Revolution in the Underground (16 page)

“Yes, all of you.”

“Huh,” Maggie sighed with curious excitement.

Sven grabbed a few dusty covers and pulled off cushions from the couch to make arrangements for everyone to sleep separately.  At Luna’s urging however, the group decided to pool the covers and pillows and all sleep together.  The awkwardness of the proposal was greatly mitigated by the knowledge that the conserved body heat would make for a much more comfortable night.  They arranged themselves, from left to right, as follows: Sven, Kara, Maggie, Luna, and Ember—Styles did not sleep that night. 

Luna and Maggie whispered casually about the day’s proceedings, and Maggie was heard to have remarked that, “all things considered, the rave was kind of fun.”  Sven and Kara discussed plans for the next day, and Ember mostly lamented quietly to himself about the sleeping positions.  In half an hour, they were all sound asleep.

              Though no one, least of all Sven, fully trusted Styles, they all acquiesced to his every command.  Styles was, for all his mysteries, a man with a plan and he was a natural leader.  And although he seldom explained any facets of his plan, it was enough for everyone just to know that one existed.  There was something in the way that he didn’t trust others that made others want to be loyal to him.  Each judgmental grin, every critical glance, seemed to instill a fiery fervor to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, one’s own fidelity. 

Maggie and Ember were particularly susceptible to such tactics—Maggie because she desired for everyone to like her, and Ember because he longed to be useful for a higher cause, perhaps also as means to win Kara’s affection. 

Though Sven pretended not to be effected by Styles judgmental games, he, perhaps more than anyone else, most tried to prove his allegiance.  The whole situation was uncomfortable for Sven.  Compared to the rest of the group, Sven was the oldest and held the most senior position within the revolutionary circles.  Considering this, and the fact that the daily operations took place in his home, he felt a natural obligation to assume the reigns of leadership.  Deep down, however, Sven knew that he had neither the decisiveness of judgment nor the cold utilitarian mentality required to be a leader, and secretly he was happy that someone else took on the responsibility.  Not assuming the gauntlet of leadership and taking orders from a suspicious stranger in the confines of one’s own home, however, are two different things entirely.  He felt an inexplicable need for confrontation, but, himself being strongly adverse to such acts of aggression—even through verbal means or in spirit—resolved to remove the tension by proving his usefulness.  By obeying Styles demands, he had sub-consciously, and rather erroneously, believed that all tension would evaporate.  Though Sven, by virtue of his positive proclivity and jolly predisposition, went about his business with a genuine smile, an internal conflict brewed inside him: one marred with feelings of guilt, inadequacy and frustration.  Sarcasm was his only means of truly venting.

Kara neither trusted nor liked Styles in a way much greater than she let on.  She too, however, followed his every command and played into his loyalty tests.  For Kara, it was no more than a game of cat-and-mouse—she would play her part and he would play his.  Participation did not require trust, only the mutual understanding that things needed to be done and that ulterior motives were had.  She would go on pretending to care about earning his respect, but really she would be spying on him—scrutinizing his every action for signs of treachery.  Styles, for his part, would go on pretending to be convinced by her act but in reality would continue contriving situations to reveal her true suspicions—such was how Kara perceived their situation.  Though these mind games required such psychotic over-analysis of every minutia and such detailed observations that it occasionally drove her to despair, she mostly found the thoughts intellectually stimulating and an interesting way to pass the time. The more she earned his trust and respect, the more dissembling and clever she felt. 

Only Luna seemed immune to Styles ways.  She did what ever was asked from her, but never acted with particular haste or vigor—at least not in a way that seemed correlated with his judgmental comments.  She never exceeded expectation, nor fell below them.  She simply went about her day, merrily enjoying the company of everyone around her.

Then, of course, there was Styles’ fanatical obsession with the plant.  He cared for that plant as if it were the sole reason for his existence and the meaning to the universe itself.  Regardless of their feelings towards him, they couldn’t help but admire his power of devotion.  How could one doubt the aims of a man who spent, by no other will than his own, every waking hour toiling in the dirt?  And it wasn’t only how much time he spent, but also the manner in which he spent it—arched over with tweezers and a wearable magnifying eyepiece, tinkering with various contraptions, and attentively scribbling notes.  He would sit on his knees on the cold dirt floor of the basement for hours at end, without so much as a pillow to lessen the discomfort, personally pipetting individual droplets of water in concentric circles around the plant’s soil.  On occasion, he was even heard talking to the plant.  His devotion was nothing short of awe-inspiring. 

