The Old King
He hung himself for perfection.
At least that's the resounding theory.
The Old Palace
A figure walks steady; surefooted. A rock breaks under their footsteps and footwear adjusts for the height difference, filling in the gaps in gate, leaving the figure level headed. The ground is unsteady, but that was expected; promising even. Crumbling earth signified not only sanctity, but a desire to unfold and reveal. Down below the mismanaged metropolis of old, there could be hope for a room, or a crate, or even a hollow ribcage for the unchallenged sampling of food contents. All data tells a story. The figure needs a story. Beneath this rock, a glimmer of metal is exposed. An Audiotape.
The Archeologists
The Old Palace, Date unknown. Conversation retrieved from Morgan Pak’s auditory journal. Sound analysis indicated speakers were inside a moving vehicle.
“What do you mean it just floats there?”
“Is that why we’re being up and hurdled to Faya? To see some mummy hanging by a mirror trick?”
Gunshots sound off in the distance.
“A bit north of it, actually.”
“Shut up, Chad.”
“No, Chad is where we’re heading through.”
“Shut up Morgan.”
Gunshots fade.
“You heard the rumor right? How it’s been there longer than the temple itself?”
“They have no way of proving such things. I heard if you touch it, though, it’s so smooth that your handprint falls off.”
One final gunshot.
“If the cold doesn't freeze off your hands first. I heard they’re still trying to dunk it in water without the whole container shattering.”
“They haven't even been able to get samples from it. I heard it's perfectly reflective, with every light particle bouncing off the way it came.”
“I heard they’re gonna give us the best tools that can be offered, but don’t even provide lunch.”
“Whatever it is, I’m sure they’ll find out soon enough and boot us back to Gambia.”
“Oi is this thing still on?”
Recording ends.
The Excavation site
Archeology no longer needs a shovel and a broom. Collection devices may be pointed to the stars, and we shall listen to echoes of what we shouted out long ago. The figure got what they needed from both below, and above. The only thing left to do is meet them in the middle.
The Scientists
Pax Historic Collection Center, Date Unknown. Information brought together from numerous signals reflected off of IO, condensed with a L.O.K. clarifier. Vocabulary left unmodified, and translations are presently under highly scrutinized study.
An Immovable rod.
That’s what the Dungeons & Dragons nerds called it anyway - which had some overlap with those who dug it up a week before the scientists got to it. This was more of a sphere than a rod. Exactly a sphere to be precise. Like, exactly. 2.3492122032 m3 of volume if you were to round it up, but the decimals kept going. It was stagnant in space with nothing holding it right, floating there even post-excavation. They couldn’t find any atoms when looking close. It was perfect as far as they looked, absolute flat if you ignored the curvature; turtles all the way down.
An unmovable, impossible sphere, buried and unearthed in the Sahara.
New units were immediately described, and old ones concreted. Even more precise tools were created, reverse engineering this superiority, to an atomic limit. It was like a climber chimneying a heightless ravine. They could only get so far though. The Scientists found it either weighed nothing or everything, depending on the method of measurement. It’s like that classic example you’ll see on TV in Stranger Things or any other sci-fi flick, where they hold up a napkin and use it as an example of the universe. Anything with weight pushes downward on the napkin, and anything else near it would fall down the sinkhole, simulating gravity. This sphere is stronger than the bonds of the napkin, and would keep sinking down. An immovable object meets an unbreakable napkin. We had no way to notice if our universe was falling down around us. The problem was that it was immovable relative to the rotation and position of the Earth. Another wrench in the gears. They never had time to drill to the Earth’s core to find out why, before the second regiment came through and dismantled operations. No time for a space elevator for infinite energy. No time. It could’ve been a portal; an enchiridion, to universes incompatible with our own. This could’ve been where all the dark matter went. A solution to Fermi's Paradox. An alternate reality with equal and opposite forces. What was it? No time.
The Laboratory
The figure returns to exchange oxygen tanks. They sort through collection data, frantic but careful. They traveled too far, and any minute now location data will be paired with their past motives. Present motives will then be determined. Silence will not prevent the repetition of discovery. Curiosity was the death of us, but satisfaction may bring us back. We won’t last long like this, and we need to come back.
The figure leaves suddenly to barricade the entrance. It’s not the only way in, but there needs to be an escape route after all.
The People
Information origin unknown. A storage drive appeared on the O2 station desk after the second biosphere collapsed due to inquisition. Meta-data wiped:
Most didn’t think the second coming of Christ came in a spherical mold, but many still pushed it for a different agenda. This caused discussion on the Garden of Eden, the Tower of Babel, though oddly little actually relevant to the topic at hand. The news hardly covered it at first, then it was the only thing it covered, then all other news was contextualized around it, and then we were back to the status quo morning weather reports. There are only a few times in a semi-stable environment you will hear everyone talking about the same thing on the city streets, at least for a short while. It always means our way of life is somehow in danger: a person with a knife in the library, an election, a disease, or a circle that does not move. People sold shards of black shale and sea mouse spines as if they were sanctimonious shavings off the almighty shape. We couldn’t comprehend this thing. It was like learning that 1 + 2 = 2, and our whole mathematical language fell apart. Some thought it meant death was the only option. Others watched Seinfeld. It all happened so fast, that at points you couldn’t tell which nation felt it was their immortal birthright to hold the immovable sphere. Statues of Atlas were built, and shot to pieces within hours. This intellectual pit got gunned down, bombed, nuked at points, and then technologies were built to do away with the radiation (oddly quickly), and then it would get nuked again. The foundations which we stood on slid away to show their true form.
Who knows what happened in the final intersection? What flags stood on a high mast for their moment of glory? Who knows what scientific strides were made to learn enough to remain in mystery? The blindfolds we wore to pretend we could see. Did we have our last stand? Was it one of love, with Romeo grasping Juliet, or one of hate where our pupils matched our one and only insatisfaction. That sphere is still there, but who knows what is around it. Could be another Sahara with soot skies. Could be a museum hosted by the winner of this great game. The cradle of civilization could be hanging over a crater, if there even is a crater and the alien of our own world hadn’t yet escaped orbit. There was no time to know.
The Human Race
We know now.
Data statements are announced via radio. Old technology has fewer barriers. Information is transmitted outward before the doors break open. The figure is executed on the spot. The location of the sphere has already been identified and broadcasted.
The Earth
Audio recovered from Morgan Paks tape one month after the truck. A different voice speaks:
It was the end of our world,
Because we didn’t understand it.
Who knows what old king wrapped a rope around it this time.
A Final Gunshot.
The End.
Kai Medina
October 2020