“Your man Robert killed someone - a friend of mine in the lift on the way down here. He shot Penelope, my fucking friend - in the face!” Smoke seethed at her.
Portia raised an eyebrow, “Really? Well, we will certainly get to the bottom of this.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small communicator. It was different than those Smoke had come to know in the more recent years. It slid open at the top and bottom to reveal two speakers. One a person spoke into and the other where the voices came out. She pressed several buttons with symbols Smoke didn’t recognize and lifted it to her ear. “Hello? Robert? Where are you right now?”
She paused to let him talk. The volume coming out of the speaker was loud enough Smoke could hear every word Robert said. He didn’t know how the voice wasn’t deafening so close to her ear.
“I’m just about to head back to the ninth to get my next target. Why?”
“I’m speaking with Mister Callahan and he just told me you killed one of his friends. Shot her in the head - that ring any bells?”
“It’s a lie,” Robert hissed into the communicator.
“You sure that’s the story you’re going with?” Portia asked, knowing his guilt.
“You’re going to take his word for it?” Robert hollered through the communicator.
“I am,” Portia said coldly, “Think of it this way - he wasn’t abducted. He came down with a specific task in mind. If you hadn’t actually killed someone there would be no reason for him to want to see you reprimanded. If anything, you’ve aided him in his journey, he’d have been thanking you. So yes Robert, I believe him when he says you killed his friend, because it’s the only logical reason to do so.”
The silence on the other end of the communicator was as much of an admission as if he had actually said it aloud. Smoke finally heard a small voice come from the other end. He couldn’t make out what it said but the shame in the voice told Smoke Robert was admitting to his crime.
“Where’s the body now?” she asked, “The incident supposedly happened in the lift while you were coming down here. The body must be somewhere.”
“We tossed it into the machine,” Robert said, sounding as if he were crying, “We cleaned up the mess.”
“So you have witnesses to your crime as well,” Portia said with a slight smirk, “Not a very well thought-out lie.”
Sorrow and rage filled Smoke. He had brought a friend down to the engine and she hadn’t even been given the option to get a proper funeral. Many didn’t in his world, but Penelope had deserved better than to be the cause of a little rust on the gears and wheels of the engine. Robert didn’t even have enough humility to refer to Penelope’s body as a she. The word ‘It’ rung through his mind and repeated until the anger began to boil over. “She deserved so much better,” he grumbled.
Portia told him to shush and continued with her communication, “Robert, I’m really sorry to do this, but you know our rules. You know the vow you made; it’s something you have to do yourself. If you don’t do it, you know what happens next.”
The sobs increased before saying, “Alright. I’m sorry ma’am and I wish I’d have thought about what I was doing before doing it. I was caught up in the heat of the moment and things got out of hand. There was two revolving pistols pointed at me and I acted. I only hope you can forgive me.”
“The girl meant nothing to me,” Portia said. “It’s hard for me to get too angry over her death. What hurts me was the blatant disregard for our rules, in front of our guest no less, and then to attempt lying to me. Regardless, I will forgive you after you fulfill your duty. I can’t speak for Mister Callahan however; he doesn’t look to be in the forgiving mood.”
“Don’t speak as if I’m not right here!” Smoke said angrily, “You’re right, I’m not forgiving him. Not because he killed her. I’ve done so much worse in my time, but for the reason that he refused to feel anything afterwards. The reality in which he seemed to take pleasure in it, he grinned when I said I’d tell you about what had happened, as if he would get away with it. The fact that after everything he still had the audacity to throw her body into the engine and not even refer to her as a woman or a human afterward, just an ‘it’. Even the Cartel, the Worms or the Nagara are not as cold as him!”
Portia snorted in amusement, “Well, aren’t we the paragon.” She went back to the communicator, “You know what to do Robert.”
“So…” Robert whimpered.
“You know what to do,” Portia said more forcefully.
He could hear Robert sobbing loudly, then the sounds became farther away. Soon all Smoke could hear from the communicator was screaming. Blood curdling, painful screaming that could only have come from a quickly dying man. “What the fuck did you do?” Smoke asked, mortified.
“Reminded him about our zero death policy and the vow he made when it comes down to breaking our rules. He jumped into the engine. There’ll be nothing left of him by now. I’ll send a cleaning person down to the floor in a few hours. Give it time to stop dripping.”
Smoke’s jaw dropped. “You people are cruel. You’re sadistic and sociopathic!”
Portia’s frown turned back into a smile, “I’m sorry you feel that way Mister Callahan, after all, the anger you feel toward Robert or me is actually quite hypocritical.”
Smoke nodded, he knew where she was going, “My time on the fourth below?”
“Exactly,” Portia said, “You killed a lot of people and you seemed to enjoy it as well. Maybe it was an act, maybe the pleasure was genuine. Only you know the answer to that. But, due to your abilities we have quite the proposition for you.”
“Proposition?” Smoke parroted.
