Revolution in the Underground (17 page)

Ember and Maggie were both terrible at the game, but improved marginally over time.  Luna, by contrast, was so unbelievably good that she was either forbidden from playing or was forced to play with a harsh negative handicap.  She, however, didn’t mind.  She enjoyed watching them play, sharing in their laughs, and commenting on each of their playing strategies after the game was over.  Sven and Kara claimed that they were both, by normal, non-Luna standards, very good at the game.

Ember enjoyed the friendships he was building.  He believed them to be more genuine than any bond he formed in Erosa, save for that which he had formed with his sister, but nonetheless felt as though something were missing.  He felt like there were certain things he wasn’t allowed to talk about.  He longed to have, once more a deep heart-felt conversation with his sister, but was never able to get her alone.  What he really wanted, however, more than anything, was to get
Kara
alone and share his deepest thoughts and feelings with her.  He wanted to tell her how sometimes at night his soul would call out for no reason at all and how, in the morning, he would be ashamed of it.  He wanted to tell her how utterly insignificant he felt at times and how much he feared the absence of a transcendent purpose.  Never before had Ember felt such an indescribable urge to share his deepest and most vulnerable thoughts with another human being. 

He wanted to make bare his whole existence.  He wanted to take out his heart and show it to her.  He wanted to be naked in front of her.  No secrets.  Yet, he knew, that she had secrets, that much was plain.  As long as those secrets remained unshared, he feared that he could never truly earn her trust or love.

Since there were enough covers and pillows at Kara’s place, they usually at least attempted to sleep separately.  As the night progressed, however, it usually happened that two or more people ended up cuddling together.  Though such arrangements were undeniably personal, they were, in the strictest sense, platonic.  Maggie and Ember, out of old habit, usually spent the night by each other’s side.  Luna, who never wanted to sleep alone, would rotate sleeping partners each night.  Since she usually took the night shift with Styles, however, this didn’t happen too often.

Though they all slept in the same room, and though it was not uncommon for them to have long, intricate conversations before going to bed, Ember still felt as though much went unsaid.  Even with the calm knowledge of his approaching dreams, he still felt like something was missing.

On the second week, a stem appeared.  Luna, who was there when it happened, said that it was the first time that she really saw Styles smile.  The truth was that he was getting worried.  He had expected the stem to come a few days ago, and the delay had caused him considerable apprehension.  He blamed it, of course, on the sub-optimal growing conditions of the Underground and the frailty of the particular strain.  Not for a moment did he believe that his overbearing equipment, or personal intervention was to blame—and not for a moment did anyone think of suggesting that it was.

Since the donning of the stem’s green head, Styles’ requests had become stranger and stranger.  Although he maintained that it would still be another two weeks before he could begin the extraction and finish the corresponding sequencing, he explained that it was now time to begin procuring “the more necessary and persuasive tools of the mission.”  The items on today’s agenda were, the Gladius and a pair of Baselards, a medium-length double edge sword and a type of dagger, respectively.  The items, Styles assured, could be bought, albeit for a hefty sum, at a nearby black market and wouldn’t even require venturing into the Abyss.

Sven, and to a much lesser extent, Kara, were initially opposed to such a purchase.  They argued that violence was not their way and made impassioned speeches about non-violent revolution—going as far as to suggest, although it can scarcely be doubted that they disagreed with their own words, that a revolution won through the means of violence was not one worth having.  Styles, who was more frustrated with their opposition than anything else, initially offered little by the way of rationalization.  It wasn’t until he observed Sven—who appeared ready to use the issue as an excuse to finally make a stand—that Styles offered that he would only use the tools for self-defense.  So spurious was the suggestion, however, that Sven had no choice but to grumble lest he appear foolish.

“Good,” Styles said at last, “Well I’m glad that’s settled.”  Sven frowned but did not say anything.

***

It was Maggie’s turn to spend the day with Styles, which, in and of itself, was nothing special.  She had already done this duty twice before, but on both occasions Ember stayed to keep her company.  Today, for the first time since entering the Underground, Ember and Maggie were splitting up.  The parting was met with trepidation on both sides and though neither stopped to make his or her feelings explicit, it was internally noted by each that today was momentous. 

A lot had changed in two weeks, and in many respects, at least with regards to Ember and Maggie’s relationship, not for the better.  The developments of new friendships had, necessarily, taken away from the time that they could spend alone together.  This realization weighed all too heavily in Maggie’s mind as her brother left, and she, feeling guilty—for she, perhaps more than him, had been all too eager to explore the intricacies of her new friendships—resolved to once again have a deep conversation with her brother later that night.

