"Cone Zero, Sphere Zero"
by David M. Fitzpatrick
The sinister Enforcers, bedecked in
the bright red bodysuits and head cones all citizens feared, came to
Jellin’s living cone shortly after the Light once again illuminated
the World. An Avatar came with them, hovering nearby, observing
everything as one of the eyes of the Immortals. Jellin hated those
soft-looking balls of pink-orange flesh as much as he hated the
Enforcers. It was because of what had happened with an Avatar near
the end of the last Light that the Enforcers had come, Jellin knew.
“You are Jellin, son of Lumbis, son
of Riksen?” the lead Enforcer said, more an imperative than a
question. They knew who he was.
“I am,” Jellin said, feeling his
mouth parch. Agonizing memories of the pain cages he’d endured in
his youth flooded through his mind, and he tried not to tremble.
“You are to appear before the
Oligarchy.”
It sounded like a statement, but
Jellin knew it was a command of absolute authority. He knew he was
in serious trouble; there would be no warning for what he’d done to
that Avatar. In fact, Jellin couldn’t recall anyone ever having the
courage—or stupidity—to kill one of them before.
“May I get my coat and my head
cone?” he asked. He knew they couldn’t refuse him, since being in
public without one’s head cone was a serious violation—for him, and
for the Enforcers who denied him getting it.
“Quickly.”
He retreated into his living cone.
The Light streamed through the triangular windows as he went to his
dressing room and pulled his white coat on over his white bodysuit
and found his matching white head cone. He fitted it into place over
his bare head, and he reallized he was trembling.
He turned to head back to the door
and gave a start, stifling a yelp of surprise. The Avatar that had
come with the Enforcers was there, hovering half a man’s height
away, studying him. They were always unsettling to behold: slightly
squished ovoids with textured surfaces, barely glowing a light
pink-orange hue, as if illuminated from within. They had subtle
indentations that were slightly darker in color, more a light red
shade, which was what people called the eyes. An Avatar’s eye always
faced whatever it studied.
He regarded it in silence, and his
thoughts went astray as usual: How did the Avatars fly as they did?
Was there intelligence inside their roundish forms? Or were the
supposed Immortals watching through them, as everyone was foolishly
told to believe?
He mentally banished the thoughts.
He had to keep his mind clear. He didn’t believe the supposed
Immortals or their Avatars could read his thoughts, but it was best
not to take chances. He stalked past the intrusive Avatar and felt
it move in behind him as he left his living cone. Outside, he
followed the lead Enforcer down his walkway, and heard the other two
marching in step behind him. He was suddenly very scared.
They walked the trodden dirt paths
that weaved in graceful curves in and about the living cones of the
community. Nearly naked children playing in their white loincloths
stopped to stare from beneath their white head cones in gape-mouthed
awe as they passed, and soon adults were peering out doorways at the
spectacle. Avatars dotted the air here and there, some intently
watching the children’s games, others following adults around. They
did that often, randomly appearing to study citizens for as little
as ten breaths to as long as several complete Lights.
As they marched, Jellin could see
the Light in the middle of the World, mounted atop the massive metal
pole that shot skyward from the Master Cone towards which they
headed. He couldn’t see the Master Cone yet, as it was only about
thirty men high; but the pole that spiked skyward from its peak was
easily a thousand men tall. The Light, burning fiercely atop the
pole, was a massive orb that illuminated the World.
Jellin glanced up as he marched
stolidly behind the Enforcer, and beheld the ceiling of the World.
The Cone they lived inside was massive, its apex so high above that
it could not be seen. He knew from the scholars that it was as high
as the World was wide—about ten thousand men high. In every
direction, Jellin could see the smooth wall of the Cone, angling
down from the zenith far above.
He lived a thousand men away from
the center of the World, so it wasn’t too long before the living
cones became crowded together in the high-population area. Soon, he
could see the Master Cone towering above the smaller living cones.
The living cones grew larger and grander the closer one got to the
center of the World, housing citizens of higher social levels.
Eventually, the largest of them housed the Oligarchs themselves.
Eventually, they made it to the
Master Cone in the center of the World. The massive metal pole shot
out of the top of Master Cone, but Jellin couldn’t look up at it
without being blinded by the burning Light high above. He was led up
the hundred-step stairway and through the towering, triangular door.
