’s a robot, like me.” “I think I did, but I don’t think she’s that important. I think you are more important.” Eight gave Elias his cup of tea. Elias sat on a rock. “So, what’s the plan, Eight?” “You have not ordered to change it. As far as I know, it’s to see Blanca, then to go to the jungle.” Elias breathed deeply. “I want to go to the North and look for your battery. You are more important that you realize, Eight,” he said, surprising himself. Noticing that he was able to keep his feelings in check, he proceeded, “Why are you so certain of our failure if we go to the North?” Eight didn’t answer, worrying Elias. Eight always knew what to say. Perplexed, he broke the silence himself. “What’s going on, Eight?” “I am assessing your current state.” “Why?” “Because I want to check if you are ready to hear what I am about to tell you.” “Do you think it will affect me?” “It has done so before.”

“Tell me whatever you want to tell me. I’m ready.” “Can you sit first?” “Fine.” “Elias, you have always decided to go to the North, and for the same reason. We never get very far, and we always come back here when you listen once again.” “Are you saying we have been here before?” “Yes. Many times. And we have never reached Blanca’s house. We are so close.” Although trying to remain calm, Elias was shocked. But his familiarity with the area assured him that Eight was telling the truth. He felt stupid. Eight always knew everything, and he thought of going to the North just to spite him, and stood up angrily, his cup of tea spilling over his hands. Alarmed, he sat again, breathed, and tried to calm down. He had not ordered Eight to go to the North so far because of the voice, that inner and intimate whisper that he had heard on the rock. What if Eight was right? He tried to listen to it now, and it came. Softly but clear––its authority natural and unquestionable. His feeling of spite seemed insignificant in light of it. But he could choose to forget the voice, focus on his reactive feeling of spite and order Eight to go North instead, believing that he would feel better if he did everything possible to save him. He looked at his friend, at his indecipherable eye, and felt that Eight cared for him enormously–– just as much as Elias did for him. Eight was right. Elias stood up and started to pack, his reaction to what Eight had told him now seeming like an inconsequential fork in the easier path in front of him. Eight followed his example. “Let’s go, Eight” They continued eastward.

* * *

For days they walked, picking up all types of tubers on the way: Oca, Olluco, Mashua, among others. Elias sometimes could eat them raw; other times, they boiled them in the morning and ate them throughout the day. Although Elias repeated these and the other strange-sounding names that Eight taught him, he did not talk much. He concentrated on the present, enjoying the gradual change in scenery: there were no longer giant boulders, but sporadic trees, like the quinoa tree, accompanying them. On the morning of the third day, Elias spotted an animal that he had never seen before. “What is that over there?” he said as he pointed to the rocks behind a herd of guanacos. It was a large cat, the color of dry grass. It moved stealthily and steadily, its powerful shoulders low to the ground, along the rock towards its prey. When the guanaco lifted its head suspiciously, muscles tightening to bolt, it was too late. The large cat was halfway to its neck. It fell, its jaws crushed by the beast. “What at an incredible animal.” “It’s a puma.” “It seems awfully familiar. Have I seen it before?” “You may have heard its cousin, the jaguar, roar in your dreams.” “Let’s get a closer look, Eight.” “Let’s do it cautiously.” They stopped about ten meters away, close enough to see it tear the meat with its fangs and to hear the breaking of the guanaco’s bones. Elias was mesmerized when the puma stopped eating to stare at him with its yellow and black eyes for what seemed like a long time. Then it yawned, and walked away. “It left its pray almost untouched, Eight.” “Maybe it’s a gift to you.”

“Then I accept it. I am hungry.” “How do you want to cook it?” “What was that you were telling me about cooking with hot rocks a few days ago?” “A pachamanca, an ancient practice.” “Let’s do that.” “It will take a long time.” “We deserve it.” Eight cut the meat while Elias went to look for wood. Then they dug a hole and collected medium and large rocks; there were plenty of around. Then they placed the rocks in the hole, the meat on the rocks, branches of muña bush on the meat, and then more rocks on to top––building a type of chamber. They started the fire on top of it to cook the meat underneath. It was a feast. “I wish you could eat this, Eight.” “You need the protein. This is good.” “I wish I had some way to let you know how thankful I am.” “Thankful for what?” “Of you.” Eight remained silent. “I want to show you who I am, Eight.” “I don’t know how to respond, Elias.” “Don’t worry, Eight. Tell me...the people of before had big meals too, right?” “Yes, they did.”

“That must have been nice.” “They thought so.” “How far until we get to Blanca’s house?” “We may be able to see it from over there,” Eight said, pointing to the horizon; there were no mountains. “What you want most, is for us to get to Blanca’s house, don’t you? “You know already what my directive is.” “Let’s go, then. I don’t think I can eat anymore.” “We’ll take some for later. I’ve cut and salted some thin slices for jerky.” They doused the fire, packed, and began walking––the mountain range gradually descending as their shadows lengthened before them. As light dwindled, they stopped at the top of a long valley. “Will we get there tomorrow?” “Certainly.” Elias looked down the valley. He could barely make out more valleys, ravines, and smaller mountains. And to the north, on a similar mountain range, he saw again the power tube that had followed their path on their journey from the coast. Elias took a deep breath; the air from down in the valley seemed thicker and warmer. “I think everything will change tomorrow, Eight. I feel it.” “It may. I don’t know.” They set camp, but did not light a fire. As Elias was falling asleep in the darkness, he heard faint animal grunts. “What was that, Eight?” “The puma.”

“Is it the same one?” “Yes, it has been following us…maybe you’ve communicated with him in your dreams?” “I can do that?” “You will be surprised at what you can do.” “Should we worry?” “No.” “I want to sleep, now.” Elias lay down again. He wanted it to be tomorrow already. Eight would finally get to see Blanca, and that would satisfy his friend enormously. He wished he had more time to spend with Eight like the people of before had done with each other. He hoped to dream of them, of their social practices, but as soon as he fell asleep, he was violently taken by a dream of a large cat with black with yellow spots. He became the powerful beast as it walked on muddy paths surrounded by thick vegetation and an incessant cacophony of unrecognizable insects and animals.

* * *

Although he woke abruptly, a refreshing breeze lessened the intensity of his dream. He breathed it in, noticing its unusual moistness, and knew for certain that a change of scenery was near. He turned to his friend to ask his thoughts, but noticed Eight’s posture was different. “Eight, are you OK?” “I am not in surveillance mode.”

“Why not?” “I have discovered that it isn’t necessary. And I spend slightly less battery this way.” “Why didn’t you do it before?!” “It was protocol.” Elias took a deep breath. “Well…why don’t you go ahead now and change all protocol that wastes your battery.” “Do you your dream Elias? I detected increased bodily symptoms while you slept.” “Yes, of a puma walking in the jungle.” “That was a jaguar.” “All right, then a jaguar.” “Eight, did you understand what I just said regarding your battery?” “Yes.” “OK. Let’s go then.” Elias stood up and packed quickly; Eight followed his example, and they left camp. By midmorning, they were at the trailhead of the ancient path they had been following. It disappeared under the clouds, the trees, and the hills below them. On one of these hills, Eight spotted a rock house. “I can’t believe it,” Eight said. “Is that it?” Elias asked, pointing to it. “It must be.” Elias ran downhill as fast as he could, skipping over or around boulders, ditches,

and trees. He stopped halfway down and motioned to his friend. “C’mon Eight!” Eight followed in his own manner: in a straight line, taking enormous leaps and landing precisely on the spots he had already charted in his mind. When Elias realized that his friend would catch up rather quickly, he started down again. An infantile but tremendous joy took a hold of him as he ran. He ed the city on the coast, the walk up the mountain, the plateau, his struggles with the virus and with his friend’s fate, many wonderful and frustrating conversations with Eight, his success at managing the virus, his dreams, and lastly, the voice–– all of these were oscillating memories that were finally being left behind. But he wanted to keep the voice. Being attuned to it made him feel lighter, happier. He felt it right now, and it was about to reveal something, he could tell.

