The temperature began to drop as they continued farther down into the depths. They came to an area of the Fulcrum core that was thick with chrome pipes and tubes. The tangles of piping were a tight fit for Maka, but easily navigated by Letho—even in the rubbery numbness of his suit. They descended stairs that were made for a Tarsi’s gait. Letho took each step like a toddler, gripping the handrail as he lowered himself one step at a time. He could feel Maka’s exasperation, but to his credit Maka said nothing, waiting for Letho to catch up with him whenever he fell too far behind. Still, Letho had not forgotten Bayorn’s warning.
At last they reached their destination. Judging from the distance they had traveled, and what he perceived to be his starting location, Letho figured they must be somewhere near the center of the Fulcrum station. There was a pulse here, as if the station were a living thing, and great bellows were pumping fresh air and oxygen into it. It came and went with a gargantuan, ambient whoosh that made Letho feel as though he were in the lungs of a leviathan.
This must be the air processing core, Letho thought.
Maka addressed the Tarsi and they responded in kind. They split off into small groups and began heading off in different directions.
Letho watched as Maka gestured toward a large entry hatch. He began to turn the massive wheel, and then he pulled the door open. The Tarsi struggled with the thick steel door; Letho could only imagine how heavy the enormous hatch was. Once the door was open, a great suction pulled at Letho with icy claws, and made Maka’s fur dance like licks of flame. The icy wind frosted Letho’s bubble helmet and threatened to topple him, but some mechanism in the boots kept him upright. Maka gestured forward, and Letho took heavy steps that clanked and stuck to the ground beneath him, keeping the suction force from pulling him off his feet.
The hatch led to an enormous chrome pipe, one of many that stretched away like massive thoroughfares from the air processor core. Inside, the suction became a ripping torrent of icy air; its torturous roar was all Letho could hear. Once Maka had secured the hatch, he got Letho’s attention with a terse bark that somehow made its way to Letho through the roar of rushing air.
Maka brandished a chrome, handheld tool that looked like some sort of high-tech pistol. He placed his hand on the grip and his finger inside the trigger guard. With his other hand he depressed a large button on the top, and the weapon-like device began to expand; panels opened and unfurled, revealing hidden compartments. After a series of clicks and whirs, the gun-device had doubled in size. It now resembled some sort of space-age vacuum device with whirling brushes at the end of a long nozzle. There was a sort of three-piece canister-like apparatus at the opposite end. Maka held it across his chest, and turned to Letho.
Letho held his own gun-device as Maka had shown him. The gun was much heavier than Letho had imagined. He almost dropped it twice before he was able move it into position.
“Okay, here goes nothing,” he said.
Maka nodded, staring at Letho.
“How can you possibly hear me?” Letho shouted.
Maka threw his gun-device to the floor and pointed to each ear with a frustrated gesture. Then he crossed his arms across his chest, tapping his foot on the chrome floor of the tunnel. Letho had no idea what any of it meant.
A conversation for a later time, he thought. Let’s see how this thing works.
He pressed the button on top and the chrome device became a wild animal scrabbling to escape. As parts extended and expanded, Letho clattered to the floor, a pile of insulated rubber and leather straps topped with one large, chrome tunnel-scrubber.
Maka sang something in Tarsi and gave Letho a dismissive wave. The syllables were foreign, but the tone and inflection were unmistakable.
Fool. He called you a fool, the copilot said.
“Shut up!” Letho shouted.
Maka whipped his head around with alarming quickness, and Letho recoiled in fear.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Letho said, raising his hands in the universal gesture of surrender.
Maka snorted, and gestured for Letho to stand. Once the Tarsi was satisfied that he had Letho’s undivided attention, he demonstrated how to operate the tunnel-scrubber.
Maka raised the rough-bristled end of the scrubber and placed it against the muck-covered wall. He depressed the trigger and the scrubbing head came to life. The tunnel scum disappeared as the brushes broke it up and the funnel behind the scrubbing brushes sucked it in.
