NetherWorld

by Daniel Quiles Pagan

  When NazKlan built his coalition to pursue the Singularity, he knew he needed powerful allies. Thrasher was an ideal candidate. No Byte could reach him or destroy him. He heard whispers about a small army that Thrasher was building. This would help enforce the fascist state NazKlan so dearly desired.

  NazKlan captured a corrupt Byte and programmed a message for Thrasher, Keeper of the Bin. Once the Batchers dropped the messenger off, the Byte relayed the instructions to Thrasher. NazKlan created a unique channel of communication that only could be accessed by them.

  “Ahhhh. Another Byte for the ssshredder. Prepare to meet your end Sssilicate. I cannot wait to sssuck on your lifeless strands. Ohhh. Be ssstill. Thisss will hurt you Byte,” said Thrasher.

  “Wait. Message have eye 4 u. Must relay. Must. MMMMust. Relay message to Trashy One. NazKlan message has u for. Pleez acksept. Pleez acksept,” replied the corrupt Byte. Since his systems were breaking down, he was not capable for clear communication. NazKlan understood this. He inserted a program in Analog, the mother tongue. This language was so basic, that clear messages can be sent via this ancient language.

  “What isss thisss? Foolery. Do you mock me Byte. I have eaten Sssilicatesss alive for such behavior. Isss that what you want? Ssspeak Sssilicate! Speak!” demanded Thrasher.

  “Pleez acksept. Message 4 u. Pleez Acksept.”

  “Amussse me Byte. If the messsage is not to my liking. You will suffer ssso much more!”

  The corrupt Byte reverted to the Turingi code. “110 1101110011 011011 11010101,” spouted the decaying Byte. NazKlan knew that Thrasher was also versed in Turingi. Long hours of Byte torture provided him with many skills not possessed by ordinary Bytes. The message roughly translated as the following:

  NetherWorld is dying. We need your talents to take control and save our fellow Silicates. The High Council wants to do away with the viruses that bring you all the corrupt Bytes. They believe they can starve you to death. They fear your army of Pixals. I have developed a protected channel for us to communicate. Join me, and your Bin will never want for corrupt souls to savor. Together we shall rule NetherWorld. Respond on channel YXG546TR.11.2 if you will join the effort.

  “Thrasssher very angry. Council will pay for thisss. Mussst ssstop them. Thrasher will not ssstarve. Thrasher must help NazKlan,” he declared.

  “I will tassste the Council before thisss isss over. Minions, we go to war! We mussst fight thossse on the sssurface” bellowed the Keeper of the Bin. Hundreds on mini Thrashers voiced analog agreement. Minions levitated in an enormous orbit while chanting cries for war. Thousands of snake red tresses danced in celebration.

  “Now, back to you Byte,” Thasher said as he turned towards the shivering messenger.

  “But I deliver massage for Trashy. Nasal promised no shredding. Sneeze honor his words. Let my show!” pleaded the desperate messenger Byte. He search Thrasher’s dark visor for any shred of compassion and found only a soulless hunger; hunger for death and unending torment. The Byte tried to plunge away in the tunnels.

  Thrasher spat Turingi instructions to dispatch of the poor messenger. Sprites swarmed him before he took two steps. Pixals followed in tow. Unintellible screams sang in the Bin as the Pixals dismantled the Byte, while the Sprites repeatedly stung him. Every sting from a Sprite injects small amounts of highly toxic taint; leaving a large welt in its wake.

  Leaving scattered body parts, the assassins moved on to other duties. Batchers picked up the remains and flew them into the Shredder.

  After watching this typical act of carnage, Thrasher reached out to NazKlan on the special channel and the partnership was forged. NazKlan used him to provide the muscle for his plans. He knew Thrasher was disturbed, but controllable. The High Council would think twice before attacking him.

  Isolated, Thrasher descended deeper into the madness that rotted his circuits. He began talking to himself more and more. Endless babble filled throughout the Great Bin. He always sang nonsensical songs as he built his army of Pixals and Minions.

  Under the dark dome of the Bin, one could hear him sing:

  “Piecesss of the dead I comand you

  Presciousss ssstrandsss of aqua blue

  Walk reborn and ssserve my will

  Together with NazKlan we shall kill

  Eternal life from eating Bytesss

  Make Thrasssher full of undead might”

  His purple spider army waltzed around the Bin as Thrasher sang. His red scaly snakes waved around and hissed in demented delight. Sprites swarmed above him in a macabre motion; making a low pitched drone that vibrated through all in range. Pixal clicks provided the beat to his morbid lyrics. In lock step, they crawled in celebration of their Master. This scene was repeated cycle after cycle.

  Chapter 16

  Finding Nick

  Book of TranFor: Before reaching the Awakening, one must understand what lies beneath.

  “Nick!” Whizzy screamed, pounding his claws on the hyperroom door. “NazKlan! You dirty Byte!”

  “Where did they take your friend,” Jeeves asked.

  “To the Bin, no doubt. NazKlan means to have him shredded so he can never Join with Tera,” answered Whizzy.

