Fly On The Wall: Fairy Tales From A Misanthropic Universe, Vol. I Page 10

  Maebë wanders off towards a purple corridor whose deep color casts a silhouette through a green gem wall. She motions at a part of the green gemstone and down it comes, revealing an entrance to the violet corridor. Maebë makes sure not to look down as the walks through. She doesn't fear heights, but the minuscule light which begs for company miles below her feet is a little much, even for her.

  The light means the cull is in full swing. Good. Oh lord! I just can't wait! Going to have some fresh smokes Squal soon! My favorite. It's a shame it's only available right after the culls. I wish we could have it all year, but that would require year round culls, and that's unsustainable, the breeding rates are just too low. Hmm maybe we can do something about that, I'll have the illuminated ones look into it. There is is. Oak. It's always so beautiful, its energy is like nothing else down here. Before Maebë is a large solid door, one which had been gifted by a surface leader of old who had met her once. I love the feel of its grain. Maebë ran her fingers over the old wood. It can't be this beautiful above, it might be out light which brings out the beautiful of the fractally massed fibers. Heh, at least there's one advantage to these dreadful meetings. To the mole people, it is a strange material, but it is Maebë's favorite, and the only exemplar down there. Maebë presses on through the oak door.

  Figurines and dioramas portray peace and trade between two people on the wall beyond that oak door. One race looks like humans, the other more closely resembles Maebë's race. The humans all seem to be dressed in rags, whereas her race is dressed in robes similar to the one which Maebë now dons. A long fluorescent black cloak from which rose bismuth crystal flowers here and there. The one she always wears for meetings. Her mother's.

  The décor here is always so alien, it feels drab and muted. A décor more familiar to both Benjamin and Hugo than I. Decked out in surface style garb the room resembles the ceiling rocks in feel, abundantly dull. I've never liked this room. It's tasteless. Then again for some strange reason, the feeble minded surface leaders are more at ease with décor more similar to their own than ours. Such a shame too, I could do such nice things with this room.

  A small glowing hologram hovers over her desk, contained in a prism prison. A metal table, a shiny round behemoth, occupies the center of the room. No seats had ever been situated around that table. Maebë approaches the hologram on her desk and reaches out to touch it. Her motion halts, her fingers are a mere sparrow's breath away from the hologram's transparent prison. Food. Should I call? Will they mind me eating in front of them? I mean...of course some would, but then equally there isn't much they can do. Fuck them, I'll each anyway, it's too fresh. Maebë brushes the prism's facets gently. The outer edges of the hologram are cast across the chamber, in a violent light burst. Ghostly images of seats spring up from thin air and await imagined cargo. They announce that her contraption is on. Now she just has to wait. The leaders never take too long, but even so they'll need some time, they too have obligations. Maebë waltzes back to the oak door and opens it. She lets out a long note, a requisition for her most beloved delicacy. As before when she had been with Benjamin and Hugo, servants rush to fill her every need and want. She thanks her half height helpers as they rush a platter to the table.

  Maebë's sharp teeth dig into the shiny, dark, well smokes fresh Squal. Smoked Squal always makes her nostalgic, her mother and father had shown her its delights many years ago. She misses them dearly. As often is the case when she waits for the surface leaders. Tears for her vision as she remembers when her mother and father had refused the humans their banal demands for knowledge. That was when the uprising had started. She remembers it to this day. She had been a child at the time, but she had still known it was a bad idea to treat the humans as equals, for they were not. She'd been right. She could almost see it all again in front of her eyes. The deluge of armed limbs flung towards her and her kind. True enough her kind were stronger in both mind and body, but there was some power in numbers, and there the apes certainly had them beat. Maebë cringes, the memories are still too vivid, she still sees in her mind the finals breaths taken by those she loved the most as they were buried under a mound of warring, writhing flesh. That was the day that her parents had died, and she had succeeded, it was that day that she decided that her people would stay hidden forevermore, far beneath the hostile and volatile surface. This was there was true diplomacy, and that young race above them could have time to further itself, and cool off, with guidance and supervision of course. Maybe then they could be friends, perhaps even equals, but not now, they still fear her kind. Any surface foray, even the slightest, is still fraught with peril.

  Maebë hears the sound of doors locking, it came from the prism. Her own are now sealed, so it has to be one of the surface leaders. Maebë regains her composure somewhat and slows her ravenous chomping. She shifts around in her seat, making herself comfortable. She eats her Squal slower now, scarfing it down is not too ladylike, and always does perturb the leaders so.

  The Western leader comes first, he always does, unfortunately. He is Maebë's least favorite, a fat, rude man whose abrasive demeanor and fiery hair made it seem as through a failed bird of paradise had decided to roost upon his head and never go. Perhaps that explains his rudeness. He always expects something for nothing. What a joke of a man. Maebë is particularly concerned about his record, he intervenes in every surface conflict he can. He simply enjoys sticking his business deep into other people's dirty laundry, whether hung out to dry or still firmly hid in hampers. Maebë hates him, but she knows that there is little she can do – his manipulative manner meant that she could always rely on him as a voice of support in the culls, all for a few measly diamonds in trade, he always was so easily swayed. Pathetic. Now that ain't workin'. She thinks to herself as a translucent vision of him opaques and stabilizes.