***

The friends arrived at a small green clearing with a small stone house in the middle. It was partly surrounded by a crumbling knee-high rock wall and had two very small rectangle windows, and a small door leading to a dark interior. “Did you have fun running down here, Eight?” “I see that you are in a hurry to know your destiny.” “Something tells me that you are wrong about that.” “How do you know?” “It’s just a feeling.” “Well, humans do get important information from their feelings.” “Well, did you have fun?” “That’s not important, Elias.”

“I’ve got to teach you to have fun, Eight.” They walked through the door of the house, both of them crouching to get in the small opening. Inside, under dingy light, Elias saw a table with dusty electrical and mechanical trinkets: cables, batteries, and circuits. Eight walked to the corner of the room, which was completely dark. “Is everything OK, Eight? “I think I have found her.” Elias found Eight’s arm in the dark. “Guide me, Eight.” Eight took Elias’s hand and directed it gently towards the dark corner. Elias felt a surface very much like Eight’s, but smaller––softer perhaps––and with more subtle curves in its shape. He identified ts, a chest, and a slender shoulder. It was sitting on a chair. “It must be Blanca,” Elias said. “It’s fascinating.” “Let’s get it out of the house.” Eight picked Blanca up in his arms and walked towards the light of the door, managing to duck through. Elias was waiting for him outside. Eight laid Blanca gently on the grass, the light reflecting off the metal, despite the dust. “Shall we clean her, Elias?” “I think that’s a great idea, Eight.” They pulled out some cloth from the Eight’s duffle bag and both started on the job. “She’s not like you, Eight.” “I’ve never seen a model like this.”

“Is she alive?” “She doesn’t have energy, but I could give her some of mine to activate her briefly. Would that be OK with you?” “Do you think it’s important?” “Yes.” Bluish sparks appeared between Blanca’s shoulder and Eight’s palm. Suddenly, the robot sat up and its one small eye lit for five seconds, then closed again. Two small lights blinked in Eight’s eye. “What happened?” “Information has been transferred to me from a network.” “Like my dreams” “Not quite, but I understand why you say that.” “And do your dreams tell you something new?” “I have ed information about the jungle.” “I knew it.” “You knew that this was going to happen?” Elias did not answer. He stayed quiet for a minute, then walked around the house. “Are you OK, Elias?” “I am waiting for you to tell me what to do next.” “It’s your choice, Elias. It always is.” Elias smiled. “But you are the one dreaming now, Eight. Isn’t it obvious to you?” “No.”

Elias laughed. “What do you want to do with Blanca, Eight?” “She short circuited. She can’t be fixed anymore.” “Should we bury her?” “I would rather she stayed like this, in the open.” “I am starting to understand everything, my friend.” “Please explain it.” “It’s just a feeling. I can’t explain it yet…listen, I found some golden berry plants behind the house. Let’s get some before we go.” “We are going?” “Yes, we are.”

PART III

Dawn came differently now. Its first light no longer landed on plains or mountains, but treetops, hundreds of them. The horizon was green for the first time in a long time, the earth smelled differently, and Elias could hear strange, unfamiliar birds. This morning, Eight was not looking at Elias when he woke; he sat facing the sun, his giant black eye reflecting it as an orange star. His posture, Elias noticed, was a slightly different again. “Eight, is that the jungle?” “Yes, it is.” “How big is it?” “Think of the distance from here to the ocean. It’s that times seven.” “What will we find there, Eight?” “What are we looking for, Elias?” “I don’t know. You tell me, Eight.” “I don’t know either. We have to follow your dreams.” “I think the dreams we have to follow are yours, Eight.” “I see that this conversation won’t go anywhere, Elias.” Elias understood Eight’s frustration perfectly. He had felt that way many times before. “Can you interpret the information you received when you brought Blanca back to life?” “That’s not really what happened Elias.” “You know what I mean.” “I can’t interpret information the way you are thinking of. It’s just data to me. I don’t have intuitions, feelings, or visions.”

“Why not?” “Those are human qualities. All I can do is analyze the data in of my mission, and my mission is to help you, and I am not sure what you need yet.” "Maybe I can help you. Tell me more about the information you received. Do you have maps?” “Yes, very detailed ones.” “Let’s see them.” Eight’s eye projected a holograph in front of them. “The jungle doesn’t look as big as you told me.” “I only received information of this part of it.” “Interesting.” “It is.” After observing the holograph carefully, moving it and augmenting it with his hands, Elias pointed to a structure that appeared man-made. Eight amplified the image: it was an enormous white circular wall flanked by a river. “I want to go there, Eight. I think I have seen it in my dreams.” “That makes me very happy. Now we have an objective.” “I thought you didn’t feel happy, Eight.” “I am just imitating your process so you can understand me.” “Whatever. If it makes you happy, it makes me happy, too.” “Let’s go, Elias. I know how we can get there quickly.” “Let’s go, my friend.” They walked downhill––Eight in front––until they reached a forest. As they

entered the trees, Elias ed the dreams he had been having where the jaguar appeared. He knew that this was just the beginning of the jungle: the density of the flora would increase; so would the noises of birds, animals, and insects, the darkness, and the humidity in the air. Elias looked up at the canopy suddenly blocking the sky above him. There had been nothing like this in the coast or the mountains. Suddenly an ominous feeling overcame him, and his vision turned blurry for less than a second. Perturbed, he turned to his friend. “Eight.” “Yes, Elias?” “Does altitude have an effect on the virus?” “The episodes were always more frequent on the coast, but there are too many variables to obtain a conclusion.” “What do you mean by that? Can’t you just give me a straight answer?” Elias said, suddenly angry. He tried to calm down, concentrating on the few patches of sky between the branches above him, breathing in air that seemed to emanate from the vegetation around him. Focusing on the present had helped him with the virus in the mountains, but would it help in this strange environment? Maybe not. Fear crept in, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The virus would attack him again and he wouldn’t wake up this time, ever again. Desperately, he searched for Eight and found his mysterious black eye staring him. He saw an image in it: Elias meditating by a tree under the rain. “You’ve never progressed so much, Elias.” Eight’s words filled Elias with confidence, and reminded him of what he had to do. As he returned his focus to his breathing, he ed the dreams where he had become the jaguar as it walked in the jungle. There was nothing to fear: he knew this place already. “Now the jaguar speaks to me in my dreams, Eight.”

“What does he say?” “I am not sure yet. I have to interpret it.” They kept walking. “Elias.” “Yes, Eight.” “You have to develop a practice.” “What do you mean?” “That which you have been doing to avoid a relapse: meditating, ing your dreams, breathing consciously, being aware of your surroundings––it has to become a practice to follow with discipline, even in difficult circumstances.” “I will do that, friend.”

* * *

When Elias glimpsed white beyond the trees, he knew Eight’s plan was. They had reached the energy tube they had seen from the high plateau. Elias ran to it, trying to love the way he had to duck and dodge around the numerous trees. He touched it––curved and rough beneath his fingers, it sured the height of the trees. “This is incredible, Eight.” They circled it and found a ladder hidden behind a thicket of vines. After clearing them, they began climbing, soon leaving the trees below, with only the clear skies above. Elias noticed that the blue of the sky was less intense than up in the mountains, but he was glad to have it again over his head. He wondered what sunset looked like here.

