by J. J. Harkin
“Be careful,” warned Talman. “There are many hundred steps, no railing, and nothing soft to catch you should you fall.”
Dajjal’s heart beat in his throat as he shuffled through the door, following Talman down into darkness. It was cold in that place, and the smell, though not quite putrid, was ripe. The finality of their subterranean destiny was increased as the vacuum-sealed, secret door clamped shut behind them. Dajjal’s eye took time to grow used to the lack of light. Presumably the inside of the tower had been left largely hollow below ground, for they felt their way along with their left hands, ever downward in clockwise fashion, with a vast, mysterious void always at their right. The only visible lights appeared intermittently: small, red, and at eye level – a guide to those whom dared descend the stairs.
It was like an inverted ziggurat. Rather than ascending in ever-shrinking, concentric circles, they were descending down to some unknown platform below. Echoes were muffled there, contrary to Dajjal’s expectation, as though the darkness hid some great sound-absorbent mass which might have stolen the light as well. Hints of quiet movement in the air nearby became inescapable. Dajjal felt certain he had heard the rustle of clothing a while back. Or was it the soft mutter of a muffled voice? One thing was certain: the black void at his side was not as empty as the darkness belied – a fact which unnerved Dajjal more and more as they went on.
“Please,” he found himself praying, “please don’t let him turn on the light.”
Finally, after at least a twenty minute descent, they reached the bottom of the pit. The floor was laid out in geometric flagstones, just as Dajjal had seen on the roof, but the effect in this enclosed space was exceedingly ominous. The red lights were slightly brighter down here, so that, standing at the bottom of the stairs, Dajjal could see Talman had strayed forward to meet a strange man whom waited before a sturdy wooden table.
“Hello, Trenchant,” said Talman to the man.
“Good day to you, Grand Dragon,” replied Trenchant, bowing. His skin might never have seen the light of day. Even in this red light, the man’s thin hide seemed to emit a pale glow, making even the sallow yellowness of Dajjal’s face appear somewhat dark.
As the white-faced man’s gaze met his, Dajjal realized something else: Trenchant’s forehead, like his own, bore a tattoo. Yet Trenchant’s was a strange, mystical, and certainly holographic mark, for it glowed with a wavering light as nothing of earthly origin ever should. Though the tattoo now shone as brightly as a candle upon the man’s forehead, Dajjal had not seen it at first, for it was like the kind of holograms he had only ever seen on magazine covers or trading cards in supermarket checkout lanes. Indeed, none would have seen this projection properly unless they took the time to look Trenchant directly in the face, for it winked from view when addressed from the side, just like the cheap supermarket holograms he remembered so readily.
“Good day to you as well, oh King,” said Trenchant, this time bowing in Dajjal’s direction. Dajjal could see the tattoo again, now: an odd pattern of what looked like cubes within cubes.
“How’s business?” asked Talman, as he plunked the despondent form of Haji onto the table.
Dajjal gasped upon seeing his master there. Talman had glanced his way at last, but now with a forehead that burst into flame as well, revealing another tattoo, identical to Trenchant’s. Now that he had a better view, Dajjal saw it to be a red cube spinning within an orange cube spinning within a yellow cube, which itself turned as well, all shining out against the backdrop of Talman’s forehead. It looked as though moving neon signs had been branded upon the foreheads of the two men, ever displaying the same repeating images of rotating geometry for all the world to see.
“Good,” smiled Trenchant. “Ariadne has been asking for you, as one might expect.” He gazed hungrily down at the defenseless boy. “A new recruit, is it?”
Dajjal desperately wished to interrupt, to interview the men concerning their strange tattoos, but knew such behavior might prove embarrassing. “No,” he thought to himself, “I must play it cool, as if this is all just routine.”
“No, nothing as special as all that,” Talman was saying to Trenchant, seeming to enjoy the presentation of his young catch thoroughly. “Just a gift of the thronging masses for you.”
“But what is our goal with this one?” asked Trenchant. “Does he know something?”
