I am going mad, he thought.
When the girl spoke again, it was also in softer tones: “I honestly can’t tell how many people are here with me, old man. Two dozen, maybe?” She shrugged. “They brought some others here, not long ago, and dropped them in. Once, they took a woman out. Then they brought her back. They asked her some questions, she said. Looked into her eyes with a machine . . . They didn’t hurt her. I don’t really know what they want with us. Some people in here are hurt.”
As if on queue, a moan of pain rose from the dark reaches of the pod, crackling out from the tiny speaker on the windowsill. And what looked like a man’s face emerged, furrowed and scared, grimacing, but this image receded before Mereziah was certain of what he had seen.
“And,” he said, swallowing hard, “are you all in there . . . against your will?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Aren’t you listening? Three giant soldiers, maybe twice my size, with smooth black faces. Really big, intense guys. They abducted us all and brung us up here. They’re the ones asking questions.”
“Giant soldiers?”
“Holy smoke. Are you fucking senile?”
She lowered the torchlight in exasperation and might not have seen the rage that suddenly tightened Mereziah’s face, making his hands clench. “I am not senile,” he hissed, wondering if he should rescue this girl at all or promptly leave her now, as he’d found her, trapped inside the big pod while he continued on his way toward the top of the world. After all, he had already deserted his post, his job, his responsibilities. Why did he insist on acting like an attendant? He sure didn’t need to be insulted. “I assure you, young lady, I have all my wits about me.”
“Can you get us out of this thing or not? I’d really appreciate it.”
“Yes, I can get you out.” Who was he trying to fool? He couldn’t leave this girl or this pod until he had tried everything he knew to get her out. And get the others out too, of course. Merezath might have left these people here but not he. The reasons I want to help, he assured himself, are strictly ethical and professional.
So he introduced himself.
And the girl said, “What kind of name is that?”
Again he was flustered. “It’s a fine name. My mother chose it. It means — ”
“That you’re a stuffy old fart?” But her entrancing smile returned. “Can I call you M, old fart? My friends call me Crystal, but you can call me Crystal Max. I’ve been on quite a fucking ride!”
Mereziah did not approve of foul language but neither did he want to chastise or lecture. Despite his intentions, he was unable to cease imagining what Crystal Max’s young body might look like under those dirty clothes. He slunk away from the pod, muttering he would return shortly, creeping down into the webbing and out of sight.
He was raging inside with conflicting sensations. He took a few breaths, closing his eyes for a second. Had this massive pod been intentionally left between levels? The girl, Crystal, had mentioned that the people trapped inside had been ‘dropped’ in. That implied to Mereziah that the captors had positioned the pod — which they were clearly using as a jail — between levels. Away from access to the horizontal world.
He climbed even lower, slowly, feeling the wall as he went with his sensitive fingertips, massaging the rough, curved surface of the shaft, searching and kneading. In some areas, he plunged up to his elbow in the coarse webbing, forced to grope blindly.
The plan was to find access to the level beneath the pod and ferry the passengers out, one by one, via that exit. After that, who knew? His upward journey was certainly curtailed.
Maybe this rescue was the culmination of his life, his final purpose?
Nerve endings in his palms and fingertips responded, recognizing the subtle contours he had been seeking. Manipulating the slick, hidden hinge, pressing at it, rubbing at it, a slit finally opened before him with a sucking sound, letting light and air and a dull roar flood the area about; Mereziah’s eyes nictitated.
He leaned forward to glance through, saw clutters of pumps and tubes of all sizes out there, heading in all directions. Tiny wheels spun busily in housings. Pistons chuffed. Steam hissed. No traditional horizontal area, to be sure — some form of machinations — but deserted, at least, as far as he could tell.
A thin, suspended path began not far from where he peeked out, leading out over bevel gears and pipes and pulleys to be swallowed in the haze. Where could it lead? Would it be folly to take the captives out of the pod and head them onto this perilous path?
