The Catalyst

It was such a simple thing, the Catalyst.

It had been found by a Drifter, someone as yet Unbound as a Worker, as they walked along a stretch of coastline, perhaps a little farther than was strictly allowed but not so far as to warrant severe punishment. It was found among the washed-up paraphernalia of eras long past, rusted yet still beautiful, barely a shimmer among the debris, and yet still wonderfully, implausibly found. The Finder did not know of its true value, and only thought it a pretty trinket, a not-quite-legal souvenir that they could show off and tell an embellished story about to their acquaintances. Though they, once Bound and scared of the consequences, passed it on, to one they knew that was fascinated by the past and its customs, and was willing to risk his end if ever They found out, just to understand why the world felt… wrong. He became known in The History as The Keeper.

He saw the hints at more in the way it was made, saw the mysteries in its design and shape; like a triangle with two semicircles on top, and what seemed to be a hinge on one side. The hinge excited The Keeper, for it promised more knowledge, more mysteries of the past to unlock, and so with careful coaxing he opened it, and was… confused.

A picture of two people, genders indiscernible, smiling and gently leaning their foreheads together, sat preserved but well-worn in a small compartment inside of the object, colours faded with time, though the image was no less radiant for their loss. He had never seen such joy between two people, and did not know what to think.

It was known by all that They were the leaders. They defined what was right and wrong, and They determined what you did, who you knew, and how you lived. They were absolute. Nowhere in Their world were people allowed this close, except in the duty of Continuation (and that was only briefly, only once, and only with one that They chose who would benefit the future), and even that was apparently monitored and generally indifferent.

He saw this image and felt. Felt strongly. Felt a sensation in his gut, in the same place that screamed ‘WRONG’ at the world and he knew. Felt feelings rush through him in a way that scared him, in a way he did not know they could. He stopped. He breathed. He let the feelings settle. And then he began The Seeking.

He knew what They did to those that questioned, that the few weak and quiet voices that spoke up with great uncertainty were quickly erased in their entirety, and yet he hungered. He had known many who were erased, as this was how he had first learned to question at all, even in small and seemingly inconsequential ways, and yet he searched. He was the last of his group left, the burden of passing on the will to question should be his, and yet. And yet. He was driven to seek.

He searched outside the Boundaries, in places untouched for millennia, and in places closer to home; hidden vaults of forbidden knowledge left by those before him who had been curious and unafraid. He scoured debris and ruins for similar items, for similar images, for more images of the people in the photo, as he was certain that they must be some great figures, to have been captured and preserved in such a way, in such a mysterious and wonderful pose, to be able to openly show that much pure emotion.

He found much of the first - he had, after all, concluded that The Catalyst was simply an antiquated form of jewellery, no matter how thrilling it was to him, and that in itself was fairly common amongst the piles if you dug far down enough. He found less of the second - this was probably because much of this appeared to be in paper form, and it was rare to find that outside of archives and vaults, though he did find images of figures in close contact, with overflowing feelings leaping at him from the images of centuries past. He found none of the last. He thought that perhaps The Catalyst was simply the most detailed of all depictions, that the detail in the others was the result of being lost over time and repetitions.

He was proven wrong. And it changed everything.

He had been following a series of clues, getting increasingly ancient as he worked through them, to a hidden location referred to only as ‘The Orchard’. He did not know what might be there, only that it wasn’t a literal orchard, that you had to look very, very carefully to find hints as to how to find it, and that whatever happened They could not find it. That it contained what he was searching for. The truth.

As he went further and further back in time in the documents, into increasingly well hidden and nearly forgotten vaults of forbidden knowledge, the language, and the names changed, They became Propotent, and the writing became more and more impassioned, exploding with sentiments of all kinds; largely angry and determined, occasionally despairing and resigned. Yet the name of The Orchard remained a constant.

He was led far away from the Boundaries, and had to learn how to survive alone, and against creatures he had never seen before. Many of them he had thought to be myths, creatures of fable used to teach children and tell stories, written about and distributed by Them. He had to interpret old books from the vaults he came across, containing outdated information, to know which plants he could eat, how to build shelters, how to start a fire, all of which had titles that referenced ‘survival’, though he did not know what that meant yet. His own mind became less fuzzy as time went on, and the fleeting emotions that had accompanied him all his life became constant and overwhelming.

