A single, towering tree crowned the hill, at once alien to Morris and one with nature. It coiled upward like a spring, with colossal, palm-like leaves criss-crossing at the center and resting their weight half a rotation up along the trunk. The spiraling trunk culminated in a spherical, red-brown bulb. Each part of the tree and its leaves twisted, turned, and branched at precise angles and increments in accordance with some pattern beyond Morris’s conscious understanding. Several barrels stood around the base.
A stream dotted with purple water lotuses arced around the hill and carved winding avenues through the woods to either side. A thousand verdant greens radiated from the foliage. Sunlight danced amidst a swaying, rustling canopy.
A golden dawn rose over uneven, grassy hills within an endless city. Twisted spires pulsated pleasing color patterns. Intricate carvings placed kings, mythical beasts, and Hindu gods alongside astronauts, androids, and aliens. Stepped architecture and opalescent, chrome domes pointed structures toward the heavens. The air was fresh. Muted sunlight allowed a sea of twinkling stars, most of which formed a vast spiral, to fill the dawn sky.
A temple perched atop the highest hill, outshining the rest of the city in its resplendence. At that hill’s foot sat another huge building, though this building was bereft of decoration save a statue of an atomic model and a sign reading ‘Moksha Research Institute #1.’
The next day’s discussions took place in the ‘Labyrinth,’ the messy, maze-like mass of twisting and interlocking corridors leading into the heart of the palace. Black carpeting inlaid with a geometric pattern of red lines covered the floor. Dark, burgundy felt covered torch-set walls. Several palace guards accompanied Timaeus and his advisors as they trudged up and down through loops and branches.
Passageways curved back and forth, slanted up and sharply down, merged, converged, and diverged. The red pattern repeated endlessly in the black carpet, and even aligned perfectly at all intersections of the palace’s innumerable, irregular passageways in a stunning display of mathematical genius. As Morris passed by torches, each flickering shadow both echoed then faded into the shadow which came before.
…
At first, this torchlit maze of corridors had seemed a magical place. Then, it seemed like a math equation. Now, it was Hell. Only the steady increase in bodies signaled progress as the group struggled through the winding corridors.