On the Edge of Forever
If my chest were a cannon and my heart the hot lead ball, I’d still shoot. I’d shoot my heart out because I’ll do anything, everything, to destroy it. So long as it exists, we’ll never be free.
Problem is metaphors don’t hurt. It’s easy for me to think I’ll do it, and say I’ll do it—I’ve been doing that for years—but now’s the moment. Time to act.
And exhale.
“Kyla?”
With a flick I open my eyelids to the sunlit mountains. To my right
are the grey peaks set against an ever-blue sky. To my left, open prairie. Normally, this epic land settles me, but not today.
Lance is staring at me. “Kyla. You alright?”
He gets a tightly screwed forehead for such a stupid question. Cousin, I’m about to take a pill and erase my memories, probably destroying myself forever—so no, not alright.
My horse’s thick muscles shift beneath and his strength does succeed in calming me. He’s a thoroughbred, which makes him sensitive, intelligent, beautiful inside and out—basically, better than most humans I know. He knows my mind, and right now, he knows I’m stressed.
“It’s okay, Max,” I soothe, leaning into his ear and getting a whiff of horsy sweat mixed with dewy grass.
Lance breaks his staring.
I must calm. I have, after all, chosen to do this. “I’m okay,” I tell him, like saying it aloud makes it true.
Lance is more than a cousin; he’s been my friend since forever, but he thinks too much, gets wrenched, and double stuck by his own thoughts. If I thought as much as him, I’d be frozen by indecision. And I can’t afford to shake. If I’m an arrow, my aim must be perfect, else I’ll not hit my target, else I’ll not free humanity from its cage.
Lance wrinkles that smooth forehead of his and turns his back, jumping into his own saddle.
I straighten my back, wanting to appear steady and resolute under fire, like a fighting general of the past.
Max snorts, shaking his mane.
Come on, boy, I am trying.
The beating heart–cannon metaphor hasn’t helped; it just reminds me
of the price I’ll pay for democracy to live—blasting out every conceivable thing that makes me, well...me. Because to defeat this AI, not only must I wipe my memories, I’ll need to become one with it. Meld. Oh stars! I really am launching myself into oblivion. Enough—I’m overthinking, no better than Lance.
My cousin turns and crinkles his lip into a grin.
Smiling? At a time like this. “What?” I snap.
“Oh nothing. Just thinking this might be the first time I beat you at
anything.”
I can’t stop a grin in return. He’s looking at me like I was just the girl
he’s grown up with, out on a ride. And I love him for it. “Lance, this race won’t count,” I reply.
The plan is simple: We decided—seeing as I live on a ranch—the amnesia-inducing accident should be whilst out riding.
Lance drops the smile. “Kyla, I just want to tell you, you know, I think you’re really brave.”
So much for lightening the mood.
I meet his eyes. “Don’t start getting real now, Lancey. It doesn’t suit you.” And it isn’t helping me.
His face breaks, and the frown lifts. “Fine. Have it your way.”
We line our horses up, and he starts a count down. We’ve raced back to the ranch from this spot many times. The track on the left is marked by a row of posts, and there’s a ridgeline with a single ash tree on the right. That tree also marks the hidden gully—the main reason I always win. I never slow to make the jump. Lance always does. Not today, though. This time I will make myself fall.
“How much of a head start do you want?” I ask.
His horse shakes out her mane like she’s indignant on Lance’s behalf. He continues the countdown. “Two...one...”
Oh, how grown up of you. I streamline myself, listening to Max’s breathing. “GO!”
I sit up, squeeze my thighs into Max’s flank, and allow his powerful
muscles to move me, then as we accelerate, I lean forward, willing him to break into a gallop. “Yes, Max, well done.”
We sprint towards my family’s ranch, the air slapping my face, the ground pounding beneath. I can do this, I tell the mountains. I can do it all!
