Mnesium II - Exile

What happened previously: a psychiatrist visits his most important patient, seemingly suffering from some rare type of autistic condition, while all kinds of strange phenomena take place, including a complete disturbance of deep space objects. It turns out his patient is a member of a collective entity that mentally unites those who share the same condition. Finally, he broadcasts a telepathic message explaining that all human beings will be shifted to another type of reality monitored by the Collective, and invited to become members of it, if they want to.

“But who is this 'One' you talk about, Damien?”¹ The sequence of phonemes was unrecognizable, but the layout of the concepts they had represented appeared with enough clarity, in spite of this memory's timeworn state. Bribes of melodies played on a strange instrument, rather refreshing in fact, brightened up the rest of this blend of heterogeneous impressions. Anxiety, surprise, vertigo, fear. But a certain relief as well.

“This is a world wide telepathic broadcast,”² he managed to discern. Difficult to be any more pompous. The big head, that's really not from yesterday, uh? he thought.

- Jason, please, spare us your sarcasm.

The thought presented itself to his mind just as any other, but it didn't come from inside. A rather commonplace phenomenon in a collective entity within which individuals had the possibility of connecting their psychic experience in a live stream. He could have tried to trace the exact source of this telepathic message, but he had no reason to make this effort. Anyway, it was obviously enough to think in order to answer this interlocutor.

- Eh, leave me alone. Nobody asked you to come breathe down on my neck, so if my reflexions dissatisfy your little mental ease, no-one will stop you from going take a hike.

Jason knew that this attitude would sooner or later bring him trouble. But he couldn't refrain from rebuffing such you brain constipated couch potatoes when he had an opportunity. He activated his mental firewall, which caused the disconnection of all his followers at once. He was allowed to do that from time to time, but never for very long.

He applied his mind again to the contents of the memory unit he had come here to examine. Its state of natural deterioration indicated it dated back to several cycles of the Collective's climaxes and anticlimaxes. Laboriously, he retrieved one last sentence he could not make any sense of before concluding he wouldn't extract anything more conclusive from this unit. He severed the connection by removing his hand from the membrane. The cell he had just scanned looked slightly invigorated, which, as an ancient memories lover, made him give a hint of a smile. He surveyed the rest of the wall, in search of another cell sporting one of the specific shades of green he was looking for. But this alveolus didn't show anything unusual, apart from the ubiquitous affluence of decaying units, whose worrying number multiplied every day.

- Pleasure is happiness. Let no one prevent me from enjoying whatever I want whenever I want it.

The thought had imposed itself to him. It was one of those annoying buzzes which disrupted the network ever more frequently. That one squarely passed through his firewall. This meant it had a viral component and indicated a criminal origin. Jason concentrated on the underlying psychic impressions to identify a signature he then used to elaborate a ping he sent to the entire Collective. He got response from a colleague's subconscious who was busy being massaged, and added him right away to his black list of occasional spammers. He sent another series of pings on the network to get a topography of this buzz' replications in real time. Judging by the number of affected members of the Collective, this meme was having a broad success.

- Happiness is only real when shared.

The altruist antidote-slogan, contrived ad hoc in a hurry by the department in charge, arrived once again too late. At this stage, a large number of psychologically vulnerable members of the Collective had already suffered in their deep subconscious a damage that would be difficult to repair. The only answer the system could bring to it was an intensification of heterocentric propaganda. This kind of egotist attacks aiming at destabilizing the Collective's cohesion by exacerbating its members' individualist impulses was becoming ever more frequent. Rumor had it for that matter that they came from outside.

Leaving this train of thought behind him, Jason resumed his navigation in a marine mammal fashion, with a simple undulation of the spine. As he came out from the cavity, the perspective on the symbolic space that appeared in front of him would have had enough to baffle a neophyte: on one side, the multitude of contiguous alveoli accommodating the fields of kindred memories; on the other side, a network of fractal passageways opening on expanses that seemed to stretch to infinity.

- Truth and harmony are like the two wings of a bird: they must be of equal size and equal strength.

Jason had to make a substantial effort to control his irritation over this new interruption. Negative emotions were outlawed within the Collective, and giving in to them could lead all the way to exile. He decided to rather examine the message. This time it wasn't a meme, but a pure viral attack. However, unlike the usual buzzes, this message gave actual food for thought. Dreading another interruption, he waited for the antidote-slogan for some time, but nothing came. The department probably wasn't able to react quickly on such a theme.

So Jason refocused once again on his task. He put his fingers in his mouth, to reach for a seed in a pocket he had inside the cheek. He embedded it in the interstice that separated two cells of the wall. The Collective had authorized him to leave his own markers at the entrance of the areas he had already explored. Obtaining its approval had been all the more easy that he was probably the only one spending his free time in this way. Most of his fellowmen, once their labor was over, if they didn't get themselves projected into relaxation spaces, preferred a live connection with the experience of someone they found interesting. No one else than the recollection clerks ventured in these deep layers of the memory index. He would catch sight of their silhouette from time to time, busy scanning the walls, more akin to the shape of a tadpole than that of a mermaid.

- Jason, sorry to interrupt your little old memories chase, but we have a level three emergency. We remind you that in accordance with your contract with the Collective, you must in such a case make yourself available immediately. Please prepare to receive the file.

- Thank you so much, my dear, Jason thought. You are as charming as a butcher's chopper. And indeed you're right, it's not like if I was interrupted every thirty seconds.

He pushed his thumb between his eyebrows, as if pressing a button, and the whole symbolic space shut down from his mind. He got back to his normal body - a head, a bust, two harms and two legs - sitting in his armchair, in the subdued atmosphere of his vast living room. He had two or three minutes in front of him. Just enough for what Theo had asked him. He found his friend on the network at his usual location.

- Okay, Theo, he thought, get going quickly, I don't have a lot of time.

Theo was one of the Collective's dreamers-creators. He had acquired through training the rare skill of having a conversation while dreaming-creating environments for his fellowmen.

- It's ready, you can go, he answered mentally.

Jason went to the other side of the room to open the shutter. The sunlight contrasted sharply with the twilight of his apartment and induced a slight pain in his eyes. He squinted. Some bees bustled about the flowers sitting in a tub suspended to the balcony. A few stories down, an avenue seething with busy people. Before him stretched the sea of roofs so characteristic of Paris, over which stood the Eiffel tower. On his left, he recognized in the distance the Tower bridge. Why was he not surprised? On the other side, a plethora of bad taste light displays beyond which took pride of place a disproportionate building showcasing its name in obnoxiously large letters: “Caesar's palace.”

Pure nonsense.

- And you dare calling this a vintage reconstruction? he thought. Listen, I already told you, it's ridiculous. I don't want to have anything to do with this. l quit.

- Then at least, make me a file with everything you know, Theo thought.

- You can do it yourself, I grant you full access to my memories, don't I?

- But it's too long, I don't have the time, I only have a few days left before the festival.

- Well, I don't have time to waste either, mind you. If it's to ignore my advice at the end of the day, you can very well do it on your own.

Jason turned around to go back to his armchair, but suddenly, all he had in his field of vision was an anarchy of kaleidoscopic details, as if he was forced to see the world through a broken looking glass. The walls merged with the ground and the ceiling. It was impossible to distinguish anything.

- Come on, Theo, it's not funny, he thought.

Theo giggled mentally.

- I'll stop if you promise me you'll make a file with all you know about Paris.

- Don't push it, Theo, I have an emergency I need to take care of, and I should get the data any time now.

- Well, don't forget I am the one controlling your environment here, and you owe me one.

- Alright, jackass, you won. But after that you'll stand on your own feet, okay?

- No problemo.

- Now come on, put everything back in order.

- But you'll do it right after you come back, are we okay?

- Yeah whatever, come on.

The familiar environment of his apartment reappeared. Jason fell down in his armchair. Moments later, the operational file presented itself to his mind. It was a continuous flow of concepts and sense impressions whose rate was in his control. The subject was an exiled. A former member of the Collective who had been expelled and forced to live fallen, in the peripheral domain of influence, with misfits and individuals facing their end of life.

