Filaria - Brent Hayward [78]
Again, no answer.
At the end of this hall was a device about the same height as Tran so, a great block-shaped thing residing under a sign that said simply ICE. At first, he thought this block might be a primitive yet inert god, but as he neared he could tell it had never possessed sentience.
Beyond was an opening, a wide doorway into a large room. Lined, on three walls, with plush couches. Tran so stopped at the threshold and the crawling gods bumped into his calves and scurried around his feet. There were pictures on the walls of this room, what looked to be lakes, and beaches, but these were so clean, reposed under blue ceilings set impossibly high, that he knew they were no location in this world.
Against the furthermost wall to his left ran an elongated counter behind which, waiting motionless — so he had not seen it at first — was a god on treads standing erect, almost exactly like a god of dispensing. Ludicrously, the deity was dressed in illfitting clothing. Tran so saw it blink, and knew it was activated; he immediately walked across the room. “Where is the network? I wish to speak to the network.”
The god stared at him with tiny, cold eyes. One of the crawling deities quickly mounted the counter and scurried between them. “You are addressing a fulltime clerk,” it said to Tran so. “This clerk is in need of repairs. Once again, you harass our staff. The supervisor is in the chamber beyond. Please cease all questions and do not leave our side again without clearance.”
Tran so Phengh noted the door that the crawling god had indicated: large, green, unassuming.
The clerk said, in slow, affected tones, “Welcome to the nostalgia suites. Do you wish a room for one week? For two? Are you single? Do you have a family?”
“A family?” Tran so stared.
“Yes. Are you a family man?”
With one sweep of his arm, Tran so knocked a small bell from the counter to the carpet, where it rang dully. “I stayed with my wife longer than most people would have,” he hissed. “And my son is dead. That is my family.” The rage was whirling inside him, eddying, ebbing. He felt tension in his limbs —
Yet bending, nonplussed, to consult an open logbook, the big clerk said, “Then I take it you will not be needing two beds?”
“Listen to me, you piece of — ”
The nearest crawling god jabbed at Tran so’s hand with one sharp foreleg; the pain was tremendous and Tran so’s knees buckled. Elbows out, splayed on the counter, he tried to support his sagging weight. He could not see clearly and his lungs laboured to fill.
“I told you this is no time to be insubordinate,” the crawling god said, as if from a distance, while the clerk bobbled its head and remained quiet. “We’ve let you walk about of your own free will. We’ve given you chances. It’s clear you don’t take this situation seriously. I know you don’t take us seriously. I know your type. Let me tell you, things are changing around here. Trust me, you don’t want to lose the privilege of mobility. I’m so fucking tired of you yahoos coming down here, on a lark, big fucking joke, take a job just so you can fuck guests or party. Mocking us who believe in the glorious vision of this place!”
Tingling with pain, and taken aback by the tiny god’s uncharacteristic rant, Tran so let himself be directed shakily around the counter to the green door of the supervisor’s office. He could hardly walk.
The door opened inwards before he had a chance to knock. Within the dimly lit chamber there appeared to be a human male, seated behind a desk, with his feet up. The man was looking at Tran so Phengh, a small smile on his face. His round eyes were glazed and unfocussed. He was older — greying and overweight — dressed in a hound’s-tooth suit just like the suit a dancer friend of Minnie sue’s had used to wear during her act.
Tran so was about to introduce himself when he saw that the grey skin on the paunchy face and on the large, veined hands was oddly smooth and worn, and that an introduction was probably ridiculous. In some places — such as