Chapter Twenty-Three - Surprise!

“Every generation complains about the music of the next generation. It’s just how it works. Older folk don’t get new music.

But my music? It transcends genre. BeepBoopCore is the future of noise!”

--Excerpt from an interview with the European samurai Mix, 2031

***

Our trek down sludge line 537 continued uneventfully. Gomorrah didn’t want to press us into going too quickly and I was entirely fine with moving along at a slow but steady pace. I kept an eye on the waters ahead and stayed low and out of the way, in case we ran into any surprises.

The little green icon that represented us on our map plinked along neatly, moving closer and closer to the intersection where we’d be getting off. Junction 6H. A nice, auspicious name, full of history and class.

“We’re getting close,” I said.

“We are,” Gomorrah said. “The water’s different.”

I glanced back at her, then down to the sludge, which seemed to be the same almost-greenish brown as it had been the entire time. Maybe there were fewer chunks in it? I couldn’t recall seeing as many used sanitary pads floating by as before. Still wasn’t tempted to take a dip in it.

“You know, I don’t know how to swim,” I said.

“You mention that now?” Gomorrah asked.

“What was I going to do? Buy some floaties?”

Gomorrah shook her head. “I don’t know, but I’m quite certain there’s at least one floatation device available in your catalogues. Or an implant to teach you how to swim, at least.”

“This armour’s heavy. I’m pretty sure I’d swim like a brick in this. Also, a teaching implant?”

“You need a small implant in your brain. It connects to... well, your brain. Then you can download some lessons and, over a few hours, they’ll teach you something. It’s... not exactly pleasant? It feels like being on a sugar high the entire time. You keep getting weird flashes, as if you’re... have you ever forgotten something, like it was on the tip of your tongue, then it hit you for a moment, but it wasn’t important anymore?”

“Yeah, sure,” I said. “I can’t remember birthdays. Lucy’s been real miffed about it a few times, when I remember that hers was a week ago and I didn’t get her anything.”

“Right, well... I suppose it’s something like that for a few hours. Mildly annoying, because even as you’re doing other things, you keep having stray thoughts that aren’t exactly yours. But it does work.”

“Huh. What’ve you learned with that so far?” I asked.

“Driving was the big one,” Gomorrah said. “I haven’t really invested in any others yet. They’re on the pricier side.”

I grimaced. “I’m a bit cheap, you know.”

“Yes, because you want to be cheap with your brain implants,” Gomorrah said, her tone very flat.

“It is a difficult battle,” Myalis said, because of course she had something snarky to say.

That was a fair point. I wasn’t too keen on the idea of having stuff jammed in my head like that, but I could see how it might be useful. “Yeah, alright,” I said. “Something’s coming up ahead, by the way. The sound’s are different.”

“Different how?” Gomorrah asked.

I shrugged. “More echoey? Like it’s a bigger room or something.”

“Different acoustics, then.”

“That’s what I said.”

The tunnel didn’t widen ahead, at least not the part of it where the shit flowed. Instead, the top of the tunnel opened up into a huge circular room, with a tower in the middle and some bridges leading to openings in the sides, four of them, one for each cardinal direction. The sludge was flowing faster here, even as more of the stuff came down from another large sludge line and was unceremoniously shoved down the same passageway.

The section ahead looked a little different, large mechanical fence-like things dropping into the water, then raking through it before shifting to the side. They were covered with all sorts of thicker crap they were picking out from the sludge.

“There’s a dock there,” Gomorrah said.

I looked to the right, towards that tower-like section in the centre, and noticed a pier extending into the waters. It wasn’t too far from the place where it all sped up. I imagined missing that might mean running a boat into those large raking machines, which I imagined wouldn’t be amusing for anyone involved.

It was only when we came closer that I noticed the ropes across the surface of the water.