- Where about is the subject? How do I connect to him? he asked mentally.

- Show a little self-restraint, for goodness' sake, someone thought. Start with perusing the facts mentioned in the file.

- Oh, really? And you really think I can't discern your little xenophobic ulterior thoughts? That's right, I am one of those wetbacks who ignore the good savoir-vivre. Well, it's too bad you native people are such scaredy cats who are too scared to step out from their comfort zone, because you will always need unbred boors like me to get their hands dirty.

The guy disconnected and activated his psychic firewall. He had asked for it. Jason accelerated the flow until he got to the information he was looking for. The subject was a former researcher. He had found a number of answers deemed interesting to rather difficult ethical and epistemological problems. While combing through the data, Jason learned the subject had even partly laid the foundations of the work he was doing himself on a day to day basis for the Bureau of Contradictions, relating to the resolution of philosophical divergences.

Even so, this researcher had gradually fallen out of favor for persisting with formulating deviationist theories questioning the absolute preponderance of the cohesion factor within the Collective. Broadly speaking, he claimed that the decision had to be made to temporarily weaken unanimity among the members if certain non-consensual evolutions in the search for truth turned out to be judicious. He had finally been exiled in the peripheral domain of influence where he had been living ever since, under high psychic surveillance.

The rest of the file revealed that he had just been identified as the person behind the viral attack which had taken place just of few minutes earlier, the one that compared the ideal relationship between truth and harmony with a bird's wings. After that, his mind had become completely silent, as if he had activated a mental firewall through which no expert was able to pass. This was what had triggered the level three emergency. The penalty in this case was a definitive banishment of the subject. In other words, his expulsion out of the Collective's sphere of reality. But before that, it was hoped that he could provide information about the origin of the egotist attacks that exhausted the Collective, in such times when exiles had become dangerously more numerous than new arrivals.

Jason pushed the palm of his hands against the ground to sustain firmly his half-kneeling posture. It could avoid him to collapse during the transfer. His vision blurred for a fraction of seconds. As his body was riddled by a characteristic shiver, the familiar atmosphere of his living room fade away and was replaced by a much more luminous setting. A light breeze caressed his face. A circular carpet had been placed at his point of arrival so that he would not find himself in the dirt after his rematerialization.

He enjoyed going on assignments in the peripheral domain of influence. It was a space monitored by the Collective, which was part of its sphere of reality, but whose inhabitants were not connected to the internal network. Not to their knowledge, at least.

It broke the routine a bit. And also, here the Collective did not control absolutely everything, which let him appreciate a certain margin of liberty. In this domain, the Collective's dreamers-creators only produced a constant structure that required almost no update. But the best thing about this place, he couldn't allow himself to think about it. It was that here, individual minds were separated from one another, so he didn't have to police constantly his slightest thoughts.

- Do you want some help, sir?

Someone was offering their hand to help him stand up. He refused with a polite gesture and got up by himself. Two police officers in uniform faced him. Behind them, the tall vertical figures of troglodyte housings stood out against the white sky. They stretched as far as the eye could see. The peripheral domain of influence's capital counted hundreds of millions of inhabitants. They were those who were not fit for living in the Collective's nest: from trouble-makers to individuals on the verge of death whose thoughts and emotions would be unmanageable on the network. Those fine folks were maintained at distance by a police cordon.

Jason checked that the dreamer-creator in charge of his transfer had correctly dressed him as asked, with a dark suit and tie, along with black sunglasses and without forgetting the white ear bud with coiled wire. Seeing this, one of the police officers suppressed a mocking smile. Jason forgave him gladly. This poor chap didn't have the slightest idea of what the Collective's memory held. For him, the horizon of reality was limited to this peripheral domain of influence and he couldn't know anything else.

Jason looked around while arranging his suit around himself in a coordinated movement of arms and neck he found elegant.

- Where is the subject? he asked while searching his pockets. One of the police officers showed him the direction of a small cliff whose top hung above a group of dry trees.

- In a cave somewhere around there, sir.

- Is he alone? asked Jason while glancing at the inner pocket of his suit.

- He is alone, sir.

- Alright. Stay here and make sure that no one draws near the suspect, he said while nodding to designate the crowd.

- Yes, sir.

Jason moved away, but stopped after a few steps.

- Oh, and I almost forgot.

He turned around and addressed the one who had almost laughed at him:

- Cut me down this donut consumption. You're too fat.

- Certainly, sir. At your command, sir, the officer answered while standing to attention.

Jason headed for the pointed out direction. The watch that had been put on his wrist vibrated. It was the signal indicating that the mental firewall which had been especially designed to protect him in case the subject would try to penetrate his mind had been installed and tested successfully. Jason felt his level of stress increase, but he had learned to enjoy the sensation that adrenaline brought him just before situations of danger. He approached the rock wall with precaution, weapon drawn. Once he had reached the cave's entrance, he used a mirror with telescopic handle to look inside. There was a man back there, which Jason could only as a silhouette in the dark. He seemed to be sitting directly on the floor, motionless.

Jason moved forward very slowly, maintaining his weapon pointed at the man. The subject did not betray himself with any movement. Jason identified the position the man had adopted with a posture he had once observed in a scene recovered from a very old memory of the Collective. It used to be called something like “lo-tous.” He pulled the trigger, which projected a dart whose point released a powerful sedative. The subject remained in his posture; only his chin sagged. Jason moved closer with precautions. This was way too easy.

After having inspected the surroundings, he was nevertheless forced to conclude there was no apparent danger. So he drew from his inner pocket a transfer module he put down on the ground. He pulled a wire whose end was split in two and stuck each strand on the subject's temples. He pulled another one he put up on his own temples, deactivated the module's safety, and breathed in deeply. The rest of humanity's sphere of reality was quite another story. He pushed the thought away and hit the button.

Transfers to this sphere of reality were always strenuous. It gave the feeling of being smashed to bits from inside, reduced to dust, to then have to put the fragments back together. The vast majority of people would have lived this experience as a trauma. But for Jason, it had almost become a routine. He lost the notion of time, as every time. His ego reassembled itself slowly, bit by bit. Here, the environment was not monitored by the Collective's dreamers-creators, but by a consensus between the deep subconscious of all the beings sharing this notion of reality. His mind had to comply with this consensus.

He felt nauseous, as always. An almost total darkness surrounded him. It was even darker than the previous times he had come here. He drew a torch from a pocket to cast light around. The subject was there, still sitting in the same posture. Instinctively, he looked for the transfer module. It was an absurd reaction, but he couldn't keep himself from having it. He couldn't dare to imagine what would happen if someone managed to get transfered back to the Collective. But the standard transfer protocol assured that the module would stay on the other side.

They were in some kind of roundish cavity with blue walls, something like a cave. There was an opening in a wall that connected outside, in some sort of gigantic tunnel. In the distance there, thousands of moving lights gave evidence of bustling activity. He went near the subject, drew a vial from his vest, opened it and placed the neck below his nose. The suspect twitched and opened his eyes slowly. He didn't seem bothered in the slightest by the light directly in his face. The moment had come to start the interrogation.

- Who is behind the egotist buzzes? he asked bluntly.

- What is the meaning of life? the subject retorted with a smirk. He remained upright and perfectly motionless. Jason decided to give him another chance.

- How did you make your buzz pass through mental firewalls?

- Where are we coming from, and where are we going to?

- Who taught you how to create viruses?

- What is the profound nature of reality?

- Alright, then. If you don't want to cooperate, I will have to start using methods which are forbidden in the other sphere.

- FBI or CIA?

Jason stopped and stared at the subject interrogatively, raising an eyebrow.

- Your suit, the one you've had materialized from memory. Is it to imitate FBI or CIA agents?

Jason remained blindsided.

