Fly On The Wall: Fairy Tales From A Misanthropic Universe, Vol. I
Page 11
Benjamin digs into the tender meat and weighs his options still. He still has time to change his mind and stay, but Benjamin doesn't want to stay, instead he wants fame and glory. It does not escape his notice that if he is the only one to return he will have to share none of it. And if he stays he will never get that deserved recognition. He has to learn, then take it back, for the betterment of all, especially his own accounts. How restless he feels at the thought of his future countless priceless gems.
Maebë waits patiently for the men to finish their feast. She sits silently and watches the two tear into their various pieces of Squal. As Benjamin finally wipes a final small smear of grease from his face, Maebë stands and beckons him. Hugo's eyebrows bunch , disconcerted. But when he sees Benjamin's springy step he gives only a final farewell to his old friend. He worries no more when he sees Benjamin's excitement, after all, their hosts had been gracious and he has no reason to doubt them.
Benjamin now walks down the purple corridor which winds around her emerald palace. “You missed the last great cull, it was a few hours ago,” Maebë tells him, “it was not the right time anyway though, so I'll just take you to one of our off-cycle farms, and first show you how we grow our resources. Then the crystal tech. All out farming is collective, each being works to ensure the we being and health of all others. It is true, we maintain the barbarism of wage slavery within certain farms, but only very few are willing to work in the farms regardless, so incentivization can be significant. We can usually accommodate people who don't want to work there, not always, but usually. From what I understand of your world you should more than understand why.”
Benjamin grows visibly excited. This cull, and the farming seem to be the main things on Maebë's mind, they had then to be vitally important in order for her to bring it up this much. Benjamin thinks it strange, but who is he to judge their kind. His fingers start trembling with nervous anticipation. They walk for miles, but Benjamin finds it hard to tell how far without organic points of reference, like the ones he had on the surface. Even so he makes due, counting each clacking step.
As they walk Maebë reveals her peoples' involvement with him to him more. She rambles through a long list of Earth's most prominent inventions“...the transistor, penicillin, glass, steel, nuclear energy, stable plasma containment. Your kind were too bone idle and dumb to even figure out rubber without our help.”
Benjamin knows she speaks the truth, for he is at the center of earth, and the buildings he saw and touched were all real. His whole life had been a well-concocted fiction. Finally, they reach a big black building. Unlike the other structures in her realm it is opaque, yet this makes it mirror-like. Benjamin stares at himself briefly, but looks away quickly lest his own good looks distract him.
“Are you ready?” queries Maebë gravely.
“Yes, yes of course I am,” he snaps back, letting his impatience flare. It is clear that Benjamin desires only to obtain her knowledge and be gone. He is eager to see what lies in the black box. Unlike Maebë and hers, Benjamin does not have a flair for the dramatic, he had no time to waste on pomp. Maebë's eyes roll in their sockets as she reaches out a finger and draws two overlapping triangles directly onto the black surface. A tall rectangle turns dark gray in response. Slowly it becomes lighter, and lighter, until through some strange disintegration it is no more. Two massive being stand on either side of the doorway, guards. They tower above Benjamin and stare straight on, unmoved the sight of Benjamin. The mounds of muscle make it clear that they are not to be trifled with. Benjamin had seen the strength of Maebë's people first hand, he cannot fathom what such hulking creatures might be capable of. Benjamin finds them strange all the same, he had seen no guards elsewhere, not even in her palace. Deep down Benjamin hides disgust. He understands why they had been termed mole people, aside from Maebë they are all remarkably ugly beings.
Maebë senses his inner gripes and bristles with indignation, but she hides it well, for they are almost at their destination. She explains to Benjamin that the guards will go with them, for safety – of course. Benjamin minds, but he can hardly say no, and the intoxicating promises of riches egg him on. They both walk, with guards in tow, down a long, empty, milky white quartz hallway. At the end, Maebë steps up and turns to face Benjamin. “Benjamin, this is your last chance to rescind your choice and join Hugo.”
“No.” One word suffices.
Maebë taps her foot rhythmically and the floor darkens, eventually opening, forgiving both her and Benjamin through yet another tube-slide of sorts. This one is gentler, and shorter too. Almost immediately they land in a round chamber, surrounded by a shiny gold wall. Benjamin rises to his feet and touches the wall, feeling for a seam, any junction to indicate openings. He finds the featureless confined spaces disturbing.
“Darlin', you asked me earlier how old I was, now let me ask you the same.”
“33” Benjamin is fond of one world answers when he feels uncomfortable, their brevity comforts him.
“Oh my, just right!” she says. The sharp points of her teeth press into her lip and she bites it softly.
“For what?” Benjamin feels anxious and paces around the tiny chamber. He hits his palm against the gold wall, hoping to affect it the same way Maebë had with other walls. Benjamin knows something is wrong, and his breathing proves it. He pants, suddenly aware of the danger he faces. It is those actions and thoughts which convince Maebë that is is indeed all for the best.
“Well...here's the thing sugar plum,” she says, “your people and mine have a long standin' agreement,” like a teacher does with her students, Maebë pauses to give Benjamin a chance to ask, a chance to learn, but he is too agitated and just paces the perimeter of the small room. It doesn't matter to Maebë, she progresses her speech, she knows that he hears her well. “Every once in a while, people, more specifically the poor – the lost – from your communities go missin'. Noe I guess y'all ain't ever noticed, but mass disappearances always coincide with the best inventions.”
Benjamin, calming down somewhat, nods cautiously. He summons all his strength to calm himself, to listen to her pitch.
“Well shug, what happens is that food is mighty scarce down here, but knowledge ain't. Besides your folk had a mighty hard time helpin' 'em. At least we give 'em a roof.” Maebë pauses and sighs, “It really is best if I show you.” Maebë emulates Benjamin's hand motion upon the wall, demonstrating to him that is is a question of whom and not how.
