The Hollow World: (Pangea, Book 1)

by Michael Beckum

  “And you were right,” Milton said. “And we’ve discovered why.”

  As best and simply as he could Milton explained about the implants that allowed us to be tracked anywhere on the surface of the inner world.

  “And this is inside my head?” Bruk asked, growing angry. “Now?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  He stood and moved uncomfortably close to me, his face very near mine.

  “Can you take it out?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, trying to speak calmly.

  “We’re certainly going to try,” Milton said, helpfully. “Have you seen—anywhere inside this compound—a small, hand sized silver box with a glowing window on it?”

  Bruk looked at him with barely concealed rage.

  “Will it take this thing out of my head?”

  “It might, if we can find one,” Milton said, calmly. “Or better yet, the place where they’re stored so we can find other such devices. Perhaps those silver, octopus-like machines they used to put the things inside us in the first place. I have to believe there exists something that will remove the thing in your head in case of malfunction or… I don’t know… battery replacement.”

  “Why?” I asked. “They don’t seem to care about our lives so much as our usefulness. If the thing malfunctions, just get another slave.”

  Milton looked momentarily horrified, then his eyes lowered and he nodded as he accepted the truth of it.

  “Angara who come back from tracking escaped slaves sometimes have the things you talk about,” Bruk said, slowly relaxing. “I don’t know where they keep them, but I will make a point of watching to find out.”

  “Do that,” I said. “The sooner we find one, the sooner we’ll be able to leave—without being followed by Angara.”

  Bruk looked at me, the fury still roiling under the surface, but slowly—very slowly—his eyes began to sparkle, and the almost perpetual smile that he usually wore returned to his bearded lips.

  “Without being followed,” he said, hopefully. “We can return to my home without fear of being tracked again. Really and truly.”

  “Yes,” I said, smiling.

  “Could you find your way back to your own land?” asked Milton. “Could you take us—take Elia and I—to where you and your people live?”

  “I can!” Bruk said, sudden life coursing through him. I suppose he really had been fairly fatalistic about being trapped here forever, such that the prospect of returning home, and not being taken away again at some point in the future, had become an exhilarating one.

  “But how,” persisted Milton, “how could you travel through this hostile country without stars or a compass to guide you?”

  Bruk didn’t know what my old friend meant by ‘stars’ or ‘compass’, but he assured us that you could blindfold any man in Pangea, carry him to the farthest corner of the world, and he would still be able to come directly home again by the shortest route. He seemed surprised to think that we found anything amazing about it.

  “Sounds like a homing pigeon,” I said.

  “My thoughts exactly,” said Milton.

  Then something occurred to me.

  “So… Nova could have found her way straight to her own people?” I asked.

  “Of course,” Bruk replied, “unless something killed her.”

  “Uh… yeah,” I said, stunned. “Unless… you know… that,” I chewed a lip and pondered, coming quickly to a decision. “We have to get going. Now. We have to find one of these tracking devices, and…”

  “No, no, no…” said Bruk, cutting me off.

  Both he and Milton advised waiting for some ‘happy accident’ that would allow us a little cover and a better chance of success. I didn’t see what accident could be big enough to affect an entire community, and why I should wait for that while Nova was out in the world potentially fighting for her life, but then the wheels in my brain began to turn and I wondered if such a thing might possibly be arranged.

  While I’m sure that some of the Grigori never sleep, others did, for long intervals, crawl into the dark recesses beneath the city and curl up for a substantial slumber. Milton seemed to think that if a Grigori stayed awake for three straight years the thing could make up all its lost sleep with one, long, seemingly endless snooze. Maybe that was true, but I’d never seen more than four of them sleeping at a time, and it was with a sudden rush that thoughts of those four suddenly coalesced with exactly what my subconscious had been trying to tell me.

  Barely able to contain my excitement, I explained my plan to Milton.

