Nothing in return.
“Blip!” once more, and then again, and then again. Over and over, turning around, to aim her shouts in every possible direction. All that came back was a faint echo of her own shouts, from far away.
She continued to run until she began to gasp for air and found her shouts had gone hoarse. As her voice strained, she began to cough again. The air was thick here. Absent was the scent of grass and trees and animals. Instead, there was the smell of dust and a hint of death. She had smelled this before, far below, under the body farms, where the sewers ran. She had explored down there once, out of pure curiosity. The air was thick with damp and mildew, a putrid scent that felt nearly solid.
She coughed and gagged. She began to vomit—traces of last night’s scavenged meal and apples and the one orange from lunch came rolling back up and splashed onto the ground in front of her, across her legs and feet. She buckled and dropped to her knees as the sting of citrus burned her throat and her nose. She gagged and more vomit came up. She could no longer see through the tears and the beading sweat dripping salt into her eyes, lighting them on fire.
She managed a weak, throaty, coughing “Blip.” But only her own ears could hear it.
As the vomiting stopped, she was gripped by several waves of chills that planted her back on her butt. Her lips allowed a thin “Blip” to escape again, but she wasn’t sure after having spoken if she had said the words or just thought she did. It doesn’t matter, the thought came, he wouldn’t hear either, and it would do no good.
I am in the Dark Disc, and I am alone. She suddenly felt quite small. Her mind framed her inside the behemoth that was Olorun and then that ship within the vast emptiness between Sol and Kapteyn’s Star. She felt even smaller here, in a world that she was once queen of. She felt the size of an ant.
She wiped her hands across her eyes, pulling the blood, sweat, and tears from them, and noticing the spray on her arm, wiped the excess vomit that had splashed across her. She stared down at her bare feet and her thin, naked legs. Blood and the remains of her stomach coated them in fantastic patterns.
Her eyes had adjusted to the limited light, and she glanced around, fearful that there would be some terrible beast hiding in the darkness just waiting for her to have a sudden realization of its presence and then use that moment to snatch her. If this had been a film, that’s what would’ve happened. If this was a horror movie, that’s exactly what would’ve occurred.
But there was no beast. No Cerberus the three-headed dog waiting in the emptiness. That beast from mythology was the image she had painted on the reality around her. Why that creature now? There were far scarier monsters that had made her jump in the theater. But no, it was Cerberus that she was certain to find. Three heads.
There had been three figures that had taken Blip. They had come so fast, so unexpected, each of them upon Blip and her in a flash—she couldn’t parse it out. Their numbers were a blur. But now, in reflection, she had counted three different figures. Six arms. Six hands. Then one had stayed behind to scan the daycare room and ensure he was alone. The three-headed monster from the darkness had attacked, and she was useless to defend herself or Blip.
But how had they snagged Blip? He was stronger than that. At the least, she thought, he should’ve been able to blast himself away from the kidnappers. Even if it was Cerberus himself that snagged him, Blip was surely strong enough to yank himself away. She had seen him push huge tractors when needed. The little robot was powerful. So what had they done with him?
Or had he gone on his own?
“No,” she answered that thought and stood up to prove her defiance against the lie. She walked through the crimson-illuminated cloud, aimless and oblivious to her surroundings. Then, at once, she realized the walls were not so close—she had moved beyond the open-aired pathway of Settlement J.
She was in an open courtyard. Surrounding her were various risers and tables. In the center of the clearing were a ring of marble columns etched as if they had been pulled from ancient Rome itself. She remembered the film Ben-Hur and saw the similarities between this place and that film. She was in some amphitheater. A Senate session. An auditorium—before her were the levels of seats, all stone benches, up and up and up across a near-countless series of rings. She turned around and saw the corridor from where she had come. Far down the hall, she saw the flickering lights of the stalled Jacob lift. How far had she run? A few hundred meters or more? A kilometer or more? Possibly, she thought. She was fast, and she had lost track of time in her search. Maybe a few kilometers.
Her disorientation rattled her bones. There were amphitheaters on her Disc, but she didn’t remember one on this side of the settlements. So, perhaps the two Discs weren’t twins. Or even mirror images? This was a new world. Her legs went wobbly at the enormity of her displacement, and she gasped, “Blip.” She felt foolish again for uttering it. He was gone, far gone, and her words would do nothing but alert someone to where she was. But his name was something she could grab ahold of in this strange world. She took a deep breath and mouthed his name again, keeping the words silent.
The oddest sensation was that her only connection to this place was from a film and not from its parallel in her Disc. Everything, until now, had felt like a mirror image. But this was unusual. There was no open-air amphitheater in her Disc. There were a few outside gathering places, but nothing based on Roman architecture and definitely nothing made of stone and marble. What other surprises awaited her? she wondered.
“Where am I?” she voiced.
From the side, behind the columns, a gravelly voice said, “You ought to wait before addressing the assembly. Let them assemble first.”
Syn jumped back, and her foot landed in the puddle of puke. She slipped but righted herself. “Hello?” she said, but the volume was too small to carry. She tried again, “Hello?”
The voice replied, “Are you addressing me now?” from behind the column a massive shape appeared—a tall shadow. She painted the image of Cerberus in the space again, knowing that was untrue.
Refusing to be daunted, she replied, “Yes. Who are you?”
“Are you reserving a speaking opportunity? The representatives won’t arrive until sunset. They dare not meet in daylight.”
She blinked her eyes. This is day? How much darker can it get? She asked, “Why not?” She had wanted to ask who the voice was, but the other question felt safer.
“Oh, well, the resistance and all.” The voice coughed and then in a lowered tone, said, “Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that aloud. Are you friend or foe?”
Syn said, “Friend, I hope. I’m looking for a friend at least. A small companion bot. White shell.”
“Step into the light please.”
A small beam of light turned on from atop one of the columns.
“Why?” Syn asked.
“You say you’re a friend, but how am I to be certain of that?” The shadow of the voice leaned forward, and a rotten stench filled the air, forcing Syn to gag. She pushed against the compulsion. This was not the time to vomit. “Step into the light,” the voice asked again.
“Who are you?”
“The light, please.” The voice was commanding this time.
Syn hesitated but did just that. If there were others in this auditorium, they’d all be able to see her. She was the target. Nothing was hidden. Her dark hair was a halo around her head. She was dressed in the thin shirt and skirt that she always wore. Around her neck, the dozens of necklaces hung. Drawings covered her arms—strange scribbles, cartoon imagery. She was always marking her skin. And scars—if the markings were not ink or stains, they were scars. She bore every scrape and bruise proudly, proof of her exploration of the world. Her legs and skirt were splashed with blood and vomit and several more bracelets hung from her wrists and her ankles. She was a collection of a hundred scavenged homes from her Disc. She was the epitome of their art and craft.