Fly On The Wall: Fairy Tales From A Misanthropic Universe, Vol. I Page 7

  He coughed, a small red fleck stained the wooden floor of his forest hut.

  He did not know if he could live through it again. All who got near, all who became dear to him. all their blood was inevitably expelled from his mouth. But none were near now, so whose blood could it be but his own? Those who tried to help all ran eventually too, for they perished one by one. Those who sought to weaponize him ran further than that still, they sustained much bigger casualties still. They even failed to euthanize the wretched man, for each would be executioner just dropped, drained. Even hidden expert marksmen just expired, blown out like candles on a birthday cake. He was happy that this time at least it would be own demise, he could feel it – he knew it was. At least it was over, he would not be forced, time and time again, by some cruel joke of fate, to watch more lives sucked out.

  He coughed again, blood rushed up his esophaguS, and welled up in his mouth. The metal taste intensified. That old familiar flavor found his tastebuds all too well. He wished that he'd had strength to end it all himself, but the irony was that despite being surrounded by so much death he could never seek his own, merely await it eagerly. With a great big gulp, he swallowed the dread liquid once more, still fearing it might not be his.

  He remembered the last time it happened. He knew not how long it had been for such singular existence has no clock. He thought only a few seasons had passed since then but was not sure. He could remember the event with startling precision. There he'd sat, on an empty park bench, tormented by the loneliness which had always been the order of the day, at least until she'd walked by. He jumped form his seat and rushed to woo her with a cheesy pickup line. Luckily she didn't mind the cheesiness, all she had ever wanted to do was help, not just him either, but everyone. She was kind, and that was all that mattered to one as accursed as he'd been. He thought her love had cured his malady. First, he'd stayed quite far from her, in fear of himself, but when it didn’t happen for a few years, he began to doubt. Each time the man descended to the city he saw her, catching glimpses of her reflected off busy window-panes whose lifeless, posed mannequins mocked him with their hollow immortality. He became convinced that they were meant to be. That she was his one, that she was his cure. Those seasons ago he had arranged everything just so, and waited, almost trembling with the anticipation at the thought of her arrival. He barely hid his childlike joy at the thought of surprising her.

  It was coming, he could feel the nausea.

  She had been shocked indeed, her eyes grew wide and her lips parted. The twinkle within the glassy green seas danced joyously, and she smiled with love and pity in equal measure. Tears welled up in her eyes when he'd proposed. Excessive conflicting emotions got all entangled in her heart. She hoped that he would be ok, that they would be ok. She had watched him kneel down knowing what was to happen, and hadn't said a word, not until he'd finished his, and even then just one: No.

  He remembered how she stared at him, how she smiled, like Jesus to a child. He wanted her, he needed her, he prayed to be cured, and so, to convince her he wept too. Dollops of tears he'd forced to gather as one moistened his cold-blooded face, and he bore his many teeth like a Caiman's spiky smile. She swayed and felt lightheaded. As soon as she opened her mouth to say “Yes,”, it began. She suddenly lacked energy; she could feel it happen. He had told her what he could, indeed, he had told her it probably would, but she hadn't given his mad ramblings any thought. With terror in her eyes and horror in her heart, she'd looked down to her ever paler arms as he gurgled. Soon she too was as dry as the Mojave, and like the many floors which he had stained before he would stain that asphalt street too. And soon, he would run away again, chased and branded as “witch”, each time his life considered forfeit by the tyranny of frightened masses.

  He smiled one last smile before it began. This time it was different, he could feel it, this time, he would be free, unencumbered by accursed life, by its horrid pain. Finally, he could be with her.

  He began vomiting, covering yet another floor in a thin, red, life-granting glaze. Outside his cabin, a bear began to lose its balance.

  36 – A Lizard In The Spring

  He chortles as they descend, drawing raised eyebrows from Hugo. It's finally happening, they'll soon reach the centre – the hot, molten, core of earth. Moths had passed and many had toiled to make this all happen. The journey they took now has been mocked by all, but they'd persevered, and now they'll soon be there.

