Things started off pretty much as expected - the arrival, the debarkation, waiting in a waiting room for his number to be called. After 45 minutes a bored clerk indicated that he was to proceed through a door marked "Interviews" and go to briefing cubicle number 13 for a meeting with his C&I representative.
Eugene's watch tells him that it has been three days since he went through that door.
During that time he has wandered corridors, looked at innumerable doors, asked directions countless times, cursed at bored looking functionaries, urinated in corners, slept in old an old storage area under a desk, stumbled through barely lit steam tunnels, broken down into tears of frustration on several occasions, screamed himself hoarse yelling for help, climbed through ventilation ducts, been chased through narrow and winding warren-like passages by a shadowy "something," had his shoes, socks, and belt stolen during his second night asleep, gotten down on his hands and knees on more than one occasion to beg passers by for aid (which was not received) developed blisters on his feet, and last - but by no means least - begun to slowly die of starvation and dehydration in the parched, conditioned air of the endless maze through which he has been traversing. His luggage is completely forgotten - the sun is barely a memory. And all during that time there has been the endless, agonizing muzak, haunting both his every waking moment and his sleep - always just beyond conscious thought, always prickling in his hindbrain like some sort of mental sand in the gearbox.
Now at last, as he shambles along, more like a zombie than a living person, his gummy eyes behold what by now he has convinced himself must be no more than a hallucination - a door clearly marked, not in Urdu or Cyrillic or Mayan but in plain roman numerals and letters "BRIEFING CUBICLE #13".1
"Come in," says a pleasant-sounding female voice that seems to come from everywhere at once. Or perhaps it's just the acoustics of the corridor.
"This is," he thinks to himself, "the weirdest experience I've ever had, bar none, and that's saying something.
The door seems to fly from the Burger's hand, slamming shut with a very final sound behind him. At the same time, a blinding light stabs Eugene in the eyes and a voice commands, "UP AGAINST THE WALL, MOTHERFUCKER! Feet apart and spread 'em! AND I MEAN NOW!" Suddenly there is friendly chuckle, and the light goes out. "Just kidding! Hi! I'm Seneca Li, and I'll be your Customs and Immigration offical today." As the sparks clear from Eugene's eyes, he sees an attractive young Asian woman seated behind a desk, smiling benignly. "First thing I need you to do is remove all of your clothes and place in them in the chair in front of my desk, and then stand in the circle of light." And as if by magic, the C&I worker motions to a spot in front of the desk and a beam of light shines down, illuminating the area in question.
1. Last name?
"Truman. T-r-u-m-a-n, like the president, although I hope there's no relation."
2. First Name?
"Eugene. By the way, could I get that legally changed while I'm here? Then I'd have one less reason to hate my parents."
"Absolutely," replies Seneca. "I can do that right here. It's $90. Did you want me to take care of that now?"
"Sigh. No, unfortunately, my wallet got stolen, I think, and I wouldn't be able to pay you right now. Hope that doesn't complicate anything...?"
3. Middle Name?
"None. Guess they figured they already did enough damage."
4. Case number is mine--4bkfkd@er6/g-TTrei9.
5. Home address?
"5121 Primrose Path, Bedburgsvilletown, Idaho, USA. But I'm hoping to become a citizen here. Is it true that someone under the age of 18 can become a legal adult here?"
"Yes, absolutely! You'll just need to fill out some paperwork, and be able to prove you have permanent residence and a steady source of income! Should be no problem for an able-bodied sort like yourself!"
"Okay, well I guess I'll have to take care of that later. Right now I have to see if I have anything resembling luggage left, as well as cash..."
6. Have you stopped believing in extraterrestrials?
"Nope. There has to be intelligent life somewhere in the universe. Just because I haven't found any here -- present company excluded, of course -- doesn't mean I'm giving up hope."
Seneca narrows her eyes for a moment, then types some more. "I see. Hmmm... well. Sub-access file 9/b... notation..." She seems to be speaking more to herself at the moment.
7. Eye color?
"Hazel, I think."
8. Hair color?
"Birth color was brown, I think, but I've dyed it so many colors since then I've forgotten."
9. Height?
"5 foot 4."
10. Weight?
"One-thirty. Or it was, until I went on a crash diet while finding this place. They could really use some more accurate signs around here."
11. Can you explain the First Law of Thermodynamics?
"I believe that one is: Matter can neither be created or destroyed. Which means that for everything you get, something else has to give. Unless it's that every action has an equal and opposite reaction, in which case it means that for everything you get, something else has to give. I don't know; it's been awhile since I've eaten, and hunger does icky things to my memory."
12. Purpose of visit?
"To get myself declared a legal adult and to become a citizen of Al Amarja. To find the great purpose of my life, or to make one up if necessary."
13. Estimated length of stay?
"Hopefully, for the rest of my life."
The caseworker chuckles. "Well, that probably won't be long." She jerks suddenly. "OW! GODDAMN IT! OWWWW! Holy sh--OW! DAMMIT! Mother Fu--OWWW!!!" She takes a deep, cleansing breath and continues:
14. Are you bringing any contraband, animals, fruits or vegitables with you into Al Amarja?
"Nope. Even if I was, by now my luggage has been stolen, and any fruits or vegetables, or animals, have rotted. It took me a long time to find this place."
15. Will you be leaving Al Amarja with any contraband, animals, fruits or vegitables?
"Hopefully, I won't be leaving. But even if I have to leave, no."
