Nicholas, Charon, and Dorothy are separated, and stranded in a cosmos they don’t understand. Behind is a City that would kill them, and the cooling gulf of rage that split them. Their only landmarks now are the distant stars, galaxies, and antique wooden doors that litter the plane. Through each door, the promise of a new world brims with possibility, but all they find are dead ends. A translucent tunnel extends before them and shows their direction. Or does it determine it? Are they in control of their decisions, or is something else guiding them? And who, or what, is the Narrator?
Cosmic in scale and scope, Transcendence follows on from the events of Transference. As Nick and Dorothy search the cosmos for each other, and answers, they find the signs of manipulation by an outside hand. Will they reconnect? And how far are they willing to go to be in charge of their own story?
Nicholas, Charon, and Dorothy are separated, and stranded in a cosmos they don’t understand. Behind is a City that would kill them, and the cooling gulf of rage that split them. Their only landmarks now are the distant stars, galaxies, and antique wooden doors that litter the plane. Through each door, the promise of a new world brims with possibility, but all they find are dead ends. A translucent tunnel extends before them and shows their direction. Or does it determine it? Are they in control of their decisions, or is something else guiding them? And who, or what, is the Narrator?
Cosmic in scale and scope, Transcendence follows on from the events of Transference. As Nick and Dorothy search the cosmos for each other, and answers, they find the signs of manipulation by an outside hand. Will they reconnect? And how far are they willing to go to be in charge of their own story?
In painted purples, reds, and whites, my world is colored by distant stars and galaxies. I see them, but exist somewhere separate, somewhere beyond them. The Cosmos, a transparent plain filled with antique doors that extends across every horizon. They connect to nothing, standing alone in their frames, but through each door is a new place, a new city.
Or, that’s how it should be. I’ve spent weeks here, my only concept of time marked by my own muted footfalls, and every door I’ve opened is just a portal to glittering blackness. To another graveyard seed ship that never made it to a planet and floats in the vastness of space. Sometimes, from the view inside the door, I can see the breach in the walls of the city that was the final death note. Sometimes, there is nothing but floating debris.
I know that if I stepped through, I’d die in seconds. As a test, I put my hand through the first door I opened, and pulled it back immediately in excruciating pain. In a flash, it had swollen in the low vacuum and started to freeze. I wonder if anyone was alive when the end came to these places—the suffering would have been immense.
I follow my path through the Cosmos, a mostly translucent shape that shows everywhere my body has been, and will be. I think this is the map the Narrator gave me, but I don’t understand how it works. I’ve tried to deviate from it, jumping to the side to break from its grasp, only to find that the path had always bent in the same way.
In the first days, I was obsessed with trying to understand what it meant. Is this destiny? Who built this path, what’s its function? Am I in control of where I head? Am I in control at all? It’s a strange thing to know where you'll head, to know what steps you'll take, and I can’t tell if I’m actively choosing to trace them, or being propelled along them. The outcome is the same. I follow the guide to each new door, an endless stream of dead places.
The path I’m on presents one option, but there have to be others. There seem to be hundreds or even thousands of doors, so if all routes were possible between them, there would be millions of different paths. I stare down at the key etched in my palm, a parting gift from the Narrator that let us access this place, and for a moment it flashes in pain and seems to glow. Around me, the Cosmos pulses with the pain, temporarily showing me a complex network of potential paths. Dotty is on one of those, she's following a different trajectory.
Has Dotty found anything different? Is she safe? My thoughts have been dragged back to her constantly since we split. I replay that final argument in my head and watch as she walks away from me. Some days, I rage against her in my mind, angry at her lack of human compassion, and some days, I regret saying anything. I miss her deeply, and I don’t know how much of it is missing human contact and how much is something more—something unresolved.
Charon rubs his head against my thigh, and it breaks me from my reverie. I realize I’ve been standing in front of another door for minutes, thinking. This has happened more and more the longer we’ve been here. I’m aware that it’s probably a bad sign of dissociating from reality, but I can’t seem to stop it. It’s like I’m sleepwalking and when I snap back to the present, I’m somewhere new.
I scratch the top of Charon’s head, and behind his ears, and a deep purr starts in his belly. He looks up to me in satisfaction, and I smile back to him. Thankfully our hunger and thirst seems to not feel the passing of time in this place, or he probably would've eaten me by now.