  From the third grade, he had always wished to find what lay there, such a journey in those days was thought absurd. The pressure and heat were far too great, and it was no wise idea to tempt fate for a number of other explorers had died upon that same route. But he heeded not, and instead he did as his dreams implored, he did as he thought. He pursued what he would to make his dreams come true. He fought long through much ridicule and adversity until bold new materials, invented just for him, awaited his daring use. He did not expect to find anything beyond hot molten rock, but that itself was quite sufficient. Just so long as he was first, and so long as his knowledge could be advanced.

  If they were right – if he was right – it meant a new era, one of unlimited geothermal power; one of no hunger. At the very least he will at least have achieved his dreams, one of the few people to ever do so. Like Armstrong, he'll be the first, but like Cernan he will likely also be the last. He will be remembered through all history, his name known instantly. Benjamin sighs, that's all true enough, but it's such a shame that they don't have a view. Of course, no transparent material can yet withstand such stresses (and he dared wait no longer), but even so he wonders what hides on the other side of his protective metal shell.

  The exotic minerals used to make it had been shipped from Saturn, the only planet where such strange crystals few. He had waited for most of a decade for the bots to build themselves, mine, and then ship back that precious cargo. 7 of those years were taken up by the billion and a half mine journey alone. But now it was happening, and with the help of the most alien of coursed he dove into his own terra incognita.

  A horde of gauges clutter the metal dash in front of him. The face of each one resembles a serene sundown sky; blue backing blends into yellow rays, then alarming carmine dyed horizons. On each gauge a needle points westward, no mater how they scream of pressure Benjamin ignores them, and presses on. At such depths, there is, on each pin-head's worth of space, the weight of a thousand thousand mountains, but the exotic material stays strong and do not give, though it does squeak strangely. The outside shines bright orange from the friction of descent, as well as the extreme pressure and heat. Benjamin can little tell the machine where to go, only monitor its progress, they are locked out of its systems for their own safety. The precision required to descend to such depths is beyond what any human can ever achieve. Perils, in the form of pockets of super-hot gas, or even hard leviathan diamonds, could cause not only failure of their mission but failure in their very act of living too. Thus to use a machine instead of a man had been no choice at all, but a strict edict instead; human error is far too great a risk.

  Sod the sensors they have no power over me. Benjamin eyes the twitching needles, they barely keep him from trying to make his way out of their metal shell. There is little to do now but wait. Benjamin can't see out, but that doesn't stop him from being glued to the gauges, trying to decipher his surroundings. Daydreams however, manage to pull his attention away. He can see the headlines now “MAN IN EARTH: Benjamin Richardson, first person to the centre of the earth!” and his picture – of course, and one of their great capsule too. He'll never be a settler of distant planets or moons but he'll be the first to the centre. He'll be the first to the very innards of humanity's first, and still most favored home. He'll set a precedent, one that others will always attempt, but never achieve again.

  The capsule keeps its inner temperature fairly constant despite its glowing outer shell. Its occupants, while sweating are by no means uncomfortable. Down it ventures, further and further into th
e earth. The AI sends out a warning been, it seems to have found some anomalies in the rocks ahead; it shows them on a screen, two dark colored spots that it claims are voids. Hugo supposes they are gas pockets, but the AI seems to think otherwise. Worryingly, their capsule turns towards the voids at an alarming rate, one which stresses their laser drill's mounts generating more warning beeps. It seems to be attracted by some unknown forces. Hugo knows the machine is programmed to seek, stop, and open, should it detect any habitable locations, but that was a pipe dream, more a joke than anything else. Maybe we shouldn't have coded that in. Hugo's thoughts perturb him as the shuttle gets hotter, approaching the pockets. Hugo and Benjamin share a look that makes it clear that they are more and more convinced that their lives were forfeit, and about to end, then and there, at the hands of dumb AI which had been fooled by some warm air.

