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THE ENCYCLOPAEDIA

Clyde Rivers stepped into the Scanner; a small white archway outlined by a large number of red LEDs and a rounded chrome bar blocking his way forward. The Scanner considered the complexion of the man who stood within. Only a few moments passed when the red gave way to blue and the bar retracted, allowing Rivers to step forward onto the platform.
Rivers’ H-Complexion sat somewhere between High and Very High. His symmetrical, high cheek bones framed his lean, pale face and dark piercing eyes. His hair, dark too, was slicked backward; combed to perfection. He was, by all means, an attractive man. This fortunate display of handsomeness had so far kept him from any sort of danger within the strict codes and laws of his Class.
Rivers was already late for his first seminar of the day; he had spent most of the night researching his paper, trawling through dozens of Films, before he found himself awake at his desk the next morning, fifteen minutes after his lecture had started. The coffee next to him was cold but he drank it anyway, grabbed his coat, threw his bag over his shoulder and ran out through the slider, hurrying to the station.
The train ride was arduous. It was later than he would normally travel and as such Rivers was faced with crowds of the rush-hours. When he arrived at the University stop, he dashed out of the carriage into the lobby. The Doc was there waiting, stationary, as he always was. The Doc was mere tradition. He was one of the very first Scanners and had allowed students in and out of the University for nearly two centuries.
“You’re free to go, Mr Rivers.”
“Thank you very much, Doc.” As he moved through, Rivers bag got caught on the barrier and the contents spilled on the ground. Rivers hastily picked up a leather bound rectangle and placed it safely in his bag. No one stopped to stare. They mustn’t have noticed.
“Shit. Er, Have a good day, Doc…and don’t go anywhere!”
“I’ll try not to Mr Rivers, good day.”
Rivers left the machine by the entrance, where he always did. Rivers knew it would bid him farewell as he left later that evening. The familiar, wide and open lobby of the University engulfed Rivers as he rushed to his class, worry etched on his face.

***

After his lecture, Rivers was requested by his Professor, Hargrove. Rivers was worried he was in some sort of trouble; “Sorry Professor, I over-slept.”
“Please, Clyde, call me Jon. Your tardiness isn’t an issue; it’s a busy time for you. In fact, it’s your busy-ness that I wanted to talk about. How is the research going, Clyde?”
“I’ll be done within the week.” Rivers’ response was stilted; he had always been wary of discussing his research.
“Good son, good.” Hargrove’s voice lowered and his face furrowed, “I know this is strange, but I need to tell you to be careful. Your work, and your research, is of a controversial nature, and certain agencies might be interested once it’s published; an interest you may not want. I’m not telling you not to submit it, but your wording must be…measured.”
“I’ve always been fully aware of how controversial my work is sir – er, Jon. But I don’t think it warrants the interest of those that you imply.”
“Academic freedom does not extend to criticism of the government, you know that! And while your research – as I am aware – does not blatantly condemn our systems, you must still be wary of what you imply.”
Rivers grew worried. How much did Hargrove know? “I will be. Sorry Professor, I’ve got to fly.” He turned on his heel and left, rushing out of the theatre.

