“At least for one afternoon you’re going to be your old self,” Hector said.
“But I don’t want to be him.”
Hector put his arms around Adrian’s shoulders. They stared at each other in the mirror. Neither was the person they used to be.
“Perhaps you should shave that thing off,” Hector said.
“Perhaps I should.”
Adrian searched the bathroom cabinets for razors and found them. He began to dry scrape at the hairs on his face. Each razor got clogged, so he’d start a new one over and over and over again. The heavy hair came off in clumps. When he finally got close to the skin, it was a tricky business. The first nick stung like a mother. He used a bit of toilet paper to patch the wound. Then he nicked himself again and again and again. Soon his whole lower jaw was covered by tiny Japanese flags.
“Hey, good looking!” Hector said when he returned to the bathroom. “But you’re supposed to use toilet paper on the other end.”
“Ha, ha,” Adrian said. “You’re real funny.”
“I do my best,” Hector said, smiling. “You feeling better?”
“Yeah, I feel better.”
“Antoine is upstairs waiting for you.”
“Yes?” Adrian said.
“Yes.”
“I’m taking him to Elysium today.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Adrian tugged at the edges of the patches on his face. Then one by one he peeled them off. The brown blood stuck them to his skin for tiny moments until they gave way. He tossed them into the sink, where they drifted into the basin and collected with the scraped hair bristles at the bottom. They looked like little flower petals on a bed of freshly cut hay.
Adrian entered the room, freshly cleaned and somewhat sane. The eleven were there waiting for him. Four men dressed alike. They no longer wore suits and ties, only long-sleeved business shirts with the top buttons undone. Two women stood extremely close, like sisters. One had red hair and freckles and seemed nervous and out of place. Stephen the engineer pushed his glasses back and rubbed at his hair. Hector, his old friend, stood up smiling, happy to see him. The guy with the gray eyes looked at the floor and had nothing to say. Maiter seemed stern as usual, still in her steel-rimmed glasses.
“The people in the city look sickly,” he said.
“The concentration of dust from the surface air has been increasing.”
“I see. I thought that might happen.” Adrian drew on a piece of paper. “Try this.”
“What is it?”
“A new design for the scrubbers in the air filtration system.”
“Okay,” Maiter said, taking the paper. “We will look into this.”
“The city needs to be bigger,” Adrian said.
“We are digging as fast as we can.”
“There’s no space for the people.”
“We’ve limited the birth rates to one-to-two a couple,” Maiter said. “But it’s difficult to keep up with immigration from above.”
“Then stop taking in the sick.”
“Dad!” a small voice said from behind.
Adrian turned around and saw his son. His little boy. Antoine. He took the boy into his arms and held him tight.
“I’ve missed you, Dad.”
“Antoine,” Adrian said, “I’ve missed you, too.” He stared at his son. The very image of his mother. The same eyes and nose. The same curve of cheek. Beautiful.
“How old are you now?”
“I’m eight.”
“Eight? Yes, that’s right. Eight. You’re becoming such a big boy,” his father said. “And do you know what day today is?”
“Yes,” the boy answered.
“What day is it?”
“It’s my mother’s birthday.”
“And where are we going?”
“To the world above to visit her grave.”
“Yes,” Adrian said. “To Elysium. To the world above the sky.”
Stephen stepped forward with a small device in his hand and said, “I’m going with you.”
“Yes?” Adrian said.
“It’s time to update the atmospheric encoding system.”
“The Elysium system,” Adrian said.
“Yes,” Stephen said. “Elysium.”
“I have the tribute file for Antoinette ready,” Stephen said.
“Is she beautiful like she was?” Adrian asked.
“Yes, she is beautiful.”
15.
Adrian and his son were with ten others in the elevator. A sadness lingered as they flew higher and higher, up to the surface. Flashes of light seeped through, periodically illuminating their somber faces as they passed the many levels of the underground city. The sound inside the shaft changed as the elevator reached the upper levels, becoming a long screeching sound like a wailing child. Then the elevator was immersed in the natural light that shined in from above.
Antoine leaned over to look out one of the windows in the door. They had reached the crust, the level between the very top of the city and the surface of the world. Stretching as far as his eyes could see were the great sheets of translucent metal used to produce the illusion of sky for the city below. They lay flat against the upper surface of the artificial world. Construction was still underway. One day they would undulate, to simulate the movement of the heavens so that clouds might appear and possibly even rain. Antoine could also see the inner workings of the atmospheric processors and the climate controllers that created the wind from the recycled air. No one but the administrators were allowed to see this level. No one from the city was allowed out into the real world anymore. The Twelve had ordered it so. And who would disagree? No one really wanted to see the mess that was made of it.
The elevator door opened on the surface level to a dark enclosed passageway. There was a hint of light from the other end of the hall. Everyone paused. No one said anything. Antoine was the first to leave the elevator. Then the others followed. The air felt hot and dry and still. They walked toward the light and stopped beside a short stairway that led to a door outlined by the glow of day.
