House of the Galactic Elevator

by Gerhard Gehrke

  Jeff sighed and looked at the Grey. It stood there with a look of amusement. It turned its attention to a small computer in its hands.

  After a few seconds, with Oliop still not emerging, the Grey said, “I won’t say I’m sorry for shooting you, but I promise not to do it again. Your human friend and I have an understanding.”

  “Now hold on,” Jeff said. “We have a tentative agreement. I have yet to hear your plan.”

  Oliop peered out of the hole. His ears were standing up, on high alert. “You can’t trust him.”

  “Agreed,” Jeff said. “But this might be the opportunity we have to actually fix the elevator. And even if it means the Grey gets a ride out of here, might that not be worth it?”

  “I don’t know, Jeff Abel,” Oliop said. He stood up, waist-high to the floor. His tail flicked about aimlessly behind him. Then, not so aimlessly. Jeff saw the willful appendage creep up and tap a few commands on one of Oliop’s tablets. Jeff gave him the slightest nod.

  “That won’t work,” Irving the Grey said. “I’ve set up an exclusion zone for all coms, so your communication is cut off. I’m afraid the two of you are on your own on this one. That being said, if our arrangement works out, I’ll be out of your way, and you’ll be back on Earth before the hour is out.”

  That got Oliop’s attention. “How is that possible? Been working on this for many weeks, and the elevators are nowhere close to being fixed. Just getting the computers online will take days of recoding, if we even knew how to code them.”

  “Because, technician,” Irving said, “the computers are merely backup automation, part of the safety redundancy for the elevators. Follow me, and maybe you’ll learn a thing or two.”

  With that, Irving turned on its heels and headed to the grav chute out of the control room. The bots fell in behind, leaving Jeff and Oliop alone.

  “Can’t trust the Grey,” Oliop said in a low tone.

  “Agreed,” Jeff said.

  “So why are we…”

  “Even listening to Irving? Maybe because he has the guns.”

  “But the Grey said it was going to send you back home,” Oliop said with disappointment. “Is that what you want?”

  Jeff pushed his hair back out of his face and rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know if it’s what I want, but the option might be nice. There’s plenty of other people who want to go home too. There’s all the trade and commerce for a thousand worlds at a standstill. And let’s not forget the thousand-plus Galactic Commons citizens stranded on Earth. Who knows what trouble they’ve gotten into in the past three months. So what if the little bugger can get the system back up?”

  “I’m curious how. We missed something in the repairs?” Oliop climbed up out of the pit.

  “Maybe. But this is maybe the only chance we have to run for it and to get reinforcements. You could easily evade those bots.”

  Oliop went to a window and looked down at the terminal. “The Grey is taking the bots with him. We both could leave.”

  Jeff took a look. The Grey with its hijacked robot entourage was moving towards the further parts of the lobby that went to the terminals. There many platforms with ramps fed the hundreds of elevators. None were working. What once had been the busy hub of a galactic community was now an inert edifice of technology that no one could fix.

  “This is stupid,” Jeff said. “I’m an idiot for even considering the offer. This is a classic confidence ploy. The bugger shot you.”

  “Just stunned.” Oliop went to the grav lift and prepared to descend. “The Grey may have the solution to a problem that has paralyzed the city. And it will not consent to being captured again. So it must know it can leave, or hide, or evade. And there isn’t anything down that way but the elevators. It expects to use them. Maybe you should go tell Captain Flemming and I’ll follow the Grey.”

  “Maybe you should. But I want to see him repair the system too. You need to know and so do I. That way we can permanently fix the problem. We just can’t trust him.”

  Oliop’s ears went flat. “We’re already trusting him by following him.”

  They went down the lift.

