World Six
It’s blinding white and freezing cold.
The wind in this plane cuts like a razor. Even with my hood locked down and my eyes clamped shut, the wind filters through my mask and makes them water.
I’m clenching my teeth at the leaden sickness spreading through me. It’s inconsistent, this nauseous side-effect.
My arms hang heavy around my chest as I grip the Threestone. My fingers feel too large. A bitterness bites at their tips and I clutch the precious rocks tighter, worried I may drop them. The cold burns hotter where the stones touch my suit and I can’t move. Not until the confusion and queasiness ebbs.
Trying to gather my scattered thoughts, I force my lids to loosen and work on relaxing my eyes. Testing the light, I pry them open slowly to find a vast world, divided into two colors. Everything above me is open, endless blue. Not a cloud in sight. Down below, where I am entrenched freezing wind and ice, is also wide open. There is nothing but snow for miles in every direction.
I feel sick, but sitting still is death in temperatures like these. I have to move. Placing the stones back in their rubber pouch, I stow them away in my bag instead of my pocket. They leach the energy from everything and there are no power lines to be seen, so there’s no use having them at hand, letting them steal what little warmth I’ve got.
For the first time since I left my home world, I’m glad I listened to Eli. The binoculars he packed me come in handy when I need to decide on a direction. No sense in walking at all if I’m only heading into tundra.
I search each barren drift for signs of life, but the only thing I find is the frigid light and burning wind that freezes and stings my cheeks the second I lift the hood of my suit. It’s breathtaking how the air stabs my throat like a thousand ice picks. It’ll freeze my lungs. I close my mouth and replace the hood, beyond thankful for the bulky suit.
I did this. I sent myself here when I opened the gateway. Like a moron, I was thinking how I wanted the next plane to be nothing like the last. And it isn’t. At all.
Way to go, G.
With the binoculars pressed to the clear screen of my masked hood, I can barely see. Far off, there are traces of what look like they might be very tall trees. I don’t know what else to do so I start walking towards them. The sun’s position says it is mid-afternoon.
The thick rubber of my radiation suit has long since lost its battle against the cold. The snow is thick—mostly hard but there are patches where I suddenly sink knee-deep. I have to lift my legs up high to climb out and mow through.
With so much cold all around and my lack of proper clothing under this suit I’ve been shivering since I landed. I changed into California winter wear at the last gas station: a tee shirt under a flannel, and a pair of jeans with hiking boots. No hat under this face mask. No gloves or scarf. My hands ache and my fingers don’t want to move. My breath is what’s providing the meager amount of heat I’m retaining in here.
Still, it’s not long before my heavy pack becomes heavier. My stride slows, becoming rigid; muscles stiffening from the chill.
The threat of frostbite and hypothermia forces me to get creative.
Not that I completely trust my concept of time, but I don’t think it’s been more than two hours since I set out, yet the sun has already moved the length of my thumb to my elbow. Too fast.
I stop in an area where the snow is compact enough that I can walk across it, but not so icy that I can’t work with it. The drifts have been here for a long time and judging by the landscape it won’t be thawing any time soon.
It isn’t snowing right now, but it’s damn windy and there’s nothing to see except the open expanse of frozen blue sky. Either there is nothing out there or the reflection off the snow is hiding it. But I have moved enough to tell that the trees I thought I saw before are actually buildings.
Checking the distance between me and the smudge man-made structures on the horizon, I’m sure the distance between me and shelter is too great to cover before the fast moving sun sets. Before the waning temperature drops further. And there are no trees in sight. No vegetation to provide shelter from the weather. My only choice is to dig.
The short shovel strapped to my backpack is sturdy. It becomes my new best friend as it chips away at the thick drifts and breaks up bits of compact snow. I toss the chunks into a pile and whomp on them with the back of the shovel, and keep doing this over and over, keeping warm while forming a small semicircular mound that eventually becomes a wall. But as the mass grows, so does my shadow. Longer than me, it stretches a vast distance as the sun moves into oblivion.