Occasionally, in the distance at night, he would see the lights of other Dwellings, and would have to carefully avoid Them and Their seemingly endless supply of surveillance drones and Workers. The fear was often debilitating, and he often felt that if his heart had beaten this fast back at his Dwelling, he would have been considered grievously ill. Sometimes he had to sneak in to find the next clue, and those times he tried to take note of any differences in the Dwellings he had traveled to and the one he came from, what they did and how they lived. He found none. They ruled over all, it seemed.

The clues continued to change, new words appeared, the meaning of familiar ones changed, and the feeling in the writing was now constant and overwhelming. The ones that stood out to him were the fact that ‘relationship’ had multiple meanings to these people, that they had ‘friends’ rather than acquaintances, though that word was still used. Instead of the general indifference or lukewarm familiarity that he had once been a part of before his total isolation, each reference to other people was filled with more emotion than he had ever seen before. He found the word ‘love’ mentioned frequently, but could not figure out its meaning. It seemed that it had been so prevalent a thing that it need not be explained. He spent days reading a series of documents that appeared to be a written argument between two researchers about how Propotent’s medicine did or did not affect the ‘balance of neurochemicals in the brain, and how their ‘brainwashing’ was much more worrying, according to one side. The whole exchange was eye-opening, in more than one way.

When he had first found it, he had been swept up by the vehemence with which they first argued, and how it mellowed out into building upon each other’s points. On the second pass, he became more concerned with the subject of the discussion. This series of documents was from early in Their version of history, if the dates were to be believed, and though the knowledge They deemed fit to distribute to the general population was light in this area at best, it was enough for him to understand, and to become shocked. He would later learn that he then experienced ‘The Five Stages of Grief’ for the first time.

Crucially, on the last page of this correspondence, scribbled in the margins and faded with age, was the exact location of The Orchard.

It was another vault, this one truly hidden, even under all of the plant life he had to clear to find it, in the middle of a dense jungle many, many miles from the nearest Dwelling. At first glance, the door covering the entrance just looked like more earth, but a single carved apple, about the size of an eyeball, in gleaming white marble, showed him he was in the right place.

He opened the door. Narrow concrete stairs led down, down into the earth, and he followed, the light gradually fading, until he came across a metal door. He opened it and stopped.

He was in awe.

It was vast, at least twenty meters high, and five times longer and wider. Every 2 meters were enormous bookshelves carved to look like ancient apple trees, packed to bursting with books, folders and even scrolls.

He wandered aimlessly for a while, unsure where to start, before a section labeled ‘love’ caught his attention. He still did not know what the word meant, and it was by far the largest section of the shelves.

He read, and he understood.

He knew what he had felt was missing, how They had been controlling the very nature of people in order to benefit Them. He learned of the ways that people had felt, before feelings had been stripped from them and forbidden. He learned of the way people had been since they had existed, how They had taken that away.

He learned about love.

Familial love. Platonic love. Romantic love. Unconditional love. The many ways it had been classified by many different peoples throughout history - the history that had been lost to all. A key part of human existence that had been stripped from him and the rest of the world by a cruel and heartless regime in the name of ‘betterment’.

As he learned, he became angry at Them, at those in power who surely must know about this, at himself for swallowing what They had fed him. He became melancholy, as he now had a name for that specific feeling, and he grieved for all those who didn’t know better, who could not even question for fear of erasure, for he now knew what grief was.

He formed a plan.

He would go out into the world and teach people the truth. Find those he already knew that questioned and ask them to help spread the word. He wanted to give the people the opportunity to simply be, no restrictions, no rules. He wanted to bring down the system that had taken away what had been a core of being human long before They had ever even existed, or to at least offer an alternative to the current bland existence.

Mostly, he wanted to love.

Truly.

Wholly.

——

When The Finder first discovered The Catalyst, they had no clue what it would trigger, no clue that the determination and unending curiosity of The Seeker would unearth world-changing truths and lies, that an era of enormous change would soon be upon the world. That there was much more to be had out of life than what They had taught, and that those who liked the simplicity of Their way of life would clash with those who wanted more, despite the potential heartache it could cause.

It was such a simple thing, the Catalyst.

Love is not, but it is so, so worth it.