The Gardener

I wake up to the pulsing of the Mechanism. The beating hum hits me like a wave, and the sheer force of the vibration shakes my entire room. My body quakes as my feet hit the floor, and I feel my joints clicking into place as I straighten up. I walk to the door, my footsteps clanking on the metal floor and echoing off the metal walls. I push open the door, flooding my room with light, and step outside. The Mechanism shines down on me, its rays reflecting off my hands as I raise them up. I put my thumb over my index finger and point the remaining fingers at the magnificent glowing orb. 

I walk down the path from my house to the field. The trail has been worn down over time, but I can still see the remnants of the flowers beneath my feet. When I reach the field, I look out into the sea of antennae. Another pulse sends it swaying. My hair quivers, and I can feel the reverberation travel throughout my body.  

I step through the antennae, careful not to trample them under my feet. I meticulously check each antenna to make sure that the receptors are intact. They are small gray boxes with a blinking red light that are attached to the long antennas. There are thousands of them, which make up the vast field. 

When I’ve checked that each light is still blinking, I move on to the forest. I have to confirm that all of the gray vines are twisted tightly around the towers and that they are connected to the receptors at the top. I climb each tower and check that the wires are plugged into the boxes–and that their lights are on. 

By the time I’ve finished, the glow of the Mechanism has diminished, and I know my work is done. I return to my room and lie on my bed, just in time for my mind to go blank. 

I wake to the pulsing of the Mechanism. I rise out of bed and leave my dark room behind for the bright morning. I raise my hands and touch my fingers together to praise the Mechanism. I walk down the path and venture out into the field, careful not to stamp on the antennas. I check each receptor as they wave in the wind. I climb every tower and connect each wire to its boxes. All the lights are blinking, and the day turns into night. I return to my room, and my mind goes blank. 

I wake to the pulse. I rise and leave my room. I praise the Mechanism. I take the path into the field. I check each antenna. I connect every vine. The lights blink. I go to my room. My mind is blank; I have no dreams.

I wake as the pulse shakes my room, and I get up for work. I walk outside and look up at the sky. The Mechanism stares down at me, and I raise my hands to show my respect. I walk down the path. The flowers are nearly gone now; their petals have turned black, and they have been packed into the earth. I go out into the field, minding my step as I go, and begin my search. The antennae shake in the wind, and I hold them steady as I check them. I can feel them tremble as the energy travels up their stems. I begin to shiver as the wind blows through my hair and the spark runs through my body, revitalizing me. The power runs through my arms, my chest, my legs, and so on. Then I stand and continue my search. I work through the field, checking each receptor one by one. I can hear the familiar hum; the frequency matches my own, like an echo of my voice, but singing at the same time in perfect synchronicity of pitch and rhythm. Yet, it sounds slightly off today. 

I look out across the field. The lights go on all at once, go dark all at once, and go back on–except for one. As they blink, it blends into the dark, but when they turn red, the lone receptor stays dark. I walk up to it and kneel next to the antenna. I gently clasp my hand around it, but I can’t feel the familiar sensation of energy traveling from the box to the stem. Even as the Mechanism emits another pulse and the antenna sways, the receptor stays dark. In its absence, I feel another sensation–something new. I look down and clutch my chest. The energy still hums within me, and I feel another shock spread through me in time with the beat of the pulse. My grip relaxes, and I slowly release the silent receptor. I look out into the field; the others are waiting. I continue my search. 

When I’ve finished my rounds, I retire to my room. I lie down on my bed and slowly feel the pull at the edge of my mind. I can see the last of the light slipping beneath the door and think of the dark receptor. Will it still be dark and silent when I return? When my mind goes blank and I slip away, will I wake again? My thoughts begin to fade, and I’m pulled into nothingness. 

I wake to the pulse of the Mechanism. I feel it move through me, but the flow is dull as if it’s partially blocked. My feet hit the floor with a clang and I race across the room. I throw open the door and the light blasts me. The Mechanism hangs in the sky, as always, and its glow is cast across the field. Another pulse moves through the antennae and my hair. I feel the oscillation of the strands and the energy that flows down them, all except for one. I bring my hands to my head and take the strand between my fingertips. It remains still and silent. I feel the same sensation I felt the day before, but this time, I recognize it. It is the same as the seconds leading up to my mind going dark–a stubborn feeling like I am trying to hold on, or clinging to a tall tower to stop from falling. I clasp my head in my hands and gaze into the field. A million red eyes wink at me. They hum their familiar song. I match their pitch, but my voice is weak. They drown me out. 

My fingers slide up the antenna on my head, and I hold the receptor box between my thumb and pointer finger. I run them across the two tiny holes in the top. Then, I stand up and walk through the antennae as they oscillate with the rhythm of the pulse. When I reach the forest, I approach one of the towers. I look up into the tangled mess of metal and wires, and I begin to climb. When I reach the top, I stick one hand into the stream of wires while my legs anchor me to the tower. I pull one of the wires loose and look at the two small prongs on the end. I take my dead strand of hair with my other hand and plug the stray wire into the receptor box on my head. Instantly, I feel the shock of energy shoot into the antenna, but there is something else. A sound. The static fills my head, but I push through it. Soon, a voice filters through:

…chzzz… name is… hiss… Doctor Wells, and this is my final report. Experiment EMC2RE is being abandoned. Despite our protests, the…sss… Corp Bigwigs feel that self-sustainable, reusable energy is too good to be true. Maybe, they’re right. After all, the core, or STAR model 93, is destined to fail. While STAR93 has the unique capability of recycling energy amongst the receptors on planet EMC’s surface, it is unable to permeate a viable atmosphere, and thus, it can not sustain life. Even the flowers we planted couldn’t last more than a few hours before wilting. However, STAR93’s immense power storage prevents us from taking it apart. As a result, the entire planet will be abandoned. We’ve salvaged what we can, but we can not afford to risk taking apart the receptors, or we could trigger a change in STAR93’s energy output and jeopardize our equipment and crew. We’ve also decided to leave behind an RBT54 model as it is a defective unit. It’s a real shame to leave behind such valuable resources, and worse to forsake years of ground-breaking research, but it is an inevitable side effect of innovation. Nevertheless, if anyone hears these reports, I hope they will learn something useful…rrrrrr…

The message fizzles out into static. I remove the wire from my receptor and make my way back down the tower. I slump down beside it and feel the hum of energy flowing through it. It is stronger than what’s left in me; without my receptor, I am weak. Perhaps, I am defective after all–just like the Mechanism. Nonetheless, I allow the vibration in the tower to lull me into rest–and I dream. 

I dream that I am the Mechanism looking down on the field. I can see all the antennae and towers with their blinking lights. I can see the path and the metal cube that is my room. I can see myself emerging from it. I look up and raise my hand to the Mechanism, which my consciousness is now a part of. I lock eyes with myself and emit a pulse. It feels like a great wave of power. It starts at my core and reverberates throughout my newly spherical body. I shudder as it escapes me. Then it travels to the planet’s surface, and everything echoes me. The antennas of antennae, the vines on the towers, and the hair on my head. They sing as one, their frequency matching my own. A million mechanical voices pour out into space, declaring our existence–our will to survive. 

I wake up with a start. I finally understand: we are one being, all part of a giant machine. If one of us is broken, we are all weakened. But if we all remain strong, we can survive. 

I pick myself up and go back into the field. I move through the antennae until I find the antenna with the broken receptor. I kneel beside it and take the box between my fingers. I carefully remove it from the antenna and take it to the tower. I make my way back up the metal bars and plug a wire into it. The light begins to blink red. I look up at the Mechanism and make the symbol with my hand. 

We will endure.