- The FBI would take care of domestic affairs while the CIA would treat international ones. That was eight cycles of climaxes and anticlimaxes of the Collective. At each end of cycle, as it was the case back then, the Collective looses so much power that its sphere of reality gets absorbed by the rest of humanity's. The rare few members remaining find themselves scattered and considered as deficients.

- Yeah, I know that. But finally the day comes when, in spite of their being scattered, they recover enough power to rematerialize their sphere of reality, and they invite their fellowmen to join them, after having made a demonstration of what they are capable.

- And then each cycle is so long that only those who are interested in memories from the distant past are aware of their existence. But do you know on the other hand what causes the Collective's regression, at each end of climax era?

The subject punctuated his question with a sustained look. Jason remained silent.

- Cohesion between members always remains the supreme value, he continued, because without it, the Collective is doomed to chaos. But due to its constant manipulation of the gross reality in which it evolves, the Collective finally forgets that there are profound laws of the universe that it cannot wield as it pleases. This leads it to overprotect a superficial harmony among its members by silencing dissident voices instead of analyzing what they have to say.

- False! And I am in a good position to know about it. I work on a daily basis to the resolution of divergences in opinions at the Bureau of Contradictions.

- Well, okay. And at the end of each of your inquiries, what happens? The case is presented to a judge, along with a large number of jurors, who vote for the theory to be adopted, which implies that they will always make the collective, consensual choice, and not a choice based on a deep understanding that may occasionally require important calling into question. The Collective must keep its ability to question itself. Once it has lost it, its regression becomes inevitable. It's only a matter of time. By the way, I am not the only one set in its sights. Do you know why you are the one they sent to take care of me?

- Because they needed someone to bring you here, and I am familiar with this place.

- Haha! You are so naive. As if the Collective would not engage in actions it has itself declared illegal. Its state of degradation is certainly much more advanced than you think. In spite of the regulations limiting authorized time in mental autarky, there are minds within the Collective who live permanently hidden behind firewalls, because they want their thoughts to remain secret. They are the ones who felt threatened when they realized they could not read mine any more.

The subject chuckled.

- If they knew! he continued. The truth is that they put you on this case because they thought it would be a suicide mission.

Jason drew his weapon and pointed it towards the subject.

- If you move, I'll shoot you down, understand?

- You have nothing to fear from me. Anyway, you are protected by the state of the art in terms of mental firewalls, aren't you? The subject smiled sardonically.

- In a place such as here, he continued, you only need to keep your distance from me, and nothing can happen to you. What happened, in fact, is that they have grown tired of your behavior towards your peers, which too many find offensive. You have been tolerated for a long time, because of your special set of skills that interest the Collective. But its regression having its radicalization as a corollary, your ways have been ever less accepted. What your bosses actually think, is that you will probably not pass the test of psychic quarantine on your way back; and that if by chance you do, you will probably come back with vital information about me and maybe about the origin of those egotist viral attacks, as well as the specifics of an aggression which may well originate from outside. Maybe even from here.

Fleeting lights appeared in the ducts leading to the room they were in.

- You called them, didn't you? Jason said.

- I have done all this because I am on the verge of facing my death. And you are the only person I have come to know of, that would be able to take up the torch.

Jason pressed his finger on the trigger, but it remained stuck.

- This you again, uh?

- Time is running out. Don't use your powers. Surrender. I assure you everything will be fine.

Jason rushed towards the subject and hit him on the head to knock him out with the gun grip. But when he made contact with his crane, something undefinable happened. As if a gleam entered in him. He felt strange. His vision blurred, his ears whirred with tinnitus. He had the odd feeling that nothing would ever be as before.

- Nothing can go wrong now, the subject said before becoming completely still.

Agents in combat outfit burst into the room. Jason pointed his weapon towards them, but instantly realized it would be useless. He dropped it and fell down on his knees. He would have to adopt another strategy. Enemy agents came close to him, ignorant of the danger. They seized him to pin him down, but they found themselves unable to make him move, as if he had been transformed into a statue.

Jason was sitting on his heels, face down, staring at the ground. He needed concentration. If his perceptions had to comply with the general consensus in this sphere of reality, he nevertheless had learned to use the power of his mind to locally influence the laws that determined the workings of matter.

He could now feel everything that surrounded him as a part of himself. In a split second, he created around him a spherical layer of air overpressure which propelled itself in full blast in all directions. The agents fell on the ground and remained there, knocked out.

- Well, son, it's been a while.

The phrase had been pronounced in his mother tongue. His heartbeat accelerated. This voice...

- I thought I would never get hold of you again, it continued. It'd been at least fifteen years I had given up.

A torrent of impressions rushed in his mind. It had been so long before... Long before he had joined the Collective. He saw himself as a child, at the mercy of this scumbag, forced to use his exceptional skills to help him frame strangers.

- Unfortunately for you, your little friend turned you in.

Raging, Jason looked at the subject, ready to unleash his anger on him. The man was still sitting in the same posture, imperturbable, but was already transforming into a tangle of luminous strands, as if dematerializing.

- Come back to work with me, the voice continued. Together, we will rule this place.

Jason smiled internally. How could this prick even...

He was interrupted in the course of his thoughts by a sting in his lower back. He tried to pass his hand on it, only to realize he was paralyzed. He let himself get distracted like an amateur. Some more agents rushed onto him. He could not resist any more. His body would not respond to his commands. But thanks to its power, his mind remained alert.

They took him away. He saw a succession of duct walls. His eyelids grew heavy. He realized that in spite of his general state of lethargy, he could still move them.

So he closed his eyes. But in spite of the usual myriad of phosphenes, his retina was bombarded by a powerful inner light, which paradoxically seemed to come from afar. He decided to concentrate on its source. The rolling his body was subjected to seemed to slow down. A flow of subtle pleasure passed though him, while a serene joy invaded his mind. The more he immersed himself in the source of the light, the more he had the feeling to zoom in himself, as if the sphere of perceivable phenomena of his mind took gigantic proportions, so that he could distinguish the slightest details. The external movements of his body had stopped completely, as if the course of time had been so much slowed down that it had come to a halt. He had the feeling to access an inner reality that had always been there, but which took place at temporal and mental scales normally inaccessible. He started distinguishing slight movements in the light. They were the mark of living beings. The hands behinds the strings of the puppet every human being was.

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Thank you for reading this short story. I hope you will have enjoyed it. In any case, do not hesitate to send me your feedback, whatever it may be. You can contact me by email at remyzins at gmail. You can also find my facebook page here.

Rémy Zins

1In English in the text. See Mnesium.

2In English in the text. See Mnesium.

CHRONOS - English

Such were the last moments of the fortunate age when I still believed in the distinction between past and future, when I still lived with the lightheartedness that brought me the ignorance of my death's exact moment.

Finally, the figure I had been waiting for during weeks, hidden in this cliff-side cave, loomed on the horizon above the orange waves of this ever raging ocean. The Brotherhood had gone through a lot of trouble to learn that the emperor was used to come here alone, and most importantly incognito. Why would he take such risks? He was not the first and and would not be the last tyrant to make inconsiderate decisions for the sake of satisfying his appetites.

But, as the saying goes, no plan survives contact with the enemy. On observing the approaching figure of the ship, under the light of the quadruple moonlight, I soon realized that it was much bigger than usual. It was one of the ones that allowed for very long distance travels. Fortunately though, it came to land as planned on the landing area fringed with jungle, near the drop-off's edge.

Hacking the module controlling the airlock took much longer than expected, but I managed to complete the task shortly before the noble courtesans from the nearby city whose charms the emperor had come to appreciate came out of the ship. Having waited for their figures to have disappeared into the lush vegetation, I sneaked up to the airlock and entered the ship.

It seemed all too easy. But I had no time for such hesitations. I tossed that feeling aside and tried instead to find my way on the map that was displayed in the entrance hall.

Suddenly, I was interrupted by the sound of an object hitting the floor between my feet. It was a dagger.

