by John Purcell
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ten minutes later, we were back at the library tunnel. This was an actual pipe, made of cast iron. The inside was even darker than the main storm drain, but that didn’t seem to bother Moto. She raced off northward, running in the same S-pattern as before.
The pipe was only 6 feet 6 inches in diameter and she soon discovered she had enough momentum to do a loop-the-loop. She would race up one side of the pipe, cross the top upside down, and race down the other side. Once she got the hang of it, she spiraled the entire 4.7 miles to the library.
As Bim had predicted, it wasn’t difficult to find the exit, a jagged hole in the roof of the pipe. The blast that produced it must have been quite powerful. Chunks of cast iron littered the tunnel floor. Daylight streamed in from above.
I jumped up, got a grip on the edge of the opening, and hauled myself out.
Before the explosion, the pipe had been buried about 8 feet below ground level. Now, it was sitting at the bottom of a deep crater. I called to Moto and she joined me, exiting the pipe with a graceful leap. We climbed out of the crater together.
My first impression of the world Outside was simple enough: everything was the wrong color. The sky was orange, the clouds were yellow, and the vegetation was blue.
And it was hot, 101 degrees Fahrenheit. This could have been a fluke, a single hot October day, but I didn’t think so. Everywhere I looked, the plant life seemed to be dying of thirst. In the place of green grass and bushes, knots of blue weeds and clumps of blue scrub brush clung to the parched earth. Stunted trees huddled close together, trying to protect their shriveled blue leaves from the orange sunlight.
I turned my attention to the houses. Long ago, it seemed, the whole area had been a residential neighborhood, built into the side of a hill. Three decrepit dwellings remained at the top, but the rest of the houses on the upper slope had been obliterated, leaving a steep cliff of loose dirt and rock. One of the three houses was perched precariously at the edge of this drop, its front porch dangling over it.
Two areas were untouched: a ravine to the west, and an entire street on the lower slope. Far beyond that, past a forest of squat, blue trees, I could see a great, green river on the horizon.
Moto and I headed downhill to the street. The houses were in various stages of collapse, but a brick building at the far end was in good shape. Bim’s library.
The street and sidewalk had crumbled into fragments, which were now held together by blue weeds. As we neared the library, a figure stepped out from between two houses. Moto looked up at me, growling.
I said, “Hold on, Moto, it’s just a WaitTron.”
It seemed odd, but for all I knew WaitTrons were common Outside.
It came down the driveway and advanced toward us, saying, “Would you like to order a beverage?”
I said, “No, thank you.”
Moto growled again.
The WaitTron was within ten feet of us now. “Would you like to order a beverage?”
It was identical to the WaitTron that had served me at Stewart’s, except that its white shirt and apron were covered in filth. Most of it seemed to be dirt and mud, but some of the splotches looked like dried blood.
It stopped in front of us. “Would you like to order a beverage?”
Before I could reply, it lashed out its arm, grabbing my wrist. It moved very fast and its grip was powerful. Someone had tampered with it.
It said, “You must pledge fealty to Queen Scarlett,” and started dragging me up the street, away from the library. I dug in my heels, but it was bigger and stronger.
Moto clamped her jaws around its left ankle, trying to slow it down.
The WaitTron gave its leg a kick that sent Moto tumbling. “You must pledge fealty to Queen Scarlett.”
I reached around with my free hand, feeling for its failsafe button, and pressed it down. This had no effect.
Moto circled back and made a flying leap, butting the WaitTron’s stomach. It reeled backwards a few steps, then regained its balance and resumed dragging. “You must pledge fealty to Queen Scarlett.”
I had no intention of visiting Queen Scarlett, whoever or wherever she was. I had to find a way to break its grip.
An image flashed before my eyes, a schematic of the WaitTron’s skeletal system. A cable linked to its fingers ran up its forearm, not far below the surface. I dug down and clamped onto it with thumb and forefinger and pried it upward. The WaitTron’s fingers loosened long enough for me to pull my wrist free.
Moto barked. I looked down to see her crouched behind the WaitTron’s ankles. I gave it a good shove and it stumbled over her, toppling backwards onto the ground. Moto and I took off toward the library. We were out of sight in its alcove before the WaitTron managed to sit up.
The front door was unlocked. Propping it open, I asked Moto to stand guard and went inside.
As Bim had said, it was a very small building, but its four rooms housed more books than I’d ever seen in one place. The library at Ryesong Elementary consisted of one room, and most of its shelves were lined with copies of the Required Texts.
