by Kir Lukovkin
Everyone immediately burst into movement. The residents of the underground city left for their decrepit hovels with surprising speed. The large and balding woman led Rick, Paul and the chief into a room, which was probably the home of White Worm and doubled as a place where all the important issues facing the tribe were resolved. Black Ant followed them inside. They were offered seats on a floor mat and gave them a bowl of steaming broth each. It smelled delicious. White Worm did not hesitate and started to eat, loudly smacking his lips and shoveling the food into his mouth with his bare hands. His son followed his example, and Rick decided to keep up. While Paul was sniffing at his portions, the rest of them quickly consumed their dinner. The woman was busy with the hearth, which emitted clouds of steam without a visible fire. Paul finally tasted the soup and quickly got stuck into the food. Rick asked for another portion without a moment of hesitation.
Once he was full, White Worm lay back on the bed and started to watch the way Rick and Paul finished off the remains of the dinner. Meanwhile, the fat cook collected the empty bowl.
“If you are going, let us trade,” White Worm declared.
He took off one of his many chains and gave it to Rick. The chain consisted of small parts of ancient machines on a metallic string. Paul received a sharpened piece of graphite, carefully shaped like a human figure at its base. Rick took a folding knife from his bag. He showed White Worm how the blade was released using a button, which made a great impression on him. White Worm happily accepted the gift and then stared at Paul, who suddenly remembered that a gift was also expected from him. He looked around and then approached the light colored wall of the room and started to draw lines on the gray surface with the piece of graphite he had been gifted. Everyone looked on in silence. When Paul stepped back from the wall, there was an incredibly detailed picture of White Worm together with his son. The chief sprung up, and approached the wall, bending down with a furrowed brow, and stared at the drawing. He suddenly straightened and stepped really close to Paul.
Rick slowly got up, ready for any surprises. Black Ant stood still with his mouth open, his eyes fixed upon his portrait. White Worm took Paul's hand and started to examine his palm, squeezing his fingers, opening and closing them. Then he put his own palm against Paul's and compared them.
“Who are you?” he asked eventually.
“I...” Paul looked confused.
White Worm repeated his question and added, “Don't lie to me.”
“I am a man from the surface. I was one of them, one of the ones above, but I have left them now. Rick isn't from their tribe, he came from far away. He saved me from the possessed... I mean, from those you call the jackals.”
White Worm looked grim. Rick moved over to him.
“We are not going to do any harm,” he assured.
“What do you think we do to the ones above?” The chief bared his teeth balefully. “Better you don't know.”
“We respect your people and your laws.”
White Worm looked deep in thought. Then, he headed for the exit.
“Follow me.”
Rick and Paul looked at each other. There was no choice. Rick tried to look calm — there was no need for emotions now and Paul should not get too nervous, let him think that the situation is under control.
White Worm led them to the far corner of the encampment, where there was a pavilion assembled from steel poles covered with cloth. A leg stuck out from under the canopy in the front, which the chief kicked as hard as he could. The leg immediately disappeared, the canopy opened and an old man stuck his head outside, which was covered in deep wrinkles and framed by long gray hair, arranged in dozens of tiny braids.
“Hello,” White Worm greeted him.
“What'd you want?” the old man grumbled.
“I have brought the one who had to come.” White Worm pointed at Paul.
The old man looked him over with a measured glance and vanished into the hut. They could hear some rustling and coughing and soon the old man came outside again, leaning upon a stick. He had no leg, with a metal bar that had a horizontal movable plate and a rubber sole on the end in its place. The old man silently hobbled towards a wide opening that continued into a tunnel on the opposite wall.
White Worm beckoned his companions and followed the old man. Rick shrugged his shoulders and nodded at Paul — they needed to keep going. They passed through the tunnel, which led them to a hall with several pools of water. Rick was curiously looking around, trying to understand how and why did the Ancients build these installations. His temples started to throb unpleasantly and his head began to spin a little. There it was again! He had downloaded so much knowledge in Thermopolis that as soon as he tried to apply it his mind started to boil. It would not be good to collapse from exhaustion here — he fixed his eyes on the old man walking ahead of him, forcing himself to stop thinking about the hall full of pools. Otherwise he might fall, like he did in the wastelands once, twitching in the throes of his seizure as he foamed at the mouth and everyone would think that he was possessed and beat him to death...
The group followed the old man onto a walkway that was suspended above the pools, which were constantly supplied with water by sloping pipes. Rick walked onwards, as if on autopilot, looking at his reflection on the rippled surface. They passed the bridge and turned into a corridor between the pipes, finding themselves on a spacious balcony that hung over a black chasm.
The old man sat down on the edge, his leg and metallic prosthesis hanging down into the chasm and tiredly shut his eyes. White Worm tried to offer him some water, but the old man waved him away.
Everyone waited respectfully. It seemed that the old man had fallen asleep, but he finally opened his eyes and turned to his companions.
