Genuflect

by Tracy R Twyman

  Now,saidthevoiceinmyhead ,followthetrailofblood.

  What? Ithought.ButIlookeddown,andsureenough,therewasatrailofdark brownspotsonthewhitecarpet,leadingfromtheelevatordownthehall,then offtotherightatthefork.Ifollowed.AsIrolledalong,segmentsoftheceiling switchedontoilluminatethepathahead,whiletheonesbehindmeshut themselvesoff.

  ThisbroughtmetooneoftheskybridgesthatlinkedtheCoffinHousewiththe mainbuilding,withwallsoftranslucentglass.Lookingout,Inoticedthatthe Cityappearedtobecastinastrangepurplelight,andeverythinglookedvery queer.Icouldn’ttellifthislightwasactuallycomingfromoutside,orwas radiatingfromsomesourceinsidethatIwasn’tabletoperceive,coloringmy viewofwhatwasoutside.Insidetheskybridge,thislightcausedthewhite carpettogleambrightly,whilethebloodtrailnowlookeddarkpurpleinsome places,blackinothers.

  Irolledacrossthebridge,whichwasabouttwentyfeetwide,overtotheother

  building.Thecorridorendedquitestrangely.Itlookedlikeasingleglassdoor untilIgotupwithinfivefeetofit.Then,foramoment,ittookontheappearance ofamirror,causingmetostopquicklytoavoidrunningintoit.WhenIgottwo feetcloser,wherethebloodtrailended,Icouldseethatitwasa transparentglasswallwiththreedifferent“slots”youcouldgothrough,each leadingtoadifferentpartofthetrefoilrampthatranthroughthemainbuilding.

  Accordingtothesignageyoucouldgodownthroughthelefttogettothe

  “RrecyclingCenter,”downthroughtherighttogettothe“RrosenbergPrivy Chamber,”orupthroughthemiddletogettothe“ExecutiveRrestroom.”

  Ilookedbehindmequicklytomakesurenobodywascoming.ThenIclosedmy eyesandattemptedtoclearmymindforasecond.

  WhichwayshouldIgo? Iaskedmyunseeninformant.

  Nowfollowthelight,itsaid.

  Ilookedthrougheachoftheslots.Onlyonehadapaththatwasilluminatedat all:theoneinthemiddle.Icouldseeapathaheadthere,linedwithtwobright yellow‐greenstripes.Whateverwasbehindtheothertwoslotswascompletely dark.Iwentthroughthecenterslotandrolledmywheelchairuptheincline.

  AtfirstIthoughtthattheseglowingyellow‐greenstripswerejustartificial lightingtoilluminatethepath,likethecoloredstripsthatlighttheaislesof movietheaters.ThenIrealizedthatthesewerethetubesthatranthroughoutthe building,whichIhadseenthedaybeforeflowingwithapaleyellowsubstance.

  Itlookedlikeurineyesterday,andIhadassumedthatthesetubeswereemptying intotheVortex.Now,forsomereason,thefluidinsidewasfluorescent.Thearea wasbathedinapurplishlightthatseemedtobecomingfromabove,likewhatI hadseenlightingtheCitywhenIwasontheskybridge.Buthereitwasmore intense.Otherthanthislight,theplacewascompletelydark.

  Blacklight,Ithought. That’swhat’smakingthingsglow.Butwhere’sit coming from?

  Thenitcametome.IrealizedthatIwasatthetopfloorofthemainbuilding, towardsthemiddle.

  ThatmeansI’munderneaththebigsunroof,Ithoughttomyself. And underneath BaronCarrickfergus.

  Ilookedup.Sureenough,therehewas,withthepurplelightcominginfrom behindhim,throughaclearplastictarp( perfectlyclear,likeSaranwrap)that hadbeenplacedoverthebrokenglasspanels.Theexactsourceofthestrange lightwasstillunclearfrommyperspective.Itmadehispale,white,mostly‐nude bodygleambrightly,aswellasacirclewithadotinthemiddle—thealchemical symbolfortheSun,orgold—thathadbeenpaintedoverhisnavelwith somethingthatglowedbrightred.

