Ten Days

by Olivia Mayfield

  I blinked, turning my stunned gaze to Marshal. “I can’t believe I never thought of it before. Had you?” All those little tunnels piercing the surface that I’d never noticed.

  “Just wait. It gets even more amazing,” Marshal said. Kuno’s fervor was catching—his eyes were wide, taking in my surprise with a knowing nod.

  Kuno took a sip of his water. “I cannot tell you what moved through me when I found the courage to go into one of these shafts. I heard the words and sentiments of long-dead ancestors, willing me forward. They wanted me to unearth them. To uncover the truth.

  “It took a long time to build up the strength to climb up the shaft. I never told a soul I was doing so. You see, back then, we were still allowed to travel to the surface. But you had to obtain a special permit, and you were only allowed to see the surface via designated exits. I was doing so without a permit. Going to a secret place no one had been to for years and years and years.”

  “Why didn’t you just go to the surface through legal means?” I asked. “If you knew it was going to get you in trouble, why invite that in?”

  He paused and stared at me for so long I started to squirm. Had my question offended him? I opened my mouth to apologize when he said, “I had considered it. A great many times before taking that fateful trip up the ventilation shaft. But I think you of all people have realized by now the allure of being a free thinker. Not following the rules simply because they’re there. What reason could keep me from exploring my own ideas, my own desires, other than society telling me they’re barbaric?”

  More heated passion spilled into his voice, and he waved a hand in the air. “I saw the stars in the air-ship, saw their patterns even when others thought I was crazy. I knew there were worlds we’d let fall to the side in our pursuit of ‘sophistication.’ I had to taste the experience for my own. So I made my body strong. I summoned a respirator. I broke through the rotted tiles in the railway, slipped into that dark shaft and bit by bit, crawled and climbed my way up the rusty ladder toward the top.”

  His words moved me. I bit my lip and closed my eyes as he talked, listening to the soft cadence of his speech.

  “And here is one of the most amazing discoveries I made. The Machine hums.”

  My eyes flew open. “What?” Confused, I looked at him, at Marshal. “I don’t hear anything. In fact, I don’t ever remember hearing a humming sound at all.”

  “We can’t hear it,” Marshal said, looking at Kuno for confirmation. “Because we’re born with the hum inside of us. When it’s all you hear…you don’t notice it.”

  “That’s right.” Kuno paused, drawing in a deep breath. “I still remember the shock I felt when my ears met with the fading sound and, when I neared the top of the shaft, total silence.”

  “But why don’t we realize this when we go into an air-ship?” I asked. I hadn’t felt or heard a thing on my two recent trips, which soared high above the surface.

  “Well, despite the air-ship not being Machine-operated for the most part, there are still elements there,” Kuno answered. “I believe they are links to the Machine’s transport mechanism, for scheduling purposes. Plus status reports to the repair mechanism. So the hum is in each air-ship too.”

  All those moments in my pod when I’d felt alone, it turned out I wasn’t. Even when I switched on isolation and moved into manual operations, or sat in a cabin in the air-ship, believing I was shutting the entire world out, the Machine had still been inside. Singing in my veins. So ingrained in my brain and heart and lungs and skin that I didn’t even know it was there.

  Like air.

  Like a sickness.

  I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself. The thought of being intrinsically tied with the Machine disturbed me in a way I didn’t even know how to register yet. I stored this information away, swallowed past the sudden sickness in my stomach and tried to focus on Kuno.

  This wasn’t the time to get unnerved.

  Thankfully, Kuno could tell I needed a moment to compose myself. After a few more seconds of regaining my composure, I gave a halfhearted smile to let him know I was ready for him to go on.

  “There was a stopper at the top of the shaft. I hit my head on it.” With this, he grinned. “I was quite surprised. But I managed to twist it open. And when I did, I found myself thrust up with a huge gust of released air, lying on my back. Outside.

  “I was there.”