Maka turned to Letho and waited, his scrub-gun at his side.
Letho shrugged. “All right, big fella. Let’s see what this is all about.”
Letho raised the scrub-gun, but failed to account for the front-end heaviness. The tunnel-scrubber clattered to the floor again, bringing Letho down with it. He turned to look at Maka, expecting mockery, but the Tarsi merely watched him with a detached expression.
Letho stood, dusted himself off through thick rubber gloves, and tried again. This time he placed the canister end against his belt, and to his delight the magnets there held it in place. He was able to use his hips as a fulcrum, allowing him to balance the unwieldy device as he raised it into the air. He depressed the trigger, and the brushes began to spin.
Letho found that the task wasn’t half as easy as Maka had made it look. The muck was thick—caked on, more solid than it appeared. He dug in, engaging his back and arm muscles; he felt them screaming in agony. The muck began to break apart, and Letho found that once he had broken through to the chrome surface behind, the rest of the tunnel-scum came off a little more easily.
Letho continued his work, though he could feel every microfiber in his biceps tearing. The more he scrubbed, the heavier the scrub-gun became. Lost in the trance conjured by repetitive, rhythmic work, he didn’t see Maka watching him with a trace of interest.
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
A teeth-rattling klaxon tore through the air, signaling the end of the workday. Letho was grateful for the helmet he wore, as it dampened the aural assault a little.
He let the tunnel-scrubber drop to the floor, and sat on his bottom, huffing. He felt as though every pore in his body was inflamed, molested by the constant pour of impure sweat. His arms were limp ropes tethered to his body at the shoulders, and there was a dull, throbbing ache in the small of his back.
Letho feared he might never draw another normal breath as his chest heaved to keep up with the oxygen requirements of mutilated muscle tissue. Yet despite all this, he felt good. His chest filled with warmth as he surveyed his day’s work; a sense of accomplishment that he had never known in the Red Sector swelled within him.
Soon Maka signaled for Letho to follow. They exited through the same hatch through which they had entered. Letho looked back at the tunnel wall behind him. Between the two of them, they had scrubbed somewhere between fifty and one hundred meters of tunnel.
He tried to focus on the merit of this accomplishment, not on the near-infinite number of tunnels that still needed cleaning. He feared that the work would never end, that once the cleaning crew completed a cleaning cycle it would simply begin anew, the once-sparkling chrome walls having become re-soiled.
Derisive grunts drew Letho from his daze. Maka was already at the hatch, waiting for him. Gasping, Letho forced his shredded muscles to raise his broken body from the ground. He took two tentative steps, and sharp pains shot up his legs, indicating that his pace was too fast. He reduced his gait to the careful steps of an elderly man and made his way toward Maka.
At first Maka led Letho back the way they had come, but instead of continuing straight on, they made a left turn. There were other Tarsi gathering here, making lines that emanated out from a circular pedestal in the middle of a metalloy platform. Letho watched as a Tarsi stepped up to one of the terminals located on the pedestal and detached the canister from his tunnel-scrubber.
He placed it on the pedestal, where it settled with a thick, satisfying click. Tarsi glyphs on a red background flashed from a screen on the exterior of the ca
nister. The sound of suction filled the air, there was another thunk sound, and then the glyphs stopped blinking, now backlit in green. The Tarsi removed his canister, placed it back on his tunnel-scrubber, and pressed the button on top. The device transformed back into the small pistol-like device that Letho recognized from the beginning of the day.
Maka thumped Letho on the shoulder, causing him to turn his head, locking fearful eyes upon his taskmaster. When Letho didn’t move, Maka shoved him, sending him sprawling to the floor. The Tarsi around him erupted into cacophonous laughter that reverberated off the vast walls and piping. Some of them laughed with hate-filled eyes that didn’t match the upturned curls of their mouths, while others watched him expectantly. Letho felt a flush burn up his back and onto his cheeks. Red-faced, he made his way to the pedestal, which was a little higher than his chest. He fumbled with the latch, but was unable to disengage the locking mechanism with his gloved fingers.