  TheBaron’smiddlehaddroopeddownquiteabit.Thelegsandneckhadnow beensecuredtotherafterswithblackwire.Theeffectwasthathisbodynow formedacircle,curledbackwardsonitself,justliketheheadlessbodyofPindar hangingfromtheceilingatTempleBar.ButBaronCarrickfergusstillhadhis head,nowalmosttouchinghisfeet,upabovehisdroopingbelly.Hisheadhad beenpositionedsothatitfacedstraightupattheceiling.Thebrightredsun symbolonhisstomachmovedupanddownslightly.Hewasstillalive.

  Furtherproofoflifecamefromtheerectpeniswhichalsohungdownbeneath him,attachedtowhatseemedtobeasortofpenispump,whichitselfwas attachedtoatube,liketheonesIhadseeninserteddirectlyintohisbodyearlier.

  Itwasagainconnectedtoasmall,thinglassvessel,thistimeheldbelowbya dronethathovereddirectlybelowhim.Thepumpwasmovingupanddown, muchlikethepistonsofacow‐milkingmachine.

  ThepurposewaspresentlyascertainedwhentheBaron’sbodybegantoquake.

  Spermshotoutinglobulesthatjustglowedbrightgreen,drippingdownand fillingaboutthreequartersofthebottle.Thenthedronepulledthetubeoutof thebottle,sealeditwithacap,andretractedthepenispump.Itflewdowntothe topfloorwithitscargo,rightpastmyhead.Icouldn’tfigureoutwhythesperm wasthatcolor,orwhyitwasglowingsobrightly,butitallowedmetofollowthe dronewithmyeyesinthedarkness.

  Thedronethentraveledtoadooronmyrightandseemedtoinsertthebottleinto thewall,aboutfivefeetupfromthefloor.Therewasasuckingsound,andthe bottledisappeared.Apparently,itwasapneumatictubesystem.

  Ilookedatthedoornexttoit,whichfromwhatIcouldtellwaspaintedadark

  color.Therewasastrangeplaqueonit,aboutsixinchessquare,appearinghot pinkintheUVlight,andadornedwithcharactersthatglowedneongreen.

  Therewasathree‐be‐threegriddisplayedonit—atic‐tac‐toeboard,withtwo solidcirclesinthemiddlesquare.This,Iknew,wasthealchemicalsymbolfor zinc.

  Inotedtomyselfthatzincisusedmostofteninmakingfluorescentpigments andplastics.

  Insideofeachoftheothersquaresonthegridwereothersigils.Theseincluded twoUranussymbolsliketheoneatthetopofthemessageleftwithPindar’s body.Therewasoneintheupper‐leftcorner,andoneonthebottomright,both withtheirarrowspointingtowardsthebottomright.Inthemiddlesquareonthe rightwasasignforPluto,andinthemiddleleft,asymbolforSaturn.Inthe upperrightandlowerleftsquares,Irecognizedthealchemicalsymbolfor arsenic,andinthetopmiddle,thealchemicalsymbolforplatinum,which consistsofthesymbolsforthesunandmoonsqueezedtogether.Inthebottom middlewasarepresentationofthediamond,witheightfacetsdelineatedonits face.

  Irecalledthevoice’scrypticmessage: MindyourPsandQs.Irealizedthatthe waythearrowswerepointingontheUranussigilmadethemlookliketheletter Q.ThearsenicsignslookedsomewhatliketheletterA.ThePlutosymbols resembledtheletterP.TheSaturninsignialooklikeanH.Therefore,the charactersintherightandleftcolumnsspelledaword.

  ThismustbetheQaphqa,Ithought. Thisisthesecretprivatebathroomfor Rosenberg’sspecialemployees.AndI’llbetIknowwhattheinvisibleinkonthe dooris.

