Roask spent the next few days locked up in his home, unable to muster up the courage to face the world. He tried to forget the encounter, bury the memory of his trip below by immersing himself in long, mindless virtual realities. He laid on his couch in an electrochemical suit that simulated the sensation of a summer sun and a cool breeze, even replicating the subtle currents of the ocean water. The suit’s microfibers and embedded texture orbs mirrored the feeling of warm sand tickling his feet and passing through the crevices of his toes as he daydreamed in a Caribbean paradise, marching whimsically along the shoreline as the crashing sounds of waves calmed him.
He embraced the gluttonous and selfish life of the average consumer, welcoming its escapist and carefree essence. When outside of a simulation, he would devour copious rounds of meat and exotic dishes, following each meal with a downing of digestant which emptied his gut once again. He released round after round of serotonin and dopamine capsules into his bloodstream, followed by relaxants, opioids, long slumbers and binges of various alcohols. He was living the life he was supposed to live, gorging himself everyday, a model citizen.
Despite his best efforts to distract himself, though, his frustration and curiosity continued unabated. His thoughts continually returned to the subterraneans, wondering what they were doing now, the poor boy and man. He imagined the boy had been cured and wondered if the young creature had thought about him. He thought about their goodwill, how the man humbly invited him into his home, a total stranger and intruder but a welcome guest… Their innocence and generosity.. was it exceptional, he asked himself. Or, could the beings truly be benign? He needed to express his true feelings about the subterraneans but could not risk demonstrating any signs of sympathy to any of his contemporaries for risk of a swift reprisal.
Again, Roask hoped to bury his fixation in another simulation. He opened his internal display and began scrolling through various titles and scenarios. Before he found anything suitable, two large drones burst through the vent above, locking his hands behind his back and immobilizing him with their long, tentacle-like limbs before he could react. Once in their grasp resistance was futile, the mechanical strength of the machines no match for his weak, underutilized muscles. His internal display was deactivated as he was carried by the drones through the vent above, darkness filling his field of vision as his wrists and body were painfully squeezed against the cold, hard metal claws and tentacles of the drones.
It was as if a floodgate opened in his mind, as if a stream of negativity and anxiety was released from some subconscious chamber as he was rushed through the dark transport tube. He exited from a tunnel vent and entered a wide chamber filled with electrical machinery. Long, cylindrical metal cylinders that connected ceiling to floor and wall to wall, wires, generators, rows and rows of buttons, switches, and lights. As he rushed past they amalgamated into a sort of mechanical soup or liquid. Eventually, the drones entered a small transport pod which launched above ground level and began accelerating through the night sky. The moon’s light was dampened by a tattered layer of clouds that hung over the dense metropolis like a forest canopy, the occasional lonely star shining through the stratus. As the drone accelerated away from the metropolis, the lights of the various structures congregated into a single point, engulfed by the darkness of the surrounding land.
Eventually, the pod approached a lonely structure resting atop a mountain, a solid circular entryway fixed on the roofing opened, sensing the moving mass. The drones exited the pod and passed through a metal gate, dropping Roask into an empty cold, square cell of mirror walls. The light reflected back and forth, forming repeating sequences of polyhedra forming countless copies of his body. His heart rate increased and a layer of perspiration grew on his skin as his nervousness and paranoia increased. Without an internal display, he felt partially blind or naked, for he was so accustomed and habituated to living with the computer that it had taken on the role of a sensory organ. The thin fibers glued to the tissue of his eye, like a sort of embedded contact lenses, had been deactivated for the first time in his life. Without any messages and other flashing icons he felt like an eerie, archaic being. An acute weariness fell over him as he ruminated, his head leaning against the cold wall as his eyes shut.
