Into the Great Unknown

Right. Right. Left. Down Main. And I am the Keep. Up Main. Right. Left. Left. And I am at Line 56: Home. There are four blocks between home and work. Three hundred and sixty-seven marble slabs line the streets. Seventy-three doors. Nine hundred and forty-two windows. And two security clearances. Day in and day out. Right. Right. Left. Right. Left. Left. 

Nexilia is divided geographically into fifteen segments. Each segment is comprised of a ring of land segmented off from each other. Our Placemakers lie within center city. Our government. Segment two, holds our guards, weaponry, and defence. Not that we would need it. Nexilia is safe. We have a health segment. A farming segment. The industrial segment. To name a few. Freckled within the segments are the Lines. Stacked living quarters that house the segment’s population. 

Segment three is the education segment. My segment. We house Nexilia’s universities, research labs, and libraries. Segment three is where the city’s most important documents live. Where the city charter lives. The history of how Nexilia came to be and the archaic world that forged it. I am privileged to be called a keeper. Head Keeper. There are only five in all Nexilia. We keep the history books. The stories. The artifacts. The information that the rest of Nexilia are not privy too. Only the Keepers and the Placemakers. Most of my days are spent in a book or studying an artifact. The rest of my time, I spend writing about the history of our world. What life had been like before the Great Wars and what they ensued. And most importantly, how Nexilia was forged. How our forefathers promised to provide a home for those who want to live in peace. Away from war and pollution. Away from mass consumerism and capitalism. Away from the harms of people filled with greed and malice. Nexilia was born on a promise. My job is to ensure our history is shared with all Nexilians. To teach our youth how lucky they are to live here. To teach civilians how to behave to ensure history is not repeated and the Nexilian dream may live on for millennia. 

There are rules to ensure this. Rule one: study your history. Acknowledging the faults of our past prevents us from making the same mistakes. Rule two: be grateful for the life you live, not all were granted access to Nexilia when the world crumbled apart. Rule three: to ensure the first two rules are followed, you may not, under any circumstance, explore. It’s for our own safety after all.

The Great Walls keep us safe. They protect us from the outside world. To the pollution and horrors that lie beyond. Field workers hired by the government, are our bravest heroes. They are responsible for going out into the beyond every year to take samples for study. Earth, water and air quality are tested to see if we might be able to breach the Great Wall and venture the rest of the world. They always come back the same: Toxic. Every year for seven hundred and ninety years we have been denied. It is a constant reminder to every Nexilian about the harms of war and how devastating the effects can be. 

We are reminded by our Placemakers everyday not to defy the rules. Go to work and then go home. Don’t stray from your segment unless you have permission. Live your life. Be thankful. If you are looking for something to do, you may use your allotted tickets to visit an eatery. To take out a history book at the library. Visit a family member. Groceries are delivered. So are new clothes. Select music and art is allowed, but all other forms are banned.

I am just about finished my latest textbook: A World of Peace and How to Keep it, Volume 36. Every Head Keeper writes a volume. 

The last chapter is on the life quality in the outside world. I take the elevator down to the record keep. Sub level seven. Temperature control preserves the artifacts that lie within. I walk past shelves and shelves of information. I make it to the data I am looking for. Sifting through years and years of samples. I grab the most recent data, from the last venture beyond the Great walls and read. Water quality: Toxic. Soil quality: Toxic. Air quality: Toxic. Shocking. I flip through the report to find the quantitative data. The real numbers that communicate the risk of leaving the safety of Nexilia. Except they are not there. They’ve been redacted. I flip through the rest of the report. Redacted. I put the document back and look for the year before. Water quality: Toxic. Soil quality: Toxic. Air quality: Toxic. I flip the page to find the quantitative data. Again, redacted. I take out the report from two years ago. Again, redacted. I tear through the reporting from four years ago. Redacted. Five years ago. Redacted. On and on, I look through reports that span hundreds of years back, and yet I still can’t find a single entry of quantitative data. It's all been redacted.

I can’t finish the chapter without the data. I go back upstairs to call my boss. The Placemaker in charge of overseeing the education segment.

“Joal, nex. It’s Ahas.” I say as way of greeting. 

“Ahas! Nex. What do I owe the pleasure?” Joal repeats the Nexilian greeting. 

“I am almost finished volume 36.” I say proudly.