  ***

  From everything Oliop had told him about elevators and their connection to preset destination points, Jeff understood enough to know that the elevators themselves required the navigation computer network and the probability computer to be up and running, otherwise they were no more than high-tech versions of boxes more expensive things came in, boxes that, with the right crayons and imagination, could become spaceships and tanks and forts with mouth-noise sound effects. Nothing but inert, dead things once the plug was pulled. Each elevator stood next to a freestanding console at the end of a gangplank where one would unlock the conveyance with an authorizing card/finger/hoof. Then it was a matter of climbing in, closing the door, hitting the shiny red go button, and whammo, there you are. Your destination had to be someplace connected to the network. The probability computer would provide assurance of not landing in or on someone or something disagreeable. With the navigation and probability computer offline, an elevator journey would prove to be an unacceptable crapshoot for most travelers. However, the elevators still should have worked without the computer’s guidance, but they hadn’t since the fourth wave of Bunnie invaders had arrived from Earth, exchanging places with and dropping off the last of the evacuees on Jeff’s erstwhile homeworld.

  And there the elevators sat, row upon row, tiers of platforms with ramps feeding the dark boxes that now went nowhere, shorter platforms at the top, a ziggurat within the closed structure of the giant terminal. These many boxes were the ones used by passengers. Jeff had seen the lower levels where larger elevators were set up to move cargo and even vehicles, as the elevators themselves only got you to the world in question and back and didn’t serve as a mode of transportation once there.

  The silence within the chamber swallowed Jeff and Oliop’s footsteps. They climbed a ramp and found the Grey on one of the longer platforms. The four enslaved security bots stood to either side, weapons held low. An elevator stood open with its interior illuminated. The space within could hold four humans comfortably, eight if in a pinch, and sixteen or more if stacked like firewood and rushing a 1950's era college fraternity. Jeff looked around at the rest of the terminal. There were smaller and larger elevators. Some had atmosphere attachments to account for differences in pressure and temperature, and for worlds impolite enough to not use an approximation of the 78/21 nitrogen/oxygen mix held in common by nine of ten members of the Galactic Commons.

  The Grey waited and watched them approach. Oliop slinked past the Grey, careful not to touch it. Oliop’s earlier reticence was gone upon seeing the elevator and having the prospect of getting the contraption working again. Jeff had watched the technician’s hyperfocus in action since the system went down. Jeff had reminded Oliop on a number of occasions to eat, sleep, and groom. Oliop entered the open elevator and examined the control panel, fingers tentatively touching and prodding.

  “System still down,” Oliop said.

  “Indeed,” Irving the Grey said with its pinched voice. “As are the computers. The mistake in your method these past weeks is isolation of the real issue. You detached the transportation network from the probability computer, which addressed the compromise I introduced. Very clever, technician. Yet you failed to discover the secondary problem that prevents this system from running. Something I had nothing to do with.”

  “I doubt that,” Jeff said. Yet he was curious, too. He had spent dozens of off-shift evenings with Oliop in the guts of the computers, grasping some of what his friend was doing, yet fully understanding little. Jeff put a hand to the frame of the elevator door and leaned in. He kept the Grey in the periphery of his vision. The box had power. Orange and yellow glowing lines ran across floor, walls, and ceiling. As had been confirmed on so many previous nights, the lights could be turned on, but the train was stuck in the station and taking no one home.

  “Technician,” Irv
ing the Grey said, “disconnect the entire unit from the docking array save for the power.”

  Oliop looked up from the console. His brow furrowed. “But that would make the elevator nothing but a lit box.”

  The Grey didn’t respond.

  Oliop exited the elevator, a finger tapping his chin, his tail sweeping behind him. He said, “If it could engage, it would have no way of responding to programming. No destination could be set. And the original problem still stands: it’s disconnected from the network. Taking your course of action would be a step backward in solving the problem.”

  “That’s why you never fixed it, technician,” the Grey said. “You never realized you were missing a piece of the puzzle. In this case, a literal piece.”

  With a flourish, the Grey extended a hand with one finger held out horizontally, as if waiting for a bird to light upon its digit. The wriggling worm on its shoulder began to move, inching along until it reached the Grey’s finger. Once there, the worm said, “I live, I think, I am…programmed.”

  The Grey looked at the tiny worm with the first approximation of warmth Jeff had ever seen from it.

  “What is that?” Jeff asked.

  “The puzzle piece,” the Grey said. “The messiah nut. The part without which the entire machine fails, leaving you naught to do but consult with your savior for salvation. I present the worm.”