“Name: Roask. ID: 5349803. Age: One Hundred and Eighty. Place of birth: Budlon. It has been a long time since I have received a visitor. Years, I suppose. I have stopped keeping track. It really doesn’t bother me, though. As far as I’m concerned social interaction is a thing of the past, there is no real need for it given the proper substitutes. Nonetheless, whenever someone arrives it reassures me that a precious state of consciousness still exists, the conscience of a questioning, curious mind. Of course, individuals like you pose quite a threat to the stability of the regime, and, must be properly managed…
It is I, Tanaka, who has the special job of managing outliers as yourself. You see, most consumers are quite satisfied living as kings and queens, the world and all the riches it contains at their fingertips. Those that deviate need to receive a sort of disillusionment. The voice went silent, one face of the mirror cube opened to a hallway leading to a grand chamber where Tanaka lay, facing upward, peering through the translucent ceiling. “Please take a seat,'' he said without looking at Roask, his eyes fixed on the night sky overhead.
Roask sat down on a long, floating gelatinous platform surface. It felt like flesh or a viscous jelly, morphing to match the contours of his body perfectly. A light rain began falling, the tapping sounds calmed the man, perhaps distracting some unconscious psychological mechanism, ending its anxious search or overactivity. From the other side of the chamber a sliding door opened and an oversized house cat, roughly the size of a lion, entered the room, announcing his presence with a deep, meow. “Ah, hello, Brussels. Escaping the rain, are you? Don’t be shy, please say hello to our visitor old boy.” The man was still looking up into the night sky, his attention not at all diverted..
The cat inconspicuously marched toward Roask, seeming somewhat perturbed but curious about his presence. “You see, the computations of drones have structured our society, we can not question its efficacy or judge it morally, for we are not as logical as the drone architects. From birth, we are genetically analyzed, categorically distributed to different roles according to a host of subtle, genetic variables. Some become consumers, others subterraneans. For what reason, we do not quite know… It is simply not in our capacity, it is like trying to fill a small glass with the liquid of the entire ocean, to comprehend God. An act in utter futility. For most of time, men have rebelled or acted unruly for lack of material or access to its means of production, for lack of a voice in the shaping of governing forces, a lack of fundamental rights, or finally, a reaction to what they see as an oppressive regime. The will of the self versus the will of the system, the group.
You see, this is precisely the reason that it is so rare for a consumer to question his existence. Each rarely has a reason, they accept a life of gluttony and excess, they do not need anything. They do not need power or a voice, they may have as much as they please, virtually, of course... They accept the status quo, waste away, each moment scrolling through the various films and images in their heads, perfectly ignorant and oblivious to the outer world. It is left to beings like us, those of a certain awareness, a real consciousness, that may enjoy actual reality. You became disillusioned with the idea that a consumer was a natural born god, far different than the subterraneans. You, unbeknownst to yourself, were simply passing a screening… Entering the upper echelons of consumer society…”
The cat had reached roask and began smelling his legs, the thick whiskers excited him, tickling the man, arousing his senses. He froze, never having been so close to such a large animal. “Brussels, what’s on your mind?” The cat marched away, uninterested passing into another chamber of the modern castle. A large, glass semi sphere occupied a great portion of the chamber, an aviary where a number of miniature birds flew, scattered among bonsai and grasses. A small, shiny bot shifted about through the landscape, performing various zookeeping duties. “Captivating, isn’t it? I am quite interested in zoology, ornithology, biology of all sorts. In another room there is an entire rainforest ecosystem… The elephants have been quite unruly as of late. Mating season I suspect...”
Tanaka soon floated down, hopped off of the floating surface and began performing a number of stretches. “You will begin quite an intensive program. A sort of repatriation, deprogramming ceremony, if you will. You are just awakening from a dream, coming back to reality. For now, take a rest. You must have had quite the day.”
Alistair Jaffari opened his eyes. It was the crack of dawn, the hum of insects filled the air with a certain electricity as the sky filled with an orchestra of calm shades. Bats fluttered through the brush and over the canopies of the slouching, tired trees like the dark ashes of a fire, struggling to carry partially digested insect cocktails and ready to retire for the day, escaping the bright, punishing sun. Brown blankets were strewn across the forest floor, shielding the men from the elements and the sharp, needle fangs of insects. Jaffari opened his satchel and took a few swigs of water from his canteen.