I’ve got no roof. But I am surrounded by the sturdy ring-like hedge that’s just high enough to provide some relief from the blistering wind and help me maintain my body temperature. As long as it doesn’t blow too hard, or start snowing, I should be alright.
I work into the night until I’ve built up enough cover to nearly enclose my makeshift igloo. It’s small, almost too small for a fire. The moment I remember that I’ve got no fuel for one, I don’t feel bad about sealing the hole in the top. My shovel doubles as a support beam for the first part of the night until an arctic blast blows it down on my head.
I kick the chunks of cold away and stay huddled in my shiny, space blankets that crinkle like plastic packaging in the wind. The noise is irritating but helpful I rock myself, humming with the rumpled noise to keep awake.
At some point during my thirteenth run-through 99 Bottles, I must have fallen asleep. One second, I was huddled in my plastic blanket, rocking to the rhythm, and the next, silver streaks were building on the black horizon.
I don’t remember waking or feel like I slept. I’m very tired, though. During the night, I tucked my arms up into the body of my suit for heat, but my fingers are still tingling and I can’t feel my feet. Takes work to ignore the rigidity in my muscles, sore from being tensed up in constant shivers.
The whipping wind that kicked up last night has settled though. Dawn is bright and nearly still. No bird calls or scurrying animals greet the white desert.
Its work to ignore the rigidity in my muscles, sore from being tensed with cold all night. But I start out with the sun at my back. Since the wind settled, I don’t need the binoculars to make out the buildings I spotted yesterday.
After a while, I notice a small shape in the distance, one that I’m sure wasn’t there a few minutes ago. I stop and use the binoculars to watch.
Looks like it could be a person, but it’s hard to tell. The shape is very near white and it’s hard to see into the binoculars through my mask. I’m too far off. But if it is a person and not some strange, evolved polar bear, that means people live here.
People mean survival.
Transportation.
Electricity.
Heat!
I start towards the shape, checking the binoculars as the gap between the object and me closes. Soon, I’m positive it is another person, tromping on foot like me and pick up the pace.
Still, I’m nervous because I have no idea if this person is a friend or not. Are they going to help or hinder?
From within shouting distance, I can tell that the person is shorter than me, but still, there’s no indication of who might be out here in this ice world or why. Whoever it is, is too tightly wrapped in layers of material to tell age or gender. There are only two dark eyes behind a clear visor that peeks between strips of fabric.
The figure stops but I step closer. It holds out a hand, bidding me to keep my distance and I grow more anxious. Resources in this plane are obviously finite. What if they won’t spare any to help a stranger?
A muffled voice floats on the mild breeze. I can’t make out the words, but the tone rises to a slightly higher pitch before it stops, so I assume it’s a question. I shake my head vigorously and respond in a raised voice from within my hooded mask.
“I’m lost. I need help.”
At that, the bundled figure turns and begins heading back the way it came. T
here’s no gesture or sign that I should follow but I’ve got nowhere else to go. I need warmth. And information.
From now on, no more random thoughts before triggering the gateway—I will think clearly and concisely about where I want to go and why before unleashing the stones.
I follow the cloaked figure, straining to keep from falling behind, until it stops, suddenly stooping toward the edge of a snowbank that our path has traced.
That same, small voice mumbles as an outstretched hand digs into a mound of snow.
“What?” I ask, just as a blur whips out and smashes my shoulder and jaw.
“I said, ‘lower your head.’” The short laugh that follows is definitely feminine.
The Demron bag Eli gave me proves its worth once more, as I barely feel a sting, though the force felt strong enough to do serious damage. I get up, shaking off the flakey white, and examine the round hatch door jutting from the snowbank.
The girl that opened it is gone. Snowy foot prints tell she’s already climbed inside. I lean forward to see the light fabric of her hood lowered in the tunnel below.
Metal rungs form a ladder set into a concrete wall on one side of the tunnel. I decide it’s probably better to follow Alice down the rabbit hole than to sit up here, nursing hypothermia.
The single shaft of light from the world above ends at a floor that’s as white as the snow outside. The girl presses a button on the wall and the hatch over my head closes.