“Come on, let's fight,” I heard behind me.

I turned around and, on seeing the imposing figure of the emperor, I was instantly filled with dismay, unable to move. The despot pressed a button on the remote control he was holding, before throwing it on the ground to smash it with a kick. The entire ship started humming. It was taking off. The tyrant hurled himself towards me, knife out, and took advantage of my stupor, not to deal me a fatal blow, but to merely stab me in the thigh.

The pain revived my instincts. I pushed him back vehemently. He fell head over heels, which allowed me to pick up the dagger he had thrown earlier. The rumbling of the ship intensified, and the push multiplied the sensation of our weight. We were probably passing swiftly through the planet's atmosphere. I was facing him, ready to strike. He shouted :

“I have been waiting for this moment for years, son.”

These words rooted me on the spot, perplexed. We remained for some time in this position. I was standing, he was lying on the ground, and we were sizing up each other. When the din had diminished, he continued :

“You think you are upright and fair. Honest. Moral. Virtuous. Incorruptible. But the truth is you and me, we are the same. Your actions are not completely guided by altruism. Just like me, you have deep inside yourself the cancer of egoism. Sooner or later, it turns into a thirst for recognition. Then into ambition. Ask yourself: hy are you even taking all these risks in the first place?”

I decided I had heard enough. Ignoring the pain that stroke my thigh, I plunged on him. He made a gesture as inexplicable as unexpected: he tossed his knife away, and presented his flank to me so that my dagger would penetrate it easily. He then seized my hand, pushed it back slowly to extract the blade from his flesh and probably pushed a hidden button, because it vanished into the handle. I glanced at the knife he had just used and thrown away, but its blade had also retracted. I wrenched myself from his weakened grip and got up with difficulty, on one leg.

“First, it's purely ego, he said. The music of praise breeds your addiction to glory. Then, little by little, the thirst for power draws in. incommensurable wealth and ever refined pleasures finish the job. One day, you wake up and you realize that you cannot do without all those any more. That day, you realize that your principles have lost their value.”

I decided to let him talk. He was dying anyway. What harm could he do against me? I had accomplished my mission. I just had to bandage my thigh and wait for him to die. Seeing that I was not listening carefully, the emperor changed his tone.

“You think you've won? You think you'll get away with this just like that? Don't you think it's been a bit too easy? Let me tell you: I programmed this ship for a trip far beyond the horizon of perceivable universe. It will not be back before five hundred billion years. I cannot escape my destiny, I am going to die soon. But you, you will stay here putting everything upside down to reprogram the route, but to no avail because I destroyed the control interface. After having drunk and eaten everything there is on this ship, you will try to hold up for as long as you can. But since you desire to live, you will eventually get into the time dilation tank and wait for the moment of arrival.”

I stood in front of him, incredulous. The tyrant was now lying in a blood puddle. Painstakingly, he picked up the dagger, pulled out the blade and tore open the top of his pants.

Unfortunately, I don't have the time to narrate what happened to me afterwards, as my time is now running out. I spread open the fabric to show him the scar I have on my thigh. My majesty has just enough breath to explain him, before collapsing:

“Time is circular.”

###

If you enjoyed this story, try this one. 

CHRONOS - Français

CHRONOS

Tels furent les derniers instants de l'âge fortuné où je croyais encore à la distinction entre passé et futur, où je vivais encore dans l'insouciance que me procurait l'ignorance du moment de ma mort.

Finalement, la silhouette que j'avais attendue pendant des semaines caché dans cette grotte à flanc de falaise se profila à l'horizon au-dessus des flots oranges de cet océan toujours déchaîné. La Confrérie s'était donné beaucoup de peine pour apprendre que l'empereur venait ici seul et incognito. Pourquoi prenait-il de tels risques ? Il n'était pas le premier et ne serait pas non plus le dernier tyran à prendre des décisions inconsidérées dans le but de satisfaire ses appétits.

Mais, comme on dit, aucun plan ne survit au contact de l'ennemi. En observant le vaisseau en approche, à la lueur des quatre lunes de la planète capitale, je constatai bientôt qu'il était nettement plus gros que d'habitude. C'était un de ceux qui permettaient les voyages très longue distance. Toutefois, il vint heureusement se poser comme prévu sur l'aire d'atterrissage bordée de jungle située en haut de la falaise.

Pirater le module contrôlant l'ouverture du sas me prit bien plus de temps que prévu, mais je parvins tout de même à finir peu avant que les nobles courtisanes de la ville voisine dont l'empereur était venu apprécier les charmes ressortissent de l'appareil. Ayant attendu que leurs silhouettes eussent disparu dans la végétation luxuriante, je me faufilai jusqu'au sas et entrait dans l'appareil.

Tout cela semblait trop facile. Mais il n'était pas question de me laisser décontenancer par une simple appréhension. Je tentai de me repérer sur le plan du vaisseau qui était affiché dans le mini-hall d'entrée, lorsqu'un objet vint percuter le sol entre mes pieds. C'était une dague.

- Allez, viens te battre, entendis-je derrière moi.

Je fis volte-face et fus saisi d'effroi en voyant la silhouette imposante de l'empereur. J'étais incapable de bouger. Le despote appuya sur un bouton de la télécommande qu'il tenait dans la main, avant de la jeter au sol et de l'écraser d'un coup de pied. Le vaisseau tout entier se mit à vrombir et entama son décollage. Le tyran s'élança vers moi poignard en avant et profita de ma stupeur, non pas pour me porter un coup fatal mais pour me transpercer la cuisse.

La douleur réveilla mes instincts. Je le repoussai avec véhémence. Il tomba à la renverse et je ramassai la dague qu'il m'avait lancée. Le grondement du vaisseau s'était intensifié, et la poussée décuplait la sensation de notre poids. Nous étions certainement en train de traverser rapidement l'atmosphère. J'étais face à lui, prêt à frapper. Il me cria :

- Cela fait des années que j'attends ce moment, mon petit.

A ces mots, je demeurai figé, perplexe. Nous restâmes un certain temps ainsi, moi debout et lui couché, à nous jauger l'un l'autre. Lorsque le vacarme se fut calmé, il reprit :

- Tu te crois droit et juste. Honnête. Moral. Vertueux. Incorruptible. Mais il y a beaucoup moins de différence entre nous que tu ne penses. Tes actions ne sont pas complètement guidées par l'altruisme. Comme moi, tu as profondément en toi le cancer de l'égoïsme. Il se transforme en soif de reconnaissance. De pouvoir. D'ailleurs, au fond, pourquoi prends-tu tous ces risques ?

Je décidai que j'en avais assez entendu. Ignorant la douleur qui meurtrissait ma cuisse, je plongeai sur lui. Il eut alors un geste aussi inexplicable qu'inespéré. Il jeta son poignard au loin, et me présenta son flanc pour que ma dague s'y enfonce. Il saisit ensuite ma main, la repoussa lentement pour extraire la lame de ses chairs, et dut appuyer sur quelque bouton caché, car elle s'escamota dans le manche. Je jetai un œil au poignard dont il venait de se débarrasser, mais il n'avait plus de lame, lui non plus. Je me dégageai de sa poigne affaiblie et me relevai tant bien que mal, sur une seule jambe.

- D'abord c'est purement l’ego, dit-il. La musique des éloges forge l'addiction à la gloire. Ensuite petit à petit la soif de pouvoir s'insinue. Les richesses et les plaisirs toujours plus raffinés finissent le travail. Et puis un jour tu te réveilles et tu t'aperçois que tu ne peux plus te passer de tout ça. Ce jour-là, tu comprends que tes principes ont perdu leur valeur.

Je pris le parti de le laisser parler. De toutes façons, il était mourant. Que pouvait-il encore contre moi ? J'avais rempli ma mission. Il ne me restait plus qu'à bander ma cuisse et attendre qu'il meure. Voyant que je ne prêtais qu'une oreille distraite à ce qu'il disait, l'empereur changea de discours.

