It is either Commander Nkem agrees that two hundred prisoners should be jettisoned to prolong Orun’s life support system span or endanger over two thousand denizens. Councillor Jiya has presented an argument supporting the former, claiming this was the only way for them to increase their chances of survival, by choosing a lesser evil. Nkem sees more than half of the council nodding as he finishes explaining his perspective. And this terrifies her. Her gaze shifts to Jiya who is opposite her at the oval table around which they all sit. Since he was the one who brought up the idea, she directs her resistance toward him.
“These are human lives, Jiya. They have families dreaming of their freedom. And some of them were jailed for light offences.”
“I know it feels barbaric but it is the only way. They will be collateral for everyone’s else survival,” Jiya says.
“It doesn’t feel barbaric. It is barbaric.”
“So do you prefer that we all die? Commander, in this condition, Orun can’t float two years more in space. Letting them go will give us some additional months.”
“But we are not certain we’ll find a solution within that frame of time.”
“Only that the probability of doing so will increase. This is the best option we have at the moment. Unless you have another?”
The other members of the council stay silent, observing. The two butted heads in almost every meeting they had, so, this isn’t strange.
“No, I don’t.” Nkem sighs.
“Then the council should vote and decide our fate,” Jiya says holding Nkem’s gaze.
Nkem looks away and glances at the faces at the table. There are twelve of them, each a representative of their faction. Nkem knows the majority will favour survival over morality. So as Jiya makes to state a motion, Nkem cuts in.
“Give me three days. Three days and I will present a better option.
Jiya doesn’t hide his glare. “And if you don’t?”
Nkem lets a sheath of confidence glaze over the fear in her eyes. No one must see through her bluff. “Then we go with your proposition.”
Later that day, Nkem paces the length of her room while she waddles through a quagmire of thoughts in her mind. She stops and turns to a shelf on her side. The shelf carries her collections: a few rare paper books, a holographic globe displaying earth’s seasons, abstract metal sculptures and a small humanoid music bot with a loose jaw. She flicks a switch at the bot’s nape and its eyes light up and jazzy saxophone sounds pour out from its speaker of a mouth. Nkem walks to the wide window at the end of the room and stares out through its transparent glass at space. She can see on the horizon a glowing nebula, a splash of green-yellow-orange. Normally, jazz plus the wondrous spectacle of outer space is enough to inspire and uplift her. But she still feels weighed down with doubt and dread. The nebula though reminds her of her deceased lover, Wanga. He used to tell her being around her made his mind into nebulae. With his rich sense of humour and exceptional skill of picking stars out of empty night skies, Wanga would have found a way to make her feel hopeful if he were around. When the pressure of pre-election pandemonium got to her, it was Wanga who reminded her how she had been an award-winning head prefect in college. Then he’d click on a classical music bot and they’d sway to an Olaposi or a Beethoven. And Nkem would feel all the weight on her mind dissipate. Nkem had imagined he would stand by her throughout her tenure, cheering her on tough days. But a day before the election, Wanga had rushed into a crumbling faction to save a little girl and got a metal splinter drilled into his side. And life had bled out of Wanga before an ambulance arrived. Nkem’s heart quaked into dust on receiving the news. Winning the election the next day did not move her. Encapsulated in a casket of grief, she sank deep into despair. She had mumbled through her swearing-in ceremony after which she refused to step out of her apartment. Until Jiya visited her with a small basket of fruits.
“Aren’t you tired of garnering pity?” Jiya had said as he sat on a sofa she’d offered him.
Nkem was taken aback as this statement contradicted the fruit basket gesture. She paused and then said, “What?”
“I mean, you have locked yourself up for some time while your office suffers. You’re yet to hold your first council meeting. You should act like you deserve the people’s choice.”
Nkem was spellbound. Of course, she should have seen through the shenanigan. Jiya had been her unrelenting rival and frenemy since college. He wouldn’t change now.
Jiya continued, “Do you know rumours are starting to spread that people had voted for you out of pity because of Wanga’s martyrdom?”
“You should leave, Jiya.” Nkem shot up from her seat.