  “We kill those Grigori, skin them, and walk out wearing those skins as suits. No one will even challenge us. In fact, most people—Angara included—will just back the hell away. It’s foolproof.”

  To my surprise he was horrified.

  “It would be murder, Brandon,” he said.

  “Murder to kill a slaving lizard monster?” I asked in astonishment.

  “They’re not monsters, Brandon,” he replied. “They’re the dominant race—we are the ‘monsters’—the lower orders. In Pangea evolution has progressed along different lines than on the outer world. It’s just evolutionary luck that some, quote, ‘monster’ of the Saurozoic epoch didn’t grow into a sentient race to eventually rule our outer Earth. We see here in Pangea what might well have occurred in our own history had conditions been just a little different.

  “Life down here is far younger than upon the outer surface. Here man has only reached a level that would be analogous to the Stone Age of our own Earth’s history, while for countless millions of years these Grigori have been progressing and moving forward—ahead of humans. Maybe it’s simply their advanced intelligence, or perhaps it’s this sixth sense I believe they possess and use to communicate that has given them an advantage over the rest of the scary creatures that inhabit this concave world; we may never know.

  “Whatever caused it to happen, they look upon us as we look upon insects, or beasts of the field. I’ve even discovered in some of the forbidden readings in these old books that some of the Grigori regularly and routinely feed on humans, not just the occasional angry rage slaughter we’ve witnessed, but actually keeping them in enormous herds, much as we keep cattle. They breed them very carefully for flavor and delicacy, and when they’ve reached Grigori perfection, they slaughter and eat them.”

  It was something I’d assumed based on what we’d seen, but nonetheless I still shuddered.

  “Oooh, don’t be so squeamish,” the old man said. “What is there that’s so horrible about it, Brandon? You eat beef! Do you ever stop to think about the poor cow? No. Well, they understand us no better than we understand the lower animals we raise and eat. Although I have come across some very learned discussions on the question of whether Nguni—that’s us, men, or humans—should not be eaten because they might possess sentience. One writer claims that we can’t even reason—that our every action is simply mechanical, and instinctive. Others believe we are nearly as smart as the Angara. The dominant race of Pangea, Brandon, has not yet learned that humans are… well… human.”

  “Then they’re not paying attention,” I said, angrily. “I feel no sympathy for that kind of willful stupidity.”

  “They are an intelligent, reasoning species, Brandon. It would most definitely be murder to carry out your plan.”

  “But simply because they don’t understand us, is it any less murder when they kill humans… eat humans?”

  “Is it murder to eat a cow? A chicken?”

  “I spent a lot of summers on my grandfather’s farm,” I told him. “Chickens deserve to be eaten.”

  “Which you can justify because you do not recognize their right to independent life. As Grigori do not recognize ours. Their crime is forgivable because they are not fully aware.”

  “Tell me that when they’re eating Elia.”

  Milton looked momentarily horrified, but recovered somewhat before saying:

  “They wouldn’t.”

 
But he was plainly very far from certain.

  I cocked an eye at him as if saying, ‘don’t bet on it.’

  “I’m getting out, Milton.” I replied. “And if it means murder, then I’ll be a murderer. Won’t be the first time. At least this time it’ll be for something important.”

  He got me to go over the plan again very carefully and in great detail, backing me up to make me explain things that either weren’t clear to him, or I hadn’t thought through completely enough. For some reason I didn’t understand he insisted on a very careful description of the apartments and corridors all around the sleeping Grigori.

  “Have you ever seen a laboratory…” he asked, “perhaps with gestating Grigori?”

  “Um… no. You’ve asked me that before.”

  “Hmm,” Milton said. “You’re right. I’d forgotten. And they’re still down there? These four Grigori?”

  “I checked on them again just before I came in.”

  “So, we carry out your plan—after, I presume, we’ve found the tracking devices.”

  “Of course,” I said. “But…”

  “Which we might never actually find,” he reminded me.