Besides for his sleep—which he did for one hour every five hours—the only rest he took was to have his meals—a loaf of bread, two potatoes, a carrot, a can of beans or nuts, an occasional biscuit, and two glasses of water.  As long as he remained devoted to the plant, everyone else would follow his instructions—such was the unspoken agreement.

The roles that Styles assigned everyone changed from day-to-day, but nonetheless followed a general pattern.  Sven and Kara were to attend meetings with other revolutionaries no less frequently than before.  Their contributions to various revolutionary initiatives and activities were to be equal in scope to that of their comrades.  Styles also expected a complete list of every member in attendance as well as details of any source of contention at the meetings. 

Maggie and Ember were to continue to serve as beacons of inspiration for the revolutionaries and act in such a way that was consistent with the desire to return home.  On occasion, Maggie and Ember were instructed to attend meetings with Sven and Kara and subsequently report any suspicious behaviors amongst the revolutionaries.  Since it was believed that the police would kill them should they ever discover their origins and whereabouts, Maggie and Ember were advised to dress like the locals and proceed with caution. 

Luna, who possessed an astonishing scientific acumen and technical expertise, was to consult Styles on scientific matters and assist in the construction of various apparatuses for eventual use in DNA extraction and sequencing.

Styles really only had three rules, and so long as those weren’t broken, he was satisfied.  These rules were: don’t talk about the plant to anyone else, don’t act in a way to arouse suspicion, and don’t ever leave the plant unguarded.  These rules were based solely on the dual assumption that there was a traitor amongst the revolutionaries and that the said traitor would desire to destroy the plant since its sequence could open the Gate.

So concerned was he about the third rule, that he required one other person to stay with him at all times should he need to sleep, eat, drink, or go to the bathroom.  In theory, there was supposed to be a rotation to the selection process, but in reality, he mostly requested Luna’s company.  Though no one had suspected any romantic relationship between the two, it had crossed everyone’s mind that their association was more than unusual.  As with everything Styles did, there were secondary motives to the plan.  Whoever’s turn it was to spend the day with him had, to look forward to, long periods of unbearable boredom interrupted by occasional interrogations and random questions that one suspected he placed far too much consideration.  Only Luna didn’t seem to mind.

On occasion, Styles would ask someone to purchase nuts, bolts, or glassware, for use in the plant’s supposedly “essential” supportive machinery—which was quickly becoming ludicrously elaborate.  He also asked for various chemicals: detergents, chloroform and ethanol, to help with the eventual extractions, and various fertilizers to speed the plant’s growth.  

Then there were the really unusual requests.  He would take Kara aside and ask her to keep an eye on Sven, or tell Maggie some seemingly insignificant secret and then specifically instruct her not to tell her brother, or even ask Ember to spy on his sister and report the findings.  So demonstratively stupid were such requests and so blatantly were they ignored that it was a wonder why he continued to keep them up.

Surely he knows how we laugh at these instructions,
Kara thought to herself,
and surely he knows how we talk about it to each other…  Is he trying to unite us under the shared understanding of his own ridiculousness?  No, I’m sure it must be something devious.  On the surface he wants us to believe that he actually finds our reports insightful.  This, we are supposed to believe, is the rationale behind his strange requests.  But I don’t believe it!  How can he expect me too!  He does not expect us to take our espionage missions seriously and he could not expect to put any weight on our reports.  He knows it, I know it, and, unless he thinks me a fool, he knows that I know it.  So understood is this fact, that it cannot possibly be his first line of defense. 

Then, he must want me to think that his motive is to create an aura of paranoia.  But how could he expect me to believe that?  What does he have to be gained from paranoia?  I suppose even the most inane and sloppily spread seeds can fester if given enough time.  But our bonds are too tight, and we are all far too suspicious of him for that to work.  Surely this can’t be it… but, that’s what he wants—that’s what he thinks I will think about what he thinks!  Oh, but he has misgauged my guile.  In fact, I know that he must be trying to distract us.  Or, he must be trying to yoke us together under common thought.  An enemy united under common thought is more predictable—but, is it worth the sacrifice?!  Does this benefit really outweigh the drawbacks of becoming a subject of ridicule?  But alas, he is not the subject of ridicule!  Should one have followed any similar line of reasoning this far, then one should have already made the fundamental assumption that he wasn’t a fool.  He stands to gain, yet he risks nothing!  How clever of him. 