Slowly, the rest of the party awakened and prepared for another day of marching North. Alistair Jaffari studied a map on his small, mobile computer while Rama released a surveillance drone to scout the area ahead. Before embarking the party made sure to erase any evidence of their presence, covering the blackened earth of the spitfire, throwing away the boar bones, brushing leaves atop the compressed earth of their sleeping locations and returning the camp to its natural state. They were approaching the mines, the grand chain of mountains now faintly visible on the horizon like distant spires of a mosque or pagoda overlooking the forest below with a peaceful, stoic serenity.
After a few hours passed the drone signalled Rama, announcing that it had picked up some unnatural signals a few kilometers ahead. “Keep low, stay quiet. Be one with the jungle.” Jaffari paused and shut his eyes, and, like Saladin or Bonaparte preparing for a battle, calculated the various scenarios and strategies to employ as the rest of the team awaited orders. He envisioned each outcome and approach individually, quickly ranking the options. “We will split up. Rama, take half the men and approach from the South West. My party will approach from the East. We will create a distraction. Meanwhile your men will place as many explosives as possible throughout the mines. We will regroup at the overpass at 20:00. If anyone doesn’t show up, don’t wait.”
Rama nodded and disappeared through the jungle, each step he took almost completely inaudible, like a prone jaguar stalking its prey. After a few more hours of hiking, Jaffari slowly lifted his hand and collapsed into a prone position, signally his men to do the same. He extracted a hummingbird drone from his tool satchel, the insect like ball disappeared and relayed a signal to his handheld computer, mapping the entire landscape ahead. He slipped on a pair of vision enhancing goggles to further survey the area, and through the bush and discerned various cavities cut out of the base of the mountain chain, appearing like small, volcanic craters or the remnants of asteroid collisions on a planetary surface. The mouths of the deep, black tunnels appeared at the base of each crater like the dark irises of giants, buried beneath the jagged mountains.
A stream of worker drones shifted in and out of the mines like wasps to and from their nest, hurrying to extract the precious ores that would satisfy the needs of mechanical civilization. The hummingbird was sending the coordinates of a battle drone to his position, an ominous, red dot appeared, slowly scouring the surrounding jungle. Jaffari pulled a few magnetron grenades from his tool belt and signalled the men to spread apart and prepare for the impending assault as he noticed the red coordinate ball turn and begin approaching the team’s position. A soldier discharged his beam rifle towards the mine, the plasma beam melting through a worker drone like a knife through butter and partially collapsing some fortifications around the mouth of the tunnel. A general chaos ensued, and, out of the tunnels a flowed a stream of worker drones. They appeared like fire ants rushing out of a mound, bothered by a tremor of the Earth or bees disgruntled by the black, hairy paw of a bear.
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Jaffari readied his rifle, and, through the trees the battle drone appeared, already sending a flurry of concentrated beams at the party, locking in to multiple targets at once. Before he released a magnetron, a few men had already been eviscerated by the onslaught of firepower. Jaffari launched the magnetron, it arched through the trees and activated. The event horizon lit up, and, before the battle drone was able to inflict more damage it was jolted towards the orb. The limbs and components of the mechanical beast contorted around the ball, failing under the enormous force before crashing onto the jungle floor.
Waves of dirt cascaded overhead as another group of battle drones rushed to the team’s position, the air now full of dust and dirt, appearing like the dense, dark clouds of a sandstorm. Jaffari’s eardrums rang, the explosives combined with the overall chaos disoriented him so completely that he momentarily forget what was occuring. He swiftly glanced to his neighbor whose head, at just that moment, was decapitated by a plasma beam. Another soldier lost control, yelling and charging toward the computerized killers as he discharged his beam rifle, taking down at least one before being ripped apart by a flurry of precise shots. Jaffari launched another magnetron, and then took aim with his beam rifle, doing his best to get a shot through the trees, shrapnel, and dust.
At that moment a chain of blasts was heard emanating from the mine. Red, yellow and brown clouds like those formed during a volcanic eruption shot through the sky, gases and particles reaching far into the upper reaches of the atmosphere. The explosions caused a great avalanche, tons of earth filled the hollows of the mines resulting in a chain reaction that brought a significant portions of the mountain face crumbling down. The force shifted the earth like the tremors of a quake.
