The Atoner's Run

He was giddy with excitement, could barely control himself. The other Atoners waited equally impatiently in the darkness of the chamber, a nervous energy in the air, twittering in anticipation. Soon now, very soon…so, so close!

Suddenly, light streamed down, stabbing at his eyes and momentarily blinding him. Atoners nearby let out gasps of excitement and wonder. All now stared upwards at its source, mouths fixed in wildly rictus grins or agape in fascination. Finally, the Bright – what a privilege! What a blessing!

The sense of anticipation was now delirious, near stupefying, uncontainable. An object thudded down from the opening, a ramshackle ladder, crudely formed. An unnaturally loud voice boomed down, issuing a single command: ‘arise!’

The translation of fretful anticipation to frenetic motion was instantaneous. En masse, they moved toward the ladder; he wasn’t sure how many, fifteen, twenty, more perhaps, clambering over each other, biting, scratching, grappling in desperation to climb, rise, reach the Bright, to feel it. The competition to climb was joyous, ecstatic even. He pushed manically past someone, using her neck as leverage to propel himself upwards; another shoved his own head away to grab a jagged rung, ripping the flesh of their palm as they did so.

The Atoners personified transgression. They were the descendants of those who had sinned, defied the decrees of the holy Celestials. The Celestials, blessed they be, were life. He could not comprehend conspiring against their order.

The crimes varied in severity, but all had their due, and the Celestials demanded full recompense. His own designation’s infraction was so severe, one would barely dare to whisper it. Originally committed by SmithWalterJ, curse his soul; unto him a timeless punishment was bequeathed. Three thousand, five hundred and thirty two of his designation had thus far sought atonement for his crime. He was SmithWalterJ+3533. He, now, the culprit, he carried his designation’s shame, he owned the liability for its debt.

The Atoners, the ladder climbed, now stood abreast in single file, in quiet amazement. Some had fallen hard in the throng and broken bones or dislocated joints. None, though, showed any sign of discomfort.

Their eyes, accustomed to the black of Below, struggled to adjust to the imminence of the Bright, and many remained shut, but SmithWalterJ+3533 forced his own to see, not wanting to miss a second of the intoxicating sensory input. The only barrier remaining now was made of a thin, unfamiliar material, almost, but not quite, opaque, allowing him a tantalizing sense of what lay, waiting, beyond.

The ‘Keeper moved along the line, staring ahead, until she reached the first Atoner, whereupon she turned sharply to face them. SmithWalterJ+3533 had turned his head slightly to watch her back as she passed him, unable to suppress a vicious feeling of envy. The ‘Keeper’s forebears had been, like them, Atoners. At some point or other, one had absolved her designation’s crime…had atoned.

Cleared of sin, this designation’s progeny were allowed gifted greater station, no longer required to seek penitence. She had been blessed with the rank of ‘Keeper and had the honor of issuing the passage rite.

He studied her. The Celestials had gifted her a voicebox, grafted directly to her vocal chords. A loudspeaker had been sutured to her mouth, and, with this arrangement, she could achieve the required volume and gravitas to deliver the rite. She was favored too by closeness to the heavenly grace of the Bright, as evidenced by the malignant lesions and tumors that adorned her skin, like divine artistry. She truly was a vision; an angel.

‘Designation?’ asked the ‘Keeper addressing the Atoner before her. The volume, even meters away, was deafening.

‘BellamyJaneP,’ the Atoner answered, assuredly.

‘Number?’

‘Sixteen,’ BellamyJaneP+16 replied.

‘Crime?’ boomed the ‘Keeper.

‘SustGlutton.’ A selfish, wicked crime: obtaining, via some deviancy, more sust than was rationed. SmithWalterJ+3533 had been ignorant of her designation, number and crime until that moment.

The ‘Keeper nodded and stepped to her left without turning, looking the next Atoner in the eye before addressing them. ‘Designation?’ she asked again.

‘CurtisRichardW.’

‘Number?’

‘One thousand, eight hundred and seventy five’. CurtisRichardW+1875’s right arm was hanging at an unnatural angle below the elbow, clearly broken, bone poking through the pallid skin.

‘Crime?’ the “Keeper continued.

‘TechDoubt,’ CurtisRichardD+1875 said, boldly. Nigh unconscionable, this was a heinous transgression: his forebear had dared to commit sedition against the Celestials and had sought to usurp them. SmithWalterJ+3533 could not suppress an intake of breath at this declaration, for TechDoubt was nearly equal in severity to his own designation’s crime, his crime.

His mind wandered back to the lightless existence of the Below. The Celestials would impart many lessons to prospective Atoners but the first were the most fundamental. They learned their crime and its cost, their designation and their number, had it emblazoned on their subconscious; they too learned to beg for forgiveness, spending countless moments wailing their unending regret and affirming their fervor to repent.

Next, the Celestials had taught the means of repayment. Using their holy archeotech, they had played through his mind images of the things they desired, over and over and over again. This had been his first experience of color and of light; a moment of wonder and joy for him, and the first time the muscles of his face had cause to contort into a smile.

Each item had been found by an Atoner, whose designation and number was also revealed. He had memorized thousands of items and their discoverers, developing a zealous desire to emulate them all.

The final lessons taught the glorious nature of the Bright. He learned that all in existence stemmed from it, and that here he could find restitution. He learned the Bright was contradictory; simultaneously life and death. Time spent here would be limited, by necessity, and any tendencies for tardiness or sloth had to be rooted out and excised.

