Dome Chapter 19
The Pit
A red light emits from the Mother Terminal.
R-0’s heart flutters in her chest. She would grab it but that would affirm that the sensation is real.
Clear the mind.
Clear the heart.
It was now near midday and the hole containment had only reached sixty three percent.
That remaining thirty seven percent, an empty finger pointing down at her.
Now, this.
Her nostrils suck in a thick swirl of air waking her mind.
Her eyes shift to the large Mother Terminal at the front of the Control Center.
In large red letters the word OBSTRUCTION blinks on the screen.
An obstruction?
The pit never has an obstruction. Trash just goes into the bottomless pit. What happens after that could be any infinite number of possibilities. All of which never once occurred to R-0.
And why would it? Her only purpose is to ensure trash goes into the pit and recyclables on the conveyor. Everything after that–
Mother knows and that is sufficient.
X-13 insisted that there was some large droid at the bottom of the pit.
What did he call it? She shakes her head. X-13 and his droids. Where is he anyway? Maybe he can talk to the pit or at least be eaten by it.
She turns to the nearest Citizen to see everyone in the Control Center staring up at the screen.
A gasp escapes her lungs. So few Citizens take Mother’s wisdom seriously. Instead of focusing on the moment and figuring out a solution they get shocked by the light, the blaring sound, the large word on the screen.
“You!” she snaps to a gaping Citizen.
His dark eyes dart to her glare and her intense squint sends a jolt through him.
“Yes, R-0?” he stammers.
“Get me status on X-13.”
The Citizen fumbles for his Portable Mother.
Her eyes roll, no one knows how to do anything without Mother. They think Mother serves them but it’s the other way around.
“It’s not worth querying Mother,” R-0 states, “has X-13 checked in yet?”
He shakes his head. “I haven’t seen him.”
The words sink into R-0’s mind.
Citizens always arrive for duty.
She looks up at the hole in the ceiling. According to the progress bar it is still only sixty three percent contained.
What is a hole in the ceiling capable of, exactly? Could a Citizen fall into it? Without knowing it the whole Dome turns upside down and they just slip inside?
All the more reason to contain it.
The red light brings her back to the moment. Whatever this obstruction is, it’s keeping the Pit from generating material for the Repair Sprites. With every second it takes the hole could be consuming more Citizens into it.
I’m sorry, X-13, but I won’t let anyone else fall in.
She turns to the male Citizen, “Find me T-7.”
“You want me to go into the Pit?” T-7’s blond eyebrows furled in incredulity.
She stares into his gray eyes, the color of metal, clean, strong. She darts her eyes away from his.
“With X-13 missing, you seem to be the next expert on droids.”
A shrug followed by a nod is T-7’s only response.
“I know I’m asking a lot of you, T-7, but I have a feeling that hole might be the reason why X-13 is missing.”
She felt it before she could see it. Like a spark passed through her and into him, tightening every muscle in his body. He seems more frightened by her statement than her command to go into the pit.
He knows something.
He knows something and he’s holding on to it. Why? I could help too.
His terse face told her everything.
I’m not to be trusted.
Her heart thumps a dull thump. Her hand touches it.
I caused it, I know. He fears me. He knows that I cannot be trusted. What have I done to gain that trust? I spent so much time trying to catch them in their little games. They have no choice but to see me as what I am. The monitor.
But I am more.
“T-7,” she looks up into his eyes, not with reprimand but with pleading, “If you know anything about X-13 or the hole, please tell me.”
His lips purse, his eyes staring back at her but not looking at her. A deep concentration. His forehead unfolds.
“Ideas,” the word parts his tight pink lips, “but nothing for sure.”
He might let me in.
“T,” she begins, her expression softening, “I want X-13 back, too.”
His fist clenches. The pain, the anguish, the loss.
Her hand moves without her knowledge, without her permission. It touches T-7’s fist. His fingers unwind. He looks down and meets her eyes.
“We can find him,” her brown eyes wet and shiny.
