Chapter Text
-The First Night-
The Archivist watched. The Archivist listened.
The children played in front of her. They played about the various implements of metal piping jutting from the cushioned ground and artificial moss. They played underneath the uniform-brightness blue-white glass sky. They played as they laughed and moved their faces and shook their heads and waved their hands and arms, pushed and tugged on each other, and as they fell and rose again. They played as the sounds of their laughter and the sounds of their bodies rose into the air and mixed with the low hum that was the heartbeat of the Arcology.
The Archivist watched them every day. Every day, at this time, she would be sitting on the steps in front of the playground of Primary School #2, Lake Superior Arcology. She was ten years old then.
The Archivist saw him approach. He waved at her and smiled. He must have been one of them, another child, maybe like her. Every day, he sat on the steps in front of the playground next to her. Every day, he would speak to her, as if they were friends.
The Archivist averted her gaze from him, as she always did. The Archivist listened, as she always did.
"Hey. You know something? I had a dream last night. It was about you finally saying something to me. I always hate dreams. It's like not being able to tell what's real and what's not. It just feels really bad, you know?"
"Anyway, why won't you ever talk to me? You talk in class, right? I've heard you speak before. Do you only talk when you have to?"
#Therapist> I find it interesting that you always refer to your friend as "he". Wasn't "he" a girl?
#Therapist> No, actually he wasn't. You refer to these two people in the same way, as if they're both the same person. I don't quite get it, but it's interesting.
He stopped speaking. The Archivist didn't stir. She did not speak.
"Well, I guess I won't wait for you to say something. You're not getting up and running away, so you must be enjoying my company, right? Haha, right? Well, at least you listen to me. You're not like any of those other kids. You're better than them, right? Haha."
He was silent for the rest of the recess. He remained next to her. The children continued to play. The Archivist continued to listen. She did not watch anymore.
---
-The Second Night-
The Archivist watched. The Archivist listened.
It was the first time she met her companion. She was perhaps ten years old. He was the same.
They met on the Perimeter, the road encircling the top layer of Lake Superior Arcology, at the only place where the Archivist could see through the canopy to the forest wastelands a fifty stories below. It was a few blocks and a few levels up from the State Home where she lived. It was a place she occupied at the same time, every day, ever since she had a memory.
The Archivist stood on the railing, looking down at the metallic slope of the arcology descending onto the thin arc where it met with the milky white of the canopy. Right above was a transparent sliver, through which the Archivist could see green shades and brown shapes. She stood, watching the shapes in the crevice dance in and out of the thin line of her vision.
It was 4 PM. Summer, but the climate of the arcology never changed. It was the beginning of the time when adults would leave their workplaces on the top layer and return to their homes in the warrens below. The Archivist could hear the low hum of the monopole trains no more than a block away. She could hear the buzz of the elevators shunting beneath her feet, and the walkways with their patter of footsteps and that omnipresent metallic hum. The Perimeter itself was almost empty. Built as more of a long observation deck than anything else, only the Archivist stood in this section of the road.
The Archivist felt a tap on her shoulder. She jumped against the railing before turning around and seeing him. The Archivist saw the face of a boy, maybe her age. He laughed, and began to speak.
"Hey, no need to be scared, okay?"
The Archivist watched him.
---
-The Third Night-
The Archivist watched. The Archivist listened.
She had to, for it was a lecture at her school.
Some had wanted to call it the War for Humanity. That was decided to be a bad idea, because the side comprising "Humanity", their side, was the losing side.
---
-The Fourth Night-
The Archivist watched. The Archivist listened.
The Archivist never spoke.
No, that was wrong. She had spoken before, when she was forced to. Now that she was no longer being forced to, she never spoke.
---
-The Nth Night-
The Archivist watched. The Archivist listened.
Humanity had just been on the brink of extinction, and the first act of the founders of Lake Superior Arcology was to found a university.
#Historian> That's wrong, actually. Their first act was to ratify the Constitution. You should know your history better. Actually, they didn't even create the university. It was forced upon them by the Coalition.
They had placed the university in the center of the city, underneath a great dome of glass through which barely filtered light from the sun entered. It was the one place in the arcology where one could see the distinct sun, and it was rumored to have correspondingly higher cancer rates.
The Archivist watched the crowds pass by. Some of them cast glances at her, looks laden with meaning that the Archivist was incapable of deciphering. Perhaps they were wondering why she was standing idly in the middle of the hallway during the time between classes. They looked upon her as if she were a part of the scenery that did not belong.
If the Archivist could care, she did not. She listened to the footsteps, the rustlings of clothes, the voices. She was waiting for her companion.
Her companion arrived as the crowds died down.
"Hey!"
Her companion shouted at her.
---
-The (N+1)th Night-
The Archivist watched. The Archivist listened.
No, that's wrong. There was no Archivist. There never was an Archivist.
No, that's wrong too. I am the Archivist. The Archivist is me. I am me.
Am I?
#Therapist> You finally did it! I'm so proud of you!
#Historian> As they said in the early 21st century, LOL.