The GoldenCity

When he woke up a few hours later, the room was dark and much colder. Light came from the other eight towers, but he felt as if he were trapped in a cave. Michael stood up and began to pace across the floor. He noticed a breeze touching his face. How was that possible? He was inside a building with no windows. Michael touched one of the panels with his hand, feeling the cold, smooth surface. His heart was beating faster and he sensed that someone-or something-had entered the temple.

He spun around quickly and saw that three columns of light had appeared in the center of the room. The light seemed grainy, almost textured, and each column resembled a luminous green cloud with specks of gold dust floating within its gravitational field. Were these the gods that controlled this world?

The light grew more intense until the columns appeared solid-green pillars glowing in the middle of the temple. And then he heard a voice coming from the center column. It was an older man’s voice, not loud but filled with authority.

“Who are you?” the voice asked.

“Are you a barbarian?” a woman’s voice asked. “A stranger from the outlands?”

Trying to figure out what to say, Michael took a few steps toward the light.

“We are waiting for your answer!” the first voice said. “We are the gods of this world and all other worlds…”

Michael laughed softly and the sound filled the room. “I’m Michael Corrigan and I’ve traveled a long way to get here. Who am I? I’m a man who has made money selling things to other people.” He sneered at the light wavering in front of him. “And that’s how I know what this is-bells and whistles, tricks and mirrors to sell the product. It may be enough to impress the locals, but I’m not buying.”

“He’s a heretic!” a young man’s voice shouted. “Call the guardians and give him his punishment!”

“You can do whatever you want,” Michael said. “But then you’d punish the very person the gods asked to come here. I’m a Traveler from another world.”

The columns of light gained power and intensity; they were so bright that Michael had to shield his eyes. Wind howled around him, almost pushing him off his feet. Then, just as quickly, the wind stopped. There was a moment of darkness, and then lights attached to the struts of the tower were switched on.

Michael heard the elevator door open and three people-two men and one woman-stepped out and strolled across the stone floor. “Welcome, Michael,” the older man said. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

12

The young man on the right had a muscular neck and shoulders, and long black hair that covered his ears. He carried himself in a confident manner and raised his chin slightly as if he expected to be obeyed. In contrast, the older woman on the left looked delighted to meet the Traveler. She leaned forward as if she were going deaf and didn’t want to miss a word. The oldest man-clearly the leader-stood in the middle. His hook nose and sunken eyes remind Michael of a marble bust of a Roman emperor.

“We apologize for the severity of our demonstration,” the older man said. “But we needed to discover if you were a Traveler or someone from the outlands.”

“A barbarian would have fallen to his knees,” the woman explained. “They weep and shiver and pray to our light.”

“Do you have names?” Michael asked.

“Of course,” said the older man. “But they would sound strange to you and you wouldn’t understand their meaning.”

“We want you to feel like you’re talking to friends,” said the woman.

“So we’ve picked names from your world,” said the older man. “I’m Mr. Westley. This is Miss Holderness and-”

“I’m Dash,” said the young man. “Mr. Dash.” He looked pleased with the name he’d given himself.

“Are you the people who contacted us using the quantum computer?”

Mr. Westley nodded. “For many years, we’ve been trying to communicate with your world. Finally, you reached the level of technology that could pick up the messages we sent across the barriers.”

“We wanted a Traveler,” Miss Holderness explained. “But we didn’t know if they still existed in your world.”

“And you call yourself gods?”

“We are the gods of this reality,” Mr. Westley said. “There are more of us, but we three were given the task of meeting you.”

“In my world, we have a different image of God. He’s a powerful force who knows everything.”

“We know about everything that goes on in our Republic,” Miss Holderness said. “The computers track every negative thought and sign of rebellion.”

Mr. Dash looked annoyed. “And we’re powerful as gods. If we gave the right order, half the population would kill the other half.”

“But God is…” Michael hesitated, not knowing how to finish the statement. If he thought about God, he pictured the man with the white beard painted on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. “God is immortal.”

The three half gods glanced at each other, and Michael sensed that death was a sensitive topic.