***

The library was clean. Row upon row of white, sterile study blocks filled the large, open room. Students sat at irregular intervals, immersed in the images and films their screens presented them. Rivers liked to look as he walked past. His inquisitive nature compelled him to guess what each student was studying. On one screen was a cross section of quartz with gold veins, like streams, flowing through its insides:
A budding geology student? She must be.
On another, the plans of the world’s largest building, The Trade Beam standing at six-thousand-seven-hundred-and-fifty feet.
Architecture major? Perhaps. Or an engineer?
This one he found the most interesting; maps of the explored portions of Mars and, on a second instance, the history of the Moons colonisation.
Astro-historian? This guy could even be an astronaut. Lucky. His thoughts took him to Hargrove’s conversation. Rivers knew that Hargrove couldn’t know about it. But did he really still believe the Washington incident to be controversial? Secession was just Washington’s attempt at challenging symmetry.
Too bad real progression is all but forgotten.
It was only those of Rivers declining school of social history who would know the particulars of the Washington incident.
The United Federation did a good job of ensuring that. Not that anybody in this room would need to remember. They are never found wanting. They never have to struggle to survive. Not like the Lows. Not even like the Mediums.
Rivers’ work went far beyond the issue of Washington. In fact, Rivers’ work went back hundreds of years. But he couldn’t tell anyone. Not yet.
Rivers continued to stalk the aisles, searching for a block which he liked. He needed to be comfortable. He eyed one, its surface was clean enough but not too sterile; Rivers hated the sterile ones. He removed his coat and bag, draped them over his chair and sat down, placing both of his palms on the block. It came to life, its screens rising up seemingly out of thin air. It spoke, words only Rivers could hear.
“Hello Mr Rivers, shall I open your work?”
They all knew what he had been working on last. They were all connected like that.
No thanks, S. They called them S, for ‘Study’, S. I need to do some searching, take me to the engine; I’ll need three instances. Rivers instructed the block with the skill of a veteran student. Search One: ‘Professor Jon Hargrove, Upper University.’ Search Two: ‘Agencies of Government; focus on criticisms – slash – treason. Search Three: ‘Student Arrests’.
The machine paused for a heartbeat.
“Unfortunately there are no results to display for you, Mr. Rivers.”
Rivers was in disbelief.
For all instances?
“Yes sir. Perhaps you can broaden your search terms?”
Clyde pulled his palms off of the block in confusion. The screens disappeared. S never had nothing to display. He grabbed his bag and coat and rushed outside, heading for home. He decided he could miss the rest of his classes.
He tried to rush past the Doc trying to make as little conversation as he could, but the bar didn’t recede.
“Early leaver today, Mr. Rivers?”
“Yes Doc. Not feeling too well. Could you notify my teachers?”
“Of course.”
“Doc?”
“Yes?”
“The bar?”
“Oh yes, sir, of course. Sorry sir.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Before the Doc could say anything more Clyde had rushed through to the station and jumped on his train.

***

The train slowed down as it approached Central Station in the Business District. The carriage sliders opened and three Officers walked on, Scanners in hand, their dark overcoats in stark contrast to the white carriage around them. Rivers’ phone began to ring. He touched the back of his ear, answering the call. The Officers began to work their way through the passengers. Scanning each individuals face and once their light’s turned blue, moving on.
“Clyde. It’s Jon. Hargrove. Where are you?” His voice was hurried.
“Professor, I’m on the train. I told the Doc to notify you …”
“Yes. He did. That’s why I’m worried. Clyde, I need to ask you, have you been able to access our system?”
“Huh?” The question caught him off-guard. How did he know so much? “I was able to log on, but…”
“Yes?”
“Well, S didn’t show me any results from my search-terms.”
“Good gods!”
“Professor? What?”
“Your access is being limited. You need to get off of the train.”
The train announced its departure; Rivers sprung off of his chair, and squeezed through the slider before it shut.

