Eden Can Wait

Chapter Nine: This Is Not a Journalistic Investigation

The spacious, well-lit room didn’t have the imposing dignity of Tessier’s personal library. It was a plain-looking place, filled with rows of steel shelves stacked with books. A couple of simple chairs suggested that reading was expected to take place somewhere else. But what the library lacked in presence it made up for in substance. Judging by the number of books, the librarians had spared no effort in finding and collecting most books about immortality. At least, that was what I thought until I saw the titles.

There wasn’t a single one I could recognize.

I had always considered myself well-read, but this time I felt like a nine-year-old visiting the Library of Congress. Walking past the shelves full of books, I felt more bewildered with every step. The titles didn’t look even remotely familiar. As if this wasn’t enough, they didn’t seem to have anything to do with immortality. Most of them sounded more like college textbooks.

The Basics of Physics, The Laws of Nature, World’s Literature, Emotions and Their Use, Why We Laugh, The Complete History of Art . . . Some were harder to categorize, but they too were hardly related to longevity. Playing Chess, Winning at Go, Advanced Chess Strategy, The Art of Rhyming, The Book of Origins, Drawing Portraits, Science in the Second Era, How People Communicate. The collection was as flabbergasting as the rest of ESI.

The books where mostly new, though some showed signs of frequent use. A few books looked really used, though their titles were even more cryptic than the rest. Five - Two Days. The Fourth Question. The Dreamer.

By the time I decided to take a book off a shelf I had already concluded that I was not about to come across any familiar titles. The book I was holding in my hands was called Electricity - Twenty. There was nothing special about it—it simply happened to be in front of me when Dennis said, “We have to go soon.”

Like most other books, Electricity - Twenty wasn’t too thick, certainly not thicker than a finger. Its sturdy grey cover felt nice to the touch, and like any well-made book it had a welcoming feel about it.

“Dear readers,” said the first page. “I have decided to put on hold my future inventions in order to write this book. Time has come to give the world a full account of my journey to discover the force that has brought so much comfort into our lives. All of you have been using electricity for a while, but do you know what steps led to its discovery? I have conveyed the story verbally to some of you, but now I want to—”

“Let’s go,” Dennis’s voice said, “You can come here later.”

“Just a moment,” I replied, closing the book and looking at the cover again, in a futile attempt to rationalize the weird text I had just read. No, there was no “Benjamin Franklin” on it. Even if it had been there, there was no way he would have made a claim like this. He had been too modest to claim discovery of electricity, especially in such words. And that title... Electricity - Twenty. What kind of a title was that?

It was time to go, but the temptation to learn at least one more bit was too strong. I picked up another book. It was a dark blue The Book of Origins.

. . . And God created Adam. And God created Eve. And God looked at them and said unto them, “You are life.”

“Five?” called Dennis’s voice again, his tone conveying more than his single word.

“Coming,” I said, returning The Book of Origins to its spot on the shelf and wishing I had picked up another book.

That one was even worse than the Electricity - Twenty. Although the line I had just read sounded like it came straight from the first pages of the Bible, I was pretty sure that it was not to be found anywhere in the Old Testament. So, in addition to a memoir of a self-proclaimed inventor of electricity, I was apparently expected to study a Bible knock-off. No wonder they were so curious about my religious views at the interview.

Dennis was waiting for me at the door. His face expression fully matched the tone of his “Five.”

“Who discovered electricity?” I asked, once we left the library.

Dennis did not seem surprised in the least.

“They’ll tell you in the class,” he replied. “But I think it was Twenty.”

Right. There had been nothing wrong with that title after all. Only with my ability to think logically. Electricity. Written by Twenty. And to be read and enjoyed by Five.

“These books,” I said, irked by my own slowness. “They are all original, right? ESI exclusive?”

“Yes,” Dennis replied, not bothering with further explanation.

“That must have been a lot of work. What for?”

“You’ll learn in the class.”

“Why can’t you tell me now?”

“I’m not authorized to discuss ESI objectives with you,” Dennis said, stopping in front of a door, behind which I could hear muffled voices.

He was getting slightly on my nerves.

“You mean there are things you don’t know?” I clarified.

“I mean there are things you are not supposed to know. And it’s above my pay grade to decide what these things are.”

“You are aware that I’ve signed the contract, right?”

“You’ve signed a training agreement?” Dennis replied with emphasis. “And . . .” his pale gray eyes peered straight into mine, “if you want to sign a real contract, you ought to learn not to ask the same question twice. This is not a journalistic investigation.”

He turned and pushed the door open.

I didn’t argue. Receiving two warnings in a row on my first day at ESI was already bad enough. Especially warnings coupled with unconcealed references to my curiosity. This was not a place to get the reputation of a troublemaker.

The room, at least for a brief moment, gave me a feeling of a return to normality. There was nothing unexpected about it. Save for the lack of windows and the artificial sunlight, the place looked just like a small classroom from my college. Eight tables faced a teacher’s desk, white walls were devoid of any decorations, and a tall bookshelf half-filled with already-familiar books stood in the back. A large projector screen rolled up above a whiteboard behind the teacher’s desk completed the picture.

But it wasn’t just the room. What made me really feel transported back to college days—and to the normal world—were its occupants. There were three of them: two guys and a girl, all about my age.