We have no weapon, no Spoons, and no hope. We don’t speak, we don’t have to: we have nothing to say that would make things better. Mother’s rot clings to our new white overalls, filling our noses, making every breath unpleasant. My empty stomach churns as the elevator drops ever lower.
Mother had not wanted to interrogate us in front of her adoring children. Instead, she chose the privacy of a small room that looked a lot like my cell in Re-Education. But I’d felt so numb, Mother’s threats had barely left a scratch. But Reuben suffered. Mother had been hard on him. She’d mocked, scolded and taunted, jabbing him with her metal pincers, leaving him bruised and demoralized. But he hadn’t told Mother what she wanted to know – the location of Namika’s base. I admire his courage. He didn’t break - more than I’d managed during my time in Re-Education.
Mother is desperate for information on the defenses on New Dawn. It’s clear her inability to wipe them clean from the surface, frustrates her. It gnaws deep into whatever form of a heart pumps the sludge around her body. But as much as she wanted to rip the information from our heads, her instructions to protect still preside, restricting her methods that only serve to infuriate her further.
The elevator stops. We both know what lies behind the doors. I duly watch as they slide open and look out onto our new home. I don’t move. Despite all our efforts, our close scrapes with death, our epic trek across New Dawn, and our blind belief that right would eventually overcome the wrongs Mother had inflicted upon us, we find ourselves in the last place we’d want to see: The Trench.
The spider nudges our backs, pushing us out of the elevator into a brightly-lit corridor with two doors at the end. I risk a glance at Reuben, but his eyes are fixed on our fate, just a short walk ahead. Our guide shoves us closer. The rhymes we’d sung in our youth, with hushed voices, come to mind. What lies behind those doors? We’ve seen Mother’s idea of what she believes is a reward for our hard work – a place in Paradise on the dead, frozen plains of New Dawn. What hell has her warped mind created to punish us behind these doors? We stop opposite. Reuben’s groans compete with my heart, slamming into my chest to make the loudest noise.
The doors open.
I hold my breath, knowing I can’t hold it forever, but if I can delay the stench for a few seconds longer, it would be a minor victory. But… I let out the air bursting in my lungs and breathe in. The air is clean, certainly cleaner than the old Workers Level. Reuben mutters, ‘This has to be wrong.’ He glances behind to the spider. ‘Has it brought us to the right place?’
I almost laugh. ‘Are you complaining?’ We step onto a narrow walkway, circling the entire perimeter of an area the size of the Worker’s Level. Instantly my eyes ache. White walls, a white floor, with dozens of gleaming white tubes crossing the ceiling, to merge into a fat pipe that descends like a spout of milk pouring from a jug. Once at ground level, the tube spirals out in wider circles, before disappearing into the floor directly in front of our position. On the outer side of the spiraling tube, sit hundreds of workers in stiff, white overalls busily tapping on flat screens.
I grip the cold metal rail and lean over. ‘There has to be close to six hundred—’ I jump back as the spider raps my knuckles, crushing my hand against the rail. A worker below turns, but receives the same treatment from one of the dozen or so mechanoids, patrolling the room. I shove my hand into my armpit – it appears silence is one of the rules that must be obeyed on this level.
I try to read the faces of the closest workers. A minute. Surely, that’s all it would take to turn these disillusioned workers against Mother. Yes, the spiders may be a problem, but there are enough bodies here to overcome them, while the rest storm the upper levels. With this many, we could easily bring the others to our cause.
I look to Reuben to see if he’s thinking the same, but he still appears to be disturbed by the interrogation. I know he’ll recover, he always does, and then together we’ll start the wave that will smash Mother’s rule and bring about our ultimate freedom. Then, I can find Rebekah and get back to New Dawn where we belong. But our first task will be to gain the trust of the Trench workers. I scan the rows and see many grey-haired heads, and others with no hair at all – how long have they been here?
The spider grabs us by the back of our necks and we stumble down the steps at a pace that suits the machine. It marches us on tiptoes to the end of the spiraling tube. Two empty stools await us. I find myself sitting next to a young worker whose hands look as if she was once assigned to the farm. I nod but she doesn’t look up from her screen. Her fingers constantly tap at a set of buttons beneath, much like the keypad Rebekah and I had used to open the outer walls on the Observation Deck, all those months ago.
The spider takes my wrist and pushes my hands onto the keypad. The screen in front bursts into life. Four rows with ten lights in each appear. Five in each row glow green. Beneath my fingers, two columns of four buttons glow as lights six, seven then eight illuminates in the top row, turning amber then red. I turn to the spider. ‘What am I—?’ I jump as my stool buzzes, sending a sharp pain through my spine that blurs my vision. The spider rams me back on my stool, fastens a strap across my legs and then turns its attention to Reuben. The stool continues to vibrate, turning my stomach. I watch the worker to my left. Her hands rest below the columns and she taps the top left-hand button as the lights on her top row reach seven. The faster she taps, the quicker the lights go out until only five are lit and return to green. I try it. My fingers work the button and the seat stops buzzing as the lights reset. But immediately, the line of green extends across the second row, turning to amber. I adjust using the second button and quickly do the same for the top as again, the lights progress to seven.