“That’s wonderful, Ahas. If you finish within the month, you’ll be the fastest Keeper I have record off. I am impressed and proud to have such a fine Head Keeper.”

“Thanks, Joal. That’s kind. See here, there’s just a bit of a problem.”

“Oh?”

“I am looking through the data from the beyond and some of it seems to be missing. See I am drafting the quantitative numbers for the water, soil, and earth quality and all the numbers are redacted. I want to use the numbers to convey the importance of staying within the Great Wall.” 

Beat. The line goes silent, and for a second I think that Joal has hung up.

“You don’t need the numbers to convey your point, Ahas.” Joal says sternly.

“Well maybe. But I think that it would help get my point across.”

“Just mention that they’re toxic. That’s all you need to convey, my friend.”

“But don’t you think-”

“I said you don’t need the numbers to convey your point, Ahas. You’re smart, I am sure that you will figure out another way to convey the importance of staying within the Great Wall. I have to go now, Ahas. Nex”

“Nex, Joal.” I say disheartened. 

I take the elevator back down to sub level seven. There are two thousand eight hundred and fifty tiles in the elevator. Thirty buttons. I’ve counted. I make my way back to the data storage. Looking through the same data. Holding reports up to the dim light to try and see through the black ink that redacts the information I am desperately trying to get a hold of. After another hour of scouring the shelves, I feel defeated. I try to remember the charter rules to restrain my anger and foster peace, but I am so frustrated that I throw all the data on the floor. Knocking over boxes of archives older than Nexilia. I can’t finish my life’s works because of a few numbers. Years of research down the drain. 

I throw myself on the ground and cover my face with my hands. All I hear are the hub lights above me. There is no one down here except me and my artifacts. All that’s been left for the keepers to discover and decipher. The thought makes me want to burn the place to the ground. After a beat, I collect myself and the reports I’ve thrown all over the ground. Good thing there are no guards in here. Signs of aggression are reported. I put all the reports back into their respective boxes and make sure that everything is where it should be. I put the box back on the shelf when I notice something on the wall. It’s broken. Or rather there is a piece of it missing. Like someone started chipping away at the wall. I take a flashlight off a nearby desk and shine a light through the hole. What I find shocks me. The whole in the wall reveals catacombs. The mythic catacombs that Nexilia was built over. They’re real! 

I try to contain my shock as I take in what’s before me. Over one of the ancient stones of the catacombs, the word “eased” is written in red ink. I stumble back feeling a cool sense of dread wash over me. I force myself to peer into the empty space between the wall and catacomb. There is about three feet of space separating the two. I shine my light in both directions. I can’t see anything but catacomb. Something shinning catches my eye. To the left, on the wall separating the catacomb from the Keep, appears to be a gold doorknob. I calculate the distance in my head, put the record box back, making sure the hole is well hidden, and I walk to the approximate location of what I believe to be a door. 

I come to a bookshelf that appears to be smaller than the rest. I give it a nudge and a pull, but nothing gives. I check all the boxes to see if there might be another access point when I notice the same red ink running up the seam of the bookshelf. I run my finger along the edge until my finger catches on a latch. Pushing it up slightly to the sound of a door unlocking and the shelf juts out slightly. My heart thunders in my chest, my palms get clammy, and my knees go weak. I stumble with the idea of entering the catacombs. Knowing full well that exploration of any kind is forbidden. Don’t diverge from the path. I remind myself. After a minute of internal debate, I think back to the data I was declined. Rage boils up from within and I take the plunge. My curiosity is too strong. I must know why that data was redacted. I pull open the secret door, step through the threshold and close the door behind me.

What I find is shocking. Mile after mile of tunnels. All built in sandstone and old piece of debris and artifacts. There are pieces of objects that I can’t name that jut out of the wall at odd angles. Small alcoves line the walls in certain areas. I’ve found two underground water springs that connect to pools in the center of connecting tunnels. There are rooms within rooms and secret tunnels connecting rooms to other rooms. Occasionally, I will come across a door with a gold handle with a sign written in that same red ink. The one I used to enter the catacombs had the word “the keep” written on it. Others are labelled “greenhouse”, “holding gate”, and “linen warehouse”. It’s how I know that I have crossed over to new segments.

Not only are there marks on the doors. But there are also markings within some of the alcoves. Odd, random messages written in black ink. The symbols don’t mean anything to me yet, but I am itching to decipher them.

