Revolution in the Underground

by Michaels, S. J.

  “You have what we call Stage IV schizophrenia,” Daryl said, stroking his chin. “It’s the most severe type. I am your doctor.”

  “Schizophrenia… That’s what they said Kara had,” Ember muttered, strangely incapable of filtering his thoughts from his spoken words.

  “Right… About that…” Daryl said, once again positioning his face before Ember’s. “You should know that you also have a rare condition that gives your dreams a continuity. These figures… these characters… Kara and Maggie… they’re not real. They never were. They are figments of your imagination—byproducts of your disease.”

  “You’re wrong,” Ember said, trying as hard as he could to shake his head against the restraining straps.

  “I wish I were... Think how I feel, Ember. This isn’t easy on me either. I’m the one who has to tell you, week after week, that all you have ever known was a lie. Every week, Ember! We go through this every week!”

  Ember closed his eyes and chuckled feverishly. “Is that the best you got?”

  “I’m the only friend you have left, but I must admit that you are wearing thin with even me. You show no sign of improvement and are a complete drain on resources! You show no desire to return to reality.”

  “Reality. Reality?! What do you know about reality!” Ember exclaimed with a sudden philosophical righteousness. “I suppose you believe that your ‘Eternal Leader’ is reality? I suppose you believe that the Underground is all there is? That that is truth?!”

  “If it weren’t for the Eternal Leader, you would have been dead a long time ago. It is thanks to him that you have life, and it is thanks to him that we have what we have. You will come to know that in time.”

  “It’s not going to work with me,” Ember declared, opening his eyes to challenge Daryl’s stare. “I have a stronger constitution than that. I have seen too much. I have heard too much. I have felt too much. You won’t convince me of your falsehoods.”

  “And your senses can be trusted? Do not the senses mislead on occasion? Is it not possible that the random orchestrations of your dreams—the workings of your over-imaginative mind—could have led to such visions of grandeur? Can you say, with upmost certainty that your senses are truth?”

  “It is a judgment call. It is my axis for which I need no justification,” Ember conceded.

  “Observe,” Daryl instructed, pushing another button. Ember’s arm twitched forward, his legs bent inward at their knees, and his abdominal muscles contracted. “Your senses tell you that you are moving, do they not? But it is not you who is controlling it.”

  Ember tried unsuccessfully to resist the twitching and contractions. He panted desperately, and then closed his eyes and gulped. Regaining composure, he argued, “But I am moving, and therefore my senses have not deceived.”

  Daryl smiled smugly. “What do you think now?” he asked, pushing another button, which loosened Ember’s head restraints. Ember pushed up against the loosened straps and peered down at his motionless body. The feeling of motion, the limited struggle against the shackles, the acceleration, the jerkiness, the sounds of metal clashing, remained even though he saw plainly that it could not be happening.

  “How… How are you doing this?” Ember stammered.

  “How I’m doing it is not important. What is important is that I am doing it—that your senses can not be trusted. Can’t you see Ember, it’s all a complicated illusion. If I can control you—your perceptions, your movements—then what does that say about your identity.”

  “But you don’t control me. You may control this body and the way my brain perceives the senses, but you won’t ever change who I am.”

  “What are you if not for your body and your brain?”

  “My mind… my beliefs… You can’t ever take that away from me.”

  “Oh Ember, you are suffering… The Eternal Leader can make it all better. He can take away all of your misery.”

  “Would you stop it with this ‘Eternal Leader’ garbage?!”

  “I know it’s tough Ember. No one likes to hear that their entire world has been fake.”

  “My world is not fake! I know what is real and what is not. Kara and Maggie are both real!”

  “And what evidence do you have of that?!” Daryl shouted back with matching animosity.

  Ember’s brow angled violently as he scanned his mind for a shred of defendable evidence before finally arguing, “Talk to others… they will vouch for our existence.”

  “And what if they can’t?”

