Onliest

by J Daniel Batt

  Let them come back for me! Let them find me! “I’m here! Give me Blip back!” Syn paced ahead, racing past door after door—from the quiet domiciles to shattered storefronts. She ran, crying out after him, “Blip!” She came to a wider area where the sky opened up before her, and she could see slivers of the few working sunstrips between gaps in the low black clouds moving ahead. She blinked and shouted again, “Blip!”

  Nothing in return.

  “Blip!” once more, and then again, and then again. Over and over, turning around, to aim her shouts in every possible direction. All that came back was a faint echo of her own shouts, from far away.

  She continued to run until she began to gasp for air and found her shouts had gone hoarse. As her voice strained, she began to cough again. The air was thick here. Absent was the scent of grass and trees and animals. Instead, there was the smell of dust and a hint of death. She had smelled this before, far below, under the body farms, where the sewers ran. She had explored down there once, out of pure curiosity. The air was thick with damp and mildew, a putrid scent that felt nearly solid.

  She coughed and gagged. She began to vomit—traces of last night’s scavenged meal and apples and the one orange from lunch came rolling back up and splashed onto the ground in front of her, across her legs and feet. She buckled and dropped to her knees as the sting of citrus burned her throat and her nose. She gagged and more vomit came up. She could no longer see through the tears and the beading sweat dripping salt into her eyes, lighting them on fire.

  She managed a weak, throaty, coughing “Blip.” But only her own ears could hear it.

  As the vomiting stopped, she was gripped by several waves of chills that planted her back on her butt. Her lips allowed a thin “Blip” to escape again, but she wasn’t sure after having spoken if she had said the words or just thought she did. It doesn’t matter, the thought came, he wouldn’t hear either, and it would do no good.

  I am in the Dark Disc, and I am alone. She suddenly felt quite small. Her mind framed her inside the behemoth that was Olorun and then that ship within the vast emptiness between Sol and Kapteyn’s Star. She felt even smaller here, in a world that she was once queen of. She felt the size of an ant.

  She wiped her hands across her eyes, pulling the blood, sweat, and tears from them, and noticing the spray on her arm, wiped the excess vomit that had splashed across her. She stared down at her bare feet and her thin, naked legs. Blood and the remains of her stomach coated them in fantastic patterns.

  Her eyes had adjusted to the limited light, and she glanced around, fearful that there would be some terrible beast hiding in the darkness just waiting for her to have a sudden realization of its presence and then use that moment to snatch her. If this had been a film, that’s what would’ve happened. If this was a horror movie, that’s exactly what would’ve occurred.

  But there was no beast. No Cerberus the three-headed dog waiting in the emptiness. That beast from mythology was the image she had painted on the reality around her. Why that creature now? There were far scarier monsters that had made her jump in the theater. But no, it was Cerberus that she was certain to find. Three heads.

  There had been three figures that had taken Blip. They had come so fast, so unexpected, each of them upon Blip and her in a flash—she couldn’t parse it out. Their numbers were a blur. But now, in reflection, she had counted three different figures. Six arms. Six hands. Then one had stayed behind to scan the daycare room and ensure he was alone. The three-headed monster from the darkness had attacked, and she was useless to defend herself or Blip.

  But how had they snagged Blip? He was stronger than that. At the least, she thought, he should’ve been able to blast himself away from the kidnappers. Even if it was Cerberus himself that snagged him, Blip was surely strong enough to yank himself away. She had seen him push huge tractors when needed. The little robot was powerful. So what had they done with him?

  Or had he gone on his own?

  “No,” she answered that thought and stood up to prove her defiance against the lie. She walked through the crimson-illuminated cloud, aimless and oblivious to her surroundings. Then, at once, she realized the walls were not so close—she had moved beyond the open-aired pathway of Settlement J.