Jiya sprang up immediately as if he’d expected this reaction. “Orun needs a commander. And I’m–“
“Get out of my home!” Nkem stormed to the door and opened it.
Immediately Jiya stepped out, and Nkem threw the fruit basket after him. And the door slid shut. Nkem caught a cloudy reflection of her face on the door’s sheen. Her long face seemed longer. Her eyes were red and swollen. Her hair dishevelled. She didn’t recoil at this unrecognizable creature she was looking at. Instead, she steeled her demeanour and marched into her bathroom, shaved her head, took a bath and wore a flowing blue gown. That evening, she called for the first council meeting.
A peal jolts Nkem out of her reverie. It comes from the pendant on her chest which also starts flashing red. She touches it and there is silence again and the oval-shaped pendant returns to its usual translucent state. Red colour and a blare mean she is needed in the navigation room. Her anxiety spikes. She wonders if the navigating system has paused again or if they are encountering the foreshadowed meteor shower. She dashes out of her room just as the music from her music bot crescendoes.
In the navigation room, the head pilot shows Nkem the picture of a ship floating immobile in their path.
“Point the grand telescope at it, Ali. We need more details.”
The head pilot clacks some keys and the object is zoomed into. Embossed lettering of “The Third Eye Manifester” becomes visible on the hull.
Nkem gasps. Orun has been flying through space for centuries with a route, locked in on the navigator system by the ancestral residents. No one knows where to but the council over decades has propagated the narrative that they are headed for an Earth-like planet at the other side of the galaxy. Nkem wonders if this has always been their destination.
When they are close enough to transmit, Nkem speaks into the radio to make contact.
“Hello, Third Eye Manifester. This is Orun. My name is Nkem, the commander. Please introduce yourself.”
After about a dozen transmissions and no reply, it dawns on Nkem that the ship is empty. Nkem then decides to lead a scout to inspect it.
The scout’s carrier latches onto the ship’s dock with ease. They alight onto an enclosed platform and march to the door before them. Assuming the ship’s operating system is like theirs, Nkem presses some buttons by the door and is surprised when the double door draws back in a whirr to reveal a fluorescent lamp-lit passage. It is silent as space. Others gather behind her and peer in. One of them asks if they should return to Orun and Nkem answers by crossing over. As she does, a loud beep erupts from somewhere deep inside. Unfazed, she draws out her firearm from her holster, aims forward and advances. Her team follows suit. They tread through the passage till they find an empty control room, then a vast living quarter with bunkers and blank screens. They are following the sound and it is getting louder. When they reach another locked door, thicker and wider than all the doors they’ve seen so far, Nkem asks the team to ready their weapons in case they encounter something deadly behind. And this door like others has no password too. On sliding open for them, the beeping stops. In front of them is a massive machine in the shape of an octopus, but with sixteen tentacles. There are pods at the end of each arm and one at the centre. Nkem reads off one of the arms “URA 444”. Suddenly, a voice blares from the walls, startling. A voice frail with urgency and wistfulness.
“We saw the degradation of Earth coming, from the drastic climate change that led to the nocturnal era to the failed colonization of Mars, to extraterrestrial wars… We found that our only chance was to recreate Earth. So we developed a consciousness-infused technology that could alter reality, the Ultimate Reality Alterer. But we didn’t foresee the potential for the machine to manifest the unconscious too and because of the trauma ingrained in our DNA, we couldn’t successfully recreate Earth. We needed to heal before we could achieve this. So my crew was sent into space to master the URA away from earth’s terrors and return later for recreation. But because of my deep-seated existentialism, I had unconsciously nurtured something that might cause us to fail. And if you are listening to this, it already happened, an unravelling of my imagination that every human vanishes so that suffering will end. It also means my hope that the effect isn’t universal is realized. And you might be humanity’s only chance for continuity. The Ultimate Reality Alterer 444 requires a perfect imaginator at the centre pod. You will find a manual to guide you inside. Please be careful and only allow the purest imaginations.”
