When Suzanne woke up, the Sun was already very high in the sky and the rays shone through the curtains of her canopy bed. Her senses were numb and a migraine split her skull. She had not slept since her new capture.

At the feet of the mattress, something moved. “Tom?” she asked, her mind still foggy. There was nothing in response but a howl and a small orange face appeared at her feet. “Lee?” The feline that she had taken for her Harvard roommate’s cat was in search of a caress and he quietly came to rest on the young woman’s chest, purring noisily.

Suzanne was still immersed in her dream, in that infinite space that she roamed every night. The enigmatic figure in the yellow suit and Tom were at the center of each one of her visions. She knew her older lover’s project, and although its details were still taking shape in her head, there was an opaque mystery at its core. A mental barrier that prohibited her from going father. From understanding what all of this meant.

“Ramsès?”

The cat meowed back. She heard a metallic noise; the sound of a blade being placed on wooden furniture.

Suzanne got up from under her sheets. Suddenly, Sileo’s face appeared between the two veiled curtains. He was followed by the smell of baked bacon and mushrooms.

“Have you recovered well? Ramsès—the cat, did he wake you up?”

The cabaret owner wore a pink undershirt and fuchsia pants. His black leather belt was decorated with golden flowers and held his girth with some difficulty. His left arm, that Suzanne was seeing for the first time, was covered in metallic cables running into plunging hoses under his armpit.

“Here I am, am I a captive again? When are you planning to sell me to the closest wet market?”

The young woman was surprised at her own aggressiveness. Erol’s words came back to her mind. Out of the corner of her eye, she searched for a weapon to defend herself in the event that Sileo tried to play even the smallest trick on her. But the archaeologist’s brother remained calm. With a sigh, he took his place at the feet of the bed and Ramsès rushed to join him.

“My brother can be a Dummkopf—a fool sometimes,” admitted his host. “But under his thick shell, he is a good and just man.”

“I am nothing but an expensive museum piece for him. A walking and talking thousand-year-old mummy,” Suzanne retorted.

“You are most certainly the best conserved mommy that I have ever had the pleasure to welcome between these walls!” He smiled and then resumed: “My brother has moved heaven and earth to bring you here safe and sound from the Dammastock. Your constitution is quite impressive, considering everything that has happened to you,” continued Sileo who had read her worry in her eyes.

“Thank him for me the next time you see him. He must be far away by now.”

“He occupies the room right above you, his balcony overlooks your roof. If he has sobered up, he should be getting back into shape. Master Marian has in fact been identified farther to the West, at the border with Francie. In a lawless corner called Trisstiss.”

Suzanne raised her eyes towards the ceiling. A warm breeze ruffled the curtains of her bed. Some ashes seeped into the room. She coughed.

“I hope to count on your trust one day and that Erol might regain yours. That idiot and I have gone through hell together, did you know?” Suzanne distanced herself. Sileo noticed it and with a gesture of his hand, he begged her not to panic. “Concerning Herr Marian. He is most certainly the only person worth talking to in these lands. I think it is important that you meet him.” He cleared his throat. “You might be of great help to us, given our situation. With the Inquisition, for example.” He was obviously waiting for an answer by Suzanne, but the young woman preferred to let him continue. “Afterwards, you and you alone, will decide what you want to do.”

Sileo paused again before getting up. He added what looked like a mosquito net around the biggest window of the room. Then, still in silence, with the ginger cat on his heels, he went to pick up the pitcher of water resting on the wooden dresser. Next to the pitcher, a plate released that sweet smell that had reached the young woman’s nose a few moments before. Sileo filled one of the metal goblets and handed it to her.

“Erol told me that Marian is a technomancer. Do you know what that means? The other lunatic with his nun was talking about it as well.”

Sileo smiled. “You must be familiar with that,” he said, showing his prosthesis. “Mine is in good condition more or less, and they allow us to accomplish astonishing things. This arm, for example, could lift an ostrich.” Sileo flexed his biceps. The limb creaked and spit out a scroll at the level of the elbow.

“Prosthesis and implants were very common in my time.”

“Yes. Only the simplest to maintain survived. Generally Russian or Asian models. Those that improve hearing, strength, or sight sometimes. The surgery often ends up being disastrous—the bionic plague is not pretty to look at.”

Suzanne opted not to learn more about this new type of plague. “What is the link between the implants and the technomancers?”

“The technomancers pushed the vice of add-ons—implants you used to say—further. At one point, some were nothing but cyborgs with any souls. There was a veritable army of them—very powerful warriors—when the world was nothing but ash and fury. It was a bad period, a disastrous era, Suzanne. Things settled down until the powder keg exploded again. After these events, we saw the Foundation blossom, but so did the Inquisition.”

“And Marian is one of them?”