  Suddenly,theblacklightdisappeared,andsodidthecharacters.Icouldsee almostnothing.Butthedronewasstillshiningitsheadlightasitflewawayand descendedintotheshadowydepthsbelow.

  MaybeI’vebeenstillfortoolong,Ithought. MaybeifImovearoundthe digital ceilingwillstrikeuptheblacklightagain.Or any light.ThoughImustadmit I prefertheblacklight.It’seasiertohidein.

  Then,justassuddenly,andagainfornoobviousreason,theblacklightreturned.

  Ilookedup.Iwascertainnowthatitwasstreaminginthroughthesunroof, wherethepurpleglowwasconcentrated.

  Butfromwhat? Ithought. Somethingontopofthebuilding?

  Irolleduptothedoor,pulledmysleeveovermyrighthandforsanitaryreasons, andtriedthehandle.Unsurprisingly,itdidn’topen.

  HowdoIgetin? ,Iaskedmyinvisiblefriend.

  Youhavetopayatoken,saidthevoice.

  WheredoIgetoneofthose? Isaidmentally.
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  Lookinsideyourpocket,saidthevoice.

  Ireacheddownintothepocketsofmyhospitalgown.Indeed,inthepocketon therightsidetherewasasinglecoin,aboutthesizeofaquarterandmadeof glowinggreenglass.impressedwithapictureoneachside.

  Vaselineglass,Ithought. Uranium. ItglowsgreenintheUVlight.

  OnonesidewastheUranussymbol.Ontheothersidewastheimageofaking withabeardonathrone.Ayoungmanwasstandinginfrontofhim,bent forward,asthekingpreparedtoswallowhisheadwholeintohismouth.

  ThenInoticedthatin‐betweenthetwocirclesinthecentersquareoftheplaque onthedoorwasaslot,barelyvisibletome,whichIthoughtmightbebigenough forthecointogothrough.Iinsertedit,andheardaclunk,thenaclick.

  Thedooropened.

  Itwasdarkinside,butheretooitwasilluminatedinblacklight.Icouldtell becausebodyfluidsspritzedallovertheroomgleamedbrightly,butofita yellow-greencolor,likethetubesliningtheramp.Therewerealsostainsthat glowedmorefaintlywithalightblueappearance.Ifiguredthattheyellow‐green stuffwasurine,andthelightbluesubstancewasprobablysemen.Muchofthe latterwasconcentratedaroundoneparticularareaofthewalloppositethedoor, and

  alsoonthefloornearthere.There,aboutwaist‐highonthewall,weretwoLatin wordspaintedwithafluorescentgreenpigment: CUMDEO.

  Ipushedmychairthroughthedoorandrolledintotheblacknesstowardsthe glowingwords.Iheardthedoorshutbehindme.Iturnedaroundandtriedto openitbackup.ButIcouldnot.Iwastrapped.

  Soyoutoldmehowtogetintothisroom,Isaidmentallytomyinformant.

  Nowtellmewhy.Andtellmehowtogetout.

  Allwillberevealedmomentarily,itanswered.

  Ilookedupandsawthattheroomhadaroofthatwasclearglass,facetedinsuch awaythattheblacklightcomingthroughfromabovegaveittheappearanceofa purplerose.Ifeltaroundforalightswitchbutcouldn’tfindone.

  Allartificiallightisautomaticallycontrolledbythedigitalceiling,I remembered. SotheUVlightthat’scomingthroughthesunroofistrickingthe systemintothinkingitsdaylight.Iwonderifit’sdamagingmyeyes.

  Justthen,Iheadfootstepsapproaching.Ipushedmyselfasfarbackintothe

  farthestcornerasIcould.Iheardthepersonstepuptothedoor,andthenaseries ofclicks.Thedooropened.Withonlyblacklightcomingfromabove,Icouldn’t makeoutanything.Butluckilythepersoncouldn’tseemeeither.

  Iheardthepersongrunt.Itsoundedmale–asafebetinaplacelikethis.Thedoor shutbehindhim.Iheadhimunbuckleandunziphispants.Thebuckleclangedas itdroppedtothefloor.ThenIheardtheflickofaplasticcigarettelighter,and sawtheflame.