As the message ends, Nkem advances towards the head pod, which just like others, looks like a glass cocoon. The curvy door glides in and a swirl of cloudy air wafts out. Nkem registers an almost hypnotizing effect of the scent. There’s a chair-like gear inside on which sits a semicircular chip. She picks it and just as she whirls, the chamber hums close. Before she orders that they return back to Orun, Nkem makes every officer swear an oath of secrecy about their discovery.
Back on the ship, Nkem calls an emergency meeting to brief the council about the machine. Images of URA 444 and descriptions of its parts are displayed on the oval tabletop. The lighting lights up the awe expanding on everyone’s face. Despite their unparalleled technological knowledge, this looks like magic to them.
“This is another option for us, we can recreate and teleport to earth.” Nkem swipes an image of Earth onto the oval screen.
Silence.
“How exactly does this thing work?” Councillor Jiya breaks the silence. He is opposite Nkem as usual. His signature large grey turban sits on his head and the gemstones on his many rings sparkle.
“It’s a technology thought to be lost forever. It surfaced around earth’s nocturnal era. As I said, it is based on the quantum quality of the observer altering the observed. What we need now is to start training imaginators towards precision and psychological purity.” There’s a hint of excitement in Nkem’s voice. She swipes at the tabletop again and new images rush in. They are spectacles that seem to be made of crystals. Hundreds of them.
“What are these?” the woman beside Nkem asks before leaning forward to try to read some inscriptions on one of the spectacles. Some of her dreadlocks fall over her face.
“These are Simulatrixes. The manual revealed they can be found in a container on the ship,” Nkem says and points at a single one which rapidly enlarges to take up all the space on the screen. “They are advanced virtual reality tech used in training for perfect imagination. It’s like a game where you can conjure anything depending on mental graphic capacity. And the quality of the reality created is proportional to the purity of imagination.”
Some eyes are gazing at the image while others follow Nkem’s lips.
“And you think we can just trust this?” Jiya says.
“It’s a better option than killing hundreds of people in order to extend the ship’s lifespan.”
“I don’t trust this tech. No one was even on the ship. That’s just eerie and ominous,” Jiya says.
“I will use the Simulatrix first to ascertain safety! If I survive, then we trust the technology.” Nkem’s voice shoots through the air.
The man beside Jiya holding a staff starts, “But…”
And Nkem sighs and cuts in, “This is the only way. It’s our only chance.” While her shaved head bows, all the eyes in the room exchange looks, prying one another for agreement.
Finally, Jiya says they will go with the technology after Nkem tries it. “I hope you’re right and it’s safe.”
Nkem scoffs to herself. Jiya does not hope she is right. She’s sure he wishes the simulatrix destroys her mind so that he can take her place.
A voice plunges into Nkem’s mind, “But what do we tell the people about the new ship?”
Nkem does not find out who said it when she raises her head smirking. “We should tell them it’s an abandoned junk ship that we can salvage for spare parts. The truth will be too jarring.”
As no one speaks after her, she calls for adjournment of the meeting.
The next day, Nkem puts on a simulatrix before the council. Jiya first appears in her mind, but with his mountain of turban pressing his head into his neck. Then a faint image of Wanga materializes. His pointed nose keeps widening and shrinking. A birthmark shifts from above his right eye to the left and then back. And his eyes are a colour caught between black and brown, almost a blur. Only his spiky hair and dark complexion are stable. Nkem’s breath quickens. It’s only been four years and she’s forgetting Wanga’s image. She imagines his soft-spoken voice, remembering the last words he said to her. “I’m sure you’ll win against Jiya again. It’s only natural.” But he sounds like her instead, like her perpetually strained voice. She jerks off the simulatrix from her head. The council search her face. They have seen everything projected on the tabletop.
“Wow! Wow! This is unbelievable!” Nkem laughs nervously.
The council members share glances, nodding, except for Jiya whose rigid gaze is fixed on the gadget Nkem is holding.
Nkem trains the recruited imaginators herself. They study the contents in the chip together and get better at crafting realistic mental images each day. Nkem quickly becomes friends with one of the recruits, Irebawa, a quanta-neurologist with an exceptional understanding of the URA. One afternoon, after training, Irebawa requests a moment with Nkem. They stay back in the training room which is dimly lit with blue light, each sitting on two of the stretchers in the room.
