Filaria - Brent Hayward [80]
“I know windows of time,” said Tran so Phengh. “Windows of opportunity. Windows to the soul.”
“Well, specifically,” continued Simon, as a shiver ran down its length like maybe it was coming awake from a bad dream, if gods dreamt, or urinating, if gods pissed. “Specifically, we at the nostalgia suites are seven hundred metres beneath the crust. Yet each room has a window, we call them — that’s patent pending — which can be activated, at will, to show dynamic, lifelike scenes, exactly as if the view were pumped in directly! There’s a wide range of landscapes to choose from. We have the usual, of course: windswept beach; quiet glade with the occasional deer; water — ”
Simon’s feet suddenly slid sideways off the desk and he crashed loudly to the floor. Standing, lurching upright, like a drunk, the man-god resumed talking in the same tones — perhaps a little louder — as if nothing unusual had occurred:
“We have Fenton and Bellona! Sau Trenton in winter! Dozens to choose from! Truly astounding, truly! Surveys have told us that windows are the thing people love best about nostalgia suites. Our guests spend more time watching them than they do interacting with grams or sitting in front of plasma. Maybe they hope to see their grandfather crossing a street, or themselves, maybe, in younger days. But I know what they’re really doing. They want to see if the images are on a loop! They can watch the windows for hours and never see the seam. The seam, my friend, doesn’t exist! It does not exist!”
Tran so, who had initially been a little alarmed by Simon’s movement and speech — wondering if he might be in danger of being assaulted — had relaxed once more. He said, “When I came in here and realized you were a broken god, my first thought was to rest for a while, and then, when I had a chance, smash you with something hard, maybe from behind, in the head. Now I’m not too sure why I wanted to do that. Vigor, I suppose. Hormones. But I think I can just walk out of here. You won’t even raise an alarm, will you? I am not a man of violence. I seem to be slipping these past days.”
Behind Tran so Phengh were bookshelves. He stood, took down a volume at random, opened it. Blank pages. He turned to Simon. “You can’t help me. I do appreciate being able to hide out here for a while, and reflect, though I suppose it would have been better in the first place if you’d left me to my own devices. The dark gods that I mentioned were no longer on my trail.” He dropped the book — thud — onto the desktop. “I think I’m in love!”
“Gods? Loves!” Simon turned, laughter wheezing now, almost obscenely. “Young man, are you aware of our health and safety policies? Are you aware of our harassment policies? They are paramount if you wish to work for us. Listen; take a temporary staff card from that box behind you. We can get your training started. I’ll give you some brochures also. They’re backordered. All the info you’ll ever need to know about working for our little resort.”
Simon faced the wall. There was an awkward silence.
“You know,” Simon said at last, almost wistfully, “I had asked for someone to be sent up from management, to welcome new employees, but they have not responded. Budgets, I suspect. Board meetings and such.”
From a box on the floor, Tran so took a badge. He placed the cord around his neck.
“So long,” Simon said.
“So long,” said Tran so. Carefully he pulled the door open, peeked out, and left. There were no crawling gods, only the broken clerk, waiting at the counter with its back to him.
“How do I get down?” Tran so asked.
“Down?” The clerk, who had been studying its logbook, looked around.
“Yes. To the boardrooms. To upper management.”
“Simon told you to see someone? Down there?”
“Yes.”
“That’s very unusual.”
“Simon says.”
“Well, if you leave here, turn right, go down the hall outside — all the way to the end. Then