by James Garvey
I nod. “Can you believe that there’s a whole race of humans beyond this place? Do you think they’d help us if they knew what’s happening?”
“We’ve got to get to that ship and see what’s there. My gut tells me it’s the reason we came here.”
Troll’s voice steps in. “As I have said before, you cannot leave here. I cannot risk you divulging information about the whereabouts of this facility.”
I respond quickly. “Sorry, Troll. We’re very content and happy here. You must’ve misheard us.” I look at Theo with wide eyes. Flip is scratching his head, while Bets looks annoyed.
“Very well. I have prepared a meal for you. Please join me soon.”
This is going to get old very fast.
CHAPTER 7 - ESCAPE
I’m falling asleep in my luscious bed when the god Fromer appears in the chair next to me. He’s smiling with his weird face and I’m unsure whether I’m conscious or slumbering. If I’m awake, Troll will be sure to see this visit as curious and intervene with a visit from its box.
“Don’t worry Amy, you’re the only one that can see me.” Fromer’s deep, raspy voice comforts me. “A nice thing about being in between the cracks of reality is that I can slip in and out of your dreams. This is a form of telepathy that your mind has already grasped. As I’m sure you and your friends have realized, you’re all in great danger.”
“So, we’ve made a mistake? Coming here?” If this weren’t a dream, I’d throw something at the bug.
“No, no. You’re in the right place at the right time. Being here will allow you to find your family. However, how you handle the next few days will determine how many of you leave alive.” He scratches the tuft of hair on his head.
Fromer stands and walks around the room touching the curtains, straightening a doily on a table, even sitting on the loo with his spindly legs outstretched. "Do you still think gods destroyed your ancestors' world?"
"If it weren't for you and the green people, I'd doubt that gods exist at all." I'm angry. I want my baby back. And this giant insect knows how to get me there but won't tell me how. “Fromer, I think people made all this stuff, including that monster box thing, Troll, and it destroyed them. How did people live back then, with everything handed to them? Where was their freedom?"
"Amy, you talk about this as if it is in the past. If you look into the sky, this is still the normal condition for the trillions of humans and their kin, including my kind. You and your people here on earth are unique. It’s time for us to talk about how to get you, Flip, Bets, and Theo out of your trap. Lucky for you, Troll has its weaknesses. As you've noticed, the previous human inhabitants didn't have me to help them out and they suffocated for it. Their greatest error was underestimating the cold logic of the hums, sorry, I mean human-machine interfaces to you. This is how you all survive. First rule - communicate with each other only by writing. Use strips of paper from the washroom and write in private, when Troll isn’t paying much attention." He points at the loo. "You'll have to use your imagination about what to use for ink. In addition to concealing your conversations, you’ll need to control your feelings. Troll’s very good at recognizing human emotions. It can tell when you’re lying, even if you're convincing to others. You need to stay relaxed. I know, easier said than done. You've got to work with the others to make this happen. Troll’s programmed to read and respond to human behavior. This computer was a very early model, one of the first of its kind. Are you understanding me so far?"
"What are we going to use for ink?" I ponder.
"Focus, Amy. Human actions are very complex and often illogical. This requires a huge amount of processing power to interpret computationally and it slows Troll down. You may have noticed that Troll needs to think about certain situations for a while before acting. This is Troll’s weakness. When you are ready to escape, the key is for you all to act strangely – for humans that is.” He smiles. “Talk backwards. Speak gibberish. Walk in reverse. Laugh for no reason. Dance. Throw food. Sing silly songs. Whatever. Just do everything out of context."
"We're to act like we're wanked?"
"Wanked, drunk, completely touched, whatever you’d like. When you do this, it should be simultaneous and calculated. You won't have much time, so you'll have to act quickly. Luckily, Troll has shown the henhouse to the foxes. You’ve plenty of firepower necessary to blow Troll's head off and then get out of this place."
"Head? Do you mean that we're to destroy Troll’s box?"