Dajjal took another moment, as he listened, to look around more closely. The nearby cupboards and tables were strewn with the traditional instruments of torture, though the purposes of some of the apparatuses and contraptions defied even his best efforts to understand or identify. On a far wall, most distant from the base of the stairs, a massive collection of pegs held fast countless tied ropes, whose other ends stretched taught into the endless blackness above. “Yes,” thought Dajjal, “this must be Talman’s torture chamber, and an impressive one.”
“No,” returned Talman, in answer to Trenchant, “he knows nothing. Just a dainty for your enjoyment. You know how I like to skim off the top...”
“Yes, yes,” Trenchant gulped, hurrying greedily to untie the boy. “Yes…”
“Dajjal, I want you to assist dear Trenchant with his work from time to time,” Talman said. “Perhaps weekly.”
“Very well,” agreed Dajjal. In truth he was not flattered by the gesture in the least; he had actually been hoping to have a fine dinner soon, and was in no mood for further torture lessons at the moment.
“Just do as I do,” whispered Trenchant.
“Oww! Help!” The child had managed to partially squirm free of his gag.
“Hush, Haji!” pleaded Dajjal, trying to stop himself from looking into the boy’s eyes.
“Do not speak to the feast!” hissed Trenchant, wide-eyed. Already the balled-up piece of fabric was being stuffed back into the boy’s mouth, so that he choked, forced again to breathe solely through his nostrils. Then they were tying his arms behind him, so he might be hoisted up into the unknown heights above.
“Might take a couple days to milk the magic outta that one,” said Talman nonchalantly, tying his end of Haji’s rope securely to a peg. The child’s flailing mass had been lost from site, engulfed utterly by the yawning darkness brooding above them. Dajjal could feel Talman’s dark eyes upon him, though he could not bring himself to meet them. Talman was testing him for some reason, of that much he was certain.
“I’d… like… to… show… you… something…” said Talman slowly. He spoke in fact so slowly that Dajjal was finally forced to meet his gaze, if only to find out what was wrong with him. Reluctantly the twisted acolyte raised his head. Talman’s eyes were alight with intent, the lids pulled back in expectant delight, perhaps hoping to glimpse some reaction of fear or disgust in his pupil.
“Very well,” replied Dajjal once again. He could handle all this – it was only a bit of torture. Yet he wondered where Talman might lead him next.
Talman’s hand strayed from the wall of pegs to a nearby doorknob. Turning this, he opened a low door, revealing an arched passageway beyond, which led on into seeming infinity beneath the unsuspecting desert above. “Then come with me into the labyrinth,” murmured Talman, grinning fiendishly. “Come with me where all is darkness.”
Dajjal peered forward into the impenetrable night beyond. There were no lights in these passages, and he wondered how they might find their way. “Activate the program marked ‘Wolf Eye’ in your ‘Lenses’ folder,” commanded Talman, in answer to Dajjal’s quizzical face. His strange cuboid cattle brand flashed out momentarily as he spoke. “That will give you light enough…”
Talman paused before entering, to activate the night-vision protocol he had spoken of. This, he knew, would allow them to proceed without torches or flashlights. After a moment’s search, Dajjal followed suit. Suddenly the green projections cast by the program stretched away in every direction, outlining their surroundings according to the knowledge of the all-seeing satellites. Trenchant, seeing none of this, waited pati
ently before them licking his lips, now weirdly transformed by the holographic visualization of his heat image. The darker shades of green seemed to indicate coolness, while the lighter ones brought glowing focus to his warmest features. Glancing around, Dajjal saw that they had all been transformed similarly, three ghosts hovering before the door of a lost catacomb.
“Good,” appraised Talman. “You’re coming too, Trenchant. Let’s go.”
As Talman disappeared into the doorway, Dajjal looked upward in parting, and stood there transfixed by what he saw. No longer was there a blanket of darkness veiling his sight from the whole truth of the chamber. Countless ropes, fastened to the numerous pegboards he had seen before, stretched to the very top of Talman’s subterranean torture silo, where well-greased wheels connected them to as many dangling victims. Indeed, the entirety of the room above him seemed a gallery of tilted marionettes, all of whom still looked warm enough to yet be living.