It had been arranged that Sven, Kara and Ember would go pick up the swords at the black market.  Owing to its proximity to the place from which Ember and Maggie had first entered the Underground, Styles was initially reluctant to let Ember go. 

“The Police,” Styles explained, “will be all over that place.  Though it has been two weeks since the entrance has last been used, they will undoubtedly be surveying the area.” 

“So you’re telling us to be careful?” Kara asked, desiring for Styles to show some concern for them.

“If you get caught, don’t tell them about the plant,” he said with a shrug, as if they were completely disposable.  Kara and Ember shared an exasperated huff, and Maggie laughed out of awkwardness.

Luna, at Maggie’s last second urging, agreed to stay with her to keep her company.  Styles had no complaint with the arrangement.

***

“This is boring,” Maggie said, approximately one hour after her brother left with Kara and Sven.  She looked around at Styles’ convoluted contraptions.  She had understood the need for the incubator and she had even accepted the construction of an immense structure whose sole purpose it was to drip water at a slow rate and, at even intervals, spray a weird chemical—presumably liquid fertilizer—but what she did not understand was all the other nonsense equipment.  Since the beginning of the undertaking, the pile of machinery and glassware had grown steadily and was now so large that it covered the whole side of the basement wall.

“What do you need all this stuff for?” she said, rising from the couch and wandering over to Styles’ work area.

“Don’t touch that!” he snapped.  She was standing by a large balloon-like structure with a heavy mechanical base, into which dripped two other liquids at a slow rate, and out of which the excess product material pooled into a sealed plastic container.

“What does this even do?!”

Styles was evidently annoyed but explained nonetheless, “It releases carbon dioxide through this small aperture on the bottom, and puffs it onto the plant at a controlled rate.”  She stared blanklessly.  “You know… because the plant needs carbon dioxide for photosynthesis…  Sit down, I don’t want you hovering near the plant, you might fall and break one of my machines.  I hear you’re quite the klutz.”  Styles was alluding to an incident yesterday in which Maggie tripped, rather embarrassingly, on the way to Kara’s house.  Styles had not been there to personally witness the event, but had heard about it indirectly through Luna.

Maggie flushed.  “You know, back where I’m from, we grow things with nothing but dirt and our hands and everything turns out just fine!”  She stepped back away from the machine, but, so as to not appear completely submissive, did not return to the couch.  “You know… you’re really rude.”  Since he didn’t say anything, she thought it only fair to further lambast him.  “For example, just now… when you talked about me falling… you didn’t express any concern if I should hurt myself… and earlier, when my brother went out with Kara and Sven to the market… you didn’t so much as wish them luck…  And… you’re staying at Sven’s house, and used up almost all of Kara’s money, and you haven’t said so much as a single thank you.  You don’t even talk to Mrs. Helsinki anymore.”  His continued silence angered her.  “Why?  Answer me!”

“You want to know why?” he said, turning away from his work to look her in the eyes, “because I don’t care.  I don’t care if you hurt yourself when you fall and quite truthfully, I don’t care if your brother gets caught by the Police—granted he doesn’t tell them about
my
mission or
my
whereabouts.  If anyone should be grateful it should be you guys.”

“How so?”

“Without me you wouldn’t even have found the seeds.  Without me you wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to even extract the DNA let alone sequence it.  Tell me, what do you know about DNA?  Nothing?  That’s what I thought.”

“You don’t need to say it like that!”

“And without me, you won’t be able to get to the Gate.  Face it, it’s you who needs me, not the other way around.  Where’s my thank you?”  He paused for a moment and resumed focus on his work.  “And, by the way, I’ll have you know that Mrs. Helsinki loves me.”

Maggie sat back down, still frustrated with his conduct, but pleased that she had at least got him to express some emotion.  After some time of internal debate Maggie finally muttered, “Thank you,” her justification being that it would open him up to further discourse.  It did not.

Styles didn’t seem to have normal human emotion.  He had, for example, no desire to brag or explain.  The few explanations that he did offer were so superficial in nature and so narrow in scope that they seemed to be offered only as a means to placate others—enough to satisfy and justify without encouraging questions.  He had no desire to teach and seemed to have no pride in his work.  The few times that Maggie complimented him, he simply shrugged and remained silent.  Indeed, it was Maggie’s goal to get him to express anything so much as resembling emotion beyond anger, sarcasm or wry condescension.