  Here, Marshal swiped a hand over his face, over his hair to rub the back of his neck. “This is the point where I asked him to wait,” he said quietly to me, “because I knew you needed to hear it.”

  I could barely understand him over the ringing of Kuno’s last words. He’d been on the surface and he’d lived. “What…what happened?” I stuck my now-trembling hands under my thighs again, attempting to press back my sharp fear. How had he possibly survived? The surface air was toxic, killing its victims instantly.

  Yet here was Kuno. Telling us his story.

  Kuno rose, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his tunic. He walked back and forth across the length of the pod. “There’s so much…wrongness being spread to younger generations. Yes, the air is vastly different than ours. I lay there for several minutes—bleeding from my nose and ears due to the shock of being thrust into the air, into earth’s air—and gulped at the artificial oxygen pouring from the hole. My respirator had flown off and at that moment I couldn’t find it. My clothing was ripped. I felt a sharp, certain panic that I was going to die.

  “Then I looked around. I saw grass, felt its blades between my fingers. I saw the clouds, white and thick and streaked with a myriad of colors, the sunlight dappling through them. Not hurting me. Not killing me. I survived, breathing a mixture of earth air and the Machine’s air.” He paused, looking at Marshal then me. “And no one had told us this was possible.”

  I let his words fully sink in. The image of Kuno, bruised and battered, but alive. On the surface of the earth, which was supposed to be impossible. Was this true? My gut told me he had no reason to lie. But that meant I had to deny one of the largest lessons I’d ever been taught:

  The surface is toxic. We can’t survive.

  Why would they tell us that if it wasn’t true? Did they even know it was possibly inhabitable?

  “Did you ever tell anyone?” I asked him.

  “Other than my mother?” Kuno gave a mirthless laugh. “No one would believe me. I couldn’t even get her to listen. She was angry with me for not being the model citizen. And by the time I’d returned, I was faced with the threat of Homelessness, which made me keep to the straight and narrow for a long time.” His eyes turned bittersweet, sad as he looked at us. “Until I met you. And when I felt your passion for truth, so like mine, I knew I couldn’t be quiet any longer.

  “So. Back on the surface, once I’d found my courage, found my strength, I dared to crawl forth to the edge of this great bowl I was in and look around. The ground was…alive. I don’t know how to describe it.” He closed his eyes, a haunting sort of peacefulness spreading across his face. “I can still see it in my mind. Rolling hills. Waving green grasses. Sharp blue skies with the fluffiest white clouds. It was a dream.

  “It sounds amazing,” Marshal said. He looked at me, and there was so much emotion packed in that one long glance. I could feel it pouring off him. He ached to see it for himself. For us to do as Kuno did—brave the dangers and find our own truths.

  As much as I wanted to as well, I was suddenly afraid. Kuno’s stories about the beauty of the surface couldn’t quite squelch the whirr of panic shivering just beneath my skin. I broke eye contact with Marshal, staring down at my feet. I crossed my legs in the chair and pressed my fingers against my calves, needing to reconnect with the here and now. Needing something concrete.

  For a tiny second, I didn’t want Kuno to go on. Panic tingled my lips, and I fought a wave of dizziness. Everything I knew was being turned upside down. I feared I wasn’t brave enough to handle these truths like Marshal was.
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  But Kuno kept talking. “I watched the sun set. The colors were almost tangible. Bold splashes in the sky. And when I returned toward the stopper, that’s when I saw it.”

  “What?” Marshal asked.

  “The mending apparatus. It had found me. And it was coming after me.” With this, Kuno pressed his hands onto the top of the chair. “It was horrific, like a long white worm crawling along the surface. It wrapped itself around me and dragged me down. But I caught hold of the edge of the stopper, trying desperately to keep it from pulling me into certain death.”

  He stopped here, drawing a sip of water. His hand was shaking, drops of water sloshing over the sides of the glass onto his lap. I’d never seen Kuno so upset. It pulled me out of my own funk.

  “You’re alive though,” I finally whispered past the lump in my throat. “It didn’t kill you.”

