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Zeiss opened the trapdoor. The silence was cut with its screeching rusty hinges. It was likely that he would have to go deeper to find a way out. He had never been this deep in a Krau tower - very few inhabited the darkness. It was a long way from light, civilization, and more importantly, food. Then there were the stories…. Monsters lurking in the dark - dragging children into the depths of hell.
Zeiss was cold and wet with slime dripping off his bare body. He climbed down the metal ladder. His hands and feet felt raw - and any small pressure of his soft skin burned. Zeiss had developed hard calluses on his palms and soles as a salvager and years of toil in the labour camp - but seemingly they had all vanished. Everything was making him angry. Then the ladder rungs began to vibrate. He looked up. Rayon was climbing down the ladder above him.
What was her big deal? Couldn’t she find her own way? Zeiss had entertained her rubbish and weird spacey behaviour for too long. She crashed on this planet and out of everyone she had to leech onto Zeiss. He should have never picked her up from the crater. He was not Rayon’s caretaker or protector. Rayon had given him this story about being separated from her family - that she needed to reunite with them, and that her world was torn with war. Great. It was good to know that two worlds were rotten. But she seemed more keen to stick with him.
“Zeiss,” Rayon called from above repeatedly. Her voice was soft like a baby saying ‘mama’. Zeiss scrunched his brow.
“Leave me alone!” Zeiss shouted and his voice echoed through the chamber. Yet after everything, he could still hear her infantile calls from above, “Zeiss.”
Zeiss carefully laid his foot on the ground. He relaxed and tried to see his way forward. There was no light here but the mucus on Zeiss’s body glowed green and lit the corridor enough to move forward. He immediately broke out into a steady jog through what he assumed were engineering tunnels with its pipes and cogs. He could hear Rayon’s calls diminish with the distance until he could no longer hear her. Good riddance to her.
He ran through various corridors and tunnels with his balls swinging between his legs.
Then there was some warmth. He stopped and stood next to the pipe - it was proper warm - what was a functioning gas pipe doing down here? He hugged it and absorbed the warmth. He finally eased and started to think about what was really important. Semira.
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Six years old. Semira kept a note of it on the back cover of “Whalens Mjorac” a manual of some sort that had twenty or so blank pages in the back. Her pen was fading. It was a makeshift diary. The rest of the book had something to do with philosophy which Semira had no clue of. She looked at it again. Six years old. Birthday’s weren’t celebrated nowadays - people didn’t know how old they were because they didn’t have numbers.
“Helena’s Tale” had a mention of something called a “Birthday Cake” and that candles were lit on them. This was a tradition of birthdays. At the tower, you had a celebration when you were born, became a man or woman, got married, and died. Those were the beats of towerfolk.
Towerfolk focused on surviving on the little they had - not intellectual pursuits. Semira had taught herself some basic notations and numbers. Dad and Mom had always allowed her to follow her mind. Dad supplied Semira with a growing stack of old world books which sat at the end of her bed. They would otherwise be used as kindling. She couldn’t read all of them. Dad and Mom knew some of the letters and words - but she had deciphered most of them on her own and inferred their meaning. Today she came across something called a “Mango” - it was a poisonous bulb that would burn your mouth off if you tried to eat it.
The doorknob rattled. Dad! Semira got up off the floor and rushed out. Semira was tall and skinny with short black hair that fell by her dirty cheeks. She had her mother’s big grey eyes, and her father’s temperament.
She hugged Dad as he opened the door. He reached down automatically knowing that Semira would be there on que. He was with Uncle Oldus and a dark lady. She looked a bit scruffy but pretty. She was definitely a different lady to the one Uncle was with last week and the week before that.
“Sim, guess what I have for you?” Dad said. He had something in his pocket.
“It can’t be a book? That’s too small. Is it a pen?” Semira guessed, hoping she could have something more to write with.
“Better,” Dad said, he brought out a little glass swan - it was pink and glittery.
Semira took it in her hands. Her eyes were as big as the moon. She had never seen something so beautiful before.
“Oh thank you Dad!” Semira said, hugging him. Dad kissed her on the head. Semira saw Uncle whispering something in the lady’s ear and her laughing. She had green eyes.
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“Semira, aren’t you a cutie,” the lady, called Temai, said whilst they had dinner.
All five of them sat on the floor in the living room. The cement floor was covered with a dinner cloth - Mom brought it out for special times - and there were a few plates of steaming food. Everyone had a moldbeer but Semira.
“Semira’s only a young’n and she’s a runner! Saved us a lot of trouble after Keal’s son broke his leg. She is doing the job damn well… I’d say better,” Uncle Oldus said proudly.
Semira smiled. It was good to be noticed. She wanted to be the best runner there ever was.
“Not just a cutie,” Semira said with sass back to Temai.