  Next comes the Eastern leader. A kindly looking woman with a joyous smile, and impeccable dress sense. Each time she appears she does so in striking new outfits, each one more fantastic than the last, though none nearly as fantastic as Maebë's. The Eastern leader's people love her dearly, but Maebë does not. The Eastern leader thrives upon respect, upon honor, but despite all that she could be very bellicose. She was always ready to jump at any new opportunity to conquer, and when there was nothing left to conquer she made new land herself so that there would be. Worst of all was her hostile reputation when it came to matters of the heart. When unions were not to her liking when subjects trespassed against her hill, she sent them all to her lab, to be parted out, their organs distributed to the needy. She was obsessive too – and proud. Maebë recalls when the Eastern leader had been a young woman and had somehow stolen some of their knowledge. Maebë had tried to tell her that the humans were not yet ready, that it was too perilous, but the Eastern leader was headstrong; she didn't listen; millions perished for her arrogance. Maebë sneers. The Eastern leader is despicable, but Maebë stays silent and buries her resentment deep. Continued impartiality is imperative to their peaceful coexistence.

  Soon the Southern leader appears as well. He is the youngest of the all, a strange man with a whimsical haircut that bares his scalp on either side and leaves only a tuft on top. The southern leader's beard always entertains Maebë as none of her people grow hair in that location. Maebë particularly like the small, dark, circular welder's frames that always obscure his eyes. To her, they add a veneer of mystery. Maebë even respects the southern leader. He is wise enough and advanced enough to accept that first there must be full freedom, and only from there can any other advancements be made. He understands life and death, and he wields his power correctly, for the benefit of his people. Maebë rolls her eyes, she likes him but is is a pitiful creature all the same. Though his soul is pure, his cowardice is equally well refined. He values his principles and seeks to right all wrongs, but blinded to pragmatic approaches, the Southern leader makes his will the whole of the law. He is wise, and yet a moron too; no man's will ought to rule all; when light goes into a prism its true
nature is revealed, countless saturated shadows, so too is one view but a part. Though he wields the color of right he capitulates to warlords' severe demands too readily. He hides to save his precious thoughts while hundreds perish. If he were truly noble the anfechtung of life would not deter him, he would die alongside them. Instead, he lives and sends more men and women to die in the sun. Such a waste. His principles were never enough.

  The Northern leader comes last, as usual. Her many coats take many minutes to put on, and many more to remove. Maebë respects her and her people for the amount of weight they bear upon their shoulders each day. Her race can, of course, bear more, but the northerners still had impressively broad backs. Broad and well muscled. The Northern leader is a small stout woman. The many layers' great weight bears down on her bones, compressing them, and stunting any growth. She is strong, she never cuts Maebë any slack, and is always the one who opposes her most in negotiations. She does so politely though, and for that Maebë loves her. Maebë has great respect for all those who dare to deny her wants.

  Maebë eyes the nervous leaders as she rises from her seat to greet them. They ensure their privacy and begin their covert talks. Maebë explains to them how two surface dwellers had made their way down. She rages at the already shivering holograms.

  “I know y'all were busy, but frankly I do not care. Did we not have an agreement? Did I not make the consequences clear? I demanded to be briefed of explorers. It is unacceptable at any time for us to receive unofficial visitors, especially so near to the culls. We barely stopped them before they breached the pens. I expect to be briefed far, and I mean FAR,” she yells, slamming her fists on the metal table, “in advance of such incursions. I know that ain't too much to ask. So I ain't asking. Not near inspection time. Not near the culls. Not near ever. Do y'all understand me? Now I don't mind handing on to these two fellas, but on my terms, as I'm sure you'll understand. Now, folks – when I say I don't mind, I mean they ain't comin' back. Work out a story. Find the expedition and tell them it was lost. Find a way.”

  The human holograms are livid, not only had one of their own species fallen into the grasp of Maebë and her's, but they aren't coming back either – a woeful fate indeed. The Northern leader stands and roars “HOW? How can you sit there, and let IT say such things?” She punctuates 'it' with a jab of her finger.

  The southern leader looks away sheepishly, he values his principles, so he obeys Maebë's every instruction, he dares not acknowledge his counterpart's chilly response. The well dressed Eastern leader, meanwhile, clutches the table so tightly that her knuckles go whiter than the purest milk.

  “Maybe,” says the Eastern leader through gritted teeth.

  The Northern leader steps back, appalled, “What do you mean?! How can you say maybe?”

  The Western leader sees the look in the Eastern leader's eyes. He nods, acknowledging their silent plot. “Maybe,” he chimes”. The deflated Northern leader just stands speechless. She knows better than to rely on the Southern leader, but she thought that the others would have some sense, some pride, some solidarity at the very least, but alas they do not. “What do we get???” chorus the Eastern and Western leaders, jockeying for positions like piglets to a sow's teats.