“This is Book of Faces,” White Worm said, introducing the old man. “He is the eldest of all of us. He remembers all the people that he saw in his life and he has seen much because he was born up above.”
White Worm nodded and thrust his finger upwards.
“Why him?” the old man asked the chief, pointing at Paul.
“Because he created a copy of me and Black Ant on the wall, looking like we were alive.”
The mask of indifference slid off the old man's face and his eyes showed genuine interest mixed with amazement.
“You know how to draw?”
“A bit,” Paul admitted.
“Where did you learn to do this?”
“I never learned. It just happens by itself.”
“So it does,” the old man agreed. “You can't even understand why it happens yourself. It comes from nowhere and seems to come alive. It wasn't there before and now it exists.”
“Do you draw as well?”
“Now I don't. The Worm is right. I have many faces in my head and I can recognize any of them at first sight. I inherited this ability long ago...”
Rick was carefully listening to their conversation, hoping that the old man would continue. But Book of Faces fell silent, sinking into deep thought. A splash could be heard somewhere far down. Rick turned his head, trying to understand whether the splash had come from the chasm or somewhere from the corridor behind his back...
“They can smell us,” Book of Faces laughed, “but they can't get us.”
He turned to Rick and kept his eyes on him for a while.
“You! I have seen your face many times, more often than others,” he suddenly exclaimed.
“Is that good or bad?” Rick asked.
“It is inevitable. And your face,” the old man turned to Paul, “does not belong to you.”
Chuckling, he moved his gaze from Rick to Paul, watching their reactions. While this was going on, White Worm frowned a lot, but did not interrupt the conversation.
“I don't understand,” Paul admitted. “What do you mean?”
“You will not understand until you find out what the Network is.”
“How can I find out?” Paul breathed out.
“Here.” The old man
brushed his gray hair away from his temple to reveal a metallic socket which was implanted under the skin. “This is a very primitive method. You sit down in a machine and everything in the world goes right into your head. Everything that humans found out throughout their history. I have already forgotten half of it. But the faces stay with me to the very end.”
Rick suddenly felt a chill in his very bones. The old man had been through the educational program the same as him once upon a time. But it looked like it all ended badly — Book of Faces had forgotten a lot.
Rick rubbed at his temple. His thoughts were mixed up in his head. Was this what awaited him too? Was there a difference whether he had gone through the educational program using his mind or by using a microprocessor implanted into his head?
“Worm!” the old man called out suddenly.
The chief rose.
“Leave!”
White Worm obeyed without complaint and disappeared down the corridor.
“So why did White Worm bring us here?” Rick decided to ask.
“Didn't you understand, man from the Citadel?”
“How do you know about...” Rick cut himself short.
There was no point in asking about it, Book of Faces knew what he was talking about.
“I am tortured by dreams of the future,” the old man used his dirty nails to scratch his scrawny shoulder, which was covered in tattoos of red squares. “You are in those dreams. I had a dream about this conversation. Haven't you ever been visited by one of those visions?”
“No. But what I had was...” Rick glanced at Paul, but continued, “I have had pangs of pain.”
“Oh,” Book of Faces intoned. “You suffer from migraines more and more often. Any tremors so far? Have you had the cramps yet? Did you foam at the mouth?”
“Once,” Rick nodded, “out in the wastelands”.
The old man smiled with sympathy and returned to their previous subject.
“Haven't you worked out why you are here?”
“I can only suppose. And ask questions.” Rick glanced at Paul again.
“That's right.” The old man sighed, and added, “There is no Network of any kind here because we are disconnected from the main server. The connection was destroyed a long time ago. However, human memory is a resilient thing. If you want to find everything out, you need to go beyond the canal, further down there.” The old man waved his hand in the direction of the chasm. “This is why I ordered him to bring you. If people that know how to draw come here from afar, they must be shown the way.”
“Is the whole world really covered with a network of caves like this?” Paul asked with surprise.
“Of course not.” The old man looked at Rick. “Haven't you told him?”
“I didn't have time.”
“Then tell him, before it's too late.”
Rick turned to Paul. It was time for some revelations.
“There are underground cities around the world which were built in carefully selected locations. Our ancestors lived in them once upon a time. The underground chambers in which we are now, the domes on the surface and your Retreat are but a small part of one large city, parts of which can stretch out over many kilo... Many distances. We are standing at its very edge. I am looking for a path to the center of the city.”
“What for?”
“The people that live on the surface are afraid of the underground, because it is full of ancient machines and mechanisms, the purpose of which they don't understand. You know this.”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever thought about the reasons that knowledge and communication were lost?”
“It was the will of...” Paul started and halted abruptly.
Rick waited.
“Everything was different. Is that right?” Paul looked at him with hope and then turned to Book of Faces, who smiled sadly and returned to staring into the chasm.