"Goodness no. That's just a tool Troll uses to move materials around the facility. There are at least twelve of those confounded robots rolling around. In fact, you've interacted with at least three of them, although you think they’re all the same unit. They're identical. Troll's brain, if it were, is nestled in the lower level of this compound with the delightful mummified bodies. You’ve seen it already. It is a small glass box on a pedestal in the center of the room. The trick for you and your friends will be fetching a few concussion grenades from the armory upstairs, bringing them downstairs, and using them to blow up Troll's processor without killing yourselves."
"How do we do that?"
"Act crazy. And cooperate."
I realize Fromer may know the whereabouts of Wenn and father, if he was indeed the cloaked figure that Flip spoke of. “Mister Fromer, I need to know. Were you the one that took my father and husband?” He is about to speak and then vanishes as the lights in my room rise and my bed lurches.
“Amy Marksman, please wake up. Your companion Flip needs assistance.” I’m troubled to see one of Troll’s roving boxes, robots as Fromer called them, perched at the foot of my bed. Speechless, I follow it upstairs to the munitions room. Flip is standing there with an active concussion grenade in his hand. Bets looks at me with a mixture of helplessness and disgust. All Flip needs to do is to take his finger off the button and we have until the count of three to escape.
“Flip, honey. What’s the matter?” I say with my best soothing voice.
“I can’t stay here Amy. Troll’s got to let us go. Those bodies – they’re just like home. And he did it.”
“Flip, we like it here. I’m sure you’re confused about Troll’s hospitality. He’ll do anything he can to make us happy.” While I say this, I’m trying to use my eyes to let him know that what I’m saying is complete chicken crap.
Flip’s obviously out of his mind and not reading me. I change tactics. “Flip, please calm down and shut off the weapon. We can work this out. You’re tired and need to think this out a bit.” I nod encouragingly.
Flip seems to respond and sits down. I walk up to him and touch his shoulder. He sobs and Bets quickly grabs the grenade, turning its switch from red to green. I turn to the Troll box. “Sorry Troll. He’s a boy, immature and confused. He’s lost his family – out there. We really appreciate your help.” The box turns and disappears beyond the door.
I gesture to Bets and Flip, pointing to the lift. They follow me to my room where I silently motion for them to sit while I go into the washroom. I rummage through the silver drawers and find a stick with black material in it. Troll’s voice appears from nowhere. “You may use this to highlight your eyelashes.” Why the hell would I want to spread black stuff on my eyes? Regardless, this can serve as ink.
“Thanks, Troll. I’ll use this later.” I shove the stick in my pocket. I sit on the loo and jam paper into my pocket. It occurs to me that Troll will have no idea how to read our words because our script changed since the ancient ones left. How convenient. I bend over the sink and write in large, careful letters on a small scrap: WE WRITE. NO TALK. I know Bets and Theo can read, thanks to Teacher. I’ve no idea about Flip.
I return to the room and slip the paper in Bets’ hand. She looks it over and understanding dawns on her face. She hands it to Flip and he nods. He can read. We now have a chance. We find Theo wandering the lower level and hand the paper to him. His bright, optimistic smile spreads wide across his face. Once circulated, each of our subsequent messag
es is flushed away to who knows where.
Troll suspects nothing. We're careful to exchange notes as casually and carefully as possible. I'm suspecting that Troll doesn’t understand deception and has no reason to expect that we caged animals want to fly. We've been captive here for about a week. There's no sign that Samuel has tried to rescue us. For all we know, Troll intercepted him and Samuel's now drawing flies at the entrance of the facility.
The plan's taking shape. I'd like to get more guidance from Fromer in my sleep. But he doesn't seem to work that way. My dreams are empty, typically punctuated by the horror of my mother’s death and the loss of Eliza. I wonder whether Fromer knows more about the shipwreck. I suppose he'll return when he's ready.