  “Then the memories of us will be latent within them—forever invisibly influencing their actions… their perceptions… to perhaps even the most subtlest of degrees… but there… present… an incalculable and perhaps hardly perceptible, but nonetheless inexpugnable verification of our existence.”

  “And if we remove them? If we could annihilate all the memories?”

  “Then it is the inanimate objects that would be our salvation. They bear witness to our existence. Go back and observe the soil we walked upon—you will see our footsteps. Look along the branches upon which we sat—you will see the microscopic abrasions that we caused.”

  “And what if, Ember, we took that all away. What if we expunged this Earth of all signs of your existence?”

  “You can’t!”

  “But what if we did? What then?”

  “It is not possible to remove our mark from the universe because then you would need to somehow be greater than the universe itself. Being a sub-element of the whole, that is analytically impossible.”

  “Hypothetically Ember… What if we could?”

  “There is… somewhere… a greater reality—a transcendent truth… and no matter how hard you try, you cannot take that away.”

  “And if… for some reason, your story were to be deleted in the transcendental realm?”

  “What I am… My story… cannot be taken away. From the moment I came into existence, I was inextricably linked to the rest of the universe and the whole of creation.”

  “And you are a character within your story!”

  “I am my story and you are your’s. Why can’t you understand that?!”

  “I’m just trying to show you Ember, how identity is subjective. How your existence is subjective.”

  “And you think by arguing this, that you will convince me that my perceptions were fabrications? The philosophy you raise runs counter to your aims. Your little games may work on other people, but it won’t work on me,” Ember challenged, staring back at Daryl with intent eyes.

  Daryl frowned. He pushed a button, zapping Ember lengthwise along his spine, but between Ember’s screams and paroxysms was an indomitable smile. It was the smile of one who was confident in one’s own world view—it was the smile of one who believed that current actions demonstrated and proved one’s point. Naturally, Daryl shocked him until the smile faded.

  “You need to be internally consistent, Ember. What if you’re not real? What if none if this happened? Still you believe that your sister existed because she is within your mind? What about the Eternal leader? If you can believe that he created you—that he created this world—if it is in your mind then it must also be true. You can’t just pick and choose. Either the things in your mind are reality or they’re not. If you reject the eternal leader you must necessarily reject the existence of your sister.”

  Ember gasped for air as his body reeled from the aftershock. “But I don’t believe in the ‘Eternal Leader.’ I don’t believe in your falsehoods!”

  “You will!”

  “Kara and my sister are real!”

  “You can’t just pick and choose, Ember!” Daryl screamed, shocking him again. “If you are prepared to accept the reality of Kara and Maggie regardless of the external, then you must be prepared to accept the Eternal Leader into your heart.”

  “But I don’t believe in him! Kara and my sister operate on my plane of existence—one that is superior to your imaginings. They exist within and without me—internally and tra
nscendentally beyond the realms of your control. You are trying to introduce and internalize something external. But it is not my own and it is not the truth of our plane. It is not for you to do. It doesn’t work like that!”

  “Ember, Ember, Ember…” Daryl said slowly, resuming his methodical pace. “You think that if you fight hard enough—that if you talk eloquently enough, that goodness will prevail… Well, I got news for you Ember… there is no goodness… there is no evil… and there certainly are no heroes. You will die like all the rest. You will be forgotten… and there is nothing you can do about it. No amount of philosophizing will save you from that fate.”

  “Why are you doing this, Daryl? What do you hope to gain?”

  “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, Ember…” Daryl said, ignoring his questions. “I’m going to erase your memory of either Kara or Maggie, but I’m going to let you choose which? How does that sound? I’m going to stick this electrode through your eyes and into your brain,” he said, menacingly waving a small glass pipet in his left hand, “and I’m going to take all of the memories!”

  “What happened to you! You were a revolutionary, were you not?! You know the cause, do you not believe in their ideals?!” Ember shouted in uncontrollable panic.

