Cone zero nemonymous, p.7
Cone Zero: Nemonymous ∞, page 7
part #8 of Nemonymous Series
Jellin blinked in surprise. Was that what this was about? Did Bendik run his mouth again, as he had when they’d been children, and tell someone something he shouldn’t? But Jellin had been careful for thousands of Lights to not say anything in Bendik’s presence that could remotely be construed as—
“Answer the question!” the Oligarch of the First Level hollered, and Jellin shook himself out of his reverie. “Did you tell Bendik there is a larger World outside the Cone?”
“I did not, sir,” Jellin said, choosing his words carefully. “I merely was considering the Cone’s zenith, far above us. I wondered aloud if it is constructed like the Cone’s wall, down at the base.”
“But there is nothing to consider about the zenith,” the Master boomed from above. “The zenith is like the wall—like the entire Cone. There is nothing but the Cone. This is the World.”
Why?! Jellin screamed inside. Why do you think that? Why can there be nothing else?
But he retained control, and nodded dutifully. “I understand, Master. It was just a random musing; I was merely curious about how the Immortals wrought this marvelous Cone.”
It was the kind of answer scholars burned into the heads of children and everyone expected to hear, but he wondered if it would be enough. Yet the ensuing silence stretched on for far too long, surpassing discomfort and becoming almost painful. In fact, Jellin realized that, after a fashion, the rest of the Oligarchs seemed to be faltering a bit, their hard gazes softening, their eyes darting to and fro—as if they, too, were wondering why the Master hadn’t responded for so long. Jellin was feeling quite helpless when the Master suddenly said, “Oligarchy, this meeting is convened. Enforcers, leave the accused here.”
They looked surprised, but the Oligarchs rose without argument and left their levels, filing out in their blue robes. They all fired dark glares at Jellin as they passed; he watched, confused, as they went, followed by the three red-clad Enforcers. The last Oligarchs to leave were the three of the Fourth Level, and one of them stopped next to him, awaiting the Master Oligarch to arrive.
“As ordered, you may leave,” the Master said to the Fourth. “This is highly irregular, Master,” the Oligarch said, regarding his superior with slitted eyes.
“But within the confines of the Code,” the Master said. “I’ll not order you again, Jaupal. Leave us.”
Jaupal nodded, glared viciously at Jellin, and then turned on his heel and left. The Master waited until Jaupal was gone before turning to face his prisoner. Jellin had rarely been this close to an Oligarch before, and certainly never this close to the Master. Now, but half a man apart, the man towered a head taller than Jellin and, in his billowing robes, seemed so much huger. His face was old and worn, angular as if sculpted from stone, and his eyes were a brighter blue than his robes. He regarded Jellin sternly.
“You’re afraid of me,” the Master said.
“Yes, sir,” Jellin said, hearing his voice quaver.
“You have nothing to fear,” the Master replied, and his voice was lower and softer. “I have read your history, Jellin. When you were young, you skirted with sacrilege quite often.”
“All children stray,” Jellin recited automatically. “When I was punished, I learned the errors of my ways.”
The Master actually chuckled then, a light smile etching itself into his chiseled face. “I don’t think so. Children tend to transgress three or four times, because the punishment for questioning the nature of the World is quite severe—as you well know. You spent far more rime in pain cages than most children. Twelve times, was it?”
Memories raced through Jellin’s mind like a thousand sharp rocks. He remembered his incarcerations in the pain cages: strapped tightly within the form-fitting bars, arms and legs spread wide, naked and enduring the pain of an Enforcer who repeatedly stabbed him with needles. Emotion overwhelmed him, and he closed his eyes to fight the threatening tears. He nodded in silent answer.
“Twelve times,” the Master repeated, moving slowly to walk around Jellin. He moved out of sight, footfalls muffled beneath the robes as he orbited his captive. “The first time is brief—a few needles, in for just ten breaths. Every subsequent time in the pain cage means more needles and many more breaths.”