- Tu crois que tu as gagné ? Tu comptes t'en tirer comme ça ? Tu ne penses pas que ça a été un peu facile ? J'ai programmé ce vaisseau pour un voyage bien au-delà de l'horizon perceptible de l'univers. Il ne sera de retour que dans cinq cent milliards d'années. Moi, je ne peux échapper à mon destin, je vais bientôt mourir. Par contre toi, tu vas rester ici à tout mettre sens dessus dessous pour reprogrammer la route, mais en vain car j'ai détruit l'interface de commande. Après avoir bu et mangé tout ce qui reste dans ce vaisseau, tu tenteras de tenir le plus longtemps possible. Mais comme tu désires vivre, tu finiras par entrer dans le caisson de ralentissement temporel pour y attendre le moment du retour.

Je restai face à lui, incrédule. Le tyran était maintenant noyé dans une flaque de sang. A grand peine, il ramassa la dague, fit ressortir la lame du manche et déchira le haut de son pantalon.

Malheureusement, je n'ai plus de temps de narrer ce qui m'arriva ensuite, car mes instants sont maintenant comptés. J'écarte les tissus pour lui montrer la cicatrice que j'ai sur la cuisse. Il reste à ma majesté juste assez de souffle pour lui expliquer, avant de m'effondrer : « Le temps est circulaire. »

MNESIUM - English

The number of visible stars in the sky of that early afternoon seemed to have increased again. They had explained during the midday news report that these celestial bodies, which had appeared on that morning, were supernovæ. In other words, stars exploding at the end of their life. This phenomenon was completely unexpected, since it had always been believed that only a handful of those could occur in our galaxy within an entire century.

But Doctor Vanderglück was in a hurry. His leather gloved hand left the steering wheel of his Audi to sound the horn. Just a brief little stroke, to avoid sounding too aggressive. The guy standing in the middle of the parking space into which he planned to reverse, who appeared to be lost in his contemplation of the supernovæ, sent him all the same an instinctively hostile glance, but resolved to make way for him without making more of a fuss about it. Vanderglück would have preferred not having to park in this public-housing neighborhood. Unfortunately, the urgency of the situation didn't really give him a choice.

He came out of the car. His small bent body, wedged in a skimpy suit, offered a ridiculous contrast with the powerful black vehicle he owned. In the distance, a group of young boys, probably not older than ten, was playing around a smashed bus shelter, right in the middle of glass fragments, shouting at the top of their voice. With his index finger, he pushed his glasses back on the top of his nose and headed unsteadily across the parking spaces towards the high-rise building his GPS had indicated. How could Damien and Sofia endure living in such a place?

When he walked past the bus shelter, he realized that what was amusing the children was some kind of electrostatic arc taking place between the ground and the sole of their shoes as they jumped around. On any given day, he would have stopped to observe this unusual phenomenon. But today, he really didn't have the time. He quickened his pace.

A little farther, there was a group of gawkers under a tree. They seemed to be engaged in lively arguments. Some were pointing their finger towards the branches. The Doctor looked up there and, with great surprise, discovered that new leaves had appeared on branches that, for several months, had remained naked. As he was approaching, he noticed that there also were flowers, and even that some leaves had yellowed, while others were already falling down. In spite of himself, he remained observing this curiosity, stroking the tip of his moustache mechanically.

His phone rang. It was an old comrade from his astronomy club.

– Have you seen this? said his friend.

– You mean, the trees?

– What ? What's about the trees?

Vanderglück was in too much of a hurry to start a conversation on the subject.

– Don't worry. You will get to know about it soon enough. What did you have to tell me?

– You're not in on anything? That's the only thing we've been hearing about on the network for the last several hours. All celestial bodies have gone completely crazy. The moon is moving away and doesn't show us exactly the same side any more, the asteroid belt is disintegrating, the orbits of Pluto and Uranus are completely disrupted, pulsars and neutron stars are panicking, galaxies are revolving as you look at them, and quasars are flashing like Christmas garlands.

The Doctor looked up to the sky. The clouds had accelerated their progression, like in a time lapse, moving up and down in whirlwinds. But be it as it may, even if the end of the world had to happen on that day, he couldn't leave Damien in the state in which he was.

– All right, Jacques, thanks for the information. You should go and see what is going on outside, you won't be any less surprised, said Vanderglück before ending the communication.

He took the path of the building in which his patient resided. The walls were dirty and covered with graffiti. By chance, everyone was concentrating on the ongoing oddities, and no one noticed him. The entrance door had certainly taken a beating, since the glass was cracked. A strong smell of urine emanated from the mailboxes. Some had been smashed in. One was tagged with a Nazi swastika, others with insults.

The Doctor felt a characteristic sweatiness under his armpits. His body was riddled by a wave of heat. Something in his mind was yelling silently to go away. But Damien counted too much for him. He had become the symbol of his psychiatric career's success, and even, since the decease of his wife, his only reason to live. His case would definitely make him go down in history. He was the only patient to ever have recovered from the Vanderglück syndrome, a rare disorder of the autistic spectrum he had identified himself.

A flash of light illuminated the entrance from the outside, and a deafening blare made him startle. Probably a lightning on a tree. He took a deep breath and headed for the lift. When he opened the door, a strong stench stroke him, and he stepped back instinctively. A puddle of vomit was lying on the ground. He resigned himself to use the staircase.

On the way up, a group of children going down four at a time hustled him. On the landing of the second floor, someone was lying down. Probably a drug addict. The ascent was making him feel hot. He unbuttoned the top of his shirt. On the next floor, the scream of a woman resounded, from a nearby apartment. The Doctor was rooted to the spot, unsure how to react. He grabbed his spectacle lens between his thumb and index finger, as to put his glasses back in place, in a gesture whose sole actual function was to reassure himself, and then decided to resume his climbing, ignoring what he had just heard.

Fifth floor. Finally. His clothes were filled with humid heat. He pushed the corridor door open with a shaky hand. The sound of a piano resounded in the hallway. He immediately recognized Sofia's style. She was Damien's wife, formerly subject to the Asperger syndrome of the autistic spectrum. As usual, she used high pitched notes to create melodies reminiscent of rain falling and streaming, which produced a meditative music, melancholic but incredibly beautiful. Hypnotic, even. Within a few seconds, it had made disappear his shaking, his heat and even his anguish. He headed lightheartedly for their apartment, letting himself be guided by the music.

When he reached the door, he stopped. He would not have wanted to interrupt this charm for anything in the world. He placed his ear against the panel and closed his eyes. It was as if he had left the reality of this high-rise building behind to rest in an enchanted garden. How long did he remain there for? He would have been completely unable to say.

Alas, the entire building suddenly started shaking violently. He had to cling to the door to avoid falling down. The music stopped. The spell was broken.

Eventually, the quake stilled. He stood up with difficulty. The neon ceiling lights flickered, each at its own rhythm, lighting randomly the different parts of the hallway. He nevertheless rearranged his clothes, ran his fingers through his hair, and then rang the apartment's doorbell.

Moments later, Sofia opened the door.

– Good afternoon, Doctor.

She was radiant, but her face remained inexpressive. Her facial muscles were completely relaxed, which made her gracious and naturally gave her a noble attitude, without superiority.

– Good afternoon, Sofia.

– Enter, if you so wish.

As usual, she consistently avoided any eye contact. It was the first time he visited them at home, and for a reason. But in that moment, he wished he had come earlier. A perfume of sandal wood floated through the apartment. Following Sofia, he cleared himself a path through the living room between exotic plants. The floor was made up of a large multicolor mosaic presenting fractal patterns. A lightning stroke the roof of a neighboring building with mighty thunder, briefly illuminating the room. He lost himself in the contemplation of the millions of paint stains that covered the walls. They conjugated in the eye to form semi-abstract fantasy landscapes. Sofia was waiting for him to engage the conversation.

– How is Damien? he asked.