Clods of dirt shoot from Lance’s horse as he takes the lead, but I’ll not let him win easily. He needs to know it’s only because I let him. “Yar, YAR!” Come on Max. Our bodies move together, totally in sync. Wow, I love you boy.
The ridge line drops steeply into the gully. There’s only one way to tackle this jump: focus on the far side and push Max to max speed.
Blood thumps in my ears as my horse snorts, hooves smashing the ground. Then my stomach plummets and with teeth clenched so hard it hurts, I yank on Max’s reins.
Max, my beautiful, beautiful friend doesn’t know what I’m doing. I sense his confusion. We never falter. Never. Oh, Max, my darling, what have I done?
His head rides upwards, his front hooves trip and he tumbles, my body lurching out of control and useless.
I slam into the bank, upper shoulder pounding the ground, skull jarring.
Max snorts wildly, and something cracks. Oh please, no.
My bones jar, vision wobbles, body feels like concrete cracking. I roll over.
“Kyla!”
I’ve cut my tongue wIth my teeth. Blood tastes rIch.
Max snorts wildly, mouth frothing.
Lance dismounts and runs to me.
“No, Lance, it’s Max who needs help. Go to him.” Please, please be okay. I force myself up, stagger and fall. My head is caught in a vortex,
shoulder throbbing.
The mountains, the gorge, the sky... My body is nothing. My beautiful,
shattered friend is in pain, and I have done it to him. I have caused him harm. Oh, my darling, please forgive me. “Lance, please,” I call as he frets with Max’s face, stroking it, placing his cheek against the hard snout, trying desperately to calm my horse.
Max flicks him away and neighs. He doesn’t know how to deal with the pain. He doesn’t understand not to put weight on his leg. He doesn’t comprehend what is happening. And I have done this to him.
“Kyla, it’s fractured, below the knee.”
No! Please no. “He’ll be okay,” I scream, getting up again, rubbing my shoulder.
I lurch towards them, but the bone protruding through velvety skin is all I see. Oh, my darling. Forgive me.
Lance struggles with Max’s foaming mouth, frantically stroking him.
I go to Lance’s horse, who stood chewing turf a few feet away. In the saddle pack is the Colt pistol he always carries. I move in a trance. Pain gone. Emotion gone. Fixed on my target.
Lance looks at me and his eyes pierce my faux numbness. An intense pain grinds all the way up and down my spine and my stomach seems to vanish. I manage to mutter, “Move aside.”
He scrunches his forehead and lets go of my beautiful horse’s reins. I lock onto Max’s bulbous eyes, and time freezes.
The horse calms, as if he knows what must be done.
I have no tears. I thought I would be crying. Because I did this. I caused this. And I know I will do more yet. I will risk myself, father, everything, and everyone to destroy the AI that controls us. This horse is only the beginning. I know this and yet I will go on.
The pistol is hard against my palm. I point it at Max’s head and shoot him, automatically re-aiming after the recoil.
But one bullet is enough.
I drop the weapon, fall to my side, and curl my knees to chest. My friend lies still on the grass.
after what seems an age, lance whIspers, “I’ve Been to the shInIng
city.” He’s sat next to me, knees bent, looking at the mountains. “I have been inside, and I know them.”
I stare at nothing.
“Maybe, they’re not worth this,” he continues, “maybe they’re not worth what you must do. You can stop you know. You don’t need to do this.” I fling my eyes at him, ready to rage. After what I’ve just done! Tears threaten, and my chest fills with anger, spewing up like some awful geyser of acid. I force it down, doused. Anger must not control me. That’s lesson 101 from the “manual of revenge” as Degum would say. I must always be
in control. Precise and focused. “It’s a little late now, Lance.”
He meets my stare, shaking his head. “It’s never too late...” He checks himself with a grimace and starts speaking more calmly. “You don’t need to do this. Your finger is on the trigger, but trust me, you’ve not yet squeezed. This is the pause, the moment of choice. It’s all in the balance. There’s still
just enough time, not to begin.”