“I have a suggestion, Commander. It’s been months now and we haven’t attained a hundred per cent imagery clarity,” Irebawa says, then pauses.
“So?”
“My daughter Wuraitan is a wonderful storyteller and she paints the vividest of images. I think we should test her.”
“First, I hope you haven’t shared this project with her or your husband?”
“No, not at all. I’m on oath.”
“Okay. I’ve been meaning to ask because you talk a lot about them.” Nkem smiles. “Next, I appreciate your concern. But I can’t allow your daughter participate. She’s still young. You said she’s only thirteen. She might jeopardize the stealthiness of the operation. And I can’t risk that.”
Irebawa nods in agreement. They go on to chat a while about the technicalities of the Simulatrix before leave the training room together.
A few months later, Nkem declares they are ready to create and jump. She selects sixteen imaginators with clarity above ninety per cent. She has the highest score of ninety-five so she’ll lead the operation. To explain what could happen to the denizens, the council announces that they’d encountered an anomaly in the junk ship which may possess space warping properties for teleportation. And a curfew is imposed for safety.
On the day, each imaginator enters their assigned pods. They begin inputting their imagination, all continuously overlapping and merging before them to create a floating planet, first with sixteen moons. Then eight, four, two… Now they start zooming into the planet, with the aim of reaching the atmosphere where they can conjure the images of the two ships. This is when focus becomes unsteady, as the mental energy of the participants is drained. So before they reach Earth’s lower atmosphere, the ships take form. Feeling the drastic drop in energy, Nkem quickly affirms the manifestation. And she blacks out.
About an hour later, Nkem groans awake. The door to her pod is already opened as that of the others. Still feeling quite disoriented, she comes out and goes round to stir the rest awake. And they all head outside.
When Nkem sees sand on the ground, she manages a chuckle and increases her pace. Other imaginators follow behind more slowly. She puts off her shoes. The sand feels smooth under her feet. There’s an endless mass of water before her with tides running back and forth the shore. Farther on her side, beyond Orun, is a lush forest. The sky is a vast expanse of blue. The sun feels warmer than the ship’s artificial sun but it doesn’t burn. The light is brighter too, so Nkem shields her eyes with her arm. She turns excitedly to observe her companions and finds some of the imaginators look more feeble than thrilled. Just then, Jiya arrives with a bunch of medics behind him. Rather than the excitement, Nkem had hoped will be on his face, she meets indifference.
“Because the ships manifested too high, we crashed and suffered casualties. Thirty-three deaths including Councillor Tarfa, and maybe there’s more. I’ve directed the medical team to attend to the gravely injured,” Jiya says.
Nkem’s triumphant demeanour crumbles. The medics rush to help three people who just collapsed behind her.
“I told you this was dangerous,” Jiya says.
Nkem sighs and mutters, “More would have died had we stayed instead.”
She walks to where the unconscious imaginators are being tested by the medics. “I appreciate that you swiftly sprang up to action, Councilor Jiya. Now, while we cater to the hurt, we shouldn’t waste time testing for potential geo-hazards. According to records, Orun’s ancestral residents left earth unstable, with constantly shifting tectonic plates.”
Another group of people arrives consisting of the remaining councillors and relatives of the imaginators.
“Irebawa!” A man screams, his eyes on one of the bodies the medics are treating. He leaves the wheelchair he’s pushing and darts forward. The girl in the wheelchair starts sobbing. Nkem realises that they are Irebawa’s family. At the same time, a councillor breaks to the front shouting that he can’t find his daughter. Jiya is quick to hold him back as he aims at Nkem.
“We’re going to find her, Councillor Madu,” Nkem says, a slight tremble in her voice threatening to betray her optimism. “Everything is going to be alright.”
By noon, the geo-scientist team returns from their survey with a deadly reading on their Geo-hazard Oracle. A super tsunami is gathering momentum in the belly of the ocean which is predicted to strike at sunset. On hearing the report, Nkem can no longer hide the horror on her face. She waves the geoscientists away from the meeting room so that the council can discuss the next line of action. They barely reach the entrance before Jiya’s outburst.