The fighting raged on, the attacker drones unphased by the colossal landslide. The company eventually brought down the last of the drones with a well coordinated effort and a host of precious supplies. Time was of the essence and Allistair Jaffari knew reinforcements would be arriving shortly to clean up the survivors. “Tally heads, tend to the wounded. We’re heading out!”
The small group of men began sprinting through the jungle, under branches and through vines, displaying confident agility as they navigated the bushes, ferns, and long, knotted roots of the trees. A few men were carried on stretchers and released screams of pain each time they were jolted up and down. Jaffari knew the team could not engage the reinforcements and he halted, signalling the rest of the team to stand by.
Jaffari searched through his satchel and removed a brown colored metal cube, roughly the size of a fist. He taped a few controls on the top of the cube before it floated over the group and began unravelling, slowly forming a wide, umbrella shaped camouflage surface that matched the heat signature of the canopy and forest below. It would shield the group from the precise infrared sensors of the attack drones, floating over the company as they traversed the terrain. Judging by his coordinates Jaffari estimated the team was roughly fifteen minutes from the rendezvous point with Rama.
Rama rushed to gather his men, almost three quarters had been lost after the detonation near the mouths of the mines. Having underestimated the severity of the ensuing landslide, a significant portion had been buried alive by the tidal wave of earth. Eventually, after haphazardly scouring the scene for any remaining men, Rama’s team parted to the rendezvous point. “Rama, thank god you’ve made it. Good work'' said Allistair Jaffari. “We must head back to base to receive our next set orders.”
Again, another trek through the jungle began. The guerilla war effort of the Sitmians never slowed, it was the final resistance to the global dominion of consumer society, the final bastion of opposition to technological hegemony. Like a seminole tribe, fighting to stay alive in the face of a machine of imperial and colonial ambitions, the Sitmians trekked on, unperturbed. Allistair’s company was just one of many executing hit and run missions before regrouping with central command in makeshift forts and bunkers.
Han Giru accompanied Abbad to his pick up point, the boy lingered slowly along, tears falling down his cheeks as the thought of being severed from his father further set in and weighed down upon him. They travelled in a few lifts and pods, eventually reaching a point where Han Giru could no longer accompany the boy, a passageway protected by two drones, intimidating guardians like the lion dogs that protected a shrine or temple. There was a mass of black suits forming in a large auditorium, slowly joined by other souls, amalgamating into a dark void. Han Giru caressed the boy for the final time and watched him disappear, and unable to hold back an emotional strain in his chest and throat, began to cry.
It felt as if life was departing him, like the bright light of the sun was setting for the final time, never to appear again. A message on his internal display ordered Han Giru to return to his business and he left, glancing behind in the hope that maybe, for some reason, the boy would reappear. Han Giru recollected the fear he felt during his embarkation, the cold, stark faces of the labor division directors behind podiums, giving orders to his young, innocent self. He remembered his father, sheltering the boy and fighting to raise him properly for his time of calling.
“You will each be assigned a number. This is your new title.” A decimal string flashed in the upper left corner of Abbad’s internal display. “I wish I could tell you that the most difficult part of your journey has ended, but, I’m afraid to say that your life up to this point has been child’s play. You are now mature subterraneans, information accrual stage has concluded. Your first duty is to join an ongoing campaign in Sitma. Proceed to Dock N5.” The mass began slowly marching towards a massive ship that lay in the center of the large auditorium. It was almost pitch black in the empty chamber, and, as Abbad glanced back hoping to see his father, noticed that all of the entry tunnels had closed.
The ship rested on a set of eight tarantula like limbs, bent at extreme angles and emerging from a spheroidical body. A blue light was emanating from the ship’s graviator engine and a neon green marking on the side read SUBT804X. As the mass of freshly initiated underbeings approached the ship, a grand stairwell extended from its side and a metal shaft opened, revealing a matrix of small sleeping pods that resembled the cocoons of a caterpillar. As the group entered Abbad noticed a hologram of the Earth and the surrounding solar system, the blue orbs slowly shifting and rotating around one another gracefully.
