Chapter 39. Underworld
ACTIONS APPROVED.
1. Population growth is rising higher than anticipated and measures will be taken to lower them to appropriate levels, all females who are pregnant or have not undergone sterilization will be taken to food processing.
2. All food distribution will be by strict rationing until further notice, any citizen who brings the dead for processing will be given a credit towards future food consumption.
3. All those deemed unnecessary to the running of the city will be eliminated.
By order of his lordship Darken Droganus, Seven Hundred and Ninth High Governor, City of the Talsonar
The poor souls who dwelt in the underworld of the pyramid city, were creatures who never saw the sun, their God was the darkness.
The deep places under the city was the domain of the dammed and forgotten. Criminals who weren't sent to the arena because the city still had some use for them, were taken to the power stations. There to live out the rest of the lives in the dark and heat of the underworld. Like all Talsonar they were from the planets of the Outer Rim but unlike other miserable beings who lived above, these the most pitiful of beings were sent beneath the city.
The underworld was the last refuge of the city dwellers, there they could find shelter and remain alive as long as their strength, wits and the will of the Gods would allow them.
The life-force that kept the city going was here. The forgotten builders of the stone city used thermal venting from the very core of the planet to generate heat. When mixed with the water from underground rivers, they generated enough power to fulfill the city’s needs. Heating and cooling also came from there, pipes and conduits throughout the structure took heat and cold to and from the many levels. Recycled below ground so that the city's inhabitants could survive whatever the outside climate.
The Electro Magnetic waves that prevented other more efficient power generators from working did not affect the primitive steam power used by the city. Because of the genius of the builders and the use of Itarian steel throughout, the generators had been working for thousands of years and would remain functioning for many years to come.
Light came from crystals that reacted to heat by illuminating, generated steam was piped to them and once heated to a critical temperature, they glowed with a cool light. The light crystals were distributed throughout the pyramid. They could be controlled by the amount of steam flowing to them, regulating their temperature and light output.
There were other crystals that made plants to grow, even deep within the city, there were several large levels, used only for growing food. Targan wheat and Blue corn could be grown. Areas set-aside for swamp ferns, from which Marsh-beer was fermented. Meat came from Trofar. Trofar flesh was tough but Rimar were too aggressive to be kept in pens. Flutter fish were also bred in special tanks as an alternative source of protein.
Balbar fruit and herbs were other available commodities but like all things in the city, the space used for food production had to be fully utilized. The population had to be kept at the optimum level or there wouldn't be enough food for everyone. The death rate was high but the Drop-ships brought regular replacements. The dead were taken for processing, their bodies used as nourishment for the living.
The Pyramid City was one immense organism, a living thing that fed upon itself. The High-breeders were its brain, running the city and making decisions to keep the city alive. The people were its muscle, forever working to keep it strong. The Hal-Jafar were its antibodies, eliminating the useless and controlling the life blood of those who made a home there. At the top was the Governor, the ego, the one who directed the city and whose words could not be judged.
Slave workers in this dark and hellish place, did any repairs that needed to be done. They only had two choices, they either worked or died. Many of the creatures living in the underground had reverted into wild animals, killing, and eating the weak. They hid in the dark places only to venture out to find more food. They were cunning and sometimes worked together to get a meal, they were motivated only by hunger.
The other underground dwellers, forgotten and alone, without sun or moon, without hope or mercy, lived in the endless noise and foul air of the underworld.
Into this world came two Outlanders. Seeda and Almec had entered the arena, together they survived, when the cheering and cries of victory died out, they found themselves outcasts among outcasts.
Shunned by the city dwellers and without goods to trade, they gathered up the small offerings, flung into the arena as gifts to the victors. The shell necklaces and broken Sager Cat teeth, only got them a small stale loaf of bread and a handful of Ice. The word had gotten out that they were Sin-Cravers, therefore any trade for the red crystal, would bring the highest price, leaving little for food or comfort. Taking what they could, the two warriors wandered into the dim reaches of the underground, eventually they found a simple home.
It was only a small storage chamber, barely the size of a Nomad wagon, with just one small light crystal. The floor and walls were stone, covered with a foul slime. A small crack in an overhead pipe supplied them with enough water to drink, the excess, was taken away by an iron grate in the floor. There was a bundle of filthy rags for a bed but it was crawling with horn bugs and Blaze-ants. Even this small place had to be fought for but the original inhabitant did not put up much of a struggle. He was a big Higotie but he'd lost an arm in the arena and when the Outlanders raised their weapons, he wisely gave up his hovel for the chance of living another day.
Almec removed his bracer and looked at the bite marks in his arm, they were not deep but some nerves had been torn and the pain was intense. Like all Nomads he showed no sign of discomfort, he began to wash the wound with some, of the brown water that fell from overhead.