16. Which state has the lowest highest point?
"Beats the hell out of me. I probably know this, but my brain's feeling fried right now, and I can't recall."
"The answer is 'Delaware'."
"I knew that, honestly..."
17. Have you been convicted of a felony in the past seven years (if yes, explain)?
"No. I'm much too quick for them to catch," Eugene grins. "Just kidding. No, no felonies on my record."
18. Have you ever travelled under another name?
"Nope. To be honest, I haven't even traveled much. Being fourteen and in America does that to you, I'm afraid."
"Fourteen? Um... oops."
19. Name of next of kin?
"Parents, I guess. They would be Emily and Richard Truman, same address as mine."
20. Can you hammer a six-inch nail through a board with your penis?
Eugene looks puzzled at the question, then smiles as his inner demon comes up with the perfect response. "No, but it's not for lack of trying, let me assure you." There, let them decipher that one!
"Oh, Ms. Li, do I get to put on my clothes yet? Or do you want to savor the moment a little bit longer?"
Seneca says quickly, "No, no, please put your clothes on. And quickly, before someone comes in." She mutters, "Fourteen! Jesus Ch--OOOOWWWWW!" She steadies herself once again before continuing.
Eugene shrugs, mutters to himself, "Gee, and just when I was feeling flattered, too." He looks at Seneca, noting her pain and spasms, and decides to ignore it when his inner demon takes control and asks, "Aren't those mind-control chips a royal pain in the ass?"
"Hey, Junior Mint, for your information, I'm paralyzed from the waist down. And it's three days until my menstruation, so I'm feeling a bit crampy, okay?" Miss Li smiles beatifically once more. "Now then. Let's see what we have here. A minor, with no clothes, no money, no job, no fixed residence, and no supervision. Hmmm. Do you see a problem here, Eugene? Because I do. On paper, you don't look like someone who has very much to offer Al Amarja, either as a citizen or even as a tourist. You look like, for all intents and purposes, and no offence meant, a hobo. And we, as much as we love all the rich diversity the rest of the world has to offer, have filled our hobo quotient for this fiscal quarter." She taps a button on her desk, and the overhead light snaps off. "See ya!"
"But, but, but... I HAD all of those things, except the supervision, until I took a wrong turn down the corridor somewhere and went through three days of hell! You people don't even provide string to weave around the labyrinth! And I don't know whether my luggage has disappeared, I'm only assuming that because everything else so far in this psychotic hellhole seems out to get me! Christ on crack, lady, I was being chased by someone or something and scared for my life! Howzabout a little slack for the kid, huh? Damn, this is worse than junior high, when my vice principal shaved his head and his eyebrows and tried to kill me in front of the entire school during pep rally! At least he was only one person trying to get me! Here, it's like everyone wants me on a dinner plate!"
"Well, we try and give tourists a taste of what they can expect once they actually set foot outside of the Terminal!" says Seneca, a bit defensively. "I mean, in some Customs areas, they just convert your currency, stamp your passport, and send you through! Not us! We try and show you all of the excitement Al Amarja has to offer! Now then." She taps a few more keys, then speaks aloud, "Truman, Eugene. 4bkfkd@er6/g-TTrei9. Caseworker L-11422/Sen. Briefing room 13. Thank you! Have a seat, Eugene. I've just sent for your luggage. A nice courrier from Val-AA(TM) will bring it up in a moment. Oh, you do have SOME money with you, don't you? The service charges $20 for luggage, but it all goes to charity. The Lost and Fund. It's for the next of kin for those who never make it out of the Terminal. Did you know we currently have six whole families wandering about here? Mrs. Dorcester just had a baby! A boy, I think."
The caseworker points to the wall to Eugene's right, and a nice Muzak version of "Inna Gadda da Vida" begins playing. "So. What are your plans, assuming I grant your visa? What can you offer the island of Al Amarja that will make it a better place for having known you? In other words, what good are you?"
While Ms. Li's monologue is rambling on, Eugene slowly realizes what she's saying: that the past three days have been some sort of bizarre test of his fitness to be a tourist in Al Amarja. He starts chuckling to himself; it's the only sane reaction he can think of. By the time she asks him about his plans, and what good he is, he falls to the floor in a fit of hysterical laughter.
After a minute or two, he regains his composure, somewhat. "AH HAA HAA HAA HAAA...*ahem* Ah, well, hee hee, assuming I make past my first week here, hee hee hee, I plan on finding gainful employment as a lab assistant at D'Aubainne University. I, ha ha ha, hear they have, hee hee, a diverse and cutting-edge curriculum, and I hope to work my way through the graduate program. I have a theory about how to adjust the actual amount of entropy in a given system, and I'm hoping to put it to practical use, say as a scientific method of removing inefficiency from a bureaucracy without having to terminate people, hee hee, or using, ha ha ha, mind-control techniques. In the meantime, I'd probably invent something useful, for example, a compass or tracking device that would allow people to navigate this airport, ha ha ha ha ha, probably using non-Euclidian geometry, HA HA HA HA! Granted, this place would lose some of it's, HEE HEE, charm if I was successful, ha ha, but just think of how wonderful it would be for those poor souls to finally see daylight again, HA HA HA HA HAA, I'M ALIVE! WHEEEEE! HA HA HA HA!"