Mom gave Semira a look and then apologised to Temai, however Temai didn’t seem to be offended. She looked at Semira and even smiled. Semira looked down into her bowl of moss noodles to avoid her gaze. The noodles were made from a fungus that was farmed on the higher levels of the tower as it needed light to grow. This same fungus was made into moss loaf, moldbeer, and herbal medicines that were all exported to the rich in Centakrau. What towerfolk got in return was heat, water, and occasionally luxuries from Centakrau - half of people went crazy for them in the markets when they arrived - the other half was ambivalent. Poisonous goods of the rich.
Semira grabbed a handful of gram-beetles - little blue coin bugs - she cracked the shells open and slurped down the flesh with noodles and broth. It was salty and just right.
“She has quite the appetite,” Temai laughed.
Couldn’t she quit talking about me? Semira thought. There was something about Temai that she couldn’t put her finger on.
“Of course she does. I do too. Zeiss cooks legendary grub,” Uncle Oldus said.
“Hey! I cooked this meal,” Mom moaned.
“But it wouldn’t be so delicious if I didn’t teach you,” Dad said, grabbing Mom.
“That’s not fair,” Mom said with a sour face - she squirmed in Dad’s hold but soon gave into a kiss.
Semira smiled - she liked it when they kissed.
“Do you think it is really safe for Semira to be a runner?” Temai said.
This time it wasn’t a harmless annoying question. She was trying to discredit Semira and all her hard work!
Temai continued, “She is only young and a girl at that. I wouldn’t let a young girl deliver messages around the tower with all the sicko’s about…”
“Sicko’s? Towerfolk protect towerfolk,” Uncle Oldus said.
“Sim’s a smart girl,” Dad said.
Dad knew what to say. He stood up for her against this weird lady.
“You know who’s who, right?” Uncle Oldus asked Semira.
“I don’t go anywhere near state guards - they are rapists and pedophilles,” Semira said.
The room was silent.
“Sim! How do you even know those things!” Mom said leaping into a hug - it was more like a tackle of love.
“I will never let any of those horrid horrid things happen to you!” Mom cried.
“I knew a girl who was taken by guard when she was only a girl…” Temai said softly.
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It was morning. Semira knew the sounds of the morning well. Mom doing her strength exercises and her stretches. Dad in the kitchen boiling water for tea. But Dad seemed to be in a hurry. He always took it slow.
Semira ran out still in her night clothes, “Dad I still need to get ready…”
Dad paused and put on his boots, “Not today.”
“What do you mean?” Semira said.
“Not today,” Dad repeated.
“Can I come tomorrow?” Semira said.
Dad knelt down to face her, “It is not safe.”
“Please Dad. I’ll be safe…” Semira said. She felt an ache in her chest.
“You are only eight,” Dad said, “When you’re older we will talk about it.”
He stood up and left. The door closed.
Eight.
Semira thought she was six… maybe she was wrong? Dad knew. Maybe he knew better - but deep down Semira felt that with time those horrid things Mom said she would protect her from would only become more likely.
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Semira! Zeiss woke up. He was just talking to her. It was a dream. Semira would only be safe with him and only he could protect her.
His bones still ached. It was like they were being stretched. The pipe had gone cold. He coughed loudly and then into his hands which left a pink mucus.
He stood up and ran down the corridor. SLAM! He was hit point black on the head with a metal pipe. Zeiss fell to the ground - his vision went blurry and he scrambled. He felt nauseous and puked a bit. He looked up and saw a man approach him. He wore the red armour of the state. There was a heavy scent of cigarettes and alcohol coming from him. The state guard lifted the pipe up high in slow motion - ready to strike the life out of Zeiss. Zeiss kicked him in the chest with two legs. The guard cursed and slipped. THUMP!
It was quiet again.
Zeiss was still nauseous and it took a while before he could stand. Zeiss put his hand to his temple and it was wet with fresh blood.
He used the wall to climb himself up. Then he looked at the man. He had hit his head on a corner. The guard was old. Grey with a messy stubble. He was fat too with rings of cholesterol around his eyes. And he was dead.
Zeiss picked up the metal pipe and cautiously walked around the corner. There could be more guards. He could hear something in the distance. Music? Cheerful music like the songs they would sing on the holiday Torenta Lass. But there was not just singing but something else making pleasant sounds.
“Zeiss,” Rayon touched the back of his shoulder. Zeiss turned in a quiet rage and put his finger on his mouth.
They approached the sound. The door was open and there was a red light coming from inside. Zeiss opened the door and saw her.
A woman. Nude. In a cage. She shuddered and screamed as Zeiss entered the room also nude. There were no others in the room. There was a television playing a musical performance - the singers began to shriek in falsetto. The woman was leaking pus from sticky wounds on her body, blood from her vagina, and her nose had been cut off - leaving a skeletal hole.
There was no escape.
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