Michael Sullivan - Hollow World

“Don’t start, Alva.”

“ What? A little courtesy is too much to ask? ”

“Is Ellis Rogers in the bedroom?”

“ Out on the balcony. Everyone loves the balcony. ”

“Were you nice?”

“ I’m always nice, dear. Vin, do you think you could clean up your paints a little better next time? The breeze threw your rags on the floor and knocked over one of the pots. ”

“You control the breeze, Alva.”

“ But not your mess. ”

Ellis turned to see Pax enter the social room. Dressed the same as before, Pax smiled as their eyes met. “How are you feeling?”

“Have a headache.”

“Cha said you would.”

“Other than that, I’m a lot better. Even a little hungry.”

“What do you like to eat?”

Ellis shrugged. “It’s been two thousand years. I doubt you have burgers and fries anymore.”

“Alva?”

“ Derived from Hamburg, Germany, hamburger is low-grade ground meat from the dead bodies of domesticated animals known as cows or cattle. A poor person’s meal often treated in ammonia to eliminate common life-threatening contaminants. It was discontinued in 2162 due to health hazards. ”

“Seriously?” Pax made a face at Ellis. “So we don’t have a pattern, I’m guessing?”

“ Would you want one? We don’t have a pattern for arsenic either. ”

Ellis chuckled. “I won’t even ask about hot dogs.”

Pax looked concerned. “You actually ate dogs ?”

“ No, dear, ” Alva said. “ But an explanation would hardly put you at ease. How about a nice minlatta with a tarragon oil sauce? It’s a new pattern by Yal. ”

“It’s best to just agree,” Pax said to him. “Alva will make it anyway.”

“Sure.”

“ Vin, do you want a minlatta? ” Alva’s voice came from another room as Pax joined Ellis on the balcony. The voice of Vin was low, muffled, indiscernible.

“It’s beautiful here,” Ellis said. “I take it we aren’t in Michigan anymore.”

“Michigan?”

“That’s where we met.” He looked out at the sunlight. “Was it yesterday? Did I sleep that long?”

“You were out awhile.”

“And we went through one of those portal things, right?”

“Yes.”

“So where are we now? Africa? South America?” He had no idea. Ellis had never traveled much, but he’d seen pictures and movies, and places like this were always far away in Third World countries. Only what had been Third World two thousand years ago had moved up in the standings, he guessed.

“Hollow World,” Pax replied.

Ellis looked puzzled.

“Eurasian Plate, Western Zone, Tringent Sector, La Bridee Quadrant.”

“Wow,” Ellis said. “That’s a mouthful. And I’m sure a location was in there somewhere. I was expecting something like, I don’t know— Rio . Any idea where this might have been about two thousand years ago?”

“Yes. Are you familiar with the city of Paris?”

“Paris, France?”

“Yes.”

“This is Paris?”

“Sort of, except we’re about five miles below where it used to be.”

Ellis looked back out at the dramatic cliffs and the narrow opening in the canyon where he could clearly see the sky and distant mountains, at least as clear as his aging eyes would allow. He noted the trees and the birds as well, and finally replied with the eloquent response of “Huh?”

Footsteps interrupted them.

“Oh, Ellis Rogers, let me introduce Vin. We live together.”

Ellis turned to see another DNA duplicate, this one dressed more dramatically than Pax in a double-breasted Dickensian tailcoat, ruffled shirt, and top hat. Ellis couldn’t actually verify that this was another exact copy, as Vin was wearing a mask. It looked like porcelain but could have been a hard plastic. All white, it covered only the upper part of the face, leaving the mouth free and causing Ellis to think of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s The Phantom of the Opera .

“Nice to meet you.” Ellis held out his hand. As soon as he had, he realized he was making a huge assumption. Ellis was impressed that Vin took it—less impressed by the weak grip and shake.

“Vin is an artist ,” Pax said with enough drama that the title could have been swapped out with the God Almighty. “Most of the paintings and sculptures in our house are Vin’s work.”

“Don’t forget your contributions.” Vin removed the hat and set it upside down on the shelf near the archway to the bedroom. “You’ve done your fair share of pots. And they serve very well at holding my brushes.”

Vin was also wearing a pair of breeches and high black boots like they’d just been out riding after foxes. The “artist” moved with a swagger and a sweep that made Ellis think of Shakespearean actors.

As Vin began to tug off the fingers of white gloves, Ellis looked back at Pax. “Did you say we were underground?”

This appeared to take Pax by surprise. “Hmm? Oh—yes. It might not be five miles, maybe only four. Obviously neither one of us is a geomancer.”

“But I can see the sunlight.”

“That’s falselight.” Vin spoke much louder than Pax—the actor projecting from a stage to a packed house—then paused to look out at the view, as if never noticing it before. Vin shrugged. “Adequate, I suppose.”

“You think so?” Pax sounded surprised. “I’ve always found falselight to be amazing, especially after so much grass time. You can’t tell it’s not natural light.”

“Perhaps you can’t,” Vin said.

“Oh—of course. I suppose to a more trained eye—”

“Exactly.”

“Are you kidding?” Ellis said. “I don’t care how trained your eyes are, that looks just like sun shining on a valley, and I’ve spent my whole life under the real thing. If that’s fake, it’s a miracle—and beautiful.”

“I’m not certain you’re qualified to judge beauty,” Vin told him.

It sounded like an insult, but what did Ellis know. Maybe he was that Roman citizen getting hot because people were discussing the prospects of landing on Mars. He wasn’t going to start anything over a misunderstanding. He was their guest, and who knew what passed for humor now. Instead, he went with humility. “My wife would agree with you. I could never see the attractiveness in the wallpaper she picked out, and was horrible at knowing which dress was better, but I think anyone can judge beauty—in the eye of the beholder and all that.”

Vin smirked. “You’ve certainly dug up a Neanderthal, Pax. I’ll grant you that. I was skeptical, but I think there can be no other explanation. It’s like we’ll be dining with a barbarian who might howl at the moon at any minute. You really should have asked permission. At the very least, we might have invited others to share the absurdity. We ought to get grams, as I can’t imagine anyone believing it.”

Ellis was certain that was an insult. Before he could reply, the Phantom of the Opera look-alike left them, disappearing through one of the archways.

Pax looked at Ellis with an awkward pout. “I think you might have unintentionally offended Vin a little.”

“ I offended him? —ah—Vin—whatever. Sort of a jerk, don’t you think?”

Pax’s eyes widened. “You have to understand, Vin is an artist .”

“Yeah, I got that—paints all these pretty pictures, which is nice, but nothing compared with this view. That’s like thinking your picture is better than the real thing. Talk about arrogant.” Ellis pointed across the valley. “And the light moves with the passage of time. Incredible. Are you sure we’re underground?”