Ms. Li begins laughing along with the Burger. "AHAHAHA!!! Terminate? HAHA! Well, after all, this is a Terminal! BWAHAHAHAHAAAAA! Ah... whee. Anyway, it's nice to see you're finally getting into the spirit of things! All this self-pity and 'what now' nonsense, really, it's for Belgians! Or Frenchmen. Which one was David Hume? So! A lab assistant, eh? Let's see if they have any openings." Once again, fingers fly across keys, and after a moment, she says, "Well, it seems there's about to be a vacancy in the Bioengineering wing of the University's Diversity building. Do you know anything about nanotechnology? That's a lot like entropics, isn't it?"
"Hee, hee....*sigh*. Well, nanotechnology, eh? Cool! Anyone who's read "Engines of Creation" could get the hang of that in no time. And yes, it's an awful lot like chaos theory, especially if you're trying to get a working model out of the lab. Hee hee hee. Do I even want to know what happened to the poor bastard who got vacated? No, probably not. Ah, well, without risk there is no life. Sounds good. What I don't know I can figure out in a couple of days."
"Well, fine!" says the caseworker with a smile. "You have an interview tomorrow morning at nine." And with that, she points at the door. There's a brief electronic buzz, and it clicks open, just as a middle-aged man of middle-eastern persuasion enters, carrying, of all things, Eugene's lost luggage!
"Leave it there, Tunji," says Seneca. "And twenty's in the coffer!" The man places the luggage inside the door, and with a nod, turns to leave. Then he stops, and as if having an afterthought, turns to Eugene. He reaches into his front pocket, removes a squarish object, and tosses it to the youngster in the chair. It lands squarely in Eugene's hands, and Tunji exits, the door once again clicking shut behind him. And suddenly, Eugene has his clothing, his wallet, and the possibility of a job.
"Twenty dollars, please," says Seneca, smiling at the young man.
Eugene looks through his wallet, amazed that his $62 are still there. He hands $20 to Ms. Li. "If you'll excuse me," he says, as he goes diving into his suitcase. Tucked away behind the lining of his American Tourister, he sees his AmEx Traveler's Checks, of which he has $500 worth (his life savings). He pulls out a $100 one and asks, "Who do I sign this out to if I want to convert my citizenship?"
All the while, Eugene thinks to himself, "I can eat! I can live. Oh, happy day!"
"Well, no," says Seneca raising an eyebrow. "See, first you're going to have to prove you have steady income and residence. What I WILL do is stamp your passport and tourist visa. That'll give you three months to get yourself settled. At the end of that time, you come back here, and we either extend your tourist visa for three more month, grant you citizenship, or kick you the he... heck out." She nods with what appears to be self-satisfaction. "You get one extension on your tourist visa. At the end of the second extension, you must depart AL Amarja for a period of at least three days, at which point you are once again eligible for another three months." She inclines her head slightly, as the Muzak tune switches to a real winner: "Muskrat Love". The caseworker shakes her head, and, with a sigh, waves her hand and the music dims to silence. Once again regarding Eugene, she says with a smile, "However, if you still want to change your name, you can sign that hundred over to me, and we can take care of it before I send you on your way!"
Eugene pauses, and puts the traveler's check back in the little envelope. "No, tell you what, I'll pass on the name-change thing until I get my citizenship. That way, it'll feel more appropriate. What you could do for me is give me directions to where that job interview is being held, and some advice on where a naive burger such as myself can get a secure night's sleep without blowing my life savings on it, and help me get out of this wacky airport without gettting lost, and..." He pauses, because for some unknown reason his next words were going to be "marry me." He figures it's his "inner demon" announcing it's presence, so he metaphorically bites his tongue. "...and if you could do that, that would be great."
"Can-do!" says the caseworker in a "can-do" kind of way. A piece of paper comes up in a fax-like fashion from the top of the desk. She hands it to Eugene. "This paper has all in the info you need for the next day or so. Your interview is with Dr. Thomas Rambeau at D'Aubainne University. That's in the Plaza of Science. As for hotels, I can suggest two. If you really want to save the bucks, you can go to E-Z Sleep in Four Points. It's $39 a night, but I wouldn't if I were you. You'll be better off going to Cesar's in Sunken Plaza. It's $70 per night, but they won't harvest your organs there. Dr. Rambeau can probably set you up in one of the dorm rooms or something if you get the job." She smiles that smile that has melted Eugene's heart once more. "Now then, one last time, I need to to stand over here, on that glowing 'X'." And sure enough, a red glowing "X" appears on the floor.
Clutching the paper she gave him like a lifeline, Eugene looks at the glowing X on the floor, and for some reason, Fishbone's "Party at Ground Zero" starts playing in the back of his mind. "This isn't going to hurt too much, is it?"
"No, not at all! Got your luggage?" replies Seneca happily.
Eugene says, "Hold on!", gathers his luggage closely to him, and asks, "Okay, where do I go from here?"