The men put on black gloves and wrapped their faces with large black scarves. They were dark soldiers walking into the night like walking shadows. These men had a natural ability to fight the effects of the dust, still they knew they shouldn’t stay on the surface for too long. Adrian helped Antoine, encircling his small head with a length of thick cloth.
“Can you see?” he asked Antoine.
Antoine nodded yes, then adjusted the cloth around his eyes.
One of the men produced a key card that glowed red on its edge. He slid the card into the slot next to the door. A heavy lock clicked. Then the metal door slowly rumbled open, allowing in the damp air.
They entered a world of grays. Gray drizzle fell on a gray horizon. Streaks of lightning lined the sky, and the roll of distant thunder shook Adrian’s heart. Only a few buildings remained standing, and even they were crumbling, with great tree trunks growing into them, breaking the concrete and bricks. Rows of hollowed-out trunks lined the former streets with the wind howling through them, making them seem to speak. And everywhere the mist drifted like a living fog. Adrian looked westward, from what used to be midtown, to see the flowing black water of the river.
This was home. Elysium. A place of sorrow. A place of love. It was difficult to reconcile the two. In the silence, it was as if all that had ever existed in time and space was trapped and frozen here. Adrian didn’t want his son to see this place. But it was where his mother lay, so it was where they must go.
A hulk wedged up from the old harbor, casting a dark shadow onto the landscape, a remnant of a time not so long ago. A little beyond it, out of the mist rose several avocado-shaped latticework constructions, the beginnings of his spaceships. Adrian pointed them out to his son.
“See that? Those are ships that will sail in space someday. When they are complete, I want you to go on one of them. It will take you to a better place.”
Ant
oine stared, fascinated.
“I don’t want you to spend the rest of your life buried alive in the bowels of the Earth. Antoine, you should go to the stars.”
The group walked in the eerie quiet as if they were the only ones left alive in the whole world. In the night, anyone who remained on the surface would be hiding somewhere. Rumors said that things roamed the former streets that were best avoided.
“Stay sharp,” Jolly whispered.
The guards soundlessly lifted their weapons and scanned the mist, searching for any movement, listening for sounds.
They approached the site of the grave. Upon it, a marble statue of a veiled woman looked down with maternal eyes. An oil lamp carved into her hand burned stone flames, and stalks of wheat and barley were etched at her feet. The marble image overshadowed everything. Its gaze went to far-off places. Brought here from gardens overseas, it was said that this statue had once been painted — sienna, burnt umber, olive, ochre. Its alabaster appearance came from years of exposure to the elements.
Antoine laid down on the grave a crayon picture of his mother that he made in school. He had only seen her in photos, so it was based on them. Her eyes were large with black irises surrounded in white, her skin carefully shaded in lines of tan. Adrian went to his knees and brushed away sticks and crisp, aged leaves with his bare hands. He whispered words that no one could hear and placed a kiss on his fingers, then put his fingers to the cold white stone.
The others waited uncomfortably in the mist. Stephen backed away and began to prepare the device for updating the atmospheric database. He removed a small rocket from the bag he carried. He set it upright on a welcome-mat-sized launching pad and ignited its engines. Within moments the small rocket whooshed into the air, higher and higher until it disappeared from sight.
“What da hell are ya doing?” Jolly said.
“I’m updating the atmospheric database,” Stephen replied.
“No, you’re tellin’ every freak out here that we’re here. What’s fucking wrong with you?”
“Wha —” Stephen began to say when the rocket above burst into flame, flowering overhead into a multitude of directions, momentarily lighting the entire sky like a giant spider’s web set ablaze.
“Fuck … me. …” Jolly said.
No one else spoke in the moments that followed. Maybe it was the shock. Maybe it was the amazement. It was probably both.
The darkness returned. The silence returned. All was still.
“I’m so sorry,” Stephen breathlessly said, rubbing his hair and straightening his glasses. “I don’t understand. This never happened in the simulations I performed. This never —”
“Shh!” Jolly put his finger to his mouth.
A shift in the wind. A distant heartbeat. The sound of crashing trash cans. Something was out there. Something was coming.
“Everyone, let’s move!” Jolly shouted.
“No,” Adrian said. “I’m not ready.”
“Then get ready. We gotta go!”
One of the guards picked up Antoine and bolted with the others. Adrian had no choice but to follow as they ran into the mist. Something was behind them. Many things, by the sounds of it.
Lungs burned. Hot breath parted the mist. Even with the fear, exhaustion set in after running so long. The things were behind them. Now they seemed before them, obscured by the thickened mist. The men pointed their guns into the fog.
“Easy. Shoot only on my mark,” Jolly said. “They’re probably just hungry folks out looking for some food. No need for bloodshed today. Just back away.”
But the things didn’t back away. They breathed in unison. Heartbeats. Voices low and guttural.
One of them stepped out of the fog. It walked like a man, but it was not a man. It had antlers that twisted up like a crown. Planar structures moved over its surface, flickering and sometimes cracking out of existence so that the eye could not quite capture what it was perceiving. The creature was more shadow than form, shifting and changing from moment to moment, making it seem multi-limbed and writhing through dimensional space. It stomped slowly toward the circle and pushed its head forward into Jolly’s face.