I had expected this library to be in disarray, shelving broken and books scattered, but everything was intact. Someone was taking care of the place.
According to Bim, Feats of Clay was the only book in the library about my father, and I was willing to take his word for it. I decided to look for newspapers, instead. There were none to be found on the first floor, but I came across a flight of stairs that descended to the basement. A sign posted above it said: Reading Room.
When I reached the bottom of the staircase, I had to fully dilate my pupils. A pair of window wells offered the only light, and they were choked with blue weeds.
But I’d come to the right place. A long table occupied the center of the room, and the bookshelves around it were stacked with newspapers and magazines.
I tried to pick up a copy of Murdoch’s Philadelphia Enquirer but it crumbled at my touch. I tried a magazine, US News and Infotainment, with the same result. I was about to give up when I noticed a tall shelf containing thick binders. I pulled one down and placed it on the dust-covered table.
The label read: New York Times 2064. When I opened the cover, I found the front page of a newspaper encased in plastic. It was dated January 1st, 2064, and looked newly printed. I turned to the next page: January 2nd. I turned the binder face down and opened to the last page: December 31st. Each binder, it seemed, preserved an entire year’s worth of front pages.
I turned it face up again, opened randomly to the middle, and started paging through it. The page dated June 7th, 2064, caught my eye, because the typeface was so large. The headline read: In 8—5 Decision, Supreme Court Rolls Back Voting Rights. In smaller typeface below, it read: Only Property-Owning White Males Allowed to Vote in Upcoming Presidential Election.
I replaced that binder and pulled down the next, New York Times 2065. I opened it and went through day-by-day, looking for any headlines in unusually large typeface. I found one dated January 21st. It read: Savage Takes Oath of Office, Signs Deportation Act. Another one, dated April 9th, read: National Army to Be Replaced by Local Militias. In smaller typeface below, it read: Navy and Air Force Slashed from Budget.
I realized that I was using the wrong approach. News of my father probably wouldn’t rate such large typeface. I started over, focusing on the smaller headlines: Philadelphia Dome Construction Sparks Outcry; National Parks to Close, Privatize; Fifth Tornado Strikes Cleveland; and so forth.
At last, on a page dated August 29th, I found what I’d been hoping for. The headline read: Prominent Scientist Resigns Post.
I read the first paragraph of the article: Dr. James Clay, the father of modern android technology, resigned today as director of the Global Cooling Commission (GCC), the agency established under the Timberlak
e administration to reverse global warming.
The article went on for 9 more paragraphs. I wanted to read it right then, but decided to scan the whole page into memory instead. I closed out audio-visual and gross motor functions and started the scan.
When my functions rebooted, I discovered I couldn’t move my arms.
A python was coiled around my torso, three full loops, its body as thick as a fire hose. Its face bobbed close to mine, staring into my eyes as it tried to squeeze the life out of me.
This attack was more a nuisance than anything else. I inhale and exhale air in order to speak, but I don’t need it to survive. Nevertheless, I couldn’t call out to Moto, so I trudged upstairs to find her, python around me.
She was right where I’d left her, keeping watch at the entryway. When she heard me approaching, she glanced over her shoulder and immediately leapt to her feet. Dashing across the room, she sank her teeth onto the python’s tail and tried to circle around me, doing her best to unwind it. The python flexed its muscles, slamming her against the wall and breaking her hold.
I hurried out of the library, hoping to catch sight of the WaitTron. Fortunately, it hadn’t gone far. It seemed to be walking in circles.
As Moto came up behind me, two more pythons attacked, coiling their bodies and launching themselves through the air. One wrapped itself around my legs, the other wrapped itself around Moto.
Ankles bound together, I hopped toward the WaitTron, which finally noticed me and came forward, saying, “Would you like to order a beverage?”
I said, “Two root beer floats, please.”
As it lashed out its arm, I made sure the python’s neck was in its path.
The WaitTron caught the snake near its head and began to pull. “You must pledge fealty to Queen Scarlett.”
Now that the python’s head was anchored, I spun in circles, unwinding myself. The WaitTron set off for points unknown, dragging the python to Queen Scarlett. I caught the other python’s head in my hands and crushed its skull. Then I unwrapped my legs and hurried over to help Moto.
There wasn’t much to be seen of her, just the tip of her nose and the end of her tail. I crushed that python’s skull, too, and extracted Moto from the coils.
Three more pythons emerged from the trees below and slithered into the street. Moto looked up at me anxiously.
I said, “Don’t worry, we’re faster than they are. Just unfold your hands and do as I do.”