Across the abyss, a faint backdrop of hazy panels. Dim lights, consoles, controls, all vanishing through the vapour. These distant façades appeared as if from a dream.
Out there stunk of heat and oil.
Mereziah let the slit close slowly. He was perspiring. He went back up to the pod.
The first person he rescued, naturally, was the girl. Accessing pods from the outside was routine. He merely opened the escape panel and helped Crystal Max crawl out. Soldiers did not attack them. Clinging to his back, Crystal Max clamped firm thighs around Mereziah’s waist and locked her arms over his throat. Her smell was like nothing that had ever filled his sinuses before: tangy and sharp and delirious. Though Crystal whispered to him the whole while they clumsily travelled down towards the slit — her breath hot in his ear, saliva moistening his neck — he was so tense and lost in her scent that he could think of nothing to say in response to her encouragements except to stutter, “Don’t worry, just hang on, hang on . . .”
Not far below them, the big slit in the wall seemed to pulse expectantly.
TRAN SO, L12
In an adjacent chamber, another prisoner cried, caterwauling sobs that rose and fell, carried on the stale wind blowing lightly through grilles set high in the wall.
The dark gods were no longer in this room.
Forearms heavy with manacles, manacles heavy with chains, all resting on his trembling knees. Tran so’s ankles had been shackled uncomfortably to the leg of the bench he sat on. Sickened by the lake water, he rocked gently forward and back and listened to the wavering cries from next door.
Behind his left eyeball, parasites that had made their home there rolled and resettled around his tear duct, squeezing a tear free to roll down the angular planes of his cheek.
Tran so Phengh still feared for his own life but the past few hours had actually abated the initial rush of terror. The menace of his abductors — those he referred to, internally, as ‘the dark gods’ — had greatly diminished; in fact, their aura — perceived, at first, to be one of purest evil — was now diluted, misplaced, almost like one of bewilderment rather than threat; he now looked upon the giants in blue as similar to the misguided deities one saw knocking on doors in the slums of Hoffmann City, trying to enlist listless citizens into some program or other, distributing dogmatic pamphlets, or scolding teenagers for gathering in too large a group.
His heart was still beating, and his lungs drew air. He had not been hurt. One of the giants who had pounced on him in the underwater lair, and then carried him all the way to this holding room, over its shoulder — in and out of nightmarish devices and bizarre settings while Tran so swooned and rolled his eyes up into his head and retched up bile that ran in dark stains down the giant’s shirt — was even kind enough to ask Tran so several times over the course of the journey if the bindings on his wrists were too tight, and if he had ingested some form of toxin. That particular god had even apologized for the brusque takedown, and for having to confiscate Tran so’s knife.
“We thought you had damaged the filtration unit,” it explained. “You see, we have been activated without any guidance. Our instructions are not clear. As we looked around, and tried to assess possible reasons for being called upon, we became maddened by the evidence of senseless vandalism that we saw in the world around us. What had happened? We assumed our reason for existence was to correct matters. Now we know a little better. So, despite our continuing search for the tr
uth, friend, you have at least been cleared of that initial offense.”
After tying him to a bench, Tran so had been left alone. Dark gods still passed by the room, paired or in small groups. Occasionally, one of them entered, stooping, to remove or add someone to the captives there, whose ranks rose and fell over the course of the day. All these gods looked the same, and Tran so Phengh could not tell which one it had been that had showed him signs of kindness after his arrest. Yet as a whole, in their actions, the giants seemed to lack coherent leadership. This aspect, too, familiarized them, reduced their threat. They were certainly like the gods he knew back home. They were unsure, imperfect. They were like people.
Other prisoners in the room now were also bound to benches, though earlier some had lain, prone on the floor, apparently free to go. If they would only stir. Had they been somehow stunned? Was the benevolence Tran so had experienced an act?
Men and women had been detained here. For a time, there had been a small child — when Tran so had first arrived — but only four prisoners remained, including him, and all four were men.