  Oliop began to nod, slightly at first, then with much enthusiasm. “Not just a messiah nut. The pilot.”

  “Wait,” Jeff said, “I thought whoever was at the controls of the elevator was the pilot.”

  “Me, too,” Oliop said, “but I allowed for the possibility that there might be another system, a root hidden from user and guiding program alike. The foundation.” Oliop leaned in close to have a look at the worm, his fear of the Grey forgotten.

  The Grey withdrew the worm. “Okay, technician,” the Grey said, all warmth now gone. “Time to do what I asked.”

  Oliop climbed underneath the elevator, snaking his skinny body between spaces as if his bones were made of gelatin. Tink. Tink. Tank. Clank. Clank. Clatter. Jeff could only see the tip of Oliop’s tail pointing in random directions as its owner labored. There came a ratcheting sound. Oliop began a tuneless hum, interspaced with mutterings.

  That was when Jeff caught the smell of the Grey. Some of the larger scent packets read loud and true, piney units emitted by the Grey’s glands to denote purpose and confidence. But there, too, to Jeff’s untrained nose, assisted by his translator, also detected off-notes. Something briny. Something like three-day-old fallen apricots cooking in the summer sun. Something rotten. These were trace scents, faint as a whisper. Jeff glanced at the Grey. The Grey watched Oliop’s progress with a neutral expression, revealing nothing. Was this array of trace odor purposeful? Or was it reflexive, like the cold sweat that came with a bad case of nerves or saliva that juiced the mouth in anticipation of a plate of smoked brisket? Irving had overlooked one new development with the Commons translators: they now were programmed with the Grey species’ scent emissions.

  Jeff took a deep whiff. There, like a superscript above anything the Grey purposed to communicate with the larger aromas, wafted the subtle yet revealing expressions “Anticipation,” “Hatred,” and “Revenge.” This silent and deadly unintended declaration of intent filled Jeff with panic. His palms sweated. His mouth went dry. He hoped that none of these involuntary responses showed.

  The four bots still stood back, just out of reach. None of their weapons pointed directly at Jeff. None pointed too far away, either.

  “How much longer, Oliop?” Jeff asked.

  “Oh, this won’t take but another minute,” Oliop said from underneath the elevator.

  “Are you sure? This seems like quite the undertaking. Maybe we should consult to make sure you don’t undo anything unnecessarily.”

  “Jeff Abel, I won’t break anything. Don’t you worry.”

  “I’m just thinking you need to come here and take a look at the, uh, control panel.”

  “Why don’t you finish up down there, technician?” Irving the Grey said.

  Irving the Grey now held a blaster. It gestured with the barrel of the gun for Jeff to back up into the elevator. One of the bots rolled forward, its own weapon raised.

  Jeff put up his hands. “Hey, I thought we were all friends in this. Help you get out of here? You get the system back online? Win-win for everybody.”

  “Step into the elevator, human,” the Grey said.

  Oliop emerged from beneath the elevator, wiping his hands on his blue mechanic suit’s pants. He patted his tail down and whisked off his shoulders. He produced a brush and began working on his head hair, parting it neatly down the middle and blending in the long top locks with the short mane of fur on his neck so it all curled perfectly up where it touched his collar. Finally he looked up. When he saw the situation, he cooed.

  “In the elevator with you, too,” the Grey said.

  Oliop did as ordered, shaken at the sight of the weapons pointing his way. He collided with one of the bots, stumbled, and almost fell down onto the Grey. The Grey gave Oliop’s tail a swat, keeping the darting limb away as if it were a snake.

  “Sorry,” Oliop said.

  “Don’t play games,” Irving the Grey said. “Now go.”

  Oliop moved past Jeff into the elevator. Jeff didn’t budge.

  “You can’t expect us to get in this thing with it unhooked.”

  “On the contrary, I can,” Irving said. “Don’t interpret my reluctance to shoot you up until this point as any lack of desire to do you harm. But it will be to my advantage to just be rid of you and the technician.”