  “And what ideals may that be?”

  “Freedom! The ability to express oneself!” he exclaimed, trying to buy himself time. “The ability to move about as one pleases! The ability to believe as one wants! The ability to choose! Don’t you want that?”

  “I think, Ember, the question is, whether or not you want that. These choices, they are the source of your misery. These memories, they give you hope and ambition but they are also the source of loss and pain.”

  “The commoners… the ones you oppress… they are not happy! How can you do this to your people!”

  “The people. The people? The people?! Forget about them! They are what we say they are! They will feel the way we want them to feel. They will be, by our definitions!” Daryl exclaimed, his face turning wildly sadistic.

  “But why? We are going to liberate this Underground! It’s coming Daryl. You cannot fight this forever. And when that day comes, you will be exposed for the evil that you are!”

  “If you noticed, Ember, I never asked you about your little plant—your little code. I don’t care about that! All I care about is you… convincing you—making you believe how wrong you were. I have done it before Ember, don’t think that I haven’t. But you… I will take special pleasure in turning you… I will relish in your transformation… Now pick!”

  “Stop it! It doesn’t need to be this way! You can be free! Everyone can be free!”

  “Kara or Maggie?!”

  “Go away, just leave me alone! What did I do to you?!” Ember screamed violently.

  “Pick one!” Daryl instructed, shocking Ember along his arms and legs, just enough to debilitate his body without completely incapacitating him or hindering his ability to speak. “I’m going to delete her from existence!”

  “I’ll say it… I’ll say that I love the Eternal Leader, just don’t take my memories! Don’t harm them!” Ember shouted, foam returning to his mouth as he shook viciously against the shackles.

  “That’s not enough! You have to pick one!” Daryl said, sadistically shocking him again. “Pick one or I’ll destroy both! Pick one! Pick one!” he said with a cruel laugh as he waved the electrode.

  “I choose Maggie! I choose her! Okay?! I choose her! I choose her! I want to keep my memories of her! Are you happy?! I choose my sister! I want to keep the memories of my sister! Are you happy?! You bastard! I’ll kill you! I will kill you! I choose her!”

  “Good,” Daryl said with a laugh as he waved the electrode near Ember’s eyes. “Now tell me that you want me to remove all of your memories of Kara. Tell me that you want me delete her from all existence!”

  “You bastard! Die! Die! Die! You won’t get away with this! After the Underground is liberated… we will kill you! You will see then!”

  “Say it, or I’ll erase both!”

  “You don’t need to do this! Please! I love the Eternal Leader. Come on, please!” Ember begged, tears dripping from his chin.

  “I’ll give you one last chance. Say it or I’ll erase both!” Daryl said, once more dangling the electrode suggestively.

  “Fine! Remove my memories of Kara! Delete her! Just leave my sister! Is that what you wanted to hear?! You monster! Is that it?! You want me to say that I love my sister more?! You want me to say it?! I love my sister more! You monster. I hope you die! You monster!!” Ember felt his whole world crashing down before him. All his beliefs, all his hopes and ambitions, suddenly fell by the wayside. He no longer had a desire to live. He hated Daryl but he hated himself more.

  Daryl used his left hand to force open Ember’s eyelids, and his right hand to hold the electrode, but just as he prepared to plunge it through Ember’s eye, there was a light knock at the door.

  “Orders from General Ciro: release patient 8373b. Any and all treatments are to be stopped immediately. Report to the bridge at eighteen hundred hours. That is all.”

  Ember’s memories of Kara and Maggie were safe. Though he had been spared the mental erasure, Ember felt that it his deliverance had come about thirty seconds too late. The real damage had been done. Ember hung his head in shame, whimpering silently to himself as Daryl left the room.

  Chapter 25: Powerlessness and Introspection

  Maggie stood bewilderedly before the jarring crowd, heart beating, mind racing. The impalpable but ever-present knot-in-the-throat choked her every breath. She closed her eyes, trying to recall everything in her life that that had led to this moment.