  “No, it didn’t,” he acknowledged. “I woke up safe and sound in my own pod, having been knocked out by hitting my head on the ladder on the way down. Like nothing had ever happened. But—” Pause. “But it did kill her.”

  “Who?” Marshal demanded. “Who got killed?” There was an edge of confusion pouring into his words, echoing my own emotion.

  Here, Kuno plopped his drink onto the table. Water spilled over the side and the floor absorbed it quickly. Like it had never happened.

  Like the Machine had wanted to do to Kuno—absorb him back into its own self, all clean and neat and tidy. No one need ever know. Every mistake could be erased.

  My stomach lurched, and I suppressed the reaction, swallowing several times. Stop it, I ordered myself. You’re overreacting.

  But everything had changed. My world had been spun around, turned on its side, shaken and then rehanded to me, to let settle in whatever method it wanted.

  What was real?

  Kuno sat back into his chair. In that moment he aged twenty years, right in front of my eyes. All the lines on his face were darkened, deepened in the soft glow of the pod. “I saw a woman. On the surface. The worm killed her. It pierced her throat right in front of my eyes. Right before I hit my head on the ladder. And woke up here.”

  A swell from the background music crested, spilled over in triumphant glory as it reached its climax. I’d forgotten it was playing. In the tension of the story, I’d completely lost my surroundings.

  “She was human,” Kuno continued, agony ripping through his quiet words, “and she was a surface-dweller. And the Machine murdered her.”

  Chapter 8

  “It’s easy to learn more about others. Simply attend lectures and ask them what ideas they’ve heard lately. You will gain insight into their areas of interest and show that you’re a thoughtful, engaged member of society. In addition, you may discover ideas that lead to your own self-growth.” ~ The Book of the Machine

  My mind wouldn’t stop spinning as I walked back to my pod. Despite the early morning hour, I was wide awake, unlikely to sleep the rest of the night. Marshal was equally silent beside me, his movements stiff. Tension strung between us.

  With a sigh, I said, “I don’t know what to think anymore. I’m so confused.” There was a warbly edge to my voice that I couldn’t help. All my emotions threatened to spill out with every exhalation of breath.

  “I’m scared too,” he said then stopped, touching my arm. “Cally. Wait.”

  The heat from his hand rippled across my flesh; I drew in a ragged breath. Thoughts of the surface, of lies, of toxic air and dead women scattered in the briefest of seconds as I focused my frightened, overwhelmed mind on this moment, letting it soothe me in a way nothing else could have.

  Marshal was touching me.

  He pulled me close to him. “I…I know we aren’t supposed to…” He stopped, stared down into my eyes. Warmth poured from his skin, our bodies so very close. “I’m so glad I’m not in this alone,” he finally said.

  He slid his hand down and cupped my chilly fingers within his.

  My heart stuttered in surprise. I blinked, gazing up at him, absorbing his strength. Then I clenched his hand like a lifeline, reaching out to take the other.

  We stood, staring, holding hands. And I was overcome by a sudden riot of sensations, the firm grip of his fingers around mine, his breath brushing my forehead, his eyes speaking some language I wanted to cling to.

  My emotions were not polite or friendly. They grew like fire, spreading and consuming me in their wake. They had become their own entity, feeding upon my need for him. Some strange sentiment that had started small, a mere flicker, now swelled every time I saw him. Thought of him.

  These feelings were accompanied by a raw throbbing in my body, my very core.

  Could this be what it was like to love?

  I drew in another breath, unable to tear my attention away from his mouth. An unnamed ache surged in me. Closer.

  I needed to be closer.

  His head lowered just slightly, lips parted, eyes hooded and fixed on me. His thumb stroked my hand, making my pulse kick up erratically.

  A thin whirring sound nearby, just behind Marshal, jarred me out of the moment. He stiffened and pulled away, giving me a chagrined look. We disengaged our hands, standing politely side by side.

