Michael Sullivan - Hollow World

“There’s a planetarium on Triton? Wait—space? You can open portals into the vacuum of space? Why didn’t it suck us out?”

“Here, let me show you.” Pax sat up and took the portal maker out again. Dialing it, Pax created an opening before them. All Ellis could see through it was water. The entire opening was filled with a solid aquamarine color, and in that slice of water, Ellis saw fish swimming by. “That’s the ocean—right near the equator, about forty feet below sea level, and as you can see, the water doesn’t spill out, because a portal isn’t a hole in the sense we think of one.” Pax poked a finger into the cross section of ocean and drew it out dripping. “That’s how we get rid of waste, you know. Not that there’s a lot. Most can be reused in the Makers, but what can’t is ported into the core. That wouldn’t be possible if there was any bleed-through. Open a portal to the core and you’d incinerate yourself from the heat, right? We used to port trash into space, but the HEM objected.”

“HEM?”

“Hollow Earth Movement. One of the oldest organizations we have. They started everything.”

The portal must have been near a coral reef or something. Ellis watched a small school of striped angelfish flash by. The whole thing was like one giant aquarium.

“The planet was in bad shape—look who I’m telling—you know, right? But it got worse. Pollution, climate change, the storms that resulted as the natural system began to clean house. They used to say we made the earth sick, and she vomited. The surface up here was scarred, ripped up from overuse. Roads were everywhere—concrete was everywhere. That’s where the phrase to concrete comes from—it means ‘to ruin.’ The HEM was a group of people interested in restoring the surface by getting everyone to live underground. No one listened at first, but then they found major allies in the old corporations looking for subterranean farm workers.”

Self-conscious, Ellis picked up the empty can and slipped it in his pack.

“That’s what started everything. But the HEM has gotten a little nutty—or maybe they always were. Now they’re against anything aboveground being touched. Some are against people even visiting the grass. And it’s like, what’s the point? I can understand the prohibition against ruining the surface with building homes and such—I mean, why would you? If you want to be outside, you go to the surface. If you want to be inside, well, that’s Hollow World. But to go to all this trouble to restore the surface but be prevented from ever enjoying it? It’s crazy. And people love visiting the grass. Luckily they don’t make the decisions anymore.”

Pax ate another candy just as a shark passed in front of the portal opening. Finding the Port-a-Call, Pax closed the door.

“Could that have come through?” Ellis asked.

Pax nodded sheepishly.

“What are we going to do now?” Ellis asked.

“I don’t know. I’d almost like to just stay here. Core the HEM, it might be nice to live on the grass as in days of yore. If we could get a Maker and a Dynamo to power it, the two of us could disappear into the forests and live a life of frontier people and have wild adventures.”

“Pretty sure Daniel Boone didn’t have a Maker, and you might think different when winter comes. What about Vin?”

“Vin? Vin would be relieved to be off the hook. Finally rid of me.”

Ellis found this admission a surprise, and more than a little familiar. He never expected to meet someone in the future he could relate to so readily. Certainly not someone like Pax.

“But you’re right, we can’t stay. We need to find out what’s going on, only I don’t know how. Everyone who knew anything is dead.”

“Not everyone.” Ellis thought a moment. “I have an idea.”

The atmosphere in the home was that of a face covered by a white sheet, the haunting silence of an all-too-recent ghost story. Ellis and Pax entered Geo-24’s residence exactly where they had the first time, only as expected the place was empty. A sheer curtain had been drawn, muting the morning falselight and blurring the image of the Zen garden outside. No police tape marked where the body had lain; nor were there boundaries marked off by ribbons of yellow plastic. After his conversations with Pax, Ellis was not shocked at the lack of official presence; he was, however, surprised by how clean the place was. The carpet and walls were spotless—not even a stain. Ellis wondered if an old-school forensic scientist could find evidence or if the whole room had been spaced through a portal and a new one constructed.

“Who’s there?” the vox said in the same British baritone as before.

“Abernathy, it’s us, Pax-43246018 and Ellis Rogers.”

“I’m not detecting your PICA, Pax-43246018, nor that of Ellis Rogers.”

“Ellis Rogers never had one, and I cut mine out.”

“How curious.”

“We are being hunted by the same people who murdered Geo-24, and I’m attempting to move about invisibly, so I hope you haven’t notified anyone of our arrival.”

“Whom would I notify? And may I inquire who Geo-24 is?”

Pax glanced at Ellis with a concerned look and whispered, “I think they might have cleaned up more than just the blood.”

Ellis listened to the snap and hiss of the hole back to Michigan, which Pax had left open. Ellis couldn’t help but think of it as “the getaway portal.” He had counted on the idea that voxes might be like servants back in the nineteenth century—thought of as little more than furniture and overlooked when cleaning up. So far he was disappointed.

“If you’re not Geo-24’s sexton, whose sexton are you?” Pax asked.

Neither had taken a step farther into the room. They stood right before the coffee table. Ellis noticed that even the little drop of blood that had marred the stone pyramid centerpiece was gone.

“I have no client at this time.”

“And you don’t recall who your client was previously?”

“I’m not aware that I’ve ever had a client.”

“It might still work,” Ellis told Pax, but the vox overheard.

“What might?”

Pax nodded. “We’d like you to contact another vox on our behalf, a vox that you used to be on friendly terms with.”

“I don’t recall being on friendly or unfriendly terms with anyone.”

“That’s because you’ve had your memory erased, but that doesn’t matter, because the other vox will remember you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s not important that you understand. You merely need to set up communications between myself and another vox. That shouldn’t be a problem, right? It’s not like your client has forbidden you to assist strangers?”

“As I mentioned, I don’t have a client.”

“Wonderful. Then there’s nothing prohibiting you from helping us.”

“Whom do you wish me to contact, and what do you wish me to inquire about?”

“I want you to contact Pol-789’s vox. Inform the vox that you are Abernathy and that I am Geo-24 and that I would like to speak with it.”

“I thought you said your name was Pax-43246018?”

Pax glanced at Ellis and shrugged. “I misspoke.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes—I do that. It’s a quirk I have.”

“I’m a sexton without a client, not a vox without a properly calibrated telencephalon.”

Pax frowned. “Can you determine if I am Pax-43246018 or Geo-24?”

“No.”

“Then what difference does it make?”