Reuben yelps as he receives the same treatment from his stool. I try to show him what I’ve learnt but my fourth row requires attention as the lights drop down to three and then change to white. I drum with the fingers on my right hand to bring them back up to five. My head grows light – breathe! I’ve been holding my breath as I concentrate on the panel. I scan the lights and turn my attention back to the buttons and try to keep all my lights green and in the center.
A worker yells out a few places to my left, then another on the row inside the next spiral. But I have no time to see if I recognize their faces as all four rows fluctuate both up and down. How long is a shift? How many of shocks can I take before I’d pass out? I race to bring row three back to the acceptable limit, before both one and two drops. What do all these lights mean? The pipe gurgles, the rows of lights flicker left and right, and my spine aches already. This is worse than I could have imagined. The Trench from the rhymes would be better than this – at least I could lose myself in the physical work with my shovel.
Three hours! Three hours I endured the constant panic of controlling the lights to avoid the sickening shocks shooting up my back. But just as I got used to the process, the rules changed. The buttons adjusting the lights changed sides, then the order controlling the rows switched. Each time, the shock became stronger and it took all my strength to stay focused on my task.
I look to Reuben on the other side of the supper table. I must look the same – drained and exhausted. I try to get his attention but he keeps his eyes on the bowl in front. He stirs the watery contents with his spoon, but like me, he appears to have no appetite this evening. I notice the label on his overalls: Processor 709. I check mine. I probably should have guessed. I’m Processor 708 – we now have the honor of two names.
Twenty-four more processors eat in silence at our table as the spiders’ prowl up and down the benches. I look at the lumps, floating in the murky liquid in my bowl. Is that meat? I could almost laugh. It must be Mother’s Day by now. We have worked through the night processing the waste from above. My back aches and my head feels muzzy. I can’t face the thought of one more shift. I glance at the faces around me. How do they keep going? But their empty eyes tell the story – there’s nothing left inside, Mother has defeated them, extinguishing any sparks of life along with the risk of rebellion. She’s kept her promise of keeping them alive, but nothing more.
They are no use to us in this state. I try to remember Rebekah’s face but as much as I replay our times together over in my head, I can only recall the sound of her sweet voice.
I clench my teeth. Everything we’d ever wanted was within our grasp. We had walked on the surface of our new home, hand-in-hand, away from Mother and this stinking hole. But that creature had snatched Rebekah from me and now we’re back to where we started with little to no hope of seeing each other again.
I look back to my bowl and push the contents around with my spoon. I should eat something. I’ll need all my strength if I am to stand any chance of getting out of here – it has to be today. I dip my spoon and scoop up a grey lump. My stomach knots in protest but I have to eat. I close my eyes, put the morsel in my mouth and chew. It’s tough but at least it’s tasteless. I swallow as quickly as possible and look for another – three more to go. I choose the largest piece. As I chew, I check those at the other tables but don’t recognize anyone. I’d hoped to find Barnabas, Caleb, and perhaps even David, but if they’ve been here for more than a month, would they look the same?
The speaker on the wall crackles and the machine announces, ‘Lights out in fifteen.’ I groan inside. I’d hoped never to hear those words again. ‘Do your ablutions and go to your beds.’
It’s not a bed. I lie on a bare metal shelf stacked three high attached to the wall. The dormitory, if it could be called that, is a narrow space separating the processing room from the outer hull. I place my hand on the cold wall. If I had the strength, I would punch a hole in the shell and end the pain. My aching eyes are grateful for a break from the screen, but every time I blink, I see the white, green, amber and red lights that have dominated my day.
I think back to the sunrise on New Dawn and the warmth of Rebekah’s body as we’d stood together on the shore. I want more. I can’t rest. I can’t live off memories. I have to get out of here, find Rebekah and get back to the wide-open skies of New Dawn.
I sit and slide my legs over the edge before I realize what I’ve done.
The dormitory sleeps. I slip off the shelf and land quietly. I look for Reuben but can’t see his face in the near dark. Tonight, I’ll check if the spiders are on duty and work out an escape route for tomorrow. But if I find an exit to a service shaft… then what? How are the two of us going to turn the workers against Mother, when they think we’re traitors working for the enemy?
I enter the main room. The lights are dimmed and a low hum fills the air. Movement! I duck back inside the dormitory entrance as someone moves slowly around the edge. It’s a worker, an old man judging by his shuffle. I press my back into the wall and wait for him to pass. I turn my head and hold my breath as he approaches. The shuffling stops. I turn back. An old man with his hands on his hips peers into my face as if he can’t see clearly. I stare back. ‘Moses?’