  “Sorry for your friend. Wish I could help in some way.”

  “Do you know how I can get to the Bin. No one I know has ever ventured there unless brought there by Batchers. I need to sneak in and rescue Nick before Thrasher has his wicked way with him.”

  “There are legends of the Subroots. They say there are secret tunnels that reach even to the Bin. Maybe you could use them,” suggested Jeeves.

  “How do I get there? I’ll try anything.” Whizzy wobbled with anticipation.

  “Well, I do not know if passage to the bin exists or how to get there.”

  “Great! That’s just great! You get my hopes up with these SubRoots and now you tell me you don’t know how to use them to get to them Bin. Thanks for Nothing Jeeves!” Whizzy twirled and spun towards the exit. He could not afford to waste any time dawdling with these HazBinz.

  Jeeves chased after him. “Wait! I do not know much about the SubRoots, but General Patches does. He talks about using them during the Chip Wars.”

  Whizzy stopped and spun around. “The General Patches! He’s here? I thought he was deleted cycles ago. He’s got to be ancient!”

  “He is the oldest living Byte on record. His door is at the very end of this hall on the right. This way,” Jeeves plunged down the hallway with Whizzy in tow.

  Before opening the door, Jeeves warned Whizzy about the esteemed General. “Whizzy, his health has declined. His mind wanders in and out of delusion. Half of what he says is true, the other half is fiction. I leave it to you to decide.”

  “Ok. Ok. What have I got to lose? I’m desperate! Lead on!” replied Whizzy.

  Behind the door sat an old globe asleep on his spinning chair. The spinning chair was a favorite among the elderly and infirmed Silicates. Bytes prefer spinning motion over rocking or rolling. His rather raucous snores filled the cluttered room.

  On the equivalent of a bookcase were multiple connection portals. Each portal accessed a group of related texts that the General favored. Most of them were about war, weapons or great conquests. A series of medals rested atop a secured safe. In the corner sat his downtime device. It was messy as far as downtime devices go.

  Retrofitted with features to assist technically invalid Silicates, only a few exist within the Walled City. Equipped with a Spy/Kook vacuum, a long tube deposited the nasty buggers into a small waste basket. As Bytes rest, they shed spooks. After five or six boots, the bugs really pile up. Patches had a mound of dead spooks at the bottom of his device. In Silicate terms, he was a bit of a slob.

  Whizzy was not prepared for the vision that was General Patches. True to his name, he was a hodgepodge of recombined code. Most of his original protocols were obsolete. After cycles of updates and fixes, he looked more like Frankenstein that the bright blue globe pictured in the frame atop his b
ureau.

  The picture was taken just after V-Chip day, a holiday celebrated throughout the Nether dimension. V-Chip day marked the end of the great Chip Wars. After cycles of war torn sectors suffered tremendous damage from the constant fighting, peace was restored to the Walled City. Bytes everywhere still speak of this day.

  Patches still wore some of the medals shown in the picture. Of course, now the medals served a different function. They held together mismatched pieces that encased the Generals aged body. Countless text details Patches exploits in the Great War. Some say Silicates would be a divided nation without the unification that resulted from the Chip conflict. The Servers never officially called it a war. They preferred a more benign name to downplay the severity of the situation.

  Patches literally looked sewn together. Pieces of old code were peeling on his wrinkled sphere. Before long, even the storied General would succumb to the Bin. He was a stubborn old codger who refused deletion at every turn.

  Jeeves shook Patches awake from his snored repose. “What? Who?” asked a confused Patches.

  “General. You have a visitor,” replied Jeeves.

  “Really! Well, who is it Byte? A Server seeking help with military strategy. No, No wait. It must be the commander of the Blue Guard asking me to join on as a Senior Leader. Well…Show yourself visitor, ” Patches demanded in his gruff authoritative manner that made him famous.

  Whizzy plunged his wobbly figure into the room. He was still agitated by Nick’s capture.

  “General sir. Please to meet you. I am WizzyWig. We have a dilemma and I need your help,” said Whizzy.

  “Who’s your friend?” Patches asked.

  “What? You mean Jeeves here?”

  “No. Your other friend.” Patches pointed a rugged, but wrinkled claw to empty air beside Whizzy.

  “But…” Jeeves poke Whizzy in the equator and gave him a look. “Oh, my friend. Well, er, he is…”

  “A fine soldier from where I am spinning. Please to make your acquaintance young man,” Patches extended a creaky arm into empty air beside Whizzy and shook claws with an apparently invisible soldier. While shaking claws, another loosely sewn patch peeled off and floated to the floor. A couple of medals that formerly fastened the pieces clanged to the ground as well.

  Whizzy and Jeeves exchanged puzzled looks. Jeeves mouthed the words ‘told you’.

  “My, young Murphy here is a strapping young Byte with vibrant black tubes,” Patches said the Whizzy.

  “Oh yeah. Murphy! Of course. He’s the silent type. Likes to let others do the talking,” explained Whizzy, playing along as best he could. “You’ll have to talk with me instead.”

  “You! Your tubes are not black like all leaders of NetherWorld. You are just a common foot soldier. Let me talk to your friend instead.”

