There were all types, all races, and both men and women. They were trimming trees, cutting the grass, and sweeping the pathways. Yes, sweeping the pathways. Not a leaf was out of place or blade of grass too long. The place was immaculate.
I asked, “You think if I pulled a flower petal and dropped it, somebody would come running to sweep it up?”
“Look,” Patrick said, pointing to a man who was polishing a bronze statue of a giant guy holding what looked like the world on his back. It looked familiar but I couldn’t place it. “Look at the guy’s arm.”
My mouth went dry. The man had a cloth patch on his sleeve. It was a red star. The symbol of Ravinia.
“I guess Ravinia is alive and well,” Patrick said soberly.
“I want to know how big this place is,” I said.
“For that we have to get up high,” Patrick offered.
We kept walking, looking for some sort of structure that would give us a bird’s-eye view. I was thankful that Patrick didn’t suggest that we turn into birds and get an actual bird’s-eye view. We needed to get up high the old- fashioned way. It didn’t take long for us to find what we needed. I’m not sure why we didn’t see it until we were almost on it. Maybe it was because the trees were too dense. Maybe we had been too close to get perspective. Maybe there was so much to see on ground level that we hadn’t been looking up. Maybe we were just idiots. Whatever. When we stepped out of a thick stand of trees, it was my turn to gasp. We were staring at one leg of a giant, golden, four-legged structure. Though I had never seen it in person, I recognized it for what it was. It was impossible, yet it was there.
“Is this a replica too?” I said, my voice cracking.
Patrick was staring straight up at the giant golden tower. “It has to be,” he declared. “What other explanation is there?”
People strolled casually through gardens that were situated under the massive structure. A small orchestra played classical music. Vending stands with festive red and white awnings were set up, offering drinks and ice cream, though it didn’t look like anybody was paying for the treats. They just walked up and got what they wanted. It was like some big, private party… happening beneath the Eiffel Tower.
“We’re not in Paris, are we?” I asked, stunned.
“Let’s find out,” Patrick answered, and walked toward the closest leg of the tower, and an elevator that would take us up and give us the view we needed. Neither of us said a word as we entered the red elevator, where a woman wearing a dark green khaki worker uniform greeted us.
“Which level?” she asked with a smile.
“Uh, first stop is fine,” I answered awkwardly. I had never been to the Eiffel Tower and figured going up to the first observation level would be plenty high enough. The elevator clattered as it ascended through the golden trusses.
“It can’t be the real deal,” I whispered to Patrick. “The Eiffel Tower isn’t golden, is it?”
Patrick shrugged. It only took a minute for us to rise to the first level. The worker opened the door with a smile to allow Patrick and me to exit.
“Thanks,” I said to the woman.
She gave me an odd look, as if I had said something strange. How could that have been strange? All I said was “thanks.” Odd.
“It must be a replica,” Patrick said as we walked across the wide expanse of the first observation deck to get a view out and over the edge. “Who would go through the trouble and expense to transport such a huge tower across the ocean and-”
The words caught in his throat as we got our first glimpse of the world we had been exploring on the ground. We were looking out over an enormous sea of trees, all enclosed by that mighty wall. What we had seen from the ground was only one small section. The wall did wrap around. There was no telling how many acres were enveloped by the massive structure. Hundreds? Many hundreds? It was a vast oasis within a dead world. To our right and left I could see beyond the walls, where there was next to nothing. I made out faint outlines of some of the destroyed buildings, but other than that there was desolation. The swirling dust that blanketed the ruins of New York City were somehow kept away from this lush environment. The contrast of this green world against that bleak gray was like night and day. Life and death. Real and surreal. Though I’m not exactly sure which was more surreal-the gray, destroyed city on the outside, or this impossible paradise.
The Eiffel Tower wasn’t the only recognizable structure. There were others spread randomly throughout this park. I saw the Clock Tower from London’s Parliament, where Big Ben chimes. The Greek Parthenon sat on top of a massive rocky hill, though this wasn’t an ancient ruin. It looked fully restored, with gleaming marble and colorful friezes. Directly across from where we were, maybe a mile away, was a structure that looked as if it were the center of this strange universe. It sat high above the trees, gleaming in the sun, looking down on all those below. It was the Taj Mahal. Or at least a building that looked like the Taj Mahal.
“One thing’s for sure,” I said. “We aren’t in France.”
“Is it possible?” Patrick mumbled. “Could these be the actual buildings that were somehow brought here?”
“What else is down there?” I added. “Maybe that statue was the real David. Could there be other works of art? Sculptures? Paintings? Have the Ravinians brought all the great treasures of the world to this one spot?”
“If that’s the case,” Patrick thought out loud, “they’ve taken the best of what the people of Earth have created, and brought it here to decorate their own paradise.”
The moment was broken by the sound of a shrill whistle. We both looked to the ground to see a man running through the garden below. The guy looked scared. He bumped into a few people, nearly knocking them over as he desperately tried to escape from… Who? What? A second later we saw two red-suited, golden-helmeted Ravinian guards sprinting out from under the tower, chasing the guy.
“I wonder what he did,” Patrick said.
I thought for sure the guy would get away, because he looked to be running for his life, while the Ravinians were jogging with no urgency. Turned out the two guards weren’t the only ones in pursuit. Four more Ravinians closed in on the guy from up ahead. He was surrounded. He changed direction. The Ravinians countered and cut off his escape. Moments later they had him.
“They must be dados,” I said. “They all look pretty much alike.”
“We should get down there and see where they take him,” Patrick said.
He started to run off, but I saw something that made me stop him.
“Wait,” I said.
We both looked down to see that instead of hauling the guy off, the Ravinians forced the guy to his knees. The garden was full of people, but in spite of the drama going on right under their noses, very few seemed to care. They all went about their business of enjoying the day, without so much as glancing at the action.
Only one other person seemed to care. It was a young girl, no more than six. She ran toward one of the soldiers and pulled on his belt as if to get him to leave the runner alone. The soldier turned quickly and loomed over the girl threateningly. The girl froze in fear. Instantly a woman who must have been her mother ran up and grabbed the girl to protect her. The little girl started crying. Her mother bundled her up and sped her away as the soldier turned his attention back to the prisoner. It was then that I noticed that the other people hanging around weren’t necessarily oblivious to what was going on. I caught several people throwing nervous glances over their shoulders, as if they didn’t want the soldiers to know that they were being watched.
“What are they afraid of?” I asked Patrick. “That they’ll be next?”
“Next for what?” Patrick said. “What are they doing to the guy?”
The answer came quickly. One of the Ravinians strode up to the man. He was holding a three-foot-long silver wand with a black handle that I thought might be a silver weapon like the dados used on Second Earth. I didn’t think he needed it. That guy wasn’t going anywhere. I didn’t realize how right I was. The guy was kneeling with his head down, being held by two Ravinians. The guy with the silver weapon stood behind the man and pointed the silver end of the wand at the back of his head. He held it there as the two guys who were holding the prisoner stepped away.
“Wha-” was all Patrick got out.
We heard a sharp, shrill sound that cut through the air like a laser. Paf! There was a brilliant flash of light. An instant later the guy on his knees had turned to black dust.
