Dark theory, p.6
Dark Theory, page 6
Miree shook the pleasant shock from her face and nodded. “Good.”
They went about smashing open the remaining batteries and created a heap of eviscerated casings and coils on the ground. Beetro did his magnetized hand trick over the pile and produced a ball of mercury, the size of a cherry, floating within the confines of his hands. Wide-eyed, Miree watched him lower the ball into the thermos. It would’ve taken the rest of the day to collect what they now had in just twenty minutes.
“I think it’ll be enough,” she said.
“Enough for what?”
“Do you want to bury Lucindi?” she asked as if to distract him.
He looked at her, indigo eyes slanted in consideration. “Bury her?”
“Humans bury their dead.”
“Where—”
“I waited until General Dickhead left and I… collected her.” Her eyes moved to the other room in the cave.
Lucindi was with them in the cave.
So. Miree did care.
And so, they had a funeral for Lucindi.
They dug a hole at the base of Lucindi’s tree and placed her body there. Strangely, Beetro didn’t want to look at her face. He wasn’t ready to reconcile the fact of death—that a person, teeming with life, blood, and sympathy could be immediately reduced to an object. She was no different now from the rocks that surrounded her small body.
Matter was matter.
“She didn't even do anything to him,” he remarked after they covered her with dirt. “She just wanted to know where he was taking them. The kids.”
Miree shook her head. “It didn’t matter what she said. It was that she said anything at all.”
“She was so… good.”
“That sounded like a eulogy to me. Come on.” Miree turned back toward the dirt cave, done with the impromptu ceremony.
“Where?” Beetro called after her, but she disappeared into the dirt. He found her, not in the work room but back within the tunneled room. Hunched beneath the low ceiling, she clasped a purple cloak around her body and tucked her black hair under a flattened fiddler cap. At her feet, the ground had been unearthed, exposing a black satchel.
Beetro pointed. “What is it?”
“It’s the reason I almost got killed in Orion.”
“But what is it?”
She lifted the satchel by the handle and carefully placed it into her pack. “Come on.”
“Where?”
“Just come on.”
“No. You tell me what’s going on or I’m not going with you. You… you need me.”
“No. You need me. You want to find your precious engineer?”
“Galiaro? Yes.”
“I’ll help you find him if you come and help me first.”
“Help you with what?”
“Rob a castle. Kill a General. In that order.”
Six
Beyond the plains of Helian, hundreds of feet beneath the crust of the planet, Arym fidgeted in his chair, supremely annoyed.
“You’re lucky to live in the hub of the Crib, Arym,” Tarysl said. His face was so dumb and round—a dopey face, really. The receding hairline did not help matters for the rektor. It was what everyone the man’s age looked like in the Crib. Tarysl paused as if expecting some sort of argument to erupt from Arym. But Arym was calm. Too calm? Would the rektor know it was to placate him? “Many of those at Sol or Jovia would be more than happy to take your place here at the Crib,” the rektor continued.
“I know, Rektor Tarysl,” Arym said. He was sitting across the metal-top table, opposite Rektor Tarysl.
Rektor Tarysl frowned. “I’ve known you your whole life, Arym. You can just call me Tarysl.”
“I know, Rektor Tarysl.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“No, Rektor Tarysl. I mean no disrespect. I only wish to honor you.”
“I’m assuming you know why your torchblazer wanted you to meet with me?”
Arym nodded, closing his eyes. There was no natural light in the room. There was no natural light for several miles in every direction. The room was bathed in the orange glow emanating from the overhead bulbs, powered by some mechanical and electrical churning happening at the underground Sol satellite. Arym thought often about the rocks and the dirt—above his head, beneath his feet. At nights, after climbing into his pod, the dirt walls squeezed into his mind, suffocating every thought. He’d sweat and jerk in bed, clawing at the plastic walls of his pod, stifling a scream. Sometimes a quick bathroom break and a glass of water would ease the panic attack. But not always.