There men, women, and children dangled, some cruelly by a leg or brutally around the middle, though most had been hung from behind by their wrists, as had been done to Haji. The little boy, perhaps seeing Dajjal’s upward gaze, struggled violently at that moment, but could do little due to the pain in his shoulders, which would soon be broken by the weight of his own body. A clammy woman who rotated upside-down on a nearby rope was murmuring to the boy, though he was too distracted to notice her. Above them, two lovers clutched at one another fitfully, damned by the fact they had been hung back-to-back at the heels.
Dajjal lurched back to life at that moment, realizing he had been staring for far too long, as Trenchant broke the silence. “Let us go,” hissed the pale man insistently, extending an arm in the direction Talman had gone. “Come now!” Then, rather than standing in wait for Dajjal’s response, Trenchant scurried off into the tunnel confidently, seeming to have no trouble finding his way in the blackness. Already Talman’s footsteps were getting further away, so Dajjal closed the wooden door behind him, and hurried to catch up. It was getting colder, and they were descending once again.
“Master!” Up ahead Trenchant was pleading with Talman, crumpled pitifully at the man’s knee. “Master, please let me see the visions as well this time!” Groveling disgustingly, he looked nearly as bent and wizened as Dajjal himself.
“Alright, alright, fine,” said Talman, touching the waif’s branded forehead.
“Thank you, Master!” At the touch the frail figure of Trenchant jumped up to dance merrily, apparently rejoicing at his moment of inclusion, before hurrying on into the distance to enjoy the vistas revealed by the Wolf Eye protocol. Talman followed after, not bothering to wait for Dajjal.
This was truly a maze. Dajjal could see the path dividing, crisscrossing itself, and opening into large breezeways here and there up ahead. The gloomy light of the Wolf Eye program, which had originally etched out the outlines of modern, chiseled hallways, was changing now, revealing a world of perfectly placed stonework, and it was ancient.
“This must be Babylon,” said Dajjal, as finally he neared Talman.
“Yes, and we make for the Temple of Tiamat,” replied the other, still several steps ahead. “The Dragon Goddess awaits.”
“A forgotten beauty this city is; that much at least is certain,” remarked Dajjal, as once again they plodded onward. “But how can the satellites find us down here? How can all these images be beamed into our heads through so many layers of rock?”
“Ah,” said Talman brightly, seeming impressed, “you hit upon the very problem, my friend. Yes, such is the trouble when delving so deep. The satellites’ beams can reach no deeper than twenty-five meters or so beneath the desert, so we’ve installed miniature dishes all over the place down here to amplify their signals to our brains.”
“But if your eyes in the sky can only see up to a depth of twenty-five meters, then how can they broadcast such perfect representations of what the environment down here is like?” This seemed the obvious question to Dajjal. “After all, I can see every nook and cranny of this place in the dark due to the Wolf Eye program. Where is all this subterranean information coming from if it is beyond the reach of your satellites’ recognizance?”
By this statement Talman knew he had chosen his apprentice well, for Dajjal did not miss a thing. “Very good, Dajjal,” he said, “you catch on quickly. Yes, I had to come up with a new way to scout out the deepest places, and it just so happens this is precisely what I’ve brought you here to see tonight. Though perhaps I should say ‘who’ rather than ‘what.’” This last comment remained unexplained for a while, however, as Talman led them from the tunnel at that moment.
There the walls fell away above and beside them, and Dajjal felt a chill breeze on his face. The narrow passage had opened out into a broad bay in the stonework. Before them the base of a great bridge sprang across a massive stone aqueduct, now dry as a bone. Huge statues of ravenous lions bookended the entrance to the arched monument, gazing down upon them sternly. Trenchant’s cool, green form could be seen hurrying across the bridge like an escaping firefly. He was even smaller than Dajjal, though he danced nimbly through the dark faster than any of them.
“This bridge once spanned the Great River,” said Talman, “until this portion of the city fell into ruin, and the Euphrates was returned to its original course. Then much of the city was concealed beneath protective stone, and sand covered all…”
“It is beautiful,” sighed Dajjal. “How is it that such things can still remain preserved?” Though only outlined in the greens of the night-vision protocol, the bridge was easily recognizable as a masterwork of ancient craftsmanship.