***

Rivers made it off of the platform without trouble.
“Jon, what the hell is going on?”
“I told you to be careful. I didn’t think that they’d be onto it this quickly. Clyde, I know about the Book.”
Rivers went silent.
“What?”
“I know about your Book. The one you’ve been using to write your paper. The big, black, leather bound one with gold lettering on the binding. I know about it.”
Rivers was struggling for words. He’d been so careful. Hargrove went on;
“I’m not sure how they know. It certainly wasn’t me who told them. Clyde, did you tell anyone about the book?”
“No. No one. How do you know?”
“I can’t go into that now, there is no time. Did those Officers see you?”
“I think; as I ran through the slider. I’m sure I saw them staring.”
“You have to get off the phone. Is there anywhere you can go? We need to find somewhere to –“
At that moment the phone beeped, once, twice, a third time.
“Professor? What was that?”
“Clyde, run! Turn off your phone and move!”
Rivers flicked his ear and looked around. Three Officers were closing in from the station. Their Scanners were flung over their shoulders, and in their hands were the sleek designs of Remington Personal Lase Pistols, PLPs.
“Shit.”
Rivers turned and ran, drawing stares of disbelief from the citizens around him. His coat billowed behind him as he turned down an alleyway, a spontaneous gust encapsulated him as the tall white walls pushed the air out as fast as they could. Rivers put his arm up to shield his eyes. It grew stronger and stronger, making it near impossible for Rivers to move. He looked to the sky in exasperation, only to see the underside of an Officer’s car coming down upon him. He turned around and ran towards the Officers; they stopped running and raised their guns. Rivers, his end lying before him, noticed an open under-hatch on the pathway, not two meters to his left. Without hesitation, he slid towards the hole and fell through. The Officers beams of white heat blasted into the hatch above him, pushing it closed.


***


Rivers found himself in a world that he was not used to. The tunnel walls were dark and dank, pressing in on him. The smell of ancient gasoline and oil had seeped into the surface of the brick, staining the air. He’d been under before, but it had never felt like this; now, he didn’t know if he’d be able to go back up and it all felt so real. A wave of claustrophobia swept over him and Rivers had to resolve himself to move on. He thought they’d be down in an instant. He ran. The fluorescent lights above barely illuminated his way ahead within the long, winding tunnels. The road slowly began to descend, the tunnel roof getting farther and farther away. Rivers kept looking behind him. Nobody followed him. Relaxing, he slowed to a walk before a plateau in the enormous tunnel. Rivers paused before the next bend; he knew that that’s where he would be Scanned. What other choice do I have? He took the chance and approached the Scanners. He eyed a set of draconian spear-like rods of iron on the sides and top of the tunnel, surrounding the Scanner. Rivers shivered at the thought of that fate. The red LEDs turned blue, casting an eerie light on the dark walls around him, and the wrought iron bar in front of him lifted, allowing him to pass.
Rivers was always shocked by the site of the under-cities; row upon row of five story homes made of the same dark brick as the tunnels and not even five meters wide, stretching for miles and miles, as big as the city above. The sound of radiators working overtime interrupted his thoughts and drew attention to how cold it was down here. Rivers, fuelled by adrenalin, hadn’t felt it as he made his way down the tunnel. He was glad he had his coat. He pulled it tight around his body and pushed it together, seeling it from the icy air around him. He moved in, a rattle above reminded him of the overhead rail-line, he looked for the nearest station and hastily moved towards it.
There were only men at the station; they looked at Rivers with a blank disinterest. He kept his clean pristine head down, but he couldn’t help but stand out with his upper city symmetry. The men were all dirty and tired. Their clothes were almost in tatters and none had coats to combat the cold. Their faces were covered in thick, long beards and they wore scrappy hats on their head. Their faces were…odd, uneven. The next rail-car came up, and the men waited for Rivers to board before they got on. Rivers cursed himself and that damned custom.
He stepped on and immediately had nowhere to move. He found himself being pressed against a mass of bodies. Perhaps it wasn’t custom which made the men wait before Rivers got on, perhaps it was just spite. No one on the train spoke. He stood in the same spot for ten minutes before the silence was broken. The train’s operator announced: “Central Station”. No one but Rivers moved to get off.
“Excuse me.” No one moved. Anxiously, Rivers began to push and found the men give way. He moved onto the station and looked around him. Not knowing where to go, Rivers tried to call Hargrove but his phone wouldn’t connect. He needed to find a line.
He approached a nearby booth. The structure was small, slightly taller than he, and made out of the same iron which so much of the under-city was. Around the edge, near the top, was a thin white strip with the word “LINE” in blue LEDs. Rivers stepped in and picked up the phone. It seemed ancient and had to go through the old way of connection.
“Operator.”
“Yes, can you please connect me to Professor Jon Hargrove of Upper University.”
“One moment, sir.”
The line beeped slowly. Rivers wondered if they’d tapped Hargrove’s line. He wondered how he could get help. Was he to spend the rest of his life in exile in the under-city? His thoughts were interrupted by an answer.
“Hello?”
“Jon! Jon, its Clyde!”
“Clyde. Where are you, son?”
“I’m under. It was my only way out. They didn’t follow me down.”
“Did they see you?”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to struggle to get back up. In fact I don’t know if it can be done. They haven’t come knocking on my door yet but my guess is they are tracing any unusual activity from under – which usually means contact up here. Look, I know of some people down there who might be able to help you. Find another line, at least a few blocks from yours and ask for Alice Maine. She’ll be able to help.”
“Okay.”
“Be car-“
Three slow beeps interrupted them. They both hung up the phone. There was no time for goodbyes.


