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By Root 703 0

the group had taken advantage of the break, resting, even lying supine on the platform they were stopped on. Only the veiled woman remained standing, her back to Mereziah as she leaned out over the railing, peering into the steam, towards the shaft they had fled. To Mereziah’s left sat the dark-skinned man who had helped with the rescue: cross-legged, eyes closed, apparently oblivious. Though Mereziah’s mouth was very dry, he wanted to talk, calculating that by asking intelligent questions, by interviewing these people and displaying his acumen, he could help regain the illusion that he was in control. He wanted his authority back, even if he had earlier desired to shrug it all off, because he realized he had little else.

“Black fellow,” he said weakly, trembling, turning to the man who sat, humming softly. Mereziah tried to control his voice, the way his father had trained him to do. “So that, so we can better understand our, our predicament, may I ask you several pertinent questions? Black man?”

The eyes slowly opened. They were hazel and sparked in the dull light. “I have a name. It is Joseph.”

Crystal Max said, “Old timer, I told you to relax. I don’t need you getting into a fight.”

Perplexed, Mereziah turned to her. “Fight? I have no intention of fighting. Why would you say that? There are some things I must know, Crystal. Things important to our survival.”

“Like what? What do you want to know?” Joseph lowered his brows.

“What can you tell me about your abduction?”

“My what?”

“Abduction. When the soldiers came to take you.”

Joseph stared for a long while before speaking. “I work at filter plant number seventy-two. Fixing filtration units that clean the air. All black fellows, as you say, work there. We all wear uniforms. Never seen anyone like me before? You never went there. But you sure breathe our air. All of you. My father worked at the filter plant. My son works there. My wife too.”

“You have a family?” There was a touch of poignancy in these details. Mereziah appreciated Joseph’s commitment to servicing systems of the world. At least they had that in common.

But Joseph seemed irritated. “My family is important to your plan? Important for our survival?”

“No,” Mereziah admitted.

“Uh, do you have any kids, old man?” intervened Crystal.

“No. I have no children.” A lump had formed in Mereziah’s throat. He had never even held a child. “Continue, please,” he told Joseph.

“Soldiers came.” The man did not move when he spoke. His arms lay in his lap. “They didn’t grab me, at first, or grab anyone around me. Like you, they ask lots of questions. We see others, like them? No. We see people from outside? No. They tell us that the sky is pierced, and that the world woke them up to find out why. They are security. But here in the world is too much chaos, too much mess.” Joseph’s lips tightened. “And they get no instructions, no guidance from the voice of the world.”

“The sky? Did you mention the sky?” The words resonated inside Mereziah. Where had he heard this word before? Perhaps a client had mentioned it, a lifetime ago, in association with a story about the top of the world. For he knew that the sky was the very top of the world.

“All I’ve ever seen,” Joseph said, “are ceilings and walls.”

Crystal put her hand on Joseph’s knee. “Me too,” she said. “Where I come from, there’s a ceiling overhead, so low we can touch it. I’ve never seen open space like this place.”

Mereziah stared at her hand, pale on the other man’s leg. Displeasure prickled at his own offended skin.

“You know,” Crystal continued, recalling, “we have a car, where I’m from, an old car that sometimes talks about the sky, and about outside. But I don’t know what they mean. No one does, not even Reena.”

“Outside?” Mereziah did not know this word at all. He told himself to remember it, that it might be important, but all he could do was look at that hand, resting on that dark knee.

Joseph said, “The soldier looked me in the eye. It saw things there, or thought it did. And grabbed me. They have not found anyone who belongs here. No one. Only