Hollow World

by Michael J. Sullivan

  “Morning,” Ellis said, noticing Pax’s eyes flutter open.

  Pax shivered.

  “Hungry? Care for breakfast?”

  “You have a Maker?” Pax yawned while struggling to button the shirt.

  “No—good old-fashioned canned goods.” Ellis pulled a Dinty Moore stew out and held it up to the sun. The label was scraped and torn from rubbing something inside his pack, but the image of a steaming bowl of hearty meat chunks and vegetables was still visible. “Two-thousand-year-old beef stew. Yum.”

  Pax fixed the can with a skeptical stare. “Am I going to like this?”

  “Depends on how hungry you are. How do you feel?”

  Pax grimaced. “Like someone stuck a sword in my shoulder last night. Where did you get such a mammoth knife?”

  “The Internet.”

  Pax sat up, glanced at the bandage, then began getting dressed. “The Internet—I read about that. Information Age invention, like the steam engine or electricity—started a revolution, right? Lots of people mention the Internet during arguments about the Hive Project. Everyone saying it’s like that, and how well that worked out. But then people are always comparing extremes to make a point. The Hive Project is either as good as the Internet or as bad as the Great Tempest.”

  He handed the can to Pax, who began studying it, as Ellis rummaged around for the can opener. He hoped he hadn’t left it back at the time machine or, worse yet, in his garage. “So, exactly what is this Hive Project I keep hearing about?”

  Pax was smoothing out the torn section of the label and studying the can with a skeptical expression. “It’s an initiative the ISP is pushing for—the next step in evolution, they call it.” Pax paused and thought a moment. “The Internet globally linked everyone through machines and wires, right?”

  “Some would say tubes.” Ellis grinned, but Pax only appeared confused. “Never mind—old joke.”

  “Well, the ISP wants to do the same thing, only they want to put the machines in our brains.”

  “Make you like cyborgs or something?”

  “No, that’s just a metaphor—sorry. There’s nothing mechanical involved. They want to alter our biology to make it possible for humans to link telepathically.”

  “Is that possible?”

  “They think it is.” Pax rotated the can to look at the picture on the label. “The way the ISP presents it, the Hive Project would solve all of our problems.”

  “Hollow World has problems?”

  Pax smiled. “Yes—many.”

  “No war, no discrimination, no disease, no pollution, no violence, no class warfare…”

  “I didn’t say we had the same problems. Well—I suppose you could say we still suffer from one remaining issue that manifests itself in several problems.”

  “Like?”

  “Communication. Misunderstanding. Isolation. You see, with the Hive Project we’d all be joined as one mind and know each other’s thoughts and feelings—all part of a giant whole. Misunderstandings would be a thing of the past. Everyone would know what everyone else knows, so it would eliminate the need to relearn knowledge in schools. Like the Internet—like global communications—the Hive would make it possible for humanity to leap forward creatively as never before.”

  Pax tapped the can and then shook it. The dubious look remained. “They also say the Hive would solve the identity-maintenance problem.” Pax touched the bandage. “We wouldn’t need chips to tell who we are—we’d just know—or maybe we’d all be one, so it wouldn’t matter. It would be impossible to lie or cheat. We could also abolish government altogether. All decisions would be made as a whole—no more suspicion or deception—no need for laws, really. It’s believed that compassion will overflow and the whole human race will unite in perfect harmony.”

  “Sounds a little too perfect.” Ellis found the bag of peanut M&M’S and set it aside. “Why the debate if it’s all going to be so grand?”

  “That’s the ISP’s formal prediction. Not everyone agrees, of course, and there’s the problem of eliminating individualism. You might have noticed how a lot of us try to stand out in a world of so much homogeneity—tattoos, brands, and piercings are ways people take great pains to be different. You probably find those things strange, huh?”

  “Tattoos and piercings? No, we had those in my day too,” Ellis said, and smiled as he finally found the opener. “Fairly popular when I left, in fact.”

  “Really?”

  Ellis took the can back from Pax and, setting it in the grass, began to open it. “Oh, yeah. Some people spent thousands of dollars getting their whole bodies inked. You aren’t the first to seek to be different.”