Panicking, he looked to Maka, who merely regarded him with a blank expression. He could hear some of the Tarsi laughing, and his stomach clenched when he saw a couple of the younger Tarsi pointing at him and gesturing.
After a few more tries, he was able to disengage the lock. He lifted the heavy canister up onto the platform, and the evacuation procedure began. When the text became green, he took his canister down, placed it back on the tunnel-scrubber, and pressed the button on top. The device shrank to its original size, and Letho placed it back onto his belt as he took his place beside Maka. The Tarsi were still chuckling at his expense, and he felt his ears burning with embarrassment. Maka pointed to a rack nearby where the other Tarsi had hung their toolbelts. There was an empty slot, and Letho saw that there was a enough room for his envirosuit and scrubber tool. Maka gave him a slap on the back, and pointed to the rack again.
“All right man, take it easy.”
He removed the helmet, and went about removing the many clasps and seals that held the envirosuit together. Fearing another slap, he jogged over to the rack and placed his tools and suit inside the square enclosure. Apparently satisfied, Maka gestured for Letho to follow him. He fell in step behind Maka, and they began to make their way back to the Tarsi living quarters.
Letho was just about to continue walking down the corridor to his room when Maka grasped him by the collar and yanked him back. Maka said something in rather abrasive Tarsi, and directed Letho instead toward a door that he’d just passed. As he approached it, Letho could hear a steady hissing roar coming from behind the door. He knew what the room was as soon as he stepped inside.
From the small mouth of the doorway, the room expanded into a massive, open, steam-filled box. Gray molded tiles covered the floors and walls, and there were numerous strange fixtures along the walls that looked a lot like the plumbing fixture in his domicile.
Numerous Tarsi were streaming in from other doorways leading into the large chamber. Some of them stopped to use the plumbing fixtures, and Letho watched them askance to discern how the fixtures worked. To his relief, the basic principle was the same, and the operation wasn’t much different than what he was used to from the above.
One less thing to worry about, he thought. As long as I don’t fall in, I’m good to go.
Maka placed a firm hand on Letho’s shoulder and indicated, in sign, for Letho to remove his undersuit. As Letho peeled it off, his muscles voiced their complaints about the day’s work.
Tomorrow morning is going to suck, he thought.
Letho paused, uncertain, and looked up at Maka, who twirled his finger.
Keep going, the gesture said.
“You’re kidding, right?” Letho asked.
Maka wrinkled his snout and repeated his gesture with more intensity. A group of Tarsi gathered around them, watching the spectacle with growing interest. Maka turned them and said something in Tarsi, the thrust of his vocalization causing the Tarsi to stop staring and move along.
“All right, have it your way,” Letho said, feeling his pulse rising and his breath hitch in his chest a little. He unzipped his jumpsuit and stepped out of it.
Letho stood before the Tarsi in complete nakedness. He was aware that he still didn’t know how to distinguish a male Tarsi from a female.
He covered himself as best he could. He was ashamed of his sagging belly and round thighs.
Maka slapped his arm and grunted, and then gestured by thrusting his own chest out and straightening his back.
“What? I don’t understand!”
Maka said something in Tarsi, and Letho felt a spark in the back of his brain. It was a sensation akin to a tickle, as if his brain were searching for some piece of information that was just beyond reach. And then he understood what Maka was trying to communicate to him.
He straightened his shoulders and dropped his arms to his side. He could feel numerous pairs of intrigued eyes crawling all over his bare skin, but he pushed that thought to the back of his mind. Nearby, two young Tarsi were staring at the lower half of his body and making lewd gestures while laughing; Letho ignored it.
Maka led him into a massive shower area. The room stank of muck, dirt, and Tarsi musk; the pungent scent assailed Letho’s nostrils, a sweet, thick, earthy smell. Letho didn’t recognize the odor, but it calmed him.
