The first thing he noticed was that more refuse was pouring into the room through various chutes in the wall. Similar items were somehow sorted and diverted to different piles on the floor.
The second, more frightening thing he saw was that objects hovered in mid-air.
Silverware, plates, and various pieces of metal floated from the ground up to the ceiling. As he stepped into the room, he was distracted by not only the floating objects, but also that the walls had a different kind of shine to them. They seemed more like skin than anything else.
Before he noticed, his satchel had floated above his head, and the strap wrapped around his arm and neck. It continued to rise, and the strap continued to tighten around him. He grabbed the straps with both hands and pulled, trying to keep the unseen force from not only claiming the bag, but strangling him in the process.
In a jerk, the flap of the satchel opened up, and while a few items spilled down – what little food that he hadn’t eaten from the previous night, the remaining sleeve cloth, a horn filled with gunpowder – other items spilled up. Each individual bullet that he had stashed in his pack quickly rose and stuck to the ceiling, scraping along the surface as if herded by an unseen shepherd. As soon as his knife flew toward the top of the room, the satchel fell lifeless at his side.
Quickly grabbing the objects that fell down, he climbed the piles of soft garbage to intercept the knife from wherever the herd's destination was. He could live without the bullets, though they would most likely cost him more to replace than he was comfortable with, but he had already seen how important his knife had been to him by its absence.
He followed the knife, stepping through mushy refuse mounded up high enough for the ceiling to be only just out of his reach. He pushed floating metal objects out of the way, at times grabbing them expecting to climb them like ladder steps, but none of them held his weight. He recognized that there were no other sharp objects, besides his knife, following the path of the bullet shepherd. Even the forks had dull tips that would barely spear a piece of tender meat.
When he found himself at the corner of the room, he jumped at the knife, not wanting to lose it through the hole in the wall that all of the pieces of metal were falling through.
He was not successful.
Instead, he fell into a pile of pre-chewed paste, bone, and discarded clothing. Watching the knife disappear through the hole, he quickly recovered to his feet. He felt along the flesh-like wall to see if he'd be able continue to follow his possessions, still looking up. He found another handle and swung the entrance to the next room open, disregarding the care that he had taken for all of the previous doors.
When he entered the room, all of the herded metal from the ceiling was laying on yet another river-like conveyor belt that was moving toward the center of the room. He grabbed his knife and ran to scoop up several bullets, but stopped quickly before the objects on the belt passed under a clear liquid – the same liquid that he felt burn his skin in the slaughter room. It was obvious that all of the objects were passing under to be cleaned, though Jonah was sure that if he passed his hand underneath the flowing solution, the flesh on his bones would disintegrate. Even standing a few feet away, his skin sizzled.
Jonah realized that he was getting sloppy with his actions in his haste. He was relieved that, even with the commotion that he had caused in the garbage room and his rush through the door in the fleshy wall, no human eyes had fallen upon him. Though, as in the slaughter room, he couldn't help but feel that at every moment, pieces of machinery had their eyes on him.
His gaze darted around his new surroundings. Throughout the room, items were being sprayed down with liquids. Mechanical arms were sorting similar materials, sometimes ripping objects apart or grinding them up, or simply pushing them aside to be handled further down the process.
He moved toward a pile made up of clothing that looked like the silver garb that Talitha’s family wore. He assumed that all of the underground inhabitants dressed alike.
Jonah sifted through the pile, holding certain pieces close to his body. It took him a quite a while to find an outfit that wasn't too large, and when he slipped into one it still sagged all around him, though it was obviously for someone shorter than he. He wadded up his clothes in the corner. There were no pockets or pouches in the silver fabric, so he reluctantly sat his satchel on top of his own small pile of clothing. He stuffed the pile between two boxy machines, pushing his belongings out of sight.
The cleaning liquid that remained on his new uniform seemed to seep from the fabric into his skin, as if they had been soaked in boiling water, but were at the same time cooler than his body. The stinging sensation lasted only momentarily. He didn’t know what his plans were, but he did know that he’d prefer to blend in if he were seen - and he thought perhaps the liquid would mask some of his odor, so the short burning pain was worth it.
After peering through a window, he slowly opened the door to a bright, metallic hallway. He heard footsteps echoing down the corridor, far enough away that he knew that he’d have plenty of time to make his escape if he were seen. Or – he assumed he’d have plenty of time.
What are you doing? he contended with himself, his thoughts screaming. You should just watch them through windows and cracks.
He didn’t know what compelled him to place himself in possible danger – he had no idea what would happen if he were caught. For all he knew, he wasn’t the first visitor from the surface, so they might be expecting him. And it wouldn't be long before they found him out to be the reason for the illness.
What if they chain you up? Or worse – throw you into one of those animal cages?!
Despite the obvious problems that could arise, he knew that he wouldn’t be satisfied simply observing as if the people that lived here were clouds in the distance, trying to guess what shapes they were taking.
He stepped completely through the door, noting the letters near the handle. Sanitation Center 36. He hadn’t picked up the remaining sleeve cloth in the Waste Duct, so he couldn’t go far – otherwise the strange letters and numbers would start to melt together and he would have no idea how to get back.