Rektor Tarysl leaned his elbows over the metal table. The countertop was sterilized moments before the two had met in the room. There were cleaning squads assigned to every deck of the Crib, spraying disinfectants in the wake of almost any human activity. Any rumors of a cough or a sneeze from any individual in the underground colony and they’d be quarantined to their pods for at least two weeks. The Crib did not mess around with infectious diseases.
“I was surprised when your torchblazer told me I needed to meet with you. Do you wish to speak first about what happened?” The rektor pursed his lips together with the concern of a father.
“My torchblazer finds any excuse to get me out of the tunnels for reprimand.”
“Is that so?”
Arym nodded. “Me and him have never carried along well. It’s something that I’ve been trying to work on. I thought we were doing well until he pulled me off the digline yesterday.”
Rektor Tarysl nodded, bringing his pointed index fingers to his lips. “And why do you believe he pulled you off the digline?”
Arym shrugged. “I was taking a break. I know you’re a rektor, so you may not know, but digging tunnels for ten hours a day is exhausting. We’re allowed scheduled breaks and so I took mine.”
“I believe you’re being overtly… unassuming.”
“What do you mean, rektor?”
“Arym.” Tarysl leaned in his chair, clasping his hands over his knees. “Do you honestly not know why Torchblazer Rayller was mad with you?”
Arym took a deep breath. “I admit I do.”
“Will you explain?”
“It wasn’t that I took a break. It was where I took my break.”
“And where did you take the break?”
Arym paused, collecting himself during the excruciating exchange. “In an Oshaft.”
“Tell me why that was wrong.”
“Oshafts can lead above ground, to the overworld.”
“And are hence strictly prohibited. Oshafts are used for only the purpose of gas and pressure ventilation from the Crib and its satellites. I would also add that Torchblazer Rayller didn’t state that you just took a break in an Oshaft. You climbed within one and had marched your way fairly high before he discovered you were there.”
Arym had no reply.
The rektor thrummed his fingertips on the table. “Would you mind citing the Oath of the Descension?”
Arym took a deep breath. “As a citizen of the Crib, without compulsion, I hold this oath as my own: I will use my back to labor, my mind to innovate, and my strength to defend the Crib and his people. I will place myself below the needs of this great people and keep sacred its location from the world.”
“Why is that oath important to you?”
“The Oath of Descension was created to bind us to our people. To keep us safe from the dangers of the overworld. Othel, our founder, dug into the depths of the planet to flee the corruption and chaos of the overworld. If every denizen of the Crib does not bind themselves to the Oath, we risk losing everything our founder did for my generation.” It was as if he had every word memorized, which he did in part. He was regurgitating words that had been taught to him since before he could even remember. He could’ve done it in his sleep.
“Why do you drill with your torchblazer and his team?”
“I’m using my back to labor and my mind to innovate. The Crib and its satellites are growing beyond their bounds. It is the Crib’s responsibility to make new satellites for our people. Sol provides energy, Jovia nutrition, Granite raw resources, and Stellate watches over our health. I drill to expand our people underground, to further distance ourselves from the corruption of the overworld.”
“Thank you for the rote recitation that you learned in school. I want to hear why you do it. What motivates you? Just be honest.”
Arym kept his eyes wide, resisting an eye roll. “I’m not sure.”
This seemed to pique the rektor’s interest. “That’s okay. It’s better that you don’t make something up. I know it’s hard to always be motivated to follow the Oath and work for the people. There’s nothing wrong with feeling a little… deflated sometimes. Is that how you’ve been feeling lately?”
“Yes, rektor.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Gets lonely sometimes. Getting out of my pod each morning. Putting on my gear and heading through the mining tunnels. Day in and out, same thing over and over again. It wears on you.”
“I understand.”
“It’s hard to see the bigger picture when I’m drilling through granite all day with the torchblazer yelling at me. It’s exhausting.”
“Is that why you hid away in the Oshaft? To get away from Torchblazer Rayller?”
