Static Mayhem

by Edward Aubry

  Some of the stores had alleys running between them, and a few of these had signs pointing down them, toward smaller tunnels that led out of the main chamber. The signs all proclaimed, in the stylized blue letters Harrison was becoming accustomed to, one word: WORM.

  "Well," said Glimmer, "I know what a worm is." She seemed quite pleased with herself.

  "You don't really think these tunnels all lead to clearly labeled worms, do you?" Harrison scoffed. "It has to be another abbreviation." He thought for a few moments, imagining that the tunnels led to more shopping, all of which would be free for the taking. "Maybe it stands for Wonderful Offerings of Rich Merchandise."

  "Oh!" Glimmer said. "I like this game! Um, wait … let me think." She frowned and tapped her forehead. Her eyes popped wide. "Wrongful Ogres and Revolting Monsters!"

  Harrison turned pale and moved on.

  "What?" said the pixie. "I was joking!"

  He did find a music store, which delighted him, and he went to look for a replacement Walkman. He found something much better. It was a radio, less than half the size of his old one. It was designed to store music in the form of data, similar to how he imagined an MP3 player worked. He had never owned an MP3 player, which made this find even more fun. It took him about ten minutes to figure out how to work it, after which he began to fill it. It then took him less than an hour to upload every album he remembered ever having owned, or heard of (including the one by the Treadles). A small display on the side of the player indicated that zero-point-four percent of its storage capacity was now consumed. "Unreal," he whispered.

  While he did this, Glimmer waited for him just outside. She had quickly become bored with his music thing, and gone out to explore the next shop. Naturally, by the time he went next door to tell her he was done, she was nowhere to be found. He decided to keep moving, that she would find him. Sure enough, after a few minutes, she appeared.

  "Hey, Harry!" she shouted. She had found another four-letter sign, in the same lettering, fixed above the entrance to a corridor. This sign glowed as though it contained an interior light source. The hallway was identical to the one that led from the escalator they had used to get down there. "What do you think this one means? I know it must have something to do with xylophones, but I can't think of a good one."

  Harrison stared at the sign, experiencing a sudden paradigm shift. "I think it says exit."

  Glimmer squinted at the sign again. "Oh. I figured all the signs were initials. I didn't even read it." She smacked her forehead and giggled. "Duh. So, this one's just a word?"

  "Maybe they're all words," he said. He looked up at the enormous GLTW on the wall, back at the smaller WORM signs posted at various locations, then back at the clear and obvious EXIT sign in front of him. "Let's," he started to say, and paused, trying to decide what exactly he wanted them to do. "Let's try," he started again. "Let's try to figure out just where the hell we are before we touch anything else." Locating themselves had been on Harrison's agenda for the day, anyway. They had been weaving across the landscape for so many days that they had no way of estimating where they were. "This thing with the signs," he continued. He paused again. "This really seems like the sort of thing we should know what it means." He looked at Glimmer in expectation. "Right?"

  "Absolutely!" she agreed.

  "Good," he said, without confidence. "Um," he added.

  "Yes?" she asked, awaiting instructions.

  Harrison was pretty much waiting for instructions, too. So far, he had dismissed the signs as untranslatable, which made him more comfortable. As long as it was impossible to render the logos somehow meaningful, he didn't have to devote any brain time to evaluating them. Now he discovered that at least some of them were not in a secret code. This meant that it now mattered what they said. He looked back at the WORM signs. If they really meant worm, and someone had bothered to put signs up about a worm, then the worm must be something to behold. Given what he had already seen, the notion of a remarkable worm did not excite him. He was perfectly happy for his worms to be small and ordinary, thank you very much.

  "Find an office," he said.

  "Beg pardon?" asked the pixie, not quite following.

  Harrison had impressed himself by thinking of this. It was a gut response, not a considered idea, but he realized that it made sense. "Something other than a store," he said. "We're so used to scavenging, that's all we look for anymore, but this place can't be just for shopping." He waved his arms and spun in a circle. "Look around you! No one would excavate a cavern just to fill it with shops. It's got to be here for some other reason."