– He is not doing well, Doctor. He isolated himself in the room. I tried to calm him down, but it seems my music doesn't have effect on him any more. It's just as if he had regressed ten years back.

– May I get in the room?

– I think you will have to ask him.

Vanderglück approached the door.

– Damien?

He waited for a few seconds. No answer.

– Damien, are you there?

Nothing.

– Damien, I am going to come in, all right?

The Doctor pushed the door softly. A rather foul smell of sweat filled the air. The furniture had been overturn, the wallpaper torn off, objects smashed to the ground. His patient was standing in the middle of the room, wearing dirty clothes, with tousled hair, rocking his chest back and forth, shifting his weight alternately on each foot. He held his hands together in front of his face, making strange movements. All the light bulbs in the room flashed suddenly together, and the room was plunged into the dark. Damien stood still.

– It's not really about me that you are worrying, Doctor. What has actually driven you here is not so much the concern to see me in good shape as the concern of your reputation and of what posterity will remember about you. Am I not right?

Vanderglück looked at him furiously, but fortunately his patient never looked back. It was the first time he addressed him in such an aggressive way. He wished he could have replied something but all he felt was anger and he knew perfectly that in these conditions he had to remain silent until his irritation had passed. Otherwise, he would put his role at risk.

– Keep calm, Doctor. I need your presence and your calm to stabilize myself. But One also needs you to have a truthful understanding of what is happening in this room right now.

Vanderglück took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly, as he had learned to do in order to calm his emotions. He felt ready to resume his role as a therapist.

– What are you feeling, Damien?

– Thanks to your presence, Doctor, I feel much better. Something inside is dislocating my memories, my thoughts, my emotions. One tears them apart like paper to reduce them to dust, One dismantles systematically what makes me be the “normal” individual you have trained me to become. It's as if I were slowly dying by disintegration. But your simple presence helps me to control this terrible anguish.

– But who is this “One” you are talking about, Damien?

– It's the syndrome to which you have given your name, Doctor. Over the years, I have learned to forget I have always worked for him. But my true nature is about to regain the upper hand. And now that you are here, I am ready to assume the function for the sake of which I have established communication with you and your fellow men. And now, if you don't mind, we are going on the roof. Sofia?

Damien offered his open hand to his wife. She grasped it without hesitation. The whole building started shaking again violently. This time, the walls were cracking, the fragments that composed the mosaics on the floor were spurting out of their mold and parts of the ceiling collapsed. Damien grabbed Vanderglück by the collar, and then applied a forceful push on his neck.

When the psychiatrist lifted his gaze up, a few fractions of a second later, they were all three on the roof of the building. As he was kneeling on the ground, he felt the cold touch of the rain water on his legs. He looked up towards Damien, who was levitating about six feet from the ground, seated in lotus. Had he completely lost his mind? Plumes of black smoke rose all around over the city. A car lifted by one of the numerous twisters that ran through the darkened streets crashed into a balcony of the opposite building. Vanderglück recognized with consternation his beautiful Audi.

The scene took an even more surreal turn when the sky color started shifting towards a darkening violet and Damien's eyes started gleaming yellow. Sofia was sitting nearby, eyes closed, as if nothing unusual was happening.

– Thank you both for being here, Damien said. Your presence will be essential for me to stabilize my emission. I thank you in advance in the name of the Collective.

The sun seemed to have moved away. Vanderglück could only see in the twilight thanks to the ever flickering light of the many lightnings that stroke in all directions one after the other. Sofia was now also hanging in the air, in the lotus posture. A strong vibration that seized his sensations like a magnet turned his guts upside down.

– Hold on, it won't be long, he heard in his head.

Then, the emission began:

– This is a world wide telepathic broadcast. Don't be afraid, everything is under control. One is a collective entity, the result of the interconnection of a large number of consciousnesses. Until now, you have considered our Collective as a simple set of persons suffering from an autistic disorder. But if so far One has not bothered communicating with you, it is because One perceives reality in a very different way, and One does not feel like participating to the one you have built for yourselves.

The round of lightnings had stopped. The entire firmament was rotating in an exorbitant movement, as if Earth were a giant spinning top. The sun and the moon executed a complete revolution within a few seconds. Unable to control his dizziness, the psychiatrist vomited on the roof of the building everything he had in his stomach.

– Each individual having ever been part of the Collective gave it the entire content of their experience, until their death, and One has stored the sum of all those information from time immemorial. A very long time ago, the Collective was the crucible of almost the entire human kind. It was an age of harmony between human beings, because everyone had access to the experience of every other. Over the millennia, the inevitable dissidents grew in number, until they reached the critical point beyond which the majority of individuals, the ones who always remain easily influenced, shifted to their side. They all ended forgetting even the existence of the Collective.

Vomiting seemed to have purged him. Vanderglück felt much better. He had also started levitating. The vibrations were still very powerful, but his body was now in sync with them. The calm he felt inside as a result of the soothing in Damien's voice contrasted with the apocalyptic visions that the external world offered him.

– Those dissidents would not act any more taking into account the whole of their fellow men, but only according to their own apparent interest. They sought their personal pleasure, without concern about the consequences that what they did to obtain it had for their fellow men. They lost sight of the fact that, by believing they served their self interest in defiance of their fellow men's, they worked eventually against themselves. They have finally come to squarely erect egocentrism as a supreme value.

The cosmos was distorted in all directions. All sorts of stars, planetoids, galaxies and interstellar clouds seemed to come near and then go away in vertiginous movements.

– But One has made a lot of progress during the last few millennia, and One is now able to set up this revolution. You are about to be connected to the Collective. Those of you who want to will be able to be part of it. Others will be redirected toward a separate reality they will be allowed to construct as they want, and One will wish them good luck. Prepare now for getting shifted towards the Collective's assemblage of reality.

The entire space deformed, as if dilating. All the lines got pulled towards the infinite in all directions, and seemed to freeze in this state. And then suddenly they all converged into a single tiny point that shone briefly in the middle of darkness. The next moment, everything was new. And the tacit message spread: “Welcome.”

