Michael Sullivan - Hollow World

“I wouldn’t say that,” Ellis replied. “ You’re very different.”

Pax glared at him. The look was almost angry. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“Because it’s true. I’ve only met a handful of people here, but you aren’t like any of them. You’re—I don’t know—nicer, I guess. More empathetic—and a lot braver.”

Pax continued to stare, and Ellis saw disbelief.

“When you first met me, Cha was terrified—everyone was—but you walked right up. You took me into your home. Didn’t know who I was. Didn’t know a thing about me—didn’t even ask permission, apparently. And…and at Geo’s place just now—you made that portal for me to escape, not for you.” Ellis shook his head. “I don’t think you’re at all like anyone else. Not like anyone I’ve met here. Not anyone I knew before either. If anyone is unique, it’s you.”

Pax’s lips were quivering. “Why are you saying all these wonderful things?”

Ellis shrugged. “I told you—they’re true. Why would I lie?”

Pax blinked back tears.

“I like the hat too.” Ellis smiled, trying to make light of the situation. He had no idea why Pax was crying. “Very dapper.”

“Thanks. It’s not original. I got a pattern from a museum—I’m not an artist like Vin. I can’t invent new things.” Pax spoke quickly, self-consciously, using words to fend off embarrassment. “This whole outfit is just a mishmash of stuff from the past. A few others wear these—they used to call them bowler hats or derbies. I wore a top hat for a while—that’s another old hat—but I like this better. It stays on in high wind, and I’ve been logging a lot of grass time recently.”

Pax turned back to the view and wiped the tears away—more promptly followed.

Ellis did the noble thing and looked away, pretending not to notice. Maybe if Pax were a woman he might have offered a hug or something, but Pax wasn’t a woman. The best a man could do for another man was pretend not to see. Only Pax wasn’t a man either.

Ellis was lost.

He liked Pax. For some reason he felt more comfortable, more relaxed, with this bald-headed arbitrator than he had with his wife, his mother, or even Warren.

They stood for a moment as Pax struggled to stop crying, using everything from the crux of an elbow to that derby hat to hide behind. Ellis reached out, placed a hand on Pax’s shoulder, and squeezed gently. A minute later Pax slipped the hat back on.

“We have fireworks on Miracles Day too,” Pax managed to get out with a struggle, then coughed and sniffled. “It’s the best time short of a rain day.”

“What’s a rain day?”

Pax turned to reveal red eyes but a bright smile. “Oh…a rain day is great. When there’s a nice solid cloudburst over one of the grass parks, I port up and…well, just stand in it. I start by standing, at least. Before long I’m dancing, spinning, jumping. Rain days are wonderful. We don’t have weather down here. Sometimes as a treat the artists put on a weather show, but it’s not the same as real rain.”

“What about snow?”

“Snow is pretty, but it’s not like rain. For one thing, as you’ve probably noticed, most people don’t wear clothes—don’t have them. The climate in Hollow World is constant, designed for—well, not for clothes. I’m almost always too hot, but it’s my sacrifice for people being able to recognize me, as me.”

“Like I said, I very much approve of your style,” Ellis said. “Very classy.”

Pax looked away again, lower lip trembling.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to keep—”

Pax walked away, disappearing through a door at the far end of the room.

Ellis stood with his back against the balcony rail, feeling terrible.

“Ellis Rogers…” he heard Alva say, the vox’s voice imitating a whisper. “You, sir, are a wonderful human being. May I get you a drink? Would you like more food—you didn’t get to finish eating. I have no clue, but I’ll try and figure out how to make a hamburger if you really want one.”

“Is Pax okay? Did I say something wrong?”

“Pax has some serious problems, but you, my love, are most assuredly not one of them. I just wish you’d visited us years ago. But honestly, I want to do something for you. Can I play you some music? Do you like music? I can play something you might know. How about this?”

Ellis heard a quiet piano begin playing the first haunting chords to a most familiar song.

“ This was popular in your day, wasn’t it? Do you like it? It’s one of my favorites.”

A moment later Ellis heard John Lennon singing to him across the span of two thousand years. “Imagine there’s no heaven…it’s easy if you try…” Then it was Ellis’s turn to cry.

After Pax failed to reemerge, Ellis went back to the room with the canopy bed. For the first time he noticed a little statuette on a shelf—a somewhat crudely sculpted but nevertheless beautiful depiction of one person lifting another up in the air, like a pair of dancers. Ellis touched it and heard a voice rich with emotion. To Pax, thanks for all you’ve done for us. Honestly, I don’t know how we could have survived without you—as far as I’m concerned you’re the Fourth Miracle. Nal.

Ellis realized that he’d seen other such statuettes around the house. He counted eight in just the bedroom, most up on high shelves, tucked away. Each was different. They showed a variety of artistic skills. One particular figurine, resting high on a shelf above the windows, drew his eye. More exquisite in its level of artistry and emotional impact than all the others, it illustrated a person lying in a bed of thorns, hanging on to the hand of another person who dangled from the edge of a cliff. He wanted to touch it, to hear what message it might contain, but it was set too high, and he wondered if that was intentional.

Still eager to please, Alva offered the best in modern entertainment. Televisions were gone, replaced by such things as grams, holos, and vections. Grams—the word was short for holograms—could be still or moving. They were the closest thing to movies or photos except they were true 3-D, in that the image extended into the room, and Ellis could walk around and view objects from different angles. Grams were spectator-only, but holos were interactive. Each was a complete environment that served as a total immersion computer game or educational landscape. He never got to discover what vections were, as Alva provided him with an educational gram titled simply: Our Past . This was a multi-part series similar to a Ken Burns documentary or something produced for the History Channel. Alva started him on episode eight: Energy Wars .

The presentation was emceed by a talking hourglass that danced and sang. It began with images of violent storms while the hourglass spoke about dwindling fossil fuels and global warming. By the mid-fifties—2050s—when Ellis would have been one hundred years old—the climate had become violent. There were numerous references to killer storms, and agriculture industries across the globe were fighting a losing battle to grow food in an increasingly hostile and unpredictable environment. Extensive greenhouse technology was used, but soon even these interior spaces were being destroyed by what the hourglass described as a very angry Mother Nature. The agro-companies began building underground farming facilities that were safe from the turbulent surface extremes and constructed housing for their workers. As the storms increased and the death toll rose, companies had a long list of applicants seeking jobs on the subterranean farms.