The ensuing silence was broken by Mrs. Helsinki’s triple knock, which was to indicate Styles’ mealtime.  He opened up a narrow slit at the bottom of the newly constructed fake wall, and in came his meal with a note on the corner of the asymmetrically shaped ceramic plate.  Styles crumpled up the note and threw it on the ground before moving to devour the meal.

Maggie picked up the note and read it to herself. 
Hey Kid-oh!  I hope you’re not working too hard!  You should really get some rest!  Love, Mrs. Helsinki.  P.S. I baked some special chocolates into your bread today, I hope you like it!
Maggie laughed, and passed the note on for Luna to read.

“How’s the bread today?” Maggie teased, with the tone of one who made no effort to conceal one’s knowledge.  Styles narrowed his eyes a little to express annoyance, much to Maggie’s satisfaction, and continued eating.  Feeling ambitious, Maggie attempted to elicit embarrassment, “Hey Styles?  How come you always ask Luna to join you here.”  Luna smiled, not from the implication, but rather from the mere mention of her name.  “Is it because you like her?”

“Because she’s the only one amongst you all who has half a brain and half an idea about what is actually going on.”

“And what is
‘actually
going on
?’”

“My point exactly.”

Maggie frowned.  “So you like her?”

“She’s tolerable,” he admitted.

“So you like her?” Maggie said.  For the first time since entering the Underground, Maggie felt like she was having a genuine Erosan conversation, and she wanted to hold on to the illusion a bit longer.  “Did you hear that Luna, he thinks you’re
‘tolerable.’
”

“Yes, I heard,” she said with a light giggle.

“Hey, what’s with your name anyway?  ‘Styles?’  Where’d that come from?”  He did not respond.  Maggie had always been particularly vulnerable to the stringency of silence.  In many respects, it was worse than a terse rebuttal or derisive tirade.  It made her feel like a non-entity—a creature whose words and thoughts were so insipid as to not warrant recognition of any kind.  It was for this reason that she was always so quick to respond to questions—be it through word or through expression.  And should the intended recipient of someone else’s question not reply within a timely manner, Maggie often took it upon herself to respond for him or her, even if she did not have an appropriate answer.  She was, however, growing accustomed to Styles’ ways, and elected to not let him bother her.  “Hey, Styles?” she said, hoping that she would have better luck with a new topic, “what do you think would happen if someone from my home came looking for us?  You know, if they came to the Underground after us?”

“If they came through the same entrance as you did… they would have been captured and subsequently killed without anyone’s knowing.”  He smiled sadistically as he heard a faint gasp behind him. 

Maggie was inundated by waves of guilt.  The thought of being the cause of someone else’s death made her throat tight and raw.  The sign that Ember had made from rocks in the forest—the very sign that once brought her hope of salvation—now promised only tortuous guilt, and she wished, more than anything else, that its symbol be expunged from the face of the Earth.  What killed her most was not knowing how many people, if any, had perished pursuing her and Ember’s rescue.  For a brief moment, she wished that she had never been born.  “You don’t think we would have heard anything?”

“Probably not.  They would have kept it under wraps.”  He paused for a moment, and then added cruelly, “There’s no telling how many of your people died because of you.”

At that precise moment, it struck Maggie just how unprincipled and intrinsically unkind he truly was.  Previously she had excused his ways as willful indifference but now she saw plainly that she had done him too much justice.  She at once hated his face and resented its handsome features, which she found terribly mismatched with his ugly heart.  Although Maggie had never despised a person before, she was certain that she despised him.  She did not know for how much longer she could continue the friendly façade.  At this moment, however, she decided to maintain the masquerade, but the phoniness made her sick to her core. 

“Don’t worry Maggie, I’m sure everything will be okay.  Don’t listen to him,” Luna said, leaning over to give her a hug.

Emboldened by this reassurance, and just now made aware of the suspicion she should use to regard Styles, she decided to try to extract information.  “What exactly do you get out of all this?  Why go through all this trouble?”

“Isn’t it obvious,” he said.

“No, not at all.”

As he rose from his squatting position a shadow crept over the left side of his face so that he appeared malevolent as he spoke.  “It’s the power.  It’s the control.  I’m going to bring the entire system crashing down on their heads.  I am going to make them rue the day whence they tried to control the likes of me!  The dominance, the authority, the supremacy—it is for me alone to have!”

Maggie was hit by such an amalgam of emotion that she wasn’t sure what to say or do first—smile to probe for sincerity, jolt backwards to express disgust, or gasp out of the terror of the dramatic realization of his madness.  She did all three.  “You’re crazy!  You’re a maniac!”