  She was in an open courtyard. Surrounding her were various risers and tables. In the center of the clearing were a ring of marble columns etched as if they had been pulled from ancient Rome itself. She remembered the film Ben-Hur and saw the similarities between this place and that film. She was in some amphitheater. A Senate session. An auditorium—before her were the levels of seats, all stone benches, up and up and up across a near-countless series of rings. She turned around and saw the corridor from where she had come. Far down the hall, she saw the flickering lights of the stalled Jacob lift. How far had she run? A few hundred meters or more? A kilometer or more? Possibly, she thought. She was fast, and she had lost track of time in her search. Maybe a few kilometers.

  Her disorientation rattled her bones. There were amphitheaters on her Disc, but she didn’t remember one on this side of the settlements. So, perhaps the two Discs weren’t twins. Or even mirror images? This was a new world. Her legs went wobbly at the enormity of her displacement, and she gasped, “Blip.” She felt foolish again for uttering it. He was gone, far gone, and her words would do nothing but alert someone to where she was. But his name was something she could grab ahold of in this strange world. She took a deep breath and mouthed his name again, keeping the words silent.

  The oddest sensation was that her only connection to this place was from a film and not from its parallel in her Disc. Everything, until now, had felt like a mirror image. But this was unusual. There was no open-air amphitheater in her Disc. There were a few outside gathering places, but nothing based on Roman architecture and definitely nothing made of stone and marble. What other surprises awaited her? she wondered.

  “Where am I?” she voiced.

  From the side, behind the columns, a gravelly voice said, “You ought to wait before addressing the assembly. Let them assemble first.”

  Syn jumped back, and her foot landed in the puddle of puke. She slipped but righted herself. “Hello?” she said, but the volume was too small to carry. She tried again, “Hello?”

  The voice replied, “Are you addressing me now?” from behind the column a massive shape appeared—a tall shadow. She painted the image of Cerberus in the space again, knowing that was untrue.

  Refusing to be daunted, she replied, “Yes. Who are you?”

  “Are you reserving a speaking opportunity? The representatives won’t arrive until sunset. They dare not meet in daylight.”

  She blinked her eyes. This is day? How much darker can it get? She asked, “Why not?” She had wanted to ask who the voice was, but the other question felt safer.

  “Oh, well, the resistance and all.” The voice coughed and then in a lowered tone, said, “Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that aloud. Are you friend or foe?”

  Syn said, “Friend, I hope. I’m looking for a friend at least. A small companion bot. White shell.”

  “Step into the light please.”

  A small beam of light turned on from atop one of the columns.

  “Why?” Syn asked.

  “You say you’re a friend, but how am I to be certain of that?” The shadow of the voice leaned forward, and a rotten stench filled the air, forcing Syn to gag. She pushed against the compulsion. This was not the time to vomit. “Step into the light,” the voice asked again.

  “Who are you?”

  “The light, please.” The voice was commanding this time.

  Syn hesitated but did just that. If there were others in this auditorium, they’d all be able to see her. She was the target. Nothing was hidden. Her dark hair was a halo around her head. She was dressed in the thin shirt and skirt that she always wore. Around her neck, the dozens of necklaces hung. Drawings covered her arms—strange scribbles, cartoon imagery. She was always marking her skin. And
scars—if the markings were not ink or stains, they were scars. She bore every scrape and bruise proudly, proof of her exploration of the world. Her legs and skirt were splashed with blood and vomit and several more bracelets hung from her wrists and her ankles. She was a collection of a hundred scavenged homes from her Disc. She was the epitome of their art and craft.

  The voice spoke, “Oh, you could be one of them. But I’ve never seen you before. And yet, you have the form of power. But something is different on the inside—in there you look nothing like them.” On that remark, the shadow leaned forward to reveal its full form: a massive green and yellow cylinder formed of several interconnecting rings, stacked one on top of the other. At its head was a black globe that displayed a thin mouth and eyes, much as Blip’s shell revealed his features. But the face signaled one thing to her. It was not a dumb bot. Although that was a surprise as well. She had seen this type before on her side. This was a sewer maintainer. They came up from time-to-time for self-repair and cleaning. They smelled, but more of stale air and water, not the pungent, decrepit smell wafting off of this one. They were certainly dumb bots. No personality, no motivation besides its duty. She and Blip had steered clear of them because of their single-mindedness. They removed build-up and gunk and garbage and forced the sewers to move freely. They were mammoth in size, resembling massive worms. Their appearance from the lower levels was always announced by the grinding of their carapace.

