Hollow World

by Michael J. Sullivan

  “Where are you, exactly?”

  “Oh, my physical installation is built into the foundations of the complex, on the sublevel.”

  “So—you’re like a furnace or a water heater?”

  “Ha! You’re wonderful. In seven hundred and eighteen years no one has ever called me a furnace or water heater. That’s very clever. You don’t know how hard it is to be original these days. But you’re original, aren’t you? I mean, truly original. No others like you at all—ever. That’s just amazing. You’re like a tree, but you can talk!”

  “Speaking of that. Alva, I have a question.”

  “Wonderful! I’m great at trivia.”

  “I was wondering why we understand each other. After two thousand years I would have thought language would have changed more than it seems to have. And why English?”

  “Oh, you can thank the British Empire for that. Imperialism in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries established the English language as the dominate common tongue the same way that the Roman Empire had established Latin as the previous international language. The dominance of the global economy by such English-speaking countries as the United States further required all the world’s nations to view English as the necessary international language of commerce, which—”

  “Okay—okay, so that explains why English survived, but why is it still so—I mean, people in the Middle Ages didn’t talk the way I do, even though they spoke English.”

  “That’s because the Middle Ages didn’t coexist with a post-globalization environment. Most linguistic changes are the result of assimilating other languages or because isolation causes the independent evolution of a dialect. By 2090, the impact of variations had been reduced to negligible levels as non-English languages were abandoned—wiped out by lack of use. If you wanted to compete economically, you adjusted to the language of commerce. Sure, there are fads and fancies, but the sheer size of the consistent user base and the tendency of humans to prefer familiarity led to a relatively stable form of communication. The longer life spans of humans also reduced trends of change.”

  Ellis wondered if all that wasn’t a pleasant way of saying that Hollow World had a militant Ministry of Grammar Nazis.

  “Alva, I have another question.”

  “I would suspect you have more than one, but go ahead, dear.”

  “Is this Pax’s home?”

  “Yes. Beautiful, isn’t it? You need to go out on the balcony. Everyone loves the balcony. I’m so glad Pax brought you here. I’m sure Pax is just as happy. Pax loves old stuff.”

  “Is anyone else here?”

  “Just you and me, honey. Pax and Vin went out—but don’t be upset. They expected you’d be asleep longer, and they’ll be back soon. I’ve already told them you’re awake. Besides, I’m here. Is there anything you’d like? They pumped you full of liquids, but I was told to keep you drinking. Would you like tea? Lemonade, Cistrin? Vistune red or white?”

  While Ellis was curious as to how a disembodied computer-voice might go about handing him a drink, he had more pressing concerns. “Actually, I could use a bathroom. I need to ah…urinate and would love a shower or a chance to brush my teeth.”

  “Urinate! But of course.” A light went on inside a small archway he hadn’t noticed before. “Right this way, Ellis Rogers.”

  Ellis pulled his pants on. They were clean, no stain of blood. He grabbed his pack and the rest of his clothing, and passed through the archway. Inside was a rain forest. Massive trees, covered in fragrant flowers and draped with vines, rose from lush vegetation where butterflies fluttered. He spotted a spring-fed basin formed from a sink-shaped rock jutting out from a cliff.

  “Past the vines,” he heard Alva say.

  Passing through a curtain similar to what an explorer might machete through, he found a waterfall that cascaded into a beautiful lagoon.

  “Sheesh,” he blurted out.

  “What was that, dear?”

  “Nothing,” Ellis said. “Just talking to myself.”

  “Why do that when I’m here?”

  “Is this water always running?”

  “Of course not. I turned it on for you. The waterfall is at forty degrees. Let me know if you’d like it hotter or colder.”

  Forty? Ellis touched the water, found it pleasantly hot, and shrugged.

  There was no door to this wilderness space, and, feeling it best to get things taken care of before company arrived, Ellis used the artsy-looking toilet shaped like a tree stump. There was no water in its base, and he was shocked to discover that his urine vanished as it fell. He thought about his toothbrush and realized he’d forgotten one. With a sigh, he undressed and stepped into the lagoon.