  Jeff looked back at Oliop. He stood in back behind the elevator’s console, hands clasped together nervously and holding his tail.

  “This isn’t about me this time, is it?” Jeff said. “It’s about Oliop. You need to get rid of him for some reason. You know that Oliop can fix this mess.”

  “I’m not discussing this any further!” the Grey said, its voice quivering with rage. It steadied the weapon, began to squeeze the trigger.

  “Tut-tut, my little Grey friend,” a voice said from behind the Grey. “Put your weapon down. There’s no need for it.”

  A creature approached with the most awkward gait Jeff had ever seen. Hitch, step, swing leg, hitch, hop, step, repeat. Jeff would note the thing’s striking marblesque skin, its stately gestures with its graceful hands, and its strange blue eyes later. What Jeff saw first was that this creature was unlike anything else he had yet seen within the Galactic Commons, as it was a humanoid with two pelvises.

  “Proper introductions, Irving,” the new arrival said with a lordly wave. The weird creature spoke with a singsong voice.

  The Grey still looked like it was about to fire, but then it lowered its weapon and sighed. It hiked a thumb back over its shoulder. “Jeff the Human, meet Lord Akimbo.”

  Lord Akimbo offered a formal, if awkward, bow. He looked as if he might topple over as he swept the floor with an arm. “Well met, human,” Akimbo said. “I see that Irving has solicited your cooperation.”

  “That’s one way to put it,” Jeff said. “He has us at gunpoint. So who are you, exactly?”

  “Someone who is interested in rebuilding,” Akimbo said. He wobbled forward until he stood next to Irving.

  Jeff said, “I know that I’m new here, but I’ve never met you before.”

  “Alas!” Akimbo said with a hand to his forehead and a swoon. “But few have. No one remembers me, and I have been unoccupied for so very long.”

  “If you’re interested in rebuilding, we could use you,” Jeff said. “The elevators, the computer systems, this city needs citizens willing to help out.” Jeff realized he was sounding like a recruitment pamphlet. Next, would he hit this guy up for a donation?

  “Tut-tut,” Akimbo said. “Lord Akimbo doesn’t help out. He also doesn’t fix things. Lord Akimbo builds!”

  “I’m sure we can find som
ething for you to do.”

  Irving the Grey found that funny, and started to laugh softly.

  “Something for me to do?” Akimbo said indignantly. “Like I’m some lowly stevedore? An indentured servant or coolie awaiting orders from a gang-boss to dig a ditch?”

  “No, that’s not what I–” Jeff started to say.

  “How dare you! I am Lord Akimbo. I build! I give the orders to bring up towers, to install, to design, to put up the edifices. But I have been forgotten. And before we can build, we must pull down.”

  “Uh,” Jeff said, “there’s been enough pulling down. The Bunnie and the Grey here already did quite a bit of damage.”

  “A rock thrown into a pond of stagnation,” Akimbo said. “Small ripples where there should be a tidal wave, an earthquake. What more could invigorate the galactic community than the need to rebuild this entire city?”

  The floor at Akimbo’s feet came alive with movement. At first Jeff thought the platform was shifting. He looked down. It was as if Akimbo stood in a sea of living noodles as a thousand worms crept forward. Jeff stepped backward into the elevator. The flood of worms stopped short of the portal, content to wriggle about one another and over Akimbo’s three feet. Even Irving the Grey took a step to the side away from the mass of tiny creatures. As they writhed, some of them whispered, “I live, I think, I am.” These words became muttered and jumbled, a halfhearted response to an unheard litany, a babble of whispers.

  Akimbo leaned forward at an odd angle, twisting his head, studying Jeff. He sighed. “You can be excused, human, as you are new here. It is not your fault that I was forgotten by this city and its ruler.”

  Jeff fought the urge to back up into the rear of the elevator, away from Akimbo, and away from the worms. He put his hands together awkwardly and gave a curt bow. He said, “Lord Akimbo, excuse me, but ruler? This city has no ruler.”

  “Oh, human,” Akimbo said. “Ignorance tires me so. Truly, I have little need of you at the moment. But the technician Oliop. It is him I wish to speak to.”