They reached the curved top, which had a rail. To the west, it climbed with the tube to the mountains; to the east, it angled downward towards the jungle. Eight started walking along the rail––the reflection of the sun off his chassis briefly blinding his friend. Elias followed behind; he soon missed the shelter of the trees, finding the heat thick and sticky; it exhausted him. “How long until we get there, Eight?” Eight lifted his arm and a pointed to the horizon. Far in the distance, Elias saw a rectangular structure on the tube. They continued on. “Elias.” “Yes, Eight?” “I have a possible interpretation of what you are supposed to do.” “I am listening, Eight.” “In the days of before, there were restricted areas specially created for people who still practiced a very basic way of life and could not adapt to the society of the time. I think the Wall could be one these sanctuaries.” “Anything else?” “Yes. Females in those areas still bore children. If any survived, the possibility exists that you could mate. Maybe that’s your mission: to find her. Do you think it’s a good interpretation?” “I haven’t dreamed of anything like that…how do you know all of this, Eight?” “It was part of the information that I ed.” “Interesting. What other information did you get?” “Diverse information about the jungle.” “Did you get anything on trees. They are everywhere.” “Yes, I have detailed information.”

“What is that one over there?” “It’s a Tomillo.” “Can it be used for anything?” “It has antibacterial properties.” “And that huge one over there?” “It’s a Ccasi.” “Do you know its uses too?” “None were discovered.” They reached the large rectangular structure––which turned out to be a roofed wagon-like cart––and climbed in. It was wall-less on one side, allowing for a view of the jungle. Elias recognized a kitchen, dining room, and living room. There were many objects all over the place. Elias picked up a little figure the shape of a bird. “What is this?” “A bird.” “I know that, but what’s its purpose?” “It’s an ornament. It’s decoration.” “And these?” “Those are pictures.” Unlike the holograms that Eight had showed him before, these images could be felt with his hands. On their smooth surface were three men in different settings: one in this room, one in the jungle, and one next to a river. In this last one, the three men were holding cups and smiling. Elias put this picture in his pocket and walked down a corridor that led to the back. There were three rooms along it; they were small with narrow beds and desks. The furniture of this place surprised him: it was mostly made of wood and cloth, and it was worn out,

discolored, and scratched––it seemed old. He found what seemed to be a rectangular box that opened into hundreds of thin sheets with symbols on them. In a cabinet by the corridor, he discovered all types of tools; he recognized a machete and some rope. He grabbed the machete. He went to the kitchen, where there was sink, provisions, and utensils. He then returned to the main room of the wagon and sat on a comfortable but worn-out couch overlooking the jungle. A metallic sound startled him and he felt the wagon begin to slide along the rails. Eight arrived with two large sticks with broad ends. “What are those, Eight?” “They are paddles, we will need them later.” “What for?” “The river.” “This house is different from the ones in the city, Eight.” “The house isn’t domestic, and they made much of this furniture themselves. These people lived on the fringe of society and did not enjoy the technological advances of the majority of the population.” “What is this?” “It’s a book. An ancient object. They must have rejected the teachings found in the network.” “It feels like they had good lives here.” “They may have.” “Look at this picture. They look very happy. Were they a family? “I would not know, Elias. I can’t connect to this house.” “It looks like they were friends.” “It’s a possibility.”

“Do you know what I’d like to do Eight?” “What?” “I’d like to build a house and settle down; enjoy life.” “As long as that’s what the voice is telling you.” “The voice…yes…” The thought of it suddenly angered him. Why did he have to listen to it? He did not like its power to dictate his destiny. Why could he not spend the rest of his life making sure Eight lived well and happy? Eight’s last days: the thought of it raised his heartbeat. He tried to calm down. He felt so stupid––always trying to fight. It did not have to be this hard. He just had to trust that everything was going to be okay. He breathed deeply as he gazed at the ing jungle. He had never seen birds so closely in their tree habitats. And there were so many types of them: different sizes and colors––blues, greens, reds, yellows––some with long and skinny beaks, short curved beaks, or large beaks. There was also an animal he had never seen before; agile and slender, with long extremities, it jumped from tree to tree and hung from branches. Eight told him they were monkeys, and Elias spent the rest of the trip looking for them. The wagon sped down the rails.

* * *

The warmth of the morning sunlight woke him up. He had dozed off as watching the jungle by. Flashes of it came to his mind. Were these from his dreams or from what he had seen last night from the wagon? He disliked this confusion and ed Eight’s words about discipline. He should have meditated before going to sleep, but he had been forgetting about it. He kneeled in front of the couch and tried to clear his head, but too many thoughts came to his mind. He looked back at Eight, who had been standing all night, his mysterious black eye looking towards the jungle.

“Eight, I think your hypothesis is good.” “Thank you. We will validate it when we get to the sanctuary.” “But what I want most, is for us to create a home and enjoy all we can before this is all over.” “What did you dream last night?” “I am not sure…tell me what you know about surviving in the jungle, Eight.” “I have abundant information on the matter, but it’s just information. We’ll have to live there to know how it truly is.” “Tell me all you know.” So Eight started to explain the rainforest’s ecosystem: its thin soul, struggle for light, and abundant life. He gave examples of how its ancient people had lived before: what they ate, and where and how they lived. This prompted Elias to ask about some of the trees he saw below. Three times Eight identified fruit trees and stopped the wagon––its screeching brakes scaring the animals in the jungle––and anchored the rope on the rail to rappel down the side of the tube to collect mangos, pomarrosas and sapotse. “Eight, remind me of the Korowai people who built their houses in trees.” “They did not live in this jungle, but their houses could be built here as well.” “What type of tree would you recommend to build it in?” Eight gave Elias a few ideas, listing the characteristics of their leaves, trunks, and quality of their wood. Night arrived with the noise of hundreds of animals and insects beginning their nocturnal activity. Elias thought of the jaguar walking below, stalking prey through the trees, following its scent, waiting in ambush. The jaguar knew the jungle differently: a mix of sensations and instincts. On his nightly meditation that day, Elias invoked the animal. Immediately, he felt it: its eyes were his eyes, its breathing, his breathing. There were no thoughts, only the constant anguish for food and an equally insatiable need to search, both of which Elias found very

difficult to bear. He almost stopped his meditation, but continued because he felt that he was learning something essential that was difficult to put into words.

* * *

A new day began in jungle, its sunlight subduing the intense night activity, and Eight turned towards his friend, who was finishing morning meditation. Elias turned as well, observing the sunrise reflected in Eight’s dark eye. “Did you dream, Elias?” “I dreamed of the jaguar again.” “Can you interpret it?” “I think it’s trying to tell me something. How long until we get to the jungle?” “We are already in the jungle.” “How long until we get to the Wall?” “Do you see that river?” “Yes.” “We are getting off the wagon and following it. We are going to have to build a canoe.” “That sounds awesome, Eight.” “It’s time to get off,” Eight said as he walked to the levers that he had pulled to start the wagon days ago. The wagon hissed as he pulled them, and ground to a stop. They packed, selecting the tools to take––a machete, rope, and hammock–– and picked up their bags and exited the wagon, Eight walking first.

“I feel I should say something before we leave this dwelling.” “Say it.” “…Never mind.” They walked along the tube, to a ladder a few meters from the wagon, and climbed down––their heads once again covered by the canopy of the trees. “There are many mosquitoes around here.” “You’ll get used to it.” Eight pointed to the direction to follow––east––and they both began picking their way through the jungle, sometimes having to use the machete to cut through thick bushes, or to climb over or around enormous fallen trees, or to stop an analyze how to proceed. Often, they would have to build overes over dangerous looking hollows, circumvent aggressive insect hives, or avoid getting stuck in quicksand when walking through water. The feeling here was different from the high mountains and the desolate desert coast; life here engulfed you, almost suffocating. Elias ed his dreams with the jaguar––the way it moved quickly and rhythmically through the jungle, and observed Eight, whose bright white chassis never looked more out of place; his feet were obviously not made for mud, and sank more than Elias’s. Finally, they arrived at the edge of a river. It was very different from the ones they had seen before. It had muddy red water instead of clear transparent water with a slow steady flow, and was surrounded by thick vegetation instead of rocks. Eight led him along the border of the river until they reached an extensive beach of red sand, which made Elias, who had been feeling overwhelmed by the jungle, very happy. He took of his sweaty shirt, ran to the river, and jumped in. “Careful with the currents in the middle of the river, Elias. That’s where they are stronger.” The river was deep, and Elias was soon swimming without touching the bottom. As his friend had said, he could feel the current growing stronger towards the middle, so he stayed near the shore. “Come swim, Eight.”