Arym nodded. “I think so, yes. It was nice to just take a break from it all.”
“It’s understandable. You should’ve been honest about this. Are you sure there was no other reason that you hid in the Oshaft?”
Arym shook his head. “No, I was really just trying to get away from Rayller—even for just a few minutes.”
“Why do you think we’re concerned that you were in the Oshaft?”
“You don’t want anyone going into them because you don’t want us up above.”
“And why is that?”
“The overworld is dead. Barren. Toxic. There’s nothing there anymore. The surface of the world saw so many wars and pollutants that our founder, Othel, had to dig a shaft deep into the earth.”
“The overworld is no place for Cribmen.”
Arym’s face changed. Inquisitive. “Do you really believe there are no people above?”
“No, I know there are people above. Human beings, even those not descended from Othel, are resilient. I’m sure many peoples have survived above, but they can no longer be trusted. We’ve grown up, evolved away from them, and we can no longer go back. Our place is underground.” He pointed down into the table. “I know it’s quite a burden for our people to bear, but I can tell you from my experience that it is deeply worth it. The joy that I’ve had over these long years as being rektor to the people of the Crib has been unimaginable.”
Arym stared at the table, silent in thought for a moment. “I’m just not there yet.”
“It takes time. You’re at the age where rebellion feels justified. You have a natural distrust of your superiors, it’s very understandable. I, too, went through the same thing. I wasn’t placed into the mining unit like you. I wanted to be a surgeon. When I was your age, Cribmen frequently went to the overworld, venturing out for supplies and to hunt game.”
“You’ve been to the overworld?”
“No, not me. I wasn’t old enough to go above. But I was old enough to remember the dismembered limbs and gaping holes in our people when they returned from above. We are hated people, Arym. Overworlders try to destroy us when they find out what we are—who we are. I wanted to put my brothers back together again after they were brought back down, injured by gunfire or maimed by wild animals. I wanted to be a surgeon, but I was told there were too many, that there wasn't a need. I was very distraught at the time—wanted to rip the lid right off the Crib and climb out of here. But I didn’t. I was patient and realized that being a rektor, one who can heal the mind and soul, is just as valuable as putting the body back together. Maybe even more so. It was the right thing for me. And being on the digline, following your torchblazer is the right thing for you.”
Arym was silent.
“It’s the right thing for you because it’s the thing we need of you right now. You are placed where you are out of need. Right now, during your generation, we need to expand. We need diggers. If it wasn’t for your efforts, we’d suffocate in our own waste. The time is ready for expansion, and you are a pioneer. Does any of this mean anything to you?”
Arym nodded. “I think so.”
“Just be patient, keep your head down, and your rewards will be great, Arym.”
“I can try, rektor.”
“Can we meet next week?”
“I’d like that.” He stood and bowed, crossing to the portal doorway. “You won’t be hearing about any troubles from my torchblazer anymore.”
The rektor smiled. “Good to hear.” Arym left Tarysl there with a smile, suggesting he believed himself a masterful rektor.
Once he was in a tube, Arym’s heart finally slowed. He moved swiftly, back slightly hunched, down the connecting tube that led toward the center of the Crib. Cribmen skirted out of the way when they saw him jetting down the tube. Ignoring their inquisitive looks, he glanced at his watch, checking that he had enough time to get to his pod before his dig shift started.
It was a hard balance between playing unassuming without appearing disingenuous. For the rektor, Arym poured on the lacquer of a youthful rebellious attitude, mixed in some earnest questions, and polished it off with a coating of pensive self-reflection. It left the door open for the rektor believing that the troubled youth could be reformed. That he really was ‘a good digkid’ and that hiding in an Oshaft really was a one-time thing. Arym felt like he pulled it off. Well, enough that the rektor would let him return to work without more disciplinary action. Arym did not want to end up in isolation. It truly was the most horrific punishment he could think of. There was nothing more detestable to him than being stuck in one place, alone.