I spend weeks down here. Going up to civilization only when it is time to go home. Making sure to leave when everyone else does so as not to raise alarm. When I go home, that’s when I plan. I plan what segments to explore next and I map where I’ve been. No one thinks its suspicious that the head keeper disappears for long hours at a time. They think I am immersed in volume 36.

It's been three weeks since I first discovered the catacombs. The markings on the alcoves are a puzzle. After plotting the markings, I’ve realized that they are a code. I’ve managed to map all but a few. I am heading to the centre city where I believe I might find a couple more markings. I’ve been walking for about two miles when I come to another door with a golden handle. The label says “Placemaker’s Grove”. It tempts me to break in. To see where they work and what they do. I bring myself back to the moment and remember my task: the code.

I find the small inner fold in the wall, indicating the mouth of the alcove. I enter to find that it is larger than the others. The same marking is on the wall, but something lies over them that frightens me. Scratch marks are specifically positioned over the code making it illegible. I take out my map in attempt to copy any visible part of the code. I run my hands over the markings and the scratch marks. Who would do this? Was it the person who marked the entry to the doors? Something tells me it wasn’t. Why would they lead me here only to erase the code? Up until know I believed that the person who made the red markings and the black markings were the same person. I feel perplexed and a little enraged that someone would destroy the markings. 

I turn around to make my way back to work, knowing I’ve spent too much time down here already. I am greeted by a blinking light. Small and red. Blink. Beat. Blink. Beat. Blink. Tucked into the shadows of the is a small mechanical box attached to the ceiling. There are wires spilling out of it into the wall. When I step up to the box, I see my reflection within. A look of confusion stares back at me. I rack my brain in attempt to identify the object. Stories of spying and deceit flood my mind. I realize that the object is a camera. That someone might be behind this camera. Horror stories of its use before and during the Great Wars has me questioning why one might be here, under Nexilia, when all technology of the sort has been banned.

The alarm on my watch goes off, telling me it’s time to go back home. I turn, making my way back to the education segment when I hear Joal’s voice behind me. “What are you doing down here Ahas?”

“Joal?” I ask. “Where are you?” Trying to locate the source of his voice.

“I am in my office. Where you should be.” His tone turns sour as he continues. “It’s too bad really. You were one of my favourites. You had a lot of potential. Now that I am thinking about it, maybe even too much. It’s time to go now, Ahas. Nex”

Joal voice cuts off from above and I hear footsteps of guards. Lots of them. Coming from the door with “Placemaker’s Grove”.  I soar down the tunnel. I run back to the education segment. Sweat is beading on my forehead and my mouth goes dry at the sudden realization of what just happened. I make it to my segment when I see guards coming from the direction of the Keep. I run in the other direction, now trying to lose the track of two squads.

My next thought hits me like a brick. I pull all the pieces together. All the codes and the maps. What my life work has meant for Nexilia and why I am being chased. The crushing weight of my burden makes me slow. I have my hands on my knees and I am panting. Grief and realization make me wail. I lose feelings in my knees. It was all a lie. The guards start to gain on me, and their shouts feel like whispers on the back of my neck. I scan my map one last time before putting it in my coat pocket. I start to pick up speed with my newfound determination. Rage floods my veins at the lies I’ve been told and the roll I’ve played in it. The knowledge that they’ll publish volume 36 to perpetuate the lie makes me sick, but I keep running. I run past segment after segment. Running through rings of the outer city getting closer and closer to the Great Wall. 

I start to tire after miles of running but the fear of being caged my whole life outweighs my body’s need for rest. The fear of never being able to experience something new. To not be allowed to be curious. To never be able to create art or taste new food or hear music for the first time. To never be able to try out a new path or try on a different hat. To never experience a story that isn’t a history I know now as false. I run with everything I have in me.

 I throw out a laugh as a door with a gold knob comes into view. It’s labelled “the Great Unknown”. Excitement lights a fire within me, and I start to feel alive. I curl my fingers around the doorknob, but I stop before I open it. Fear clouds my vision, and I suddenly can’t remember why I am doing this. What if what they say is true. What if it really is a toxic place to live? What if there is not quality of life? What if there really is nothing out there. I can hear the guards coming down the tunnel and they’re about 30 steps away. Their faces look panicked. One of them takes out a pair of binding cuffs and I know exactly what they want to do to me. The fear of their prison overrides the fear of the unknown. I make the final plunge. I open the door, step through the threshold, and close the door behind me.