Not all had survived. Some were deemed too weak, others unworthy, their will to repent fragile or their remorse insincere. Others still had been selected to continue their designation’s line. But he was ready. And he’d waited, in the lonely dark of Below, for his opportunity; his spirit burning, fueled equally by all-consuming contrition and an overwhelming desire to repent.

The regularity of the sustcycles had been the only means of marking time in the Below. He felt sure there’d been many before the ones he could remember - by his estimation, he was 3,504 sustcycles old.

The ‘Keeper was now before him and he’d voiced his designation and number.

‘Crime?’ came her final question.

‘Tech…’ he stuttered his reply, overcome momentarily by its gravity. The ‘Keeper’s eyes lit with surprise. He recovered his composure, the desire to repent overcoming his shame. ‘TechVandal,’ he said, audibly this time. The most egregious misconduct, attributable only to the Celestials themselves.

To be a Celestial was to be sacrosanct, a demigod; excommunication unthinkable, save for an act of purest evil. SmithWalterJ, his forebear, had been a Celestial, and he had committed the ultimate sin: failing to maintain the proper function of a sacred piece of archeotech. Irreparable, lost, gone forever. For that, he had been cast out, to the depths of the Below, thousands of his descendants cursed to pursue atonement for his grievous crime.

The Atoners had given their accounts and the ‘Keeper prepared to intone the passage rite.

‘Blessed be them’, she began, her amplified voice washing over them.

‘Blessed they be,’ the atoners replied, in unison.

‘Who are you?’

‘We are sin.’

‘What do you seek?’

‘We seek atonement.’

‘Where will you search?’

‘We search the Bright, giver and taker of all.’

‘What will you sacrifice?’

‘Anything. Everything.’

‘What will you do?’

‘Atone.’

‘What will you do?’

‘Atone,’ louder this time.

‘WHAT WILL YOU DO?’ yelled the ‘Keeper, acoustic trauma rupturing their ear drums.

‘ATONE!’ they roared back, as loudly as their lungs would permit.

‘Blessed be the Celestials.’

‘Blessed they be,’ they whispered, concluding the rite.

The ‘Keeper moved to the rear of the artificial chamber and raised her right arm. In one fluid motion, she drew back the material to leave an opening, the glare of the Bright streaming through, unobstructed.

SmithWalterJ+3533 paused for but a fraction to savor that moment in time: the pinnacle of his existence, before propelling his body forward, sprinting, willfully into the Bright’s embrace.

The heat was incredible, unlike anything he’d known. Already his skin was burning and beginning to blister. But it was the intensity of the light that was most oppressive; to eyes matured in lightless black, the pure luminosity of the Bright was too vivid, intense. Try as he might, he was unable to keep them open. Still he ran, blind, stumbling and falling, returning to his feet, ever moving on.

He paused for a moment. His skin was now afire. Despairing, he forced his eyes to open and scanned the horizon, ignoring the searing pain as the Bright tortured his optic nerves. He saw nothing. Screaming aloud in frustration, and in utter agony, he sped on.

The ‘Keeper knew exposure to the Bright unabated was fatal in minutes. Few Atoners ever returned. She also knew most ‘Keepers, existing in its close proximity as they did, would not survive past ten sustcyles; this was her eighth.

Despite the likelihood of futility, she kept the count. 598…599… 600 reached, she stepped into the Bright.

And began to scream.

He’d smashed into an unseen, unforgiving mass. Dazed, he reached out, cutting his hands deeply on something jagged, wickedly sharp. He was grateful for this new source of pain, distraction as it was from the scorching, fiery sensation overtaking his nerves.

He felt along the sharp edges further, realizing quickly that beyond was some form of shelter. He entered, and sensing he was shielded partially from the Bright, opened his eyes fractionally. Glancing around, he found he was in an unfamiliar cuboid structure, littered with debris and dust.

There! Twinkling in the periphery of his vision, half-buried, an object glinted. Without hesitation, he clutched it up. Gleeful, euphoric, he moved back into the Bright; heard the angel's call, moved towards it.

The ‘Keeper had watched dutifully but none had returned. She had resumed her count…958…959…960. She knew of no-one surviving past 900 counts. However, she raised an eyebrow in astonishment; an Atoner had appeared, cresting the horizon. But it had hesitated, unsure of its course.

She glanced at the figure behind her, who nodded assent. She bowed slightly, then uttered a final shriek.

SmithWalterJ+3533 had returned to familiar black, his eyes burned to uselessness by the Bright’s ferocity. But the screaming had stopped and he had no bearing. He was near spent, his skin in places blackened, peeling, tumors erupting on his body like perverted fungi. A clarifying scream punctured his confusion, his final functioning sense pointing the way. His lipless mouth smiling, he ran home.

The Atoner had perished mere counts from her, claimed by the Bright. The ‘Keeper was impressed, a new record of 1080 counts had been set. She strode purposefully out to the body, which had begun to smolder and shrivel, and snatched up the item clasped in its blackened fingers. She returned speedily, dragging SmithWalterJ+3533 behind her.

The figure towered over the ‘Keeper. It was clad fully in a shiny, silver suit. Breathing apparatus covered the lower half of its face, reflective goggles its eyes. A Celestial.

She bowed reverently and held out the object. The Celestial expertly, succinctly, made its appraisal: ‘description: heart-shaped locket, gold; material: plastic; assumption: bauble; techworth: negligible.’

Although insufficient to repay his designation’s sin, the item would provide inspiration for future Atoners, the name SmithWalterJ+3533 revered; he would further serve by being rejuvenated as life-preserving sust. Indeed, his run had been commendable.

Had he known, he would have been content. He had not been found wanting, for each and every item reclaimed from the Bright truly was a blessing.