The Tree

“Where did the trees come from? Were they always there?”

We were forbidden to ask such questions, as well as any other sort of questions. To question anything at all was outlawed by Legion, and we were to obey.

It was easier to turn some, and difficult to turn others, though we would all eventually succumb to the will of Legion. Then again, the trees made freedom seem less like a fantasy and more like a reality.

I couldn’t help but stare at them, all day and night. The trees, the trees… oh, the beautiful trees. I would purchase an admiration tablet from the Marketplace so that I could look at and admire the trees—the heavenly pillars that reached higher than any building ever built by man or machine. Truly a product of otherworldly aspirations.

It was said that millennia ago, in a world long since forgotten by both man and machine, the trees seen today were not present among the trees seen then, which were now extinct due to the over-technologicalization of the planet’s surface. With technological advancements, it wasn’t difficult to develop oxygen-producing power plants that administered breathable air into the atmosphere. The same technology would later help humans survive in space. As technology advanced, trees grew closer to becoming completely obsolete—and anything obsolete would eventually be deleted from the Mainframe.

The trees of tomorrow, however, did not produce anything that benefited our world. They only wished to use it as an anchor—a place to grow more worlds of their own. Seeding themselves into the soil of Earth, saplings sprouted from all corners of the planet. Upon their branches, leaves began blooming until every tree was filled with green life.

What hadn’t been known at the time, though, was that each of these leaves harbored a newborn universe.

We wondered how these trees came to be, or where they’d come from, but we were told not to ask questions. Asking questions had consequences. The only time we were allowed to question things was when indulging in the use of “E,” the drug that allowed humans to feel emotions. Otherwise, we were slaves to the Mainframe. All thoughts were controlled. All thoughts were monitored.

With “E” in our system, Legion had no control over us—our thoughts, or our actions.

Legion, the A—

Even with “E” in our system, we had nothing to fear from Legion. As the savior of humanity, Legion had prevented our extinction by building a massive city inside another dimension that harbored all of humankind, all while Earth’s universe was on the brink of collapse. In order to survive, we confided in Legion, placing our entire faith in the A.I.

The trees were all that resembled the old world. All else had moved on, advancing with time and aging with the seasons. Except… there were no seasons in the new world. Legion controlled the weather, as well as everything else.

That is the reason “E” existed—emotions did not communicate well with the inner workings of the machine. The two operated on different levels of frequency. “E” allowed us to experience a sense of freedom, even if it came at a cost. Whatever the price, the worth was there.

Without the drug, humans felt less like humans and more like machines—machines programmed to obey and act upon commands that came directly from Legion. To all of us, Legion was our God. And to some, even a master.

That still didn’t explain where the trees had come from.

One day there was nothing, and the very next day, they were sprouting from the ground like radioactive mushrooms. And now, they simply exist alongside us—whatever their purpose may have been. If the rumors were true… would we eventually be able to travel to one of these newborn realities?

How would that work?
Where would it take us?
Would returning to this reality even be possible?

These were the kinds of questions we would ask while high on “E,” but rarely were they ever answered. Agreeing with everything almost seemed like an ultimatum. In other ways, it felt more like a threat.

After taking a confidence tablet, I accessed the Materialization Panel in the SiLens menu. The panel was a buffet of ideas that would materialize if summoned. I used what everyone called “thought-speak”—a communication method that reached out to people and applications alike solely by thought.

A pair of GravAir V’s—gravity-manipulation sneakers—materialized around my old shoes, replacing them entirely. This new pair could alter gravitational molecules, allowing wearers to defy the laws of gravity. Whether you wished for less gravity or more, these state-of-the-art models would deliver.

With my new sneakers, this would be the day I climbed a tree and found out if the rumors were true.

It would be the first—and last—time I found myself in this reality:
An entire universe within a leaf upon a tree,
which would eventually come to be known as a treeality.