He was led through the gargantuan cone and into its expansive
central hall. He’d only been in once, as a child, when a scholar had
taken his class there, and it was as cold and empty as he
remembered. It was ten men across; on the very far side of the hall
was the protruding curve of the thick metal pole that ultimately
held up the Light. In leveled rows of seats before the pole, he
realized the Oligarchy was gathered.
They were all seated, wearing
flowing blue robes and blue head cones. Twenty-two Oligarchs were on
the lowest level, then eleven, five, and three; above them sat the
Oligarch of the Fifth Level, the Master Oligarch, presiding over
them all. It was a hierarchy of power, but even those on the lowest
level were as far above Jellin socially as the Light was above the
World. He went very suddenly from scared to terrified.
“Jellin, son of Lumbis, son of
Riksen,” the amplified voice of the Master Oligarch boomed. Jellin
could see him speaking into a tube, which was linked to many
cone-shaped outlet horns which somehow made it all louder.
Jellin felt his hard pounding madly
in his chest as he dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Yes,
Master,” he called out as strongly as he could manage.
“Do you know why you’re here?” the
Master bellowed.
“Yes, Master,” Jellin said to the
floor.
“Indeed,” the Master said. “Look at
us, and tell us why.”
Jellin raised his head, beholding
the forty-two grim faces that regarded him as the criminal they
believed him to be. “It was an accident, Master. The Avatar was
behind me, and I didn’t know. I spun about so quickly—”
“Silence!” the Master roared.
“We’re not interested in your tales of fright regarding an Avatar.
We’ve all been startled by the eyes of the Immortals before. Enough
of your whinings, and tell us if you know why you’re really here.”
Jellin was stunned. He was certain
the Enforcers had come for him because of what he’d done to the
Avatar, but apparently that wasn’t the case. Destroying an Avatar
was certainly punishable with a pain cage until death, but…
“I am commanding you to tell us why you’re here, citizen,” the
Master said, his dark voice cleaving through Jellin’s muddled brain.
“I’m… sorry, Master,” Jellin
managed. “I do not know.”
“I see,” said the Master.
“Oligarch, read the charge.”
An Oligarch of the First Level
stood and unraveled a scroll, leaning in to speak into his own tube.
“The citizen is charged with violating the Code of Life in
questioning the nature of the World.”
Jellin’s mind tumbled. What was
this all about? He knew better than to talk about his secret beliefs
to anyone. He hadn’t said a word to a single soul.
“During last Light, did you not
tell one Bendik of your belief that there is a larger World outside
the Cone?” the Oligarch on the First Level asked.
Jellin blinked in surprise. Was
that was this was about? Did Bendik run his mouth again, as he had
when they’d been children, and tell someone something he shouldn’t?
But Jellin had been careful for thousands of Lights to not say
anything in Bendik’s presence that could remotely be construed as—
“Answer the question!” the Oligarch
of the First Level hollered, and Jellin shook himself out of his
reverie. “Did you tell Bendik there is a larger World outside the
Cone?”
“I did not, sir,” Jellin said,
choosing his words carefully. “I merely was considering the Cone’s
zenith, far above us. I wondered aloud if it is constructed like the
Cone’s wall, down at the base.”
“But there is nothing to consider
about the zenith,” the Master boomed from above. “The zenith is like
the wall—like the entire Cone. There is nothing but the Cone. This
is the World.”
Why?! Jellin screamed inside. Why
do you think that? Why can there be nothing else?
But he retained control, and nodded
dutifully. “I understand, Master. It was just a random musing; I was
merely curious about how the Immortals wrought this marvelous Cone.”
It was the kind of answer scholars
burned into the heads of children and everyone expected to hear, but
he wondered if it would be enough. Yet the ensuing silence stretched
on for far too long, surpassing discomfort and and becoming almost
painful. In fact, Jellin realized that, after a fashion, the rest of
the Oligarchs seemed to be faltering a bit, their hard gazes
softening, their eyes darting to and fro—as if they, too, were
wondering why the Master hadn’t responded for so long. Jellin was
feeling quite helpless when the Master suddenly said, “Oligarchy,
this meeting is convened. Enforcers, leave the accused here.”
