Pandemonium

by Warren Fahy

  Nell spotted Lenin himself pointing like a setter at the base of the tower.

  “That’s him,” Sasha noted, nodding. “There’s a ton of statues of him, all over the place. My dad melted a lot of them down to make other statues.”

  “How long have you been here, Sasha?”

  “Two months!” groaned the girl, squirming with agony. Nell seemed to have struck a nerve. “But we won’t be here forever.” Sasha sighed with melodramatic worldliness. “Right?”

  “Right.” Nell nodded, smiling. “Where’s your mom?”

  “Dead.” Sasha shrugged. “She died when I was a baby. I get bounced around a lot.”

  “Do you get outside sometimes?”

  “No.” Sasha seemed to have a lot to say but frowned instead. “I hope Papa turns the power on. How do you like his city? It’s haunted, you know.”

  They came to a gate in the western wall with a steel door marked SEKTOP 5. Sasha rolled down the window, confessing to her in a whisper: “I hate the guards! But they hate me, too, so it’s OK.” She reached out an arm and flipped them off. The guards opened the door and dryly waved them through.

  They entered another gigantic natural cave. The void stretched left and right through the rock, nearly as large as the main cavern, in a long oval that sloped north. The floor of the chamber was covered by rows of tall three-tiered benches, some of which were draped with plastic sheets to make pitched greenhouses. Some carried hydroponic plant beds, but the vast majority carried dark rows of huge glass flasks. Only a small portion of these benches was illuminated with grow lights, spreading to the north and south of a large circular clearing where the limo now stopped.

  At the edge of the clearing sat a dilapidated Soviet-era LiAZ bus the size of a Winnebago whose rubber tires were cracked and peeling off its wheels. Nell saw that it was illuminated and occupied. The derelict bus had apparently been retrofitted into some kind of field lab.

  As she climbed out of the white limo with Sasha, Nell observed an enormous lighting fixture hanging from the ceiling. Four hundred feet above them, it gleamed like a crystalline structure, an aurora borealis shifting inside the dense lattice of beams.

  A friendly-looking man in a lab coat that stretched over his potbelly greeted them now as he stepped out of the big Soviet bus. “Sasha and Ivan!” he called. He gave an awkward wave as he stooped to greet the excited Samoyed that nearly knocked him over.

  “Papa wants you to show Nell your garden, Dennis,” Sasha said. “She’s a botanist!”

  “Yes! Thank you, Sasha. I’ve been expecting you, Doctor. Welcome.” He wiped his dog-licked hand on his coat and reached it out to her. “Dennis Appleton. I’m the man in charge of the farm. It’s not a garden, Sasha,” he chided.

  Sasha smirked. “Whatever.”

  Nell clasped his damp hand, smiling. “Nice to meet you. I’m Nell Duckworth—um, Binswanger,” she corrected herself. “Sorry—just got married. Old habit.”

  “Will you keep both names?”

  “Well…” She shrugged. “We’re thinking about it.”

  Dennis nodded. “Changing names is a conundrum I’m glad men don’t usually have to face.” He shook her hand graciously. “But a rose is a rose.”

  “Thank you,” Nell said.

  “You’re welcome. I am Pobedograd’s agricultural engineer. I graduated from the University of Nebraska and was born in Iowa, believe it or not. I never thought I’d end up here.” Dennis Appleton laughed good-naturedly. “It’s nice to have some company from home. Well, it’s not much of a farm right now, I must admit. We’re waiting for the power to be turned on.” Dennis pointed a baby-carrot-shaped finger straight up. “When the lights are turned on, we should be able to harvest oxygen and enough food to feed the entire city. Let me show you what we’ve been able to do so far with the limited energy that we have. To the south are all of our greenhouses. We have rows and rows of tomatoes, herbs, greens, onions, shallots, and lots of flowers, which are all quite edible, too, by the way.”

  “I guess this is where my roses came from?” Nell asked.

  “Yes! Maxim insists we grow our own,” Dennis said. “Please, come with me.”