  Asmyeyesadjustedinthatbriefsecondofadditionallight,Icouldmakeoutthe personinfrontofmelightingacigarette.ItwasDennis.Histeethandthewhites ofhiseyesglowedwhiteintheblacklight.Luckilyhewasstaringstraightahead atthewalloppositethedoor,awayfromme.Hewasstaringatthewords CUM

  DEO.Whenthelighterwaslit,Icouldseethattheywerepaintedinfluorescent greenonasmallcircularmetaldoorinthewall.

  Dennisapproachedthiswall,waddlingwithhispantsaroundhisankles, slouchingbackward.Heheldhisshortandthinbuterectmembercasuallyin frontofhimasheflickeditaround.Thenhetouchedsomethingonthewall,and the

  CUMDEOdoorslidopen,revealingaroundholecushionedwithasoftplastic

  materialresemblingthestuffthatstressballsaremadefrom.Itlookedpinkin theultravioletlight.Dennisgruntedagain,andthewallbegantoemitasoft hum.Hethrewhisheadbackandclosedhiseyes.

  Ashespentthenext68secondsorsobeingsatisfiedbytheautomaticglory hole,Igotachancetolookaroundtheroommore.Itwasn’tatallwhatI imagined.Ithoughtitwouldbelikethedreamexecutivewashroom,with tuxedoedattendantshandingyouwarmtowels.

  Instead,itwasasmall,darkholewithfewfeatures.Asquareplaqueinsideofthe frontdoorwiththesamecolorschemeastheuraniumcoin,featuredthatsame illustrationofthekingswallowingaman’shead,butwithmoredetailinthe background.

  Beneathittherewasapoem:

  WhentheSonenteredtheFather’shouse,

  TheFathertookhimtohisheart,

  Andswallowedhimoutofexcessivejoy,

  Andthatwithhisownmouth.

  ThegreatexertionmakestheFathersweat.

  Ididnotrecognizethisstuffatthetime,butInowknowthatboththepoemand theimagearefromaseventeenth‐centuryalchemicaltextcalled The Bookof LambspringbyNicolasBarnaud.

  Theotheritemsintheroomincludedasmallsink,anautomatichand-dryer,a toilet,andaurinal,onthesamewallasthe CUMDEOflap,nearthecorner.The urinalwasinteresting.Itwaswhite,butold‐fashionedlooking,andofcourseit wascoveredwithbrightyellow‐greenurinestains,especiallyinthebasin.But ononesideofit,glowingblue‐whiteintheUVslikedriedsemen,werewritten thewords“R.Mutt.”Irecognizedthisasthenamethatwaswrittenonartist MarcelDuchamp’s“readymade”statuecalled Fountain,whichwasreally nothingbutaurinalwiththisnamewrittenonit.Itwasactuallythealiasofthe socialitearistocratwhohadgivenDuchamptheideaofdisplayingtheurinalas anartpiece.

  Onthewall,abovetheurinal,paintedinthesamesubstanceas“R.Mutt,”

  werethewords“FountainsofYouth,”alongwithadouble‐headedarrow.

  Onepointedtotheurinalbelow,whiletheotherpointedleftwardatthehole whereDenniswascurrentlythrustinghishipsatthewall,makingposesatit,and callingit“bitch.”Asheejaculatedwithflair,thedeviceinthewallmadea grindingsound.Thentherewasthesoundofsomethingdroppingandclanging againstametalsurface.

  “Apennysaved,apennyearned,”theyoungmansaidtohimselfwithachuckle.

  Heputhishandaroundhisjunkandattemptedtoremovehispenisfromthe wall.Butsomethingwentwrong.

  I’mdoingthisforyou,saidthevoiceinmyhead.

  “WhattheFUCKishappening,”saidDennis.Thealarminhisvoicewasquite real.

  Heseemedtobeunabletopulloutofthegloryhole.

