IRON CHARIOT

The analogy of the ship has loomed over us for millenia. It mocks us from on high, taunting us, daring us to board. It is simple: replace each plank of a ship, one by one, until none of the original remains. Is it still the same ship? What if we assembled a new ship out of the removed planks—which is which?

It extrapolates cleanly to the study of the mind, the laughingstock of science. Cells die and are replaced; the adult carries in his body not even a cell of his childhood self. Despite this, there is never a clean break where one transitions to the next. The self, then, must exist removed from its physical composition as some kind of ether that diffuses and glues us together. How else could it?

But this is spirituality, not science. We cannot point to the unobservable dark and claim we exist there. We must not make a fool of the self by using it as a less embarrassing synonym for the soul. Instead of looking at the end, we must turn towards the beginning—the source. Only from there can the self flow.

- from “A Blueprint of the Self” by Flyuger Strauss, Suspended Animation R&D

EVIE

A still, heavy silence hung between us for some time, broken only by the muffled sounds of rain and thunder.

“Th… thank you for listening. Also, my name is Evie. I apologise for not introducing myself earlier. You don’t have to say anything—I’ll finish my porridge and go to bed. Thank you for the food,” I mumbled, turning away.

You said nothing. Your face betrayed nothing, opaque, but still I could sense the churn within you. "I see,” you mumbled, eyes locked onto the floor. “You’ve been alive since the beginning, then.”

“The beginning? When I was dropped into that bluegrass field, you mean?”

“Yes… the seeding.” You looked up at me, your eyes questioning if I understood the term. “Nevermind. It’s only fair that I explain things to you. I’m just not sure how best to do it. Give me time. Still, to think you survived this long… that shouldn’t be.”

“I’m not lying!” I bristled.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to say you were. Just that something went wrong during the seeding.” You leaned closer. Like a mirror, I thought, and knew from your stern look that you were thinking the same. It felt uncanny.

“I want to know. Tell me about the seeding.”

You stood up, your thick robes sweeping the floor. “It’s late. Your story was a lot longer than expected.” Of a human. The words hung unsaid between us. “Don’t worry. You’re safe here—I promise you that. We’ll figure this out, one step at a time.”

With a reassuring smile—your first show of emotion since I finished speaking—you turned and left. Left alone in the cold cave with nothing but a rug to sleep on, I did not feel even slightly reassured, however.

*

I rubbed my eyes as I woke up, my limbs sprawled, dried drool crusting on my cheek.

“Good morning. Tea?” you asked, sitting next to me. I sat up to take the rudimentary wooden cup you offered, the pale green water within gleaming, reflecting my worn face. I still haven’t asked—who are you?

I almost dropped the cup but managed to set it down. I had almost let my guard down around a stranger. The liquid swirled. My skin crawled, the winter chill soaking deep into my veins, and suddenly I felt vulnerable in this cave at the edge of the world.

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You sipped from your cup, but even that could not reassure me it was safe to drink. After a big gulp, you set it down and said: “You were right—I’m the woman in the stained-glass window.”

“In the chapel?”

“Yes. They painted it in my image.”

“So… you’re really Her, then?” I held my breath.

“You don’t seem convinced. Maybe I should wave a wand and grant a wish,” you said. You chuckled, trying to clear the air, but stopped—I wasn’t amused. “Sorry. I haven’t forgotten how they treated you.”

“It’s… it’s fine.” No matter how closely I looked, your face was human. “Could you, though? Could you really grant a wish, just like that?”

“Hm? Depends on the wish, I suppose. Did you have something in mind?”

“I… I’d like a sword, for protection.”

“A sword? Why, do I scare you?” You furrowed and eased your eyebrows, your eyes crossed towards your nose, suddenly conscious of your own face.

“No, no. I really appreciate everything you’ve done. I’m not afraid of your face—it looks like mine, after all.” I smiled. “I had a sword a long time ago. I thought it would be safe to leave it behind when I visited the city, but in hindsight, I really should have smuggled it in somehow.”

“So you feel unsafe here, then.” You uncrossed your eyes and looked straight at me.

“No! You don’t make me feel unsafe—but I would feel safer with one next to me. This is a cave, after all—I’m sure there are polar bears outside that would rip us to shreds.”

“Polar bears?” You laughed, not bothering to hold back this time. “Polar bears live near the poles, Evie. Not here.”

“How would I know where we are?” I huffed, irritated. “I haven’t seen Concord from above like you have, from heaven on high.”

That silenced you. “Ah… right. Let me show you, then,” you said, your cloak swirling as you stood. “My ship, and Concord from above.”

“Your ship? Is there water near here?”

“No—you’ll see.”

The light dimmed as I followed you deeper into the cavern down a natural corridor that branched into caves. Out of nowhere, a metal orb floated leisurely past my head towards you. “What… what on earth is that?!” I shrieked.

“Oracle. He’s… part of the ship too—”

“Oracle, and by extension, Mobius, one of two Ark-class cruisers—humanity’s biggest and final gambit. Project Lazarus marked our maiden flight, set for Concord, which we seeded with life. With Alice’s assistance,” the thing interjected.

“Yes. Thank you.” You rolled your eyes and kept walking. “Two cruisers, you said?”

“Better two than one.”

“And where is that ship now?”

“There’s no way to tell. It’s not near here, for sure.”

This conversation between man and machine horrified me, but I could say nothing. I had almost started to wonder if you were perhaps a bit too normal to be Her, but your companion—Oracle—cleared those doubts. He was beyond anything even the finest metallurgists and smiths could dream of.

Our footsteps echoed off granite and the ceiling arched high above. Cold air hissed through the rock, frosting my breath. I drew my cloak tighter around me. I could tell you were shivering too, though Oracle paid the cold no mind, floating silently. Above us loomed stalactites that threatened to drop and impale us. I walked a little faster, catching up to you, not wanting to stay even a moment longer than needed in this corridor.

Finally, the dark granite turned purple. “We’re nearing the exit,” you said, picking up the pace. “Oracle, spin up the engines so we don’t freeze to death.” Oracle beeped in response. A few steps later, the earth began to yawn and rumble in frequencies low enough to rattle my lungs. The ground shifted and stirred. Its roars filled the hallway, shaking both air and rock. I know this sound. The beast! I tried to yell over it, but it drowned me out.

We turned a corner and stepped through an exit into a clearing covered in bluegrass. The sound rose in pitch and volume and the heat cooked my bones, thawing me from within. The clearing was large, shaped like an oval with not a tree in sight. Tall stone walls enclosed it, forming a naturally concealed landing that could only be seen from above.

There it was, waking from slumber in the middle. The winged beast—the iron chariot.