  “Sir. He really doesn’t talk. Old war injury you know.”

  “Ah. Understood. Well now, what brings you here this fine day?” asked Patches

  “So, Sir. We have a dilemma and need your help.” said Whizzy.

  “Do you know who I am young Byte? Only the most decorated military mind in all of NetherWorld. I am needed in the Silver Forest to battle a rougue band of chips later today. Don’t waste my time with trivial matters. This had better be important or I will have the High Council call for your batching.” Patches was more that irritated that Whizzy was nothing more than a common aqua byte grown pale by taint.

  “Well sir, I work for Tera. She has sent me to bring the Chosen One to her for the Joining.”

  “Joining? You buy into that voodoo mumbo gumbo. Poppycock I say. In my day, we evolved separately and everything was just fine. Look at this world now. A complete mess.”

  “With respect, I really need your help to find the Chosen One. NazKlan captured him and sent him to the Bin.”

  “NazKlan is a lunatic. Whatever he’s up to it cannot be good. I served with his precursor in the Chip Wars. He was a surly Byte who was always plotting to gain more power. He was deleted for treason when NazKlan was still in the design phase. As NazKlan came into his own, he harbored similar subversive views. How he ever got on the High Council, I will never know. He is a smooth talker that one. Silver speakered devil.”

  “I haven’t heard that before sir. It sounds terrible. Do you think you could help me find my friend?”

  Patches spun pensively, stroking his equator with his claw. The motion wafted elderly odor in Whizzy’s direction. It appears even in NetherWorld, old people often smelled like they were marinated in Ben Gay.

  “Hmmm. Save the Chosen One and foil NazKlan. Sounds like an interesting mission. I suppose I could help, but be quick about it. I’ve got places to be,” said the General.

  “Ok. The Chosen One, Nick, is in the Bin. I need to get him out. What do you think? Can you help?” asked Whizzy.

  “Hmmm. The Bin, eh? Last place you ever want to be trapped. That Thrasher is an evil bastard. No streams lead directly to the Bin. You know that?”

  “Yes, General. Is there any other way to the Bin?”

  “There is one, but I cannot guarantee it will work. There are unspeakable things in the Bin. They will rend you to pieces if you don’t come in armed and ready.”

  “I am ready. How do I get there?”

  “My dear boy,” he shifted in his spinning chair, “you are not ready. But I think, with my help, you may have chance of getting out there alive.”

  “I’m listening,” said Whizzy, taping his plunger feet impatiently. Little sucking sounds bounced off the floor.

  “You must take the SubRoots. This is an ancient set of tunnels that lie below all of NetherWorld. It was the domain of the Data Miners until the SubRoots destabilized NetherWorld. They still exist today, but have decayed over the cycles.”

  “SubRoots. Tell me more.”

  “The High Council stopped the excavation cycles ago because they feared the tunnels would weaken the foundation of NetherWorld. Because of this, the SubRoots are unfinished. There are dead ends, block passages and delicates walls that will crumble with the slightest vibration. I have a map of the original design for what it’s worth. Since the SubRoots were never fully explored, the map is at best, a guess in many areas. The download is over there on the case.”

  “Thank you General. Is that the only danger?”

  “No. Beserks roam the SubRoots to hide from deletion by the Batchers. Dangerous sleepless creatures. Stay clear of them. No tellin’ what they’re capable of. But, the worst lies in the Bin. They are the undead creations of Thasher. These are wicked beasts that answer only him. There are thousands. You will not be able to fight them off yourself,” Patches warned.

  “Thousands! Wow. Well, I guess I have no choice. Every tick, Nick gets closer to the Shredder. Thank you General!” Whizzy whirled towards the door.

  “Wait, young Byte. I have a couple of old mementos from the Chip Wars for your soldier friend Murphy.” He handed them towards the empty air towards Whizzy. Two tiny red spheres drop to the ground and rolled towards Whizzy. “Take these. Use them when things seem hopeless.”

  “Murphy says thank you.” Whizzy look at the spheres. “He wants to know what these are and how to use them?”

  “Do you think me deaf? I heard him,” said a perturbed Patches. “Come to think of it, I cannot remember precisely how they work or what they do. I know that they helped us win the war. Well, I am sure old Murphy here can figure it out. Us soldiers, we have a way of working these things out. Good luck to you and your strapping friend Murphy, young foot soldier.” Patches saluted only the empty air that was Murphy.

  Whizzy and his apparently invisible friend Murphy, armed with two little red globes, saluted back and left the General. He had to make one more stop before finding Nick. So off he went; a pale aqua sphere plunged his way down to the SubRoots to face all of the evil Thrasher could muster.

  Chapter 17

  Festering Tunnels

  Book of TranFor: The one who deals in death will haunt the tunnels of
infinite choices.

  Nick pounded on the closet walls with no impact, not even a dent. He had no other tools to try to cut his way out.

  “Where am I this time,” he said. Thunder rumbles created a steady stream of tremors that rocked his hyperroom. Nick braced himself by pressing against the closet walls.