  The mornings, the nights. The smiles, the frowns. The laughs, the tears. The consequent rise, and the subsequent fall. The ignorance, the knowledge. The rumors, the truth. The power, the powerlessness. The leisure, the urgency. The struggle, the submission. The fight—the passion, the indomitable obsession, the inevitable compliance. The smallest nuances of the smallest jokes, the littlest details of the littlest relationships. Innocuous, trivial—yet somehow inexpressibly and profoundly significant . Each word, each action, instrumental in bringing about this inescapable fate.

  How unfair life is, she thought to herself as she was forced to center-stage. One can have countless victories, yet one defeat can mar it all. There are no heroes. I am no hero. Oh, for it to end like this! Why must it end this way?! Can I not have dignity even now? Oh, how a single defeat can ruin it all.

  Maggie opened her eyes, only to re-discover the hate in everyone else’s. The sheer and unadulterated odium. And at what? Of what? For what?! She did not know such an iniquity existed within mankind. But this wasn’t mankind, this was a mob, amongst which existed no individual thought or sentiment. I cannot be taken in by them. I shall not and will not reciprocate their hate. These are not people, therefore they cannot be hated. They have lost their humanity a long time ago. They do not know why they act. They do not know better.

  But it wasn’t hating the throng that troubled Maggie the most, it was hating herself. After each jeer, and each contemptuous mock, she felt her identity slip away. She felt herself becoming less and less a human being, and more and more an object of ridicule, a paragon of evil, the singular representation of all that ever was and ever will be wrong with the universe, and soon she even conceived the notion that her very death was a necessary sacrifice. She was at once, two: a jeering participant in the multitude, and the prime prototype of evil incarnate. A tear rolled under her closed eyelids as she thought how much better the universe would be without her there. If only I never have existed at all, she began to think.

  The master of ceremony walked before her, speaking provocatively to the already-provoked crowd. Each word, each gesticulation adding to the uncontainable uproar. One of the more enraged audience members took it upon herself to throw rotten fruit at Maggie, but even in her singular outburst, she was not alone. She was no more an individual
than a leaf upon a tree—a merely convenient hand for the rest of the whole.

  Maggie stood behind the master of ceremony as he read off a list of grievances and leveled ever increasing and ever more fabricated accusations upon her. She crossed her legs, and hung her head in shame, accepting each allegation with a nod, as she had been instructed. And as the speaker droned on, Maggie began to believe him—not that she was actually guilty of the charges, but rather that she could be made, in effect, guilty of the charges by virtue of mass perception.

  She thought about how she might appear to a distant observer. She thought how her voluntary march would be perceived by the masses. How her death, even in memory, would be tainted. To voluntarily accept—to beg for my own execution? To apologize for my very existence and plead for my demise? To make them believe—to make them all believe. To convince them, and myself? Such a death is one hundred deaths. And I am to believe they are to spare my brother? And what evidence do I have? Oh, but to spare him this fate, even if only in part—if only in probability! If only there existed a better universe where things that could go right did go right! Life is but a cruel joke. There are no heroes.

  As she climbed the steps, she considered once more the injustice of it all. Luna, Styles, where are you now? How unfair that I must die now when you are so close—forbidden to see the liberation. And Ember, how you may perhaps still live. How you may, perhaps, live more… But oh, how you will be haunted by my memory… How you may never understand for what I died or even how I died… How posterity will continue long after my death, and oh, how I might one day be completely forgotten—no more a blip on this universe than a pile of dirt. And yet… is it possible, to find some sort of moral victory even now?

  “Do you have any final words?” the master of ceremonies asked Maggie, but facing the crowd, as the executioner slid the noose around her neck. She gulped as she felt the rough fibers of the rope against her skin.

  “I apologize for existing. I see now that the Eternal Leader only wanted to help me.”