I reach out and open the door in front of me. Behind it is another dark room, no lights or signs of life. I sigh, and start to look closely through the door to find evidence of a hull breach, that inky void of final judgment. I’m bent down and trying to peer through the top of the frame, when a flash darts across my vision. I catch sight of someone running from the room on the other side of the door. My heart pounds and I fall backward. I hurriedly scramble to my feet and, without thinking, plunge through the door after the flash.
The air temperature shifts as I enter the new space. The Cosmos is hot, nearly body temperature, but here there is a chill to the air. Our city never felt this cold, even during simulated rain. I put that thought to the back of my mind and quickly assess the room. It’s the same layout as the observatory in our city, but here it’s dead. No sun or stars stream in through the window, the control panels show no blinking lights, and there’s no hum of electricity.
The patter of bare feet running on metal flooring reaches me from somewhere in front, but the steps are growing distant now. I tear out of the observatory after them. I pass through the cleaning room that adjoins it, all of the mechanical arms hang down limply from the ceiling now. Charon joins me at my side, tentatively sniffing the air. I nearly freeze at the entrance to where Cerberus lived in my city, but in this one it’s just a giant, empty hall.
In a streak of white, someone slips through the far door. They’re half my size, a child maybe. I race after them, excitement building in me at finally seeing another living thing.
My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and I notice now that there is the barest of light covering everything. A meek glow comes from fixtures set in the ceiling and walls, it softly breaks the darkness. I gain the other side of the great hall as Charon races behind me, and we go through the door. The anteroom has access to an elevator, its door slightly ajar at a strange angle, and to another mechanical door that moves slightly on hidden hinges. I rush to it, and find a set of service stairs extending into the blackness below. The sound of footfalls slapping against the metal steps echoes up, and I race down after them.
It’s like my time in the Cosmos held my body in stasis. My conditioning is still strong as Charon and I race down flight after flight. He’s faster than I am, but can’t turn well on the flooring and keeps crashing into the walls. The stairwell seems to stretch infinitely, spiraling down every full turn to a new landing and a new door, each looking the exact same. I remember the height of the Medical Authority tower in my city, there’s no way I can keep this pace until the bottom.
The slapping sound of my own feet and the crashing of Charon quickly blends with the echo of whoever we chase until it’s all around me. I can’t tell if they’re above me or below me, and I feel half blind in the near dark.
With my chest and legs burning, I finally stop for a breath. I lean against a wall, panting, and listen as the cascading echoes dissipate. Whoever I was chasing, they’re gone now, or not moving. Did I pass them on the stairs? I breathe, and think. The desire to see another human being was so overwhelming that I hadn’t even paused to think why I was chasing them. I’ve probably terrified them, what the hell is wrong with me? Before this moment, I hadn’t realized how lonely the past weeks had made me.
Somewhere below me, I hear a quiet groan of corroded door hinges. Instead of running after it, Charon and I make our way down slowly, quietly. Ten landings further I find the bottom of the service stairs, the door is left slightly ajar. I pull the door open slowly, and the same quiet groan fills the air, but I barely hear it. I’m too focused on what’s on the other side of the door.
The sight of a Sun Gate so like my own stretches before me, bathed in soft backup lighting. But instead of glistening gold and bustling industry, the buildings are full of yawning holes that I can only see as the absence of light. Huge debris lines the walk; giant pieces of shrapnel let loose from buildings are pushed haphazardly into piles. Looking out over the other areas of the city in the distance, I see the jagged lines of broken skyscrapers. They stand like rows of chipped teeth all around me. In the soft glow that comes from the walls, so unlike the blinding daylight of my own city, there are holes that must nearly pierce the hull of the city.
The door I opened exits onto the perimeter of the park that I once saw with Dotty in my own city. It stretches to either side of me, with rolling hills that gradually decrease in elevation down to the entrance to Sun Gate. The great gate that once only let me through with Dotty’s permission is blasted apart, split open. The park is lined with rows of stumps that were once trees, and there’s a congregation of people sleeping outside. Maybe a hundred huddle around small fires at the periphery of a huge, ragged mass. In the flickering lights, I watch them go to the central pile occasionally and then return to their fires. The smell of burning wood, so foreign in my own city, drifts up to me.
What the hell happened here? What have these people lived through?
From what I can tell, the layout of our cities must be the same, like different models of the same thing. I think back to what the Narrator said, about how many cities he’s seen end, and wonder what devil killed this one. And how long it’s been dead. There’s no sign of Inquisitors anywhere, no sign of light elsewhere in the city that I can see from this vantage.