"All you've... aw, shhhhhhoot." Her gaze returns to the screen, and her eyes narrow for a moment. Suddenly she reaches into the desk with her right hand, as the left taps out a rhythm on the keyboard once again. As she closes the drawer, a piece of paper spits up from a slot of the metal desk. "Ummm, honey, could you do me a big favor? Forget what I said about Cesar's. It's a pit. Go to E-Z Sleep in Four Points instead. You'll love it. Trust me." She quickly tapes the paper to a small, rectangular box she has pulled from the desk, and tosses it to Eugene. "That's a disposable camera. Taped to it is a voucher for a Giovanni's cab. It'll take you, no charge, to E-Z Sleep. I need you to take the camera with you. Look for a really, really big guy in a black trenchcoat. If you see him, snap some photos. If you see anything else that looks like it needs pictures taken of it, you know, anything unusual, like people exploding, or weeping statues, or a really good curry restaurant, take pictures of that too."
She smiles beatifically. "We're a bit short-staffed at the moment. One of our senior CPC officers has taken the rest of the day off. And apparently, someone's spotted a," she pauses, and gives Eugene a REALLY big smile, "Werewolf in Four Points! Tee-hee! When you've finished the roll, just drop it into any mailbox. It's got a mail code on the side there." Her left index finger pauses in the air, pointing downwards towards a spot on her desk. "Oh, and honey? I get off in five years. Look me up, we'll have some fun! Oh, please raise your hands above your head and say 'Wheee.'"
Her finger descends to push a button, and the floor below Eugene drops open, sending him flying downwards like a water park ride without the water.
"Huh? Werewolf? E-Z Sleep? Pictures of weird things?
WheeeeeeeAAAAAGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!! OHGODIHOPEIDON'TLOSEANYTHINGORSMASHTHISSTUPIDCAMERA!!!!!!!!!"
On the way down, Eugene tries to focus on "Gio-vanni's Cabs" and E-Z Sleep
in Four Points." It's better than focusing on the hard, unforgiving
landing he's certain is at the bottom. Luckily, he's too scared at
the moment to worry about being buried under his luggage.
More likely, however, it really only lasts a few seconds and it only SEEMS to last forever.
With a tremendous *SPLASH* Eugene finds himself plunged into cold, cold water. Sputtering and cursing, he struggles towards the surface and after a moment finds himself treading water in some kind of underground cistern. Pipes of various sizes run along most of the walls, and there is some sort of metal grating about two feet above the surface of the water. Lighting is indirect and dim. Eugene can hear nothing but the sound of his own breathing and the gentle lapping of water.
Remember that scene in "Aliens" where Newt is down in the water and Hicks and Ripley are trying to cut their way through to get to her and we all know that there is a big, nasty, toothy alien about to show up? Well, that's where Eugene is - except there's no Hicks and no Ripley and the water is too deep to stand up in.
Boy, that water sure is cold. I mean, really cold. The sort of cold that numbs your fingers and toes and eventually makes your limbs stop moving so that you sink to the bottom and drown.
"AAAAAGGGGHHH!!! COLD-COLD-COLD-COLD-COLD!!!" Eugene spalshes around for a little bit before his time served in swimming lessons kicks in, and he begins to tread water.
'Okay,' he thinks, 'No panic. Getting feeling back in my limbs. Got oxygen in my lungs. Got luggage at the bottom of the water.' "FUCK-FUCK-FUCK!!" he screams, trying to placate himself with fantasies of strangling Seneca Li until her head pops off her body.
'Okay, that's out of my system now. Gotta remain calm. Gotta focus on finding land. I have my wallet in my pocket. Soggy currency is still valid currency. Still have this cockbiting spy-cam around my neck. Voucher's wet, but it'll be good for at least one night. Still have my directions, so even if they're wet I can still track down Li (you evil chirpy bitch!!!) and have her give me new ones. My life savings is soaked, but it's in traveler's checks, so even if I can't get to it, I can call up AmEx and have issue me new ones. I'm okay, really, I just have to find land.'
While searching for land, Eugene contents himself with warm, fuzzy thoughts of calling Ms. Li five years from now, wining and dining her, taking her back to a quiet motel somewhere, and then breaking out the car battery and jumper cables, the pliers, the Liquid-Plumr (c), the barbed wire, etc., and doing to her for the rest of the night things he's heard that they only do in third-world prisons. 'This is why all governments must perish in fire. Not just because they're cruel and self-serving sadists, but because they're irrational to boot. What did she possibly have to gain by dumping me in the water, if she wanted me to go photograph this were-thingy? What do these fucking lunatics have to prove? Do they want to send all of their tourists on murderous rampages?'
Unbidden, a vision comes to Eugene, a vision of underwater-dwelling creatures finding his traveller's checks, and using them for a wild night on the town at a local gambling casino. Trying to avoid hysterical laughter, he searches all the more intently for a way out. The grating is just above reach, and seems to cover the whole area above the water. It is possible to gain some relief from swimming by clinging to the pipes which line the walls, but that will just allow death from hypothermia to be more lingering.
Eugene tries to balance on the pipes along the wall, seeing if he can stand on top of them, and maybe find a weak point in the grate that he can lift up. After all, there *has* to be a way out, right? Surely no one, no matter how cruel or insane, would just dump someone into water to drown if they just spent the minute beforehand telling them to do them a teeny little favor, would they?
And then, suddenly, it dawns on Eugene that there may be a way he hasn't thought of yet: "HELP! SOMEBODY HELP! I'M DROWNING DOWN HERE!"
Eugene yells and yells. Echoes reverberate throughout the underground cistern. Eventually, his throat hoarse, he is forced to pause for breath and to allow his battered and somewhat lacerated vocal chords some time to recover. His clothes are still soaked, and he begins to shiver a bit in the cold - the first signs of much worse to come. Maybe.
