A Shrouded World (Book 7): Hvergelmir Read online

  The walls of my prison are dry and rough. Looking up, I search for a climbable pathway. There’s not much in the way of handholds, but given time, it’s doable. It really depends on how much energy I’m able to muster. The prior lack of oxygen and whistler toxin has me feeling a little weak, but I might be able to make it fifty feet.

  I visualize my path up, seeing where I need to transition to another part of the wall. I imagine the helmet thing I’m wearing has some sort of tracking device, but I might as well find that out. I know I don’t want to be here, and, while meekly waiting around might allow me some information, I’m not the waiting type. I could gather more seeing what lies on top. If I’m found, well, that’s also information, though it might label me as a troublemaker, landing me in an increased security lockup.

  Nothing to do but to try, I guess.

  Finding somewhat of a handhold, I pull myself upward and place my boot. Even that is strenuous. I slowly work further up the wall, my breath coming hard. Apparently, the mask doesn’t allow for exertion, as I have to pause repeatedly to catch my breath. So, I know that running from this place won’t be an option. Perhaps I could find one of those hovercrafts, but then where would I go? I’m still on an alien planet, and unless I find a waystation, I’d still be screwed. And even then, I’d need Trip. Maybe that’s where he went. Who the fuck knows with that drug-fogged hippy.

  I move upward, about to grab another handhold, when a shadow comes across the opening. A whistler is standing there and here I am stuck to the wall like a crawling bug. There’s no way to hide what I’m doing or my intention, so I reach out with my free hand.

  “Do you think you could give me a hand up?”

  “Down,” the whistler says.

  I’m suddenly jolted as a shock rolls through my body, originating from the helmet. I’m knocked off the wall and fall the ten or so feet I’ve climbed, hitting hard at the bottom.

  “I guess not,” I breathe, trying to get my wind back.

  “No climbing,” the creature yells.

  “Post a warning next time?” I shout back. “You place a perfectly good climbing wall here and expect someone not to use it?”

  Yeah, I should have taken the route of not being noticed. But I’m pissed, which is translated in this instance to being worried. We had it somewhat in control. We were able to figure some of this shit out. We found a relic that could apparently do some pretty cool shit, we actually defeated some of those Overseers and were on our way to attempt to close this thing out. Well, at least partially. And now I’m in a hole, captured by whistlers. I sure wish we had an edit/undo option.

  “No climbing.”

  Fine. I won’t climb your fucking wall. I wonder if this is my life now. Am I to be kept here at the bottom of a well, fed sludge through a feeding tube? That’s going to majorly suck. My head is still ringing from the jolt and fall.

  “Mike!” I yell, hoping he is able to hear me.

  My thought is that we can at least draw some comfort from knowing both of us are still around. Another jolt slams through my body and I’m left on the ground, my arms and legs twitching.

  Goddammit!

  “No noise,” the whistler shouts.

  I lay there and accept it. There’s not much else I can do. The tremors in my limbs subside, and I’m panting to catch my breath. That electric jolt shit sucks. I need to get this thing off my head.

  I raise a weak hand to the whistler, acknowledging that it’s won this round. The bleached sky appears more fully as the creature walks away. I don’t know if Mike heard my voice, and I certainly didn’t hear a reply as my bell was rung. Keeping an eye upward, I reach around and pull out my knife. Finding where the edge of the helmet meets my flesh, I try to dig the blade underneath but am struck by another jolt. Apparently, the thing has an anti-tamper mechanism. Resheathing my knife, I lay back against the wall.

  My mind is swirling with thoughts on how to get out of here. Honestly, this bucket on my head is the biggest thing keeping me here. However, it might be the only thing also keeping me alive. If it’s the central control unit, then it’s allowing me to get food. I have the idea that the mask is a separate thing, but I’d have to get rid of the helmet and the intake tube in my throat. Then what would I do for food and water? When we were traipsing across the landscape, it seemed fairly dry. Of course, that isn’t firmly set in my head, as I was also nearly suffocating and my mind was foggy.