Gomorrah, being the decent pilot she was, brought us over to an empty pier at a pace that was almost glacial, but it did mean that when it came time to stop we did so with barely more than a slight lurch.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“No one around,” I said as I looked about. There was another pontoon boat docked there, but it didn’t look like it had been used recently. Not that I really knew what to look for.

Cement steps at the end of the pier led up a level to a section around the base of the tower. There were some windows there, looking into what I guessed was some sort of maintenance or control room.

I hopped off our borrowed ride and wobbled as I landed on the pier. It didn’t shake, but I did. I guessed that I’d spent enough time on the waters that I had something like sealegs. But for sewer water. Shitlegs? No, better not say that aloud. Rac would laugh, but the other two wouldn’t enjoy my incredible humour, so they didn’t deserve it.

Gomorrah made a humming noise behind me, and I saw her eyeing the space between the boat and the pier. I gave her my hand and pulled her across. “Do you know how to swim?” I asked.

“Of course I do,” she said. “I spent time in the countryside, doing camping stuff. You can only swim in the Great Lakes on some days, but it’s enough to learn. I would... very much appreciate not swimming in this though.”

“I bet it’s nice and warm though. Warmed up by the bodies of countless New Monterallers.”

“Urgh,” she said.

Laughing, I moved up the steps and closer to the tower. There was a large door at its base, worn-off instructions next to it and some rusty rails running around the edge of the sludge line. The handle on the door was one of those big latches. I tugged it open and it revealed a small airlock-like space, with shower hoses on the sides.

“A decontamination shower?” I asked as I carefully stepped inside.

“Looks like it,” Gomrorah said as she followed.

I had to close the entrance door to open the other, which meant Gomorrah and I were practically rubbing shoulders when the shower came on and drizzled water onto us with all the pressure of a drunkard losing his lunch on the sidewalk.

“I feel very decontaminated,” I said when it ended some twenty seconds later.

Gomorrah shook herself a little, and I made sure to look her way. For Franny’s sake, of course. “It’s barely lukewarm,” she said.

“I literally have shit on my shins,” I swore as I looked down. The splash from the boats, I guessed. It was running off of me in little rivulets. At least the armour was mostly hydrophobic.

Opening the second door led us into a small room, a spiral staircase on one side, an industrial elevator with ropes across it on the other. There was a small table with some random crap left on it. Mostly delivery boxes.

“Do they deliver food down here?” I asked, incredulous.

“People would eat in this place?” Gomorrah asked.

“The air,” Myalis said aloud. “Is technically breathable in this location. Though I would advise against it. There are several carcinogens, and the ambient levels of oxygen and other life-sustaining chemicals are lower than would be desirable.”

I nodded. “Won’t need to tell me twice. I can’t imagine the smell here.” There were a lot of mask filters in an overflowing trash can to one side, and some small silver bottles in a rack with O2 stenciled on their sides. So this place was more like a refilling station before anyone headed out, then? Or something like that.

“We need to go up,” Gomorrah said.

I moved to the stairs and bounced on the first step. It creaked, but it didn’t seem as badly rusted as the things on the outside of the tower. Maybe being somewhat airtight had advantages.

We climbed up, going around and around until my calves started to burn. I was feeling the exercise in my lungs by the time we reached the next floor up. “These Sewer Dragons are probably pretty fit,” I muttered.

“With the amount of prosthetics they have, I doubt that,” Gomorrah muttered.

“Which way now?” I asked as I looked around. The next floor up was more of the same. Windows overlooked the sewers below, but judging by the number of pipes in the ceiling, we were still in the thick of things. There were four airlocks around the room.

“That way,” Gomorrah said with a gesture to one of the airlocks.

We both got a second terrible shower, this time with a few rare suds in the water. Still not enough water or pressure to do more than make me mildly wet.

The second airlock door opened, and something punched me in the chest. I coughed, the air kicked out of my lungs as my armour locked.

And then I stumbled and fell on my back.

I was suddenly very awake.

***