Jellin could feel the phantom memories of the long needles, like elongated cones, sliding through his skin and ripping their way through fat and muscle as they spiked deep inside him. They were fatter towards the ends, and they hurt even more as they went deeper. And they had tiny, sharp nubs on them, and the Enforcer would twist them as they slid them in...
“And you went twelve times,” the Master said, shaking his head as if in awe as he finished his circular pacing and stopped to once again face Jellin. “No child ever had, as far back as anyone can remember, or heard told in stories. By that twelfth time, the Enforcers were inserting thirty-six needles, and letting you scream for one hundred twenty breaths. And those needles burn, don’t they?”
They did, like fire, after his sixth trip to the pain cage. And they got hotter every time after that. Jellin tried not to remember, but the Master was making him.
“You never transgressed again after that twelfth trip, but somehow I suspect you merely learned to keep your mouth shut. You had ideas that there was more to the World than what we see here in the Cone, and ideas like that which remain through twelve pain cages don’t ever go away. Do they?”
Jellin didn’t answer. He didn’t dare to.
“Tell me what the World is,” the Master said.
“The World is the Cone, ten thousand men high and ten thousand men across,” Jellin recited. It was rote, as given him by the scholars. “The Cone is the center of everything. Outside the Cone is Oblivion, and the Immortals who created us and provide for us.” He felt like an idiot for even acting like he believed it, even if it’s exactly what the Master expected .
“How do the Immortals provide for us?”
“The Immortals provide food and water, wood and stone, cloth and tools, and cause our waste to be removed,” Jellin said. “We cannot see them, but we see their miracles every day. They are ever-vigilant, constantly watching us through their Avatars.”
The Master stepped suddenly closer, leaning in until his nose almost touched Jellin’s. “Do you really believe all that dung, young man?”
Jellin froze. He didn’t believe in any of that dung, not one stinking lump of it, but he never told anyone—not since he’d learned to shut his mouth after his twelfth pain cage. But it sounded like the Master didn’t believe in any of that dung, either. He snapped his head leftward, at the Avatar which floated just out of reach, its reddish eye silently watching them. How could the Master dare to say such things in the presence of an Avatar?
But certainly, the Master was only trying to trick him into admitting his blasphemous beliefs. And as an adult, he knew time in pain cages wasn’t measured in breaths, but in Lights. They’d insert countless needles that twisted in burning agony, and leave them there until the violator finally stopped screaming and crying and begging. Most died; those that didn’t usually went mad, and were later given over to the Immortals during the sacrifice that was held every thousand Lights. The few survivors were never quite the same—but never violated the Code of Life again.
“I asked you a question!” the Master barked, but his face wasn’t as foreboding as it had been. “Do you really believe in all that dung?”
And in that moment, sheer illogic and senselessness overtook Jellin, and he realized he just didn’t care if they locked him in a body-contoured pain cage for a hundred Lights and drove him insane. He’d spent his life faking stupidity in order to escape torture, and now he realized being insane or dead would be a much better existence. So he took in a shaky breath and said, “No, Master. I don’t believe a word of it.”
“Is that so?” the Master said, his brow furrowing, his blue eyes darkening. “Then what is the true nature of the World?”
He was in too deep now to stop. “There are things outside the Cone, and (hey aren’t Immortals,” he said, almost fiercely. “This isn’t a World—it’s a prison. And we’re made to believe this ridiculous garbage to keep us all in line.”
“I see,” the Master said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “And what do you think we should do to heretics like you?”
“Nothing,” Jellin said. “All citizens should be free to think and feel how they wish, and free to speak their minds.”
The Avatar floated silently nearby, watching. Jellin glared at its eye, as if challenging it. The pain cage awaited him; what more could they do?
“Tell me of this accident you began speaking of earlier,” the Master said. “You turned around, and were surprised by an Avatar. What were you going to say?”
He’d already sealed his fate; there was no point in mincing words now. “I was going to say I accidentally hit it with a rock,” he said, stoic and square-shouldered. “I was going to say I turned to throw it, and the Avatar was there. But it was no accident.” Energy surged through his body like the Light illuminating the World, and Jellin liked the feeling.