  "But why would the shops be here, too?" she asked."

  I don't know." He looked around some more.

  "What do they sell? Could that be important?" she probed.

  She was reaching, he knew, but Harrison decided to treat the question as Socratic. He looked from storefront to storefront, lingering a few moments on each one. "Music." Next one. "Pizza." Another. "Books and magazines." And another. "Toiletries. Stationery. Snacks. Toys. Magazines again." He looked back at her. "None of this stuff matters."

  She nodded. "So now what?"

  "We've only been down this one alley, right?" She nodded again. "Let's walk the whole square. Take every path, don't stop anywhere, just look around. If we see anything that looks administrative, we'll stop."

  Looking very serious, she saluted. "Aye, aye, Cap'n!"

  Harrison grimaced. This was becoming a tense situation, and he felt that she was mocking his authority. Then he realized that for the first time since they had set out together, she was acknowledging that he had some sort of authority that she could mock. It was a moment of profound ambivalence for him, and he was grateful beyond measure that she broke it by saying something stupid: "Should we split up?" He shivered, imagining just how many unspeakable horrors were waiting, eager for them to do just that.

  "No," he said without further comment.

  They found what they were looking for almost immediately. After walking down one row of buildings and halfway up the next, they found a sizeable gap opening out onto what was surely the very center of the square. There they found a single building, fenced in by a counter. On signs above the counter, in the familiar style, were the letters G, L, T, and W, but unlike every earlier sign, here each letter was followed by the rest of a word, though in smaller type. As soon as he was close enough, he read the four words aloud.

  "Great Lakes Transit Worm." He stopped, turned in a circle again to take in his surroundings, and slapped his forehead. "Oh, duh!"

  "Duh?"

  "This is a subway! This whole setup is just a glorified subway station!" He stopped himself, remembering that Glimmer would likely not know what that meant. "A subway is a train that runs underground," he began.

  "I know what a subway is."

  "Oh." He frowned. "Did you … were there subways where you came from?"

  She rolled her eyes. "Of course not."

  "Oh." It was impossible for him to tell how much she understood about his world. She kept surprising him with her knowledge, and then she surprised him further with her lack thereof. She was nothing but coy on the subject, and so he had grown accustomed to the absurd contradiction. He read it as a game for her, but he wasn't in the mood to play just then. "Well. Um … Anyway, I think that's what this is. 'Transit' is a dead giveaway." He looked back up at the huge logos on the main walls, and scanned further for more signs that read WORM. "The word 'worm' is a metaphor, I guess." He looked to Glimmer, who seemed to be waiting for him to finish the idea. "You know, like an earthworm? Moves by burrowing underground? Like it's in a tunnel? Like a subway?" Her expression did not change. "That's why I didn't get it at first."

  "So," she asked, "this subway is basically a big worm?"

  The odious image of commuters riding a giant earthworm on some sort of elongated, multi-seat saddle sprang uninvited to Harrison's mind. Revolted, he set it aside and shook his head. "No, no. It's called a Worm, but it's not rea
lly a worm." As he said it, he recalled that he had no true evidence of that, and the picture of the big saddle came back. He shook his head again, more forcefully and with his eyes squeezed shut. "I think," he said. "I hope."

  Further inspection of the counter area confirmed Harrison's assessment, more or less. The words "Great Lakes Transit Worm" appeared numerous times, printed on a variety of paperwork (much of which he was unable to read) and on a variety of tools (many for which he was unable to discern a use), and on a variety of fixtures and furniture. He was, unfortunately, unable to find any description of the Worm itself, which made him more than a little apprehensive. He would have loved to see a poster or a pamphlet somewhere with a clear picture of the train, if train, indeed, it was. The surface of the counter was tiled in a manner similar to the walls, but without the ceramic tiles, instead alternating small plastic tiles and large glass ones. About fifteen feet behind the counter area was the square building it enclosed, and Harrison ventured into it. The interior was what he expected. Small offices, a break room, a time clock. The banal trappings of a utilitarian industry.

