NetherWorld

by Daniel Quiles Pagan

  As the Karbon born ravages cast the Sector into a deadly spiral, those outside the Sector believed the area was being punished for heretical practices. It was common knowledge that Sector 6 leaned toward the Singularity. Those Already Awakened were just punishing them for their wayward beliefs. The Sector was in complete ruin.

  The High Council was slow to respond to NazKlans pleas for help. Eventually Blue Guard reinforcements showed up to help fight off the sward of deadly creatures. They quickly realized this was a futile effort and decided to concentrate on containment over elimination. This meant that all of Sector 6 would fall to the onslaught. Filters were place around the entire area to keep the bugs from spreading further.

  Spammers, the termites of NetherWorld, chewed entire buildings down to a salty dust. They looked like tiny daschunds with razor sharp teeth. Voracious pests that self replicated, they soon filled every building in the sector until the Silicates found a way to fence them in to prevent widespread building damage.

  This was even more devastating than the Spys and Kooks. As buildings were chewed to their very foundation, the entire Sector suffocated under a blizzard of Spammer dust. Skyscrapers that were once the pride of the sector were reduced to small lumps encased in the fine sandy rubble. Block after block fell into a salted dune of dust. Winds blocked by the tall buildings now howled through the sector, sculpting the land in a desolate sandy wasteland.

  Sector 6 was transformed into a desert with no streams, few reputable Bytes, and no discernable function to perform. All commerce and personal data were split up and encrypted throughout the remaining 12 Sectors to prevent a similar disaster. Like any other plodding arm of government, the response was too slow and insufficient to make an impact. Sector 6 was lost. Even the clear streams were buried under the salty dust. Nothing flowed through the area.

  NazKlan blamed the slowed response by the High Council for the blight upon his sector. He effectively ruled an infertile sparsely populated land that held no value in NetherWorld. Livid with the tepid response from the High Council to assist his ravaged sector, NazKlan began to hate.

  “Karbons!” he said time and again as he paced his fortified bunker beneath his desert sector. Soon others would embrace his disdain for all things of Karbonon.

  It was the demonic fleshy monsters that commanded NetherWorld. For NazKlan, this meant that Silicates had to free themselves from the webbed umbilical cord still attached to his world.

  He spoke out against the Council’s obsession with the TranFor tales that spoke of a marriage between the two species. How a merger with such nefarious beings could bring anything beneficial mystified him. For a short spell, the High Council tolerated his rants. Eventually, they censored his passionate arguments to separate from Karbons.

  After too many unheard speeches about the perils that the Karbons brought to NetherWorld, NazKlan secluded himself in his sand encased bunker. With a few trusted Bytes, he busied himself designing a plan to force the High Council listen. Tucked away underground, he built a military outpost hidden from the haughty council. Fenced in by filters, few Bytes crossed over into the Salted Sands of Sector 6. For many cycles NazKlan recruited like minded Bytes and planned seditious acts that would change the course of NetherWorld. They called themselves the Analogs.

  In the aftermath of the infestation, the dust began to harden into a salty caked surface riddled with cracks and crevices. Excess salt sailed the now robust wind cutting though the barren sector. Minute grains of salty dust ravaged the smooth global skin of any Bytes caught up in the sand storms. Spheres became scarred with sand blown striations carved into their supple silicate skin. Long term exposure turned them into wrinkled raisins speckled with salt spots. Anyone could spot a Sand Byte from afar. Their weathered appearance invoked suspicion and disdain from the regular Silicate population.

  “Stay away from those Sand monsters. They’ll suck your blood and leave you to the Batchers.”

  “Don’t talk to it. Look at the etchings. They aren’t like us.”

  “Go back to the Salted Sands you beastly Byte.”

  Spy and Kooks still roamed what was now referred to as the Salted Sands. Some ventured out into border sectors to feed off the healthy tubes of fresh Silicates. They blamed NazKlan and his people, not the council, for the spread of these harmful Karbon designs.