  “I’ve got some thoughts about how to expedite that process.”

  “But if you can’t…”

  “I can.”

  “But if you can’t…” Milton repeated, firmly, assuring me he thought it improbable. “Then we might never actually have to kill those Grigori. It might not be necessary.”

  “It might not be. But it will be.”

  “I can live with that,” Milton said, flatly. “If it comes to us escaping I might be able to justify taking one of their lives.”

  “Four of their lives! And there’s no ‘might’ about it, Milton!” I snapped. “I can’t carry you, but I’m not leaving without you. You have to do this!”

  “I can’t promise you anything, Brandon. I’m not anywhere near as certain as you that I can kill a sentient creature with no provocation!”

  “Then I’ll kill one for you! Milton, don’t be stupid! We’ve been captured! Enslaved! I’ve witnessed these creatures savagely ripping apart human beings like they were bobbing for apples!”

  “None of which motivates me to…!”

  “MILTON!”

  “BRANDON!”

  “Milton?”

  The last voice was quiet, and feminine, and shockingly sad. Milton and I both turned from our argument and faced the newly arrived Elia, who stood shyly in the doorway, looking at Milton with eyes as dark as the night that never came to Pangea.

  “Please don’t argue, you two,” she said. “Your friendship is too special.”

  “We’re done arguing, anyway,” I said angrily.

  “Brandon,” she said, quietly. “Would you give Milton and I a moment alone?”

  I sighed heavily, and glanced at Milton.

  “Of course,” I said, curtly.

  Elia began to cry.

  “Dearest,” Milton said, going to her. “What’s wrong?”

  She glanced at me nervously, then back to Milton, more tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll go,” I said.

  “It’s all right,” Elia said. “I just wanted to tell Milton… that I’m pregnant.”

  A shock went through the room, and when Milton eventually recovered a smile danced on, then off his face, then back on again. He looked at Elia, saw nothing but sadness and fear, and put gentle hands around her shoulders.

  “My dear,” he said in a near whisper, “oh my dearest, darling…”

  He looked at me, and I saw the tears in his eyes.

  “Brandon,” he said, choking a bit. “Did you hear?”

  “I heard,” I said, smiling.

  “I never expected… to become a father,” he said, emotion nearly overtaking him. “Ever.”

  I stared at him, wordlessly, forcing the small, hopeful smile to remain on my face because I knew this would change everything. He would never leave what he considered the safe confines of Emibi now, Grigori enslavement or no, and I could never force him.

  MILTON SAT ON THE floor with an arm around Elia, smiling broadly, his eyes anchored onto hers.

  “I never thought I would find love,” she said to him sweetly. “I am so ugly…”

  “Ssshhh…” Milton cooed. “You are nothing of the kind. To me, there was never any woman more beautiful.” He touched her belly gently. “Especially now.”

  Milton looked over at me, and finally faced the elephant in the room.

  “I can see by your face that you know what this means,” he said to me.

  “Of course,” I said, quietly, still holding onto my smile, as empty as it might have been.

  “This place is the safest—probably in all of Pangea—for a new child.”

  “What?” I said, stunned. “Milton, no! I’ve watched the Grigori devour slaves on the street! We both have! Nova used to say that the Grigori eat babies…!”

  “I’ve found no such stories in any of these books. And I have seen plenty of evidence of what happens to the vulnerable beyond these walls.”

  “Milton…!”

  “It’s a children’s story,” Elia said. “Something people say, but no one’s ever seen it.”

  Milton smiled at her, then looked at me with an ‘I told you so’ expression.

  “No one has ever seen a Grigori eat a baby,” Elia said.

  “But there are no children here in Emibi,” I warned. “That’s…”

  “Because most women don’t want to get pregnant, so babies are rare, and even if they somehow do—as I have—they are removed from slave work, and sent to another Grigori city to raise infant Grigori.”

  “Which is what the books all say,” Milton confirmed.

