I woke with an ache in my back along with the muscle soreness that came with living in a post-apocalyptic Earth. I was in the plastic curtains of the greenhouse. The repurposed artificial sunlamps hung over the various plants needed for a growing boy's nutrition, along with some spices I found because I couldn't bear eating the dehydrated rations I had without something that could get rid of the metallic taste.
I peeled myself off of the plastic lawn chair I was sitting in, the sweat clinging to my back and the chair. I gave my plants a once over with some water and liquid fertilizer. At one point in human history, the "Golden Age", people grew plants in a liquid blend of nutrients and water that somehow gave a boost to plant life, making them grow very fast and much bigger than they normally would, creating full-sized trees in a manner of minutes instead of years. My biological mother had once given me a bowling ball sized blueberry when I was younger, for a celebration on my birthday, in lieu of the traditional cake.
I still have never had a cake. They looked almost inedible on all the cinematics I've seen, because who eats something that has parts that catch fire? But it's the reactions that intrigue me. The sheepish smiles at the badly tuned song and the aura of happiness radiating from their faces make me want something like that, if only just once.
Tomorrow is my birthday, April 1st. I will turn seventeen years old. I won't have a cake, or a party, or someone to sing a song to me.
I passed under the clear plastic curtain and out the door. I went towards the inner part of the Dome, where a spiral staircase wound straight up. Once I had heaved my sore legs all the way up the stairs and into the grand library, I heard a voice.
"Hello, Leo!" said the voice, thick with a British accent.
"Hello IVAN" I called back, my voice echoing off the cylindrical walls. "I need a report on those books you were trying to restore, and a report on the preserved physical copies." I thought about it for a second. "I also want a report on the progress of the electronic translator's work on the expansion of the digital library." I added.
"Ah, taking inventory, I see!" IVAN remarked.
The nearby wall screen spit out the reports for me to read. This library was my main duty. I was the only remaining protector of the literature of humanity. There used to be other protectors, both here and in other caches, all are known to be dead or missing. This was only one of the caches of books across Earth, containing only about 20% of the old humanity's physical copies. Thankfully enough, networks akin to the Internet (my personal favorite) sprang up between the protectors before the Collapse, and digital copies of some of the books stored there. The protectors of my Dome had fought over whether to preserve the physical copies or focus on creating a robot to transfer the physicals into digitals. None of the original protectors of my Dome had thought of trying to use the Internet or get any sort of semblance of technological education, because they all expected the robots under their control to do it for them. The robots didn't have any sort of AI or anything, just meant to take orders. So, I got access to the Internet shortly after their deaths, and found an assignment extended to all protectors on a network that was impregnable for all intents and purposes except for my own. The assignment was to preserve physicals as best as possible with resources at hand, but to focus on the digitals as the main task at hand. It also came with instructions for survival in the Domes, and IVAN's AI. IVAN could be installed directly into the Dome, which was built in with its own supercomputer. It was really a shame that the protectors never thought to go through the (admittedly arduous) process of accessing the Internet, and that the Collapse was so sudden to them that they couldn't get in contact with the other Domes, because this Dome was the most populated, the largest, and equipped with the best computer. The protectors apparently even had enough funding for some advanced robotics, which IVAN helped me put to use in making the electronic reader and making a body for them to use so they could improve the Dome and themself.
The reports were fantastic, actually. It was supposed to take ten years to translate all of the books, but IVAN predicted it would be cut down to eight and a half, meaning it would be another few months until it was finished. IVAN preserved all the books that he expected to perish within that timeframe, and the physical lifespan of all the books would be extended as far as possible after they were all copied digitally.
I wasn't really worried about the books or anything in the library, but I thought I'd check to take my mind off of it at the very least. In reality, I needed to worry about the Dome being overrun. The Hive were expanding in North America, being met with some resistance by the Fallen. I wouldn't say it aloud, but I don't think the Fallen will last long. The Hive's numbers were absolutely unprecedented, and the Fallen's technology was good, but against the Hive's ridiculous size, they didn't stand very much of a chance.
I descended the stairs to see the only other person I've interacted with since the other protectors' deaths.
"(Leo, we need to spar today, and you should do some of your chores.)" the Fallen Archon said, with a series of snarling and clicking.
"(Sektus, I only just woke up not too long ago, I don't‒)" I replied, my aching muscles reminding me what yesterday's spar was like.
"(Leo, I've given you enough of a break, you need to stay ready.)" Sektus interrupted. He didn't actually use the word "ready" because Fallen have a lot of words for "ready." The word he said closely resembles the word for "oiled" and was used in terms of being prepared for an oncoming battle.
I sighed, "(Yeah...I know, I'm just sore because I slept wrong and yesterday's spar we…)" I trailed off.
He gave me a once-over, "(You fell asleep in the Greenhouse again didn't you?)" he said accusingly.
All I had in reply was a shrug and a little smile. His expression was equally concerned and abashed. He didn't tell me that what I did was bad for my back among numerous other things, such as having a perfectly good room and the lamps could give me a sunburn, because I knew all that and he knew that I knew and it got pretty redundant after the fourth time. He placed an arm lightly behind my shoulders, and even though they were pretty broad, his fingertips could almost touch my right shoulder, while the base of his palm was resting on my left. I once saw this gesture as condescending and rude, when I was entering my teen years at thirteen. He kept doing it, but explained that it was meant as a gesture of tenderness towards a younger member of your family. Culturally, it meant that he saw me as a son, or a younger brother. I never complained about it again.
We got into the repurposed mess hall through the large double doors. Almost all the places here were once meant for up to 20 people. We moved the tables out and crushed the counters to make room for our spars a long time ago. I did quite a bit of stretching to prep myself, and a bit more to alleviate the aches that plagued my musclec. I grabbed my swords off of the rack. Compared to Sektus' swords, they were toothpicks. Sektus' size made him naturally slower, but he was incredibly nimble with the swords. His arms rebelled against and betrayed his size, moving into a blur of metal with the slightest movement. They refused the judgement that most of his enemies came to, making him an incredibly dangerous foe. The only one capable of matching (sometimes) his agility is me, but I don't have the kind of strength he does, nor the four arms. Our spars never ended with me winning, but he's told me that I would have been able to kill any Fallen that wasn't an Archon, a fact that I was quite proud of.
I swung my swords in a large arc.
"(Let's do this.)"