Glancing down the hall, he could see large men in the distance, walking busily to and fro. Each was staring and touching at the glass on their arms. He didn’t want to chance it at the moment, but he felt that it would be a possibility to simply walk right by them, and they wouldn’t be distracted from the glass.
He heard a steady pulsating noise – close to the honk of a goose, but so consistent that he didn’t think it was made by a living thing – and walked towards it. He soon ended up in a room with black glass all over the walls. One wall was covered with glowing circles. One circle projected a deep red glow each time the noise pulsed. The noise wasn’t coming directly from the button, but it was obvious that they were in some way tied to each other.
The black glass scrolled letters across the walls in various colors.
Resource Collection: 57%
Ventilation: 84%
Sanitation Systems: 75%
The letters of Water Reservoir: 7% were also blinking in red to the tempo of the noise.
The walls seemed to constantly post various statuses, but they didn’t make any sense to Jonah. The only thing in the large, glowing room that Jonah seemed to find of interest was a sea of still faces on the surface of an opposite wall. He darted his eyes around, prepared to run as if the silent images would notice him. His attention rested on the image of a face beside the name Talitha Coomy.
Underneath Talitha’s unmoving picture were various pieces of information – her heart beat, blood pressure, body temperature, age... Her location was also listed – currently Education Center 35.
The large glass panel was covered with the pictures and numbers. About a third of the images on the panel, who belonged to people whose body temperatures were over a hundred degrees, were glowing yellow. The pictures were organized by Family Units, and Jonah noticed that no one on the wall was
wrinkled – both because most of the faces were fat, and because he could find no one older than sixty years old. A fifty-eight year old woman, alone in her family unit, was glowing with a steady red, though her vital signs were better than those whose were glowing yellow.
Jonah suddenly noticed quick, heavy footsteps behind him.
Turning, he stood face to face with a man in his thirties, who was obviously out of breath.
“What are you doing?” the man demanded.
Jonah’s eyes widened, glancing through the blocked doorway at the distance toward the Sanitation Center entrance. He braced his legs to run.
The man moved out of Jonah’s way, smacking the blinking red circle with the palm of his hand. The pulsating noise immediately ceased.
“Well?” he said, glaring at Jonah. “How long were you going to let that alarm go off? You're going to make us both lose our purpose assignments!”
“Oh,” Jonah replied, releasing the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “I… I didn’t know…”
“That’s the whole reason you’re here, isn't it?” the man interrupted. “You were sent from a different sector because of the sickness to relieve Aile, right?”
Jonah cleared his throat. “Er, yes.”
The man crossed his right hand to his left shoulder, his fingers resting on his pudgy collarbone. “The name’s Rayev.”
Jonah assumed at first that he was simply scratching his shoulder, but the man’s hand rested there long enough for it to seem awkward. Rayev cocked his head expectantly, continuing to hold his position. “You’ve got a name, don’t you?”
Jonah copied the position, placing his hand across his chest. “Jonah,” he responded, hoping that the motion was a greeting, and that he was not simply copying a random movement.
Rayev dropped his hand, as if to confirm the hope. “Well, if you’re going to take Aile’s post, then you’ll need to do a better job of picking up the tasks.”
“Hit the… Hit the… glowing...” Jonah fumbled as he dropped his hand, not knowing what to call the blinking red object.
Rayev squinted. “Uh, yes, hit the Resource Harvest Extension button – but only when the alarm goes off.” Rayev looked at Jonah as if he were covered in chicken feathers.
“Are you from sector 20? You smell absolutely— And you look like you're wearing last week's clothes. I know sector 20 has had some delays recently, but if you knew you were coming here, you should have made sure to wear the current Fashion Committee provision. And probably sanitized yourself. I'm not trying to be insensitive.”
“Sector 20, yes,” Jonah said, clearing his throat again. He looked at his clothing and at those of the man in front of him. To him, except for the fit, they looked identical.
“You’re not somebody from the labor class that they’re just trying to unload on us, are you? Forefathers know we’re already teeming with them here.” As he spoke, he was obviously analyzing the discrepancies on their clothing, with a bit of disdain.
“No, sir.”
“Sir?” Rayev smirked. “I can handle being called Sir… What was your last post? You look young – like you should still be in the Education Center.”
Jonah didn’t think that ‘farmer’ or ‘hunter’ would be the kind of post that would satisfy the man’s inquiry, and started clearing his throat before he even found the answer to speak.
“This is my first post, sir. Just got out of the… Education Center.”
“Figures,” Rayev scoffed, “Of course the Purpose Assignment Committee wouldn’t send one of their good appointees. Wouldn’t waste them on us.”
Rayev turned around to look at the panel of glowing buttons, as if he realized that they hadn’t been receiving the correct amount of attention. “Well, get over here.”
Jonah edged toward the wall, directed by Rayev’s finger pointing at a mass of buttons.
“The most important thing you’ve got to do is just make sure that if any of these buttons go off, you hit them.”
