Vision2 (9 page)

Instead of answering, Tigaffo quickened his pace to try and pull ahead.

Within minutes they had reached the central joining section of the halls. Roger tried to memorize where they were going as Tigaffo puffed beside him. Yesterday they had gone left from this area to get to the council chambers, but today, they took a right hand turn. After they turned from the central area and into the adjoining tunnel they turned again, and Roger was surprised to note that the floor was gradually extending upwards.

The air grew warmer and the rocks alongside of the tunnel became lighter as they continued walk. Just as Roger was beginning to wonder if they were going to the surface, the hall ended. Roger looked closer at the wall in front of him and realized a small seam ran down the middle of the wall. Two small yellow gnomes stood on either side of the wall.

A sudden rumbling sound echoed through the tunnel as the doors slowly swung open. Bright rays of orange-red light filtered in through the widening crack in the stone doors. Roger held his breath and closed his eyes, letting the warm glow wash over him.

Pain multiplies like a virus.

Every inch of Roger
’
s skin tingled. His half-closed lids were nearly translucent because of the brilliant glow behind them. Roger hadn
’
t realized how strongly the lack of real light had bothered him until that moment. His eyes were watering, but he was thrust into the direct light when a sharp prong pushed into his back.

A tight cluster of Obawok stood in front. He turned around and noticed that one of the guards was standing directly behind him, the cause of the prodding. Roger turned back to face the other Obawok. Blinking through water hazy lenses, Roger made out Firturro and Tigaffo standing at the front of the pack.

“Go ahead, take your time. Most people don
’
t, and that can cause problems. Our dual suns cause the sunlight to be very bright,” Firturro told him.

“Dual suns?” Roger tried to picture a skyline with two suns and found that he couldn
’
t.

“Yes, there are two suns that cross patterns in our sky. The rise at the same time on different sides of the horizon, and they set at the same time on the opposite sides of the horizon. But I
’
m sure that the guides will fill you in on all of the technical aspects. I
’
ve just heard that it
’
s beautiful at dusk.” Firturro smiled, and Roger realized that the vibrant purple eyes that were normally shining in Firturro
’
s face were now covered with a harsh scaly green material that appeared to grow out of his skin like secondary, sideways eyelids.

“What…what
’
s wrong with your eyes?”

“Oh,” Firturro continued, “Don
’
t worry. It
’
s a natural protective measure that Obawok have. It
’
s perfectly normal.”

“Can you still see through that skin?”

“Of course.” The other Obawok snickered, and Roger realized how silly the question must have been.

Kristi Brooks

“Why are all these others here? Where
’
s the other human I saw yesterday?” Roger asked, pointing to the new orange and red haired Obawok on the back row.

“Why do you need to know?” Tigaffo piped up.

“I wanted to be sure I had met everyone involved. It is my future we
’
re talking about here, isn
’
t it? I should have the right to know who I
’
m dealing with.”

“Yes, Roger, you
’
re completely correct. These two gentlemen in the back with orange hair are to be your guides during training. Their job is to show and demonstrate different aspects of the surface and the Mezoglike.” Firturro smiled and pointed at the back of the room. “The two red-haired Obawok standing in the back are trainers. They are here to help you physically adjust to and maneuver in the environment in which you will take the test. The other human you met yesterday is being trained in a separate area. You will be on the surface together, but you will start at different times to prevent unnecessary contact.

“Now,” he said, looking back at Roger, “we shouldn
’
t waste anymore time, so if you
’
re ready, we will move into the main training chambers.”

“Sure.”

The room was twice the size of Roger
’
s makeshift apartment. The walls were underground, but the roof peaked above ground and was constructed of smoked glass, allowing light into the room. The wall opposite Roger was made from the same smoked glass as the ceiling. A door slid open as he watched, and the guides led the group through the wall. When he approached the doors, he noticed strange green worms crawling at the edge of the glass wall, trying desperately to get back under that partition. Their small writhing bodies caressing the clear divider, as if reaching for him.

He was staring at this swarm of pulsating bodies so intently that he forgot to duck and walked right into the low hanging doorframe.

“Ow, Fuck!” Roger shook his already tender forehead and realized everyone was now staring. While Firturro was concerned, the others merely smirked at him, and he knew he
’
d just gone one step further in proving their theory on the idiocy of humans. After he
’
d successfully navigated his way through the door, Roger looked back at the things that had caused his distraction.