“We want you to be one of our finders and one of our trainers, one of our people who finds suitable candidates for the engine, and educates them in our ways. You have a way with words that can convince people to do as you wish. You have some of that old magic Mister Callahan, you know you have it. We would have actually collected you a long time ago, but we wanted to see you develop your abilities more. But, it doesn’t seem like that’s happening on your own. We can train you Mister Callahan, we can teach you to use your abilities in ways you’d have never thought imaginable.”
“I know what I can do, and I know the extent of it,” Smoke said, already knowing where this was going.
“You mean your abilities not working on stronger minds or those who possess a certain sort of cunning. We can teach you to make it more powerful, you’re not the first we’ve seen and you won’t be the last. Do you agree to join us?”
“No, but now that I’ve seen this place I’m not going to have a choice. You’re going to force me to stay,” Smoke said with a grimace on his face.
“That’s right,” Portia said with a grin, “Since I know you won’t be playing nice through this whole thing, I’m afraid you’ll have to go through the re-education program. Don’t worry; it won’t leave any visible marks… with your clothes on that is.”
He expected her to laugh maniacally; instead she just stood before him smiling the same cool smile she held for the majority of their conversation. It had occurred to Smoke that through the tour he hadn’t really payed much attention to the engine. He was standing in a field of spinning gears and cogs, only the small grated path keeping him from the grinding death. He had no idea where he was or how to get back. The story had been too enticing; he had been too busy trying to know more and more about the engine before he figured out his escape plan. Now it was too late and there was nothing he could do.
He let out a heart breaking sigh as he let his shoulders go loose and hang at his sides. “Fuck,” was all he said.
16
Pain greeted Smoke as he awoke.
Every part of his body screamed in pain. They had put him away in a small cell without any sort of bed or coverings, just the cold hard stone of the floor and a small bucket for him to relieve himself. The bars that lined his cell on all four sides gave him a sense of mild claustro
phobia he didn’t think possible. Life in the underground had been full of small spaces, many only large enough to move a person’s arms with a little wiggling involved. The cage was larger than many of those holes, the difference being he could get out of those holes as he wished, he couldn’t escape the cage.
The room which surrounded the cage was much larger and empty. A locked steel door separated him from the rest of the engine. The grey stone walls showed an irregular pattern of brick and mortar. He passed whatever time he could by counting the stones in the walls. After a while due to exhaustion and the pain in his body he always found he’d lose track of the stones and would have to start again. Something he considered to be almost a mercy in his own mind. If he’d counted the bricks too quickly he’d soon run out of things to keep his mind occupied…. Not that it mattered, it was only a matter of time before the boomers would bring the underground down and he’d suffocate in his cell. At least the engine would die with him. There’d be nobody left alive to maintain it. After that it’d take only one malfunction before the whole thing would come to a screeching halt. Maybe a decade? Maybe a century before the engine finally ceased to function.
He had been stripped down to nothing. The cold stone of the floor felt good on his bruised naked flesh, though the irregular patterns of stone and the several bumps and dips disallowed for anything close to a comfortable sleep. Humiliation and a general disruption of dignity - that was what the nakedness was for. It would be easy for most to show bravery while clothed. Now naked, everything out for the captors to see, bravery was not something that would be on many people’s minds. Smoke didn’t mind his nakedness; his dignity was not so easily taken.
He looked at his arms to the bruises where the masked man had placed his hands. Smoke hadn’t any idea what the torturer had been planning until he began to press and squeeze on the pressure points. Many of the spots erupted into immense pain immediately. The masked man whose name had been etched into his breastplate reading ‘Officer Tak’ paid no attention to Smoke’s screaming as he continued on the pressure points of his body and soon pressed harder. The bruises up his arms and along his body held the shape of fingertips and knuckles.
He closed his eyes, just for a moment.
He didn’t know how long it had been since the officers had thrown him back in his cage. When they opened the door, this time he felt a slight surge of joy to see them. Torture was horrific, but it beat boredom and loneliness. The men wore the same steel breastplates with their names across their chests as Officer Tak wore. These two were officers ‘Laramie’ and ‘Poe’.
Their entire bodies were covered in a stretched fabric that covered every inch of their bodies, including their faces. The masks they wore over the fabric contained blue-glass goggles intended to protect from melter flares, now to aid in concealing identities. Small respirators covered their noses and mouths giving their voices a soft hollow sound. Smoke didn’t believe they could get a proper seal with the fabric over their faces, meaning it was unlikely the masks were to protect from any dangerous gasses. The gloves and boots were coated with a metal that could only be designed for offensive use against unruly captives. They’d be used in case a prisoner fought back. Smoke wasn’t about to fight back. They’d expect it, possibly even hoped for it.
He closed his eyes again and waited for his next round. He could feel his feet drag along the ground. The stone was rough and uneven. He almost scoffed at the fact that the ninth below was more level than these passageways.
He faked weariness; he needed to maintain the charade of weakness so he could navigate the place around him. While they believed him to be passed out he’d be memorizing the way to the torture chamber from his cell. When the time was right he’d be able to navigate his way to wherever he needed to go. The places he didn’t know, he’d find in short time.
