Slow Time Pyramid

1. Auflage 2025
ISBN: 978-615-82790-4-8
Verlag: PublishDrive
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, Band 5, 229 Seiten

Reihe: Just a story

Just a Story #5 - Time Pyramid

A mother finds the child she lost twenty years ago.
A group chooses to flee from society.
An Empire-criticized by some for being benevolent-faces a challenge. A challenge that, as with humans, becomes a powerful force of character... at least for those who accept it-and survive it.

A question arises: Are we capable of carrying the sins of others?
If so, for how long?
And what happens when a machine begins to remember-as a human does?
Who bears the weight of responsibility that binds generations together?
Questions that open new paths instead of answers.

This is not merely an ending.
This is the meaning of the story.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Slow, L. A.

Weitere Mitwirkende

Kovács, László

Leseproben

1. Three Hours Earlier

Lazzerer really was a beautiful place, Formi admitted to herself, even though she had only unpleasant memories of it. Hardly surprising, considering the last time she’d been here was fifty-four years ago, during the Sector Uprising. Technically, even that was a stretch—she’d been here in name only, serving as a food systems technician aboard the Elmo’s Fire, without any real clue where they actually were. Even if she'd known more at the time, her memories would have gone only as far as the battle against the local space station.

The place wasn’t just beautiful by her own standards—it had earned high praise on every travel and eco-tourism forum out there. Lazzerer’s settlements were made up of towering skyscrapers linked from the sixth floor above ground all the way to their cloud-piercing roofs by suspended bridges. Some of these were open walkways for pedestrians, while others were designed for passenger or heavy cargo transport.

Formi stood on one of the pedestrian terraces, looking down at the jungle sprawling between the buildings, and couldn’t help but admire the urban planners’ work. The recessed spaces in the towers were filled with greenery that echoed the view below—a sight that impressed her too. Whether this lushness was the result of careful planning or something more spontaneous wasn’t easy to tell—it was likely a mix of both. The patches of vegetation were fed by condensation runoff from the buildings’ climate-control systems, giving even these metal giants a surprisingly organic feel.

She took a deep breath of the oxygen-rich air and waved back at a little boy who enthusiastically greeted her from a nearby rising airship. When they finally broke eye contact, she continued on toward the level complex that housed Lazzerer Central University.

Guided by her digital assistant, she soon found herself among a group of young people headed to the same destination. Aside from her own rather conservative style, she didn’t stand out among the other walkers. Her slit miniskirt drew more than a few appreciative glances, which she acknowledged with a proud smile—though in truth, she felt deeply out of place among them.

Lately, the real world seemed to her nothing more than a fleeting spectacle—something she merely observed rather than participated in. She knew nothing was wrong with her—everyone who’d walked the same path had felt that way. Catching snippets of the students’ chatter, she realized they were heading for the same program she’d been assigned to. She found the task uninspiring at best—and that phrase they kept using, “subjective evaluation,” infuriated her every time she thought about it. But she didn’t let it show. In fact, she was already working—listening to the young people’s conversation was helping her spy on them.

"Total bullshit!" declared one guy, his voice ringing with the smug certainty of someone who thought he knew it all.

"Then why are you even going?" another asked.

"Why do you think?" He threw an exaggerated glance at the girl clinging to his arm, who, catching the obvious implication, gave him a playful punch on the shoulder.

"Wilder’s a prophet!" she snapped back defiantly, contradicting the boy.

"Yeah, sure—if ‘prophet’ means the same thing as ‘con artist,’" he shot back with a grin.

"Honestly, the whole lecture is pure infantilism," another kid chimed in.

"Oh right, now’s the part where you say you’re just coming for the three-breasted girls!" teased another girl, pouting theatrically.

"That’s part of the infantilism too!" the first one laughed, with the smug, know-it-all confidence only the immature could muster.

Inside the amphitheater-style lecture hall, the buzz of conversation faded to a hush. Everyone quietly found their seats, waiting for the speaker, who entered at precisely the scheduled time. The room darkened, except for a single spotlight illuminating the stage, where the presenter waved to the audience. He strode in energetically, a young-looking man in a light-colored suit. He casually tossed his jacket over the back of a nearby chair, revealing a snug tennis shirt that hinted at a well-defined physique. He slicked back his slightly punkish hair with easy confidence, pressed his fingertips together, and gave a small bow before facing the crowd.