Seeda placed the stale bread in a corner of the room, then she took off her helmet and placed the handful of recently traded red crystals into it. She leaned their axes against the wall so they could be gotten to quickly in case of attack, then she went over to Almec, who sat carefully picking at his arm.
“It's not deep,” she said, “Care and time will heal you.”
Her lover nodded, “Yes, I just wish we had some Rock-worm to squeeze.”
“Rock-worm?” she laughed, “A little scratch and you're asking for Rock-worm?” She tried to make light of the situation but she could see the jagged wound must surely be painful.
“Yes you’re right,” he replied, “too many days without Po have made me spiteful.”
“Yes some good aged Po,” Seeda said dreaming, “and some hot Hagar-soup with just a touch of Ulon spice.”
“But not too much,” he replied, “you always put in too much spice.”
“I do not,” Seeda shot back, “You know my soup is the best in all the Outlands.”
Almec brushed his wound with his hand, “But we are not in the Outlands are we?”
Seeda sat down beside him, they did not speak for some time, both of them simply stared in the dim light of their room, they tried not to think of the days ahead. Seeda finally broke the silence, “I'm sorry I brought you here,” she said softly.
“It was my choice,” he replied, “and I am happy to be here.”
Seeda smiled a little, then looked around the dark room and thought of the emptiness of their lives. There is no sun, there are no moons here, we are beyond the sight of the Gods now.
“The Gods see all,” said Almec, “There is no place beyond their knowledge or care.”
Seeda looked into her mate's eyes, “They are for The Chosen, not for us, we are no longer held in the hand of Isarie.”
Almec reached out and placed his good arm around her waist, “Then I will hold you.”
Seeda kissed her mate on his lips, it was a warm kiss and did not hold any of the coldness that filled her body. When it was over, she gazed into his eyes once more.“It's enough,” she said quietly, “as long as I have you I will be satisfied.”
The outcast Prince
ss watched a large Drool-rat, coming cautiously out of the darkness, moving towards the stale loaf of bread. Before it could grab a morsel in its sharp toothed mouth, Seeda drew her dagger and flung it across the chamber, impaling the creature on its point.
“At least we can have meat with our bread,” she said with a laugh.
Soon they were feasting on stringy rodent and drinking stale water, pretending it was aged Po and the juiciest of Rimar.
Tamar-Ran hated the heat, the thick hair that covered most of his strong body made him susceptible to high temperatures. He would have traded three shell necklaces and a whole string of Sagar teeth not to go outside the city but orders were orders. He pulled the heavy Ice-suit up over his wide chest and attached the cooling unit to his back. He adjusted the heavy boots and flexed his large hands in the insulated gloves, once all was secure he turned on the circulation and felt sudden relief as the liquid nitrogen flowed. He turned to look over the mass of people waiting in the entrance tunnel.
They will not be easy to control; he thought; once the doors open, we will have to force them.
The order to expel the useless had come from the Governor himself. Not wanting to face an angry Darken, the Captain ordered the Hal-Jafar enforcers to round up those marked for expulsion and gather them in the tunnel so they could be driven outside the city.
They were naked, no use destroying good clothing, any goods they had, gold or silver was taken away, even the smallest of items. Simple God-icons or pieces of pottery used for begging were confiscated, even their hair was cut, to be reused in manufacturing. Nothing of value was wasted, only the useless people would be consumed.
As waiting city dwellers knew that once outside the city, they would soon die from the intense heat, it would not be a quick death by any means. As their fleshed burned the stronger would prey upon the weak, trying to hide under their bodies to live a bit longer. A few would survive for a little longer but they too would soon perish, the wind and fire would do the rest, eventually there would be nothing to mark their passing.
For the most part the Captain was an unfeeling person. His many cycles in the power stations, underground, and his eventual escape from that dim world, by killing the weak and taking whatever he needed to survive, had made his soul hard. As he looked at the helpless females with their young and the old and weak, his heart felt a slight murmur, it was not much but it was still there.
Do not be a fool; he told himself. There is nothing that can be done. he might be able to save a few but then what? His life was better than most but there was no room for weakness. There is nothing that I can do, I am just following orders.
So he drove the feeling from his mind and turned to his second in command, “Have the men ready at the back with the movers,” he said, as he pulled the cumbersome breathing apparatus on.
The man nodded then went to check the machines would be ready.
Tamar-Ran lifted his hand and the great doors to the outside creaked began to open, with a loud grinding sound the immense gates began to move. A crack no larger than a man’s arm opened and hot wind blew into the tunnel.
With the first rush of the fire air, the creatures waiting to die began to scream, they knew there would be no escape from the burning death waiting for them. Mothers held their children in their arms and whimpered softly, the sound of praying to many Gods could be heard over cries for mercy. There would be no mercy, only the bright death waiting for them at the end of the tunnel.