The bottom halves of the blue-green wormy beings were securely anchored in the ground, making them strands of living grass. There were thousands of the moving creatures set between the glass and a narrow pathway of compressed black dirt dancing together to some unknown rhythm, their upper bodies moving and turning in compressed rows. It was as if they were trying to communicate with him through an unintelligible primal language.

As he was watching them, a crimson hue blotted his vision and the air constricted in his lungs. He bent over to catch his breath, but when he looked up everything around him had changed. It was so dark he couldn
’
t see the walls or the floor as he stumbled toward a small, flickering light and searched for the others.

As he approached the source of the light he saw figures moving through the shadows, but they didn
’
t look like the other Obawok he
’
d seen. As soon as he got close to one he realized that the reason for this difference was that these Obawok were actually women. His body felt as if it was floating, and he didn
’
t stop until he reached a door and looked inside. It appeared to be an apartment smaller than his with three beds crammed together in the small space.

He ducked out of the room and continued down the hall until it emptied into a massive room where a line of Obawok men waited in front of a large desk in the middle of the room that was flanked by two Obawok guards. As Roger watched, different Obawok women entered through a door to the right of the desk. The women walked up to the desk and were then escorted by the next Obawok in line to a door on the opposite side of the hall.

The understanding of the crude bordello crushed him like a tsunami. The women entered the room in jerky strides with faces so emotionally blank they reminded him of robots. Not one of them complained or cried as they were led into that room, and the thought of what had happened to them in this horrid dungeon made Roger
’
s stomach clinch together even tighter.

Something tugged at him, but Roger scrambled to hold on, to stay in that room with those women. He threw his body forward, his fingers scratching across the rock so harshly one of his nails broke and thin lines of blood trickled from his palms as he struggled to hold on. Just then one of the women Obawok stood before him, her lips mouthing words he couldn
’
t hear.

“I can
’
t hear you,” he shouted, focusing all his attention on what she was trying to tell him. He felt his body being pulled up and back, and as the room faded a single word followed him.

“Itckrelle.”

He blinked, looking at the Obawok surrounding him. Bile crawled up his throat; threatening to spill onto the floor and making him feel faint. He could feel the hatred and fear that filled this world, and he was gagging on it.

When Roger regained his composure, he looked around the room and noticed that the two red haired Obawok in the back watching him with an intensity Roger had only seen bad actors use in old spy movies. Straightening up, he placed his hand against the developing welt. He looked at his other hand and saw that the nail on his finger was broken and small, thin cuts covered his palm. He clinched his fist together and moved toward the others.

“This is your first lesson, so listen carefully because I won
’
t be repeating it.” One of the orange haired Obawok pointed at the barren, gray branches of a nearby tree. “You have to be sure to watch for trees on the surface that resemble this one. Most of the trees are similar to your trees on earth, but these are quite different. Their arms will ensnare you if you aren
’
t quick enough to avoid them.” He held a bright yellow stick up in the air and motioned for the rest of the group to move away with his other hand.

There were a few moments of tense silence before Roger saw the branches of the tree sway like they were dancing in the wind. Only there wasn
’
t any wind here. Then, with a barely perceptible whirl of leaves, one of the longer branches whipped out and snatched the stick out of his hand. Roger spent quite a few moments studying the tree, but no matter how hard he tried, he could find no sign of the yellow walking stick in the tangle of long gray branches.

“What happened to the stick?” Roger asked.

“It became part of the tree,” one of the guards grunted before the guide had a chance to answer. Neither of the guards had spoken a word before now, and his voice was rough, gravelly, and abrasive. “Once the object gets back to the trunk of the tree that grabbed it, it disappears into the tree itself.”

The guide cleared his throat and nodded to the guard. “You
’
re excused for talking out of turn, but don
’
t leave yet. I need you to stand by the grutom patch.”

The guard flinched and a look of sheer terror crept into his face, but he made no move to do as the guide said.

“I have instructed you. Are you going to ignore your commands?” The guide
’
s face was flushed under his green skin. After a few seconds the guard shook his head, straightened up, and walked over to the patch like a condemned man.