“It all started with the possessed,” Rick explained. “The disease of possession appeared a long time ago and took many away. Those who survived hid from the diseased and waited for the disease to run its course, but it turned out to be stronger. People gradually lost their ancient knowledge and new generations started to be afraid of the past. That is how it happened.”
“You want to resurrect ancient knowledge,” Paul concluded.
Rick nodded. Paul kept watching him carefully.
“Then how do you explain what happened to Black Ant? Does that mean that the disease is curable?”
“I don't know why that happened and I was just as surprised as you. We need to find the cause.”
“Jackals turn back into humans?” Book of Faces joined the conversation. “How curious!” he grunted in surprise.
“Have you had some sort of dream about this, old man?” Rick enquired.
Book of Faces shook his head.
“What do you remember about your past? If you tell us, it will help.”
“Very little, young man,” the elder canted his head to one side and swung his legs, as if he was sitting on a tall stair, as opposed to an endless chasm.
“Everything has mixed together into one large picture, where there are many people, lines of people walking from one hall to another, transporter belts moving packages of cargo and huge lamps hanging over all of this, as bright as the sun. Oh, it's been so long since I last saw sunlight! I was born a slave and labored in a greenhouse farm for most of my life. Scrabbling around in the shit and the greenery from dawn till dusk. They kept assuring us that it wouldn't last long and we just needed to put up with it. Every year was supposed to be the last and it went on like this, harvest upon harvest, season upon season. They assured us that we will soon live under the open skies, with everyone in a home of their own, but we rarely saw the surface, while we lived in steel container-coffins that barely had enough space for everyone. And then people were struck by madness. People were turning into jackals in front of my own eyes. It was terrible! A man could start screaming with pain among the vegetable patches and swing his hoe at his fellow workers nearby. So we revolted, as we wanted to get out onto the surface. We wanted to speak to the government, but it turned out that they had run away long ago. And that is when the true insanity began. The jackals were destroying machinery and killing able-bodied men. Everyone tried to escape however they could. One scientist persuaded me to download all of human memory into myself from a machine. He was torn apart right before my eyes. I collected the remaining survivors and we ran down here.”
“How did you manage to get in here? The canal is in ruins.”
Book of Faces lowered his gaze. A minute passed, until he spoke again.
“Through the Tombs. Some never made it. Those that did live here now. People from the domed cities think that we are infected and that the disease can spread, so they sealed the entrances that led below. We are lower than slime to them.”
Paul and Rick nodded simultaneously.
“People are stupid,” Book of Faces sighed. “But I believe that there is one person among a hundred idiots that is intelligent enough to think and ask the right questions and have them answered.”
“Do you have a plan of the levels in this zone?”
“No. What are you talking about? We have nothing. Look at us. The people of the Network can't read or write and can barely count. Only I have some crumbs of knowledge left, but the children can't learn them, no matter how much I try to teach them. If you want to find a path, just follow the corridor with this sign.” The old man drew a circle divided into four segments with dots in two of them.
“That looks like a highway sign,” Rick suggested.
“Yes. Have you been to underground cities before?”
“I saw the remains of a city of this kind. Far to the west. But I never had the chance to investigate it, the radiation was too high.”
“That's a familiar word,” the old man's face twisted in a tortured grimace of pain as he tried to remember the word's meaning. “No. No, I can't.”
�
�The product of the splitting of atoms during a chain reaction. Nuclear power,” Rick reminded him. “A special ore serves as the fuel. And this ore...”
“Oh yes, that's right!” the old man exclaimed. “What were we talking about again?”
Paul stared blankly, as he understood nothing of what they said.
“About the map of the city,” Rick reminded him. “I had a map copied from an ancient bas-relief, but I don't have it anymore.”
He gave Paul a grim look, making him cringe as if he was about to be struck.
“If you studied the architecture of ancient cities, you probably know that everything is based on a circular shape. It is a very elegant system. There is a dome above and a well below. Ring corridors circle the well at various depths with separate blocks. There is a corridor from one of these zones to another and lots of utility installations. The zones are clustered together with a large dome surrounded by smaller ones. Highway tunnels connect them below ground and canals connect them on the surface. Altogether, it is like a conical frustum turned upside down, with a tough outer layer that is impervious to earthquakes and waters.”
“What is this?” Paul asked, pointing to the red tattoos on the shoulder of the old man.
Book of Faces stared at the tattoos as if he had seen them for the first time.
“This... This is my passport. It identifies who I am.”
“But...”
Rick did not let Paul speak, motioning for him to be silent. They all listened carefully — muffled shouts and screams could be heard through the whisper of the water pipes behind their backs. The noise gradually became louder — something unusual was definitely happening in White Worm's settlement. There was a loud bang. Then another. Rick anxiously grabbed his blaster and stepped into the corridor, looking into the gloom with concentration. Paul tried to walk ahead but Rick stopped him.
“So, it's happened know,” said Book of Faces, as he examined the chasm. “They have come. They have become brave enough.”
“What is he talking about?”