  He led them to the north edge of the broad clearing. Nell, Sasha, and Ivan followed him between two lit rows of plant beds. “Fresh flowers, carrots, tomatoes, onions, potatoes, strawberries, and herbs are already being grown here for the restaurants and guests. The rest of our vegetables are still brought in, but that will change soon.”

  On one side, the plant beds were replaced by glass vats on benches stacked three high. The jars must have held two hundred gallons each and were half-filled with bubbling green liquid like horror-movie lab props.

  “Growing algae?” Nell guessed.

  “Yes. Exactly! It’s a very good source of nutrients and oxygen. All of these jars and growing benches are original to the city. Apparently, they were preparing to cultivate algae here back in the 1950s, which was a pretty advanced notion back then.”

  Dennis smiled, and Nell noticed that his teeth looked like white corn kernels. His pale turnip-colored face was crowned by corn silk–blond hair around a pale melonlike bald spot. Nell giggled involuntarily, unable to shake Sasha’s characterization of him as the “Veggie-Man.”

  “We’re also growing areca palms, reed palms, English ivy, peace lilies, various ferns, and weeping figs,” he said.

  “Why those species?” Nell wondered.

  “They’re low light and have high rates of photosynthesis. And they’re all good air purifiers that counteract off-gassed chemicals in the city’s atmosphere. We will plant them throughout the city when the power comes on.”

  “This sector does seem a little fresher than the others.” Nell breathed appreciatively. “How many scientists have come here?”

  “Well,” Dennis Appleton looked a little reticent. “I have a small crew of horticulturists. But you and the others are some of the first outside scientists Maxim has invited. The rest of us had to agree to live here for the rest of our lives just for the chance to work here.”

  “No! You’re kidding?” Nell said.

  “No, no, I’m not kidding, sort of,” Dennis said, blushing like a russet potato. “We have a good deal here, actually. When they finally get the power on, it will be much better. You guys weren’t brought in with the same security agreements the rest of us had to sign off on, were you?”

  “I don’t think so,” Nell said.

  “That’s because Papa needs your help, Nell,” Sasha said. The young girl nodded ominously.

  “We’re just consultants,” Nell confirmed. “Maxim said we could leave in a few weeks, at most. But you are kidding, right?”

  “Oh, of course, I’m exaggerating. He lets us out sometimes.” Dennis chuckled.

  Nell noted a strange intensity in Sasha’s eyes as they reached the end of the illuminated rows. They proceeded past the edge of the light into the darkness. High up on the west wall of the cavern, a multicolored starburst like a cracked windshield stretching hundreds of feet. Its branching fractures glowed colors like a batik scratched in black wax. “Is this chamber next to—?” Nell began.

  “Pandemonium?” Appleton asked. “Yes. At least along the upper half of the western wall. I know what you’re thinking: that there must be a breach.” He pointed a dainty finger at the glowing cracks. “Apparently the hyphae are penetrating through microscopic cracks and fissures in the rocks.”

  “What are hyphae?” Sasha asked.

  “The main part of a fungus’s body,” Nell said, concerned.

  “Oh.”

  “Kind of like the roots and stems,” Appleton said.

  “Whatever.” Sasha shrugged.

  “However, as far as we can tell,” Dennis said, “that wall’s at least eighty feet thick, even at its narrowest point. And no fungus was present here before we brought in a sample from Pandemonium. Speaking of…” Nell saw that the shelves to each side carried beds of glowing fungus: fleshy, lacy rinds like tripe r
idged with mushroom caps glowed in six colors that were separated into squares. “We grew all of this from one sample scooped from Pandemonium,” Dennis said. “It divided itself by color as it spread to each bed.”

  “Rainbowfire,” Nell murmured, delighted to see it up close.

  “That’s a good name, Nell,” Sasha said.

  Dennis nodded. “Very apt.”

  “What does it feed on?” Nell asked.

  “In each bed there is a different kind of organic matter. Each color of fungus seems to colonize a different fertilizer. Either that or different nutrients cause them to change color the way hydrangeas turn blue or pink depending on the pH of the soil.” Dennis shrugged. “We’re not sure.”

  “So why is it growing in the cracks on the wall, then? It must be eating something organic, right?”