Marked on the wall opposite, above a sleeping figure of one of the men, painted in deep vermilion, were the words HUMAN RESOURCES. These glyphs appeared to be the last legible elements of what had once been an entire paragraph of writing covering most of the wall; only these two words had been restored.
Not many residents of Hoffmann City could read. Encouragements of Minnie sue, shortly after they’d met, had spurred Tran so Phengh to become literate. Courses were given at the nearby Community Centre. The teacher had been a lesser god. When afternoon classes had ended, Tran so and his wife had often gone home to make love. Tran so would cover Minnie sue’s soft mouth with one palm when she came — for there were other people sharing the house with them, living beyond the partitions — and Minnie sue’s shrieked orgasms could shake the walls of any building.
Recalling the sound, Tran so smiled grimly. He did not know what these two red words HUMAN RESOURCES could mean, but their presence, and the fact that he could read them, made him think fondly of Minnie sue. The image of her naked body, the sounds of her guttural, almost dirty comments, her sharp nipples pressed into his palms while she ground her hips back into his own, did not, this time, depress him. These memories were integral to what made him Tran so Phengh. Never could they be stolen from him. Not by time, not by illness, not by uncertain gods.
On the bench he shifted; his cock had started to harden. For the first time since he had been abducted, he wished his hands were free.
Lost in thoughts of abandon, it was some time before he realized that the man across from him had not only awoken but had lifted his head and was addressing him quietly from across the floor:
“Hey, hey? Got any water?”
Tran so blinked. The features and the accent were very different than his own. People came from all over the world to visit Hoffmann City, to patronize its sex clubs and enjoy the renowned decadence; Tran so was used to foreigners. This face was long, with a full beard. The man’s eyes were round and his hair blond. He was dressed in a tan uniform.
“Have you got any water?” the man repeated. “My head’s splitting. I’ve been here a day and a half and I’ve drunk nothing. They can’t keep us here like this, without water, and not tell us anything. There are conventions to keeping prisoners.”
“I am ill from drinking water.”
“They poisoned you?”
“No, no, they have not poisoned me. It was from a lake. From an unclean lake. This was before they took me.”
“You resemble someone who lives near the water supply, near the reservoirs. I’ve been there. I’ve seen others like you.”
Cries from next door faded to a low sob.
These round eyes staring at Tran so seemed to contain little intelligence. “Others like me?” Tran so asked.
“Yeah. I visited the reservoirs once, as a kid. I hear the water in that place was much higher back then, that it’s all drained out. My old man took me and some other kids down the shaft, cause he had some business there with one of the supervisors. My old man, see, was in the diplomatic corps. Back when they was still trying to be diplomatic. He dealt with machines. And I recall that people who lived there, on that reservoir level, looked just like you. With straight black hair, and slitty little eyes.”
Yes, Tran so Phengh had met men like this before. Many times. They came to Hoffmann City in hordes, loud and drunk, often hurting the citizens they employed. He had chased several on occasion, had fought one or two. At work, Minnie sue had once been punched in the face by an inebriated client.
Usually, he tried to avoid such men. Not so easily done in this situation. He vowed to be patient, a quality he generally strived for. He coughed, and said politely, “The reservoir level?”
“That’s what we call where you’re from. And what’s the name of the city there? Hoffton?”
“Hoffmann.”
“That’s it, Hoffmann City. Boy, that’s a stinky place, eh? Too big for me. I’m just a country boy. But we had some adventures there that time, lemme tell ya. Me and my friends drank beer for the first time and my old man took us past a place where there were red lights in open windows and women too, naked in the windows. Touching each other. Touching each other’s titties!”
Tran so waited. He was really not fond of the way people talked about his hometown and its population. He did not like this man. He hoped that the dark gods would come to silence the stranger, perhaps take him away.
“You ever been there? To that place?”