“We have to evacuate the ship and go as far into the forest as we can.”
“What if we don’t have enough time? The scale of the tsunami as we’ve heard is terrifying. We can try to use the URA again.” A trickle of sweat rolls down Nkem’s hairless head to her chin.
“The same Third Eye Manifester or whatever brought us here for this calamity and you are asking us to trust it again?
“We even lost a councillor because of it. And no one knows if Councillor Madu’s daughter will wake up. The machine requires blind faith and is not safe. Our consciousness is unreliable as an input means.”
Councillor Madu hits his staff on the floor. “I agree with Councillor Jiya. We must abandon the ships and flee before twilight comes with disaster.”
Many of the councillors nod at this. Nkem is still silent.
“We have the machines to make our path and our military arm will be with us to protect us from beasts,” the councillor with dreadlocks says.
“We can’t leave.” Nkem straightens her hunched back. “With that kind of reading, we will likely not outrun the waves’ reach because we are too many. Plus there are our prisoners too. But with the machine, we might stand a chance.”
Madu speaks, his hand gripping his staff so tight that his veins bulge, “What will you do now? Teleport us near an active volcano? Or in the eye of a hurricane? Besides, all your imaginators are exhausted, including yourself. It’s conspicuous in the heaviness of your eyelids you struggle to keep open.”
“We shouldn’t leave,” Nkem says.
“We don’t have time for arguments. We’ll cast a vote and settle this,” Jiya puts his hand on the pendant of his necklace which every one of them has on. “Press your pendant if you agree that we leave,” he says and presses his.
Nkem fixes her eyes on the tabletop where the result is displayed. There are seven votes out of the eleven Councillors present.
“It is settled. We leave,” Jiya announces.
“I am staying!” Nkem says.
“You cannot overrule the votes, Commander Nkem.” Madu lashes her with his eyes.
“I know. That’s why we’ll let the people decide. We are going to reveal everything to them. Whoever decides to leave can leave afterwards. But I am staying with anyone who understands my reasoning.”
The public address comes immediately after the meeting with every screen on the ship lighting up to show the council meeting room. Nkem, standing in front of the council, reveals the secret of teleportation and how they could use it to prevent the looming danger from the ocean. After which Jiya comes forward to argue that they need to evacuate the shore for the forest. He ends with, “Commander Nkem will allow anyone who wants to join me to leave. So leave your factions’ public hall now, go and get what is essential and gather behind Orun in twenty minutes. The wounded and unconscious will be carried in vehicles. We don’t have time. We should hurry!”
Within fifteen minutes, the back of Orun is flooded with hundreds of people, each with a small bag flung over their shoulders or on their heads. It’s past noon and shadows have begun stretching. The forest lies enticing before them, with navigator vehicles already creating paths inward, clearing shrubs and felling small trees. Jiya praises the people for their bravery and gives a short speech before declaring they can forge ahead. Then they pour into the forest.
Behind them is Orun and the junk ship glistening in their brokenness, and the ocean’s deceptive calmness.
Nkem watches Jiya and his followers leave on the council meeting room’s CCTV. If she doesn’t allow this, she will be tagged a tyrant. Jiya has finally got his wish to lead. Their feud of perspectives over the years has fettered into this breakdown in her governorship. She thinks of Wanga. If he were alive, she would feel more courageous than doubtful of the decision she has made.
A man pushes in a wheelchair. The squeaks of the wheels draw Nkem’s attention to the present. She wipes off a streak of tears on her face and turns with a smile.
“You asked for us, Commander,” the man says.
“Yes, yes. I’m very thrilled you didn’t decide to leave.”
“I won’t be able to stay with Irebawa’s body in the vehicle. And our daughter doesn’t want to be crammed into a carrier for the differently abled.”
Nkem walks over to them. She recognizes the girl now from the news years ago. She’s the girl Wanga had saved.
“You must be Baba and Wuraitan. Irebawa told me a lot about you two.”
“Yes, Commander,” Baba says.
