The ladder went on for a long time. Surprisingly, it was still in good condition. The rungs and side rails were sturdy, though a few were slicked with moisture. My feet fumbled a few times but I managed to cling to the metal and maintain a sturdy hold.
“You doing okay down there?” Marshal’s words floated down to me.
I smiled. “Hanging on.” My words echoed for a split second, faded away, and that was when I noticed something strange.
There was a soft, low hum that faded with each step I took up. Kuno was right about the Machine’s humming, and having it disappear like that unnerved me in a way I’d never experienced before.
We had to be close to the top.
After another few steps, I heard nothing at all. The silence was deafening and growing stronger, now slamming into my head, my skin. I couldn’t escape the awareness of it. It was like the Machine’s tendrils were drawing me back down, urging me not to leave the safety and sanctity of the colony.
“Marshal,” I managed to say, swallowing. I paused, clinging to the rungs by wrapping my arms around them. “Do you…do you hear that? There’s no hum. I can’t believe it.” My stomach flipped over, and I started to feel a little dizzy.
“It’s making my teeth ache,” he ground out.
We took a moment, letting ourselves adjust to the distinct lack of sound. I pressed my forehead to the chilly metal side rail, regulating my breathing until the vomiting feeling passed.
“I-I’m starting to feel a little better,” I told him.
“Okay, let’s press on. It might be easier once we get outside. Wait, I think I feel something,” he said. “Right above my head. Stay right there while I try to—” He grunted. “Can you…can you hold my legs still, please?”
I moved up and wrapped my fingers around his ankles, using my upper body to press his legs into place. My face burned from awareness of his sleek muscles and bones beneath my hands. Not now. I bit my lip and concentrated on keeping him still while above me, he twisted and moved.
“I think— Almost…” More grunting and then there was a massive popping sound that slammed into my eardrums, followed by a flooding of hot white light from above.
That was the last thing I remembered before being sucked up and blacking out.
Chapter 13
Ten Days
“Should you ever notice your pod in need of repair, simply let the Machine know and the repair mechanism will fix any and all issues. The Machine keeps the colonies in peak condition, with no sign of wear or tear for maximum aesthetic appeal and comfort.” ~ The Book of the Machine
Some kind of a loud whooshing sound nudged inside my head, pulled me out of the dark. The Machine was shooting air out of the tunnel right beside me. The next thing I became aware of was a bone-crushing ache in my entire body. I felt as though I’d been hit repeatedly by something large and cruel.
I slitted an eye open, groaning as I turned my head. Moving all my limbs confirmed nothing had been seriously damaged, though I was very sore all over.
“Marshal?” I whispered, closing my eyes again. The sun’s light was bold, hot; my closed eyelids were bright red, something I’d never seen before. It startled me with its novel newness and I remained transfixed for a moment.
“I’m here.” He cleared his throat, and I heard him moving around right beside me. “Are you okay?”
“I think so.” I suddenly became all too aware of my surroundings.
Digging my fingers into a patch of bold green grass— grass! —I gasped in a shock of air. Real air. It burned my lungs like fire, flooded me with a surge of sensation so unbelievably real, so undeniable that for the moment I could do nothing but lay there. I closed my eyes and tilted my head toward the hole to draw in another lungful of the Machine’s steady flow of artificial air, soothing the painful ache in my chest from the surface’s foreign atmosphere.
“Kuno was right,” I whispered to Marshal. My words shook from me as I spoke. I could hardly believe what I was experiencing.
Or that I was experiencing anything at all, actually. According to everything I’d ever learned, Marshal and I should be dead right now.
And yet, here we were.
Marshal reached a hand over to me, squeezed my fingers. “What do we do now?”
I peeked an eye open and looked at him. Warm tendrils of sunshine caressed the crown of his brown hair and the shades of green in his eyes, illuminating colors I’d never seen before. My heart twisted in surprise, even as my brain furiously cataloged each sensory experience.
Air breezed across my oversensitive skin. Cool blades of grass caressed the backs of my arms and legs. There was a strong, damp scent just beneath me that I’d never smelled before, pouring from the dirt.
Things were living on the surface—not just living but thriving. It teemed with activity, the day-to-day flow of nature progressing happily along, undisturbed. Unpolluted.
A slow-moving cloud blotted out the sun and darkened the sky then, bringing me back to reality. It was true—we’d been lied to our whole lives.
If Kuno had been right about this, could he be right about the Machine?
One thing I did know, that I felt in my gut—we were running out of time. It was certain that nothing was what I’d previously thought. And if this was true, my other concern, that the Machine was breaking down, was possible as well.
With a low moan I sat up, making sure to continue drawing in regular puffs of Machine air every minute or two, since the atmosphere’s air was strong and painful still. I rubbed my lower back, my limbs, shaking off the aches of being thrown from the tunnel. Marshal did the same.
We took a moment to look around us. Grass stretched out far, but I saw a tall stone and metal building in the distance, gaping with large square holes. I’d heard of these before in a past lecture or two—the ancients used to dwell and work in them when they’d lived on the surface. The building was in a poor state, with pieces of its exterior crumbled and broken off.