  “But… Nova was so serious…” I said, unable to be convinced.

  “A belief can be more real than reality, Brandon,” Milton offered.

  “I know, Milton, but…”

  “I’m sorry, Brandon.”

  I shook my head, sincerely, finally getting past my own needs and jealousy to see that this was what was truly best for Milton. Pangea was a massive gamble for anyone. Even if Grigori did eat babies, the child’s chances were as good here as anywhere, and probably better for Milton.

  For an older, less athletic man like him, Pangea was inevitable death. Here was where he belonged, looking through books, studying and reading and learning about the Grigori, the Angara, and this fascinating world we all inhabited from a safe distance, behind walls, and guards, and protective barriers where he could be with Elia, and their eventual child. I looked at Elia’s hopeful face. Eventual children. She wanted this child as much as he did—and more. I couldn’t take that from either of them.

  “You won’t leave, no matter what I say,” I said aloud to my friend, “and I can’t stay. I have to go to Nova. I have to find her, if I can.”

  Milton’s face took on a haunted sadness that brought tears to both our eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Brandon,” he said, the water streaming down his cheeks.

  “No, no, no,” I reassured him, backing off my fears that Nova was right. “You have a family, now. You need to stay. And I need to go.” I forced another smile. “Nothing lasts forever.”

  “An old Pangean cliché,” Elia threw in with a sad smile of her own.

  “It’s a cliché everywhere, I suppose. For good reason.”

  * * *

  IT ALL GOES WRONG

  * * *

  WITHIN THE HOLLOW WORLD of Pangea one time is as good as any other. There was no night to hide our escape. Everything had to be done in broad daylight. So I decided to move on my plan immediately—without Milton’s help—to make sure the sleeping Grigori that made it possible remained asleep. I grabbed some small weapons that wouldn’t draw any attention, found Bruk in the next building and gave him one, then the two of us headed off together into the depths of the city of Emibi.

  “Do you remember which room they were in,” Bruk aske
d.

  “I hope so,” I said.

  “That is not a very encouraging answer, my friend,” he said, laughing.

  We moved quickly and carefully down a familiar tunnel, ran into a fork that branched in three directions, and I realized Bruk had been right to be concerned. I had no idea where I was.

  “Dammit,” I said.

  “Never trust a confident man,” Bruk said.

  “You and your sayings.”

  “A man with too many sayings, is usually saying nothing.”

  I laughed, and chose a tunnel at random.

  “This one,” I said, pointing.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Perfectly confident,” I said, moving the way I’d indicated, as—chuckling—he followed.

  I was running fast, now, and realized I had increased speed with my desperation. We probably only had one chance at this, and not being able to find the sleeping chamber was scaring the shit out of me. But did I really need to run?

  The buildings of Emibi were basic and bland. There was nothing at all remarkable about the architecture. The rooms were sometimes rectangular, sometimes circular, occasionally oval. The corridors, which connected them, were narrow and not always straight. The chambers were lit by either diffuse sunlight reflected through windows on the higher levels, or artificial, bluish light further down coming from old boxes and unreadable signs that seemed more like emergency exit markers than serious illumination. The lower you went the darker the rooms became. Most of the corridors remained unlit because few humans ever came down here, and the Grigori could apparently see quite well in the dark.

  Hearing noises I reduced my speed to a brisk walk. After a while we came to a passage that seemed familiar, and I chanced a glance inside a chamber that branched off to our right. Inside I saw four Grigori curled up in lumps and leathery folds on their simple beds. I nearly screamed with relief. All four of the hideous reptiles were still here, and still asleep.

  I entered their chamber silently, forgetting that the damned things couldn’t hear. When I did remember, I raised a knife and spoke to the Grigori I was about to kill.

  “Fuck you, and your superior intelligence,” I whispered. “This is for Shalla.” And with a quick thrust through the heart, the thing died almost without a twitch.