In the silence that follows his last call for help, Eugene hears another sound - the sound of footfalls on a metal grating. In overall tone they sound about right to be a human being. The tempo, however, is quite different. Instead of the steady CLANG-CLANG-CLANG of human footfalls, these are more like CLANG - pause - CLANG - pause - CLANGCLANGCLANGCLANGCLANG - pause - CLANGCLANG - pause - CLANG clang CLANG.
Someone - or something - is moving about somewhere nearby, but out of Eugene's line of sight.
Eugene moves closer to the sounds.
It is difficult to locate the exact location of the sounds, since they echo throughout the area. Eugene launches himself back into the water and paddles in what he thinks is the right direction for a moment, but now there is only silence - the footfalls have ceased.
After paddling about for a few moments in the cold, cold water, noticing that his teeth are starting to chatter a bit, and wondering what in the hell made that noise, Eugene begins to swim back towards the pipes to which he had been forlornly clinging. It is then that he catches a whiff of a smell previously unknown in this dark and watery hell - cigarette smoke.
Glancing up is enough to give him a bit of a start, for on the grillwork above is a man. And not just a man, but a most peculiar man indeed. He is thin to the point of emaciation; bundled in a long hide duster, black jeans, motorcycle boots, and a scarf reminiscent of Dr Who (but not so clean). He is kneeling on the grillwork above Eugene, his face inches from the metal, staring down through tremendously thick lenses that magnify the size of his eyes to the point that they seem to occupy half of his face. A thin cigarette dangles from his lips, and the intensity of his stare somehow makes Eugene wonder if he might be on some sort of microscope slide. His hands, Eugene notices, are gripping the grillwork so tightly that the knuckles are white (though the fingernails remain dirty).
Eugene would swear he wasn't there a moment ago.
"H-h-h-h-help." Eugene mentally curses at the thinness and weakness of his voice, but after his harrowing experiences, he finds he has nothing even remotely witty to say. "C-c-c-c-cold an-an-and t-t-t-tired. Help."
The goggle eyed freak stares down at him for a moment.
"What," he says after a moment, his voice trembling with barely contained rage, "are you doing in the water reclamation system?"
Before Eugene can answer, he begins shaking the grillwork with his skinny arms, and screaming at the top of his lungs.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THE WATER RECLAMATION SYSTEM? YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE IN THE WATER RECLAMATION SYSTEM! YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN THE WATER RECLAMATION SYSTEM!"
He leaps to his feet and begins jumping up and down on the grillwork, as though trying to smash it in so that he can get to Eugene, though in his current state of mind his motives are obviously not benign.
"BURGER ARE NOT ALLOWED IN THE WATER RECLAMATION SYSTEM!! THIS IS A RESTRICTED AREA!! CAN'T YOU READ THE SIGNS? NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO BE IN THE WATER RECLAMATION SYSTEM!!!"
His hysteria reaches a climax as he begins clutching at his hair and shrieking. The cigarette flies from his mouth and rolls unerringly through one of the holes in the grillwork, falling to land with a muffled sizzle near Eugene's head. The loss seems to freeze the odd man in place for he stops dead and peers down at Eugene for one beat before flinging himself flat on the grillwork and pressing his face into it.
"Get out!" he hisses. "Get out at once! Get out or so help me I will call Terminal Security and have you dragged out!"
In some small, pea-sized section of his brain, Eugene realizes that this is a very comical situation. If this were a movie, or a book, he'd recognize the delicious satire of bureaucracy and the obsessive-compulsiveness endemic to it and have a good laugh at it's expense.
However, every other portion of his brain is cold, hungry, uncomfortable, damp, and pissed off. This section, by majority fiat, dictates his next response.
"HEY ASSHOLE!!! LET'S PRETEND FOR A MOMENT THAT I DIDN'T WANT TO END UP DOWN IN YOUR FUCKING SWIMMING POOL. THAT IT WAS SOME SADISTIC C&I CUNT WITH A CHIP IN HER HEAD WHO DUMPED ME IN HERE! WHY? I DON'T KNOW, MAYBE SHE DIDN'T LIKE MY LOOKS AFTER SHE MADE ME TAKE ALL MY CLOTHES OFF! FURTHERMORE, LET'S PRETEND THAT ALL MY LUGGAGE, MY PASSPORT, MY LIFE SAVINGS, AND MY GOODWILL TOWARD MY FELLOW MEN IS SUBMERGED AT THE BOOTOM OF THIS FUCKING TANK. LET'S ALSO PRETEND, JUST HUMOR ME NOW, THAT I'M COLD, STARVING, MISERABLE, HATING THE WORLD, AND THAT BY GOD, IF SOMEONE DOESN'T GET A FUCKING CLUE AND HELP ME OUT OF THIS PISSHOLE THAT I DIDN'T WANT TO BE IN IN THE FIRST PLACE, I'M GOING TO END MY LIFE CHOKING ON SOMEONE'S ARTERIAL SPRAY!! YOU WANT TO PISS AND MOAN AT SOMEONE FOR ME BEING IN HERE? SENECA LI IS HER NAME, AND WHEN YOU'RE DONE WITH HER, *I* WANT A CRACK AT HER, FUCKING BITCH!!! (*gasp, pant, pant*) I' VE WANTED TO GET OUT OF THIS PLACE FOR A WEEK NOW, SO JUS GET ME THE HELL OUT OF THIS WATER, GET ME TO A PHONE WHERE I CAN GET MY TRAVELER'S CHECKS REIMBURSED, AND GET ME A CAB OUT OF HERE, OR SO HELP ME GOD, I WILL FIND OUT WHERE ALL OF YOU LIVE, AND I WILL NAPALM YOU IN YOUR SLEEP, EVEN IF I HAVE TO DO IT FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE! THANK YOU, AND I LOVE THE FUCKING HOSPITALITY YOU SHOW TO TOURISTS!"