  “Yes. We think that a cave-in in Pandemonium may have impacted that wall long ago and caused those fractures. Over many millennia, organic material infiltrated through the cracks. The pattern on the wall did not show up until we brought samples of—‘rainbowfire,’ as you call it—from Pandemonium into the farm. So we think the spores, which fly everywhere, must have taken root in the nutrients inside the cracks.”

  “Yuck!” Sasha covered her mouth. “Spores are flying everywhere?” She choked, coughing.

  Nell laughed. “Don’t worry, honey. If it hasn’t killed everyone already, it’s probably OK.”

  Ivan lifted his leg, and a lower flat of orange rainbowfire turned blue where the canine squirted a yellow stream of urine.

  Sasha squealed with laughter. “Ivan!”

  “It’s OK,” Dennis said. “That’s actually quite interesting.”

  He and Nell both stooped to look at the color change.

  Sasha rolled her eyes. “You guys are weird!”

  “We kind of hope the spores will spread to other sectors,” Dennis said. “At least they would provide some light there. Until the power is turned on, of course.”

  “Where did you get the sample of rainbowfire?” Nell asked.

  “We scraped it from the landing of the gondola.”

  “Gondola? The gondola that goes across Pandemonium?” Nell turned to him, grinning excitedly.

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ridden on it?” Nell asked, an eager spark igniting in her eyes. “Does it go to the island in the middle of the lake?”

  “No, I haven’t ridden it.” Dennis wiped his glasses. “I really don’t think it’s still working.”

  “There’s a tram that goes from Papa’s tower to the palace,” Sasha bragged. “That’s what I use to visit him. It’s really fun, Nell!”

  “That does sound like fun, Sasha. So, how do you combat mildew down here?” Nell asked.

  “Grrr! If you two are going to talk about mildew, can you give me some carrots to feed Ivan, Dennis?”

  “OK, Sasha,” Dennis said. “Come this way.”

  He led them back to the carrot beds.

  8:58 A.M.

  Maxim shouted: “Sector Three, Boris!” and rapped on the tinted glass behind him.

  “Khorosho!” replied his driver.

  Maxim tapped his knees, facing Geoffrey. “How is your honeymoon, my friend?”

  Geoffrey grinned. “Fantastic. You’re a madman, Maxim. I can’t wait to get back to Hell’s Window. Nell thinks there must be another window downstairs, underwater?”

  Maxim laughed. “I promise you there is much more to see. In due time! This morning we are on verge of starting Pobedograd’s heart. Without power, this city will die. When plant is on, day will replace night. We will no longer be dependent on surface for power. I appreciate your company this morning, Geoffrey. Tell me. You were on Henders Island, I believe?”

  “Yes.” Geoffrey nodded. “I survived Henders Island.”

  “What would you say was best strategy for surviving there, eh?”

  Geoffrey shrugged at the random question. “Leaving,” he said.

  Maxim raised a wry eyebrow. “What else?”

  Geoffrey found the question odd, but not unusual. “Well, hendros got around by killing large animals to draw predators into feeding frenzies. It seemed to work. It saved my life once, in fact.”

  “Ah. Very interesting. A metaphor for civilization, I think.”

  “Perhaps. Also, many animals on the island sprayed warning pheromones when they detected salt water, an adaptation to life on a shrinking landmass surrounded by ocean. Salt water acts like a tranquilizer on the copper-based metabolism of Henders organisms, paralyzing and killing them, since they could not hypo-osmoregulate. Spraying salt water on the organisms caused them to spray a warning pheromone, which turned out to be a rather effective repellent.”

  Maxim nodded with great interest. “That is very strange.”

  “No. Not really. Crows rile up ants to get them to attack and spray formic acid on their feathers, which is an effective repellent for parasites.”

  “Really?”

  “I watched one crow sit for ten minutes with its wings extended over an ant trail.” Geoffrey laughed. “Crows are smart.”

  Maxim grinned. “I see I got the right man for this job.” He laughed and slapped Geoffrey’s knee. “I like you, Geoffrey. You have passion for your work. That is good!”