“Yes. It’s one of the reasons why he never left the University. At Renaissance, we are a rather technophile bunch as you might have been able to see. Outside these walls, it’s another story.” Sileo gave a piece of dried meat to his cat. She realized that the cat’s hind paws were mechanical and Sileo tapped them with his fingers. “I was talking to you about the add-ons that improve our senses or physical abilities. Nevertheless, Herr Marian is one of the few who has an add-on—implants, that opens up a new sense or rather … a different realm.”

“Explain yourself.”

Ramsès had come back to rest on her knees. Sileo extended his arms and began to pet him with his natural fingers. “I have trouble putting it into words. Let’s say that technomancers are cyborgs who have access to another world. As if their mind was merged with the heavens.” He squinted. “I am sorry my description must be very confusing.”

“No—not at all.”

“Imagine yourself traveling through time and space at your will. In this ghost realm, you are the king. The god. And you hold the world of mortal beings—this world,” continued Sileo while tapping the bedposts, “in the palm of your hand.”

“I think I know what you mean.”

Was he talking about the guidance systems provided by neural implants? Or was he referring to the net—or the cyberspace beneath that few still controlled in my time. You needed a very particular talent, Suzanne thought.

Sileo had found what he had been looking for. She saw it in his eyes, a spark had suddenly appeared. “Do you possess this gift? I want to say—if a person today could master it—it would most definitely be you.”

Suzanne realized that the history of Marian and the technomancers was very close to Sileo’s heart. “We used to call this: the cyberspace,” the young woman explained to him. “It was beneath the net, an interplanetary communication network. The cyberspace was the realm of corporations and AI.”

“The net, yes—and the data dream called cyberspace … and some humans had access to it? Like the technomancers?”

“Yes. In reality, pretty much everyone had access to the surface—the net. To go any deeper, you needed to—the common term was to ‘dive in.’ Still, even there, in its depths, we could interact a bit. People could burn their wings in that ocean of data.”

“That’s a shame.”

She remembered that her implant allowed her to display an additional interface on top of reality. But, once again, her implant had remained mute.

“It’s for this reason that we used to possess interconnections. Some implants talked with the net, without granting access to the cyberspace. It was more secure for the common folks.”

“This, I know,” Sileo acknowledged. “But the cyber fields are still nothing but an inaccessible dream for a simple improved cabaret owner.” There was sadness in his voice. “You can stay here all the time that you wish to. And my staff of servants is at your disposal.”

“I do not wish to abuse your hospitality, Sileo.”

“You shall pay me back in millennia of beautiful stories. It is with pleasure that I wish to continue this conversation with you.” He finally got up and drew the curtains of the canopy bed.

Suzanne suddenly found herself in a room that was quite different from her old abode. This room was extremely luxurious. There was a desk, some leather chairs, a private bathroom with an immense wooden tub to bathe in. And the walls, the walls were lined with shelves filled to the brim with books.

“As any old work is worth a beautiful discussion, I invite you to take advantage of your rest period to make up for lost time,” continued her host before picking up a book at random from the collection closer to the entrance. “Sherlock Holmes? As you see, some of these tomes date back to well before the catastrophe.”

“That one is much older than I am. Most books during my time were in electronic format—on computers,” said Suzanne.

“Yes, that’s my understanding. Heartbreaking. We have been able to save so few. You will find a few more in the black hard disk in the safety deposit box below the nightstand. I will ask one of my servants to bring you a functioning electronic post. This will most certainly take some days, unfortunately.” Sileo headed for the door and opened it slowly. Suzanne was able to perceive that he would have liked to stay and talk to her. Ramsès took the opportunity to rush outside and the cabaret owner turned again towards her. “They are waiting for me in the kitchens. If you promise not to run away again, we can go back to the market to help you discover something more than this poorly arranged library.” He finally winked at her and disappeared in the corridor.

While getting dressed, Suzanne approached the window sill that looked over an animated street. A gust of those eternal yellow ashes caressed her face. Under its okra veil, the Sun descended towards the West.

After cleaning herself with the little water remaining in the pitcher, she strummed her fingers along the shelves of the largest book case. The books were arranged in various categories. In Science, she could distinguish various treatises on Physics, a work on raising cattle that dated to before the development of protein farms, chemistry manuals, or math journals. The History section counted more collections. They dated back to before the cataclysm, like the complete set on the Napoleonic Wars or a curious dictionary on Bulgarian politicians written in Spanish. Next to the desk stood a smaller shelf with books of fiction and some Japanese comics of dubious taste.

But that wasn’t the funniest thing. Close to the window she found some more shelves, they hid away discreetly and contained a heterogeneous collection. A brass label had been stuck at the very top, marked “Fiction or History.” Clearly Sileo or historians had not been able to settle on the veracity of the information contained in these titles. Suzanne smiled when she saw that some American comic books stood among the least damaged titles.

Finally, she decided to take advantage of the calm afternoon to improve the classification orchestrated by Sileo, since she found absolutely nothing that covered the fragment of time that now separated her from her own era. When she had finished, a servant brought her a plate of cheese, bread, and black vegetables sprinkled with steamed mushrooms. She was happy to no longer see any dried cockroach meat.