  "This doesn't sit right," he said after exploring his third office and having found nothing useful or especially informative. He looked back into the hall for Glimmer. She was pulling paper cups out of the dispenser on a water cooler and using them to build a curious sort of castle on the carpeted hallway floor.

  "What doesn't sit right?" she asked, putting the finishing touches on a turret.

  For a moment, he was transfixed by her activity, unsure how she was holding the cups together with no obvious construction materials. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and started over.

  "This just seems like a stupid way to design a train station," he explained. "You can't even tell it's a train station when you come in. Well, I mean I couldn't tell. But there's nothing out there to indicate, I don't know, what passengers are supposed to do, I guess."

  "What would a not-stupid train station look like?" she asked, strolling through the opening in the front of her castle and lowering a paper portcullis behind her. She flew up and over the wall to get back out, and sat on the floor, giving Harrison her undivided attention.

  He thought about it. "There should be maps," he said. "Maps of the train route and maps of the station itself. I mean, would you really want to design something like this where people would have to wade through a ton of frivolous shopping before they even get to the ticket counter? Shouldn't that be the easiest thing to find? Something isn't right."

  "Maybe there are maps out there and you just didn't recognize them," she suggested. "You did walk right past the signs that said WORM without understanding them. Maybe there's more stuff like that out there that somebody else would recognize right away, even though you don't have a clue."

  He frowned. "I don't see how. There were almost no signs out there of any sort. How would I miss one if I saw it?" She shrugged unhelpfully, and he sighed. "Let's poke around some more," he said. "If we don't find anything else useful in here, I think we should call it quits and go back topside." He looked up and down the hall. "I'm starting to get claustrophobic in here," he added.

  The next room they investigated was the one where they hit pay dirt.

  It was an office no larger than the others he had been in, but it had the promising distinction of having a sign on the door: Administrator. Harrison remarked to Glimmer that they must have expected a high turnover on that job if they wouldn't even spring to have the person's name on the sign, but the idea was lost on her. In addition to the same types of office paraphernalia they had found everywhere else, there was an extra piece of furniture. It was approximately a desk, but it was overrun and consumed by a computer terminal and many panels of readouts and controls. It was the first thing Harrison had seen down here that looked appropriately futuristic. He considered that a good sign. The monitor was lit, and it suddenly struck him that it was the first computer monitor he had seen at all in the whole complex. He hadn't been looking for them, but the notion that there were none on the counter outside now seemed ridiculous. He sat down at the station and tried to make sense of what he saw on the screen. Happily, there wasn't much to sort through. Overlaid on top of what looked like some sort of complicated program was a box with a question in it. It looked just like a warning in any Windows program (with subtle differences, all aesthetic). The familiarity was eerie.

  It read, "Idle time exceeds standard maximum. System switching to Standby Mode. Override?" On the screen, beneath the question, were the images of two buttons, officiously labeled YES and NO.

  Harrison pondered the implications of each choice. It seemed to him that the system had most likely grown weary of waiting for further instructions, and had gone into Standby Mode on its own initiative. If ever there were something that looked like it was standing by, it was this train station. If so, and he chose NO, the office building and its charge would continue to sleep. If not, and he chose NO, their slumber would somehow deepen. He didn't like the thought of that. If he chose YES, the worst case scenario would be that he would be restarting the system, only to discover that he had awakened a sleeping giant. He hated to think what kind of automated security a place like this would have. Somehow, though, it didn't feel likely to him that he was in any real danger here. And, maybe, just maybe, he could gain access to more, and useful, information. He looked for a mouse but didn't find one. Feeling foolish, he reached out and touched the screen.

  And the little city came alive.