  “But all of you were Darwins, already unique. How can anyone be more unique?”

  “Believe me—people tried.”

  Pax looked baffled, then shrugged. “Anyway, there’s a huge fear over losing identity. We already look the same, sound the same, smell the same, and now they want us to think the same—to dissolve our identities into a molten soup of conformity. No one will ever be special again, no one will be able to have any privacy, the whole world will always be there, in our heads, listening to every stray thought, every impulse, every desire.”

  Ellis shivered. “Sounds like hell.”

  “What’s hell?”

  “Pretty much what you’re describing—a bad place for bad people.”

  “A lot of citizens of Hollow World would agree with you.” Pax watched him rotate the metal wheel around the can lid. “This is fascinating. It’s like a histogram or one of those historical reenactments they do at museums. Only those people are just acting, guessing. You’ve actually done this before.”

  “Open a can? Oh yeah—and for the record, you’re easily impressed.”

  He slowed down. “The trick is not to let the lid fall in. Near the end, the torque will tilt the lid up enough to get your finger underneath so you can bend it back. There, see?” He lifted the lid up. “But be careful of the jagged edges. They can be sharp.”

  “Incredible. It’s like camping with a caveman.”

  “Oh yeah, Neanderthals loved Dinty Moore.”

  Pax scowled. “I’m young, not an idiot.”

  “No, you’re not.” Ellis looked for the spoon. “How about you? What do you think about this Hive thing?”

  Pax hesitated, then said, “I’m scared of it. I like my hat and coat. I like that people recognize me at a glance, see me as different. Opinions don’t matter, though, which is why I find all the protests more than a little silly. Doesn’t make sense to scream about something you have no control over.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “If the ISP had the means to go ahead with the Hive, they would.”

  “But I assume you could pass laws to stop them.”

  Pax’s head shook. “Doesn’t work that way anymore. Like I mentioned before, no one tells anyone else what to do—or not do.”

  “What about—” Ellis almost said murder. “What about theft? You don’t tolerate stealing, do you? You must have laws restricting that.”

  Pax smiled at him. “What can you steal from me that you can’t make for yourself? Or that I can’t reproduce in an instant? I wear a new suit every day. We don’t have a problem with theft.”

  “But you must have conflicts that need to be resolved.”

  “Of course. That’s what I do as an arbitrator. I solve those problems. Almost all of them are the result of a misunderstanding, misplaced anger, or irrational fear. You can’t make laws to govern accidents or emotions—no two are ever alike. They have to be worked through, solved like a puzzle.” Pax looked out at the hillside. “Thing is, none of it matters anyway. The ISP can’t do it. They don’t know how. Been working on the project for centuries and never found the combination to that lock. I don’t think they ever will. They also wanted to make it so people could fly—they never did that either. Still, the very idea scares a lot of people. Those in favor are often ostracized, and now there are these
murders. Some have said they’re linked—a violent reaction to the ISP’s continued work.”

  Ellis found the spoon and offered it and the can to Pax, who sniffed the contents.

  “And you eat this?”

  “It’s not considered a delicacy—and it’s supposed to be heated.”

  Pax took a taste and made a face but nodded anyway. “It’s not revolting—I guess.”

  “That’s only because you’re hungry. Just about anything tastes better when you’re outdoors and starved.”

  They shared the can and spoon, passing them back and forth as they reclined on the hill and watched the sunrise bathing the hillside in warmth. Birds sang. Cicadas droned. A light breeze swayed the trees and blew the white of dandelions away.

  When the stew was gone, Ellis tore open the M&M’S. “Here,” he said, “give me your hand.” He poured half the bag.

  Pax looked at the little round balls with curiosity. “Very…colorful.”

  Ellis chuckled. “You eat them.” He popped a red candy in his mouth.

  Pax looked skeptical for a moment, then mimicked him. A moment later a big smile appeared. “These are wonderful. What do you call them?”

  “Candy—M&M’S.” He thought to add that they were invented by Forrest Mars after he saw soldiers eating chocolate in the summer sun during the Spanish Civil War, but figured that wasn’t such a good idea. “Melts in your mouth, not in your hand.”