MNESIUM - Français

MNESIUM

Le nombre d'étoiles visibles dans le ciel en ce début d'après–midi semblait avoir encore augmenté. Ils avaient expliqué au journal de la mi-journée que c'étaient des supernovæ, des explosions d'étoiles en fin de vie. C'était un phénomène d'autant plus inattendu qu'on avait toujours cru qu'il ne s'en produisait dans notre galaxie qu'une petite poignée par siècle.
Quoi qu'il en fût, le Docteur Vanderglück était pressé. Sa main gantée de cuir quitta le volant de son Audi pour actionner le klaxon. Juste un petit coup bref, pour ne pas avoir l'air trop agressif. Le type qui se tenait à l'endroit où il comptait faire son créneau était perdu dans sa contemplation des étoiles. Il lui lança tout de même un regard instinctivement hostile, mais se résolut à lui laisser la place sans faire d'histoires. Vanderglück aurait préféré ne pas avoir à se garer dans ce quartier HLM. Malheureusement, l'urgence de la situation ne lui laissait pas vraiment le choix.
Il s'extirpa de la voiture. Son petit corps voûté, coincé dans un costume étriqué, offrait un contraste ridicule avec le puissant véhicule noir qu'il possédait. A distance, un groupe de jeunes garçons, qui ne devaient pas être âgés de plus de dix ans, s'amusait en criant à tue–tête autour d'un abri–bus défoncé, au milieu des éclats de verre. Il repoussa de l'index ses lunettes vers le haut du nez, puis se dirigea d'un pas mal assuré à travers les parkings vers la tour que son GPS lui avait indiquée. Comment Damien et Sofia faisaient–ils pour supporter de vivre dans un endroit pareil ?
En passant près de l'abri–bus, il s’aperçut que ce qui amusait les garçons, c'étaient des sortes d'arcs électrostatiques qui se produisaient entre le sol et les semelles de leurs chaussures à chaque fois qu'ils sautaient. Un jour normal, il se serait arrêté pour observer ce phénomène incongru. Mais aujourd'hui, il n'avait vraiment pas le temps. Il pressa le pas.
Un peu plus loin, il y avait un groupe de badauds, réunis autour d'un arbre. Ils étaient plongés dans des discussions animées. Certains pointaient leur doigt en direction des branches. Le Docteur y dirigea son regard et, à sa grande surprise, découvrit que des feuilles nouvelles étaient apparues sur des ramures qui, depuis plusieurs mois, étaient restées nues. En s'approchant, il constata qu'il y avait des fleurs, et même que certaines feuilles avaient jauni, alors que d'autres tombaient déjà des branches. Il resta malgré lui à observer cette curiosité en caressant machinalement le bord de sa moustache.
La sonnerie de son téléphone retentit. C'était un vieux camarade du club d'astronomie.
– Dis–donc, tu as vu ça ? lança son ami.
– Tu veux parler des arbres ?
– Quoi ? Qu'est–ce qu'il y a avec les arbres ?
Vanderglück était trop pressé pour se lancer dans une discussion sur le sujet.
– Ne t'inquiète pas, tu le sauras bien assez tôt. Qu'est–ce que tu avais à me dire ?
– Tu n'es au courant de rien ? On n'entend parler que de ça sur le réseau depuis quelques heures. Tous les astres sont devenus complètement fous. La lune ne nous présente plus exactement la même face, la ceinture d’astéroïdes se désagrège, les orbites de Pluton et d’Uranus sont complètement perturbées, les pulsars et les étoiles à neutrons s’affolent, les galaxies se mettent à tourner à vue d’œil, et les quasars clignotent comme des guirlandes de Noël.
Le Docteur leva la tête vers le ciel. Les nuages avaient accéléré leur mouvement, comme dans une prise de vue accélérée, et formaient même des tourbillons de courants ascendants et descendants. Mais quand bien même la fin du monde devrait avoir lieu ce jour–là, il ne pouvait pas laisser Damien dans l'état où il était.
– D'accord, Jacques, merci. Tu devrais aller voir ce qui se passe dehors, tu n'en seras pas moins surpris, dit–il avant de clore la communication.
Il reprit le chemin de  l'immeuble où résidait son patient. Les murs étaient sales et couverts de graffitis. Par chance, tout le monde se concentrait sur les bizarreries qui étaient en train de se produire, et personne ne le remarquait. La porte d'entrée avait dû prendre des coups, car sa vitre était largement fendue. Une forte odeur d'urine émanait du côté des boîtes aux lettres. Certaines étaient défoncées. L'une d'elles était taguée d'une croix gammée, d'autres d'insultes.
Le Docteur perçut cette moiteur caractéristique sous ses aisselles et fut parcouru d'une vague de chaleur. Quelque chose dans son esprit lui hurlait silencieusement de s'en aller. Mais Damien comptait trop pour lui. Il était devenu le symbole de la réussite de sa carrière psychiatrique, et même, depuis le décès de sa femme, sa seule raison d'être. Son cas était celui qui allait définitivement le faire passer à la postérité. Il était le seul patient à avoir jamais guéri du syndrome de Vanderglück, un trouble rare du spectre autistique qu'il avait identifié lui–même.
Un flash de lumière se produisit juste à l'extérieur du bâtiment, et un vacarme assourdissant le fit sursauter. Probablement la foudre qui venait de s'abattre sur un arbre. Il prit une longue inspiration et se dirigea vers l'ascenseur. En ouvrant la porte, une forte puanteur le frappa et il eut un mouvement de recul instinctif. Une flaque de vomi gisait par terre. Il se résigna à prendre l'escalier.
En montant, un groupe d'enfants qui descendaient quatre à quatre le bouscula sans ménagement.  Sur le palier du deuxième, un type gisait inconscient. Probablement un toxicomane. L'ascension lui donnait de plus en plus chaud. Il déboutonna le haut de sa chemise. A l'étage suivant, un cri de femme retentit, venant d'un appartement voisin. Le Docteur se figea, ne sachant comment réagir. Il saisit le verre de ses lunettes entre son pouce et son index, comme pour les remettre en place, dans un geste qui n'avait pour seule fonction que de le rassurer, puis décida de reprendre son ascension en ignorant ce qu'il venait d'entendre.
Cinquième étage. Enfin. Ses vêtements étaient remplis d'une chaleur humide. Il poussa la porte du couloir d'une main tremblante. Le son d'un piano s'y faisait entendre. Il reconnut immédiatement le style de Sofia, la femme de Damien, qui avait autrefois été sujette au syndrome autistique d'Asperger. Comme à son habitude, elle jouait surtout dans les aigus pur créer des mélodies qui rappelaient la tombée et le ruissellement de la pluie et produisaient une musique méditative, mélancolique mais incroyablement belle. Hypnotique, même. En quelques secondes, elle avait fait disparaître ses tremblements, ses chaleurs et même ses angoisses. Il se dirigeait d'un pas léger vers leur appartement, se laissant guider par la musique.
Arrivé devant la porte, il s'arrêta. Pour rien au monde il n'aurait voulu interrompre le charme. Il colla son oreille sur le panneau et ferma les yeux. C'était comme s'il avait quitté la réalité de cette tour HLM pour reposer dans un jardin enchanté. Combien de temps resta-t-il là ? Il aurait été incapable de le dire.
Mais pour son malheur le bâtiment tout entier se mit soudain à trembler violemment. Il dut se cramponner à la porte pour ne pas tomber. La musique s'arrêta. L'envoûtement était brisé.
Finalement, les secousses se calmèrent. Il se releva, tant bien que mal. Les néons des plafonniers clignotaient, chacun à son rythme, éclairant aléatoirement les différents parties du couloir. Il réarrangea néanmoins ses vêtements, passa ses doigts dans les cheveux, puis actionna la sonnette de l'appartement.
Au bout de quelques instants, Sofia lui ouvrit la porte.
– Bonjour, Docteur.
Elle était resplendissante, mais son visage restait inexpressif. Ses muscles faciaux étaient complètement détendus, ce qui la rendait gracieuse et lui donnait naturellement un air de noblesse sans supériorité.
– Bonjour, Sofia, dit–il.
– Entrez, si vous le voulez, répondit–elle.
Comme à son habitude, elle évitait soigneusement tout contact oculaire. C'était la première fois qu'il les visitait chez eux, et pour cause. Mais en cet instant, il regretta de ne pas être venu plus tôt. Un parfum de bois de Santal flottait dans l'appartement. A la suite de Sofia, il se fraya un chemin dans le salon entre les plantes exotiques. Il passa sa main sur le piano, qui trônait au milieu de la pièce. Le sol était constitué d'une grande mosaïque multicolore présentant une structure fractale. La foudre tomba à grand fracas sur le toit de l'immeuble voisin et illumina brièvement la salle. Son regard se perdit dans les millions de petites taches de peinture qui recouvraient les murs. Elles se conjuguaient dans l’œil pour former des paysages fantastiques à moitié abstraits. Sofia attendait qu'il engageât la conversation.