The golden walls collapse on themselves, forming a gold ring on the bottom of the round suspended platform on which Maebë and Benjamin stand. For the first time, Benjamin can see. He stares out at a great populated hall, one greater than any ht had ever seen. Benjamin's stomach somersaults. In one corner humans; in another, more; in another, yet more still; in each and every square yard of the gargantuan hall a human stands. They are all cramped together like cattle. Every here and there more massive guards stand watch. Young, old, humans of every race and gender, humans of every height and girth. Benjamin watches the mole people standing guard below gather and begin to rape a young woman in the northeastern corner. Her cries resound through the colossal warehouse, but none are affected, none act. The guards rape er with impunity. Despair shines from each person's eyes, boring holes into Benjamin's soul. They all beg him for salvation, for release.
Benjamin is dumbfounded. All he can do is stare hopelessly into the warehouse of cruelty, unable to act. He turns and looks on at a group of children in the corner behind him. They are being beaten by the mole guards who hit them again and again until each one of their fragile young bones splits open, spilling savory marrow. Benjamin sees humans in another corner lined up, then they are pushed through stiles, one by one. They press on past what looks to be a bunch of half height workers. The workers bring up pistol like objects to the back of the humans' skulls. Loud pops and subsequent limpness confirm their efficacy.
The workers hand each body by a hook and split open their necks, ensuring exsang
uination. They shake the bodies as they h, be they men, women, or children, all of them, making sure that each drop of blood is freed from its prison. Maebë doesn't particularly care, and neither do the workers, but if the meat was not bled out well then bloody streaks would run through the fat, making the meat less attractive for sale. Benjamin stares in horror as the blood flows down into immense floor drains. Maebë's eyes follow his, and she speaks up.
“Don't worry, it doesn't get wasted, we drink it up, like your wine.”
Benjamin is too traumatized to react. A trillion mile stare besets his face. He can not look from the feeding line. He watches on as conveyors shunt mashed soylent around the hall. He stares at the feral humans who grunt and jostle for position. Raised for slaughter, these humans were often inbred, but at least someone bigger, for they bad but one role – to die. His people, the strong and powerful conquerors, are truly no more than prey for a stronger species.
Maebë smiles and draws a line on this chin with her finger, pulling his face in towards her. “Look,” she says and points up. Above them is another hall, one with a transparent floor. In it, Benjamin sees them breed his kind. Beings forces into copulation. Maebë's people had seen no point to teaching the humans, so they kept them like beasts, and so they kept them like bests, and like beasts they behaved, assaulting one another at will. As soon as each young woman birthed, her children were removed, to be raised and trained so their muscles would grow, raised for slaughter. They live short lives and are beaten often to ensure juicy tenderness. Maebë workers assign each newborn child a number at random. When their age matches their number they are slaughtered and butchered. As the sights of humans being mutilated and cut up into convenient take-home packets finally begin to sink into Benjamin's brain, he looks frantically for an exit, realizing all too late there is none.
“Squal is short for Squalor, one of your leaders actually came up with that one. Sorry shug.” Maebë nudges Benjamin. He is too agitated to be kept alongside her further. He plummets from the platform, and the further he falls the better his expression resembles those which had implored him for freedom or death just moments ago. A loud snap stuns Benjamin and he looks down to see shattered shin bones stick through his flesh like primitive spears. He knows it is the end – his end.
Maebë grins, satisfied, and gestures to a worker who consequently flips a nearby switch labeled with various triangles. Loosely translated it read 'Smoke'. It is a shame, but it is time. Benjamin had been nothing more than a mere animal, a surface dweller. After all, her kind had evolved to feast on his, it was only natural, they needed to survive. Besides, Benjamin had been unwelcome, Maebë always respected the surface dwellers' wishes, but they are a free people, not one bred expressly for good, her humans, on the other hand, are no more than stock.
Maebë surveys her resource. She always made sure to make it humane. Maebë never liked the leaders, but at least they made obtaining breeding stock much easier, the inspectors simply brought them along, this way they didn't have to undertake dangerous journeys to steal them. It is different now from how it had been in Maebë's youth, then Squal had been a luxury, yet now the offal is thrown out. Ruefully she watches Benjamin gasp for his last moments of air.
At least he is the right age, and at least he's lived a good life. On the plus side, at least I get another portion of smokes Squal!
Maebë leaves the farm and instructs a guard to have it sent to her when it is done.
Now Maebë sits with Hugo on a bench, in an artificial gem-stone park. Each tree, each leaf, each blade of grass had been fashioned out of the same gems which made up the rest of her world. The craftsmanship of the part was impeccable however, each small nutrient vein was etched on. Rainbow rays shine here and there, forced out from the light's twisty journey through manifold crystals. Hugo is astounded by the sparkle which surrounds him still. Hugo is Happy. Ignorant, but happy. Maebë leans into Hugo and plants a kiss on his cheek. He is a little older than Benjamin, and maybe not quite as cute, but he is kind, and – crucially – he listens, and that's all that matters to Maebë. Maas, one of her servants, approaches them from the ruby path, as quiet as a whisper, startling Hugo who finds himself engrossed in Maebë's eyes. In his hands, Maas holds a platter. Hugo considers how gladly he gives up sunlight in exchange to be with Maebë in her beautiful and brilliant kingdom, with an unending supply of Squal to boot.
“Here,” says Maebë playfully, as she gently picked up a piece of smoked Squal and holds it out for him to bite, “it's fresh smoked.”
~fin~
Table of Contents
Fly On The Wall: Fairy Tales From A Misanthropic Universe, Vol. I
Midpoint