The closest python sprang. I stepped out of its path and snatched it from the air. Shaking its head rapidly back and forth, I churned its brain inside its skull, killing it. As I flung it to the ground, the second python sprang.
Moto intercepted this one in midair, wrapping herself around it and riding it to the ground. When they’d tumbled to a halt, Moto got up on her hind legs and followed my lead, violently shaking the python’s head until its body went limp.
I was waiting for the third python to spring when I saw two more snakes slither out from the trees, coming straight at us. They were four times the size of the ones we’d just killed, the length of railroad cars and the width of tree trunks. Parents, no doubt.
Crushing their skulls wasn’t an option. Our best hope was to reach higher ground.
I looked up to the top of the hill, where the three decaying houses stood, setting my sights on the one with the dangling front porch. If we could get high enough up the cliff, Moto and I might be able to make the leap.
When I turned back, the third baby python was already in the air, coming at me. I caught it, spun around, and sent it flying back at its parents, hoping that might stop them. They ducked it and kept on coming.
I pointed to the house. “Up the hill, Moto, all the way to the top!”
We bolted up the slope, the monsters on our heels.
Sheer momentum carried us up the dirt cliff as our feet lost traction on the loosely packed earth. I made my leap and managed to grab the edge of the porch with one hand. Moto leapt as well, but dirt slid underfoot and she came up short. I managed to get my free arm under her. She scrabbled up to my shoulders and jumped to the porch from there.
I glanced down to see one of the pythons launch itself at me. I flung myself over the railing, out of reach. The python’s head slammed against the underside of the porch and the impact started the house rocking, as though it were teetering on the edge of the cliff.
I rushed to the front door and threw it open. A hallway ran straight to the rear of the house. Moto and I tore through it, across moldering floorboards, and came flying out the back door.
Instead of landing in the backyard, we landed on a mound of dirt and debris in the open basement. The house had broken loose from its foundation and worked its way toward the cliff, possibly due to drone strikes.
This gave me an idea. I wasn’t sure I should act on it, but I went ahead anyway. The chances of it working seemed remote.
I leapt out of the basement and over to the corner of the house, ordering Moto to the opposite side. Working my fingers under the frame, I lifted with all my strength. Moto unfolded her hands and followed my example.
The house was indeed teetering on the far end of its foundation. I lifted the corner to chest height, squatted, and got my shoulder under it. I strained upward, using all the strength in my legs. Moto was hunched beneath her corner, straining upward, too.
The house began to slide off its foundation.
I got my hands under the frame again and continued pushing upward, extending my arms overhead. Moto was on tiptoes now, no longer really helping, but it didn’t matter. The house was on its way. It slid off its foundation with a long groan and toppled face first, breaking apart as it tumbled down the cliff.
The pythons didn’t seem to grasp what was happening. They waited in place, staring upward. The house, now a splintered mass of debris, rolled right over them, chopping them to pieces, and scattered itself across the slope. Then all was still.
Moto trotted over to me and stood by my side, on the lip of the foundation.
I knelt down and patted her head. “Well done, Moto. You’ve really proved yourself today.”
She looked at me and wagged her tail. It didn’t seem to bother her that we had just killed five pythons, but it bothered me. The feeling of crushing their skulls stayed with me.
I stood up, turning my thoughts to other matters. The top of the hill commanded an excellent view of the surrounding area, and I got my first glimpse of Dome Nine from Outside. Far from being a transparent hemisphere, like a bell jar, it was solid black and impervious to light. In the opposite direction, Dome Ten had the same appearance.
It was a shocking sight, but one I was prepared for. The minute I’d seen the orange sky, I had understood the truth: everything seen from inside Dome Nine was an illusion. The waves that broke over the seawall, the trees on the distant hillsides, the rainstorms and snowstorms, the sun, the moon, the stars. Everything. That’s why we couldn’t see the Ruins or the other Domes. That’s why the seasons came and went so peacefully. It was all projected above and around us, through some form of GR wizardry.
I was distracted from these thoughts by an astonishing sight. The lower slope, beyond the wreckage of the house, was now filling with children. They were streaming out from the ravine to the west, laughing and dancing and cheering. It was difficult to tell one from another, because they were all dressed in oversized gray t-shirts that came down to the knees.
The children formed themselves into a circle and began clapping in unison, gazing up to the cliff top where we stood.
I squatted next to Moto. “What do you think? Any danger?”
She looked down at the crowded slope and shook her head.
I said, “I guess we’d better go talk to them.”