The thrill I saw at seeing another person has quickly morphed to dread at finding this horror, this destruction. I want to turn and run back to the Cosmos, back to the safety of my loneliness. But as soon as I think this, my feet turn toward the park, guided by some unseen hand—down to the fires. Something drives me, some need to know what happened, like finding a corpse and being insatiably curious as to how it died.
My boots find the grass, and from the crunching I can tell it’s dead. Doesn’t it rain here anymore, or was it the lack of light? I make it to the outer ring of stumps. From the door I saw they lined the entire park, but up close their true size shocks me. Each is colossal, nearly half my height in diameter. I bend down to touch one and find it a dried husk. It’s been dead so long that there’s no wood smell from it, no sap comes away on my fingers. Charon trails behind me a few steps, seeming just as wary as me.
In my city, wood was so foreign, so rare, that it could only be found in the richest family homes. It was something I never saw until I took over Allen Cloudspire’s life. To see this level of destruction, and know that there’s likely no way to grow them back, discomforts me. What did they come to here?
I stand and continue my slow progression towards the group of people.
“Charon, be prepared to take action if things get…violent.”
He disappears behind me a few paces, fading into the darkness. As I march closer to the firelight, a small contingent comes out to meet me. There’s four men, built like brawlers, and a child, a young girl around ten I think. They all wear white pants and jackets, and although covered in stains and tears the cloth looks thick and warm. The cut of their clothes, and the nearing fires, makes the chill more oppressive.
Dotty and I left our city in the same waterproof, technical fabrics we’d explored it in. The clothing is black as night and tightly sculpted to not impede movement. I'd appreciate it in a rainstorm or on a run. But it offers little insulation, and if I spent long in the cold air, I’d trade them happily for what they wear.
As the group nears me, plasma blades extend in the hands of two of the men. I still have my hidden blade tucked on my right wrist, my gift from Micah, but I’d probably be dead before I got close enough to use it. I stop where I am, and raise my hands in what I hope is the universal sign of being unthreatening.
The group closes the distance, and their features come into focus. The four men are covered in scars and have long beard growth. One is missing a hand, and another man is missing his arm past the elbow. Next to them, the young girl looks cherubically innocent. Her hair is long and golden, and her eyes sparkle keenly in the dim light. One of the men with a plasma blade steps forward. The flickering firelight illuminates a great scar that clefts his face across a void where his right eye used to be.
“What are you? Where do you come from? Helen tells us that she saw you exit the door at the top of the tower.”
“I’m a man, same as you. Flesh and blood, no monster or machine. A traveler between worlds. I lived in a city much like yours, although it was in better condition when I left. I come in peace, only seeking to learn what happened here.”
The man narrows his good eye, trying to read the truth in my face. In the corner of my eye, I see him idly turning the glowing blade in his hand. I wonder if Charon could intercept him before he cut me down.
“How’d you get through that door? And what do you mean, a traveler between worlds?”
I’m about to answer when the man missing his arm interrupts me. He looks less like a fighter than the others, or at least lacks the raised scars that cover their exposed skin. His clothing is cleaner and less torn.
“Damian, you know Edward wanted to question the man, let's not break our oath out of curiosity.”
Damian sighs, but keeps his narrowed eye on me. He steps slightly to the side and gestures for me to go in front of him with his plasma blade. I follow behind the armless man, with the rest of the group trailing behind me. I take note when the slight buzzing sound of their plasma swords disappears. These blades have finite, although incredibly long-lasting, charges. These men are trained to preserve power and resources.
We make our way down into the encampment. The smell of burning overwhelms me as we draw near, and smoke from bonfires washes over us continuously. Though as we step into the firelight, I welcome the warmth they provide. Ragged men and women in all white stand around the fires and openly watch me as our group passes, hugging their children to themselves. When we get near the mass I saw in the distance, my heart sinks for these people.
The center of this camp is a giant mound of torn books, chopped wooden furniture, ripped paintings, and other priceless works. They’re all fuel, likely looted from the surrounding buildings. I think of all the collective knowledge and art that’s in that pile, and left for scraps. As I watch, a young boy dumps an armful of books on a pyre. It roars and spits upwards, and the boy settles in front of it, blind to whatever mysteries were on the pages. My heart aches for his future.
I’m led around the mass of kindling to the back of the camp. There’s a large pavilion there, where Sun Gate families used to congregate for picnics in the brilliance of the park. The once open-air building stands double my height, and has been walled in with random debris taken from nearby houses. It looks like a pile of trash that someone carefully set a metal roof on top of.