Letho considered the fact that many of these Tarsi had never seen a Eursan up close, and certainly not a naked one. He remembered how he had felt when he had seen Bayorn for the first time in the commuter shuttle. He chuckled to himself; it seemed like it had been years since that moment. With a restored but fragile sense of confidence, Letho stepped under an enormous spigot next to Maka.
“What do I do n—”
Letho was cut off as a blast of liquid ice engulfed him, sending him sliding across the floor. The shock of the sudden temperature change made every nerve ending in his entire body twitch and tingle. He stood up and braced himself against the blast. After the water came some sort of soap combination that smelled both sweet and astringent. A tingling sensation filled his body; he could feel the calming warmth penetrating his skin, easing out the knots and soothing his torn muscle tissue. He had no idea what the salve was, but he thought it nothing short of magical. Moments later the water shut off, and Maka led him to another chamber. Tarsi stood in an assembly line in front of them, waiting to step forward. Large fans spun up, and the roar of warm air drowned out all other sound. Letho felt the water being blasted off of him, leaving his skin cool and dry.
Tarsi and Eursan emerged from the exit, fur sticking out in all directions. With lustrous coats standing completely on end, they looked like massive green planets orbiting one another in the hallway outside the shower area. Letho stifled a laugh with his left fist, hoping it came off as a cough. Thankfully none of the Tarsi seemed to notice.
One of the Tarsi brought Letho a soft robe. It looked like one of the nice bathrobes Letho had seen in one of the department stores above.
“Hey, where did you get this from?” Letho asked.
The Tarsi stared at him blankly, and raised its hands in the air in a gesture of I don’t know.
The mischievous twinkle in the bear’s eye made Letho like him immediately. Maka grunted impatiently and motioned for Letho to follow.
“All right already,” Letho said.
Maka led Letho to his room, then performed the ritual of opening the door and shoving Letho into his quarters. When the door shut behind him, Letho let the laughter spray from his mouth like a barrage of autorifle fire. Then came the protesting shocks of pain from his chest. It felt as though someone had pulled the strips of muscle too taut around his chest cavity. Letho found that the catharsis was worth the discomfort. He had survived his first day. How many more would come? He had no idea, but for the first time he realized that it mattered not what the next day would bring. He would take whatever came and do his best to survive. It was his only option.
He was mid-thought when sleep pulled him down like a randy lover. He collapsed on his mattress in an exhausted but satisfied he
ap.
SEVEN – Purification
The work klaxon tore Letho from his sleep, and his body cried out in agony as he snapped to consciousness. Every muscle in his body was strung too tight, and he gasped when he attempted to roll over onto his side. Even his tongue was sore. Somehow he managed to rise to his feet and take a few wobbling steps forward. The Tarsi had provided him with a small locker to stow his gear in, and he trudged toward it like a sixty-year-old man.
Letho took a fresh undersuit from his locker. Putting it on was an exercise in agony. Bolts of pain shot through his limbs and torso every time he moved. However, he did find that once he got up and started moving around the pain seemed to recede just enough to keep him from gasping through clenched teeth at every movement. Soon the sound of Tarsi sing-speak filled the air, and Bayorn and Maka made their way into Letho’s chamber. They stopped in their tracks, looks of surprise on both their faces.
“What’s the matter? Bet you thought I’d still be asleep,” Letho said.
The two Tarsi exchanged a few syllables with one another. Bayorn, shaking his head, reached into a pouch from the tool belt that hung around his waist and procured a handful of credit chips. He placed them in Maka’s hand, who laughed in a rich baritone.
“Well, are we going to get to work or not?” Letho said.
Maka repeated the after you gesture that Letho had shown him the day before.
Just put one foot in front of the other. You can do this.
Every step was a study in excruciating pain, but Letho didn’t stop. He took his side by Maka, and together they strode out of the chamber. When he reached the doorway, Letho turned to look back at Bayorn. The Tarsi’s face was blank, but after a moment he offered Letho the barest trace of a smile.
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
Maka led Letho to the same tunnel they had scrubbed the day before. Letho breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the tunnel walls were still clean.
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