“What da fuck are you?” Jolly whispered. “What do you want from us?”
The answer came like a fly buzzing in the ear. They all heard it. Words whispered close to the mind as if the wind spoke.
… hu-man … ver-min … die … soon …
“Fuck you!”
Bullets flew. The heat. The smoke. The smell. Bdddbb, bdddd, bddddd! Bdddbb, bdddd, bddddd! Bdddbb, bdddd, bddddd! Adrian ducked. The night was pitch black with repeating bursts of light. He moved to cover his son with his body.
“Antoine! Antoine!”
Antoine was gone.
A flash of green …
*** SYSTEM FAILURE ***
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
** BREAK **
>>
>> restart
BRIDGE PROCESS: RESTARTED
>>
>>
>> whois /current
Humans 12 0000-00-00 00:00
Roaches 8 0000-00-00 00:00
>> finger roaches
Name: roaches
Origin: unknown
Description:
An alien species called the Krestge
that entered Earth space and released
the dust that poisoned the atmosphere.
.
.
.
They wore crimson cloth and copper-colored armor and mechanical wings that extended high off their backs and shined in the moonlight. Wings designed by Adrian so they could protect themselves in the land above, made of metal that they mined from deep within the earth. They had found this metal as they dug deeper and deeper to build the underground city. Metal he used to construct these wings so they could fly and cut.
Wings opened and slashed, slicing in every direction. Feathers of metal shot like knives, stabbing at alien flesh. The thick fog scrambled the senses. A blade grazed the skin of his arm. His wing flicked upward, slashing the creature in front of him. It gurgled and fell to the earth.
The others fighting alongside them — other humans who seemed to come from nowhere — wielded knives and sticks and other crude weapons. Several of the creatures flew up into the trees. The transparent skin between their limbs allowed them to take to the air like birds. Adrian and his men flew after them, cutting them down. The night filled with sounds of sliced flesh thudding against the earth. And then silence.
Adrian and the others raised their wings to beat back the mist so they could see. Many of those who had attacked them lay dead on the ground.
“Antoine! Antoine!”
“Dad!” Antoine came running into his arms.
Adrian held him tight.
Adrian fell to his knees to check the boy’s condition. He moved his head from side to side, checked his neck and arms, turned him around to examine his back. He was fine. The child stood in the fog, curious and afraid.
Cloud smoke rose from their noses and mouths. The stench of rotting flesh, urine, blood, and feces reeked. The men adjusted their headwraps to shield their faces from the wind and the dust and the smell.
A dog with glowing green eyes clunk-clunked toward them, sniffing. Its front paws and part of its muzzle were made of metal.
“That’s Roscoe. Don’t worry, he’s harmless if you’re human,” a pale man said as he walked out of the shadow, wiping blood off a large knife on his pant leg. “We got him from one of the roaches and retrained him.” As he passed a fallen alien, he spat on it. “Fuckin’ roach.”
The haggard men emerged from the shadows, so ashen their skins seemed to glow through the dirt and blood that smeared them.
“I didn’t know the aliens were still coming down to the surface,” Jolly said.<
br />
“We’ve been seeing them walking around lately. Mostly at night. Roaches like the dark.”
Adrian kicked at a fallen alien and turned it over. It was not what he had expected. It was bipedal and had an extra set of limbs. What seemed to be its face dislodged and rolled away. It was a face mask, probably to protect it from the effects of the dust. Its real face was thin and noseless and shadow. It had slits that maybe were its eyes.
“What brings you out on a night like this?” the pale man said.
“We were visiting a grave.”
The pale ones laughed.
“If that ain’t the dumbest reason I ever heard for risking your life. Dead is dead. Nobody gives a damn after you’re gone.”
“She was this child’s mother. And we will remember her.”
“Whatever.”
The moon sat red and half in shadow on the horizon. It was big and thick as if one could reach up and pluck it directly out of the sky. Huge tree trunks lined the path, dead and hollow. They whistled as a breeze blew through them with a winter’s chill.
“Thank you for helping us —”
“You’re from the underground.”
Silence.
“No use in denying it,” the pale man said. “You look too healthy to be from the surface. Not to mention your metal gear.” He reached out and touched Adrian’s wing. “We want you to get us in.”
Adrian looked at them closely.
“How many of you have the sickness?” Adrian said.
“All of us, even me.” The pale man pulled down his scarf to expose a few scales running up and down his neck.
“I’m sorry then.”
“You’re going to take us to the underground.”
“If you have the sickness you can’t be admitted.”
“Who are you to decide? Who the fuck do you think you are? Fuckin’ filthy niggers! Who are you to tell us where we can go?”
And there it was. A memory of something Adrian had long forgotten. A class system that had died in the dust. Adrian looked around at his people and saw a truth that no one had spoken out loud. The dust had been discriminating. Those with more melanin had been spared its harshest effects. Their skin had protected them. It had protected him and it protected their son. He was so grateful that in this one way Antoine favored him. But soon, they too would succumb.
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