Ethos & Amity

Chapter Four: the Idealist Regains Himself

Attached to the rear of the Museum of the Unison rests a domed addition, an auditorium maintained for the sole purpose of educating the next generation of scholars to scrutinize the past. It exists behind the history, yet ahead of a zoned off area set to be lovingly crafted into an elevated park and reading atrium come summertime. Past ahead. Future behind it. The addition could be said to be wedged in the proverbial present in the scheme of things.

Continuum.

Transparent aluminum is the dome's makeup, a shining emblem coated in warped amethyst solar paneling. Steel frames jut out and around the dome, rising into five spires dotted in holes to take in rainwater. As the chilling rainfall renewed its assault on the surface world, these spires pinged with every drop to hit their metallic surfaces. A soft harmony, playing out above the roof of an educational greenhouse, a set of tinny organ pipes making harmonies while they took in the deluge, funneled it down below the ground where a system of algal layers and mineral sheeting purified and renewed..

Raindrops by the trillion. Plummeting. Making harmonic sounds. Collected. Stored. Filtered. Nature's bounty.

As the rhythm of the climate played out above, the interior of the auditorium lit up. Warm white ambiance illuminated a round wall of carbon fiber railings, balustrades, one after another, rising up almost to the bottom end of the clear gem-colored dome. Between those rails, cushioned black seat behind folding desks, electric charge ports beneath. An elegant aqua carpet brought together the stark black balustrade and seat with the clarity of the white walls with maple wood crown molding. Four electronic horizontal blueboards formed a crescent down on the floor, the center circle of the auditorium. A podium of marble stood alone, ahead of the boards. Softness.

Into this cushion came the students. Some wiped cold from weary eyes, lack of sleep the result of too much study, or an overabundance of socialization. Others sped into the auditorium, brimming with excitement to learn new things, populate unused brain cells with fervent synaptic charges, sensory download, intellectual pursuits. They all wore heavy coats, biopolymers in pastel colors, young persons thinking of spring as they endured the blight of winter. Hands removed hats, caps, scarves monochrome and striped and sat down, filling up the auditorium to await the day's lesson.

Whispers between classmates. Soft smiles. Holographic tablets turned on, plugged in.

Marvus, the historian, strode into the center, sans the coat. He entered like a man on a mission, serious, fierce even.

Bodies still waking up? Perfect!

On the move, he waved hands over the blueboards, trusted the programming he set up before walking in to do its thing. On each board, tiny light beams rose in shades of cerulean, light blue and white. Holographic hard light, tactile and bright. Cities formed from the illumination, each one as distinct from the other as fingerprints were from one person to another. Once they rose, Marv dropped his satchel into a chair and got down to business.

"Ontillad. Masara. Eope. Seemanna. The four cities of the Tetrarchy Coalition. Each one resting on many levels, the ruins of previous incarnations of metropolitan life. Ontillad has the most, at least nine subterranean levels of archaeological amazement at last count. But certainly, you all know this part already." He scanned the auditorium. Faces remained indistinct, eyes hazy.

While he waited for signs of life, the storm cloud, Klavin, altered the climate from sleepy lethargy to static chaos. He wore a slate gray turtleneck and black, creased military pants emboldened by chrome striping down the sides. Down the center of the turtleneck, a blood red stripe of fabric. Black gloves, silver fur at the wrists. His entourage entered behind him, dressed the same save for ebony military jackets and wired earpieces added for security detail. Students began to twitch in their seats, somnambulistic expressions turned foul. Marv could track the disease, negative emotion, spreading across the auditorium, plague of nano-locusts. He felt its intense expression, rather than visualizing its inherent values as his friend Daya could (she being unique in this respect). Heavy, intense barometric pressure. At its center, an emotional void. Klavin, Eye of the Tumult.