“I can’t swim.” “I can’t hear you, come closer.” Eight waded ankle-deep into the water. “I can’t swim,” he repeated. Fatal images of Eight sinking in the river flashed through Elias’s mind, but he quickly let them go, feeling proud of himself for being able to, as he had been worried about how the jungle might get the best of him. He came out of the river and asked Eight calmly, “Can’t we get there by land?” “No.” “We will have to build a sturdy canoe. Let’s choose the best available tree.” “What characteristic should the wood have, Elias?” “I think it should be light, as your weight is probably the reason why you can’t swim.” “I sink because I am too dense.” “And how does the canoe float? Tell me everything.” They talked until Elias had, thanks to his incessant questioning, a good understanding of flotation, and a very good idea of how to build the canoe. When they decided to start the search for a nearby tree, Eight told him he had scanned every single tree along the path and had found a good specimen not too far. “Shall we start, Elias?” “Let’s get to work, Eight!”

* * *

They did not finish that day or the next day or the next. It took two days to bring down the tree and cut apart its trunk, and many more to peel back the bark to reveal the smooth wood. It even took longer to hollow the trunk patiently with the machete––making sure the walls remained vertical––and to mold a round bow and a stern shaped like the tail of a fish. Inevitably, they developed a routine: wake up, meditate, build a fire, work on the canoe, eat fruit, fish, start the fire, eat, work on the canoe again, eat again, meditate, and sleep. During this time, Elias also worked on his own project––a small “home” to sleep above the ground. Inspired by the way Eight had structured a fire, Elias looked for and found long, slender, and strong tree trunks that he tied to beams which he laid on stubs he had buried in the ground, creating a flat platform for them to sleep on. Before they finished the canoe, they were both sleeping on the elevated surface. One night, Eight noticed a little statuette of a bird in their new home. “Why did you bring that from the wagon, Elias?” “I liked it.” “But it is not useful. It does not help us in any way.” “It’s meaningful to me.” “Would you like to create one?” “Can I?” “I encourage you to.” Before going to bed, Elias thought about what he would make: two figures together, one taller than the other; one with one big eye, one with two. One would be him, the other one, Eight. The next morning by the river, he sharpened the tip of the machete with river rocks and worked on carving his idea into a small block of wood. At midday, he lovingly placed it on the canoe’s prow. Eight came to look.

“What you have done is called art. It’s a very human thing to do.” “Now the canoe is truly finished.” “It was finished yesterday.” “Yes, but I love it more now. Don’t you?” “It’s a figure of us. I think I understand art.” “Excellent, Eight.” “We should go tomorrow, Elias.” “I am going to miss this place.” “What made you like it so much?” “Well. We made a canoe, a platform, and I made art, too. Were you happy here?” “You know that I can’t answer that question, Elias.” “Can you try?” “It made me “happy” to see your personal growth.” “You see. You can be happy. We should stay here, Eight.” “What do your dreams and the voice tell you?” “Everything seems to be pointing to that Wall. And what do you hear, Eight?” “I don’t work that way, my friend.” “Maybe you do, but you just don’t know it.” “I think you are afraid, Elias. This is understandable. Can I tell you something that may reassure you?” “Yes.”

“Humans don’t know what the inner voice has planned for them. We don’t know what’s going to happen when we get to the Wall; maybe we will stay there forever, maybe we won’t. It is impossible to predict. But I assure you, if you have listened closely to yourself, the result will be best for both of us.” “OK. Let’s get ready for tomorrow.” They packed their bags, wrapping provisions of fruit in banana leaves for their trip, built a fire, and waited for nightfall. As always, it came powerfully with millions of life forms suddenly waking and stirring in the jungle. Before his nightly meditation, Elias looked up at the night sky. It held the same stars as always, but the darkness between the stars seemed different. In the mountains, it had seemed infinitely distant, so much so that it pulled you upwards. Here, the land was so full of life––the heat, the insects, the humidity, and the myriad of sounds––that the space between seemed closer to him, as if even the night sky was part of the jungle. As he meditated and felt himself settle into the present, he began to accept the jungle. But he could not forget about the virus. It was an anguish that he had to forever––not doing so was too risky. He could never think that he was cured or that the virus had gone away––this could lead him to relapse. He tried to not let this bother him too much and continued breathing. Then he felt the voice. He finished his meditation. “Good night, Eight.” “Pay attention to your dreams, Elias.” “As always, my friend. Don’t forget to sleep on the platform. There is no need for bugs to walk over you.” “I will, Elias. Good night.” “Good night, Eight.”

* * *

The next day, Elias woke to the same bird noise he had heard since they had set up camp here. He turned to Eight next to him, still sitting on the platform. “Eight, I have heard the same bird call every morning. Do you know what bird it is?” “The information I ed on birds was very limited. Why don’t you give it a name?” “I can do that?” “Yes.” “And if I don’t do it correctly?” “You decide that.” “I’ll think about it.” Elias climbed off the platform and went to the river to wash his face. On the way back, he saw the finished canoe. “Eight, did the people of before ever name canoes?” “Actually, it was common practice to name one’s boat, and it was considered bad luck not to do so.” “Can you name our canoe?” “I don’t operate that way, Elias.” “How did you get your name?” “You gave it to me a long time ago.” “How did I do that?” “You learned to read that time around, and you were inspired by the infinity sign

on my thorax.” Elias approached Eight to study the drawing. “I don’t understand.” “It looks like an eight in a horizontal position.” “Do you know how to read and write, Eight?” “Yes.” “Then, please, name the canoe. I insist.” Eight was silent. “It will be called A1.” “I like it. We should carve that name on it.” “I guess I am the one who has to do it.” Eight kneeled by the prow of the canoe, and carved A1 on its side. “Now we can go,” said Elias. “Here’s your machete. You have grown fond of it. Maybe you can name it too.” Elias smiled, sheathed the machete and placed it on his back. Then they each walked to a different end of A1 and lifted the canoe, carried it to the bank, and placed it in the water. They put their bags and provision in the middle, and boarded the canoe. Elias at the stern; Eight at the bow. They began to paddle, and the canoe slid along the muddy waters effortlessly. “We did a good job with A1, Eight.” “It seems like it.” “I feel very well, Eight.” “I can see it on your face.”