  Perhaps more pressing than the heat though, the atmosphere within their shuttle became ever stuffier. Benjamin knocks on a gauge's glass twice. No answer. The needle inside lies deader than the rock through which they bore. The air scrubber had failed, the robust filter had somehow gotten clogged. Perhaps it was better to attempt to land after all. A conversation of squints later they are both agreed. Hugo pales at the thought, he doesn't believe the machine but he knows that with the scrubber down they have no choice. Benjamin's fanaticism worries him.

  Benjamin, on the other hand, begins to grin – this is more than he ever hoped for. The stuffy air suddenly seems a blessing to him, not a curse. What little problems it may cause are of little concern to him, particularly with the landing so near at hand. Hugo had programmed this routine as a joke, but Benjamin knew the machine was infallible, he was sure of it. Hugo shakes his head seeing such excitement. No life can thrive here, they both know that well enough, and Hugo suspects there will soon be none once more. Hugo wonders whether a criticality at that depth would cause even minor tremors on the surface. After a chin scratch or two, he deems it unlikely, as they dive ever deeper, ever closer to the anomalies.

  The vehicle bursts through the void wall with an awful clang and topples end over end to the ground, well below its entry point, flinging Hugo and Benjamin to and fro with gusto. Purple bruises will form where the seatbelts acted under Newton's third law to keep them in place. Hugo's eyes were long shut tight and he'd prayed his last payers, but now they edge open. He is stunned by a bleak metal heaven much more familiar than the one he'd expected to see.

  Benjamin only cares that they're through, and safe. They exchange glances and begin to verify the vessel's vitals. Much like the air scrubber, the temperature sensor's needle lay flat, pointing due West. Surely an error? Benjamin gives the atmospheric gauge only a cursory glance before taking off his seat belt and rushing to the capsule’s door. Hugo looks on horrified, he knows full well that there is still a solid risk their vessel might be wrong. He knows the exterior might kill them before they can even open the door. But Hugo is well strapped in, and Benjamin is too quick. Hugo doesn't get to utter a single objection before Benjamin releases the latch.

  HISSSSSSSSS

  Benjamin backs away, holding his hands as still as he can in front of him, as though they alone could stop them getting crushed. Hugo's mouth just hangs wide open. The last was the crux of their pressure protection mechanism, so their gauges must be correct; it's survivable. They trade knowledge through yet more puzzled glances. Could it be? Could there truly be a lost world? The suggestion was ludicrous, yet the stuffy air seemed gone and their machines consumed little power now indeed, much less than they ought to need. The gauges had been built to be foolproof, they could surely not all lie, they could not all be broken.

  Hugo had devoted his whole life to geology, he knew what he read on that panel to be impossible, and yet it had to be, otherwise they'd be dead already. The others laughed at them when they'd demanded suits for the expedition, it had been worth it though, now both of them could put them to good use, despite any personal trepidations. They shimmy their legs into the silver suit pants, frightened and excited in equal measures. Hugo continues to tremble at the mere thought of an exterior he knows to be impossible, but Benjamin's childlike smile reassures him. Like a fool Hugo goes with it, enchanted by mere brio. Now Hugo stands in a shiny silver suit, dreading his next steps, all while beads of anxious perspiration gather on his forehead. He supposes it's for the best, Benjamin's big puppy dog eyes were the reason he came on this trip in the first place. Hugo dons his helmet, he won't take any unnecessary risks. Benjamin meanwhile gives the dash gauges another lookover. He then takes a deep breath and swings open the heavy metal hatch. It hits the side of their ship with a loud resounding clang, one whose echoes even make it through their suits. Benjamin's bare face is buffeted by a rush of air, like that escaping a freshly opened oven. The air is not, not ot enough to incinerate or burn, but hot enough to make Dubai summers feel like Boston winters. At least he was alive, the gas in which they found themselves was harmless, neither a toxin, nor acid, nor base. Thankfully too their suits are cooled. It doesn't take long for the system to detect the flux and adjust accordingly, keeping their core temperature well within limits. Benjamin reconsiders donning a helmet for a moment, but he figures that the temperature is tolerable, and were the gas noxious he would be dead already. Benjamin lusts to experience all first hand, so he decides against it.