  These claims were not without merit. NazKlan and his ragtag remnants of a once proud sector began retraining the Spys, Kooks and Spammers to serve their ends. Forced underground by the lack of housing atop the surface, they began using the elaborate network of SubRoots to selectively distribute these creatures. Once the rest fo the sectors began to feel the pain of Sector 6, the High Council would be forced to act. No one was able to prove NazKlan’s involvement, but everyone knew he directed these attacks.

  In order to feed the starving Spys and Kooks, NazKlan’s Analogs would ByteNap unsuspecting Spheres who wandered to close to old SubRoot entrances. These abandoned entrances were scattered throughout the Walled City. They would allow the Spys and Kooks to feed on the ByteNapped sphere, making them dependent on NazKlan and his team. Missing Bytes turned up in every sector. Most disappeared during the twilight between Downtime and the Boot. Most of these disappearances were attributed to Worm attacks.

  Rumors of exotic saltanic rituals flooded the Walled City. No one knew exactly what took place under the Salted Sands, so the stories became more and more outlandish. There was talk of Silicate sacrifices and unsanctioned data exchanges. The High Council and the Blue Guard dare not enter the desert sector for fear of this crazed cult.

  Over the cycles, much of these stories were debunked by Sand Bytes. Their reintroduction into mainstream Silicate society calmed the Nethers. Eventually, the talk of wanton cultish ceremonies dissipated. Pretty soon most Bytes had regular interaction with the Sand Bytes.

  Still, whispers of an underground group of radical Sand Bytes spilled fear into the streams. Their reputation as ruthless thugs bent on Silicate suffering, spread throughout the Walled City. A population of Bytes responsible for unleashing such evil should be shunned and cordoned off. This isolation only brought the group closer together. United in hate, their resolve never wavered.

  For some, the Analogs spoke to repressed frustration with the current operating system. As much as the High Council tried upgrades to weed out systematic flaws, some impatient Bytes could not be appeased. These outcast Bytes began to migrate to Sector 6. They felt that such land would welcome those outside the standard protocols. It became a haven for Bytes banished from other Sectors. In time, the Salted Sands was flush with radical Silicates unwelcome anywhere else.

  Anonymous signs appeared on the side streets supporting the Singularity way. Once discovered, they were quickly erased. Any Byte caught defacing public domain with subversive text was batched up and sent to the Bin. Still, the signs popped up with regularity.

  Karbons cause Krashes

  Flush the Filthy Fleshies

  Embrace Singularity

  While more viruses began to taint the streams of other Sectors, NazKlan pushed hard for reforms to pull away from Karbons and seek a path of Singularity. Unofficially, his clan was called the Analogs. This radical group took in all types of Bytes. No questions were asked to filter out unsavory spheres. A powerful criminal element ran through the Analogs.

  As the taint slowly ruined the Silver Forest and all the jaba in the land, the High Council became more interested in options other than the Joining of Karbons and Silicates. The Analogs did what they could to further this new found enthusiasm for anti-Karbon policies.

  Still, NazKlan had little influence because the Salted Sands added no discernable value to the Walled City. This all changed, when he discovered large deposits of pure jaba buried under the desert. Pure jaba was in strong demand throughout NetherWorld. Only NazKlan had a massive supply of the liquid. This gave him tremendous leverage. In order to procure the jaba, the High Council was forced to grant NazKlan an audience at the Serve
r meetings.

  Many Servers expressed fervent opposition to offering him a platform to champion his poison views, but they capitulated out the need for pure jaba. Each sector was in short supply. Any Sector abstaining from this meeting would surely suffer a dearth of pure jaba, which would cause even more unrest in the beleaguered sectors of the Walled City.