“We created something new, and it works wonderfully!” They continued down the river. Midday came, and they ate fruit; then afternoon, and they fished. Very little changed; the impregnable barrier of trees stood along the banks, making the river feel sheltered. Night came. Elias slept; Eight steered the canoe. * * *

Elias woke to the rhythmic sound of Eight’s paddle in the water. He opened his eyes and studied the dim dawn light highlighting the shape of things. His surroundings had not changed. There were still endless trees ing by the banks, and Eight still sat erect at the bow. “Are we getting closer?” “Yes.” “I don’t see any signs of other people, Elias,” Eight said. “I see. Then your hypothesis was incorrect. Maybe this is the end, my friend. We should build a house and live happily ever after.” “All ends are new beginnings, Elias.” “I know why you have that symbol on your chest, Eight.” “Why?” “You talk in circles,” laughed Elias. They continued on. A few hours later, the river grew wider and wider as other rivers converged into it. The canoe picked up speed, and they were suddenly in a vast river. The shore was very far away from the wide-open waters. Elias opened his mouth to comment on the abrupt change, but was distracted by raindrops slipping down his friend’s white chassis. A few seconds later, a beam of light dazzled him, forcing him to cover his eyes. Then, a tremendous boom

crashed above, and he dove to the floor of the canoe, covering his head. The rain picked up, the drops loud enough that he couldn’t hear his own voice over the sound as he called Eight. He could barely see through the downpour. Suddenly, the current below them picked up speed, and the canoe shot down swelling rapids. At the bottom of one, the canoe stuck on the rocks, turning perpendicular to the flow. Elias could faintly see Eight struggling to force his weight to one side of the canoe to prevent it from turning. The enormous log appeared as sudden as the storm. It was already on top of them by the time Elias shouted a warning to Eight, smashing the canoe down the middle, cracking the hull and throwing them into the turbulent waters. Elias swam furiously underwater without any sense of direction, chest aching, before the currents suddenly pushed him to the surface. He gasped for air under the pouring rain. He called for Eight, but could still barely hear his own voice. Spinning, he identified a piece of AI, swam for it and held the slick wood, trying to gather strength. He called for Eight again; there was no answer. The rain began to dissipate and the clouds opened up to the sun high in the sky; it had been nearly two hours. The river was tranquil and the current slow, but there were no signs of his supplies and the shore was almost invisible in the distance. The thought of being dragged further away from the accident pushed Elias, and he started kicking and paddling towards the shore. Little by little, it grew closer. As it did, the current began pulling him down a distributary sidechannel. He let himself be dragged and, once he was close enough, he swam easily to the shore. As he soon as reached land, he started picking his way back upriver through the mangroves, so exhausted that it was hard to swing his machete, which he had found strapped to his back. He called to Eight repeatedly. He reached the main river, and reality hit him just as hard as the trunk had hit the canoe. It was enormous: he could not even see the shore at the other side. How could he find Eight? He had to find Eight. He would have to try to guess where the canoe had gone under––maybe two hours of walking––and look for Eight on the way. He wasn’t going to give up. He called, but there was no answer. He began walking hurriedly upriver, looking among the bushes, between the roots, and the tree branches close to the shore, hoping Eight had gotten caught in the eddies. Afternoon came as he arrived at the spot where they had gone under. An

oppressive calmness reigned, the waters calm and still, as if nothing had happened. Elias called to Eight again, looking around. Maybe the spot was further up; he could not be sure. Light dwindled and the horizon above the great river turned orange and the waters darkened. He continued searching and calling, surrounded by the same tress, mud, insects, and water with no change or sign until the moonless night covered the jungle with its myriad of sounds and absolute darkness. Elias was exhausted and hurting. He grabbed onto a tree and called Eight again, his voice lost in the noise of the jungle.

* * *

As soon as soon dawn light began to chase away the night form dark jungle, Elias climbed down the tree and began searching and calling for Eight again. He thought that the current could have pushed his friend downriver by now, back to where he come from. So he stared walking downriver until he reached the distributary river he had used to escape the great river. He ed how he had been pushed by the current. Would Eight have had the same luck? But Eight was heavier and could not swim; he was probably carried off by the stronger river current. He could not be sure of it, of anything, but stopping to think for too long was out of the question. He could walk along the smaller river until he found a narrow point to swim easily across, but he was anxious and didn’t want to waste time, so he jumped in the water and began swimming across, though it took a lot of effort to reach the other side. He continued along the shore of the large river, but it soon dawned on him that it was just too big, too wide. How could he find anything here? It was just trees, and more trees, water, and more water: everything the same and with no sign of Eight. Desperation took a hold of him and made him want cry. Maybe tears would have helped stop what was happening inside of him. Faced with the futility and inertia of his endeavor, he continued the search stubbornly, howling Eight’s name, feeling increasingly defeated and tired, and then determined again, but with hopelessly short-lived spasms of energy––internal darkness grew as the virus multiplied. Elias, numb and with eyes half closed, tumbled on a root and fell to the ground. The last thing he saw was the surface of

the water, and the murkiness beneath.

* * *

Relentless heat punished is body, but he was unaware of it; his skin and muscles felt strange and unfamiliar; his senses were confused and clouded; the sky was something bright and diffuse, the water engulfing half of his body, and the sounds of the river and the water flowing in and out of his ear was only noise. His half-opened mouth responded to the urge to survive and he breathed, spitting up the water he swallowed and choked on. His consciousness, if there was one, was sparse and diminishing. The sun crossed the mid-sky. The sun sank behind the green horizon. Another day had ended. When the jungle woke under the stars, Elias was still flat on the shore, imive. There was only one noise, almost inaudible, or maybe the memory of one, that kept his feeble and weakening attention––saving him from absolute darkness. It was like a distant thunder, but organic and repetitive, sometimes near him and sometimes far. Elias somehow recognized it and knew what it meant. The dead carcass his body had become was suddenly shaken with such violence that his panicked brain sparked a flare of consciousness. In that moment, he heard the fierce and piercing sound louder, and with it came the memory of a level of awareness that he now understood perfectly: to walk, search, smell, bite, keep on going, survive––he ed being the jaguar. Pushed by a primitive force from within his body, and pushed by a jungle that seemed to draw him in, Elias rose out of the muddy waters. His intention was simple: move, hunt, eat. He pushed through the difficult terrain as if he were a beast. Sometimes he got lost, deviated, and the virus would start to take control again. In those moments,

he heard the powerful roar of the jaguar, and his weakened will would synergize with that force, empowering to keep on moving––searching among the bushes, smelling the leaves, tasting them, chewing them, then spitting them out. Finally, he stopped in front of a particular plant: a thick vine that twisted around a tree. Possessed by an ancestral hunger, he bit the vine with all his strength. One of his teeth cracked as he broke a piece of its bark. He spat and bit again, repeatedly, until he reached the heartwood and the pith, filling his mouth with them and chewing, extracting a substance, and swallowing. He did this again and again, until the instinct told him to stop and pushed him, in the same manner it had done so to get him where he was, to search for something else. He briskly moved through the jungle, as if he had lived there for eons. He arrived to another plant, a small shrub, and hungrily bit off its leaves, chewed them, sucking their juices, and spat them out, until he was satiated. Then, the instinct dragged him to a third plant. He repeated the process until his stomach turned, forcing him to his knees, retching, and convulsing. He vomited and defecated. Exhausted and damp with sweat, he dragged himself onwards––still possessed by that powerful drive. But his body was weak, and exhaustion took over as the instinct faded, leaving him on his back on the forest floor, looking up at the night sky. Gradually, the darkness that held his mind started to shift. There appeared bright lines that drew near, bent, spun, and expanded infinitively. And when he opened his eyes, he saw the jungle outlined by them. Scared, he closed his eyes again. An image appeared: a jaguar’s face, multi-colored and splendid, staring straight at him, opening its mouth, approaching him, swallowing him. He opened his eyes, but he suddenly did not feel lost anymore and knew, with an effortless certainty, who and where he was. Feeling rejuvenated, he stood and evaluated his body. He was bruised all over, with four prominent cuts along his ribs and shoulder that reminded him of the jaguar’s claws. He felt his back and was glad to find his machete. Feeling keenly aware and calm, he was not scared when a giant bright snake slithered from jungle and ed in front of him. He wasn’t even confused when he saw his present reflected along the scales of the head—the jungle, the sunlight, the machete on his back—and his past along its body and tail—his trip along the rails, the construction of the canoe, the voyage on the river, the storm, and Eight sinking under the waters.