We are standing side by side in an underground tunnel, in complete dark.
A long second passes before lights power on with a low whirring. That’s long enough for me to wonder who I’m standing next to or if I can trust her. And what the hell am I supposed to do next?
The underground corridor she’s led me to is all white, lined with domed lighting that dots the ceiling.
The girl begins unwrapping her headscarf and so I take off my hood and mask. The air in here is still cold, but it doesn’t bite when I take a deep breath. The cold walls and floor remind me of County Hospital, but it doesn’t reek of sickness. It smells odd though. Like old blankets in a forgotten deep freezer.
The cloaked figures’ head emerges from beneath the rumpled material. Light brown hair, straight and dirty. Pools of oil have gathered around her temples near her brown eyes. The girl is plain and very young.
“I’m Enanda,” she says, through thin lips, bowing at the neck.
I’m at a loss and simply mimic her move, bowing my own head and saying, “It’s nice to meet you.”
She bows again, lower this time, but I’m tired and nearly frozen to death. “I was lost up there. Thank you.”
“I received the message that you were delayed, but the thermal sensors picked up your location. I went above, in case you needed help to find us.” Her voice, though soft, echoes in the long, narrow chamber.
Keeping my face from showing my surprise—I mean obviously she is mistaken about who I am and I’m just desperate enough to play along—but that doesn’t mean that the next person will be as misinformed as...
“What was your name?”
“Enanda.” She repeats.
“Enanda, are you the only one here?”
“The others are at their stations. My father and brother have gone hunting. We can wait for them if you prefer, but you must be tired. I’ve arranged quarters for you.” One of her arms flows from her side, stretching down the long hallway to point at some place beyond. She follows it, walking.
I trail her again, trying to remember if I introduced myself and wondering which of the doorways might lead to the kitchen or the nearest fire.
The floor is hard and smooth, so easy to glide across. It makes my legs feel like rubber.
“Here,” she stops, touching the middle of a door with an odd, over-sized handle.
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing at indentions on the squared handle.
“You’ve never seen a Biolock?” Hesitating, she takes my hand, removes my glove, and shows me how to place each of my fingers into the fitted depressions.
I do as she instructs and hold my fingertips in place until I hear a beep. Then, watch as she follows suit.
“Now, only you and I may access this door.”
I feel the traces of life coming back into me and yawn. My ears ache as they warm to room temperature.
She presses a small black dot, flush with the surface of the white door and a panel that wasn’t there suddenly appears on the surface of the door—a rectangle. I slide from my chest level to eye-level. A tiny, oblong green laser-light shoots out, spanning the width of my face. Before I have a chance to flinch, the light and the panel sink back into the door as if they were never there. The squared knob turns by itself. The door pops open, revealing an empty room.
Enanda holds out her hand in invitation.
I step in and look around, noting the inside of the door has no knob or handle.
“Don’t get me wrong,” I fight to keep the yawn inside as I speak. “I’m very glad you came to find me, but—” The warmth of my breath makes my lips burn. “Um, how do I get out?”
She chuckles. “It’s only locked from the outside. In here,” she steps into the plain room, “we don’t need it. Anyone inside may open the door.”
I think over that for a moment, somewhat mollified, but still not sure why she’s saying ‘we.’
Enanda’s eyes grow large. “What’s your name? Do they give you names?”
“They?”
“The Council.”
I shake my head, confused. “People call me G.”
She smiles very wide, showing gray teeth.
My answering smile is tentative. Brief and wildly uncomfortable inside this little cell, but I ignore it because I’m too tired. But looking around the modest room that has only a single chair and one small cot without a pillow, I have to wonder why I’m standing inside a room with this strange young girl. And the no inner-door-knob-thing is bizarre. Am I just going to trust that she’s telling me the truth?
“Do you have hot water,” I ask, feeling the chill in my exposed hand creeping into the rest of me, bone deep.
She nods and turns to leave but stops in the open doorway. “Of course. Take rest and I will bring Virilustea. I make it better than most.”
I have no idea what she just said and don’t care. I don’t care about anything except collapsing onto the cot.