Oracle--Sunken Earth

by C. W. Trisef

  “We come in peace,” Mr. Coy said gently, trying to converse with the guards. “We are friends.”

  “Try amigos,” Ana advised. “We are still in the Caribbean, aren’t we?”

  It quickly became clear that their attackers did not speak English, employing instead an entirely foreign language of their own. But it wasn’t harsh or guttural; rather, it sounded clean and sophisticated. And their appearance could be described in much the same way. They were a neat and comely lot, unlike typical indigenous tribes with their stereotypical loin cloths and shorn heads. With fair skin and bright features, they looked much like Ret and the gang; in fact, they resembled Ret more than they did Ana, Pauline, Ivan, and the Coys. Noticing this, Ret was tempted to speak to them, but he restrained himself, desiring first to learn what they intended to do with their prisoners, for though they seemed civilized, they were certainly dressed as if in preparation for civil unrest. Each of the guards was outfitted in a full-body suit made of thin, stretchy material whose very threads and fibers occasionally transmitted electrical charges from head to toe. While some carried metal staffs with heads of electrically-charged coils, others sported long whips that crackled and contorted like lightning, though each was arrayed with all manner of curious weaponry, including a shiny shield that looked like a mirror. Every time one of the guards stepped on the ground, the dirt immediately around his foot seethed with energy, as if his suit knew how to keep itself charged by robbing the earth of its own energy. A similar thing happened around the wheels of their carriages, which was the best word that Ret could think of to describe the guards’ unique mode of transportation. There was no engine, no combustion, not even any kind of hoofed creature; it was just a carriage-like body on wheels, steered by a driver and powered by the energy that it collected through contact with the ground.

  “I’ve got to get me one of these,” Mr. Coy vowed, admiring the vehicle’s concept and design.

  As if acting under strict orders, the guards moved with great haste. Upon emerging from the dense overgrowth of the jungle, the party approached civilization. Ret used the land’s great mountain as his sole point of reference, as it was growing larger every moment. The guards hauled their bounty through the streets of town, where Ret was stupefied by what he saw. To say that the city was rundown was a compliment, as Ret and the others had never seen such miserable living conditions. The slums stretched for miles in every direction, including overhead. Like a patchwork quilt sewn from leftover scraps of material, the shacks and shanties covered the land, shoved side-by-side so as to lean against each other for stability. They seemed to sway with the gentle breeze as the guards moved quickly along the dirt road, obviously intent on spending as little time as possible in the ghetto. At first, Ret assumed—and hoped—that these neighborhoods had been abandoned, for he hadn’t seen a living soul among them. But a closer look revealed the contrary—indeed, the opposite. Scores of people, like startled insects, retreated to the shadows as the guards cut through town. With alarm on their faces and rags on their backs, they watched in fear until the party passed, only then timidly venturing out.

  The mountain loomed ever closer as they neared the end of the slums and approached something entirely different. The carriages climbed a long bridge that spanned a filthy river, on the other side of which stood a colossal wall, almost as thick as it was tall. From the top of the wall rose a series of towers and pillars, each one sending a wide current of electricity to the next, combining to create a sort of force field all around the wall. The convoy passed through an array of gates and barricades before finally gaining access to the other side of the wall.

  The scene that lay before them reeked of wealth. Broad boulevards rolled along, edged by leafy trees and ornate streetlights. Quaint shops with their trivial trinkets lined the promenade, while spacious homes with fresh paint and manicured yards dotted the side streets. Free-flowing fountains and crystal-clear waterways curved lazily along banks of lush greenery, where boats and other toys were docked. Children played and friends sipped tea as bountiful amounts of energy lit the indoors and gave life to the goings-on. Ret could almost hear music playing, as if he was strolling merrily in some fantasyland. The guards, whose pace had slowed, were warmly received by everyone, even applauded by some when they noticed the presence of captured prisoners.