  Pax picked up and studied the little yellow bag, turning it over and back. “I’ll have to see if Alva can find a pattern for this. If not, we should save some and find a designer to create one. The world should not be denied.”

  Ellis laughed. “Well, at least the twenty-first century has one point in its favor.”

  He felt good, which was amazing considering that the night before he had suffered his worst coughing fit ever. It was just after they had arrived back in what had been Michigan and Ellis felt like he was going to hack up half a lung. His chest still felt raw, but aside from that, everything else was hitting that perfect balance of being just right. The wind ruffled his hair, drawing Pax’s attention and creating a smile. He was neither too cold nor too hot. His lungs weren’t burning. He wasn’t tired or hungry. If he thought about it—if he looked back or forward—he would describe that moment as the tranquil eye of a hurricane. Panic or depression should have been appropriate. Instead, he was smiling, eating M&M’S, and even the can of two-thousand-year-old stew was enjoyable. As unlikely as he could imagine, it was a perfect moment.

  “I wish it would rain,” Pax said. “They can’t even make that happen in an ARC.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Alternate Reality Chamber. Artists program illusions in a fixed space that simulate reality—sort of like what you see with falselight, only in an ARC they control everything—except the user, of course—and as such they can really suspend your sense of reality.” Pax ate another candy. “We’ve had problems with ARCs, though. People get addicted to them. Years ago, a lot of people died. They entered and never came out. Died of dehydration and malnutrition. You see, they only thought they were eating and drinking. The Council required safety time-out features after over thirty people were found dead.”

  Pax settled close to him again, leaning on his shoulder and looking out at the view. “But they can’t simulate rain.”

  “I’d think that would be pretty easy,” Ellis said. “Just put sprinklers on the ceiling. You know—spray water.”

  Pax smiled. “But that’s not rain. That’s just water falling.”

  “Isn’t that what rain is?”

  “No. Rain is a gift—it’s life, salvation, ecstasy—it’s the whole world, every plant, insect, and animal rejoicing together as one. There’s just something that makes you feel so alive in a rainstorm, especially if there’s lightning and thunder. Then it’s as if the whole universe is joining in.”

  Ellis remembered watching thunderstorms from his front porch with his dad. Those times had been nice—one of the few memories he had of just sitting quietly with his father. Thinking back, it was similar to watching a fireworks display on the Fourth of July, but nothing like what Pax described.

  “What’s it like to have a family?”

  Ellis was surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”

  “I imagine it was wonderful, like teams in sports, everyone working together, loving each other without reservation.”

  Ellis laughed. “In theory. In reality—not so much.”

  “Really? I just think living back in your time would have been wonderful. I was a member of an anachronism group. We’d get together and dress up in wigs and shirts and blue jeans—complete with real belts and wallets. Some even had replica plastic cards in them. Oh, and shoes! We wear timepieces, pretend to text each other on phones, and watch really old restored grams. I liked the ones without color the best. The ones where people wore hats all the time.”

  “And vests and long coats?”

  Pax smiled and nodded, tapping the bowler and making a little hollow sound. “Some of us would pretend to be male and others female, and we’d dance. I remember that once someone actually had a book—a real one. A collector had brought it. A literary classic. We had to wear special white gloves to touch it. And the book’s owner could actually read. I remember sitting and listening. It was amazing. Just incredible.”

  “Do you remember the name of the book?”

  “I’ll never forget it, Second Chance, by Danielle Steel. The mastery of language in your day was just so magnificent. I picture that time as so romantic and adventurous.”

  Ellis bit back a slew of comments, wondering if Pax’s view of the past came from watching Fred Astaire movies. Probably wonders why I don’t begin crooning and doing a little dance step.

  Pax rubbed the bandage.

  “Don’t play with it,” Ellis said. “Let it heal.”

  “I feel strange knowing the chip is gone. I have no way of proving who I am now.”

  “They put those things in at birth?” Is birth even the right word?

  Pax nodded. “In a way, it was more me than I am.”