Then, of course, there is the possibility that I am missing the obvious!  Perhaps our reports are guided by some nugget of insightful sub-conscious truth that he, somehow, can disentangle from the meaningless?  Or, perhaps, if I report misleadingly, he will negate my statements and assume the truth!  As long as I speak to him, he wins.

***

On the first day, they began work on the incubation chamber.  Styles had Sven dig a small hole within the compact dirt floor of the basement—a task that was much more difficult than it appeared—while the rest of them purchased red and blue lights using money left behind by Kara’s parents.  For the next three days, Luna helped route the electricity and establish outlets while the rest of them worked on securing the basement.  By the end of the fourth day the incubation chamber was complete.  The next week and a half was spent purchasing various machine parts, and building a secret passage which was to become the sole means for ingress and egress.  The construction of the passage, which involved an elaborate system of fake walls and tunnels, required so much raw material that they soon burned through all of Kara’s inheritance.  It wasn’t until after Sven’s mother agreed to foot the bill that Styles admitted to having buried a small fortune near George’s home and sent Sven out to retrieve it. Though the passage was never completely finished, its partial construction did succeed in bestowing some privacy on their operations.

When they were not busy running around completing little tasks or purchasing random items, everyone usually relaxed at Kara’s place, which was roughly equal in size and equivalent in layout to Sven’s.  Owing to the ingenuity of Kara’s belated parents, who were both part-time inventors, the home was garnished with all sorts of fun trinkets and inventions that never ceased to amaze Maggie and Ember.  They were particularly enthralled with the intricate cogs of a wooden grandfather clock and the randomly connected, steam-punk inspired, bubble machine that would go off every hour.

The object that most interested Maggie and Ember, however, was an old black-and-white television set.  There were, of course, no stations to be played, but Kara explained to them how, once upon a time, whole civilizations would stare upon those glassy screens and learn about the news or laugh at a variety of situational comedies—which of course she had to explain to them.  Kara told them that although the governments destroyed all the records and movies of the past, her parents had purchased, for a considerable sum of money, a movie by the name of
Casablanca
on the black market long ago.  She told them how, as a child, she had watched it hundreds of times, and expressed regrettably, how the movie was stolen from them when their house was burglarized.  She had to, of course, recount in intricate detail, the plot of the film and subsequently answer all of their questions.  “What’s an airplane?”  “What’s Morocco?”  “What’s a car?” “What’s World War II and what happened to World War I?”  Though she was unable to answer many of these questions, she did the best she could and apologized for not doing better.  “I was ten when I last saw it.  That was nine years ago, I’m sorry, I just don’t remember.”

Kara also told them about computers and about how they, despite being ubiquitous during the early days of the Underground, are now extremely rare.  Luna assisted with the explanation of the technical details and promised that they would see one soon since the sequencing of
Toxicodendron radican’s
genetic code necessitated it.  Kara, with the help of Luna, also introduced the idea of the Internet, which they both understood only through vague terms.  Kara also believed that the Internet was ubiquitous in the past.  She expressed her belief that the government destroyed the Internet to keep the masses from uniting and that the procurement of the Mainframe of Knowledge by the revolutionaries would allow for the restoration of the Internet to all of the Underground.  “This,” she said, “is yet another alternative to violent revolution.  With access to information and means of communication, the revolution would be able to proceed peacefully.”

At night, after they had discussed everything that they felt they needed to discuss, they would play a popular board game called Surreptitious Subterranean Squatters—or S3.  The aim of game was to avoid following into the Abyss—which Sven said was a real place within the Buffer Zone, famed for its danger and exotic black markets—by collecting resources and squatting on the other players’ properties.  The attainment of all resources, and the subsequent success or failure of any squatting attempt, was governed probabilistically by a roll of the die.  Though the decision as to which properties to buy or squat in had some element of chance, they almost exclusively relied upon mathematical calculations and game theory for optimal strategy.  Sven and Kara played with the additional rule that allowed for properties to be traded—this, they argued, made the game more skillful and fun, though was technically against the official rules.