The Captain raised his arm again, the heavy movers at the back started up their engines, the pounding of steam power motors was heard, then the grinding of gears.
From a high vantage point above Tamar-Ran watched the helpless creatures being slowly forced into the burning death outside. They screamed and cried but there was no one to hear. Some fell to the ground and clawed at the stone floor, some just closed their eyes and walked into the sunlight. Mothers sang night songs to their babies and the old knowing they had lived too long already, simply bowed their heads and went with the others.
It did not take long for the machines to do their work, those who did not follow were crushed under the tracks of the heavy movers. Their flattened bodies were gathered up and placed in carts, to be unloaded when the tunnel was empty. Anyone who managed to escape the grinding tracks where killed by the Hal-Jafar.
There were other tunnels leading to the outside and there the same task was underway, thousands would die, tens of thousands, maybe more. The weak would die to make room for the strong, there was nothing to be done, it was the Governor's order and no one dare speak against him.
When the last of the useless were outside, Tamar-Ran gave the order to close the gates. A few unlucky souls were caught in the nip of the gates and crushed to pulp. With a surge from the hydraulic power the doors eventually closed and the hot wind that filled the tunnel subsided, the heat dropped and all was quiet once more.
The Captain stood for a moment or two feeling the comfort of his insulated Ice-suit, then he turned off the cooling unit and removed the breathing mask. The air smelt of death, it was something the Lion-man had gotten used too. He thought he heard sounds from outside the heavy door, voices crying out for mercy but he knew the door was much to thick to allow any sound through. He walked down the tunnel forgetting the voices, he filled his mind with visions of large tankards of cool Marsh-beer and a soft woman to sing love songs to him.
There was nothing I could do; he told himself; it was, orders.
The air in the conference room did not smell of death, it smelt of power. Darken and his Generals were gathered closely around a heavy steel table, on it were thousands of small figurines. Made with great detail in many, different colors, the tiny statues represented the great army the Governor would have at his disposal, to vanquish all of Gorn.
The Governor picked up one of the small icons and held it in his hand, “I want no mistakes, I want my legions ready by the end of the Burning Time. Do I make myself clear?” There was a muttering of assent from the officers in the room but Darken could see a frown on Yung's face. He knew that his General was not happy, “Is there something you want to say?” he asked, looking at his commander.
General Yung stood at attention and wiped the frown from his face, “No my lord, it is just...?”
“What is it?” Darken asked in a low voice, “If there is something that troubles you then speak, you know I am always open to suggestion.”
Everyone in the chamber knew that the General was taking a great risk by speaking out. They remembered several Generals who had dared to anger Darken and what happened to them To their surprise he still did, “I have a question, who is to lead us?”
Darken put the small figure back on the table and looked his General in the eye, “We will have guides,” he said.
There was muttering in the room, then Yung spoke again, “Guides? You have made a bargain with the Nomads?”
The Governor moved gracefully around the table like a God admiring his work, “No,” he said quietly, “not with the Nomads but never the less we will have a way to travel to the Outlands. With our armies and our weapons, we will take what should rightfully be ours.”
Yung shook his head, “My lord, only the Nomads have the power to travel the Wastelands, how can we...”
A sharp look from Darken stopped him from going any further, the Governor picked up a miniature Land-crawler, “I have made arrangements with allies who hate the Outlanders as much as we do, together we can destroy them.” There was a pause as the words hung in the air, “Is weapons manufacturing proceeding as planned?”
Yung snapped to attention again, “Yes my lord, our Long-Range weapons will have twice the killing range of the ones traded to the Nomads and our Disruptors are far more powerful.”
“And what of the hand weapons?”
“We have enough steel for the Yangmar's hand to hand weapons and there will be strong armor and projectors for the Hal-Jafar.”
The Governor smiled, “Very good.” He
turned to Leeander who was standing at the other end of the table, “The Yangmar are being trained well?”
“Yes my lord,” the General replied, “They are dull witted but strong, our training methods are working well and with the elimination of our surplus population, we now have enough food and supplies to assure the numbers needed.”
“What has been done about Runners?” he asked.
“They will be ready when needed my lord,” the General replied, “They have been conditioned to follow orders without question.”
“Make sure that they are.” Darken's words were laced with menace, “I do not want to see them turn in fear!” All creatures know fear, it is what keeps them alive.
Darken placed the small figure back on the table, carefully adjusting it until he was satisfied that it was in its proper place; he stood back and looked at the table. “Then all we need do is wait,” he said calmly.
The Governor looked down at the planning table and the tiny figurines once more. This must be how the Gods see those they rule; he thought; their view, is not clouded by laws or mercy, that is what makes them Gods.
Outside the city the last of the outcasts were dying, soon there would be no more screams, only the wailing of the burning winds.
Nomads of the Gods Page 40