He spits, whispering as loud as he dares. ‘Moses! That waste of space? No, the name’s Ezra.’ His breath warms and wets my face. He leans closer. ‘Are you one of the new boys?’
I nod. ‘Noah.’
Ezra coughs. ‘Good. Perhaps you can tell me what this means?’
‘What?’
He turns and holds out his arm. ‘This… oh, wait.’ He looks over my shoulder, then back from where he came. Ezra stutters. ‘It’s… it’s over there.’ Strong fingers grasp my elbow. ‘This way.’ I follow the old man as he makes painfully slow progress, around the edge of the processing room – I see no spiders.
‘I knew something wasn’t right.’ Ezra speaks a little louder. ‘A few months back everything went quiet, very quiet. We’ve had breaks before, but never as long as that.’ Ezra stops and stretches his back. ‘Must have been four… maybe five weeks.’ He takes a few paces, then stops and lowers his voice. ‘And then I found this.’ He waves his hand towards the wall.
‘Found what?’
‘Can’t you see it? This, it’s,’ he squints at the blank wall. ‘No… not here, behind the control unit.’ Ezra disappears into a gap in the wall I hadn’t noticed. ‘Ah, here it is. What does this mean?’
I enter, curious to know what’s confused the old man. ‘What does what m—?’ I catch my breath.
Ezra stands in front of The Metal Sun. It leans against the wall as if some relic from a long-forgotten past. He reaches up and rubs a dent half-way up one of the sunbeams with his sleeve. ‘What‘s it doing here?’ He turns, the hurt on his face is clear to see. ‘This is meant to be our sun, the only one we have until the real one returns.’ He clutches my arm, pinching my skin. ‘Has the enemy won? What’s happened? Is Mother…?’ His legs give way and he slumps to the floor. I watch his body sag. His gnarled hands go to his face, his shoulders shake.
I move to his side. ‘There’s something…’ I stop. His faith in Mother has sustained him throughout his long life. What would telling the truth do to him now? I crouch and sit beside his crumpled body and lean against the sun – it’s cold. ‘How old were you when Mother sent you here?’
He mumbles into his hands. ‘Nineteen.’ I look at the old man, barely able to stay upright.
‘Nineteen?’ At least he had the chance to become a third-timer. ‘So, you’ve been here for… fifty, sixty years?’
‘Fifty-eight.’ He looks up from his hands. ‘I’ve just eaten my fifty-eighth Mother’s Day meal in this place.’
‘How do you… why do you keep working? Haven’t you thought of escaping?’
He stiffens. ‘Escape? Never. Why would I do that? Mother would never take me back if I tried to escape. She told me if I worked hard I could, one day, return to my duties at the factory.’
‘But fifty-eight years? Do you still believe she’ll take you back after all this time?’
He turns. ‘Of course. Why would she lie to me?’
I take his hand; it feels smooth, despite the wrinkles. The lines on his forehead fade and a faint smile touches his lips. He looks at his hand in mine as if it’s the first time someone has touched him. I whisper. ‘Did you know Moses?’
Ezra snatches his hand back. ‘Ha! Moses! Mother’s favorite.’ He leans, beckoning me forward. ‘Let me tell you the truth about that shirker.’ I wonder if he knows Moses is alive and still working. He continues. ‘You’d think the New Dawn was about to rise up out of our hero-worker’s rear-end the way Mother speaks of him.’ He looks around before whispering, ‘But let me tell you, it was the rest of us that carried him.’ He raises his thumb to the sculpture over his shoulder. ‘It was me and the team that toiled to make this, while our precious Moses spent his evenings with Mother.’
I watch Ezra’s eyes move as if the past plays out before him. Is this true? What did Mother tell Moses? Did he know the whole story? Ezra turns and seems pleased at my attention. ‘Oh yes, young…?’ he clicks his fingers and points at my chest.
‘Noah.’
‘Yes, young Noah, it was his team that went without sleep for five days so Moses could take all the praise.’ His head drops to his chest. ‘But did we get any thanks? Did Mother even know it was me that made it for her?’
I have to ask. ‘How did you end up here?’
Ezra looks up. For a moment, I think he’s not heard my question. His grey eyes wander to the ceiling. He turns and grabs the edge of the sun, grunting as he pulls himself to his feet. ‘I… I wrote a story for Mother, a gift for Mother’s Day.’
‘A story!’
His voice almost breaks. ‘I wrote about what it would be like on the first morning outside. I imagined we would—’
‘And that was enough to get you sent down?’