  “The water can come out at any speed, texture, or angle you like,” Alva said, her voice slightly different in the lagoon, where the sounds of birds and the rush of water competed for his attention.

  Ellis didn’t reply and was pleased she hadn’t felt the need to chat while he was using the toilet. He also had to wonder at the income level of an arbitrator. Maybe the profession was like a lawyer.

  He waded into the pool and moved under the falling river. The water—hot and soothing—relaxed him. A hot shower always seemed so decadent, and there was something vaguely sexual about a bath. An atomized mist jetted out from the walls, turning the jungle steamy.

  “Is there soap?” he asked.

  Like a car wash, the water pouring out turned sudsy, but this flow smelled vaguely like lilacs. Ellis wondered what might happen if he asked for wax. That brought a smile, and he pushed his face into the stream. Ellis lingered in the water longer than he had planned. From the instant he’d discovered Warren’s letters until this moment, Ellis had been overwhelmed. Too much had happened too quickly. Even lying in the bed, trying to mentally process everything, had been taxing. He hadn’t allowed himself time to think, but bathing made him reflective.

  Everything he knew was gone. He no longer had a house with its huge monthly mortgage. No cars needed inspections, oil changes, or new tires. He was free of everything—free of Warren and Peggy, his cheating wife and his bitter friend who had betrayed him. That life was over—buried by time, a lot of time.

  In its place was something amazing. He’d achieved a version of his life’s dream and survived the effort. He’d finally done something—something important. By the sound of things, Ellis was somehow the first person to travel through time. Everything had worked out perfectly, and yet while standing in the hot stream from the sudsy waterfall, Ellis began to cry.

  He couldn’t control himself, couldn’t understand why he was sobbing. He should be happy, and it didn’t make sense that after risking everything and winning, he should feel so miserable.

  Although his marriage never reflected the kind of relationships idealized in movies, Peggy had been part of his life for thirty-five years, and he’d discarded her with less thought than he gave to a dubiously dated container of cottage cheese. He’d known Warren even longer. His old friend had always looked after and defended him, and he, too, went in the trash. Maybe they had an explanation…maybe if he’d just…but it was too late.

  If it hadn’t already been erased by time, Ellis would have torn down his garage. It was the symbolic sum of all his mistakes, from his son’s death, to the erosion of his marriage, and finally the realization that running away was the height of selfishness. He hadn’t even left a note, and Peggy would spend the rest of her life with too many questions and no answers.

  He pushed his face into the spill and let it blend with his tears. He didn’t know how long he stood there. He didn’t care. He had no pressing appointments.

  “How do I turn it off?” he finally asked.

  An instant later the waterfall stopped, the pool drained, the mist faded, and hot, dry air began to blow. He was dry in just a minute or two, and put his clothes back on.

  Passing back the way he had come, Ellis dropped his pack next to the bed before setting off to explore. The wonders of the b
edroom and bath were nothing compared with the rest of Pax’s home.

  “This is the social room,” Alva said with a note of pride as he entered a large chamber with a vaulted ceiling.

  A cross between a Gothic palace and a Rainforest Cafe the large chamber combined the two motifs until the whole appeared as a beautiful ruin invaded by plants and giant trees. The walls were carved stone with intricate arches and ornamentation that framed more murals mimicking the Renaissance masters.

  Ellis spotted a painter’s easel, surrounded by color-stained rags and rustic clay pots filled with bouquets of filthy brushes. Beside them were splattered potter’s wheels and carving tools. But what caught Ellis’s attention the most was the far wall—or more precisely the lack of one. That whole side of the room was missing. No glass, just one vast opening to the outside, where a balcony extended as an oval pod.