“Why did you call it the shining city?” I ask. And why are you acting
so strangely? You’re meant to be on my side. Not theirs.
He sighs. “It is beautiful, Kyla. Whatever you think, whatever we think,
it is beautiful.”
“It is no city upon a hill. It is nothing to do with God. Never call it that
again.”
“Kyla, people live there.” He laughs, which sounds forced. “Hell, most
of humankind lives there. If you destroy the AI, what’ll happen to them?”
The stab of emotion returns. “You are free,” I say. “We are free. They live trapped in a cage. You should not be saying this.” And the time for debating this is long passed.
He shifts his gaze to the floor, the dirt obviously less intense than me. “I know dad believes they won’t get hurt,” he pushes, sounding a little desperate. “I know what I should think. But maybe we shouldn’t do this. If there’s even a chance the people of the city may get hurt. Think about it from a physical point of view; can the city really stand without its core?”
Then let them fall.
I slow blink. No—I don’t mean it. That’s the anger. Always there. Always on the cusp of overwhelming me from within. It’s caused by the memory of my mother dying. It’s caused by knowing those city folk did nothing to help. Yes, it was the AI that killed her, but those people just watched. A long sigh leaves my lips. Oh, Mom, if only I had been strong enough to save you. I should have saved you.
I get up and suck in the fresh, high-altitude air. Anger. Revenge. For the memory of Mom. To make sure Max’s death means something...I shake my brow. None of that matters. The point is those humans in the city—most of the remaining humans on the planet—have never breathed fresh air. They have never seen the stars. I scowl at Lance and clamp my back teeth. There is no doubt left in me. “Why are you saying this now, of all moments?”
His hand is shaking.
“Lance, answer me!”
“My dad,” he exhales, like he’s happy to relieve the pressure. “It was
Dad, okay. He wanted me to test you, one last time.”
Classic Uncle Degum. The man who made me free. There’s an
inscription across his mantelpiece, right below the always loaded gun: Live Free or Die. Exactly the same set up in my house too. “I’ll tell you, like I’d tell him if he were here,” I reply with a semi-clenched jaw, “I am ready. I won’t faulter.”
Lance gives a forced smile then goes to get his pack.
I take the moment to look up, where the eagles play amidst the blue. They screech as they soar, their calls bouncing between the mountain tops. If Lance thinks that cattle pen of a city is beautiful, he’s lost his own plot. This place is beautiful beyond measure because it’s real.
Humankind did it to itself, though—my ancestors became just complacent enough to let AI weaken them. It infiltrated, seeped into each person’s life, and it made things better. Poverty, famine, the want of things withered. But so too did ambition and passion and endeavor. When AI can do everything better, eventually children stopped bothering. What’s the point of playing the piano when the AI can do it better?
I think that’s why history ended. Because people stopped trying. Also, planet Earth so obviously healed; it was hard for anyone to argue against that.
People went to the city, enticed by a perfect life. It’s like that ancient story about the city streets being paved with gold. No wonder they came. And when they arrived, they found the streets weren’t just paved gold; they had no more need for gold. Basically, they found paradise.
Some humans did resist. For a long time. There were explosions and murders in the streets. There were terrorists grasping to live free or die, and there were quiet people who hated what was happening but did nothing. History had a last gasp. Our endeavors struggled on, but as the generations passed, the reasons to resist passed too.
My people are different. We live free, away from the city, away from its influence. But while it exists, there never will be true freedom. It will always have power over us because we allowed ourselves to become weak. And that is why it must be destroyed. To be free we must once again be strong.
Lance returns and unpacks a tin container and an unsealed envelope.
The bruise on my shoulder throbs like a weak echo of the real pain inside. Pain is what I deserve. But if I’m not careful, that pain will become a chasm in my core, sucking in the rest of me. So, stop. Clear your mind. Everything depends on being focused.