Suzanne enjoyed her meal while browsing an old leather-bound title that encompassed the creation of the Foundation. It was written in Italian, but she spoke it fluently.

That is how the young woman employed her time in the upcoming days. Each morning and each evening, the servants brought her something to eat as she studied.

Unfortunately, Sileo’s promise of a new visit to the city was being delayed. The master of the place took advantage of brief moments of pause in his schedule to pay her a courtesy call. He was at first very disappointed to see his collection of comics relegated to the simple ranks of fiction, but nevertheless, he was very satisfied with Suzanne’s work.

Often hurried, the nobleman abused the little time at his disposal to hang out with her. Their conversations were short, but Suzanne had learned to make do with them. She now knew more about the operation of the city and the big disruptions that had driven the region since Armageddon.

To his great regret, even Sileo possessed very little information on this latter. Europe had been at the edge of anarchy. The last days of humanity had been shaken by conflicts and civil wars that had erupted everywhere. Most services had been paralyzed by computer viruses claimed by pirate groups, cyber-activists, and even foreign powers.

The inhabitants of the High-Lands, also called Hautes-Terres, had absolutely no idea what might have transpired on other continents. Nevertheless, from the books available she learned that many refugees from the Orient had escaped a continent turned sterile after what was described as a titanic rain of fire. They had now established coastal cities around the Mediterranean, such as the technocracy of Shandalaar or the free port of Mina Alramal. South and North America had remained silent for a millennium.

Tom. Your magnificent plan, did it fail? Did humanity slaughter itself before your program had a chance to be achieved? she asked herself as she flipped through an archive of newspapers reporting the last events from the land of her memories.

Each sheet had been covered in plastic film. The volume had not been consulted in such a long time that it was already falling apart in certain places, allowing some imprisoned pages to escape. One of the pages was targeted by Ramsès, Sileo’s cat, who was perched at the feet of the bed on the prowl for some catastrophe to provoke.

“Ramsès! That’s enough!” Suzanne cried, snatching the centuries-old page from its claws. The red monster snarled and then left to mope by the window from where drifted the sound of the riots that had agitated the city since the previous days. “Count the stars, Ramsès. At least when you’re over there, I know you won’t be doing anything stupid,” she scolded him, trying to repair the trouble its antics had caused.

Then someone knocked on her door.

“Yes?” Suzanne asked when she did not recognize Sileo’s usual announcement.

A young boy wearing a loincloth entered the room. The child bowed and held out a computer terminal with a mechanical hand.

“Thank you. Do you need anything else? To eat perhaps?”

The child smiled and turned on his heels before disappearing through the door.

“Curious kid,” Suzanne concluded before opening the safe and taking out the hard drive.

The hard drive was very damaged and burned the terminal when she inserted it directly into one of the sockets provided for this purpose. But she did not give up. With her cutlery, she covered the tape handle that clumsily held the computer case together. Then she set about repairing the microscopic connectors. Within half an hour, the hard drive and computer were working perfectly. But without a connection to cyberspace.

The hard drive contained tens of thousands of videos and pictures. The majority were unfortunately pornography or highly corrupted. Suzanne managed to isolate backups of news sites. Some articles talked about European and American politics concerning the fiasco of some negotiations on the climate. Others spoke of some technological progress on the process of cloning and various vaccines meant to counter the multiplication of Asian flu. Finally, a Harvard paper discussed the dangers of AI or transcendence and examined some of the work done by the Lionheardt Corporation.

Intrigued, Suzanne clicked on the hyperlinked text concerning the subject. Her field of view was covered with a black veil, like she had suddenly become blind. The video launched immediately at the corner of her eye while several lines of information slid from right to left. Her temporal implant had finally restarted and it took her a few minutes to get used to it again.

How lucky! This means the internet is definitely still active!

A man that she recognized instantaneously appeared in the clip. Under his yellow suit, the man with the ebony skin, the mysterious visitor of her dreams, beamed with happiness as he stood next to a bunch of scientists in their lab coats. They were not smiling.

There was also another white man in the clip, he was tall and very thin. His protruding cheekbones emphasized his purple eyes. He looked like Jéricho, except much younger. Which made no sense since Tom’s right-hand man was a robot.

Behind them loomed the immense concrete logo of the Lionheardt Corporation and farther still stood at the entrance to a compound. A compound located underneath a mountain that her interface identified as the Dammastock. Where Erol had discovered her. The center of Josias-01.

Now connected to the network, Suzanne sent a request to search Lionheardt’s database. The cyberspace stalled for a few minutes but was unable to obtain anything. Her access codes were refused and nothing mentioned the Josias under the Dammastock.

Still, it was a good start and Suzanne cracked a smile at this burgeoning hope. She could now begin some more in-depth investigations. Finally, she could look for Tom.