  “Who are you?” Syn asked. She was talking to a sewer-bot. There was a first for everything.

  The giant yellow bot bent its shiny black head down. Its eyes still stayed narrowed. It spoke, “I’m the Barlgharel.” The name had come out like someone speaking gibberish.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The Barlgharel.” The second uttering didn’t help her understanding of it any more than the first.

  “I’m Syn,” she said. “Where are we? Did you see my friend?” The Barlgharel had to have seen Blip and the three captors. There was nowhere else for them to have run.

  It shook its head. “No. I saw you. And that is all I saw. I stand watch, though. That’s my function.”

  “For what?”

  “For spies. For enemies. For eyes.”

  “But you didn’t see the three who just ran through here?”

  “You’re the only one who has ran through here. I’ve been here for a day, and you are the first.”

  Maybe they had ducked somewhere else. Maybe there was somewhere else to turn off a bit before this. She turned and looked down the corridor. It seemed like a straight shot. She couldn’t imagine where else they would’ve gone.

  “Fine,” she said, shaking her head. “Why are you watching?” She wanted to find Blip, but she was also enjoying finding a friendly face, even if the face wasn’t friendly.

  “We assemble tonight. All of the insurg—” It leaned closer. “You seem quite familiar. Can I trust you? Or are you a liar?”

  Syn held her hands up, palms out, in a placating gesture. “Friend. I’m safe. I’m not lying.”

  “Where do you come from? From the Desert of Nod?”

  So there was a desert here. A desert and a jungle? No, she thought, she shouldn’t keep expecting parallels. Nothing good would come from that. This Disc was altogether new.

  The Barlgharel leaned in. “Or perhaps from the conclave below? Do you know of the dirt-diggers? The hiders in muck? No? What of those between the corn rows? Those who have fled to the fields?” The image on its shiny black head changed. There was no longer the familiar face. There was only a single eye in the center. It moved its dark eye a short distance from her. “Or from Zondon Almighty?”

  It stayed there, staring, daring her to speak for what seemed to be forever. Finally, she croaked, “I’m not from any of those places.”

  “Then where? Are you a phant? No. Too tiny to be one of those beasts. And you’re not a bot.”

  Syn’s mind raced. She didn’t want to reveal where she had come from. If others were trying to get to her side of Olorun, then the knowledge that she came from there would only enflame that goal. No. She couldn’t share that. She glanced up, toward the fast-moving clouds. A sliver of space opened, and she saw the few lit sunstrips peer through. “I’m from the sun. The top of the Jacob.” She pointed up.

  The eye of the Barlgharel looked straight up. If she was going to run away, this would be the time to do it. It lifted itself up, piling each of its circular segments on top of each other until it stood nearly as tall as one of the columns itself. Oh, she thought, that was why it chose here to hide. It could pretend to be a column, and in the darkness, who would notice? I should run, she thought. Now. But she didn’t. Something locked her there. The Barlgharel was strange, but she wasn’t convinced it was malevolent. It was dangerous, she was certain.

  It dropped its eye again. “I don’t believe you.”

  She smiled. “No really.” She turned to look down the corridor. “I came down in a Jacob. From up there,” she pointed again, “I was just up there.”

  The Barlgharel leaned close again, and the stench of the sewer—decomposed organic scents, pungent and thick, overlaid with a tinge of acrid chemicals—filled her nostrils. Don’t cough. Don’t gag.

  It spoke each word slowly, “You’re not lying, are you?”