T-7’s fingers curl in hers.
The Pit stares back at Carbon. The silence–audible.
Kneeling on Carbon’s shoulder, T-7 reaches out and pets his massive head.
“Do you know what’s down there?”
A groan echoes from Carbon as he crawls towards the Pit, “Dark things.”
The metal beast crawls down on its belly and throws its legs over the edge into the Pit.
From the moment the gap begins it appears to be a solid black but squinting closer T-7 recognizes that the walls of the Pit are made of thousands of long metal pipes. Tall and twisting.
Carbon’s foot slides onto a pipe that groans under his weight.
T-7 grabs Carbon tighter.
“No fear,” the giant warns, “they know.”
“They?” T-7 feels the word plop into his stomach as the shadow of the Pit consumes them both.
“Hold tight,” Carbon’s mechanical voice echoes in the dark.
T-7 fumbles, blind in the dark for Carbon’s face.
A thud echoes through his body as he feels Carbon’s hands lock around a pole and with a long squee, they slide down.
The initial rush passes through T-7. The force not feeling that much different than being inside the monorail.
Giving his eyes a moment he can make out the small amount of light reflecting off the metal pipes. An organized tangle of vertical and horizontal lines that seem to increase in mass as they descend deeper down. All the while small glints of light flash.
Colorful, bright, little balls of light. They seem to even burn into T-7’s own retinas making it hard to tell how many of these little balls there actually are.
Bright greens, reds, yellows. Small little bright circles.
Always in pairs. Always close together. Always focusing on them.
“What are those lights?”
“Slaves,” Carbon’s voice low and slow. “Must go faster.”
A clitter-clatter echoes through the Pit. Something small, metal and numerous growing closer towards them.
The sound of something laughing as though it were rolling on its head echoes.
The gibbering of hungry things approaching.
Salivating, sucking, cawing, licking, moaning.
Violent, obscene, predatory round lights growing bigger, closer, revealing themselves to be eyes.
Big, bright, angry, greedy, gluttonous, lustful, bold eyes.
They screech and cry from behind the steel pipes, teeth, beaks, jaws, fangs. White, black, yellow, bone and metal. Jawing and screaming, distorted faces pressing against the metal.
Something dark and bright swipes at T-7 but he pulls away just in time.
Hands, thousands, fingers of three, five and more. Sharp, angry, groping.
T-7 holds tight to Carbon. He stops sliding and is now climbing. Strafing across the wall, pulling away from the hands but they move with a speed even greater than his.
With every step T-7 can feel it a hundred times more. The vibrations pulling him across Carbon’s long flat shoulder. Sliding across, his hands slapping tight to the metal hoping to get as much friction as possible to hold himself in place.
“Hold!” Carbon calls.
He can feel the large creature’s knees bend.
T-7 grabs hold of the edge of the Golem’s shoulder as it throws its arm back. He can feel the metal muscle tense.
It’s going to jump.
Eyes closed, he curls his legs up cradling his entire body around the corner of Carbon’s shoulder.
The force blows through his whole body but his fingers and thighs squeeze to the creature’s plates feeling the acceleration fade off as they reach the apex of the leap but before the descent he could feel a sudden stop.
Its foot is caught or something has caught it.
Carbon’s shoulders move first, rolling down dumping T-7 into the abyss.
The sting of copper and salt filled T-7’s mouth and nose. The back of his head throbbed. Beneath him the ground felt wet and slick, yet rough and hard.
His body ached as he waddled his torso up propping himself up by his elbows. Darkness breathed on him, at least, what he thought was the dark. He listened.
A deep but soft breathing. Something large. Looming. Moist and stinking. Hovering just over his chest.
He tried to get up but something big, hard and wet pressed itself against his chest. A deep but quiet roar flowed out of the thing pressing against him. The sound vibrated through his whole body as though it could rip him apart.
T-7 complied.
A jangling sound echoed through the Pit as the thing backed away. A patt-patt like something with four large feet moved toward what sliver of light was left.
