Free The Soul Continuum by Simon West-Bulford Page A

we reach the tower, the sun has started to rise over the ocean, and a fierce orange glow shines off the distant water. Behind me, the landscape of green hills and a huddled village with its thatched rooftops and gentle smoking chimneys are warming with early morning light. I admire it with the same wonderment that has filled me for as long as I can remember, in awe of my mother’s ability to program this world in such vivid detail. If there is anyone who could stop the nanodrones from turning against us, it is her. I want to tell Candice that she has everything wrong, that my mother and all the other adults who brought us here are trying to prevent a disaster, but I know it is pointless. Not only because Candice will refuse to listen but because the child in me—the part of Salomi Deya that has the ability to act in this world—will not say anything.
    â€œSalomi! What are you doing ? Come on, the door’s wide open.”
    I turn to look at the tower. Candice is dwarfed by the entrance—a triangular opening sliced into the metal at least twenty meters high. From here, I can’t see much of the interior. It leads to a dark shiny wall perhaps five paces away with a large red emblem engraved upon it: a huge circle with a vertical lightning bolt struck through to its center. The acronym GRF is etched underneath.
    â€œCome on !” Candice shouts.
    I join her inside and she punches a panel on the wall. There is a thrum of power and then the ground drops beneath my feet, sending my stomach into a slow turn that makes me giggle. We are standing on a platform elevator that is taking us beneath the tower, and as we begin to lower into the depths, windows come into view, revealing the bowels of the power station. I don’t know if these were here before any of us came to Saliel or if it was something my parents helped to construct, but it is an impressive sight.
    â€œSee those big globes over there?” Candice points. “I think they are the wave converters. Dad showed them to me when we first got here. He said they channel all the electricity from the atmospheric storms into big batteries to charge up the nanodrones when they come inside our bubble. Or something like that. And see those? They are matter manipulators.”
    I see a cavernous hall bustling with countless orbs of bright metal lit by strips of blue-white electricity that arc like lashing whips. The ebb and flow is hypnotizing, and I get an inkling of the power that’s needed to create the elaborate environment we live in, but every few moments, I flinch as a burst of energy crashes into a writhing nest of cables at the center.
    â€œWhat’s that?” I ask.
    â€œThe Nanohub, I think. Every eco-bubble has one at the center of its power station. It’s the bit that coordinates the drones. Some people think that if they leave them on for long enough, they’ll develop artificial intelligence. Dad thinks that’s bullshit.”
    â€œIt’s amazing,” I say. “All of it.”
    â€œYeah, can you imagine the bang if this thing goes up?”
    Soon the windows are gone and we’re facing another door, also open. Except for the violent blue-white glow of electrical energy illuminating the room in random bursts from somewhere near the back, there is no light. But there is a noise, and it’s hurting my ears. It sounds like a million angry bees buzzing together, but filtered through something electronic, the pitch and volume dipping and peak ing all around us. As the elevator comes to a halt, we tread cautiously inside, slightly hunched because of the noise. Candice is gripping my hand so tightly she’s crushing my knuckles.
    Another flash of light reveals the expanse of the control center, but only for a second. There are banks of sleek ebony workstations to the left and right, but unless my eyes deceive me, most of the display panels are now warped and cracked, as if some great boulder has