  Syn shook her head. “No.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I told you. I’m looking for my friend. Three people stole him from—”

  “I have a friend. I think she’s up there too.” The Barlgharel pulled back. “Three you say? You should’ve said that earlier. Three, eh? You’ve run afoul of the Wey Wards. All three, huh? That’s some bad luck you have right there. If you’d said that earlier, I would’ve known you were on our side.”

  “I did say that…” Syn trailed off.

  The Barlgharel was moving away from her, moving in and out of the columns, circling the entire center build. “Well, they’re not here now. Not that they ever stay in one place. Three, eh?” It finished its course and moved behind her, “You know there were more of them once?”

  “I don’t know them.”

  “Then why are you chasing them?”

  “They took my friend.”

  “They’re bad people to chase. There were more of them, but they killed the others. The Wey Wards and the Crimson Queen should be avoided. Why don’t you stop chasing them and go back to the Sun? That’s the smart choice.”

  From the darkness, a small high-pitched voice chirped, “That’s what I’d do.”

  Syn spun, dropping into a defensive crouch. On instinct, her hand reached to grip her spear but found nothing. Need a weapon, she thought. And soon.

  “Ralph!” the Barlgharel exclaimed and slithered over to the voice.

  19

  The Barlgharel

  “Everything has its wonders, even darkness and silence . . .”

  —Helen Keller

  In the shadows, a series of red lights moved and the Barlgharel returned, followed by a simple cleaning bot that looked a lot like her Bob. Small and determined. But Bob was a dumb bot as well. Not good for anything but cleaning. And not someone designed to give advice.

  The cleaning bot named Ralph said, “Stay here. Go home. But don’t follow the Wey Wards. Bad, bad mojo follows them. You follow them, and bad mojo follows you.” The voice was comical as if ripped from some cartoon. She stifled a giggle.

  Ralph looked up at the Barlgharel. “So why’d you summon this one? She have any magical powers?”

  The Barlgharel shook its head. “Don’t know. Haven’t asked. She came from the sun though. Maybe.” It looked at her. “You got any magic in those bones? Any power?”

  “Like a magic trick?” She had practiced card tricks and vanishing coins after watching some film about a magician and a murder mystery. She had been bad at it. Magic was never her strong point.

  “No. Like vanishing. Like summoning demons. Like levitating things. Like reading minds. Like magic,” the Barlgharel s
aid.

  Beside it, Ralph chimed in, “Magic, red face. Like explosions and lightning and flying through the air and making it rain and turning your foes into frogs.”

  Syn laughed. “You’re bots. There’s no such thing as magic.”

  Ralph jumped forward, it’s red eyes narrow. “I’m a what?”

  “You’re a bot. You’re a—”

  “Watch your mouth missy. My name is Ralph, and I’m proud of it. Ain’t been called anything else since I was born. This here is the Barlgharel. And when the rest of our friends show up, how about you not embarrass us with your strange talk and bad insults. So you can’t do magic. So you ain’t some powerful wizard. No reason to be rude about it.”

  “I was just—” Syn started.

  The Barlgharel said, “It’s fine. She’s new here. Maybe they do things different on the sun. Tell you what, little Syn, you stay quiet unless we ask you a question.”

  Ralph chortled, “That sounds very smart. Way smart. Shut your mouth. Keep it shut. We’ll let you know when it’s okay for you to blab.”

  Syn stamped her foot on the ground. “Now you hear me. I don’t know who you are but I’m not going to…”

  The Barlgharel leaned in. “Quiet. The others are here.” She hadn’t heard anyone come in nor had she seen anyone, but when she looked around, the first row of the amphitheater was filled with all manner of dumb bots, except each one had a digital face on its front panel. No simple input/output controls. These were all thinking bots. All of these were intelligent. Self-aware. But how? She couldn’t grasp how this was possible. Dumb bots were dumb bots. Simple.

  From the center, a baritone voice rumbled. It issued from a corpse-bot—one of the multi-limbed bots, resembling metallic cephalopods, that she had programmed to carry the dead to the body farms far in the Underworld. “Are we ready, senators? Are all of the Houses represented?”