“Line up for nutrient and liquid”, blasted the nano speaker near his ear drum. A line formed that eventually spiraled for lack of space in the hull of the carrier. A feeding station descended from above, two tubes for nutrient and liquid and another two cylindrical tubes carrying stacks of bowls and cups. The lines slowly inched forward as each worker received his share, ate, and entered one of the sleeping pods. Abbad that his body was not his own, a puppet controlled by a mechanical soul as the roof of the capsule closed and the ship accelerated into the air. In a matter of moments, it had again landed, and the workers were ordered again onto the hull of the ship.
From the grand window a dense jungle appeared, capturing the attention of the entire crew, their eyes gravated to the spectacle like fish towards light. The legs of the ship began rotating around the ship like the propellers of a plane, cutting and tossing aside the Earth. The great mass slowly descended beneath the dirt and was eventually fully submerged, a dark gloom set in once again as the director’s voice once blasted through the internal audio. “We have landed in a remote region of Sitma, our purposes here are to remove an unwanted presence. Each underling will be provided with a surface helmet before we proceed.”
Again, the workers lined up. The group was now half its original size, the other half having entered a hibernation state within the capsules of the ship, a reserve, standby force. Each worker attached a helmet and was armed with a beam rifle before climbing through a central tube that led to the surface. A perfect circle of freshly tilled earth contrasted with the dense overgrowth of the jungle at its edge, the red, acidic soil a perfect anomaly, totally unnatural in appearance.
A video popped up on Abbad’s internal display accompanied with a dialogue covering the basic mechanics of beam rifle operation. Thereafter the workers were ordered to have a round of firing at the surrounding trees and brush, which, under the barrage of firepower, collapsed like corn stalks chopped down by a harvesting machine . After enough time, the crew then entered a marching formation and were joined by a group of fighter drones before marching off. A mist descended on the underlings as they entered the brush, its ghost like shape slithering through the trees.
Roask came to his senses on the couch, his eyes opening to the white peaked caps of the mountains, their jagged rows like the ancient grey and white dusty heads of the terracotta warriors. He instinctively prompted his internal display, which was still unresponsive. As he peered around the room, he met eyes with the large cat, which began slowly approaching him. “I hope you had a good rest,” Tanaka’s voice iterated from some speakers. “Today, I decided it would be best for you to explore your new home… A drone will come in and drop off some suitable attire for you to roam around in for the day. It’s quite a trek down the mountain but, once you ascend, the elements are not so harsh. I would recommend a visit to the lake, it is quite serene indeed.”
A bot came in and dumped a heavy snow jacket, boots, a sweater, heavy socks, a canteen, and a backpack with other various supplies on the shining glass floor. Roast began putting on the gear, clumsily slipping into the garments as a doorway slid open followed by a burst of fresh, cold air. He exited through the port and began walking down the snow-covered peak, past jagged boulders shaped like the teeth of a shark, extruding from bright white surface. The air stung his nose and eyes and burned the inside of his nostrils as he inhaled, a sensation he had not experienced in years of living in an almost constantly manipulated environment. Eventually he descended to an altitude where the solid white sheets of snow gave way to thick patches scattered among bright green herbs and grasses and the occasional patch of wild flowers, their bright buds adding a sweet gaiety to the air and scene.
The boulders were now more totally exposed, embedded in the Earth like shrapnel in weak flesh. As he peered towards the valley and into the lake, its unperturbed surface reflecting the mountain’s and clouds above, he experienced a tranquility, a passing, ephemeral transcendence. He felt for a moment as if his real soul and self were elsewhere, beyond this realm, the core of his being temporarily understanding its essence and source, grasping its reason and purpose, an overwhelming oneness. He began passing through scattered trees, the leaves whispering to the wind, passing magical notes to neighbours far away. The trees became more densely packed and the ground leveled out the further Roask hiked, the reservoir sparkling through the mesh of trunks, waterfowl and the movement of deer now more easily discernible on and around its surface. A bald eagle glided over the lake, its reflection clearly visible as its feet and talons pierced the water for a shiny fish, the perturbation forming a circle of expanding rings which corrupted the image of the mountains and clouds previously written on the surface.