Eugene calms down, and in a quieter voice, "Who the hell in their right minds would think I'd want to go swimming here? Never mind, I just answered my own question..."
The goggle-eyed scarecrow stops dead in his tracks to listen to Eugene's rant (which, incidentally, actually helps to warm him up a bit, though it doesn't change the temperature of the water one iota.). When Eugene finally winds down he stands there for a moment longer, staring down through the grate. Then, in a whir of jerky motion, somewhat like a mannequin come to life, he leaps up and dashes off - CLANGCLANGCLANGCLANGCLANGCLANGclangclangclangclangclang... clang... clang....
Eugene spends the next five minutes cursing and wishing the man dead
as the warmth of his invective slowly drains away. He is just starting
to feel the numbness creeping into his bones when he hears footsteps on
the grillwork again: clangclangclangclang - clangclangclangclang-
CLANGCLANGCLANGCLANG. As the foorsteps grow louder he can also make
out a rumbling metallic sound like a hand truck or a dolly. Finally,
as the footsteps continue to near, he can hear the sound of multiple respirators,
sounding for all the world like Darth Vader in quadraphonic.
The group with the HAZMAT suits spend a moment fiddling with the tank, then light up what appears to be some kind of cutting torch. Two of them go to work cutting through the grillework while the other two start speaking in low tones in some language Eugene doesn't recognize. The two security guard types just stand off to one side and watch.
Eugene starts sobbing with relief. "Oh, thank God... you guys have no idea... I've been in this airport for a week.... just wanted to start a new life in a new country... I've been through every hell this place can throw at me... luggage lost, then found, then dunked at the bottom of the this tank... I didn't want to be down here, I swear... I just want to see daylight again... I don't want to be here forever...." At this point, his sobbing overcomes his intelligibility, and he lets go. This has been too much for any fourteen-year-old kid, no matter how bright, no matter how independent, to endure without breaking down.
One of the security guards lets out a snort of unpleasant laughter. "We'll see how much you like it when we get you out of there kid," he says. "Mr. D'Aubainne didn't much care for you giving him shit." He pulls out a large baton and slaps it against one leather gloved palm for emphasis.
"Shut up Guinaldo," says his partner - her voice tells Eugene that she is a woman, though from this angle and in that uniform and gear its hard to tell. "He's just shitting you kid."
"I bet he has a little 9 millimeter asshole," says the first security guard, smirking. He holds out the baton for Eugene to see. "After I'm done with him his asshole will be .50 caliber for sure."
"Jesus," says the second guard, "you are sick. Lay off the kid, will ya?"
"Don't worry kid," says the first. "I'll be nice. I'll put some gun oil on it first."
"Guinaldo," says the second, "How the hell do you think we're going to get him out of there if you keep telling him shit like that?"
"Hey," replies Guinaldo, "Either he comes out and takes it like a man, or he stays down there 'til he freezes and we pull him out with a hook. No big deal to me either way. All Mr. D'Aubainne said was to get him out. He didn't specify what sort of condition he had to be in. I'm letting him off easy - hell, the little faggot might even enjoy it. Hey kid! You a little faggot, huh?"
"Guinaldo," says the second guard slowly and clearly. "Shut. The. Fuck. UP!"
Guinaldo just leers down and continues to tap the baton against his palm. The folks in the HAZMAT outfits are about halfway through the grillwork.
Eugene sighs. He's cold, tired, hungry, and weary. He's been through more in a week than that pencil-dick rent-a-cop's probably seen his entire life. He just wants out: out of the tank, out of the building, and maybe even off of this floating looney-bin of an island. His inner demon tries to goad him into responding to the one called Guinaldo, but even it appears to have lost heart for the struggle. He swims, and holds his tongue... for now.
Eugene determines to maintain his silence during the guards exchange, and Guinaldo lapses into silence once more, though he continues to thump his baton against the palm of his hand.
After a couple of minutes, the work crew manages to cut through the grillwork and lifts a section out.
"Mind the sides," says one in Eugene's direction, "The metal's hot."
"All right kid," says the female security guard, "haul your ass out of there - we haven't got all day."
"O-k-k-k-ay, s-s-stand back a b-bit. I'm just going to splash a bit of water around the sides to cool the metal down." Eugene splashes some water around the sides of the opening, trying to be very careful and not splash anyone. After he sees any steam evaporate, he attempts to climb out.
Since the grillework is fairly high above the surface of the water, Eugene has to make several attempts to lunge upwards before finally securing a grip. He is absurdly reminded of some of the more ridiculous exercises that he had to do in school as he attempts to haul himself, waterlogged and dripping, up out of the water, but he eventually manages to pull it off.
Once he is on firm ground at last, one of the workers in the HAZMAT outfits runs some sort of hand held scanner over him and pronounces to the two security guards, "OK, he's clean."