“Babylon was built to last,” said Talman fervently, “and for this I am thankful. Come.” With that he offered his forearm to Dajjal, as if hoping to see him safely across the arch.
Dajjal often forgot the twisted appearance of his poor legs, so that Talman’s uncharacteristic moment of subservience came as a surprise. “Oh! Thank you,” Dajjal replied quickly, “but I will be fine on my own.” And so, with a look that clearly stated “Suit yourself…” better than any words could ever have done, Talman turned to take up the crossing. Though honored by the gesture, Dajjal much preferred to challenge his body to the climb rather than submit to assistance, and so he proceeded alone, clutching at the bridge’s worn sidewalls for support.
Talman was busy gesturing in the air again when Dajjal eventually reached the bottom at the other side. A moment later, and much to Dajjal’s surprise, lime-green words were floating in the air a few centimeters from his nose: “Incoming Template: Second Skin: Parallel Babylon. Accept?” His heart went racing a mile a minute, for the appearance of the words had come as a complete shock.
“Just hit ‘Yes,’” drawled Talman.
“Right,” replied Dajjal, reaching for the appropriate icon beneath the prompt.
He could not have prepared himself for what happened as the words faded. Unexpectedly the twittering of birds cut through the stillness, and then everything swiftly changed. Real light, or what appeared to be, was coming from somewhere, as the geometric black and green landscapes which characterized the Wolf Eye lense quickly gave way to colorization. Though his one functioning eye still saw nothing in the utter blackness which truly existed there, the added color was blinding to Dajjal nonetheless, if only because it contained so much more information for his brain to chew on than the dimly etched night-world had.
As the heavens opened above them, Dajjal saw for the first time the ancient blue sky which had once capped the entire scene. Light continued to echo into the distance, ever tracing out new edifices and towers at the edge of sight. At the other side of the bridge a massive court of hanging gardens now separated them from their apparent destination: a majestic Temple on a low hill just beyond. Quickly Talman and Dajjal set off through the court of posts and hanging pots, for it was vast. There a far warmer and more soothing wind seemed to blow in from somewhere, upon which the men could smell cooking fires, desert sand, and the nectar of
succulents. An artificial flock of small birds, formerly busied by the furtive search for imaginary food, leaped into the air around them as they passed, evidently too loudly. Vines were hanging in the men’s faces as they neared the far end of the gardens, partially obstructing their view of the path ahead, and the fragrant scent of flowers wafted toward them temptingly.
As they stepped past the hanging wall of leafy tendrils, the men began to notice that their path climbed slightly uphill through the garden toward the building up ahead. Everywhere the Wolf Eye lense had been overwritten by full-color holograms now, effectively hiding the remains of the ruined Temple which truly existed there. Rather the men saw a perfect reproduction of what the city had looked like long before its downfall. Like a crown jewel, the Temple of Tiamat had been built upon a hill at the head of the city, surrounded completely by Babylon’s trademark hanging gardens. A burbling fountain drew Dajjal’s attention there, before the line of pillars which surrounded the Temple on the hill, as Talman came to stand beside him.
“What is it, Dajjal?”
“I just can’t see how I can feel this,” said Dajjal, busy laving his hands curiously in the holographic waters of the fountain.
“All the physical sensations connected to the holograms, you mean?”
“Right,” nodded Dajjal. “The fresh sensation of the water is as real as any, even though I know it certainly does not exist. How is it that I can feel the touch of the holograms on my skin without the use of the Nerve Jack?”
“In truth I have already discussed this with you, though I can see my comments require further explanation,” said Talman. “As I think I’ve said before, the Nerve Jack is what we use to stimulate deep sensations and processes within the body. This is why it has proved so successful as a treatment for your chronic pain. The holograms, though convincing, are only capable of triggering minor sensations to the periphery of the body, such as the skin and other sense organs. Sending any stronger sensations into the body via the satellites has always tended to cook holes through the test subjects, and this is why use of the Nerve Jacks has prevailed.”