They looked surprised, but the
Oligarchs rose without argument and left their levels, filing out in
their blue robes. They all fired dark glares at Jellin as they
passed; he watched, confused, as they went, followed by the three
red-clad Enforcers. The last Oligarchs to leave were the three of
the Fourth Level, and one of them stopped next to him, awaiting the
Master Oligarch to arrive.
“As ordered, you may leave,” the
Master said to the Fourth.
“This is highly irregular, Master,”
the Oligarch said, regarding his superior with slitted eyes.
“But within the confines of the
Code,” the Master said. “I’ll not order you again, Jaupal. Leave
us.”
Jaupal nodded, glared viciously at
Jellin, and then turned on his heel and left. The Master waited
until Jaupal was gone before turning to face his prisoner. Jellin
had rarely been this close to an Oligarch before, and certainly
never this close to the Master. Now, but half a man apart, the man
towered a head taller than Jellin and, in his billowing robes,
seemed so much huger. His face was old and worn, angular as if
sculpted from stone, and his eyes were a brighter blue than his
robes. He regarded Jellin sternly.
“You’re afraid of me,” the Master
said.
“Yes, sir,” Jellin said, hearing
his voice quaver.
“You have nothing to fear,” the
Master replied, and his voice was lower and softer. “I have read
your history, Jellin. When you were young, you skirted with
sacrilege quite often.”
“All children stray,” Jellin
recited automatically. “When I was punished, I learned the errors of
my ways.”
The Master actually chuckled then,
a light smile etching itself into his chiseled face. “I don’t think
so. Children tend to transgress three or four times, because the
punishment for questioning the nature of the World is quite
severe—as you well know. You spent far more time in pain cages than
most children. Twelve times, was it?”
Memories raced through Jellin’s
mind like a thousand sharp rocks. He remembered his incarcerations
in the pain cages: strapped tightly within the form-fitting bars,
arms and legs spread wide, naked and enduring the pain of an
Enforcer who repeatedly stabbed him with needles. Emotion
overwhelmed him, and he closed his eyes to fight the threatening
tears. He nodded in silent answer.
“Twelve times,” the Master
repeated, moving slowly to walk around Jellin. He moved out of
sight, footfalls muffled beneath the robes as he orbited his
captive. “The first time is brief—a few needles, in for just ten
breaths. Every subsequent time in the pain cage means more needles
and many more breaths.”
Jellin could feel the phantom
memories of the long needles, like elongated cones, sliding through
his skin and ripping their way through fat and muscle as they spiked
deep inside him. They were fatter towards the ends, and they hurt
even more as they went deeper. And they had tiny, sharp nubs on
them, and the Enforcer would twist them as they slid them in…
“And you went twelve times,” the
Master said, shaking his head as if in awe as he finished his
circular pacing and stopped to once again face Jellin. “No child
ever had, as far back as anyone can remember, or heard told in
stories. By that twelfth time, the Enforcers were inserting
thirty-six needles, and letting you scream for one hundred twenty
breaths. And those needles burn, don’t they?”
They did, like fire, after his
sixth trip to the pain cage. And they got hotter every time after
that. Jellin tried not to remember, but the Master was making him.
“You never transgressed again after
that twelfth trip, but somehow I suspect you merely learned to keep
your mouth shut. You had ideas that there was more to the World than
what we see here in the Cone, and ideas like that which remain
through twelve pain cages don’t ever go away. Do they?”
Jellin didn’t answer. He didn’t
dare to.
“Tell me what the World is,” the
Master said.
“The World is the Cone, ten
thousand men high and ten thousand men across,” Jellin recited. It
was rote, as given him by the scholars. “The Cone is the center of
everything. Outside the Cone is Oblivion, and the Immortals who
created us and provide for us.” He felt like an idiot for even
acting like he believed it, even if it’s exactly what the Master
expected.
“How do the Immortals provide for
us?”
“The Immortals provide food and
water, wood and stone, cloth and tools, and cause our waste to be
removed,” Jellin said. “We cannot see them, but we see their
miracles every day. They are ever-vigilant, constantly watching us
through their Avatars.”
The Master stepped suddenly closer,
leaning in until his nose almost touched Jellin’s. “Do you really
believe all that dung, young man?”