  They passed work details along the streets, and Geoffrey noticed all the men stopped and stared with blank eyes at the limo as it quickly passed. The expression on the men’s faces chilled Geoffrey as the car turned onto the street they had taken when they first arrived, which proceeded north at the eastern edge of the city.

  “Pobedograd will be paradise,” Maxim said in a forceful voice that was one part dreamer and one part gangster, Geoffrey thought as the mogul continued. “We have natural hot springs, riverfront penthouses, casinos, nightclubs, theaters, spas, swimming pools, art galleries—we even have a unique ecosystem for scientists to study, eh, Geoffrey? Timeshares and property are available to all those who help make my dream come true. You are certainly among those. In case of worldwide catastrophe—which seems more likely every day—such refuge will be valuable. Don’t you agree? The population of this city is a cross section of best world has to offer. People of every profession are represented.” Maxim considered, and grinned. “Except for politicians. They can go to hell, instead. There is no room for them here. We don’t need their laws.”

  “Many of the world’s biggest crooks could afford a ticket to Pobedograd, I guess,” Geoffrey speculated. “And probably wouldn’t mind a place like this to hide from the law.”

  Maxim frowned. “Do not worry, Geoffrey. I am businessman. I must have principles to stay in business, unlike politicians. And you should know that heroes are often branded criminals by villains.”

  “And you are the judge of who is who here. Am I right?”

  “Yes. Here, I am.”

  “I see. Well, in the event of disaster, it’s good to know there’s a place we can come to live in a dictatorship,” Geoffrey mused, challenging the oligarch with a wry look.

  Maxim seemed to enjoy his friendly jab. “As I said, Geoffrey, I’m a benevolent dictator. Laissez-faire!”

  “Yes, but money wouldn’t be worth much down here in the event of a global catastrophe,” Geoffrey said, probing.

  “You are right, again. I accept only value as payment, in goods or services, along with lifelong commitment to Pobedograd’s security. When we are self-sufficient, people will be able to survive here for generations without ever leaving.”

  Geoffrey concealed his surprise at the statement. “Well. I would hope leaving is always an option.”

  “Of course.” Maxim grinned. “So do I. But why would anyone want to, I wonder?”

  “They justified the Iron Curtain that way, didn’t they?”

  “A curtain can be a shield, too, Geoffrey, when it’s made of iron.”

  They stopped before the northern gate marked SECTOR TWO. Guards activated the steel door, and the heavy barrier rolled aside.

  The l
imo entered the desolate medieval labyrinth of Sector Two, which seemed to be a grid of streets around square blocks of two-story buildings with crude façades carved into bands of limestone and salt. A hundred yards in, they turned right, and sixty feet later, they stopped before another steel door painted with tall red letters: SEKTOP 3. Two guards rose from their chairs and activated the door.

  They passed through a short tunnel that opened on a three-story building on the north side of a short street that dead-ended 150 feet straight ahead at another guarded door that read SEKTOP 4 in giant letters.

  A black SUV idled in front of the building as their limo pulled up and stopped behind it. Geoffrey noticed that the windows in the second story of the building were lit. Over the entrance, an entablature read:

  No Latin lettering this time. According to Geoffrey’s faint memory of the Cyrillic alphabet, the first word might be “observatory.” But that made no sense under a mountain. “What is this building?” he asked.

  “Hospital,” Maxim said as he rolled down the window.

  Geoffrey smelled the gasoline exhaust waft through the crack; this place was worse than Hong Kong, he thought.

  Maxim pushed his head out of the window and yelled, “Let’s go!”

  The black Suburban abruptly pulled out in front of them.

  The steel door at the end of the street slid open as two guards stepped aside.

  Maxim rolled up the window as his armored limo took off behind the SUV, and Geoffrey noticed the sentries quickly close the gate behind them as they accelerated.

  9:07 A.M.

  “Ivan hasn’t eaten anything but carrots today, but he needs to go doody. I’m taking him for a walk down Compost Alley.”

  “OK! That’s Ivan’s personal dog run,” Dennis explained. “We compost everything here, of course.”

  “When you’re done talking about irrigation, we’ll be over there.” Sasha rolled her eyes. She motioned Ivan to follow her and disappeared with the dog under a shelf of algae flasks.