Lou sat cross-legged on the edge of the cliff overlooking the valley. His hands were folded on his lap, and the only outward sign of movement was the quick rubbing of his thumbs against each other.
This story is part 3 of a 3 part series submitted for the Scholar & Scribe, Dreemport , and Ecency communities August writing challenge. Read part 1 and part 2.
Seven years ago, this sitting position would have meant that Lou was in deep meditation, navigating the realms of the peaceful and wrathful visions. In a way, he still was, but in a more controlled manner. In his mind’s eye, he saw a live 3D neuro-graphic of the great valley, draped in autumnal colors, as seen from the drone flying above it.
When he finished his reconnaissance, he maneuvered the flying disk back to camp.
“So is this how things are run at the monastery?” he heard his companion say. “The men tinker with their toys while the women wash the dishes?”
Iris knelt beside the stream rinsing a few utensils. They had stopped for lunch and to water the horses before continuing their trek up the mountain.
“Women are not allowed in the monastery,” Lou said as he fiddled with the drone. “Couples in relationships have separate accommodations.”
“You can’t be serious!” she said. “‘Cause if you are, then you boys are in for a rude awakening.”
The sun shone brightly on the valley, which was still covered in the vibrant hues of fall. The smoke from a few scattered campfires rose above the canopy. Nothing out of the ordinary, as far as Lou could tell.
“I don’t know why you keep looking down there,” Iris said. “You don’t think anyone followed us, do you?”
“We can never be too careful,” Lou said. “Last thing we want is to add to the pile of bad news we bring.”
In reality, Lou wasn’t looking back for signs of the struggle they had left behind but for signs of the struggle that lay ahead. Resources. Defenses. Escape routes.
The city of Neo-Victoria seemed like a distant dream though the wounds were still fresh. For seven years, he had hustled through her streets and towers. Working alongside the mercurial Magister Thurman and his band of merry guardians. Battling in the holographic theatres of the mind, where “reality” was shaped and developed, against a conglomerate enemy of government, corporate, and other shadowy forces.
In the end, the battle was lost, and Neo-Victoria fell to the criminal trans-national conglomerate. Neuro-holography was banned outright. With the loss of revenue, Holoretina Inc. couldn’t stay afloat, and it all came to a screeching halt with the disappearance of Magister Thurman.
“Why would you ever want to leave this place and go to a place like Neo-V?” said Iris stretching her arms beside the gurgling stream. “It looks like a holo-world except it’s real… in a relative way, naturally.”
Lou smiled. There was a reason why she was now his companion.
The Great Work was never done. That was the reason why he left. A Guardian Invictus stood watch until the end of the night.
“Let’s pack up,” said Lou. “A snowstorm is coming, and we need to reach the top before night sets in.”
“How do you know a snowstorm is coming?”
“I can smell it,” said Lou tapping his nose.
“Very impressive,” she said. “You’ll have to teach me that trick.”
They readied the horses and packed up, making sure not to leave any traces of their passing.
The last one to leave the Yellow Tower, Lou had turned out the lights at Holoretina’s headquarters. He had felt a sense of loss. Of defeat. But he knew that this was going to be a long war, and he was not alone. There were others out there. Scattered, yes. Retreating to their respective orders; it was time to regroup, rethink, and reboot.
“In the old days, they used to say that power came through the barrel of a gun. Clearly, that is still true. But there is another variable in the equation. Conscious intelligence. And when the guns fall silent, the real battle begins.”
That was the last thing Magister Thurman had said to Lou before his disappearance.
“We could wait out the storm down in the valley, if you prefer,” Lou said to Iris.
“And miss all the snowy fun?” she said. “What kind of gal do you think I am?”
Leading their horses, Lou and Iris began their ascent up the mountain path. Soon, the thick clouds rolled in from the north, the winds blew through the cliffs and the swaying pine trees, then the snow began to swirl around them. Little by little, the top of the mountain was draped in a white mantle. The riders faded from view, as if a sketching artist had put gum to lead and started all over again.
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