  The wide base of the mountain filled the background of their view as they passed through the wall and force field at the other end of the glamorous town. Another bridge over another dirty river, and the brigade marched on. Ever since being captured, their path had been a constant incline, some parts steeper than others. Looking over his shoulder, Ret could clearly see how the slums sat quite a ways below suburbia, and yet they were still climbing higher. This third and final ring of structures around the mountain was clearly devoted to industry. The clink and clang of tools and metal filled the air, which billowed with smoke and dust. Powerful machines attacked the mountain on all sides, excavating and digging into it. Dirt-splattered workers scrambled on the ground fulfilling a slew of tasks, as busy as ants but as happy as slaves. A vast network of rivers was lined with ships and barges, transporting their goods to countless destinations. Though Ret and the others had no idea what was going on, this industrial sector was clearly a well-orchestrated operation.

  Ret marveled at the tour he had just witnessed. From a distance, this vast, underground civilization looked impressive and majestic—a lost gem, a wonder unknown to the world. Up close, however, it was puzzling, to say the least. Having been transported to the center of the metropolis, Ret felt that there was something unsettling about the whole situation—that a dark shroud clouded his mind.

  In a flurry of commands, the guards took their prisoners deep into a heavily-guarded building, which resembled a jail in every particular except for one obvious contrast: currents of electricity replaced the traditional iron bars to keep the incarcerated in their cells. Though dark, Ret could see dozens of dirty hands reaching towards them through the thin gaps between the vertical electrical currents. The sound of heavy chains being shuffled and tugged was muffled by the moans of other inmates. The guards hauled Ret and his five companions into one cell, rolled them out of their nets, and engaged the bolts of energy to lock them behind bars.

  “Note to self,” Mr. Coy said as they stretched to shake off the soreness of being bound, “this place does not take kindly to visitors.” Dark and dank, their quarters were small and isolated. The jail’s stone floor felt a bit damp to the touch. A few streaks of light shot through a single, barred window, which looked more like a crude crack in the edifice’s thick wall. They huddled together to plan their next move.

  “What do we do now?” Pauline asked.

  “We eat bread and water and make license plates until we rot, of course,” Ana answered.

  “What do you think, Ret?” Mr. Coy said.

  “Ret?” A man’s voice emerged from the shadows at the other end of their cell. Ret, Mr. Coy, and Ivan stepped in front of Pauline, Ana, and Paige, shielding them from whatever might come their way. “Ret?” The voice again repeated Ret’s name, in a tone that indicated he had heard it before. “Ret Cooper?” The voice sounded deep and young, too soothing to be eerie but too mystic to be at all comforting.

  “Yes?” Ret answered bravely. “How do you know my name?”

  The voice replied, “Lye said you would come.”

  CHAPTER 13

  JAILBREAK

  “Who is Lye?” Ret asked, thoroughly perplexed. “And who are you?”

  “I believe introductions are in order,” the concealed speaker announced as he fled the shadows and stepped into the prison’s dim light. “My name is Lionel Zarbock.” The tension that had gripped Ret and the others melted away immediately upon the emergence of their nonthreatening roommate with his captivating appearance. He was a striking man, perhaps a decade older than Ret, with a countenance truly like lightning. Jet-black hair and dark eyes gave his already-light skin an even brighter glow.
He stood tall and firm in his sculpted physique, which was scarred by neither blemish nor wrinkle. Despite his commanding presence, however, there was something inviting about his demeanor. He breathed knowledge and sophistication, resembling the rare kind of individual who people naturally want to believe and follow. Vibrant and attractive, he seemed the epitome of youth, hardly the type of person you’d expect to find in a dingy prison.

  “And you are…?” Lionel put forth to the group, each of whom was spellbound.

  “Sorry,” Ret apologized. “This is Mr. Coy; his daughter, Paige; and their butler, Ivan; and this is Pauline and her daughter, Ana.” Lionel graciously shook hands with the men, then gently kissed the hand of each woman, greeting them all individually with a warm smile and a welcoming salutation.

  “It is truly a pleasure to meet all of you,” he said sincerely, “especially you, Ret. Lye has told me much about you.”

  “And who is this Lye you speak of?” Mr. Coy asked earnestly. Even though they had only just met, Mr. Coy viewed Lionel with great skepticism, feeling slightly intimidated by his charisma and professionalism. Mr. Coy resolved to try the virtue of Lionel’s words at every turn.

  “I first met Lye in Vienna, Austria, at the headquarters of the International Atomic Energy Agency, where I serve as one of its principal nuclear physicists.”