"All right kid, bend over and grab your ankles," says Guinaldo.
The other cop sighs. "OK kid", she says, "turn around and lace your fingers behind your head. And step away from that hole while you're at it."
Eugene turns around and laces his hands behind his head. He steps away from the hole, trying to keep an eye on Guinaldo. He puts his hands on his head and turns around - sorta. He keeps his head twisted over one shoulder to keep an eye on Guinaldo.
The female guard's voice becomes all business. "I said 'TURN AROUND'! Now DO IT!" Her voice cracks with authority, and she punctuates the final statement by working the slide on the submachinegun.
The HAZMAT cleanup team scatters like a flock of disturbed pidgeons, trying to get out of the line of fire.
With his head pointing firmly forward and his neck muscles tensed almost to the snapping point, Eugene never sees the blow coming. The female officer bounces her baton smartly off the back of his skull, knocking him to the floor and momentarily dazing him. ("Ooooh! PRETTY STARS!")
"Good enough?" she asks her companion as Eugene clutches his head and moans - feeling blood from a pressure cut begin to well up through his fingers.
"I suppose if you want to coddle him," mutters Guinaldo.
The pair reach down and grasp Eugene by his arms, hoisting him to his feet, and begin dragging him off.
"You may not believe this at the moment," Guinaldo says cheerily, "but you are one fucking lucky punk. You mouthed off to Jean-Christophe D'Aubainne - THE Jean-Christophe D'Aubainne - and still get to walk out of the Terminal in one piece. Sal, rub some of that blood on his shirt." The female guard obligingly does so, sending another wave of pain bouncing around the inside of Eugene's head in the process. Guinaldo chuckles. "Its a damned good thing for you that he was already so pissed off at finding you down there that he wasn't thinking too clear - shit, he was so mad you could almost see the steam coming out his ears! You're also lucky Judge Fang ordered that "Go easy on Burger" memo, otherwise we would have had no choice but to riddle you with bullets and sort the pieces out later." Guinaldo chuckles again. "MAN was D'Aubainne PISSED!"
Sal joins in, "Here's the story - we threatened you, then when we got you we beat the shit out of you, then we tossed you. Got it kid? That way if D'Aubainne ever wonders what happened to you then the maintenance workers can say we whacked you upside the head, and if he ever brings you in you can say that you got the shit beaten out of you and maybe he'll be satisfied. Chances are he won't remember you tomorrow anyway - but with the D'Aubainnes you don't TAKE chances, if you get my meaning."
About this time the pair drag Eugene up to an unmarked door. Eugene is, by this time, strong enough to move under his own power (barely). Guinaldo takes a moment to unlock the door and then the pair haul Eugene through and into a Men's Room. Dragging him out, they pull him into what looks like an ordinary airport concourse, complete with ticket counters, luggage carousels and - most important - glass doors through which can be seen the orange glow of either a sunrise or a sunset - one of the two.
The two guards fling him roughly to the floor.
"ALL RIGHT ASSHOLE!" yells Guinaldo. "YOU TRY SOMETHING LIKE THAT AGAIN AND SO HELP ME THERE WON'T BE ENOUGH PIECES OF YOU TO MAKE A DECENT HAPPY MEAL!"
"MOVE YOUR ASS PUNK!" yells Sal, "AND DON'T COME BACK!"
When (two minutes later) he convinces himself that he is outdoors, and not in The Hell of Flourescent Lighting and Inescapable Bureaucracy, that he checks his wallet to see how badly damaged his dollars are. If he remembers correctly, American currency is the standard here. He also checks the camera, and more importantly, makes certain the coupon for one night's sleep at E-Z Sleep and the address to his interview at the D'Aubainne University is legible enough.
His dollars are in perfect shape (albeit somewhat damp) and the camera is one of those water resistant ones (good up to 30 meters!). Both the coupon and the address for the interview are completely ruined, however.
"Ah, shit! Shit, shit, shit!!" *sigh* "Oh, well, I guess there's always panhandling or running confidence games..."
All these things satisfied, he goes to forage for food, preferably at the nearest convenient food stand -- only to notice with a certain sense of dread that all the food stands are back inside the Terminal. Just as he makes this rather horrifying discovery, he hears a honk from behind him. Turning, he notices that what appears to be an old Ford panel van of the type used to make deliveries, which has had the roof sheared off and had the shell of a Volkswagen beetle welded onto the top, has pulled up to the curb behind him. The doors swing open and a wizened old Chinese man looks out at Eugene, grinning.
"Hey Burger! You want ride outta here? Five dollars!" Eugene notes that several other travelers with luggage are already converging on the strange vehicle.
"YES! Yes I do!" Disregarding any sense of doom, pride, or other inconvenient emotions (oh, how far he has fallen!), he dives for the passenger side of the vehicle, running like a lunatic to beat any of the other would-be passengers.
Eugene manages to make it into the vehicle with no problem whatsoever, though it quickly fills with other passengers and their luggage. The driver looks back in Eugene's direction, rolls his eyes, and stands up. Pulling a first aid kit from under the driver's seat, he digs around inside and finds a wad of gauze and a foil packet of aspirin, then walks back and hands it to Eugene.
"Here," he says, "hold this to the back of your head until the bleeding stops. And take these - you'll have to swallow them dry, but they'll take some of the edge off." He chuckles as though he had just made a joke, collects his five dollars from Eugene and the other passengers, then heads back for the driver's seat.