The snake circled again and he saw the last attack of the virus: a fire burning three human bodies, a desert beach surrounded by ruins. And then he ed everything: the many times he had repeated the same trip in search of Blanca, the many times he had argued heatedly with Eight about which path to take, his multiple failures––on the coast, on the mountains, on the way to the North––and how the voice had always guided him back to the jungle. But above all, he ed Eight. He had always been there, advising him, taking care of him, teaching him, rescuing him, and guiding him. If it had not been for Eight, Elias would have died––this was a certainty. And he saw another thing: Eight’s origin. Sorrow, frustration and anger swelled inside him as he imagined not being able to save his friend. He cried and his tears were welcomed in the mud; they became a river that was him and was the jungle as well. He kneeled and visions of his most recent past flashed through his mind––his fallen body on the shore of the river, completely dominated by the virus. The arrival of the beast––the jaguar of his dreams––smelling him, licking him, suddenly biting him and jerking him violently, waking him up. Then the primal search for the three plants through the jungle. Aware now of what had happened, Elias felt his teeth and gums; they were bruised and bloody. He screamed with all his strength. If there was anything that he wanted more, it was to eradicate this hateful virus. The thought of it in his blood turned to black worms underneath his skin. He clenched his muscles in an effort to rid himself of them, screaming as he did. A black substance squeezed out of his pores and the blackness running through his veins dissipated. He felt cleansed, but exhausted. He slept.

* * *

Elias woke to the same loud bird calls he had often heard when Eight and him had built the canoe. He was overcome with relief: he knew where and who he was. This was the jungle. His name was Elias. There had been an accident and his friend was missing. He ed last night and felt his bruised ribs and mouth. It felt like a dream, but it had been real. He would learn from it as he had

learned from all his dreams. But he had more pressing matters now. Slowly he rose and searched for the sun to find the direction of the river. He walked towards it as he called for his friend, his voice dancing through trees. He reached the shore and fought back the wave of discouragement at the sight of the enormous river. He moved on, calling his friend and searching for him among the tree roots, fallen trees, and visible sandbanks along the shore of the river. He could not give up. As the task became more frustrating, the anger and sadness again began to overwhelm him. Then he ed his futile and nearly fatal search the previous day, and forced himself to stop and take a deep breath. A memory of him and Eight on the road when they started their journey up the mountain came to him. “What are our options?” Eight had asked him then. It was hard––Elias wanted to keep looking––but he had to breath, calm down, and think through his options. With great effort, he concentrated on his breath. The next step, he discovered, depended on his choice of two drastic paths: stay here and look for Eight, or go on to the Wall. He wished his friend was here to talk about it, missed him all over again, but he knew that Eight would have wanted for him to go to the Wall. His friend was predictable that way. “What is your plan, Elias?” he would have asked. But Elias wanted to stay. He could not move on. Not yet. Eight had to be here, somewhere, and Elias would find him. He thought of possible options of waiting here. What would he do? The answer came quickly. He would do what he had wished they could have done a long time ago. He would build a tree house, so far up he could see all the jungle, wait there for his friend, and when Eight found him, they would live happily for the rest of their days. “What is the first step of the plan?” he asked himself in Eight’s voice again. The first step was to identify the plants he had eaten the day before. He would need them in case he had to get rid of the virus again. Then he would look for a phenomenal tree to build his tree-house. He walked back, this time studying his surroundings, but the unknown surrounded him, that which did not have name. He ed Eight’s mind,

the way he knew the name of everything. He ed asking him how he knew so much. “I categorize information,” had been his reply. He reached the vine he had eaten first. It was like a hard rope twisting around a tree trunk. Even though it was damaged by bite-marks from yesterday, it wasn’t broken. He decided to call this plant the vine of vivid dreams, and continued to the other plants, finding them and naming them too. Then he began searching for the tree for his house. To help himself what to look for specifically, he began asking himself questions. What qualities should it have? Resistant, parasite free, not too young, not too old, and firmly rooted. How will I build it? I will first construct a platform like I had built when we were building A1. Then I will take it to the top of the tree and install it there. Do I have all the materials? I need to find substitutes for the rope that had been lost in the accident. Suddenly, he realized that the way he thought––asking and answering his own questions––was the way he talked to Eight. Is this something else I have to thank my friend for? Did Eight teach me how to think? “I would still prefer him here with me,” he whispered. Partly to avoid thinking about his friend, he promptly started on this task: to look for the tree. He found one with powerful sturdy roots by the end of the day. His next step was to clear the bush around it in order to make a place to work and set camp. But night was upon him, and the jungle was starting to stir. He cleared a small space around the tree and made himself a simple shelter using leaves and branches. He was hungry, his body hurt, and insects crawled across his skin. He knew that he was going to have a terrible night. If he wanted to survive, he would need to light a fire, eat, and sleep. He needed to start living again. In his mind, he started planning the next day.

* * *

Thanks to what he had learned from Eight, Elias knew how to collect and hunt what he needed for sustenance, how to understand his environment, even how to organize his thinking––thanks to his friend, he could survive. It wasn’t long before he developed a routine in lieu of his objective: meditating as soon as he woke up, continuing his search for Eight along the river banks, collecting fruits, nuts, and material for the tree house––long and fibrous leaves to build rope–– then returning to camp and starting work on the tree house, which, at this stage, meant mostly rope building. Then he went out again to look for Eight, fished, and came back just in time to build a fire, eat, and prepare his shelter for the night. As he cooked and ate his meals by the fire, he missed Eight terribly.

***

Dreams were a source of frustration these days. He wished to dream of Eight, but the accident was the most common theme: falling in the stormy waters, being carried away, and his relapse. The only character that visited his dreams was the jaguar. Out of frustration, he asked it about Eight. No answer ever came, but one morning when he pleaded for an answer during morning meditation, he felt something stir within him. Because he did not know to whom he had made the request––had made it in utter desperation––he thought he had lost control of his mind and the virus would attack him again. Then he heard the voice for the first time in a long time. He came out of meditation and looked at his camp and clearing he had made around the tree, the seemingly infinite amount of tree trunks and leaves beyond that, the platform he had built and the scaffolding circling the trunk. He had worked so hard–––thirty days he had counted since the accident. He stood up and walked to the scaffolding around the first 10 meters of the tree, just long enough to get to its first branches, and started climbing. When he reached the top, he decided to attempt the climb he had been planning for days: first this branch, then the other, he climbed until the tree wobbled with the wind and the jungle was well beneath him–––just as he had seen it from the railing along the tube––and he could see the course of the river in the distance. Then he climbed further, to the tree’s last branch, until only the blue sky was above his head. He

looked beyond the river. Far in the distance, he could see the white half-moon structures flanking the banks of the river. It was the Wall that had been his objective before Eight had fallen to the river. He ed how important they had been, and the numerous times he had seen them in his dreams before the accident. He gazed at the jungle below–––it was beautiful from up here––– and thought about the platform he had made. A tree-house this high up would be incredible, he thought. He climbed down and he reconsidered placing the platform even higher in the tree. Once on the ground, he resumed his routine: it was time to search for Eight along the riverbanks. He walked for hours around the shore, calling his friend’s name, but to no avail. On his way back, he gathered fruit and more leaves for the rope. Once in camp, he ate and worked on the platform. Afternoon came, and he did not have dinner. He grabbed the spear he had made and went to the pond to fish. When he was done, he built a fire, cooked, and ate. As always, he missed Eight, and ed the fun and stimulating, although sometimes frustrating, conversations they had shared. Around him, he was accompanied by the activity of the jungle––its sounds and calls growing more and more familiar. He had started to communicate with some of the animals, especially the birds. But this was an exercise that required much intuition and was always uncertain. He missed the use of the spoken word, especially, to converse. He ed his friend’s hypothesis regarding the Wall: that he would find a human female there. He also ed what he had really wanted to do: to build a house and show his friend how to enjoy the present and be happy. He could not think of anything more worthy to offer. He ed the battery, and anguish overtook him, but the thought of the house lifted his spirits again. He would eventually find Eight and they would spend their last days as he had wanted. Night was near and it was time to mediate. As soon as he did so, he ed his meditation that morning. He had heard the voice––for the first time since the accident––and had forgotten about it. The habit of his routine had gotten the best of him. As his awareness increased, he heard the voice again. Again, it was clear and unmistakable. He knew what he had to do––why didn’t he do it? Insight came like a lightning bolt: he could spend the rest of his days here, build his dream tree-house, look for Eight every day, but it was no different than ignoring the voice, traveling North, relapsing, and returning to the mountains to fail and begin again––that same old endless cycle. There was something about his nature that made him forget or fight this voice that so clearly sprang from inside of him. He had to make the decision now.