He had to move.
At the end of the tube, he stopped at a shaftlift and pulled the call lever. A metallic clunk heralded the arrival of the lift. Of course, Waryl, a digkid, was there awaiting his arrival.
“Arym!” he greeted, slapping Arym on the back. “We missed you on the digline today.”
Arym paused, wondering if Rektor Tarysl had planned the chance meeting. He wouldn’t put it past the rektor to have a ‘friend’ follow up on him. “Yeah. I know,” he said, staring at the corner of the lift.
Waryl cleared his throat in the awkward silence. “You’ll be back tomorrow?”
“Today.” The lift stopped and Arym got off on his deck, eternally relieved to be away from the older, do-good brown-noser that was Waryl the insufferable.
Arym shuffled down the tube, took a right at a fork, and continued down an even longer tube passageway. The tubes were dark, barely illuminated by tiny, fluorescent bulbs. They were powered only by the heat that came off the water lines that ran beneath. The Crib prided itself on converting all excess energy into powering something else. The Crib itself was first organized as a series of rooms and laboratories that were built at the bottom of a mine shaft. Othel, the founder, had drilled the first mine shaft hundreds of years ago. Eventually, more deck floors were added above the original rooms, each with connecting tubes and conduits to supply oxygen and warmth. After a generation, the Crib was complete as a single shaft within an encircling network of deck floors. Originally, each deck was solely in charge of individual functions—nutrition, engineering, health, and energy, along with others. After more successive generations came, with more born from the Crib, offshoot satellites were built in the adjacent earth to the Crib and these functions were outsourced to keep the function of the Crib pure—population management.
He made it to his pod, a small, thumb-like projection off the digline barracks. He sealed the door behind and examined the room. It didn’t look like anything had been disturbed. Hastily, he dropped to his knees and pulled out the bottom drawer from his desk, removing several mining manuals. His heart pumped as he pulled out the manuals, suddenly terrified that everything about the interview with Rektor Tarysl was just a charade—that any moment they would bust in his room and take him to isolation, but no. He found his journal—a notebook that he fashioned together using the blank back pages from the teaching manuals. It was where he had left it, undisturbed.
Apparently, Rektor Tarysl wasn’t suspicious enough to start searching his pod.
He returned to the digline and joined the crew who sat beside the Torch—a massive, cylindrical drill that lay on flat treadwheels, which thrust the machine along as it advanced through clay and rock. Arym couldn’t see it from where he stood, but a circular structure of complex spiked spheres and triangular jaws jutted from the front end of the Torch—the business end of the drilling. He found the torchblazer, Rayller, in the cockpit, surrounded by a small pocket of glowing screens, levers, and buttons that were built into the top of the Torch. It was from the cockpit that the torchblazer would get feedback from the machine, give out commands to the digline, and throw in override commands when the digline screwed up. The torchblazer looked up at Arym through the glass and scoffed. The hatch of the cockpit opened. “The rektor talk to you?”
Arym nodded.
“And?”
“You won’t have problems with me anymore.”
“We sure? No more climbing Oshafts?”
“Nope. Never.”
Later that night, Arym escaped to the overworld through an Oshaft.
He lay in the grass, nothing but serenity in his lungs. After all the years of teaching him their paranoia of the overworld, they couldn’t stop him. They couldn’t stop him from finding an abandoned Oshaft a year ago. The night after he discovered the conduit to freedom while on the digline, he climbed straight up, hiking up the slanted tunnel, using spiked boots for footholds. Through sweat, bleeding knuckles, and vomiting from fatigue, he’d found his way to the cleanest air he’d ever breathed. Once he smelled that air—those pines!—he could never go back to that old life. It was one of those rare moments wherein the punishment thereafter couldn’t possibly match the experience of looking across a lush, wide valley—pristine and as if untouched by human hands. The valley sang with crickets that night, a sound at which he first had apprehension—it was the first natural noise he’d ever heard in his life.