***

Rivers was told to meet Alice near a corner store, four blocks from the booth he phoned her on. He found his way quite easily and sat down on a nearby bench. Across the way was a park, at least it used to be. There was no grass, just dark, damp concrete. An iron swing frame was placed in the centre. But there were no chains and no seat, just the frame. He gazed at it for some time, saddened, before he started and checked his bag. The Book was still there. He looked around him before he pulled it out. The street was empty.
They’re all in the mines. He shook his head and drew his attention to the Book, bound in leather. On the front was etched a golden plant, its bulb sprouting a small flower. On the binding, in etched gold lettering was the word “Britannica”, the same plant above, and on the bottom of the column, “10: Reti-Solovets”. Rivers stroked the front and opened to the front page: “15th Edition, 1985”. He then opened to his marker, on page 257. He read:

Russian Revolution of 1917...By 1917 the Russian Empire grew increasingly agitated under Tsarist domination…The Tsarist regime was overthrown in February by the might and will of the people…

Rivers heard footsteps, quickly closed the book and placed it back in his bag. He looked up. A woman approached him. Wearing the same drab colours of the men he saw earlier, though less dirty. Her arms were bare, showing the tempered muscles of an under-city woman. But it wasn’t the ordinary which struck Rivers. Her hair, in stark contrast to the city around her, was long, flowing and…blonde.
“Clyde?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Alice, you best come with me.”
“Sure.”
Rivers couldn’t count how many twists and turns they made before arriving at a doorway to a house. Rivers expected a scanner to unlock the house, but instead Alice drew from around her neck an ancient looking key. Rivers stared with wonder. Who was she? She swung the door open and they stepped in. From the shadows across the street, a man in a dark coat touched the top of his ear and spoke softly.

***

“This paper was going to change the world, Alice. People would have woken up to the world we live in. This Book, this Encyclopaedia, is the start of our new revolution.”
“Your passion is endearing, but you’re naive to think so.”
“Why? Why is it that I get to enjoy an education? Because my face is symmetrical? Why is it that I get to enjoy nice food on my table? Why is it that I get to enjoy sunshine, when so many don’t? All this based on what? Symmetry? Perceived beauty? The Encyclopaedia says: ‘Let knowledge grow from more to more and thus be human life enriched.’ People deserve to know our system wasn’t always like this. Screw Heinrich. Screw our complexions. It’s time to go the other way.”
His speech was interrupted by a heavy knock at the door.
“Alice. Take the Book. They’re after me. You don’t use a scanner here, they don’t know you. Take the Book and run.”
Alice hesitated and then took the Encyclopaedia. She turned on her heel and ran up the stairs towards the roof. Rivers watched her go before he went to the door. He slowly grabbed the handle and pulled the door open. Three officers were waiting, their weapons were raised. Without a moment’s hesitation they pulled their triggers. Multiple beams of white heat tore through Rivers’ body. For an instant, Rivers could hear the rattle of the trains, the hissing of the generators, the deep and distant rumbling of the mining machines; in that instant, Rivers could feel the pain of the under-city. The blasts pushed him up into the air before he fell onto his back, broken, dead.