Filaria - Brent Hayward [45]
“And,” he said, swallowing hard, “are you all in there . . . against your will?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Aren’t you listening? Three giant soldiers, maybe twice my size, with smooth black faces. Really big, intense guys. They abducted us all and brung us up here. They’re the ones asking questions.”
“Giant soldiers?”
“Holy smoke. Are you fucking senile?”
She lowered the torchlight in exasperation and might not have seen the rage that suddenly tightened Mereziah’s face, making his hands clench. “I am not senile,” he hissed, wondering if he should rescue this girl at all or promptly leave her now, as he’d found her, trapped inside the big pod while he continued on his way toward the top of the world. After all, he had already deserted his post, his job, his responsibilities. Why did he insist on acting like an attendant? He sure didn’t need to be insulted. “I assure you, young lady, I have all my wits about me.”
“Can you get us out of this thing or not? I’d really appreciate it.”
“Yes, I can get you out.” Who was he trying to fool? He couldn’t leave this girl or this pod until he had tried everything he knew to get her out. And get the others out too, of course. Merezath might have left these people here but not he. The reasons I want to help, he assured himself, are strictly ethical and professional.
So he introduced himself.
And the girl said, “What kind of name is that?”
Again he was flustered. “It’s a fine name. My mother chose it. It means — ”
“That you’re a stuffy old fart?” But her entrancing smile returned. “Can I call you M, old fart? My friends call me Crystal, but you can call me Crystal Max. I’ve been on quite a fucking ride!”
Mereziah did not approve of foul language but neither did he want to chastise or lecture. Despite his intentions, he was unable to cease imagining what Crystal Max’s young body might look like under those dirty clothes. He slunk away from the pod, muttering he would return shortly, creeping down into the webbing and out of sight.
He was raging inside with conflicting sensations. He took a few breaths, closing his eyes for a second. Had this massive pod been intentionally left between levels? The girl, Crystal, had mentioned that the people trapped inside had been ‘dropped’ in. That implied to Mereziah that the captors had positioned the pod — which they were clearly using as a jail — between levels. Away from access to the horizontal world.
He climbed even lower, slowly, feeling the wall as he went with his sensitive fingertips, massaging the rough, curved surface of the shaft, searching and kneading. In some areas, he plunged up to his elbow in the coarse webbing, forced to grope blindly.
The plan was to find access to the level beneath the pod and ferry the passengers out, one by one, via that exit. After that, who knew? His upward journey was certainly curtailed.
Maybe this rescue was the culmination of his life, his final purpose?
Nerve endings in his palms and fingertips responded, recognizing the subtle contours he had been seeking. Manipulating the slick, hidden hinge, pressing at it, rubbing at it, a slit finally opened before him with a sucking sound, letting light and air and a dull roar flood the area about; Mereziah’s eyes nictitated.
He leaned forward to glance through, saw clutters of pumps and tubes of all sizes out there, heading in all directions. Tiny wheels spun busily in housings. Pistons chuffed. Steam hissed. No traditional horizontal area, to be sure — some form of machinations — but deserted, at least, as far as he could tell.
A thin, suspended path began not far from where he peeked out, leading out over bevel gears and pipes and pulleys to be swallowed in the haze. Where could it lead? Would it be folly to take the captives out of the pod and head them onto this perilous path?
Across the abyss, a faint backdrop of hazy panels. Dim lights, consoles, controls, all vanishing through the vapour. These distant façades appeared as if from a dream.
Out there stunk of heat and oil.
Mereziah let the slit close slowly. He