In the time that we've had here, we've learned much about the people, our ancestors, who lived on earth before us. Troll's an eager teacher. It seems that there are other intelligent beings than humans in space, but not as many as the ancient ones expected. It's hard for me to believe, but apparently the earth was filled with humans and machines. Most people did not live in luxury like that provided by our current surroundings. Rather the vast majority were starving and barely scraping by. The green earth was choking and people were lacking water and dying of the simplest things. I can't imagine it until I think about the wasteland of the broken cities. Seems to me that the people would walk away from all that machinery and start planting their own fields and raising their own livestock. Apparently, that wasn't possible in those days. It took a huge disaster to get us back to living with the earth rather than against it.
I'm overwhelmed when I learn that the stories of the lights on the moon are largely true. After Troll and the other interfaces crushed humanity on earth, the ancient ones remained on the big white orb and worlds beyond it. Until the night our village was destroyed, our ancestors still inhabited the moon and were watching us from afar. Troll lost contact with its kin on earth when the lights went out up there. About this one thing, Troll is as uninformed as we are.
The morning of our attack comes. We take advantage of one more meal from Troll before it's time to kill it and escape. Flip takes the lift up to munitions, as he's done during the past few days. Bets and I gather in the central room while Theo retreats into the recesses of the facility. Time to act wanked. Theo sings drinking songs from the village and howls like a wolf. Bets talks to herself, occasionally smacking her forehead, belly, and butt while skipping. Flip fires weapons upstairs. He's no longer aiming into the range but discharging haphazardly. An occasional explosion suggests that he's having fun with the concussion grenades. Much like the night of Fromer's visit, one of Troll's boxes approaches me. "Amy Marksman, I require your assistance. Your companions are behaving outside of my performance parameters. This is highly unusual."
I respond using a language that I invented with my friends when I was five. Complete gibberish. I dance and shout. Troll goes quiet. The lift descends as the armory shakes and shudders the entire facility. I'm sweating as I sway my arms and tap on the box like a drum. Three more boxes appear. One heads toward me, one toward Bets, and the other toward the lift. Troll is apparently not distracted enough. Bets jumps on top of one of the boxes and shouts, "Troll, tell me all about the people who lived here before us, starting with the oldest and ending with the youngest." It seems that Troll is about to speak when Bets interrupts it. "Troll, tell me about how you were made." The boxes move toward her. "Troll, how many stars are in the sky?" I keep singing and speaking in tongues as I rush to the lift, joining Flip. Bets keeps asking new questions, interrupting the machine. Flip and I descend into the lower level.
When the lift stops, I freeze. All the mummified bodies are scattered on the floor and Theo has disappeared. Flip has a robe full of concussion grenades and a small launcher strapped over his shoulder. He lobs volleys of explosives randomly into corners of the room. Four more rolling boxes appear and then I feel dizzy. The air grows thinner, as both Flip and I gasp. "It's sucking the air out," Flip hisses. "Take this grenade and make it count." He fires at the boxes while I run toward the small glass cube perched on a table that contains Troll's mind. The air shudders with explosions as Flip screams. Bets joins him in the distance. All goes grey as I activate the warm metal in my hand and lunge forward at the pedestal.
I awake to dead eyes and a shriveled face, acrid smoke, and more screaming. A mummy of some long-dead captive is draped over me. The screaming’s coming from Flip - he sounds a bit like a cat in heat. The space is washed in red light. I push the debris and mummy aside and crawl toward Flip's mewing. One of the robots has him pinned to the wall, a large spike extending from the machine and lodged in his skull. His arms and legs are flailing. Rivulets of crimson blood are pooling in his lap. I have no idea what to do. The box is motionless, the light on its top absent. The logical portion of my mind suggests that I killed Troll. But not before it impaled poor Flip, pinning him to the wall like an insect. I start screaming and throwing chunks of glass - Troll's brain – at the box.
"Oh no." Theo's croak from behind me sends me lunging forward. "Poor, poor Flip."
Flip's intact eye has rolled back; his screams transform to a soft gurgle. Theo whispers, "There's nothing we could've done for him. He'd make his people proud."
"Where were you Theo?"
"Getting this." He extends a hand with a small plate of black glass, warm to the touch. He waves his hand over it and an image of the planet appears above it. "A map. I was afraid it'd be destroyed when we attacked Troll."
