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The Fall

W. K. Rathburg

    The girl teetered, wavering, one hand clutching the railing at the edge of the balcony.
    Spreading her arms, she looked down twenty-seven levels and then looked up. She fidgeted with a chain entwined in her fingers.
    Stepping forward, I reached out, something fell into my left hand. My right hand touched her hand, too late. She leaped from the balcony’s edge.
    I leaned over the railing and watched as her body plummeted, growing smaller and smaller. It disappeared into the void between the levels.
    Get back! You idiot. If you lose your balance, you will surely follow her down. I took a step back but continued to stare at the empty gap.
    I cannot stop thinking about it. Questions rattle my brain. Who was she? People from the Towers never came here.
    Why was she here in Sector 816? She didn’t belong here. I only saw her for a second. She didn’t look like us; it was clear she was from the section near The Towers. She wore fine clothes, expensive clothes; her hair was styled with meticulous care. Are things worse at the Towers than here? Have things gotten so bad that even the privileged ones are hurling themselves into oblivion?
    I stepped back. A sign on the railing read: Precipice Park Stay Behind the Railing. Precipice Park wasn’t always a park. Once the void was the point where Level 27 and the levels below dumped all refuse. At the lowest level, it was collected, sorted, processed, and sent to Earth. New processing methods made such dumping obsolete. The railing was installed and a few benches and picnic tables were set on the rutted tarmac pavement. Precipice Park became the first and only park in Sector 816. Few people used it.

    Today the Nibbana orbits high above Earth. This man-made structure is larger than anything the human race has ever made. Miles and miles wide, the Nibbana’s length is even greater and is many levels high. It revolves above the dust clouds and barren land of Earth.
    I once saw pix of what it was like below before the rich had the Nibbana built. Earth was a place of wonder with trees and lakes and rain and snow. It was a world teeming with life and held great hopes and dreams for its people.
    What is there to dream about now? Many on Nibanna dream only of the next meal or of a new pleasure that will be out of vogue tomorrow. I doubt it is taking a free-fall trip to an empty void.
    In school I like history, but we only learn half the truth. Do schools in The Towers teach the whole truth? At the Sector 816 library Mr. Adolf, the elderly librarian, helped fill in the gaps of my education. He shared obscure books and data banks.
    I learned money trumped scientific warnings. The result of this was the destruction of the livelihoods and lives of people across the globe. Thousands died of premature deaths from extreme heat and cold. Diseases spread more easily across the now warmer planet. Extreme weather events like floods, hurricanes, and wildfires have made diseases commonplace. Polar ice melted, causing massive coastal flooding. Forests became deserts and freshwater became scarce.
    Those with means built the Nibbana to be a paradise for the rich and elite of Earth. My grandfather, Geraud Nottingham, was a professor of agriculture at Oklahoma State University until it closed. He came to this artificial world to oversee the hydroponic farms. My grandfather and my father trained me to follow in their footsteps but today robots are the farmers.
    The Nibbana has always been divided. Members of the lower class, like me, came here to serve the elite. Today we eke out whatever existence we can while the upper class thrives. In The Towers, the elite are pampered by their machines.
    In school, they teach us it was the machines that saved us. We hear stories of Earth’s Water Wars, of the machines made to protect us, of the dreamers who constructed The Nibanna as a shelter.
    This vast city orbits and moves high above the radiated Earth. It sends ships out toward the subjugated star systems. We are neither up nor down but trapped in this haven somewhere between.
    Is this why she jumped? Was she trapped? What could make someone from the privileged class want to jump?
    In the days that followed, I went to the ledge where she had taken flight. Maybe, I thought, a vision of her would appear. It didn’t. Below, in the void, scraps of paper and other debris floated on the air currents.
    When she jumped, I reached out my hand for her. A chain dropped into my hand and wrapped around my fingers. It connected us for a second. I tried to use it to pull her back, but she let go. I gripped it tightly and watched her fade away. When I opened my fist. I saw a golden badge attached to the chain.

    For days I pondered its significance. Was it valuable? An heirloom? A gift? Why did she let it go? Did it have some importance to her?
    I thought of selling it, but I think that is not what she would have wanted. Besides, I did not know who to sell it to. So, I keep it. It reminds me we are all trapped. We are prisoners of this artificial orbiting craft and all the history that brought us here.
    In the days after the girl jumped, I returned many times to the balcony. One day a cadre of automatonic police came looking for her. Someone asked if I had seen her. As I had told them before, I said, “She fell.” They said it was a tragedy and went away.
    Poor people rarely jump, when they do there are rarely any questions. When someone who wears fashionable expensive clothing jumps it leads people to take notice and investigate. Despite the equality for all provision in the Nibbana’s Articles of Governance, those from The Towers and other elite enclaves are treated differently than everyone else.
    I thought about asking the automatons about the badge. But then I thought perhaps it was the reason they came asking questions. I kept quiet. I didn’t want to give it away. Once I shadowed the police as they returned to the gates of The Towers. The closed gates opened as they waved their arms. I saw each had a badge like the girl’s and passed it before a scanner. Would it work for me? I am afraid to try. What would I do in the world of the privileged? How should I act? Would I be imprisoned?

    Was the girl from The Towers free? Or was she trapped in a prison only the pampered experience? Was her fall her release?
    In Section 816 we are left alone. No automatons, few police officers. We are free to fail or succeed. But is it freedom? We struggle to survive. We feel fear walking down the streets and alleys. I want to leave the dread and squalor of Sector 816 but do not understand where to go, how to make that change. I need to know more about The Towers. The key the girl gave me provides a way out.
    Someday I’ll use it.

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