Jellin froze. He didn’t believe in
any of that dung, not one stinking lump of it, but he never told
anyone—not since he’d learned to shut his mouth after his twelfth
pain cage. But it sounded like the Master didn’t believe in any of
that dung, either. He snapped his head leftward, at the Avatar which
floated just out of reach, its reddish eye silently watching them.
How could the Master dare to say such things in the presence of an
Avatar?
But certainly, the Master was only
trying to trick him into admitting his blasphemous beliefs. And as
an adult, he knew time in pain cages wasn’t measured in breaths, but
in Lights. They’d insert countless needles that twisted in burning
agony, and leave them there until the violator finally stopped
screaming and crying and begging. Most died; those that didn’t
usually went mad, and were later given over to the Immortals during
the sacrifice that was held every thousand Lights. The few survivors
were never quite the same—but never violated the Code of Life again.
“I asked you a question!” the Master barked, but his face wasn’t as
foreboding as it had been. “Do you really believe in all that dung?”
And in that moment, sheer illogic
and senselessness overtook Jellin, and he realized he just didn’t
care if they locked him in a body-contoured pain cage for a hundred
Lights and drove him insane. He’d spent his life faking stupidity in
order to escape torture, and now he realized being insane or dead
would be a much better existence. So he took in a shaky breath and
said, “No, Master. I don’t believe a word of it.”
“Is that so?” the Master said, his
brow furrowing, his blue eyes darkening. “Then what is the true
nature of the World ?”
He was in too deep now to stop.
“There are things outside the Cone, and they aren’t Immortals,” he
said, almost fiercely. “This isn’t a World—it’s a prison. And we’re
made to believe this ridiculous garbage to keep us all in line.”
“I see,” the Master said, stroking
his chin thoughtfully. “And what do you think we should do to
heretics like you?”
“Nothing,” Jellin said. “All citizens should be free to think and
feel how they wish, and free to speak their minds.”
The Avatar floated silently nearby, watching. Jellin glared at its
eye, as if challenging it. The pain cage awaited him; what more
could they do?
“Tell me of this accident you began
speaking of earlier,” the Master said. “You turned around, and were
surprised by an Avatar. What were you going to say?”
He’d already sealed his fate; there
was no point in mincing words now. “I was going to say I
accidentally hit it with a rock,” he said, stoic and
square-shouldered. “I was going to say I turned to throw it, and the
Avatar was there. But it was no accident.” Energy surged through his
body like the Light illuminating the World, and Jellin liked the
feeling.
“Ah, killed one, did you?” the
Master said, almost bemusedly. “Hit it right in its eye, and it
floated straight up into the sky, didn’t it?”
It had, popping skyward like a rock
sinking in water, only in reverse. He’d stood there, mystified, as
it tumbled up until it became a speck, and finally vanished. “Yes,
Master,” he finally said. Why was the man so calm about this? Why
was he not calling for Enforcers?
The Master stepped in closer until
Jellin could feel the man’s hot breath on his face. “That took a lot
of courage,” the Master said. “That, or you’re truly that sure of
your convictions. But no worry; I happen to know the Immortals don’t
punish us for destroying Avatars. Come to think of it, has anyone
ever seen the Immortals strike anyone down for anything? Of course
not. Only we strike our fellow citizens down.”
Jellin blinked in surprise. It
wasn’t the response he’d even remotely expected, and he had no idea
what to say.
The Master stepped back, surveying Jellin, and then he smiled. “Do
you know where my country home is, son?”
“It’s… near the Cone’s wall,” Jellin said, confusion spinning around
in his mind like a tangled ball of string. “I’m not sure where.”
“It is located precisely on
Trajectory 572,” the Master said. “I am hereby commanding you to
meet me there, alone, at the end of this Light. I also command you
to tell no one of this conversation. Your very life depends on it.
Do you understand?”
Jellin felt himself nodding dumbly,
and let himself bask in the confusion as the Master called to the
Enforcers to allow Jellin to leave. The Avatar followed...
* *
* * * * * *
*
Jellin heads to meet the Master
Oligarch... and an uncertain future.
To read the whole story, order
Nemonymous 8: Cone Zero.
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