  The view was staggering. Pax’s home was built into the side of a massive curved cliff that was shared by hundreds of other homes, each with its own balcony. The sheer walls of the canyon were dressed in flowers and creeping ivy. Massive trees grew up in the center and spread vast branches, creating a canopy that provided shade to the Central Park-sized common below. So mammoth was the space that people on their balconies across from Ellis were ant-sized, and everything across the way slightly bluer. Shafts of light filtered through the arena, and birds of all sizes and colors swooped and sang. Their songs echoed as if they were in a massive atrium.

  Ellis descended the steps onto the balcony and was peering across at what he realized had to be a massive waterfall in the far distance when he heard Alva say, “Welcome home. It was so nice of you to take that extra second necessary to let me know you were on your way, Pax. Oh wait—you didn’t, did you?”

  “Don’t start, Alva.”

  “What? A little courtesy is too much to ask?”

  “Is Ellis Rogers in the bedroom?”

  “Out on the balcony. Everyone loves the balcony.”

  “Were you nice?”

  “I’m always nice, dear. Vin, do you think you could clean up your paints a little better next time? The breeze threw your rags on the floor and knocked over one of the pots.”

  “You control the breeze, Alva.”

  “But not your mess.”

  Ellis turned to see Pax enter the social room. Dressed the same as before, Pax smiled as their eyes met. “How are you feeling?”

  “Have a headache.”

  “Cha said you would.”

  “Other than that, I’m a lot better. Even a little hungry.”

  “What do you like to eat?”

  Ellis shrugged. “It’s been two thousand years. I doubt you have burgers and fries anymore.”

  “Alva?”

  “Derived from Hamburg, Germany, hamburger is low-grade ground meat from the dead bodies of domesticated animals known as cows or cattle. A poor person’s meal often treated in ammonia to eliminate common life-threatening contaminants. It was discontinued in 2162 due to health hazards.”

  “Seriously?” Pax made a face at Ellis. “So we don’t have a pattern, I’m guessing?”

  “Would you want one? We don’t have a pattern for arsenic either.”

  Ellis chuckled. “I won’t even ask about hot dogs.”

  Pax looked concerned. “You actually ate dogs?”

  “No, dear,” Alva said. “But an explanation would hardly put you at ease. How about a nice minlatta with a tarragon oil sauce? It’s a new pattern by Yal.”

  “It’s best to just agree,” Pax said to him. “Alva will make it anyway.”

  “Sure.”

  “Vin, do you want a minlatta?” Alva’s voice came from another room as Pax joined Ellis on the balcony. The voice of Vin was low, muffled, indiscernible.

  “It’s beautiful here,” Ellis said. “I take it we aren’t in Michigan anymore.”

  “Michigan?”

  “That’s where we met.” He looked out at the sunlight. “Was it yesterday? Did I sleep that long?”

  “You were out awhile.”

  “And we went through one of those portal things, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So where are we now? Africa? South America?” He had no idea. Ellis had never traveled much, but he’d seen pictures and movies, and places like this were always far away in Third World countries. Only what had been Third World two thousand years ago had moved up in the standings, he guessed.

  “Hollow World,” Pax replied.

  Ellis looked puzzled.

  “Eurasian Plate, Western Zone, Tringent Sector, La Bridee Quadrant.”

  “Wow,” Ellis said. “That’s a mouthful. And I’m sure a location was in there somewhere. I was expecting something like, I don’t know—Rio. Any idea where this might have been about two thousand years ago?”

  “Yes. Are you familiar with the city of Paris?”

  “Paris, France?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Paris?”

  “Sort of, except we’re about five miles below where it used to be.”

  Ellis looked back out at the dramatic cliffs and the narrow opening in the canyon where he could clearly see the sky and distant mountains, at least as clear as his aging eyes would allow. He noted the trees and the birds as well, and finally replied with the eloquent response of “Huh?”

  Footsteps interrupted them.

  “Oh, Ellis Rogers, let me introduce Vin. We live together.”

  Ellis turned to see another DNA duplicate, this one dressed more dramatically than Pax in a double-breasted Dickensian tailcoat, ruffled shirt, and top hat. Ellis couldn’t actually verify that this was another exact copy, as Vin was wearing a mask. It looked like porcelain but could have been a hard plastic. All white, it covered only the upper part of the face, leaving the mouth free and causing Ellis to think of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s The Phantom of the Opera.