  Shadows rule supreme, for in that long forgotten depth no light does beam. Their flashlights barely make small dents in the thick black. Thin columns support a stone ceiling so great neither man can conceive of its size. Silhouettes of stalagmites and stalactites threaten the pair. A bizarre noise breaks through Hugo's thick layers. Benjamin hears it too: water, a babbling brook of sorts. It comes from a nearby dull stone wall. The men exchange glances once more. How could there be water here? Maybe it's something else. Maybe it's their own pregnant expectation. Whatever it is, they don't hear the squadron of languid steps approach them from behind. Then they hear nothing anymore. Now off his head, Hugo's helmet sways ever more gently from side to side on the cavern floor.

  Hugo wakes first, the slate on which he lay sends cold shivers, ones far too strong to be compatible with unconsciousness, down his spine. Hugo is confused but refreshed. He looks around at the décor trying to decipher his location. The walls and floors themselves seem cut from bright gem-colored glass. The light's long rays are scattered, reflected, and refracted across the room by one facet then another. A plethora of minerals cover the walls in a disgustingly colorful stucco. From limestone to tanzanite, to rubies, to diamonds, Hugo's room is wallpapered with a random mosaic composed of every type of stone to have ever been known. Clashing colors vie for his attention. The diamonds, embedded shallowest, shimmer with their typical wild fire in the faintly colored light.

  Hugo sits up and looks around. The walls, though colorful, keep secrets well, he can see no way in or out, not even a window. Neither the ceiling nor floor hold any clues of escape either. He can not even make out from whence the light came. Perhaps it shines through the diamonds themselves? Hugo wants terribly to pick some gems off the walls and bring them with him for analysis, but he knows that anyone who could afford such absurd opalescent opulence would not appreciate being deprived of it. He was imprisoned wasn't he? What other explanation could there be for the featureless jewel encrusted room? Hugo doesn't know what to do except wonder which alien species or foreign nation took him hostage. He had heard that the Chinese were conducting a similar mission, be he does not believe that they could have launched it yet. They simply can't have obtained the materials so quickly, could they? Where's Benjamin? That's another thing I need to know. Ugh. At this point, Hugo had more questions than the mosaic walls had jewels. This is bad. A loud, prolonged snore betrays Benjamin's resting place, behind one of the beautiful gem walls. Hugo hops off of his slate, strides to the wall, and presses his eye against one of the larger, clearer jewels. There, beyond the wall, he sees a distorted catatonic lump. Hugo knocks on the gems, a meditative tone
suppresses Benjamin's snores momentarily then subsides.

  Hugo traces the perimeter of the room with his feet, searching for a way out, any sort of fault. Only when he gets close does Hugo see the thin slot between the walls. So many fragmented gems make such a loathsome mosaic, though it does hide all features quite well. Hugo creeps into the adjacent chamber, it looks much like his own, but with more topaz fragments. His eyes dart from one wall to another, seeking more hidden attributes, and seeking the catatonic lump. Alas, he finds no features, but for Benjamin's broad back. Hugo smirks. He trained Benjamin well, physically at least, that much is clear. He'd made Benjamin what he was now, and even if his puppy dog eyes had lured them down there, it was Benjamin's training which would keep them both alive.

  Hugo doesn't get a chance to rouse Benjamin, as he walks over and reaches to prod him a large section of wall falls away with a tinkling crash, revealing an orange corridor behind it. A strange creature emerges from the newly formed gap in the wall. She is no human, but she is more beautiful than any human could ever be. Her eyes are a deep royal purple, they clash with long ginger hair in a manner so enchanting that even Ulysses would not have been able to resist her charms. Looking closer, Hugo sees that she has no pupils, the entirety of her eye is purple. How can she see? He wonders.