“Go off?” Jonah asked, imagining one of the circles physically falling off the wall.
“You know – if the alarm goes off, like that one that was red before,” Rayev said, pointing to what was now a dull bluish circle. His voice and actions were slowly taking on more of a superior tone, as if each word that exchanged solidified his own confidence – and Jonah’s lack of knowledge.
Jonah nodded his head. “What do they do?”
“Ha,” Rayev chortled. “If I knew that, they’d probably appoint me to be a Technology Maintenance Officer!”
“Then why do you push them, if you don’t know what they do?” Jonah asked curiously.
Rayev’s forehead furrowed a bit, as if the question was unreasonable. He glanced at Jonah.
“Yes, definitely behind the times. Sector 20 must be pretty… different… eh?” he said. “You push them because you’re supposed to push them. People have been sitting in this room since before you were born – since before I was born.”
Even though Rayev was only in his thirties, he made the statement as if he were the oldest and wisest man for miles. “I guarantee you that if you don’t push them, then it won’t be too long before they appoint you to the labor class. Best not to try to cause any trouble, unless that’s the type of thing that you’d prefer.”
Rayev laughed.
Jonah peered closer at the buttons. He hadn’t noticed previously, but there were small images on them. He didn’t recognize what most of them were, but the image on the dark blue button looked like a single drop of liquid.
“How often does the alarm go off?”
“Don’t tell anybody,” Rayev said, lowering his voice a bit, “because this is probably one of the easiest posts in the whole Facility – but a button might go off only once or twice a month! Leaves plenty of time for killing on the digitiles or your—”
Rayev looked down at Jonah’s forearm, for the first time realizing he didn’t have a piece of glass wrapping around it.
“Where’s your wristile?”
Jonah looked down as well, his mind blank. He glanced around the room, not knowing if it was the sort of thing he could simply find lying in the corner. “I—”
“How in the name of the Forefathers could you have forgotten it? That’s not good…” Rayev shook his head. “I’ll see if I can’t get an extra one to you. I don’t have a clue about how you could survive even an hour without it, though! The whole Facility could pass you by! What’s wrong with you, Sector 20?”
Rayev turned toward the door.
“Right now?” Jonah asked, surprised that their conversation was so quickly ended.
“Of course, right now – if I didn’t have my wristile on for even two minutes, I think I’d break into cold sweats! You’re good here, right?” Rayev left the room before Jonah had a chance to respond.
Cold sweats, Jonah thought. He’s already sweating, and it feels like this place is stuck in a perpetual cool Autumn breeze.
Jonah wiped his own brow, realizing he’d been tense the entire time that he had not been alone. He debated simply leaving now, so that Rayev would return to an empty room, but he didn’t feel he was in danger of being discovered in his presence. Rayev seemed quick to fill any sort of silence, answering his own questions.
Since this was the first contact he had made with any of the underground population, he figured he would try to learn as much from him as he could – especially since Rayev seemed to be thrilled at being given the respect that was commonplace on the surface.
CHAPTER FIVE
During the well over three hours that passed before Rayev returned, Jonah spent a good deal of time studying the room as a whole. But most of it was spent studying Talitha's picture, memorizing her green eyes. At one point, when he glanced his fingers across her face, he noticed that a glowing green dot appeared on a nearby wall filled with blue lines. Later, when he watched as her current location moved from Education Center 35 through various numbered hallways until ending at Family Uni
t 37 (C-12), the green dot moved along the wall. The wait seemed like only moments.
Rayev slowly jogged into the room, panting, but calmly sucking on the same glowing blue tube that Talitha’s father was smoking.
“Ran the whole way,” he said proudly, taking Jonah's arm and placing a cold black clasp around his forearm. “I ended up having to get this from the Technology Supply Committee, but they understood the need. Can't have a visitor thinking that we don't have enough to go around!”
Rayev blew smoke in Jonah’s face, and he was surprised to find out it felt more like mist. It smelled sweet.
Jonah quietly said “Thanks,” and eyed the object. Rayev watched him with suspicion for a moment, then impatiently grabbed Jonah’s finger and pushed it against a button near Jonah's elbow after realizing that Jonah wasn't going to do it himself. The object suddenly pulsated with various lights.
The lights stopped with a single sentence remaining on the glass.
Identification chip not found - please retry or power up in diagnostic mode.
Rayev muttered, “That's weird,” and held the button down until the words disappeared, then pushed it once more.
Again, lights danced across the glass, ending with the same sentence.
“That doesn't make any sense at all,” Rayev said, scrunching his eyebrows. “I got this directly from the Technology Supply Committee! They wouldn't have given me one that hasn't been approved by the Central Facility Computer.”
Jonah stared blankly at the object, unaware of what it was supposed to do. “I... I don't know.”
“You know what?” Rayev barely tried to stifle laughter. “I'd bet two assignment shifts that your identification chip didn't get the upgrade we had almost a year ago.” He laughed heartily, spit gathering in the corners of his mouth. “Just when you think that you know how far behind Sector 20 is, something else sneaks up on you.”
The Surface's End Page 7