  “Ohfuck.Ohfuck.WhatthefuckamIgoingtodo?”hescreamed,franticnow.I pushedmywheelchairforward.

  “HowdoIgetoutofthisroom?”Iasked,promptedbymyinformant.Theyoung mannearlyjumpedoutofhisskinandscreeched“whoop!”asIstartled him.Luckyforhim,hejumpedforward,andsmackedhisheadintothewall, insteadofjumpingbackwardsandrippinghispenisoff.

  “Howdidyougetinhere?”hesaid.Ididn’treply.

  “Canyouhelpmegetoutofthis?”hesaid,nicernow.

  “Idon’tknow,”Isaid.“ShowmehowtogetoutofthisroomandI’llget someoneelsetohelpyou.”

  “OK,”hesaid.“You’llneedthecointogetout,justlikeyoudotogetin.”

  Hereacheddownunderneaththegloryhole,andthenunderneathanother,

  smallerflapthatwasthere.Fromthis,heextractedaVaselineglasstoken identicaltothefirst.Hehandeditouttome.Iwheeledforwardtograbit.

  “There’saslotrightnexttothedoor,hesaid.Herestedhishandsandforehead onthewallinfrontofhim.

  “Hurryup,”hesaid.“Ican’tstandherelikethismuchlonger.”

  “WhereshouldIgotogethelp?”Iasked.

  “GotoRosenberg’sPrivyChamber,”heanswered.“There’sacrossroadson yourleft.Thesignswillshowyouwhichwaytogo.”

  ‘Acrossroadsonyourleft.’Whatstrangewordstouse,Ithought.

  Getthe‘keytotheouterdoorways,’thevoiceinmyheadsaid.

  Idemandedthisofthelad.HeseemedshockedthatIknewtoaskforthis.

  “Ionlyhavethek
eytoRosenberg’sChamber,”hesaid.“Knockfirstorhe’llkill you.TheOuterDoorwaykeyiswithhim.Butthere’snowayhe’llletyouhave it.”

  “Where’sthekeyyouDOhave,”Idemanded.

  “Inthebackofmypants,”hereplied.

  Great,Ithought. Andyourpantsareonthefloor,whereyoucan’tgetthem becauseyourpenisisstuckinthewall,andIcan’tgetthembecausetheycutoff myfeet.

  Ihadnochoice.Ipositionedthesideofmychairparalleltohisback,andleaned downasfarasIcouldtograbthekeysfromthebackpocketofhisjeans.

  Theleftpocketyieldednothing.AtfirstIcouldn’treachtherightpocket.Iused therightwheelofmychairtonudgethejeansandpushthepocketupabit.Then Imanagedtogetmyfingersin.ThereIfoundasetofelectronickeys.

  “Whichone’sRosenberg’sPrivyChamber?”Iasked.

  “Theonethatsays‘81’,”hereplied,groaningwithdiscomfort.“That’stheroom

  numbertoo.It’snotmarkedotherwise.”

  Withthat,Iturnedmywheelchairaround,pumpedthecoinintotheslotnextto thedoor,andbarreleddownthehallway,lettingthedoorslamshutbehindme.

  Wheelingdowntherampwasmucheasierthanwheelingup,asyoucan imagine.Withinseconds,Iwasbackatthe“crossroads”attheendofthesky bridge,whichIstilldon’tunderstandthenatureof.AsIapproacheditfromthe othersidethistime,itseemedtosuckmeinandsubsumeme.

  ThensuddenlyIwaspresentedwiththethreeslotsagain,leadinginthree directions,butinadifferentordercomparedtowhattheywerebefore.Nowthe PrivyChamberoptionwasinthecenter,andthe“RrecyclingCenter”wasonmy right.OnceagainIheadeddownthemiddle.

  ItfeltlikeIwasonanamusementparkride.Mywheelchairseemedtomove itselfthroughalmostemptyspace.Themostvisiblesightsweretheramps spiralingaheadofmeandaroundme,eachlinedwiththeglowingtubes.