  Maebë smiles at the Northern leader, intentionally irritating her. One eye turns to the Eastern leader, and one to the Western leader. “How about. Shugs. Y'all KEEP getting minerals and technology at the rate that I chose and just do as I say instead?”

  Suddenly realizing their lack of bargaining power, the two leaders back off, groveling and muttering.

  “YOU BASTARD COWARDS,” yells the Northern leader. She bangs her fists on an invisible table, making her hologram flicker off. Maebë always enjoys making them storm off. Her eyes squint and her lips curl upwards into a smirk. The Western leader meanwhile plots malice from beneath his breath, and in one fell swoop, and with surprising speed for such a girthly man, he jumps to his feel. His jowls and chins drop to comment, but Maebë cuts him off before he can make a sound.

  “Sit down fat man. I suggest you do as I say before I introduce you to little boy, and remember he's matured quite a lot.”

  The Southern leader shuts his eyes and brings his knees up to his chest. He rocks back and forth pathetically, imagining himself off in a far away universe. His breath's beat quickens, a snare drum of anxiety. His eyes wander to where Maebë's half eaten smoked Squal lies. Finally, he chimes in too: “We should do as Maebë says, she has taught us, and led us well, and given us so much. Collateral damage must be accepted.” The other leaders know he is right, and of course, even if he isn't it isn't as though they have a choice. They share a few more thoughts with Maebë and each informs her then their next inspection team is due. Maebë doesn't like getting involved in planning the details of stories and cover ups, she things it best if she doesn't know until after. It is often said that the sign of a good compromise is when all parties leave unhappy. If that is true then this was an excellent compromise indeed, for only Maebë remains content with the results. Maebë sighs, she still fumes internally, but she figured that if nothing else at least they understood the consequences better now, and hopefully they would monitor their peoples more, as she had suggested all along. Maebë knows now what she will do with the sleeping pair. There can be only two option for Benjamin and Hugo, and neither one of then involve a trip back to the surface.

  Hugo awakes first, next to him Benjamin snored hard on a crystal pillow. Hugo squints, trying to understand how it does not hurt Benjamin's head to lay down on such a hard stone until he looks down and sees his own. Hugo puts it all down to the strange magick of this forgotten place. Maebë's sweet voice echoes through a nearby corridor, it suffices to make Benjamin stir. Soon she appears by an entrance.

  “Wakey wakey sleepy heads. So listen – I've had a quick meeting, and we've all come to an agreement. Y'all have got two choices. Each one makes their own choice. The first is to stay with me – with us – down here. There ain't much light, but I think I'm pretty darn good company. Just one proviso though, a small, personal, edict.” Maebë's voice culminates in a dark tone full of gravitas in the words which follow those, “If you remain you will content yourselves with the knowledge I grant you. You will not seek, you will not query, you will live by my word and accept it, for you – your race – is too young to understand our ways.

  The grave words sink into Benjamin and Hugo's minds. Neither man can fathom whence her brooding manner had arisen from, their faces make that clear enough, Maebë notices their reaction and is pleas she'd managed to impart the serious nature of their conversation to the otherwise foolish men. Maebë continues setting out their options. “The other possibility is that you receive a full tour. I will personally guide you through our main facilities and show you how we do things down here. It's quite a lot to take in, so be warned. But if you do follow me you will be granted more knowledge than you can even handle. And after you will be put to work. Until the day you die of course, such are our ways.”

  The men look at each other and exchange silent words. Benjamin races to answer first. “I must learn, You have much to teach me, especially about the gems. How do you fabricate them? Where do you find them? I must go with you on the tour.”

  An open-mouthed Hugo then replies too, “I agree, but I do not wish to see. I have seen enough in my long years. Show Benjamin, I wish only to back in this beautiful light, with a beautiful queen. Look around you Benjamin, you are literally inside a palace made of emerald. What more do you need to know? What answers could you possible seek?”

  Benjamin smirks with a little contempt, “Precisely,” he says, “I seek everything.”

  A part of Maebë's smoke Squal remains sat on the plate she'd brought with her. The full flavor of the meat comes through in abundance when it is smoked. Its chewy texture is delectable, and it seems to melt in the mouth. She offers it to Hugo, and then Benjamin. Servants bring them more as they bicker at Maebë's behest. Hugo becomes more and more con
vinced that the center is the right place for hi. He hated meat, yet the fecund fleshy aromas alone are enough to make him stay, even without the endless eye candy. Hugo bites into a small chunk he had taken from a newly brought plate. “Squal-Heart” the servants had said. Amazing, spiced just so with creamy Cajun tones, and fried to an outer crispy perfection, with a rare middle which diffuses a delicate flavor over all his taste buds. Hugo knows this is the place for him. He looks to the wall and ponders if he will miss the outside. A furtive smile from Maebë convinces him that he won't. He'd already spent most of his life in various caves seeking rare minerals. He sees no point in stopping now, and the fates had granted him the best opportunity of all, his own personal nirvana.