“Ah, killed one, did you?” the Master said, almost bemusedly. “Hit it right in its eye, and it floated straight up into the sky, didn’t it?”
It had, popping skyward like a rock sinking in water, only in reverse. He’d stood there, mystified, as it tumbled up until it became a speck, and finally vanished. “Yes, Master,” he finally said. Why was the man so calm about this? Why was he not calling for Enforcers?
The Master stepped in closer until Jellin could feel the man’s hot breath on his face. “That took a lot of courage,” the Master said. “That, or you’re truly that sure of your convictions. But no worry; I happen to know the Immortals don’t punish us for destroying Avatars. Come to think of it, has anyone ever seen the Immortals strike anyone down for anything? Of course not. Only we strike our fellow citizens down.”
Jellin blinked in surprise. It wasn’t the response he’d even remotely expected, and he had no idea what to say.
The Master stepped back, surveying Jellin, and then he smiled. “Do you know where my country home is, son?”
“It’s... near the Cone’s wall,” Jellin said, confusion spinning around in his mind like a tangled ball of string. “I’m not sure where.”
“It is located precisely on Trajectory 572,” the Master said. “I am hereby commanding you to meet me there, alone, at the end of this Light. I also command you to tell no one of this conversation. Your very life depends on it. Do you understand?”
Jellin felt himself nodding dumbly, and let himself bask in the confusion as the Master called to the Enforcers to allow Jellin to leave. The Avatar followed.
❖
The Master Oligarch watched Jellin vanish through the hall’s door. He breathed deeply, the fires of excitement scorching through his body. This could be it, he knew. But first he’d have to deal with Jaupal. He knew he had only to wait a short time, and presently Jaupal entered the hall and moved toward him, blue robes flowing. He stopped challengingly close to the Master Oligarch.
“A strange occurrence here today, Zindel,” Jaupal said. “Nothing strange at all,” Zindel said. “But mind your place, Jaupal. In these chambers, you’ll not refer to me by my name.”
“Ah, excuse me, Master Oligarch,” Jaupal said with a mock bow of the head. “Silly of me to forget my place—but surely you can understand, given your aberrant behavior today.”
Jaupal always was a daring sort, and it annoyed Zindel. He stepped closer to his underling, face-to-face and eye-to-eye with the man. “Careful, Jaupal. The Divine Compendium makes the penalty for questioning the Master Oligarch quite clear.”
“They do indeed,” Jaupal said evenly. “Just as they make clear the penalties for all forms of blasphemy—no matter who is guilty of it, regardless of his station.”
They traded dark stares for several long moments, and then Zindel smiled. “That’s what I’ve always liked about you, Jaupal—you’re never afraid to take a stand for what you believe is right. Now, I am leaving shortly for a few Lights of rest. I’ll see you back here for the next session.”
Without another word, he stepped around the Oligarch of the Fourth Level and strode out of the hall. He could feel the other’s eyes boring into his back as he went, but even Jaupal couldn’t sway him from his mood.
Because he’d finally found the one he’d waited for all his life.
❖
The World had one thousand trajectories spiking out from the Master Cone. The thousand numbers encircled the Master Cone’s base, with marks to help citizens orient themselves. Jellin found Trajectory 572 and set off when the Light had faded to about half-brightness. It would be dark soon, and it was already dim enough that he could barely see the distant, sloping wall. By the time he was almost to the edge of the World, he could barely see anything but the illuminations inside the living cones—which grew sparser as he went, until they were but rare beacons in the dark. All the while, the lone Avatar flew along beside and behind him, like some physical manifestation of a programmed conscience that he had no interest in heeding.
The Master’s country home was exactly in line with Trajectory 572, and the structure sat barely twenty men from the Cone’s wall. He trudged through the grass to the living cone’s door and raised his hand to knock.
And then he hesitated. This was insane. What was he doing here, after Light, at the Master Oligarch’s country home? Had he lost his mind?
He was trying to decide whether to turn around and flee when the door opened. The Master smiled out at him, and it was very strange. One wasn’t required to wear a head cone at home, but it was still bizarre to see the Master Oligarch without one. He was as bald as all citizens, and he wore a white bodysuit.