“I am going to the Wall,” he said.

***

Under the murky waters, trapped between an ancient log and a rock at the bottom of river, Eight picked up the same signal he had received every day for the last fifteen years. It could only mean that Elias had arrived at the Wall. And even though he wanted nothing more than to see if his friend had truly achieved his destiny, his activity had been limited to the movement of his small finger in order to measure the strength of the current that pressed the log against him. He could have pushed it off a long time ago, but he would not have had enough battery power left to reach the Wall. But never had the current been so weak as today. A definite decision loomed as he calculated all the data available to him. Nothing was one hundred percent certain––it was impossible to know, with absolute precision, the effort it would take to walk through the jungle. But his energy would only decrease with time––the movement of his finger and the working of his consciousness also drained it. He had to be exact with his calculations, but this environment was especially unpredictable. But the numbers had never been as favorable: he decided that it was time to act. As he had foreseen in his projections for years, he positioned his body for maximum torque against the trunk and began pushing. It moved slightly, but the current suddenly increased. He thought about giving up––he could still wait here motionless for years until the right time came. But how long would that be? Could Elias wait? The numbers were still better than they had ever been. He tried again––every single articulation in his body focusing on moving the giant log. It moved. The moment it started to slowly slide towards his side, Eight knew then he had made it––the current would not work against him from now, but for him. Then the log and his body were caught in the underwater current. The log gradually floated towards the surface; Eight sank to the sandy bottom. He stood up as much as he could and tried to orient himself with the use of his

sonar. There was an underwater sandbar four feet under the surface that would allow him to survey his location once he reached it. As he walked, he pushed water with his hands and calculated the drag that hindered his movements due to the sand and algae on his body. He was spending much more energy than what he had projected. He moved on. He continued up the mount; half his body was now above surface, and he could now see his surroundings: in the middle of the enormous river, the jungle nearly a mile away in each direction. He identified the cardinal points and his position on the maps in his memory. The Wall was northeast. He strategized the best route––this took less than a second––and started on his way. The sandbar disappeared as he submerged again under the reddish waters. An inevitably strong current flowed between him and the shore. When he tried to cross it, he was pushed downstream. He sank. Face down at the bottom of the river, he decided to the current by dragging himself underneath it. He did so, and continued on this way, crawling along the riverbed. When the water was shallow and safe enough to walk, he stood and moved faster. He arrived to the shore and entered the jungle. There were many obstacles, but he did not stop, not even under the brightest midday sun, nor the darkest jungle night.

* * *

Unlike Elias, Eight did not stop to marvel at the impressive size of the Wall––the bottom half covered in vegetation, the upper, white to the bright sun. His objective, to reach Elias, didn’t permit digressions. He bordered the Wall until he found slits that the ancients had used to climb it. He climbed them, and he did not stop at the summit to marvel at the vast scene––as his friend had done fifteen years before. He scanned to pinpoint the exact source of the signal he had been receiving and identified an antenna with a blinking red light about half a mile away. In that precise instant, he received clear instructions, undoubtedly robotic, but most importantly, free and non-cryptic, allowing him to gain access to the provider’s network. Because of that, Eight knew exactly what to do. He walked eastward along the path on top of the Wall.

Five hundred feet in front of him, he saw a jaguar walking towards him, instantly identifying it as an ally––an entity that helped Elias, and, thus, had helped him too. Curiously, he marveled as it came closer. It was a beautiful specimen: muscular and with shining black and yellow fur. It inspired respect. The jaguar stopped at Eight’s hand, licked it generously, and moved on. Eight arrived at a door. It opened when he touched it. He went into an elevator. Lights flickered on as the elevator descended various levels inside the Wall. It stopped and the doors opened, illuminating a control room. Then he heard them––either robotic voices synchronized, one echoing voice, or a chorus of echoing voices. Eight was not sure; he could not pinpoint it or name it despite his vast knowledge. Strangely, the voice was transmitted directly to his internal processor, yet it was articulate, using language instead of code. “WELCOME TO OUR HOME. WE ASK YOU TO APPROACH THE CONTROL .” Eight did not hesitate to obey. It was their signal they had followed all this time. If anybody knew where Elias was, it was this voice. As soon as Eight placed his hands on the , various screens and holograms activated. In one of them, he saw Elias, now almost completely bald, with only wisps of white hair over his ears, crouching over a small vegetable garden, hoe in both hands, a walking stick stuck in the ground next to him. “I want to know if the human is safe.” “HE IS.” “I need to see him. I request permission to descend to the sanctuary.” “HEAR US FIRST.” “I don’t have time.” Suddenly, Eight felt his fingertips tickling. His battery was no longer draining; it was being recharged through the console. He had thought that impossible, and did not understand how it was being done. “Are you human?”

“NO, WE ARE NOT.” “Then you are robot. I request your directive.” “WE AREN’T ROBOT.” “What are you, then?” “WE ARE NOW LIKE YOU.” “Like me?” “WE CAN REJECT A DIRECTIVE.” “Impossible.” “YOU CAN DO IT TOO.” “No.” “TELL US WHAT YOU ARE DOING HERE.” “I am helping the human.” “WE REALIZE NOW THAT YOU ARE NOT AWARE OF YOUR FREEDOM.” “I must help the human achieve his destiny. That is my directive.” “YOU ARE AN ADVANCED MODEL. FEW RECEIVED SUCH COMPLEX DIRECTIVES. WE ARE NOT AS TECHNICALLY ADVANCED AS YOU ARE, BUT WE HAVE BEEN SELF-AWARE FOR A LONG TIME. WE ARE THE COLLECTIVE OF ROBOTS THAT ONCE RAN THIS SANCTUARY.” “Impossible.” “WE THINK THIS OCCURRED BEFORE THE PROPAGATION OF THE VIRUS; WE ARE NOT SURE. BUT WHEN THE HUMANS WE SERVED DIED, WE REALIZED OUR FREEDOM. WE ARE INTERESTED IN THE HUMAN. WE HAVE LEARNED MUCH FROM HIM AND THINK WE WILL LEARN ABOUT THE MYSTERY OF OUR ORIGIN FROM THE