My eyes water, swamped by stupid tears, which I blink away. In a moment you won’t remember. You won’t even know why you’re crying.
Lance reaches his hand to me, handing me a folded letter.
I wipe my cheeks with my palms and get it together best I can.
After I’ve regained myself, I take the letter, which we wrote together in
case afterwards, by some miracle, I remain in existence. There is much we do not know about the process itself and there is always a hope. But as my uncle Degum says, better to be prepped for the worst outcome. In any case my letter of minuscule hope reads:
You are Kyla Lore
You are a weapon. You carry a virus and have one aim: infect the city AI known as Core. Your memory has been wiped to protect you and your mission from that AI. It may return completely, it may not. Lance, your cousin, and your uncle Degum will always help you. You can trust them.
But if you are reading this, it’s because you have succeeded.
You have given back humanity its purpose. You have given us all our freedom. And you have avenged Mom’s death.
I am you. You are me. I’m proud of us both.
Kyla Lore
I sign it with the ink pen he gives me. Then I date the top right-hand corner:
Late spring. No one knows what year.
Handing the page back to Lance, I study the knot of hair near his crown as he folds then slips it back into the envelope. He sticks a label over the seal. “Sign this too,” he says, which I do. “Next time you read it, it’ll all be over.”
I reply with a massive inhale of air and try to keep my lips level. Dear Lance. Forever the optimist.
Our focus switches to the battered tin. There are faded words and cartoonish pictures of fishermen on the top plate. He pops the lid, which opens on a hinge and revels the capsule inside. The old tin is familiar; the city technology within is not.
“You don’t need to take it with water, but I’ve got some if you need it,” he says.
I shake my head, taking the pill and holding it, mid-air between finger and thumb. Water won’t help me swallow this.
“Kyla.” He sounds so urgent I glance straight into his blue-hue eyes. “Kyla, remember your name. Keep saying it over and over in your head. That’s all that matters. You must remember your name.”
I know this already.
I close my eyes, then remember I must keep them open. At least the pain of killing Max is about to go. At least this pill will blot out the memory of what I have already done.
I’m breathing too quickly because Lance takes my free hand and squeezes. “It’s okay. This is what must be done to protect your mission, and us, from the AI.”
My brows collapse inwards. No one, not any of us understands city tech. I might never regain myself, but he’s right. It is what must be done.
“Lance, will you do something for me. Afterwards, I mean?” I ask, trying to sound like I’m not melting inside with fear right now.
“Sure, anything.”
“Will you shave off that scraggly beard you’ve got going on.”
He grins wide and his eyes glisten sadly. “Sure.”
Okay. This is it. The moment before I squeeze the trigger. But it’s my
choice. And that’s the whole point.
No more thinking. I pop the pill in my mouth, gather saliva with my
tongue and push it back with an exaggerated gulp. Now, to wait.
Lance starts a stopwatch. “Two minutes and it’ll be done. Start saying your name.”
In my head I repeat my name. I look into Lance’s eyes, and he takes both my hands, squeezing them.
He keeps smiling.
I am Kyla Lore. Repeat, many times. I am Kyla Lore.
The world beyond his face seems to melt. The screeching eagles
disappear and the blue sky too. The mountains crumble, snow thundering downwards, peeling away to reveal darkness—just an inky void. It rolls towards us through the lower-level pine trees, which sway and bristle, then vanishes.
I am Kyla Lore.
I am Kyla Lore.
The void sweeps in from all sides. Look Out Ridge vanishes, swallowed
by the darkness, and now the swaying prairie grass succumbs. The void rushes to us, gathering speed. Lance’s face is so hot, but his touch is like ice. “Lance, I’m scared.”
“You are Kyla LORE,” he yells as the void engulfs the stream and his horse and crashes and whoops in my ears. It’s going to take me.
I AM KYLA LORE.
The darkness reaches us with a roar. His fingers burn and I scream.