  I missed his touch already.

  “What are you two doing?” It was Balan, the crabby elder who loved lecturing on literature. He wheeled up beside us and stopped, disdain engraved on his face.

  My face burned hot but I straightened my spine and cleared my throat. “We’re talking.” I couldn’t quite keep the shake out of my voice, but there was enough edge in it to make him blink as he scrutinized me.

  “Face to face? And at this hour?” He tried to cross his arms but given how much extra weight was on them, he couldn’t, so he settled for plopping his hands into his lap. “This is indecent and unacceptable. What possible purpose could you have to do so?”

  “And what purpose do you have to be out here?” Marshal’s words were soft, but with no less bite.

  I stifled a grin.

  Balan harrumphed. “For your inappropriate actions and that…that reply, you two are no longer invited to attend any of my lectures. This heathenism is intolerable.” On that note, he wheeled off.

  I stared at his departing back in disbelief. Part of me wanted to laugh hysterically—stress, fatigue, shock collided into one messy twist in my stomach. The other part was sick with shame. I seemed to be struggling with hanging on to any vestiges of control, of civility.

  “Do you think he’s going to tell the Committee?” I asked.

  Marshal snorted. “Doubt it. He’ll probably just rant about unworthy youth in his next lecture.”

  “Maybe I should apologize for offending him.” Not that I really wanted to. Or that I even believed it was my fault. Yet there was this strange compulsion to not keep upsetting people. This day had been overly stressful so far in that regard.

  “Why? He’s cutting you out of his lecture circuit. Are you really missing anything, other than more opportunities to take secret naps during his pretentious speeches?” Marshal raised an eyebrow and, without hesitation, grabbed my hand.

  He was right. It was no great loss not to have to listen to Balan drone on and on. The guilt slid away with the warm gesture, and I gave him a genuine smile. Funny how natural this was starting to feel, these small touches. I felt like I’d spent my entire life craving…something, never quite knowing what it was I’d been missing.

  It was this. Contact. Connection.

  “You know you’re my best friend, right?” Marshal said quietly.

  I squeezed his hand, pouring all my heartfelt emotions into my voice. “You’re mine too. Even though there’s still so much I don’t know about you.”

  “What do you want to know? Ask me anything, and I’ll answer it.”

  The darkness of the tunnel no longer felt oppressive or scary. It was intimate, cocooning. We were alone in our own world, free to be daring and open. My heartbeat tripped along with every step. I never wanted thi
s moment to end. Because right now, it was so easy to cast off all my deep-seated fears about the Machine and our society. No judgment, no worries.

  I could just be a woman, reaching out to a man for comfort in her moment of need.

  “Do you ever talk to your sister?” I asked. I knew Marshal had an older sister named Linnis, and his parents had even met each other upon occasion. But he didn’t talk about any of them much except with an offhand comment here or there.

  “I did a month ago, on the anniversary of my day of birth. Linnis just gave birth, actually. She sounded happy to be done with maternity—apparently her whole body was more swollen than usual from retaining fluids.” He chuckled. “She complained a lot about that part.”

  I swallowed. “Do you…” Biting my lower lip, I started over. “I don’t know much about the process of getting impregnated. Tessa said she’d tell me when she found out. What do you know about it?”

  A pause, then he cleared his throat and said, “I know that there’s an essence drawn from the man that’s used to fertilize the woman. My sister talked about it some. It’s a quick medical procedure, painless. The Machine handles it easily.”

  “Oh.” For some reason, I felt oddly deflated. It seemed like something that resulted in the creation of another living being would be more spectacular and noteworthy. “Well, I’m glad it didn’t hurt her.”

  “Speaking of siblings, how did it go with your brother this morning? You didn’t talk much about it.”

  Because I’d been too busy pulling away out of fear. My lip was starting to get sore from how much I was biting on it. “Sorry again. If I’d known that’s what Kuno had wanted to say to us…”

  He squeezed my hand. “It’s okay. Really.”