  As I’m contemplating my situation, a hinged mechanical arm swings over the top of the pit and descends. It latches on to the metal plate and I’m lifted upward as if I’m the super glue commercial man. You know, the one who has his helmet glued to a beam and is hanging in the air. Dangling, I’m lifted and deposited by the side of the hole. What I see is not what I was expecting…not even close.

  I’m on a large plain. And by large, I mean absolutely huge. It’s filled with holes like the one I was in. Thousands of them, perhaps tens of thousands, maybe even more. It looks like a vast, otherwise featureless prairie of ground squirrels. I’ve heard of ground squirrels living in some places on Earth—massive populations. This is that on steroids. And all across this plain are marching beings of innumerable configurations. It’s as if the who’s who of aliens have gathered for an annual convention. They’re being herded by gangs of whistlers moving within the massed horde.

  I look around to see if I can spot Mike, but the shock of seeing so many different types of aliens has me unable to truly focus. The creatures are sliding, crawling, walking, and oozing in the direction prodded by whistlers toting their weapons. I reach around and am only slightly comforted by the touch of the blade still at my back.

  Looking toward where this vast migration is heading, I see the dark shape of an upended pyramid in the far distance. The thing is absolutely gigantic, rising high above the surface. I wonder if this isn’t some whistler spaceship and we’re being herded aboard like Noah gathering animals aboard his ark.

  “Move,” a whistler nearby says, prodding me with its weapon.

  I merge with other aliens who are slowly walking between the holes in the ground. As we bunch together, some of them fall into the holes and are left there. I watch one hole to see if the whistlers or that mechanical arm pull them out, but they’re paid no attention. Maybe there’s a cleanup crew that comes along afterward.

  I can’t even begin to describe the smell. It threatens to bring up the mash sitting in my stomach. Old fish rotting under a pier, candle wax, burned oil, the sweet odor of overly ripe mashed fruit all mixing together. There are some less unpleasant odors that waft through, but those are quickly lost below the prevalent stenches. I’m sure I’m not adding to the pleasantness. Hell, those odors may in fact be just me.

  I’m bumped by a taller being with tentacles for arms, a few of them all unfolding from what I take to be a shoulder. The urchin-like head turns and stares at me from eyes dangling from additional tentacles. The middle of the “head” is an opening filled with small jagged teeth and inside is a, well, fuck if it doesn’t look like a butthole opening and closing. I move away from the creature, making sure not to step in a hole, and wipe away a smear of a thick, saliva-like substance from my sleeve.

  I don’t know what process is so deeply ingrained in our psyche that makes us smell an unknown substance, but I sure wish I hadn’t. It’s like months-old, between the toe butter mixed with week-old dead possum in the sun. Retching and trying to hold in what “food” I have, I lean down to wipe my hand on the ground.

  That proves to be a mistake, as something large and hard rams into me…yes, from the rear. I’m shoved forward. Stumbling, angry at not having any control over the situation, I round on whoever pushed me. I’m faced with something that looks like a freakishly large house cat had mated with a rhino. The cat, I guess, is striped in orange and black, a round gray horn protruding atop its head. I truly hope that’s not some mating organ, as the top is shaped, well, I’m not going to describe that.

  It looks at me with hu
ge kitten eyes. I can almost see the tears in them, the orbs glistening. Except for the aggressive, phallic thing on its head, it’s damn near the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, but, if we’re headed to the inverted pyramid, we’ll have a lengthy travel, and I’d rather not be continually prodded with that…thing…the entire way.

  I move aside, as much as I can as we’re starting to become rather bunched together. I motion with my arm to let it pass. The cute kitten that’s as big as a black bear opens its mouth. The jaw unhinges, the mouth opening to nearly a hundred and eighty degrees. Sharp teeth in rows like shark’s teeth, line the mouth, now a circle. More teeth are rotating around the opening to the throat.

  The alien lets out a roar that would rival an angry twelve-foot polar bear, spittle splashing over my brow—basically the only part of my skin showing. The fucking cuteness is long gone. I jump backward and trip over a log…or rather…a squishy log. Turning to catch myself before I tumble into a hole, I come face to face with something that looks like a bulky mass of intertwined roiling snakes.