The officers threw him into a metal chair affixed to the floor. His spine hit the back of the chair with enough force to knock the wind out of him. As he slowed his breathing to bring the air back into his lungs he could feel his arms and legs being strapped to the chair. The leather straps gave him no wiggle room. Even flexing, a great tactic to use in the event of being tied by rope, didn’t give him any leeway.
Officers Laramie and Poe left the room. It didn’t give Smoke any feelings of hope. As he awaited the inevitable pain he studied the room. Shiny steel coated the walls. It was a place built for easy cleanup after bloodshed. The table across the room from him held several instruments designed to deal as much pain as possible without causing debilitating injury. Several soft mallets with varying lengths of handles sat beside miniature hooks and small blades. A person could be cut for hours with those blades and wouldn’t bleed to death, provided the cuts were placed in the right place and shallow enough.
To his left sat a large engine. Several copper tubes wormed their way in and out of the rusted steel. Two tubes in particular made their way to the chair he sat in. He didn’t want to know what they were for, though he could only guess it was meant to shoot steam into the chair thus heating it. He’d receive several burns to his body before being thrown back into his cell. The burns would never heal fully leaving behind a perfect chair outline of disgusting scar tissue. He doubted he’d be able to sit properly for a long time.
He pulled at the straps that gripped him at the wrists and forearms. He then tested the straps that bound his legs. There was no possibility of movement. He could feel the false faux leather coverings of the chair arms and legs on his skin. He didn’t know what could be hidden beneath the coverings, but he knew he didn’t want to find out.
He could hear footsteps down the hall. Someone was coming. He listened and could hear two other steps following behind - one with boots and the other barefoot. Another prisoner? It was possible they would try to get to him through his humanity. Try and break him by watching another get tortured. But who? His eyes shot wide when he realized who they would be bringing. Blue. A sound of dragging accompanied them, an object Smoke couldn’t quite place.
The first officer entered the room. He could hear him whisper to the people outside before closing the door. The torturer wore the same generic uniform as the other officers. Smoke made a mental note of this and peered towards the name. The words ‘Officer Raven’ were etched into the breastplate.
“So, Mister Callahan,” Officer Raven began, “How did you enjoy stage one of our re-education?”
Smoke let out a long breath before replying, “To be honest, I thought it to be a little weak. Your man has some great skill with his hands; I’m going to be sore for a while. Though I do have to say, torture is probably not the best way to change a person’s mind. At best all it’s going to do is cause me to resent you all.”
He couldn’t see any facial expressions from behind Officer Raven’s mask. Though he could only assume he was smiling when he said, “You have no idea how many people I’ve heard say that. Let me guess, you also plan to get out of here and you will tear this entire place down with your bare hands.”
This time it was Smoke’s turn to grin. He looked into the officer’s goggles and said, “I don’t have to. In a matter of probably days by now, the entire place will be dead. The boomers will go off and the underground will collapse. I don’t have to tear you down; the underground will do it for me.”
“You greatly underestimate us Mister Callahan,” a woman’s voice said from behind him.
Portia stepped from behind the torture chair. She couldn’t have been there the whole time. Could she? He hadn’t been fading in and out of consciousness. He’d been alert enough to hear the officers coming in with someone he assumed to be Blue by the bare feet. He should have heard her breathing. It was possible she’d be standing there as he’d been dragged in. His eyes had been closed and he hadn’t been listening for anyone else in the room. The thought of Portia being behind him the whole time made his skin crawl.
“How long have you been there?” Smoke asked.
“Long enough,” she said show
ing she had no intention of giving a straight answer. “As for the boomers, we already knew about them. We’ve already gathered them and dismantled them. You see, there’s an informant among their ranks. Someone in the top echelon.”
“Who?” Smoke asked, “You might as well tell me, it’s not like I’m leaving here without succumbing to your ham-fisted brainwashing techniques.”
Portia chuckled and grabbed Smoke’s chin, “You amuse me Smoke. I enjoy seeing bravado in people before they succumb to the power of the engine. You see, the engine is not just the collection of gears and wheels and sprockets and boilers that you see. The engine is also all of us. Everyone down here. It depends on us to keep it moving. To make repairs when necessary. It requires care. We all are the engine and you will become another unquestioning cog in the machine as well.”
She ran a hand over his face before strapping his throat and head to the chair. “What’s the plan?” Officer Raven asked. It was probably a customary question, not one he really needed to ask, but did out of respect.
“Do what you need to do,” Portia said. “Take it up to level three, if that doesn’t work, level five will do nicely. He will submit after that. They all do.” Portia then turned back to Smoke, “Goodbye Smoke. I doubt we will ever see each other again.”
Officer Raven nodded dutifully as Portia left the room. He watched as best he could as Officer Raven walked to the machine. He switched on a lever and the engine sprang to life. He could hear the pumps pull water into the machine while the flame that heated the boiler ignited. “How does the flame work?” Smoke asked. The last thing he needed was to become curious at the inner workings of the machine, but none the less, curiosity gripped him.
“What?” Office Raven asked once he realized Smoke had asked a question.
“The flame that heats the water in the boiler, how does it work?”
The Engine What Runs the World Page 21