Flip’s no longer breathing and I marvel that I survived the explosion. Shards of glass and plastic are scattered everywhere. I swear it was the pile of dead bodies that softened the blow. "Theo, are we sure that Troll is gone?"
"If you're considering sticking around to find out, I'd consider you wanked for real. We need to get Bets, collect some weapons and provisions, and then leave."
The lift no longer works. We climb a ladder and search the ground section for Bets. We call for her, with no answer. Theo shouts, "I'm heading upstairs to get some guns and grenades. Keep looking for Bets." He begins scaling the wall up the shaft of the lift. The robots are still on the floor, with the chairs and tables scattered about. A stool is jammed in between a pair of steel doors. I approach cautiously and peek in the space. One of Troll's robots is on the floor, with Bets pinned underneath it. My stomach lurches, expecting to see the same horrific scene that Flip left in the basement. Instead, Bets is breathing, with her short blade jammed in one of the robot's black eyes. Her head's caked with dried blood, but the gash appears to be superficial. It won't be long before she again treats me with loathing.
Theo starts lowering weapons, ammo, and grenades via a makeshift rope system he's fashioned from bed sheets and other materials. I gather them in our sacks and begin setting up a pile that we can retrieve for packing on the horses, if they're still there. Theo finishes and slides down. Bets has regained consciousness and is puking. "Can you travel?" Theo asks. She nods uncertainly. We begin trekking up the corridor to the surface.
Halfway up, the lights change from dim red to bright white. The facility is powering back up and something’s following us. We increase our pace, but Bets is still weak and dizzy, slowing us considerably. I turn to see three robots gaining ground, each with a spike extended similar to the one that impaled Flip. Theo hands Bets to me. "Head up. I'll take care of these." He crouches and pulls a plasma rifle from his pack. I marvel how quickly we've adapted from arrows, staffs, and swords to these lethal tools.
I drag Bets toward the outer portal to the sound of Theo's shots. The same red light we saw when we first found the door to the facility appears and is scanning us. A soft whine fills the corridor and instinct tells me to duck. I pull Bets to the floor just as a beam of white hot light sears the wall where we were standing. We crawl the last few feet to the doors. Surprisingly, the doors slide open and we're in the open air, with noonday sun shining in our eyes. It's blinding.
As our eyes adjust, we hear Samuel
shout, “Get down." Samuel's hiding behind the same ruddy boulder Theo and I used what seems like months ago. Arrows fly as we crawl toward him. There are five immobile robots strewn around the area loaded with arrows and dented by rocks. We flop behind the boulder to find English sitting next to Samuel, staring at us with an astonished gleam in his eyes. This is the closest to a smile I've ever seen on his face.
"Where the hell've you been?" Samuel hisses.
I try to answer but an explosion and rain of rocks interrupts me. Theo’s rushing toward us as a ball of flame that looks like an arrow but is surely much more lethal follows him from the portal. He ducks and the rocket, I think Troll called it, smacks into the boulder. Theo regains his footing, pulls a weapon I don't recognize from his belt, and fires at the door. A thin white flame flies across the space, hits the doors, and the entire opening crumbles with a roar. "We're not going back in there," Theo gasps.
We slide down the hill to find a small encampment built by Samuel and English. English appeared two days after we descended into the earth, while Samuel was busily destroying Troll's robots with rocks and arrows. The metal boxes weren't built for combat and each took only a few hours for him to destroy. Still, Samuel was unable to get to the doors and try to free us during our interment.
We're drinking shine around a fire. I'm feeling strangely annoyed at the inconvenience of having to sleep outside on the cold ground and eat half-cooked game again. Theo explains our ordeal to Samuel and English, although it's nearly impossible to describe the wonders we experienced. Bets is sleeping between bouts of retching. I don't feel like reveling. I can't banish the sight of the boy Philip struggling during his last few moments of life. I could feel that spike in my own head. Telepathy, as Fromer called it, may be a bag of black and white beans.