“Of course I have. I live in Hoffmann City.”
“No, I mean to where them girls are. To that place where you can fuck them or give them a spanking or tie them up.”
“There are many such places where I live. My wife served in one. She did her apprenticeship with Mme Hector.”
“Your wife?” The man blew breath out through pursed lips. His eyes glittered. He clearly did not know what to say.
“As a rule,” Tran so said, “I do not frequent those establishments. I did so as a young man, but they are primarily for travellers and tourists.”
If the bearded man detected this comment to be a slight he showed no sign. “You sure talk funny,” was all he said, after a moment. “You water people. Lots of big words.” He licked his dry lips and leaned his head back against the wall. “Name’s Ensign Conway. What’s yours?”
“Tran so Phengh.”
“Tran . . . Can’t shake yer hand, obviously, but it’s an honour to meet you. You know, me and you are gonna bust outta here. You know that? We’re gonna escape.” He had lowered his voice, and moved his body forward on the bench. “I’m sure they’re looking for me, anyhow. I’m in the army, you see, based up in Descartes, on the plantation level. Thirty First airbourne division. The most elite division of the entire fucking army. You heard of them?”
“No.”
“Ever been up there? To the plantation level?”
Tran so shook his head. This talk was incautious and unending and Tran so was feeling ill again.
“It’s the only real level, man. Ten times the height of any other one. Almost the top of the world! Only a ring of rich people’s houses up in the clouds after that and then the suns themselves, over our heads, shining down. It’s where food is grown, you know.” Ensign Conway paused, as if he had somehow confused himself. Then he asked, “How did they get you?”
“The dark gods?”
“Gods.” Chuckling dryly, Ensign Conway leaned back again, so that the red words formed an arc over his head, framing him. “Yes, I suppose that’s what I mean. The dark gods. I like that. Sounds real ominous. I’d forgotten the weird customs where you come from. Machines are gods, right?”
“We are not so simple as that. We understand the distinction between what you call a machine and a — ”
“Okay, okay. Machines with intelligence. The ones that used to talk to the network.”
“I don’t know that term.”
“The network was like a brain. It used to call all the shots, tell all the machines what to do. Supervisors and stuff. But I remember Hoffmann City crawling with those kinds of devices. With intelligence. You know, Tran, if you let them believe that they’re in charge, well, it might be part of your problem down there. I guess machines are strong, and smart, and they can do a lot of shit we can’t.” He glanced at the doorway. Two of the giants had just walked past. “Listen, the network, or something acting like it,” he continued, voice softer at last, “is actually building more of those monculii, what you call dark gods, again. Those there, for instance.” He motioned with his chin to the now empty hallway. Distant voices could yet be heard. “After hundreds of fucking years they’re being built again. No one knows why. There’s talk of a breach but no one has found the hole yet. Not at least by the time I was taken. We were actually looking for it. And this new variety that’s being made is all loose cannons. Unpredictable. Like they’re being made wrong somehow, like the plans have been lost. I don’t think the engineer wanted it this way.”
Tran so Phengh tried to recall what the disembodied voice had told him, in the underwater lair. Hadn’t it asked him when he’d first washed up on the platform inside the lake god’s house if he was the engineer?
“And I say you can’t take an Ensign prisoner. Not even your damn machines!” Ensign Conway shuddered as he made this outburst. “Some of these giants are totally fucking crazy. Maybe not here, but some of them are, out there.”
“How do you know?” Tran so was being polite; he wanted silence, time to think.
“Because people have been butchered. That’s how I know. Butchered by your dark gods. Despicable attacks. No machine is ever supposed to do that. It ain’t the way the world was designed. People kill people. Not machines. Look at us. Look at me and you! I mean, these guys out there haven’t showed any signs of being too crazy, not yet, but we’re being held prisoner! Without water. They’ve tied us to fucking benches! And listen to that poor guy next door. What do you think they’re doing to him?”
Filaria Page 11