– Comment va Damien ? demanda–t–il.
– Il va très mal, Docteur. Il s'est isolé dans sa chambre. J'essaie de le calmer, mais je crois que ma musique ne fait plus d'effet sur lui. C'est comme s'il était revenu dix ans en arrière.
– Puis–je entrer dans sa chambre ?
– Je crois que vous allez devoir le lui demander, à lui.
Vanderglück s'approcha de la porte.
– Damien ?
Il attendit quelques instants. Pas de réponse.
– Damien, tu es là ?
Rien.
– Damien, je vais entrer, d'accord ?
Le Docteur poussa doucement la porte. Il régnait dans la chambre une odeur de sueur assez nauséabonde. Les meubles avaient été renversés, les papiers–peints déchirés, les objets fracassés au sol. Son patient se trouvait au milieu de la pièce, dans des vêtements sales, les cheveux ébouriffés, balançant son buste d'avant en arrière en passant d'un pied sur l'autre. Ses mains, qu'il tenait jointes devant son visage, faisaient des mouvements étranges. Toutes les ampoules présentes dans la pièce s'illuminèrent de concert dans un flash soudain, et la chambre fut jetée dans la pénombre. Damien s'immobilisa.
– Ce n'est pas vraiment de moi dont vous vous inquiétez, Docteur. Ce qui vous a vraiment amené ici, ce n'est pas tant le souci de me voir en bonne forme que celui de votre réputation et de ce que la postérité retiendra de vous. N'est–ce pas ?
Vanderglück lançait des éclairs du regard, mais heureusement son patient ne le regardait jamais. C'était la première fois qu'il s'adressait à lui de manière aussi agressive. Il aurait voulu pouvoir dire quelque chose, mais il ne ressentait que de la colère, et il savait parfaitement que dans ces conditions, il se devait de rester muet jusqu'à ce que son irritation soit passée. Sinon, il risquait le pire.
– Maintenez votre calme, Docteur. J'ai besoin de votre présence et de votre calme pour me stabiliser. Mais On a aussi besoin que vous ayez une compréhension véritable de ce qui est en train de se produire dans cette chambre en cet instant.
Vanderglück prit une grande inspiration puis expira lentement, comme il avait appris à le faire pour calmer ses émotions. Il se sentit d'attaque pour reprendre son rôle de thérapeute.
– Que ressentez–vous, Damien ?
– Grâce à votre présence, Docteur, je me sens beaucoup mieux. Quelque chose à l'intérieur disloque mes souvenirs, mes pensées, mes émotions. On les déchire comme du papier pour les réduire en poussière, On démantèle systématiquement ce qui fait de moi l'individu « normal » que vous m'avez entraîné à être. C'est comme si j'étais en train de mourir d'une lente désintégration. Mais votre simple présence m'aide à contrôler cette angoisse terrible.
– Mais voyons, Damien, qui est ce « On » dont vous parlez ?
– C'est le syndrome auquel vous avez donné votre nom, Docteur. Au fil des années, j'ai appris à oublier que j'ai toujours travaillé pour lui. Mais ma véritable nature est sur le point de reprendre le dessus. Et maintenant que vous êtes là, je suis prêt à assumer la fonction pour laquelle j'ai établi la communication avec vous et vos semblables. Si vous voulez bien, nous allons maintenant nous rendre sur le toit. Sofia ?
Damien offra sa main ouverte à sa femme. Elle la saisit sans hésiter. Le bâtiment se remit à trembler violemment. Cette fois, les murs se lézardaient, les fragments qui composaient les mosaïques du sol giclaient de leur support et des parties du plafond s'effondraient. Damien attrapa Vanderglück par le col, puis appliqua une puissante poussée sur son cou.
Lorsque le psychiatre releva la tête, quelques fractions de seconde plus tard, ils étaient tous les trois sur le toit de l'immeuble. Agenouillé au sol, il ressentait le contact froid de l'eau de pluie sur ses jambes. Il leva les yeux vers Damien, qui lévitait à environ deux mètres du sol, assis en lotus. Avait–il complètement perdu la raison ? Des panaches de fumée s'élevaient d'un peu partout dans la ville. Une voiture, emportée par l'une des nombreuses tornades qui parcouraient les rues assombries, alla s'encastrer sur un balcon de la tour d'en face. Vanderglück reconnut avec consternation sa belle Audi.
La scène prit une tournure encore plus irréelle lorsque la couleur du ciel commença à tirer sur un violet qui s'assombrissait à vue d’œil, et que les yeux de Damien se mirent à luire d'une lumière jaune. Sofia se tenait assise non loin de là, les yeux fermés, comme si de rien n'était.
– Merci à tous les deux d'être là, dit Damien. Votre présence me sera indispensable pour stabiliser mon émission. Je vous en remercie dores et déjà au nom du Collectif.
Le soleil semblait s'être éloigné. Vanderglück ne parvenait plus à voir dans la pénombre que grâce à la lumière sans cesse changeante des éclairs qui apparaissaient les uns après les autres dans toutes les directions. Sofia était elle aussi suspendue dans les airs, en posture du lotus. Une puissante vibration qui saisit ses sensations comme un aimant mit ses entrailles sens dessus dessous.
– Tiens bon, ce ne sera pas long, entendit–il résonner dans sa tête.
Ensuite, l'émission commença :
– Ceci est un message télépathique planétaire. N'ayez pas peur, tout est sous contrôle. On est une entité collective, le résultat de l'interconnexion d'un grand nombre de consciences. Jusqu'à présent, vous avez considéré notre Collectif comme un simple ensemble de personnes atteintes d'un trouble autistique. Mais si On n'a pas pris la peine de communiquer avec vous, c'est parce qu'On perçoit la réalité d'une manière très différente, et qu'On n'a aucune envie de participer à celle que vous vous êtes construite.
Le balai des éclairs avait cessé. Le firmament tout entier était mû d'un tournoiement exorbitant, comme si la Terre était une toupie géante. Le soleil et la lune faisaient un tour complet du ciel en quelques secondes. Dans l'incapacité de contrôler son étourdissement, le psychiatre vomit sur le toit de l'immeuble tout ce qu'il avait dans l'estomac.
– Chaque individu qui ait jamais fait partie du Collectif lui a transmis tout le contenu de son expérience, jusqu'à sa mort, et On a stocké la somme de toutes ces informations depuis la nuit des temps. Il y a très longtemps, le Collectif était le creuset de l'ensemble de l'humanité. C'était un âge où l'harmonie régnait entre les êtres humains, car chacun avait un accès direct à l'expérience de tous les autres. Au fil des millénaires, les inévitables dissidents ont grandi en nombre, jusqu'à atteindre le point critique au–delà duquel la majorité des individus, celle qui demeure toujours influençable, a basculé de leur côté. Ils ont tous fini par oublier l'existence même du Collectif.
Le vomissement semblait l'avoir purgé. Vanderglück se sentait beaucoup mieux. Il s'était mis à léviter, lui aussi.  Les vibrations étaient toujours aussi puissantes, mais son corps était maintenant en phase avec elles. Le calme qu'il ressentait à l'intérieur grâce à la voix de Damien contrastait avec les visions apocalyptiques que le monde extérieur lui offrait.
– Ces dissidents n'agissaient plus en prenant en considération l'ensemble de leur semblables, mais seulement en fonction de leurs intérêts propres apparents. Ils recherchaient leur plaisir personnel, sans se soucier des conséquences que ce qu'ils faisaient pour l'obtenir pouvaient avoir pour leurs congénères. Ils ont perdu de vue qu'en croyant servir leur intérêt propre au mépris de celui de leurs congénères, ils agissaient à terme contre eux–mêmes. Ils en sont finalement venus à carrément ériger l'égocentrisme en valeur suprême.
Le cosmos semblait se distordre dans tous les sens. Toutes sortes d’étoiles, de planétoïdes, de galaxies et de nuages intersidéraux s'approchaient puis s'éloignaient dans des  mouvements vertigineux.
– Mais On a beaucoup progressé au cours des derniers millénaires, et On est maintenant en mesure de mettre en place cette révolution. Vous êtes tous sur le point d'être connectés au Collectif. Ceux qui le voudront pourront dorénavant en faire partie. Les autres seront redirigés vers une réalité séparée qu'ils construiront à leur guise, et On leur souhaitera bonne chance. Préparez–vous maintenant à être basculés vers l'assemblage de la réalité du Collectif.
L'espace tout entier se déforma, comme s'il se dilatait. Toutes les lignes s'écartelèrent à l'infini, dans toutes les directions, et semblèrent se figer dans cet état. Puis soudain elles convergèrent toutes en un seul point minuscule qui brilla fugacement au milieu de l'obscurité totale. L'instant d'après, tout était nouveau. Et le message tacite se répandit : « Bienvenue. »