"Clown," someone near Formi hissed under their breath—and though she didn’t say it aloud, she found herself thinking the same.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Good evening, everyone!" the speaker began, his gestures broad and energetic. "As you may know, my name is Alain Wilder. Tonight’s lecture is titled The World We Live In."

A polite round of applause followed, and Wilder dipped his head in thanks.

"Can you all hear me all right?" he asked, flashing a wide grin—an opening line familiar to anyone who’d attended his talks before. Then came his trademark follow-up: "Even those in the back?"

Laughter rippled through the hall, and he let it fade before continuing. He glanced down at a device in front of him, then back at the crowd.

"I see my request went ignored, as usual. We’ve still got a few of those, shall we say, active data transmitters in the room. I’d like to ask their owners to please switch them off."

As the sound of shuffling came from scattered spots around the theater, he added,

"Thank you, thank you… come on, just those last few… there we go! Much appreciated. Let me explain: this isn’t me being difficult. Tonight’s talk is going to be uploaded to the network in full, with excellent audio and video quality. It’ll be accessible to anyone. That’s how I finance these lectures—and it’s what made it possible for me to come here, to Lazzerer Central University."

He glanced down again, then back up with a knowing look.

"Seems we’ve got close to a hundred-percent student audience tonight, with a few guests sprinkled in."

Leaning forward slightly with a wry smile, he added:

"Not a single instructor among you."

Quiet laughter spread through the room.

"That’s fine, of course, since my talk is largely subjective in nature. I can appreciate that those who pride themselves on hard facts and sober scholarship might not be too interested."

He paused for a beat, visibly surprised, then continued:

"And… I see there are two people here tonight whom I’d very much like to meet after the talk."

This earned another wave of laughter. Wilder flashed a crooked smile.

"Don’t believe the rumors—I’m not talking about three-breasted girls. I hope those involved understand—and accept—the invitation. But as the old executioner used to say—let’s get to it! The World We Live In."

He paused for dramatic effect before resuming, gesturing broadly.

"Everyone here knows the story of how the Galactic Empire came to be, with its government structured as an imperial monarchy. In the classic sense, ours is a monarchical system where a single leader governs the entire state and typically holds every important office personally. That leader is the Emperor. Historically, the institution of empire has always carried strong associations with military dictatorship—and let’s not kid ourselves, in some ways that hasn’t changed. The Emperor is, after all, the supreme commander of every military unit. Some like to call this ‘enlightened absolutism,’ but whatever the label, our current system—fortunately—doesn’t concentrate all economic and political power in one person’s hands. At least, not openly."

He gave a wry smile.

"It’s worth taking a moment to revisit the not-so-distant past. On August 30th, 2491, Emperor II. Hawking was formally introduced and soon after crowned. The backdrop to all this was that his ‘father’"—Wilder made air quotes with his fingers—"had an ‘accident.’ He survived thanks to a species native to the planet Hölle — the Tayffas. Interestingly enough, they hadn’t been on the registry of intelligent species before that noble deed. Afterward, though, they were promptly added—marked with a PROCUL DUBIO note and the Emperor’s personal signature. After that, their loyalty was never in doubt—but since then, almost nothing has been learned about them. Has anyone here ever met a Tayffa? Anyone happen to be one?"

A low murmur spread through the hall, but there was no other response.

"I figured as much," Wilder nodded, sweeping his gaze across the room. "Let me show you something."

He pressed a button, and behind him a three-dimensional image appeared on the translucent display.

"Does this remind anyone of anything?" he asked with a sly smile, pointing at someone who’d raised a hand.

"Is that… a devil?" the surprised young man asked back, his face briefly shown on the large screen.

"Good observation," Wilder said with an approving nod. "A devil—or the devil, depending on your worldview. This is an archetype whose imagery stretches back to the dawn of recorded human history. Of course, it could all be coincidence—but it’s not impossible that a Tayffa somehow visited Earth thousands of years ago, becoming part of our iconography the same way other figures with once-mysterious origins eventually did. Granted, that theory clashes a bit with the idea that they’re a relatively young species,...