  Multicolored lights trickled into the office where he sat, and the unnatural silence that had pervaded the entire chamber was washed out by quiet but invasive background noise. Harrison and Glimmer emerged from the office to see activity everywhere. Nothing was actually moving, but displays were lit up on every wall and surface, many showing data, many more showing what looked like movies. The lack of informative displays of which Harrison had complained was now clear. Information was flowing freely from what he had assumed were decorative glass tiles, but were in fact small screens, probably touch screens like the one he had just used. The signs were everywhere. They had just been in sleep mode.

  They emerged from the building to see the station in an entirely new context. The walls were saturated with instructions, entertainment, and advertisements galore. He looked up and saw that the trapezoidal structure on the ceiling was composed of IMAX-sized screens on which ads for the various shops alternated with schedule information. As he watched, they cycled through to show the one thing he wanted to see most badly: the train.

  It was beautiful, it was sleek, and it was, without doubt, a vehicle. Not an animal.

  All he could do was sigh. Then, "Oh boy." He closed his eyes, afraid he might start crying. The Worm was silver. It had windows and doors, and it was constructed not by magic, not by God, but by human endeavor. It was a train. An actual, ridable train. The next step would be to find out where it went, find out where it was, and get the hell on it. This was so much more than he had hoped, and as he started poring over the deluge of new input, looking frantically for the word that had, second only to one other, propelled him so many, who knew how many, miles, he heard a new sound. He stopped. The sound hadn't come from a speaker. It wasn't the memorized sensation of having his eardrums magically stimulated.

  "Cool!" said the sound.

  Said the voice.

  Said the boy.

  It was an extraordinary act of grace by which Harrison refrained from pissing himself. Standing on the other side of the counter and quite a way beyond, gazing, nearly hypnotized, at the oversized, overhead screen, was a boy. This boy did not appear to have taken note of Harrison or Glimmer, at least not yet. He was filthy. His clothes were worn through in several places, and like the pixie, but, for presumably very different reasons, he was not wearing shoes. His hair was black, long, straight, and clumpy with grease. His bangs had been cut off, unprofessionally. Perhaps he had done that himself to keep the hair out of his eyes. It was impossible to say. He seemed
to be under five feet tall. Harrison tried to remember how old he had been when he had been five feet tall. Eleven? This kid would be younger than that. With a sudden recollection, he asked Glimmer quietly, "Does he smell like skunk?"

  "No," she said. "Oh, good question." Her eyes were also locked on the boy.

  Harrison flushed, very briefly, with a bit of pride at the praise. He was learning. Time for back-patting later, though. Time to get to business. "Hide," he said calmly.

  It took Glimmer a full five seconds to pick up that he was talking about her. "Why?"

  "Just hide!" he whispered through his teeth.

  She glared, venomously, then saluted. "Aye, aye, Cap'n."

  Then she was gone. He saw her move, but not where she went.

  That'll cost me, he thought, and it took some of the wind out of his puffed sails. And then we'll get past it, he decided. He cleared his throat.

  "Excuse me?" he called. The boy did not react. Harrison would have a rough go competing against the gargantuan TV. He tried again, louder. "Excuse me?"

  This time the boy looked right at him. Harrison's main fear, that the boy would break and run, did not pan out. "Hey!" the boy called. "Did you do that?" He was pointing up at the screen.

  "Yeah," said Harrison. Ice broken. Now what? "My name's Harrison!" he called. And waited. The boy took the cue and walked to the counter. He stayed on the other side of it, and as he came closer, Harrison revised his age estimate downward.

  "I'm Mitchell."

  "Hi, Mitchell," said Harrison. Mitchell waited for him to say something else, and when he didn't right away, went back to looking up at the screen. Harrison wanted to choose his next few words very carefully. This was not a meeting for which he had prepared, and he was criticizing himself inwardly for that. If he asked Mitchell if he was alone, or about his parents, or anything else the kid might find at all threatening, he could, maybe, lose him. He was not willing to let that happen. While he struggled with the next question, Mitchell asked it for him.