A massive black shadow moved toward the light. Each metallic detail reflected just enough to be comprehensible.
First, six little red orbs eyes appeared, glowing the eyes hiding in the Pit, but as it entered the light they became six black eyes. Six black eyes mounted on three massive metal heads, with three gigantic round mouths, and two fat, sharp tusks jutting from each maw.
“Cerberus?” T-7 asked.
The metal monster roared a sound he recognized. The roars he heard outside the Pit so many times. Here, now, he felt insignificant to something so powerful but as it announced its presence a loud whizzing sound stopped its roar.
Its middle head shook in frustration, hacking and coughing.
The obstruction, T-7 thought. It’s caught in its throat.
“Can you talk?” his voice, less cautious and more observant.
The middle head thrust itself forward. A growl escaped, not aggressive or threatening but rather to show.
Squinting into the mouth he could make out something dark and bent lodged deep within its throat. Caught between two sharp metal propellers. Pulling his focus back T-7 realized that its entire mouth was full of hundreds of sharp metallic propellers. Grinding tracks, chopping knives, slicing propellers, shredding gears.
His throat dried up, “If I get it out, do you promise not to swallow me?”
Cerberus grunted an ambiguous sound back.
T-7’s eyes moved around the Pit. He could see the same small glowing eyes from before yet he could sense less hunger and aggression replaced with fear.
What would X do right now?
He looked at the obstruction in Cerberus’ mouth. It seemed to cause discomfort in the thing. He recalled watching X-13 pull the Trash Goblin out of the pile.
That was just like him, a Trash Goblin simply removes unusable pieces and collects them in their burrows. If it had fallen in the Pit it would either have been eaten by this thing or probably become one of these other things. Perhaps that’s why this place feels so angry. Forgotten, forsaken, left behind things wanting to be seen again.
He knew what X would do.
The air stank of something damp and wet but T-7 breathed it in until he could feel clean air fill his lungs. Gripping his fist he walked forward toward the mouth.
The beast’s metal lips expand, its teeth protruding even further out. Leaning its head down it envelopes T-7 in its fangs.
Every movement has to be perfect, T-7 thought.
Saws, blades, edges, points all seem to focus on him. His eyes focused on any smooth surface, flattening his arms to fit between grooves, ignoring the small scrapes, scratches and jabs until he reached the dark gray object.
It was a dark but smooth object. Like a metal blade that had been purposefully bent in the middle. With a firm grasp on it T-7 threw all of his strength into his shoulder and was answered with pain as he nearly pulled his deltoid while the obstruction stayed unmoved.
T-7 rubbed his shoulder and cracked his neck.
Strength alone might not do it but maybe weight could.
Placing both his hands on both sides of the corner, he hung on the obstruction.
A metallic thung! as it slid only slightly.
Frustrated T-7 used whatever strength he could to pull it down when he heard a growl humming from deep inside.
Propellers and grinders begin to whirl.
His eyes pop open.
Feet dangling, arms tiring, heart racing T-7 pulls down and with a slow grind from one of the stuck propellers he fell to the ground an, “Oof!” as the wind knocks out of him. The dark obstruction his his arms.
A mighty roar echoes through the Pit.
“Finally!” Cerberus, his voice deep and powerful.
From the ground T-7 stares up in awe at the powerful creature, his three heads shaking as his body moves with pride and majesty.
“You’re Cerberus, aren’t you?” T-7 asked.
“And you must know Winsor,” the middle head replied.
At the sound of his name T-7 jumped to his feet, “You know where he is?”
“We know more than that Titus, son of Paul,” the right head answered.
The word pierced through him, Titus.
Titus.
It sounded familiar.
Is that like Winsor? A word instead of an identifier?
“What is Titus?” T-7 asked.
“You,” the left head answered in a humored voice, “keep it in mind but keep it secret.”
“Why?”
“The Dome is in danger,” the left head answered.
“A great evil is loose,” the right head now.
“One head that knows his name can do more than all the empty heads in the world,” the middle head concluded.