There were gigantic florae thrusting from the ground, along with trees and flowering plants in shocking bold colors. I couldn’t seem to look fast enough to absorb everything I wanted to see. I even saw a couple of trees with fist-sized red shapes dangling from their limbs. It reminded me of my recent conversation with Sirama—was that fruit, and if so, was it edible? Did it taste like any of our own?
“Let’s go over there,” I said to Marshal, pointing toward a particularly interesting tree. Its thick, leaf-laden branches reached far into the sky, canopying the ground below it. “We can stand in its shade and get out of this sun.” Sweat was creeping down my back now, sliding into my pants and slicking my skin.
He nodded, and we helped each other up.
“Wait,” I said, leaning over and impulsively removing my shoes. I wanted to experience every sensation I could. And something in me was longing to feel this strange dirt beneath my feet. The ancients used to walk around without shoes all the time, or so I was told. If I could breathe their air, I could walk their paths in the way they used to.
Marshal grinned. “You’re braver than me.”
Gripping my shoes in one hand, I searched for a place that looked undisturbed and dug my toes into a patch of dirt. Underneath the warm surface, it was cool and smooth. “This is strange,” I said, unable to fight the responding smile on my face. But the grass felt wonderful. It was crisp and cool at its base, with its very tips absorbing the balminess of the sun.
We made our way over to the nearby tree, our progress slow and stilted. A couple of times we had to turn around, go back to the hole and draw a few breaths of artificial air in, tracing and retracing our paths in longer and longer stretches toward our end goal. Eventually though, we got to the tree. Instantly I felt a change in temperature when we hit the shade. A soft breeze rolled by, making my tunic puff out and dance on its currents. The sweat on my back cooled.
I paused and sighed in happiness, just living in this one moment. I’d never felt anything like this before. This…abso
lute connection with my environment, with our culture’s violent and breathtaking past. The awareness that I was just one small piece of something that extended far beyond where I could see. The world stretched out into infinity, a sheer terror and beauty I’d never have imagined.
No brown pod walls or tunnels or darkness. Here was open sky, color, sensations that bombarded me and demanded my attention.
It was surprisingly easy to shake off my apprehensions about Tessa, my mother, the Machine and simply be here, right now.
“This is unbelievable,” Marshal said. “In my wildest dreams I never would have dreamed the surface would be like this.”
We dropped down to the base of the tree, grazing the grass with our fingertips, drawing in shallow huffs of air as we dug our heels into the ground in front of us. The oxygen still burned somewhat, but the longer I was outside, the less painful it was.
Still, it was best to not tax our bodies as much as possible. So we took it easy, absorbing everything around us with a quiet awe.
I stared at the building. “The metal looks like bones,” I said. “It’s so odd, thinking people used to live in there. Moving about their business. Why do you think there are holes in their walls? Are there pieces of the building missing?”
“I’m not sure,” he said, tilting his head as he scrutinized it.
Slipping my hand into his, I continued, “What do you think they did with their lives? We get snippets and bits all the time, but how much of that is true?” I bit my lip, my mind shuffling through every lecture I’d attended, every idea I’d heard and passed on. “What’s the truth? Is everything we’ve heard a lie?”
“I don’t believe it’s all a lie. But enough of it is.” His voice was dark, his words carrying a bitter edge. “To be honest, I don’t know what to believe anymore. And that really scares me.”
My chest was starting to burn again. My cursed lungs craved the Machine’s air. Even when I strove for independence, my body wouldn’t let me fully let go. I forced myself to draw in slow breaths. Ancients had lived on this air. Surely I could make it a few more minutes. I couldn’t seem to let this burst of life go quite yet.
A small flying creature fluttered the leaves above our heads. I looked up, staring in wonder. Its wings flapped as it pressed its beak into a divot in the tree trunk.
“Look,” I whispered, pointing. “I think it’s a bird. They’re real too.”
Its tiny chest puffed out as it drew its breath. Even this little animal was proving how nontoxic the surface was. I couldn’t stop staring at this bold face of truth. My throat closed up as tears burned the corners of my eyes.
“We should go back home,” Marshal finally said. “I don’t want anyone to grow suspicious about our absence.”
“Can we go look at the building first?” There was no way I could leave right now without exploring its secrets.
He nodded. We got up, a little slower this time, and gradually progressed toward the building. There was a large opening in the front, one I assumed used to hold a door. Upon approaching it, I could see grass running rampant, a thick blanket coating the floor and spreading into the building.
I touched the red brick exterior—it was warm and sturdy beneath my fingertips, in spite of its frail appearance. Not unlike me, or Marshal. This building had survived wars and abandonment and other life-altering events. And yet here it stood, open, proud, still carrying on day after day.
When we got inside, the air moved freely through the large gaps in the walls, creating a cross breeze that stirred my hair and clothes. I looked around, taking in the near empty massive room. There used to be a smooth, colored surface on its walls—I could still see scraps and patches of a bold yellow in spots. The rest had been worn off.
“Check this out,” Marshal said from the opposite side of the room.
I headed over then stopped dead in my tracks when I got right behind him. On the floor in the corner of the room was a small bed, neatly made with blankets tucked into the sides. There were a couple of bowls, along with a cup.