  I can’t see what the thick tentacles are attached to, but one suddenly reaches out and snags me around the waist. Before I’m able to even ascertain what in the hell is going on, I’m lifted into the air by this kraken-looking thing. Tentacles writhe on the ground, coiling in around themselves.

  I’m suddenly slammed into the ground, the impact knocking the wind out of me. Rising again in an arc, the creature smashes me into the ground…and again….and again. It’s just like the Hulk smashing Loki into the floor in the Avengers movie. I’m about to be beaten to a pulp. The only course of action I’m able to think of, and, frankly, it’s amazing I can think at all, is to take out my knife.

  Still being slammed, I manage to wrap a hand around the haft. Pulling it out, I stab as best I can into the thick arm wrapped around my waist…which, incidentally, is protecting from some of the fall damage. I yell with each plunge of my blade.

  “Stop!”

  “Doing!”

  “That!”

  I roll out across the ground as the tentacle releases. My body is bruised, my head ringing, and with the adrenaline flow, I’m unable to catch my breath. Plus, there’s an intense burning that is enveloping my head, the ends of my nerve fibers sending tormenting signals to my brain. A familiar jolt of electricity courses through my body. The pain suddenly ends, and I’m left panting, feeling like a bug on a windshield.

  I have an inclination that the whistlers took over the scene, and I have to hide my blade before its discovered. Reaching around, I place it back in its sheath and rise, my helmet falling from my head.

  “Well, now that’s interesting,” I mumble, still shaken but with enough sense left to reach down and grab it.

  Placing the helmet back on my head, I notice that it sticks there, but I’m able to remove it again.

  “Handy. So that’s all it takes.”

  I glance over my shoulder, wary of the nightmare kitten, only to see the creature backing away. I honestly don’t blame it. I mean, who wants to fuck with the kraken after seeing what it can do? I err on the side of caution and edge away from the sea monster, closer to the killer cat.

  Wondering if I’m truly free of the metal plate, I tinker with it. It comes away easily and yet sticks when I place it back, like a very well-made yarmulke. Now, the question becomes, if it’s not glued to my head, will it conduct its normal functions?

  If it’s truly disconnected, I’ll have to keep an eye out to make sure that I react accordingly. The interesting thing will come at dinner time to see if it engages the whole feeding tube thing. Without another source of food or water prevalent, I’ll have to keep the thing in my throat for the time being. I don’t relish the thought of having to yank that thing out, and I’m not sure if that’s even possible. It’s just as possible I’ll have to go through the rest of my life with it.

  “Move,” I hear a whistler behind as it walks up the ranks.

  I stare at the whistler. It’s holding some box-like object in its hand. It’s pressing on it and looking at me oddly.

  Oh shit. I should be getting shocked.

  I freeze up like a jolt is going through my body and fall to the ground, shaking my arms and legs. Thankfully, the helmet doesn’t roll off. After a moment, I stop and rise.

  “I’m moving,” I respond in a shaky voice.

  “You move,” the whistler states.

  I slog forward, joining with the mass heading across the plain. As I mentioned, the mask doesn’t really allow for differing states of required oxygen, so I’m left panting after the experience. I keep a wary eye out for the kraken. Although still a touch groggy, I’m thankful for the help with the helmet, I guess.

  I won’t describe the endless trudge, the momentary stops where sludge is forced into my stomach, the inability to fully catch my breath. My thighs ache from the endless march, and I collapse in a heap whenever we’re given time to rest. The distance is much farther than I anticipated due to how gigantic the pyramid thing is. I had thought it huge, but it seems the size of a moon and it’s been many days since we set out. Of course, that’s difficult to determine because the white sun beaming onto this place never sets. Or rather, with the dual suns feeding this planet, they both don’t set at the same time, so it’s always daylight. I’ve been in the Arctic and have experienced long days and nights, but this thing with the two suns is fucking with my shit. I don’t sleep, but rather pass out from exhaustion.