“You’re... you’re wearing white, Master Oligarch,” Jellin stammered.
“Yes, the color of the lowest class of citizen,” the Master said with a chuckle. “I tire of the blue robes, really. Now, do come in, and don’t call me Master Oligarch. My name is Zindel; please use it.” He gestured over Jellin’s left shoulder. “I see you brought your friend with you.”
Jellin looked back at the Avatar hovering there, studying him. He nodded. “This one came with the Enforcers, and hasn’t left me.”
“No matter; bring it in with you.”
Dazed, Jellin followed Zindel in. The place was larger than Jellin’s living cone, but not terribly extravagant. Zindel offered him a seat on one of the three sofas arranged around a triangular table in the sitting area, and then brought him a bottle of purple water. Jellin was immediately impressed; only Oligarchs got purple water. He’d never tasted anything like the sweet liquid before.
Zindel sat on another sofa, drinking his own bottle of purple water. On the triangular table were food cones of colors Jellin had never tasted, and Zindel offered them freely. He ate hungrily, popping cone after cone in his mouth, savoring the alien flavors and enjoying every moment of it. Zindel regarded him in silence as he ate and drank for a short while, as if understanding what a unique pleasure it was for him.
“I dream of something more than the sustenance provided us,” Zindel finally said. “I dream of a world beyond this Cone. Like you, I believe there is more. We agree there are no Immortals, but everything we need appears to us every one hundred Lights, without fail. Citizens have seen it come into existence, right out of nowhere—a flash of light, and there is all we need. If not Immortals, then who?”
“I don’t know,” Jellin said. “But I believe there is some reasonable explanation that doesn’t require Immortals.”
“Excellent answer. I, for one, reject the very idea that any one being is superior to any other. Our society is entirely based on such a hierarchy; I don’t like it, but I’ve lived it because my forefathers have been Oligarchs for tens of generations. But my grandfather had his doubts, and he secretly told them to my father and me when I was very young. But my father violated his trust, and immediately reported my grandfather’s blasphemy to the Oligarchy.” His face grew dark and sad. “He sent his own father to his death in a pain cage, and took his place as Master Oligarch. I was just a boy, but the logic of my grandfather’s words—and the terrible, mindless behavior of my father—has stayed with me ever since.
“It’s simple logic, really—which is something that is sorely missing in the Divine Compendium. When children ask why the World is shaped like a cone, we open the Codex of Creation and explain that the Immortals made it that way to emulate their own Grand Cone. When they ask what’s outside the Cone, we open to the Codex of the Immortals and explain the vast nothingness called Oblivion. When they question something in the Divine Compendium, we open to the Codex of Commandments, which instructs us to never question anything, and to the Codex of Punishments to show them what awaits them if they do. And just for good measure, we always throw in a bit from the Codex of Destruction, telling them the fate that awaits us all should the Immortals be sufficiently angered. You know the story.”
“Yes—the Immortals will destroy the shell of the Cone, and expose us to Oblivion,” Jellin said. “I know it well. The twelfth time I was sent to the pain cage was because I pointed out a contradiction that I was sure even the Scholars would have to see, but of course that didn’t happen.”
“You’re talking about the contradiction with the Codex of Creation, I presume.”
“You know it?”
“Quite well. Creation states that the Immortals set the open-bottomed Cone down, embedding it a great rock floating in Oblivion. But Destruction clearly says the shell has a closed bottom, and the Immortals filled it with stone and dirt.”
Jellin brightened excitedly. “Yes! It’s so dreadful a contradiction—yet the Divine Compendium was allegedly written by perfect, inerrant Immortals.”
“Exactly. That’s to say nothing of the Codex of Prophecies; no two Immortals have the same view of the future, and often the same Immortal tells us two different things.”
Excitement welled within Jellin. “Then change will come to the Cone at last! You’re the Master Oligarch—all you have to do is decree changes, and they’ll happen. Our people’s eyes will finally be opened!”
