Michael found himself—and he was himself again—in a valley which he did not recognize, standing by a pool which jutted off from a river. Further up the valley, a large bird which he also did not recognize was swooping low to the surface of the river. The cloudless sky was lit by an unseen sun, but the valley itself was shaded and dark.
He looked down at the pool, and saw something at the bottom of it. About a foot below the surface of the water was a golden sword. His. He went to reach for it, then stopped.
The surface of the water was—well—not water: some sort of oily substance sat on top of it, perhaps an accumulation of river scum that had run off and collected on the surface of the stagnant pool. His immediate reaction was to recoil, then stand, silently. Looking downstream, the river seemed to join with some others, snake away towards a distant ocean, where no doubt a town or city would be found. The valley floor was covered with soft grass and only slightly inclined, tempting his feet towards a comfortable, meandering descent of the landscape's gradient.
No. He plunged his hand past the oily muck and retrieved his sword.
Next to the sword, and slightly buried in the loose mud of the pool, was his crown. He took that too. Both of his prizes were now dripping with the strange viscous substance.
He put the crown on, for what else would he do with it, and, standing up, he held the blade aloft, watching it glint against the amber sky. The oil dripped from the crown over his forehead and into his eyes, and his vision became blurry, but after a moment it cleared, and the earth before him shone with a gold normally reserved for heaven.
He sat up in the bed in Adam's spare room. It was a hot day, and there was no air conditioning in Adam's flat, so he was slightly sweaty even under the thin blanket that Adam had laid over him while he slept on top of the duvet. The lights were off, and in the darkness he struggled, tangled in the crochet. He was on the verge of panic when he managed to free his right hand.
He gripped the blanket with it and with all his wrath wrenched it off him and threw it across the room. The blanket left his hands and caught aflame, a comet against the darkness. Michael averted his eyes from the blaze as it scorched a path through the air, and a light dusting of ash and charred-black polyamide fibres was all that reached the opposing wall. Apparently reacting to the plastic stink of burnt synthetic fabric, Joshua coughed in his sleep.
Some far-buried part of Michael was able to comprehend what had just happened, and at a level below his awareness, a knot of tension formed at the base of his spine. But to the part of Michael's brain that was aware of itself, this spectacle didn't register as anything other than right.
“You're awake!” cried Adam, as Michael walked into the living room. The dim light filtering in through the curtains told Michael it was evening, and that he and Joshua had slept through the day.
“Yeah, I must've slept all day huh?”
“Twelve? You've been out for three days.”
“And you let me sleep? No doctors? After what I’ve been through, shouldn't I be waking up in a hospital, instead of a stranger's flat?”
Something moved at the back Adam's eyes. Michael couldn’t see what it was.
“No. No doctors, no hospital, no. None of that. You are too important. And they, they would not understand.” as Adam finished speaking, Michael felt a twinge in his forehead.
“You are right. Of all men, you are on the side of the angels.”
“Th-thank you.”
“We must go forth.”
“Go, uh, forth? To where?”
“For now, your path is my path. Yes. That is why you found me. Go where you will, and I will follow.”
It was Sunday morning, and that afternoon Adam was overseeing some sort of competition, funded by his company and some billionaire's combined philanthropic efforts. The format was simple: six teams, each consisting of seven bright young graduates would be given a prompt, and have eight hours to come up with a company pitch for the three judges. The best team would be given a weighty sum of cash and set to work.
One was supposed to be the billionaire in question, but in fact he had excused himself and sent a lieutenant. One was a representative of the Innovation Institute. One of the judges was Adam, who was not particularly pleased to be there, but on account of having taken a three-day leave from work was in some trouble with his boss.
Adam was characteristically early, and saw five groups of people sitting down in quiet determination, plus one group whose members jostled up to him as soon as he entered the door. They all looked sheepish, eventually one of them, mumbling, managed to ask Adam if he was in charge.
“Sort of. Why? Who's your team leader?” Adam checked his sheets. “Looks like you're team six, so ... which one of you is Laszlo?”
“He, uhh”
“He's not here”
“He's dead”
“What?”
“Train crash”
“The one in the canal”
“You must've heard of it”
Michael strode forward, his arm outstretched.
“I am sorry. Were any of you close to him?” One person, the first to speak, stepped forward. Her name badge read ‘Abby’. Michael embraced her, patting her back with his right hand. ‘Let me take his place, I will lead you.’ Abby fell to her knees, wiping her eyes.
“Thank you.” she said.
After about fifteen minutes, the other two judges arrived. The billionaire's lieutenant came alone, but the senior staffer from the Innovation Institute had someone with her, perhaps an intern: a young woman who eyed Michael suspiciously.
The challenge was unveiled: an end to ageing. Michael watched teams one through five exit into their assigned side-rooms. He led his team to the roof. He pointed out East, towards the coast.
“See that?”
“See what?”
“The smog?”
“I don't see anything”
“The water.” And he lazily wafted his hand, and they saw it. An expanse, not infinite, but close enough for just about anyone. Beyond it, at the horizon, something shining, with gold and green and red. “We will cross the ocean.”
After two hours, Michael led the team back down and ushered them into their workspace, though he stayed in the main hall while they worked. He trusted them. The judges had been checking in on the teams here and there, and were about to check on his. Michael greeted the two judges who were not Adam, shaking their hands in turn.
The rest of the hours passed. The teams presented their work. Michael’s won. A unanimous vote.
Michael sauntered over to the judges' table, where the intern was still snatching glances in his direction.
“You recognize me?”
“Yes of course I recognize you” said Lucy with a tight smile.
“Then join us!” He turned to the judge from the Innovation Institute. “She will come with me.”
“Go, go Lucy! This is important”
Thus Lucy joined Michael and his six disciples to start a company: EDEN.