  “So you’re not from…here—you’re not from Sunken Earth?” Mr. Coy pressed urgently.

  “No, no,” Lionel reaffirmed. “I’m from your world—our world—though I’ve been living here for, gosh, probably close to a year now. You see, Lye approached me and told me that he had found a lost city—an underwater world. At first I didn’t believe him—I mean, who could believe such a fairytale?—but he had proof: pictures, artifacts, samples—you name it. And so, being the curious scientist that I am, I was intrigued. I studied his specimens and was dumbfounded; never had I seen anything so miraculous. Shortly thereafter, Lye invited me to return with him to this hidden civilization. He said he needed my help and expertise in studying this new world—in conducting experiments and doing research that he felt could greatly benefit our own, dying world. When I asked if I could bring along some of my colleagues, he vehemently declined, explaining how he wanted to keep it a secret so as to preserve its purity and prevent it from being overrun.”

  “And you agreed?” asked Coy.

  “Well obviously,” Lionel replied, causing the others to grin despite Mr. Coy’s embarrassment. “I agreed without reservation.”

  “And how did you get inside?” Mr. Coy questioned, thinking he had caught Lionel in his words, for he remembered how it was only because of Ret’s scar that they had reconfigured the submerged stones on the seafloor to become the descending stairway that led them to Sunken Earth.

  “Ah, that is one of Lye’s great, many secrets,” Lionel said, stepping towards their cell’s tiny, barred window. “You see, just above the peak of that great mountain is a swirling vortex of untold power and energy.” He pointed outside, though their view of the peak was blocked by the thick, thunderous storm clouds butted up against the mountainside. “In fact, it houses so much energy that, even though it has destroyed the ceiling immediately above it, it gives off enough upward force to counteract the immense downward pressure being exerted upon it by the billions upon billions of gallons of ocean water that threaten to gush through the roof.”

  “Except for the water spilling down the mountain,” Mr. Coy added, happy to find an inconsistency in Lionel’s story.

  “Well, right,” Lionel consented, “which is fortunate for the people here, considering the seawater that slips through the cracks is their sole source of water.”

  “Yes, very fortunate for them,” Mr. Coy said, acting as if he had something to do with it. Pauline and the girls shot him slightly repulsed looks for his borderline rude behavior toward Lionel. “Anyway, back to how you got in,” Mr. Coy reminded Lionel, not willing to let him off the hook so easily.

  “But of course,” Lionel continued. “As Lye explained to me, we couldn’t just pack up and come here whenever we pleased. We had to wait for the exact moment when Mother Nature would reveal this world’s door to us. The secret,” he said, almost in a whisper, “is a hurricane. You see, the vortex created by the mountain causes the ocean water above it to spin in a clockwise direction, while hurricanes in the northern hemisphere spin in a counterclockwise direction. As soon as we got word of a hurricane forming in the Atlantic that was projected to pass over the vortex, we set sail. It sure wasn’t easy to stay hovering above the vortex in the midst of a hurricane, but as soon as the eye of the storm got close enough to passing over the vortex, a truly remarkable thing happened. The opposing forces of the vortex and the hurricane nullified each other, creating a sort of vertical conduit that opened up and sucked us straight down into the belly of the sea, with walls of water on all sides. We passed through the hole in the ceiling and landed on the mountain peak—like a freefall ride at an amusement park.”

  Everyone was gleefully enthralled by Lionel’s story—everyone, except for Mr. Coy.

  “Something’s fishy about this guy,” he mumbled to Ivan. “And how did you survive such a fall, Mr. Zarbock?”

  “Fortunately, the terrain at the top of the mountain is extremely pure and refined due to its exposure to such intense energy,” Lionel went on. “It was kind of like falling into a container of powdered sugar.”

  “Oh, how convenient,” Mr. Coy grumbled.

  “While concealed in the curtain of waterfalls surrounding the peak, Lye instructed me not to come down the mountain until it was dark because he didn’t want anyone to see me. When I asked why, he told me how none of the people here has ever been able to summit the great mountain—that each time someone has tried, that person died because he couldn’t withstand the intense energy. So no one has ever set foot on the top of the mountain before, and no one knows what it is that gives the mountain its supernatural power. They have lots of theories and legends, of course, but no one knows for certain. So you can imagine the shock everyone felt when, one day, they saw a man emerge from the peak and descend the mountain—alive. Lye had no idea of the feat that he had achieved, but the people revered him—they feared him, and some even worshiped him.”