“You also have to watch out for the grutoms,” the guide began, pointing to the blue-green worm creatures next to the guard
’
s feet. “They
’
re harmless enough as long as they don
’
t come in contact with bare skin. When they touch flesh, they
’
ll burrow in and corrode your bloodstream. A grutom victim won
’
t die right away. It takes at least three days for the creature to work its way into your heart and establish a colony.” A slightly hidden smile tilted up one corner of his mouth as he saw the creases in Roger
’
s face deepen, showing his growing concerned. “It
’
s a long and painful death.”

The guide finished his speech by nodding at the guard. The guard grimaced and Roger would have sworn that he saw tears gleaming in his wrinkled flesh as he leaned over the container, pushing his hand into the squirming mass. The creatures immediately covered his hand as he unsuccessfully tried to keep the terror from his face.

Roger looked around the room, his eyes wide with panic, searching for a way to stop what was happening. No one was moving. Most of their faces were smiling at the idea of the Obawok
’
s pain. However, Tigaffo only managed to look small and terrified. Firturro and the others were clearly repulsed but made no move to intercede on the guard
’
s behalf. Roger lunged for the guard, intending to push him out of the way, but as soon as he moved, he felt a heavy hand pulling back on his shirt. When he turned around, he saw that the other guard was holding him back. He pulled forward again and felt the shirt rip, but when he reached the grutoms the other guard was standing up. Lumps were moving under his tightly drawn flesh and his skin was at least three shades lighter.

“Now you have been properly dismissed,” the guide said, excusing the doomed Obawok with a wave of his hands.

Every time he turned around he found himself confronted with a new level of depravity and repulsion for these people. It wasn
’
t the grutoms
’
fault. What they did was a part of their natural cycle. The Obawok, however, had the capacity to think and therefore to know right from wrong. The fact they still behaved this way made Roger understand that they truly had no souls.

Obawok were so self-righteous they failed to think of humans as anything but trash, and they also seemed to feel this way about their own lower classes, treating their deaths as something amusing. He wondered if this was what the Jews had felt when they
’
d been taken from their homes and forced to participate in hellish experiments at the hands of the Nazis.

The guide addressed them as the guard exited the room. “Now, if you
’
ll just follow me, I
’
ll be glad to take you through the rest of the training. Roger, my name is Kiperro, and if you have any further questions, feel free to ask. I assure you that I will be the one answering them,” he said, giving the other guard a very stern look and nodding his head.

The guard put his hand on Roger
’
s shoulder and steered him through another corridor and into a sterile classroom. The shock of what had happened stayed with him, making it nearly impossible for him to concentrate. He kept fidgeting with the corners of his desk and staring at objects until they become black voids.

The few times he did pay attention he was reminded of the days he had spent in high school studying biology. The surface of Obawok was apparently covered with a multitude of plant life, and most of them had their own special quirks. For instance, there was a bright yellow fern that had small orange flowers growing at its tips. The flowers were edible but could cause slight headaches, but the fern leaves were deadly. Roger tried to keep a detailed catalog of all of the plants they described to him, but every now and then the guard
’
s face would pop into his mind or the haunting voice of that woman Obawok would fill his head with that word,
Itckrelle
.

By the end of the day his mind and body had been put through a mashing machine. They had discussed sixty-seven species of plant life, and as soon as that was over, he
’
d been forced to run a series of timing drills for the trainers. They
’
d claimed that they needed to know what kind of shape he was in so they could build his endurance, but Roger suspected that this was a truth with a sinister side. The reason they took down the information was probably a legit one to the trainers themselves. However, he would bet someone higher up on the chain of command would use these measurements against him.

He had run the drills as slow as he thought he could without attracting attention. The trainers didn
’
t act like they noticed, but after he had finished, Firturro had indiscreetly smiled and nodded at him.

He rubbed his legs, feigning soreness, but he actually felt good. He could feel every inch of his body, his skin humming with the nervous excitement of millions, perhaps trillions, of bouncing atoms.

Roger turned to Firturro as he finished stretching. “Are you taking me back to my room?”

“Not tonight,” Firturro answered, “tonight, you will be in Tigaffo
’
s hands. I
’
ve been asked to personally report to the President before and after each of your sessions so I won
’
t be able to escort you. But I trust that everything is going well. You don
’
t have any complaints about Tigaffo
’
s ability as a watcher, do you?” While the words flowed in a normal conversation manner, Firturro
’
s eyes quickly glanced to Tigaffo, and he gave one quick turn of his head. The meaning was clear: while he was free to complain about Tigaffo all he wanted, it wouldn
’
t matter.