June 19, 1871

I have finally seen, with my own eyes, a cut of paradise fallen from the mighty heavens above. This morning, Amadeus and I ventured out to a small plot of land where he and his wife first shared glimpses of each other. He calls it the Emerald Hill; named after the color of the ocean when the sun's beams strike through it.

How can I describe such a scene? How can I commit to words the indescribable, other than ineptly suggesting one must see it to believe it. There, the grass is the color of fresh limes, and the tall stiff palms swing in the cool Pacific breeze. We were standing on the edge of cliffs that terminated those rolling green hills. I smelled the untouched flora and salty air. The ocean, just as I always envisioned it, was smooth and seldom as glass.

"You will never find a more captivating and beautiful scene," Prower said. "I find myself drawn to this place."

"I cannot imagine why," I joked.

"You ever experience a reoccurring situation, Dr. Morgan?"

" As in deja vu?"

"Yes," he smiled. "I feel as though I have already been here before, but not with Rosemary... rather with you. We were engaged in battle. Mind you, it was only a dream, but I no sooner recall the bombing from which you miraculously spared me."

"A bombing?"

The astute man took two or three paces forward; hands behind his back, and looking up at the faint apparition of the moon that hung over the horizon.

"Are you familiar with the Montgomery Incident of Eighteen-Thirty? The one that involved Nathaniel Morgan."

"Partially, yes. I was a devoted student of Nate's. I never studied under him directly, but I was always a fond subscriber of his work. I could not believe that a man I so revered was responsible for such a heinous act, and so I convinced myself he was wrongfully accused."

"Have you considered how the bombing in Washington closely parallels the bombing of Montgomery?"

"... not till now."

He slowly turned around to face me. "Would you mind accompanying me back to the laboratory? I fear we have overlooked something crucial."

I must end on that ominous notion. Now I am seated in Amadeus' quarters, eagerly awaiting a telegraph from the State Department. Amadeus relaxed any details, but, in his own words, wished to exorcise all our investigative abilities of those involved. He sits beside me now... eyes fixated on the telegraph machine. The poor fellow—he seems nervous.

6:01 pm

Following my last entry, I can only describe my feelings in the eloquent manner in which Amadeus muttered upon receiving that horrible telegram: "The circumstances have been dreadfully altered." It was Amadeus' inquiry into the conditions of Julian's death that rendered me speechless, and helpless, and which marked a rather disturbing thought I refuse to admit. Even now, as I write this, I am stricken with shock and genuine despair. Here is what the telegram stated:

Julian Ivo Kintobor, born December 22 of 1811 to Ivo and Bertha Kintobor, was pronounced dead on October 5 of 1870 by his next of kin, Colin Day Kintober Jr., son of Colin Kintober Sr., nephew of Julian Ivo Kintobr.

The words paralyzed me. They were sour and plainly written. I recall the weight of the implications pressing hard upon my chest. The shock clouded my judgment, and I soon felt a deep nauseousness in my stomach. I remember the lump in my throat, and the pain I felt in my lungs. I tried to speak but only conveyed stutterings. Then I threw myself out of the chair, hitting the wall behind me, and began crying.

"There must be a mistake," I wailed. "No, it cannot be! No, no, no! I knew Julian; he could never be involved with this! He never mentioned Sumter! He could never be involved with this!"

Amadeus lifted me. "I am so sorry, Charles. I am so sorry to be the bearer of that—"

"Why would he do this?" I snapped. "Solaris was his legacy! How could he influence me like that? He and Jules were like brothers!" I pushed myself out of Amadeus' hands and slid down the wall into a bundle. "Oh, god, what have I done?" My hands appeared sullied and chapped. "We saved him... I trusted him with my life! Jules trusted him! He was our friend... our companion!"

"Charles, please..."

"He released that monster. He knew all along!"

I was on the floor crying for some time. Amadeus was smitten. He tried his hardest to comfort and console me, but I was lost in a daze. After some time, I stood up and sauntered to the door.

"Mr. Prower, would you be so kind as to inform the other, please?"

"Of course, Charles."

"And ask Max to divulge any information he has regarding Montgomery. I am well aware of his involvement."

He nodded. "Is there anything I can do to ease your troubles?"

"There is nothing you can do for me."

I hid myself in Adam's room, which lies tangent to Amadeus' office. Then, when I saw his shattered monitor, I felt worse still. Tears continued to run down my cheeks. Why I felt so dejected towards a machine composed of cogs and wires is beyond my understanding, but Adam feels more human than most of us. And so I activated him.

"Sir Charles, what can I do for you?"

"Please, Adam, do not call me that. I do not hold any royalty."

"No, you do not... but that does not mean that you are not important. I am not programmed to lie, just as I am not programmed to harm living organisms. It is the truth when I say, you are their only hope."

"How can I, when I have harbored our enemies?" I angrily snapped. "If I am this great man you speak of, then explain that to me!"

"I cannot, and I will not give you any false answers. I understand that what you are feeling is... remorse and sadness. That is a curious emotion. You want to cry, but that is something I can never do. I am envious of that. Strange how a machine can feel envy but not cry." He paused for a moment. "You are a curious species, you always have been. Burdened by your emotions. In all my years of servitude, I have never been able to understand it. You are capable of such wonderful dreams and such horrible nightmares. You allow your feelings to compromise your succession, but somehow you always endure. It is in your nature. Perhaps that is what it means to be human. You tolerated so much, even when the odds were against you. That is admirable even to me."

"What should I do?"

"I do not have your answers. This is a journey you must undertake yourself."

"What did my ancestors do?"

"No good came from their crusade. In their futile attempt, they nearly destroyed your planet. In good conscience, I cannot allow that to happen again."

"If I do not properly enact, our planet may be destroyed regardless! Please, Adam, you have to tell me! I can learn from their failures. I have to correct these errors! Please, salvation is all that I have left."

Adam drew a most unpleasant and disinclined pause. His monitor displayed that perplexing image to which I grew so accustomed. Then, "I am sorry."

I angrily stood up and protested. "You revealed to me these great truths and accusations, yet you have lent nothing for me to believe that I am some valiant knight for humanity! Jules was wrong. You are of no help."

Just then, I was about to grab the doorknob, "Jules..." Adam muttered. His monitor quivered. "You mentioned he had a son. If so, I wish to administer—"

"No," I quietly said. "No, he does not. Not anymore."

The encounter left a sour taste in my mouth. I feel myself nearing closer and closer to the bottom of the abyss. What horrors lurk at the depths, I simply cannot fathom. Perhaps that which waits for me—patiently and methodically—is, and always has been myself.