  “So why didn’t he want you to be known as a survivor of the mountain, too?” Mr. Coy asked.

  “Lye said it would defeat the whole purpose of me coming here,” said Lionel. “He had asked me to come to explain the countless phenomena of this place—to mingle with the people, learn their language and their culture, taste their food and learn their history. He said the people wouldn’t even come close to him for fear of offending him or dying in his very presence. So I did as he told me.”

  “So, explain this then, buster,” Mr. Coy continued his interrogation. “How exactly did you and Lye survive the murderous, vaporizing power emitted by the mountain, hmm?”

  “Why, sir, I’m insulted,” Lionel admitted respectfully. “I have devoted my life to the study of nuclear physics. I can replicate the reactions that take place on the surface of the sun. It should come as no surprise to you that I might have a few tricks up my sleeve to avoid something as elementary as fatal radiation.”

  “Fair enough,” Coy conceded, though perturbed.

  “Over the last several months,” Lionel carried on, “I’ve learned volumes about these people and their way of life. Though their genetics vary only slightly from yours and mine, the differences stop there. They dance and sing; they paint and build; they have sports and games, religions and passions, politics and opinions; their history is a mix of fact and myth, while their aspirations are unbounded; they could teach even our world’s most distinguished thinkers a thing or two—or three.” Lionel’s face conveyed the appreciation and love that he had developed for the people of Sunken Earth, having spent every waking moment with them for so long. “But the one, overarching thing that everyone depends on and no one can refute is the earth—the dirt, the soil, th
e very ground they walk on. It is their gold, their elixir, their very livelihood. Because of their earth, they can grow crops without the sun; they can have light in a dark world; they can desalinize seawater and not perish of thirst. Because of their earth, they can power vehicles and sail ships, steer machines and operate equipment; they can weaponize its energy to defend themselves. Because of their earth, they live. Take it away, and they die.”

  Lionel turned from gazing longingly out the slim window to face his listeners. “But Lye saw it a different way.” The joy faded from his voice. “While I was befriending the natives, he was flattering the politicians. He never joined me, but he frequently ordered me to report to him and tell him everything that I was learning and discovering, in great detail. But his intention was never to make peace or to acquire knowledge. His motive was power—and greed.” Lionel’s brow furrowed more and more in bitterness and disappointment with each statement. “He told me of his success in manipulating the minds of the government officials—how they feared him and would obey his every command. They became his puppets. He eliminated the ones who opposed him and rewarded those who followed orders.”

  “And I’m guessing you were one of those who opposed him?” Mr. Coy assumed.

  “How couldn’t I?” Lionel stated, moved with emotion. “Look at what he’s done to this beautiful land—to these remarkable people! He’s taken control of the mountain and, therefore, everyone’s very existence with it. While the rich get richer, the poor get poorer. You’ve seen the slums and the destitute people who live there. Those people are my friends, as dirty and ill and pathetic as they may seem. We’ve tried to escape—countless times—but no one can set so much as one foot upon the mountain without Lye finding out about it.”

  “We know another way,” Ret stated, offering the little help he could. “There’s the way we came in, the—”

  “The underground river on the west side?” Lionel finished Ret’s thought. “Yes, we know. Many have tried; none has returned. The pressure is just too great. Besides, no one could ever find the top of that lengthy, vertical tunnel.” Ret’s hope was dashed to pieces. “But whether they die from nobly trying to escape or from sadly succumbing to disease, the people here do not fear death—some may even envy those who achieve it, with its peace, its rest, its freedom.” A solemn gloom fell over Ret and the others to think of circumstances so unpleasant that death would sound appealing. “And so, while Lye and his handpicked few glut themselves,” Lionel continued to lament, “the rest of the population function as their pawns and slaves. They get fat while the people they are supposed to serve starve. They drown in pleasure and opulence while the people who support them thirst. And why do they do it? Because they can. Because their bellies are full, their treasuries overflow, and their guards protect them.”