Roask began fretting once again, what had happened to his existence, why him, where was he… It was as if his mind had again descended into that subterranean network of caves, thoughts of paranoia and anxiety echoing endlessly and chasing him through those empty, dark chasms. Torturous voices snowballed, their spiteful tongues straining his chest as they spewed evil, vile poison into his being. He felt like a monster, a foul being completely banished. The mysterious persona of Tanaka haunted him, the man like a wizard or seer, an oracle of sorts alone in that lonely, quiet tower, probably now looking over the lake, his cold gaze unshaken.
He felt that unconsciously his choices had caused the entire universe to conspire entirely against him, each decision he made further isolating himself, tearing him away from any bonds or relationships until he would end up completely alone. He felt like nothing more than a burden, a waste of space in an already full world. The prospect of death seemed attractive, the ultimate release from the curse that life had become for him. Tears flowed down his cheeks, his heart cried at his isolation and shame. He was an outcast and felt entirely undeserving of any respect of love.
As time passed the negativity began fading and he resigned himself to the unsure prospect of his future as he approached the shore of the grand lake which was fed by the perennial snows and rains draining into the great basin on all sides. Pebbles glistened through the crystal clear water, their shades ranging from deep blue to lime green, their texture smooth from years of weathering. Roask sat down on a mesa shaped boulder, the fresh air and altitude, coupled with the effects of his exercise imparted a feeling of lightheartedness and contentedness.
As he looked out onto the water, tears began filling his eyes, slowly rolling down his cheeks as he felt engulfed by sadness, a crippling feeling of despair and gravity that caused his stomach to knot. Perhaps it was the first time he was truly connected to his root, stripped away from his internal display and all social contacts, he was bare, vulnerable, exposed, insecure. One moment happy, the next feeling a river of tears building up inside. He wished to travel back in time, to a time where peace was assured and worries distant, a place where a soothing voice would calm him, tell him everything would resolve itself, everything was happening as it was intended to happen… To a time when he was not alone, that something, somewhere was watching over him. His soul seemed to beg for that comforting spirit, that beneficent, comforting being that washed away all of the impurities, fear, and pain he housed within. Emotion was rocking his being like one enduring the currents and tides of a first love or major parting, cutting, slowly stabbing his feeble heart.
Through the clear water Roask saw the dancing figures of guppies darting over the pebbles, moving together in small schools, creating the illusion of darting shadows as they shifted about. As he looked out onto the lake, he began again to calm down as the peaceful energy was emanated from the depths of his body. His mind became entirely clear as the chill of the cool mountain breeze became more evident in the late afternoon.
Realizing his hunger, Roask searched through the supply pack and pulled out a shiny, red box. He opened the lid and grabbed a slice of apple, tossing the sweet morsel into his mouth and biting down. He had never enjoyed food not served directly before him by a drone and there was a curious novelty about reaching into the ramsack, rummaging, and opening the modest meal. After finishing the sliced, crunchy apples, he began on a thick turkey sandwich. A layer of sauerkraut and pickles, tomatoes, and lettuce covered the meat, which was compacted between two thick slices of sourdough bread. Mustard and mayonnaise oozed out from the sandwich and fell down onto his coat. He then gobbled down a few chocolate chip cookies, their outer layer crunchy but giving way to a soft, sweet interior.
The lack of internal display and pings from his internal system was awakening. The simplicity of his sensory input invited the physical and spiritual sensation perhaps experienced by an old yogi-- a transcendence of being and oneness. He became aware of his true being and body as he took long, full deep breaths, the energy or chi within him spreading into the far recesses of his body, healing his organs and comforting his thoughts. It dawned on him that, for his entire life, he had been so entrenched in himself, his ego had consumed him. The world, as he experienced it at that moment, had never before been encountered.