“Take this,” the middle head motioned to the obstruction in T-7’s hand.
He looked at it. A shiny black blade bent down the middle giving it a V-shape. It was light, he swung it and found that it sliced through the air with ease with a deep whistling tone.
“What am I to do with it?”
“When the time comes,” the right head began.
“Aim for the heart,” the left head followed.
“And throw it,” the middle head finished.
Then turning to the small glimmering eyes in the dark, Cerberus’ chest expanded, revealing a frame even larger than Titus had first assumed. All three heads roared in unison and Titus could tell that many of the eyes were cringing.
“Listen, slaves,” all three heads now in unison, “this man is under our protection. Take him above. If any of you lay a careless or malicious finger on him we will answer in kind.”
From behind the pipes and wires long skeletal metallic arms and hands reached out. They grabbed Titus ever so gently and yet with the multitude of hands on him passing him from one to another he felt almost weightless.
Cerberus grew smaller as Titus felt the light of the Dome touch his head.
This was my fault.
The makeshift pulley lifts the gigantic hunk of metal that was once Carbon.
T-7 nowhere in sight.
There is no past.
And yet X-13 is still missing, the hole in the ceiling is still there, and T-7…
T-7.
The past has to be real because no one else had ever died on her shift. She knows that because she also knows this feeling in her heart, in her stomach is new.
There is no future.
And yet something in R-0 tells her that when she wakes up from her sleeping pod tomorrow X-13 will still be missing, the hole in the ceiling will still be there, and T-7 will still be dead.
There is only now.
What does that even mean, anymore? Now is starting to feel like the only thing that isn’t real. Just a mix of the past and the future. Fleeting with every breath she takes, the only thing making it real being the memories and the hopes.
“R-0?” a voice from behind.
Her eyes expand as she recognizes the voice.
It can’t be.
She turns.
T-7, covered in some form of black substance, both wet and dry, like oil but somehow, older. Red blood caked in the back of his head, a vibrant contrast to the muddy black all over.
“T-7!” her voice cracks, “That fall, I thought you–”
“Where are they taking Carbon?”
With those words he plunged a metal rod through her chest.
Carbon? Of course, he scares the Sanitation Center and leaves me with these–feelings and what does he care about? A Dump Golem.
A faint huff hissed through her nostrils. “It’s going to be torn apart. It’s broken.”
Lifting her toes she turns herself on her heels flinging her arms with indignation but before her left hand could finish its arc it stopped.
Something warm, soft, firm has her by the wrist.
She looks down.
A gasp.
His pink squared fist wrapped around her pale yellow wrist.
The warmth of his hand, the shock of the moment flows through her like electricity. Warming her entire body.
“They’re alive,” T-7’s voice splashing cold water on her.
If only he knew the wave of emotions he causes me. I will always hate you for it T-7.
And even still part of her wants to feel all of it again. A rush like nothing that can be experienced in the Dome.
She pulls away, her disdain intentionally visible.
“Go,” is all she can muster out of her lips without falling apart.
“But–”
This damn uncooperative bolt. If he only knew what he was doing to me.
“Now!”
A look of anxiety on his face and she realized that there was something else he knew, something he’s keeping secret.
“Don’t do anything to him,” T-7 warns.
He darts away in a blur of nervousness. Leaving R-0 with the Dump Golem.
She turns to it. It’s gears groaning, hydraulics gasping, an aching roar with every failed attempt at movement.
All of this to be expected from any functional machine that barely escaped an encounter with a trash compactor.
Inspecting the Golem’s shell proved much of the same, areas crushed, ripped and chopped, however, a repeating pattern of slashes that seemed to come from something long and sharp causing both scratches and gashes seemed like something the trash compactor would not create.
The trash compactor destroys, chews up into something fine to be reused.
This seems more like torture. Not destruction but purposeful cause to harm.
She turns her head towards the Golem’s front, where his two black sensors observe and for a moment she can understand how X-13 could see them as eyes.
Sad eyes.