Wuraitan looks up at Nkem. “I never got the opportunity to tell you how sorry I am about Officer Wanga. I’m alive because of him,” she says. “I still remember the soft smile on his face telling me to trust him. I’m alive because I did. And now I trust you.”
“Thank you so much. That means a lot to me.” Nkem kneels before her and squeezes her hands gently.
“May I know why you have called us here, Commander?” Baba asks, impatient.
Nkem stands, “Yes. Irebawa once told me about the possibility of Wuraitan being capable of attaining one hundred per cent imagery clarity.”
“I don’t understand you,” Baba pulls back the wheelchair to himself.
Nkem goes to pick a simulatrix from the oval table. “It’s a measure of the purity of imagination. Attaining a hundred percent will make one a perfect imaginator for the URA.”
“Not my daughter too, Commander. Irebawa is already in a coma because of this and now you’re asking my daughter to join you?”
“I just need to confirm if she can do it. This is not the URA. It’s only a simulating device.”
“And if she scores a hundred? What happens next?”
“I—”
Wuraitan cuts in. “Please let me try, Baba.” She looks up at Baba’s stony face pleadingly. “Pleeease.”
“Alright, but only a minute and I’m yanking that thing off your face.”
Nkem puts the simulatrix over Wuraitan’s eyes and asks her to imagine a massive wave at the shore curving towards the ocean. Then she goes to the oval table to watch the display. On the screen is a wave rising to the sky, so perfect in composition and detail one won’t believe it’s animated. Nkem quickly checks her score and sees ninety-nine per cent. She gasps looking at Wuraitan. Baba quickly pulls off the simulatrix from Wuraitan’s face.
Nkem runs to kneel before Wuraitan again, breathless. “The Third Eye Manifester requires a perfect imaginator at the centre pod. And you, you attained the highest score yet. You can save us all.”
“No, no, no.” Baba shakes his head. “Wuraitan is not going into that weird junk ship.”
The remaining councillors enter the room. The woman in front reports that they’ve brought what’s left of their factions to the central hall. Nkem nods, then shares her discovery with them. Baba is already wheeling Wuraitan out against her wish.
“We will all die if I don’t try Baba!” Baba stands still at the entrance. Wuraitan continues, “The least we can do is try. I’m sure Irebawa would have wanted me to try. You have to believe in me. I’m strong enough.”
Baba exhales deeply and turns back. The council’s eyes are on him, waiting. He nods his consent and Nkem places a palm over her chest in relief.
The sun is sinking on the horizon. Wuraitan is inside the central pod of the URA. Nkem, the seven imaginators left after the crisis and departure and new untrained volunteers take the tentacles. Nkem instructs them to focus on creating a massive wave to counter the force of the coming tsunami, to shatter its impact energy. Everyone else is in the central hall on Orun, hoping, some pacing, some hand-holding. The tsunami comes exactly when expected, a roaring terror. And they are all standing before it, watching its height towering, threatening to devour all in its way. They collectively create mirror images of the tsunami, which merges and arches to oppose it. A deafening blast thunders through the air. Splashes rain like a deluge on the ships for minutes. No one goes unconscious this time.
When the imaginators come out of the junk ship hours later, the central hall crowd is waiting for them outside, cheering. Nkem gives a speech, praising the people’s faith and valour. Afterwards, she grabs a bottle of wine from the crates people have brought out to celebrate and finds her way to the back of Orun. She takes a swig as she sits. She stares at the forest, wondering how Jiya and his followers are faring at the moment. She gulps down more wine and gazes up at a full moon. Her peripheral sight catches a head with spiky hair, so she glances sideways. But there’s no one else with her. She thinks it must be because she saw an apparition of Wanga in the URA. Now she wonders why that happened for she didn’t even think of him.
Then over the cacophonies of celebration from the other side streaming into her ears, she hears, “Congratulations Nkem.” And it’s not in her perpetually strained voice. It is soft-spoken like Wanga’s. She flinches and her eyes scramble about for the source in the deepening darkness. Again there is no one. Somewhere high in the sky, a wisp of cloud shifts to reveal another moon, a thin crescent almost invisible to the eye.