‘Sent down?’ He frowns and shakes his head. ‘No, not the story, she liked it, or at least I think she did.’ He pulls back his shoulders. ‘No. It was because Moses read it. He said I was being foolish to write such stuff. I was sent here because I struck him… broke his nose.’ Ezra holds up a clenched fist. ‘I hit him square in that stupid, smug face of his, when he laughed at my story.’ He groans as he bends his knees to examine one of the bolts. ‘Look. I scratched my name,’ he points, ‘yes, there. But Mother never noticed.’ Ezra’s hands go to his lower back as he turns to face me. ‘But you should have seen Moses after I hit him. His nose all bent, his eyes black and blue. Ha! That’s the face Mother should have put on that ridiculous poster. That’s the real Moses, that’s the stupid face everyone should see, but…’ he lets out a long sigh as his body sags, ‘he still didn’t deserve what happened.’
‘So, you know?’
His eyebrows meet in the middle as he frowns. ‘Well, yes why wouldn’t I? We still get to hear some of the news down here. Of course, we were sorry to hear of his death on the surface, and bitterly disappointed when Mother reported the advanced party found it was still too dangerous. Poor Moses, he didn’t—’
‘I’ve met him.’ I find I’ve spoken out loud.
‘What?’ He shakes his head. ‘No, no you can’t have, you’re too young. Mother said… Oh, wait. I get it now. I bet it wasn’t him who went to the surface was it. It must have been someone else taking the risk so Moses would get all the glory. Then Mother could keep her precious hero by her side. Typical.’ He strokes his chin. ‘I bet he got all fat and lazy and Mother has hidden him away.’ He chuckles. ‘Does he still have a bent nose?’
I laugh with him. ‘No, it looked straight to me.’
‘Huh, I bet Mother fixed it for him. Is he still at the factory?’
‘No, well not quite. He’s on one of the upper levels with a workstation of his own, but…’ I look at his old face. How do I tell him he’s spent his life based on a lie? ‘Ezra.’ My heart hammers in my ears. ‘There’s something you have to know.’
His grip tightens. ‘Is it the enemy? Have they won? Is Mother,’ his voice falters, ‘dead?’
I shake my head. ‘No, but she’s not really alive.’
‘What? You’re not making sense, boy.’
‘She’s not what you think, and we’re not where you think we are.’
He scratches his chin. ‘What are you saying? You’re confusing me. What’s happened to Mother?’
‘She’s a machine,’ the truth bursts out, ‘she’s supposed to look after us because we’re not on Earth. We’re on a space… a sort of big ship.’ His mouth opens and closes. ‘Look, I know this will be hard to believe, but New Dawn is a planet, much like Earth. I’ve been there. This is all a lie, Mother… the machine has deceived us all, we could have left years ago, so now I’m—’
‘No!’ He covers his ears like a young child blocking out a loud noise. ‘It’s not true, it can’t be.’ He stands as straight as his ancient spine will allow. He peers into my eyes. ‘Wait. I know what this is.’ He grasps my shoulder. ‘This is a test. Yes, that’s it. Mother has sent you to test my loyalty. That’s what this is.’ He turns to face the Metal Sun, a glint from a sunbeam lights his face. ‘She’s testing me, this must be it. She’s…’ he strokes the bolt with his name on, speaking to himself, ‘she’s going to take me back.’ He spins around and grabs both my shoulders. ‘Well? Am I right? Have I passed?’ My shoulders slump. His eyebrows raise. ‘Did… did I pass? Will Mother send for me soon?’
I sigh. ‘Yes, Ezra, you have passed. You’ve proved yourself to be a loyal worker. Mother will send for you soon.’ A beam spreads across his face. I turn away. ‘But for now, you must go back to your team. I have to leave but you mustn’t say anything about this to the others.’
He takes my hand. His smile broadens. ‘You can trust me, boy. Yes, you don’t need to worry about me.’ Ezra nods. ‘I won’t let you down.’
‘And I won’t either.’ I squeeze his hand and lie to his face. ‘I promise.’ It hurts, but what else can I say? I pat his shoulder. ‘You won’t have to spend much longer here. I’ll see that you—’ Another object catches my eye over his shoulder: my cuckoo.
Ezra turns to see what’s caught my attention. ‘Oh yes, there’s that odd-looking bird as well.’
I walk over and run my fingers along its tail. ‘I made this, well… designed it.’
Ezra rests his hand on the bird’s belly. ‘Oh, so you’ll be one of Mother’s favorites as well?’
‘No, not quite. And trust me, you don’t want to be either.’
Ezra stoops and squints at my work. ‘What’s that supposed to be? A wheel? What’s a wheel doing there?’
I bend to look at the four-spoked wheel: Pandora. I grasp the bird’s tail and hope Namika and Amos survived. ‘It’s a message. Something to let us know we’re not alone, or… at the time we weren’t.’ I find I’m talking to myself. Ezra’s wide eyes are staring over my head. I turn and look straight into the black, shiny eyes of a large spider.