  I’m beyond tired when the herd arrives at a series of clear ramps leading into the structure. Following the march across the plain and the change to the incline, many are shoved off the side by the pressure of having to crowd into a narrower place. It’s worse than the cramped quarters of an airline flight. I require a lot of personal space, and it is ridiculously uncomfortable to be mashed together like I’m in some kind of rave.

  The good news is that we’re given a rest on interspersed platforms. The drones that brought the food during our trek have dispensed food even though my helmet isn’t attached the way it’s supposed to be. I check every so often just to make sure I can still remove it. As I rest, more of the gruel substance is forced into my stomach. I haven’t overcome the queasy feeling the “food” leaves, but it’s nourishment. Or at least I believe it is, as I feel my energy level increase with each feeding.

  The whistlers are barely keeping us alive, minimum oxygen levels, constant exhaustion from the forced march, and the bare minimum of food. They have this well thought out. What I can’t understand is how in the fuck they’re taking down worlds. Sure, they figured out some kind of portal travel to escape the prison they themselves were set in, but their weapons are meager. At least the ones they carried in the worlds Mike and I met them in. Why not bring some of those hovercraft or railguns? Maybe this is a game to them; to see how much they can limit themselves and still succeed. Unfortunately, in my exhausted state of mind, I can’t further this internal conversation.

  As I’m resting and being bottle-fed, I look across the plains. The group I’m marching with have all gathered on the platform, but there’s another massive horde marching farther out. I’m again struck by the sheer number of different alien variations. My fatigue has overcome my shock at seeing other aliens, but I’m still amazed.

  I briefly wonder if they’re from the same timelines. The sector strands indicated different universes, they’d also have to account for differing time instances as well. After all, Mike and I are from the same world, but from alternate timelines. So, Earth could be represented multiple times but with differing parallel universes. It’s all rather mind-blowing, and I kind of wish I didn’t know about any of this. I’d just like to go back to my simple life, even if it was filled with danger. To be wrapped in something so large, with the expectation that Mike, Trip, and I are to change it somehow, is overwhelming. Just give me a weapon, a foe, and an environment I understand. However, it’s too late to go back to that now that I have the knowledge I have. Knowing what I do now, I doub
t I could even function in my world.

  I notice some kind of ruckus within the group behind me. Although they’re at a distance, I can see some orc-like looking alien charging another creature that’s hidden behind a big red blob. I watch for a moment as several whistlers converge to settle matters. As things calm, I catch a glimpse of Mike.

  It’s all I can do not to run down the ramp, but there are whistlers stationed between me and the following group. Any attempt now would probably result in the discovery that my helmet wasn’t secured. If we’re to have any hope of escaping, I need for that to remain as is. I hope that I can get word to Mike later that the blobby thing has the capability to remove the device. I’ll keep an eye out for any opportunity. I’d like to remain here for Mike to catch up, but we’re once again herded up the flight of ramps.

  18

  Jack Walker — Chapter Four

  Inside, the place is cavernous. So much so that it defies any description I could hope to give, other than stepping inside a moon. A pyramid shaped one, to be sure, but the far walls are nearly lost from sight, as is the top. We continue to be herded through like a bunch of cattle. I can’t really see above some of the aliens crowded inside, but I do eventually detect that we’re about to head through branching tunnels.

  Perhaps we’re about to be separated according to, well, what? Gender? Yeah, good luck with that. Species? They’re going to need a greater number of tunnels in order to do that. I have no idea why the segregation is necessary, as the tunnels seem short, and I can see light at the end of the ones ahead.

  The background din is an incredible noise of shuffling feet and a thousand different sounds coming from the aliens I’m mixed with. The crowd starts parting into lines as we gather near the entrances, whistlers stationed near the entryways. As I get closer, crowded with a sundry of beings, all appearing tired with heads bowed, or what I assume to be heads, I notice markings above the doorways to the tunnels. They’re squiggles that could be a language or pictographs. However, there is one at the far right that is an inverted pyramid, shaped similarly to the structure we entered.