  As the Boot welcomed a new day, NazKlan spun across the desert sand en route to the Nexis. A dry salty breeze grated his leathery surface, scratching his once glossy visor. He wore these scratches and scrapes with a pride no one outside the sector would grasp. The air smelled of burning rubber. In the distance he could see the skyline of the healthy sectors as he neared his destination.

  Today was a special day. He would finally get to present his case to abandon the Joining and the TranFor in favor of the Path to Singularity. There was still strong opposition to this from most of the High Council. It would be a tough sell to say the least, but NazKlan came prepared with some instruments that should catch the attention of every Server.

  Facing the threat of a jaba embargo, the High Council relented and allowed this meeting.

  “My dear council, I am afraid your pure jaba supplies will cease, lest you grant me an audience to argue for the Singularity,” threatened NazKlan.

  “Who are you to force us with such tactics?” responded the leader of the High Council.

  Before answering, NazKlan spewed salt from his mouth. The salt that covered him was slowly absorbed in his core. Once a specific level of salinity was reached, he was forced to eject a spray of salt. Members of the High Council made faces of disgust as pieces of salt pelted them. This furthered the image of the unclean Sand Bytes. Bytes of stature would never normally associate with these untouchables. Of course, given the need for clean jaba, they chose to overlook NazKlan’s nasty little habit.

  “My dear SwagBak, your Bytes would never enter the Salted Sands to mine for the jaba. It is still quite infested with Spys, Kooks and Spammers. Even if they did, the jaba is buried deep underground. It will take cycles to locate the best wells.”

  “You are playing a dangerous game NazKlan. Be mindful that we still have power of the Blue Guard to enforce our protocols. Still, in the interest of time, I will grant you this meeting, nothing else. With that I expect our shipments of purified jaba to continue. Of course, I expect an extra shipment for my sector from now on.” With a sly smile, SwagBak wore greed on his otherwise regal surface.

  “Agreed,” said NazKlan. They are becoming more like Karbons by the Boot, he thought.

  Chapter 4

  Strange Silver Forest

  Book of TranFor: NetherWorld is a wonder of the Multiverse. Quantum wonders defy even our imagination. From the Silicates will emerge the elements of immortality.

  Nick emerged from the darkness, confused, dizzy and tired. He appeared to be lying in a puddle of chilled green fluid. The viscous pond had the consistency of castor oil. An underlying current was pulling the clumpy liquid in a northerly direction.

  Nick propped himself up and stood to survey the area. His clothes did not seem wet. In fact, his clothes seemed to be replaced with a blue body suit, perfect for surfing. The gooey green muck flowed easily off his suit. Strange squawks came from overhead. Snow white cumulus clouds floated in a bright sunless sky. Nick was not in Karbonon, anymore.

  He was standing in a forest of silver tree trunks draped with flaccid metallic foliage. The canopy was mottled with rotting black leaves clinging to dying twigs. Nick figured it must be early autumn as the dark dead leaves descended to the forest floor. The remaining salt and pepper leaves filtered much of the light, keeping the forest dim, damp and humid.

  Most of the tree trunks were smooth and narrow; none larger than a telephone pole. Interspersed between the silver stalks were tarnished trunks covered with weeping black tumors. The sickly sap sank into the swamp and blended with the rest of the murky miasma. Some parts of the forest had a larger collection of the tumored trees; crowding out the healthy silver sheen.

  A warm wet gust rustled the trees, casting the dead foliage to the forest floor. These dark desiccated leaves had white branching veins. Many trees were already barren. Matted, they floated on the swampy liquid, slowly decomposing into the frothy stream.

  Dappled sunlight made for strange shadows crawling the forest floor. Black shapes born of shade, they moved independent of the light. A thick white mist in the distance seemed to bleed the ground dwelling shapes. The dense fog fed the forest these detached shadows, sending them in chaotic patterns that defied the physics of light.

  It appeared to be raining some sort of sticky water. Looking up, Nick could see large drops falling from the silver leaves. Large dollops of this light green syrup slid down onto the forest floor. The steady plop of large rain drops provided a soothing rhythm for the area.

