Outwardly carefree but alert and tense, I walked quickly past a children's carousel with painted horses spinning in endless circles. Just beyond, a crumpled sign read "Pavilion of Holograms." It was an unmistakable invitation, one that almost seemed to pull me in. On either side of the entrance floated two high-quality holograms, suspended in the air as if defying physics itself. Both figures were familiar to me down to the smallest detail.
The first hologram was a perfect copy of my mentor, teacher, and friend—the Navigator. He appeared rugged and slightly worn, like an old metal worker, with a brass knuckle gleaming on his right fist. The second hologram was Paradise, a recent acquaintance and investigator I'd come to trust. She appeared in the attire of a Cambodian queen, wrapped in a patterned sampot that clung gracefully around her form, and a Khmer scarf elegantly draped over her head.
As I approached, the pavilion doors opened silently. My pyramid—a small object the Navigator had once given me—remained still in my pocket, showing no signs of alarm. I stepped through the door quickly, barely a second in the threshold. Once inside, I took an instinctive right turn, sank into a nearby seat, and scanned the scene around me.
From the outside, the Pavilion of Holograms looked no larger than a small hut. Inside, it transformed into something almost cosmic—a vast, cavernous expanse that seemed to stretch indefinitely, filled with row after row of holograms. Each figure was distinct, standing in place, a slight ripple or flutter in the air marking their position like statues caught in the act of breathing.
Drawn down a central aisle, I felt myself subconsciously searching for familiar faces. Who might I find among these spectral figures? Men and women of every race stood in rigid rows, gazing forward, silent and inscrutable. All three of humanity's broad racial groups—Caucasian, Negroid, Mongoloid—appeared here, represented in endless variation. It was impossible to say who or why someone had created this immense holographic gallery, but the scale was awe-inspiring, hinting at an ambition or purpose I couldn't yet grasp.
In my pocket, I felt the small pyramid once more, reminding me of its unique telepathic ability. With just a rub, I could initiate a silent, mutually beneficial dialogue with it—though each use drained a bit of my energy, a side effect the Navigator had warned me about. "You can only use this six times," he had cautioned. I'd already used it once, which is how I found my way to the Pavilion. Somewhere within this hall, I believed, the Navigator lay in a cryogenic chamber. I had no idea how to locate him, but I knew I was getting closer.
The low, almost hypnotic hum of sound—like a swarm of bees buzzing overhead—seemed to follow me as I moved deeper into the hall. In the center of this vast cave stood a structure where all the passageways converged. As I neared, I could make out its form: a stepped pyramid, platforms rising in levels, forming a regular geometric shape. A wide staircase led up to the peak, and, steeling myself, I approached it.
I felt the pyramid in my pocket as I placed my right foot on the first step. A sudden, excruciating pain surged through my leg. It was as if the pyramid had jolted awake, its energy surging through me in warning. I staggered, gripped by the need to place both feet on the step to steady myself. But as I lifted my left leg, two things happened at once.
First, the pyramid vibrated furiously in my pocket, emitting an almost explosive pulse. I stumbled back, feeling as though I'd just taken a knockout punch. At the same instant, a hidden door on the side of the pyramid slid open, and there, emerging from the darkness, was Paradise, dressed in a sleek diving suit. Behind her stood the Navigator, looking remarkably youthful, a wide grin on his face, dressed in the flowing garb of Lawrence of Arabia. Seeing him again, I wondered if it was me who had aged.
The Navigator pressed a finger to his lips, motioning for silence. Together, he and Paradise took my arms, guiding me through the door and down into the subterranean depths beyond. As I stumbled down the stairs, I managed to whisper to Paradise, "I told you we'd meet again." The door closed behind us, and as I turned to say more, my vision blurred, and consciousness slipped away…
*****
When I came to, I felt a gentle touch along my right leg, from the knee up to just below the groin—a woman's hand, I guessed. A warmth spread over me, awakening sensations I'd forgotten, stirring a physical response.
"Oh!" a cheerful, amused voice exclaimed. "Haven't been touched by a woman in ten years, have you?"
"Make it twelve," I replied, opening my eyes. Paradise's smiling face looked down at me, and only then did I fully register where I was. We were in a small, dimly lit cave, with a bright light illuminating a narrow platform beneath me.
In the corner, the Navigator sat, his back turned, hunched over a portable desk, working on something with a slide rule. His focus was intense, detached from my reawakening.
Paradise, ever the investigator, continued massaging my leg, her hands gliding smoothly as she applied a fragrant ointment. It was only now that I felt the full extent of the damage to my leg. The pyramid's painful jolt had left its mark. I pulled a large towel nearby to cover myself, noticing a mischievous glint in Paradise's eye.
"Aren't space agents a bit shy?" she teased. "I'll take it as a compliment, but it's a pity to see such a good thing go to waste," she added with a conspiratorial smile, her poncho draping her as if it were her only attire.
I took her hand, intrigued, and asked, "What's your real name, anyway?"
"Rachel," she replied, her tone shifting slightly. "But I—"
Without letting her finish, I interrupted, "Mine's Taras."
"Yes, Taras," she murmured, but then hesitated as if she had more to say.
At that moment, the Navigator's dry, sardonic voice broke in. "Sorry to interrupt your little bonding session," he said, "but the planet needs saving." He pressed a button on his slide rule, and a section of the cave wall slid aside, revealing a new sight.
Together, Paradise and I rose, moving forward, with the Navigator joining us, his arms draped protectively over our shoulders. We gazed out at the vastness before us—a great subterranean lake, stretching as far as I could see, with a ceiling arching forty meters high. Near the water's edge, a small pier extended toward the lake, and moored there was an egg-shaped vessel, designed for survival in the harshest conditions.
Painted along its side were the words "Taras Ramses."
I took in the view, the enormity of the cave and the silent promise held in the waiting vessel.
"This…" I began.
The Navigator's voice completed my thought. "Yes," he said, his tone softened. "This is Seegrotte."