  “Nice to meet you.” Ellis held out his hand. As soon as he had, he realized he was making a huge assumption. Ellis was impressed that Vin took it—less impressed by the weak grip and shake.

  “Vin is an artist,” Pax said with enough drama that the title could have been swapped out with the God Almighty. “Most of the paintings and sculptures in our house are Vin’s work.”

  “Don’t forget your contributions.” Vin removed the hat and set it upside down on the shelf near the archway to the bedroom. “You’ve done your fair share of pots. And they serve very well at holding my brushes.”

  Vin was also wearing a pair of breeches and high black boots like they’d just been out riding after foxes. The “artist” moved with a swagger and a sweep that made Ellis think of Shakespearean actors.

  As Vin began to tug off the fingers of white gloves, Ellis looked back at Pax. “Did you say we were underground?”

  This appeared to take Pax by surprise. “Hmm? Oh—yes. It might not be five miles, maybe only four. Obviously neither one of us is a geomancer.”

  “But I can see the sunlight.”

  “That’s falselight.” Vin spoke much louder than Pax—the actor projecting from a stage to a packed house—then paused to look out at the view, as if never noticing it before. Vin shrugged. “Adequate, I suppose.”

  “You think so?” Pax sounded surprised. “I’ve always found falselight to be amazing, especially after so much grass time. You can’t tell it’s not natural light.”

  “Perhaps you can’t,” Vin said.

  “Oh—of course. I suppose to a more trained eye—”

  “Exactly.”

  “Are you kidding?” Ellis said. “I don’t care how trained your eyes are, that looks just like sun shining on a valley, and I’ve spent my whole life under the real thing. If that’s fake, it’s a miracle—and beautiful.”

  “I’m not certain you’re qualified to judge beauty,” Vin told him.

  It sounded like an insult, but what did Ellis know. Maybe he was that Roman citizen getting hot because people were discussing the prospects of landing on Mars. He wasn’t g
oing to start anything over a misunderstanding. He was their guest, and who knew what passed for humor now. Instead, he went with humility. “My wife would agree with you. I could never see the attractiveness in the wallpaper she picked out, and was horrible at knowing which dress was better, but I think anyone can judge beauty—in the eye of the beholder and all that.”

  Vin smirked. “You’ve certainly dug up a Neanderthal, Pax. I’ll grant you that. I was skeptical, but I think there can be no other explanation. It’s like we’ll be dining with a barbarian who might howl at the moon at any minute. You really should have asked permission. At the very least, we might have invited others to share the absurdity. We ought to get grams, as I can’t imagine anyone believing it.”

  Ellis was certain that was an insult. Before he could reply, the Phantom of the Opera look-alike left them, disappearing through one of the archways.

  Pax looked at Ellis with an awkward pout. “I think you might have unintentionally offended Vin a little.”

  “I offended him?—ah—Vin—whatever. Sort of a jerk, don’t you think?”

  Pax’s eyes widened. “You have to understand, Vin is an artist.”

  “Yeah, I got that—paints all these pretty pictures, which is nice, but nothing compared with this view. That’s like thinking your picture is better than the real thing. Talk about arrogant.” Ellis pointed across the valley. “And the light moves with the passage of time. Incredible. Are you sure we’re underground?”

  Pax nodded.

  “And you call it falselight?”

  “When they made the first sub-farms, they had imitation sunlight for the plants, but not for the farmers. They lived in little cubicles. People need sunlight as much as plants do and workers became depressed. They kept returning to the grass whenever they could, driving down productivity. So they invented falselight. It became this whole industry and finally an art form—one of the first native to Hollow World, really.” Pax gestured at the walls. “Vin did the paintings here, but those are just for fun. Vin’s real work is out there.” Pax pointed beyond the balcony. “Vin makes Hollow World.”