Chapter 1
Our technology has exceeded our humanity
Albert Einstein
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A man woke to the shrill cry of his alarm. He reached out, silenced it, and let the silence return to his room. It was still dark outside. For a moment, he stayed still, eyes open, body unwilling. Then, reluctantly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The cold floor met his feet with a bite. Doubt crept in. Maybe he should go back to sleep. Maybe today is not the day.
But he pushed the thought away. He stood up and shuffled towards the bathroom, half-asleep.
The water was freezing. He brushed his teeth and splashed his face, the cold water jolting him further awake. Back in his room, he changed into a yellow hoodie and black trousers, then double-checked his backpack to ensure everything he needed for the trip was packed. Satisfied, he laced up his shoes and stepped outside.
The cold wind greeted him, a constant, whispering presence in the empty street. The full moon was tucked behind the clouds. He rubbed his hands together to fight the cold and glanced at his watch. 3:22 a.m.
He opened the gate, quietly rolled his bike onto the street, and closed the gate behind him. He did not start the bike, not yet. A pack of stray dogs often sleeps near his neighbour’s gate, and the roar of the bike will surely wake them.
He walked the bike to the end of the street. Only then did he start the bike. The bike’s growl shattered the silence. The dogs stirred awake, barking and sprinting towards the noise, but he accelerated and left them behind.
He reached the edge of the city in twenty minutes, faster than usual. The roads were deserted. The city faded behind him, replaced by farmlands stretching endlessly on either side. He was still 60 kilometers from his destination, but ahead of the planned time.
The road was broken in places, and the streetlights long dead. The road was illuminated by the full moon. Once, many people rode alongside him; now he rode alone. The infrastructure has crumbled, and no one seems to care anymore.
The cold wind lashed against him at high speed. The thick yellow hoodie offered little protection. He eased off the throttle, choosing safety and warmth over haste.
Fuel stations flicked past in the dark, all shuttered and silent. Their emptiness stirred something inside him. Quite melancholy. These closed pumps felt like relics, a reminder of a world before teleportation. A past slipping away, never to return.
He slowed down and turned onto a dirt road. Weeds had overgrown the path, making it hard to ride. A temple stood near the base of the hill. He parked his bike and slung the backpack over his shoulder. He checked the watch. 4:33 a.m.
He started walking towards the hill. He walked for several minutes until he came upon a chain-link fence. On the other side of the fence was a small room cobbled together with iron sheets, dimly lit by a flickering bulb. He spotted an opening nearby in the fence and stepped through.
He approached the shack and knocked. No answer. He knocked again. A middle-aged man opened the door, still half asleep. He was the night guard.
“I am heading to the mountain peak,” said the man in the yellow hoodie.
“I was not aware people are still trekking to the peak,” the guard said, rubbing his eyes. He disappeared briefly into the room and returned with a book.
“Write your details,” he said, handing over the book.
“Why are you trekking to the peak?” the guard asked, eying the man.
The man heard the question but said nothing. He did not know how to explain. He scribbled the details in the book and returned it.
“No one uses this trail anymore,” the guard warned. “It is not the safe way up.”
The man nodded.
“If you are not back by noon, I will have to come looking for you. Don’t make me do that, I have got other things to take care of.”
“I will be back before noon.”
The man pulled up his hood, adjusted his bag, and walked into the dark forest trail.
The path was narrow, flanked by trees with overgrown branches blocking the moonlight. The narrow beam of his torch cut through the endless darkness. The trees loomed, their twisted shapes eerie in the light. The trail was filled with sharp rocks and overgrown bushes.
He heard dry leaves rustle nearby. He turned the torch, but saw nothing. He continued walking along the trail.
After a while, he came upon a steep rock covered in moss. He climbed carefully, each step deliberate, mindful not to slip. Reaching the top of the rock, he stopped and sat down to catch his breath. He took out the water bottle from his bag and drank.
From here, the trail looked gentler, lined with tall grass. But the wind was brutal. It whipped through hills, tearing the hoodie off his head. He tucked the bottle back into the bag and got up. Lowered his head and pushed on against the wind.
As he neared the peak, the grass gave way to a steep gorge on one side. One wrong step and he would vanish into it. He tread cautiously, eyes locked on the path.
A final ascent, and he reached the summit. 5:44 am. The moon had set and the sky was dark, but already tinged with anticipation of sunrise in a few minutes.
A cluster of ten-foot metal cabins stood on one side of the peak, portable teleportation units. The man walked past them and sat at the cliff’s edge, unwrapped a protein bar, and began to eat.
Soon, a child and his parents emerged from one of the cabins, followed by many other families. Many were still half asleep. Some of them sat nearby waiting for sunrise. More and more people arrived. Teleportation had made these once remote places bustling destinations.
Where roads once led the determined few, teleportation delivered crowds in seconds. The emptiness of the roads and fullness of this peak told the same story - in our human quest for comfort, we have surrendered the beauty of effort.
The man stood up, grabbing his bag before anyone trampled him. The sun began to rise, but its beauty was lost behind the sea of raised cameras, letting lens remember what eyes forget.
Within minutes of the sun peeking over the horizon, the crowd began to thin. One by one, they stepped into metal cabins and vanished, their brief communion with nature completed.
The man stayed. He sat again, watching the light bathe the hills. The wind was quieter now. A few stragglers lingered, still chasing the perfect picture. Nearby, workers swept up the mess, tossing wrappers and bottles into a teleportation cabin designated for garbage.
When the crowd had all but vanished, the man stood once more, drew the cool air flowing against his face, and turned around to begin his descent.