And a thin, faded brown book.
My jaw dropped. I blinked, fingers aching to touch the book’s delicate surface. “Someone is dwelling here,” I managed to say.
The impact of this hit me. Homeless had survived, were in this very area. Were reading strange books and eating and breathing and living.
This building had become a person’s home.
I looked around through every opening to see if a person was lingering outside. But I saw and heard nothing. Just the whispering breeze and fluttering green leaves.
Squatting down, with shaky fingers I reached as gingerly as possible and caressed one fingertip across the book’s surface. It was like The Book of the Machine in a way—I could tell it was once finely bound but was now worn and well-loved. I flipped it open to the first page, absorbing the individual letters, the words, everything I could see. The Complete Poetic Works of Shakespeare.
Who or what was Shakespeare, and was this actual ancient poetry? Apparently it was written down and not simply recited verbally, as I’d been lecturing—could there be more books like this, then? Were the pieces in this book like the Machine’s attempt at verses? Or would there be a richness in it due to flawed human compositions?
And yet, even the Machine was flawed, as noted by my experience last night.
“We need to go,” Marshal said, a slight wheeze evident in his voice.
The sound made my stomach pang in guilt. Now wasn’t the time to linger and touch someone else’s things, not when we both were risking so much to even be here. I rose, giving him a chagrined look. “I’m sorry. Let’s go.”
The trip back to the hole took longer than I thought, especially since I walked over to one of the trees and plucked a red fruit-item out of the tree. I couldn’t leave without taking it back with me to study. I dropped it into my tunic pocket and nodded my thanks at Marshal for humoring me. He gave a small smile back.
He and I were both tired now, our chests aching from the foreign air. My muscles were still stiff and sore, but I ignored that and slipped my shoes back on as we neared the large, hissing gape in the earth. Interestingly, the Machine’s air wasn’t thrusting as strongly out as it had been before.
The first breath of artificial air was pulled into my lungs on reflex, and I closed my eyes, taking it in, heady satisfaction sweeping over me. Yet I almost hated it too, hated my need for the Machine. Someone else had managed to escape its grasp and was perfectly happy with earth’s air. Without The Book of the Machine. With no technology or lectures or artificial fruit.
What would that be like?
“You ready?” I finally asked Marshal.
He nodded. “We’re not going to be able to get that lid back on—the air is still blowing too hard and I’m not sure I have the strength to force it in from below. So either the Machine will find it and fix it, or it’ll just stay like this.”
Fighting the gush of air in the tunnel that tore at his hair and clothes, Marshal wound his way around to the ladder and started to descend. When I could no longer see the crown of his head, it having been swallowed by the black tunnel, I followed him.
Each step down made my heart sink a little more. Back into the darkness, the quiet humming, the flatness of my reality.
Would Kuno be excited about our travels? Would he be horrified we’d gone to the surface? Had the Machine repaired its issues yet?
I shook my head at myself. Though it felt like I’d been gone ages, it really hadn’t been that much time. I doubted anything had gotten better.
Returning back to the lift took far less time than it had to get here. We wove our way through the pitch-back tunnels, all the more dark now that we knew the sweetness of the sun. My eyes took far longer to adjust to the underground.
Across the rails. Over the tiled walkway. To the lift. Back down toward our pods, our silence filled with a multitude of unspoken words. We both seemed to understand that we should remain quiet until we reached a safe pl
ace.
Finally we made it back to my pod. I opened the door and waved Marshal inside. Then I closed it behind us and looked around my home.
Brown. Black. Dim. What had before seemed smooth and efficient now seemed empty, lacking color and life. I wished I had grass for a carpet. I wished I had that book. Or a blanket made up of colorful squares of fabric.
I took the red fruit out of my pocket and put it on the table. A striking splash of red in a dull room.
“Bed, please,” I whispered.
The Machine obliged.
I sat on the edge, waving for Marshal to sit in the chair, and turned the room to manual mode, switching on isolation. Thankfully the Machine didn’t make that horrible whining noise.
The stark, vivid authenticity of everything we’d just seen and experienced slammed into me, and I gasped, clapping my hand over my mouth to fight back the sudden urge to cry, the bizarre need to scream and shout and rail against the hundreds—thousands—of lies I’d been fed from birth.
Lies that I’d been feeding others without even knowing how wrong I was.
Marshal walked over and sat beside me. “Are you okay?”
I turned my face away, not wanting him to see me so panicked and emotionally unstable. “Fine,” I said, barely pushing the words out of a clogged throat.
But I wasn’t.
My whole world was crumbling apart piece by piece. I had a foundation of sand and was starting to realize the precariousness of my existence.
Utterly dependent upon a Machine that was failing us.
The strange, unnerving tingles were back in my stomach. Twisting my gut and making it hard to breathe.
His tentative hand touched my back. Then he nudged me closer to him. “Please don’t be upset,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” I said with a sniffle. “I’m just a little overwhelmed right now.” I kept my gaze carefully away from him, willing myself to calm down. Tears pooled in my eyes; I struggled to keep them from spilling.
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