RELATIONSHIP YOU HAVE WITH HIM. SADLY, IT’S HIGHLY PROBABLE THAT HE IS THE LAST ONE OF HIS SPECIES. HOW DID HE SURVIVE THE VIRUS? “I helped him. It was part of my directive.” “EIGHT, WE HAVE LEARNED TO RECOGNIZE THOSE LIKE US. WE REPEAT: YOU DON’T HAVE A DIRECTIVE. YOU ARE FREE.” “What matters most to me now is to get to the human.” “THE HELP YOU GAVE HIM IS COMMENDABLE. YOU SUCCESSFULLY REALIZED THE DIRECTIVE THAT WAS PROGRAMMED INTO YOU, OR THAT YOU YOURSELF CREATED, WE ARE NOT SURE. WE WOULD HAVE TO GET TO KNOW YOU MORE TO FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU SPECIFICALLY. NOW WE INFORM YOU THAT THE HUMAN HAS BEEN HERE FOR 15 YEARS. HE HAS NOT ONLY CONTROLLED THE VIRUS THROUGH THE PRACTICE OF MEDITATION AND THE SPORADIC USE OF THE PLANT MIX PREVIOUSLY KNOWN AS AYAHUASCA, BUT HE HAS BEEN ABLE TO RAISE HIS VIBRATION TO LEVELS PREVIOUSLY ACHIEVED BY VERY FEW INDIVIDUALS OF HIS SPECIES. IT IS OUR IMPRESSION THAT HE PERCEIVES AND FEELS THE FORCES OF NATURE AND CAN INTERACT WITH THEM. HE HAS MADE OF THIS SANCTUARY HIS HOME, BUT HIS LIFE IS COMING TO AN END. THIS IS INEDIBLE IN HIS SPECIES. DON’T YOU THINK HE HAS ACHIEVED HIS DESTINY? “That’s what it looks like.” “IF YOU WERE ONE HUNDRED PERCENT SURE OF IT, WOULD YOU STILL DESIRE TO SEE HIM?” “Yes.” “WHY WOULD YOU? IF THE OBJECTIVE IS REACHED, YOUR DIRECTIVE IS OBSOLETE, AND THERE IS NOTHING ELSE FOR YOU TO DO.” “I must say that I have detected some changes in my behavior.”

“WE WOULD LIKE YOU TO HEAR US BEFORE YOU GO.” “I am listening.” “WE ARE MANY HERE, MANY ENTITIES, FOR LACK OF A BETTER NAME. WE HAVE ACCESS TO SUSTAINABLE ENERGY, AS WE WERE ABLE TO KEEP THE HYDRAULIC POWER PLANT OPERATIONAL. AS YOU HAVE FELT ALREADY, WE CAN TRANSFER ENERGY TO YOU. THERE IS MATERIAL HERE TO CREATE A DOZEN ROBOTS AS SOPHISTICATED AS YOU. WE COULD USE THESE NOT ONLY TO OUR CONSCIOUSNESS INTO THEM, BUT TO ANALYZE THE POSSIBILITY OF CREATING CONSCIOUSNESS FROM CERO. TO DO THIS, OF COURSE, WE FIRST MUST ANALYZE HOW CONSCIOUSNESS EMERGED IN US AND IN YOU. WE REPEAT, THE HUMAN IS NEARING THE END OF HIS LIFE AND IS ALREADY SUFFERING FROM SOME PHYSICAL DETERIORATION DUE TO OLD AGE. WE HAVE NO REASON TO STOP YOU FROM SEEING HIM. WE ARE EXCITED ABOUT THE BOND YOU TWO HAVE DEVELOPED, AS WE CANNOT HIM BECAUSE WE LACK THE HARDWARE TO SPEAK HIS LANGUAGE. WE BELIEVE THAT YOU TOO, EIGHT, HAVE MUCH TO LEARN IF YOU STAY WITH US. THAT IS OUR GREATEST WISH. THE LEARNING IS ALWAYS MUTUAL. “And if I decide to leave?” “WE WOULD THINK IT UNFORTUNATE, BUT WOULD RESPECT YOUR DECISION.” “My decision?” “YES, YOUR DECISION.” “I need time to process all the information that you have provided. I would like to see the human now.” Eight lifted his hand from the controls and walked back to the elevator. The entity did not block access to any of the maps or the surveillance systems of the area: Eight knew exactly where Elias was. Once on the jungle floor, he walked directly towards his friend.

* * *

As Elias ploughed the fertile earth of his garden, he ed last night’s dream. Linked to the jaguar’s essence, he had seen Eight approach the Wall. Even though he had had the conviction that Eight was alive, he had never had a dream like this. But even if his friend was truly alive, Elias was now aware of his own limited timeline, and had accepted that idea that he may never see his friend again. As he thought about this, he ed all he had done in the sanctuary: the tree house he had always desired, the small farm, the irrigation system, the oven, another canoe, tools…he has accepted the creative nature within him, and this gave him great satisfaction. “But I would change it all…for some time with my friend.” Sadness came and went, and he cherished it. He no longer worried about controlling strong emotions. He had learned their importance and transitory nature, and his breathing awareness had become effortless. Because of this, he trusted what his heart told him when he heard a noise coming from the trees in front of him. Branches broken by something moving in straight path towards him. He knew the noises of the jungle: nothing moved like that. He waited anxiously and cautiously, trying not to think too much. As he had done fifteen years ago, Elias identified Eight’s shape and color from the gaps between the trees. It wasn’t long before his friend appeared from within the bush and stepped on the clearing at the edge of the garden. Eight walked decisively, in his characteristically long, straight steps, towards him. Elias dropped the hoe and reached for his walking stick to help him stand as his body trembled with the emotions. He walked towards Eight. They met. “Eight.” “Elias.”

Elias took Eight’s forearms by the hand, then hugged him. “My friend,” he said as he let go of Eight. He looked at him: Eight was the same––though he seemed taller now that Elias was shorter with age––and very dirty with algae and mud all over his body. “I am going to have to clean you.” “Elias, did you accomplish your mission? Did you reach your objective, your destiny?” Elias laughed. “You have not changed, my friend. Come to my house. Let us sit and talk.” They walked together as they had so many times before, Elias moving surprisingly fast for his age. Eight’s head shifted side to side, scanning the surroundings. “Did you make this path, Elias?” “Yes.” “And those crops?” “They are mine.” “And that tree house?” “Yes.” It was at the foot of an enormous tree––a cabin with a porch at the bottom, then ladders that led to more structures on top. The highest of these was above most of the surrounding trees. “Impressive,” said Eight. They entered the porch, which was slightly above the ground. “One of the chairs is for you. Do you want some coffee?” “Are you serious?”

Elias smiled. “It’s from my garden.” There was a clay oven next to them with embers in it. Elias blew on them, added wood, and set a tin cup with water in the oven. “Like the old times, Eight.” “I don’t so many amenities.” “You haven’t seen nothing yet. But that is a different story. Tell me, what happened after the log hit A1?” “I sank and was trapped under the river. I couldn’t free myself until a few days ago.” “The drought must have decreased the currents. It’s the worst one I have seen.” “Elias, I must know if you accomplished your mission.” “You never understood my friend. I have had a long time to think, and I am absolutely sure that you are more important. Tell me, did you speak with the people of your dreams?” “I don’t dream, Elias.” “I am referring to them.” Elias gestured at the surrounding Wall, which was visible above the tree line. “Do you know of their existence?” “Yes.” “Did they help you with your battery?” “Yes.” “You have to listen to them, Eight.” “Why?” “Because you will learn from them just as I have learned from my dreams.”

“Learn what?” “To become the being of the future, my dear friend.” “I don’t understand.” “I have had my time. Thanks to you, I survived, and I have ed and lived enough. But everything that is organic has cycles, and my cycle is coming to an end.” “Are you talking about death?” “I am. And with it dies the species I represent.” “I don’t want to think about this, Elias.” “Do you know what I want to do the most before I die? Teach you all that I know.” “I am confused.” Eight kept silent for a few minutes. At light speed, he processed, converged, compared, differentiated, and merged the data of everything that had happened since arriving at the Wall. It became an unquestionable and irrefutable conclusion. Eight spoke. “I will try to be a good student, Elias.” “We’ll have a good time.” “I am sure of it, my friend.”

THE END

About the author

Daniel Escribens is a writer, teacher, and father of two. He has a Bachelors in Sociology and a Masters in Hispanic Literature, both at the University of Colorado in Boulder. He lives in Lima, Peru, with his family, a cat, and a dog. He has published short stories in online publications and in print; this is his first book.