Chapter 13: Emmett
The person who experiences greatness must have a feeling for the myth he is in.
― Frank Herbert, Dune
○ Pre-Awakening Era: Oxford, 2000
Athena O’Farrell
62 Sherwood Ave
Abingdon
OX14 5AA
March 5, 2000
My love,
I have ended my time in the mountains. Against your aunt’s protests, I've accepted the position at Oxford to be closer to you. Same lab as Crowley. It should cover expenses while supporting my research into your condition. Stay calm, we’re going to figure this out. I write you this letter from the room where we “met” ten years ago. The whole building is still quite abandoned. Do you remember it? Ivy now grows up the sides.
When I called yesterday, your aunt said you'd gone from peak to trough again. She put you on briefly, but I’m certain you had no idea who I was. Don’t worry, my dear. If I have my way, you will be back soon enough. In the meantime I will recapture our first acquaintance for you:
Your and Crowley’s theatre company (what were you called? The Futurists?) had produced one of those immersive plays that are becoming all the rage nowadays. You put it on in this run-down apartment building a couple miles outside of campus. Marge Schafer and I had walked all the way from Bodleian Library to get there. I was dating her at the time, but things weren’t going well. I ran into her at a conference recently. Would you believe she has a kid now? She named him Ken, after Kenny Rogers. (Yes, really.) He’s barely out of grade school and she’s teaching him PhD-level computer science. That’s Marge for you. Ah, but you already know all this. She said you two still keep in touch. (To spite me???)
Anyway, where was I? The play had been an interactive retelling of your favorite sci fi book, Asimov’s Foundation. Certainly not a novel that I would’ve thought fitting for theatre, but your group pulled it off. It’s been a while since I’ve read the book, but as far as I recall it: The galaxy is in peril, as oraclized by mathematician Hari Seldon. For years Seldon has perfected his science of psychohistory, through which he can predict the course of future events. His prediction is dire: Seldon’s civilization (a solar-system-spanning empire of one quintillion souls) is on the verge of crumbling back into medieval barbarism for 30,000 years, or something like that. Hari Seldon simply won’t have it. The man enacts a plan to shorten the dark age to a single millennium. He will build an institute called "the Foundation.” This institute will not only preserve society’s knowledge, but also evolve the galaxy back to its former glory. Huzzah!
The way your company staged it, the building was divided up into five parts. Each featured one of the book’s sections (these sections followed Seldon’s plan through history).
There was a line stretching outside the door and around the block. The night was chilly enough to see one’s breath. But only a dozen or so were invited in at once. So we all stood out there rubbing our hands together like a parade of the homeless. I remember the door-people wanted to put Marge and I in separate cohorts and Marge said, “You go in, it’s fine. I’ll wait here.” I wonder if you still would have approached me had Marge been on my arm? Probably so. It’s that way of yours I adore. Anyway, Marge choosing to stand out in the cold is true to both history and her personality. (I suppose you’re still fond of her. Maybe someday soon you’ll succeed finally in making me less of a blooming asshole.)
Thus I entered the building at the rear of my cohort, standing on my tippy-toes to catch a glimpse of the action. My group found you there inside a circle of light, the only illuminated thing in the room. No different than now.
You were sitting there in Seldon’s wheelchair (which I would later learn was your wheelchair) all done up as an old man in futuristic attire. Even with your wig and the incredible make-up job from Crowley, I wasn’t fooled. You were the most beautiful woman posing as an old man that I’d ever seen. Also: in general.
You started your monologue about psychohistory and the fate of the galaxy while scanning the audience. (I have to say, I loved Hari Seldon, mathematician of the Galactic Empire, with an Irish accent.) And then, the moment I’ll remember for the rest of my life. Your blue-green eyes scanned past mine and then darted back, locking onto me. It was the most…intent...gaze I’d ever encountered. You began to wheel toward me, unceasing in your monologue. The audience parted to make room for your path, then they looked at me, thinking, “Who is this lucky man?” Meanwhile you continued to stupefy me with that gaze of yours. It was as if you, not Seldon, were telling me that the galaxy was worth saving. I dare say that for all my youthful bitterness, you convinced me of it then.
Yours, until the end of time,
Emmett
p.s. I’m still thinking of baby names. I know. I can’t help it. What do you think of “Astra” ?