  “I doubt that. Where did I throw your identity chip, anyway?”

  “Into space, somewhere near Neptune’s moon Triton—assuming the orbit was right, and it should be—I used the coords for the planetarium there. The Port-a-Call updates those things.”

  “There’s a planetarium on Triton? Wait—space? You can open portals into the vacuum of space? Why didn’t it suck us out?”

  “Here, let me show you.” Pax sat up and took the portal maker out again. Dialing it, Pax created an opening before them. All Ellis could see through it was water. The entire opening was filled with a solid aquamarine color, and in that slice of water, Ellis saw fish swimming by. “That’s the ocean—right near the equator, about forty feet below sea level, and as you can see, the water doesn’t spill out, because a portal isn’t a hole in the sense we think of one.” Pax poked a finger into the cross section of ocean and drew it out dripping. “That’s how we get rid of waste, you know. Not that there’s a lot. Most can be reused in the Makers, but what can’t is ported into the core. That wouldn’t be possible if there was any bleed-through. Open a portal to the core and you’d incinerate yourself from the heat, right? We used to port trash into space, but the HEM objected.”

  “HEM?”

  “Hollow Earth Movement. One of the oldest organizations we have. They started everything.”

  The portal must have been near a coral reef or something. Ellis watched a small school of striped angelfish flash by. The whole thing was like one giant aquarium.

  “The planet was in bad shape—look who I’m telling—you know, right? But it got worse. Pollution, climate change, the storms that resulted as the natural system began to clean house. They used to say we made the earth sick, and she vomited. The surface up here was scarred, ripped up from overuse. Roads were everywhere—concrete was everywhere. That’s where the phrase to concre
te comes from—it means ‘to ruin.’ The HEM was a group of people interested in restoring the surface by getting everyone to live underground. No one listened at first, but then they found major allies in the old corporations looking for subterranean farm workers.”

  Self-conscious, Ellis picked up the empty can and slipped it in his pack.

  “That’s what started everything. But the HEM has gotten a little nutty—or maybe they always were. Now they’re against anything aboveground being touched. Some are against people even visiting the grass. And it’s like, what’s the point? I can understand the prohibition against ruining the surface with building homes and such—I mean, why would you? If you want to be outside, you go to the surface. If you want to be inside, well, that’s Hollow World. But to go to all this trouble to restore the surface but be prevented from ever enjoying it? It’s crazy. And people love visiting the grass. Luckily they don’t make the decisions anymore.”

  Pax ate another candy just as a shark passed in front of the portal opening. Finding the Port-a-Call, Pax closed the door.

  “Could that have come through?” Ellis asked.

  Pax nodded sheepishly.

  “What are we going to do now?” Ellis asked.

  “I don’t know. I’d almost like to just stay here. Core the HEM, it might be nice to live on the grass as in days of yore. If we could get a Maker and a Dynamo to power it, the two of us could disappear into the forests and live a life of frontier people and have wild adventures.”

  “Pretty sure Daniel Boone didn’t have a Maker, and you might think different when winter comes. What about Vin?”

  “Vin? Vin would be relieved to be off the hook. Finally rid of me.”

  Ellis found this admission a surprise, and more than a little familiar. He never expected to meet someone in the future he could relate to so readily. Certainly not someone like Pax.

  “But you’re right, we can’t stay. We need to find out what’s going on, only I don’t know how. Everyone who knew anything is dead.”

  “Not everyone.” Ellis thought a moment. “I have an idea.”

  The atmosphere in the home was that of a face covered by a white sheet, the haunting silence of an all-too-recent ghost story. Ellis and Pax entered Geo-24’s residence exactly where they had the first time, only as expected the place was empty. A sheer curtain had been drawn, muting the morning falselight and blurring the image of the Zen garden outside. No police tape marked where the body had lain; nor were there boundaries marked off by ribbons of yellow plastic. After his conversations with Pax, Ellis was not shocked at the lack of official presence; he was, however, surprised by how clean the place was. The carpet and walls were spotless—not even a stain. Ellis wondered if an old-school forensic scientist could find evidence or if the whole room had been spaced through a portal and a new one constructed.