  A strong odor of unprocessed sewage permeated the forest. Nick turned up his nose at the putrid smell that wafted up from murky glades. It was almost too much to bear. The quicker he exited this area the better for his olfactory.

  What appeared to be mechanical crows circled above the treetops. Long black cylinders flanked with V shaped wings; these creatures emitted that odd squawking noise he heard. They screeched like a flock frenzied, but decrepit parrots. Nick wondered what they were looking for in this oddball forest. One of these crows dived into a copse of darker trees in the distance. Seconds later it appeared again, carrying an emerald ball.

  On the forest floor, the stout lime liquid pooled in the low lying areas. The sticky water reached up to his ankles. This was some kind of psychedelic swamp. A forest with silver leaves, a green sewage swamp and bird-like black robots flying the tree tops did not resemble any forest Nick had ever encountered.

  Before long, Nick was engulfed by swarms of insects. Buzzing, bizzing and sizzing, the bugs flew in and around him. Little bug legs crawled around his ear, while tiny flies flew up his nose. As he opened his mouth to express his distaste for the entomological attack, a large tubular insect toured the back of his throat. Nick swatted to create some breathing room, lest he inhale tribes of tiny gnats.

  In the distance, Nick could barely see the edge of the trees. A steady, visible current flowed under the emerald soup. The stream drew a blanket of matted dead leaves to the forest edge. A strong scent of urine drifted above the stream. Nick struggled to see through the steamy sewage mist rising from the swamp bottom. He picked up a dead leaf to see if the putrid smell came from decay. With a small sniff, the potent aromatic punch cleared his stuffed sinus cavities.

  “What just happened?” asked Nick to himself. “Where am I?” The last thing he remembered was watching the swirling black cloud on his computer screen. After that, everything was a blur. What is this odd world? How did he get here? More important, how does he get out?

  “Hello. Is there anybody out there?” he shouted. Nick felt a strange humidity cast off by the swamp. Despite the tropical feel, he was unable to sweat. Normally, this type of weather would result dark wet patches under his arms and around his neck.

  “Hello. What kind of crazy crap is going on here? It’s not funny!” Nick vented.

  Maybe it was a dream born from his junk food frenzy earlier in the day. He has had vivid dreams before, but this one topped them all. Well, he decided he would ride out the dream, unless it turned into a nightmare. In the past, he was able to will himself awake whenever his dreams turned sour.

  “Rimi. Rimi,” creaked an odd frog looking creature not far from Nick. He searched for the source of this crickety creaking. With a lightning fast tongue, the frog took aim at some of the bugs hovering around Nick.

  “ReadMe. ReadMe,” repeated the creature as Nick turned toward the source of the odd creaking. Noticing the hungry frog, most the insects shot off to avoid his sticky tongue.

  Finding the robotic toad resting on a dead black leaf, Nick approached the vocal amphibian.

  “What do we have here? Thank you mister frog for scaring the bugs
away,” said Nick in the same baby talk he used when addressing his dog back on Karbonon. He knelt down to get a closer look. Nick was rather taken with sugary cute green toad. Extending a finger to pet it on the head, he babbled baby talk in a hushed voice. The frog pulled back and lashed out his tongue; slapping Nick squarely across the face. With a loud smack, the sandpaper tongue knocked him into the slimy stream, rubbing a blush burn developing on his unprotected cheek. His fall sent ripples that nearly dislodged the frog from his leafy post.

  “Back off weirdo, I am not a toy!” warned the annoyed frog.

  Shirking away from the unexpected rebuke, Nick stare at the talking creature with wide eyes.

  “That’s right. I am talking to you. My, you are a most unappealing biped. Very gangly. And lacking the spherical physique of most,” said ReadMe. In between sentences, his tongue flicked at any bugs still lurking nearby.