We enter, and my eyes adjust from the flickering firelight outside to the interior. A stove sits in the corner, and firelight from it splits the room diagonally. The chimney from it spits upwards and out the side of the trash walls. The arc of light illuminates a table in the center of the room that’s spread with ham, bread, and cheese. For the first time since I entered the Cosmos, I feel the sharp pangs of hunger.
A gray-bearded man sits behind the spread, slathering a piece of bread with butter using a massive metal knife. Despite his gray hair, there’s nothing frail about him. The firelight casts shadows of the long scars that cross his muscular bare arms and neck. They have the peculiar puffy shape left by the cut and cauterization of a plasma blade. He sets down his knife, and stares up at me with dark, intelligent eyes.
“Ahhh, you must be the traveler then.” He motions to the chair across from him.
I wonder how he knew the same word I used in my introduction, and the confusion must show on my face. He taps his ear, and I see the small com unit there. The men who led me here must be wearing them as well. Armed escort, battle coms, is this a war zone? I move forward and take the chair across from him. I try not to stare at the spread of bread, cheese, and butter, but my growling stomach gives me away.
Laughing, the man hands me a plate. “Please, eat. We have plenty of food for our expedition.” Looking over my shoulder to the escort he says, “No need to wait in here, stand outside.” The men behind me shuffle out of the enclosure.
“Thank you, I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.” I grab portions of each food, and the man hands me his knife to cut off cheese and put butter on my bread. Showing I am no threat, I use the knife, and pass it back to him hilt first. He lets me take a bite of bread before starting his questioning.
“My name is Edward Meadowhearth, what's yours?”
“Nicholas Fiveboroughs.” At this response, one of his eyebrows arcs upwards.
“I knew Nicholas. You are not him.” So their naming is the same here…and their city subdivisions. Is this another rule established by the creators, then?
“There are more cities than this one, but they are all the same. Did you know this? I come from outside of this city.”
The man’s eyes narrow. “I heard this once, a long time ago, but I wanted to hear you say it. Tell me, how are you able to travel between cities?”
“Honestly, I don’t have much more information about it than you do. I was given a key to the door at the top of that tower, and had to flee my own city before I was killed. I was chased by automatons, guardians of our city, do you have them here as well?”
The man nods slowly. “We did, before the city went dark and cut power to non-essential functions. Who was it that gave you this key, then?” From the look on his face, I think he knows my answer. The moment coalesces around me, and I realize this interaction may be much more interesting than I originally thought.
“An old man, he called himself the Narrator. From the look on your face though, I think you knew I’d say that.”
Edward nods, and looks to his right, into the darkness. The ribbon of light from the stove frames him in profile, and illuminates the wrinkles that line his face underneath the beard. He’s silent for some time, and then turning back to me, pulls out a necklace that was tucked into his shirt. On the end of it is a palm-sized metal coin that glints in the firelight. He pulls the worn leather strap over his head, and looking at the coin one more time, sets it in front of me. The unmistakable face of the Narrator stares back at me, etched into the surface of the gray metal. Even though the likeness isn’t hyper detailed, I swear I can see a playful glint to his eyes.
I raise my head and stare into Edward’s eyes, questioning. He sighs deeply. “It’s a long story, but I imagine you want to hear it. I’ll tell you ours, if you tell me how you came to meet the man.”
In this story, we're following on from the events of Transference as we find Nick and Dorothy separated and they must find a way to rejoin each other from across the cosmos and encounter all kinds of challenges along the way, whilst also coming face to face with the mysterious Narrator, who may or may not be pulling the strings of it all.
So, the difficult second album, or book in this case, following on from Transference. Overall, I did enjoy this story, but I did enjoy the first book more as I thought it had an overall stronger narrative. The characters are still just as compelling as they were in the first book, the villain in this story was a real stand-out for me. However, I did feel like it did get bogged down a little bit in exposition from time to time.
On the positive side though, I thought this book offers up interesting questions, again it feels very much influenced by the likes of Blade Runner and The Matrix in terms of positing ideas about control and free will. I really liked that it poses of, can we ever truly be free?
The Narrator was a terrific villain in this story. He could have so easily felt like a caricature, but there's a real sense of menace to that character that came across, particularly towards the end, when you can clearly see just how much he's loving himself and enjoying tormenting the main characters and putting them through the most challenging ordeals.
I also thought the ending of the story was really great as well. Throughout the story it has quite a dark tone, so it was pleasant surprise to get to the end and for it to end on quite an upbeat note, and to offer an idea of hope I thought.
Overall, I would recommend this story, but naturally providing you've read the first book beforehand, as it's a very similar vibe overall.