"All right," he says as he starts the vehicle up, "Normally I go to Sunken Plaza first, but I have an errand to run in Flowers this evening, so we'll be stopping there first, then Justice, then Golden, then Sunken." He swings the vehicle out into traffic without waiting for a response.
Sitting next to Eugene is a black woman in her late thirties, rather plain looking in appearance, but dressed in a strikingly patterned embroidered african tribal garb. She brought twice as much luggage onto the jitney as anyone else (and sat next to Eugene primarily because he wasn't using his luggage space). She wears a Walkman on her head and has a dreamy, far away expression on her face as she listens to something Eugene can't hear. After a few moments she looks in his direction.
"Hello friend," she says in heavily accented English. "Have you heard the good tunes?"
"Huh? Uh, no, I haven't." Right now, in the back of Eugene's mind, Weird Al Yankovic's "Another One Rides the Bus" kicks in.
Now of course Eugene has heard of Karla Sommers - she's an internationally famous rock vocalist. Think of her as being something akin to Enya, though with a harder edge - sort of a cross between Enya and Pat Benetar, with the sound being 75% Benetar & 25% Enya, but the lyrics and overall message being about 90% Enya and 10% Benetar. Hearing her referred to as an Ascended Master, however, is something new.
The woman continues, "Her music is a powerful tool for goodness and the empowerment of the human spirit. To those who listen to her music - really listen - the path to Ascension can be opened." She pauses for a moment, apparently a bit surprised by her own words. "Oh, but listen to me! I'm preaching! How rude." She holds out a hand. "I'm Nontlupheko Nafuna." She pronounces it "non-tloo-PHEE-kona-FOO-na". "Are you a resident, or just visiting?"
Eugene holds out his hand, shakes hers, and smiles. "Well, I was planning on moving here permanently, but if my luck doesn't improve, I'll probably be just visiting."
"I've heard of Karla Sommers, but I haven't really heard her much, if you understand what I'm saying. It's sad, but music in the U.S., even though we have so much more oportunity to enjoy it than just about anyone else in the world, is really kinda bland. Everyone listens to the same old stuff until the 'Next Big Thing' comes out, then everyone listens only to that, then they get bored, and then they go back to listening to the stuff that they were before. The only time I ever heard any of Karla's songs was on the college radio station near my hometown. Even then, that was rare."
Eugene sighs. "That's why I wanted to move here. I stumbled across some information about this place on the Internet, about how even someone my age could be legally made an adult, and about how open-minded people are here." Eugene laughs suddenly. "All my life, I felt like a mutant because I couldn't relate to anyone at all, even my parents sometimes. But my first week in the Terminal, I felt like I was the only one from Planet Earth. It's quite a refreshing change of pace."
Nontlupheko chuckles at Eugene's comment regarding the Terminal. "It IS a rather unique experience. Is that how you got that bump on the back of your head?"
Eugene sighs. "I don't think there's enough time left in the world to describe what I went through. In short, I've gone almost five days without food, I went through a strip search, I got dunked into the water purification system, I got yelled at for swimming in the water purification system, when I was dunked in there by a C&I agent who I want to eviscerate later. My luggage all went into the water with me, so that I have no luggage or savings. And I got clouted by the guards and told to never come back. Hopefully, karma is generous, and the rest of my trip will be somewhat smoother." Eugene grins ruefully at this, as if even he doesn't believe it.
Nontlupheko reples, "Lets hope so," while rummaging around in her purse. She withdraws what appears to be some sort of granola bar and offers it to Eugene. "Its not much - I keep them to snack on - but it's all I have right at the moment."
Eugene's stomach reacts to the site of the granola bar in about the same way it normally reacts to a steak and potatoes.
Eugene politely takes the granola bar from Nontluphenko. "Thank you. Thank you very much." He then proceeds to eat it, savoring each bite because he secretly fears it may be his last.
"Anyway," he says after finishing the bar, "I think I've seen the worst of Al Amarja for a little bit. Now I've got to go to the university to see someone in the morning about a lab assistant position. Unfortunately, the directions were waterlogged, and I have no idea who to see or where to go. Plus, I've got to remember to cancel my traveler's checks and get new ones; I think there are people deperate enough to go swimming in the water tanks to collect them."
"Hey!" Eugene has an idea. He gingerly unfolds the wet directions given to him by the evil Seneca Li. "Excuse me, can you read this? It may be that I simply can't make out the directions here due to unfamiliarity with Al Amarja."
Nontluphenko examines the waterlogged piece of paper. After a moment she shakes her head. "I'm sorry, but no - I can't read it." she says. "But perhaps its for the best. I hear that lab work at D'Aubainne University has its own unique... risks." She pauses for a moment. "Who gave you the job tip?" she asks. "Someone you trust, I hope?"
"Well...actually, it was the same C&I worker who did a strip search on me, told me that the hell I'd undergone for the previous three days was all part of a test to see if I was Al Amarja material, and then proceeded to dunk me in the Water Reclamation System, which led to my being luggage-less and with a bruise on the back of my head, courtesy of the guards. Gee," Eugene says with obvious sarcasm, "do you think I should give her one more chance to do right by me?"
Nontluphenko looks at Eugene evenly.
"I don't know," she says after a moment. "The ability to forgive is a powerful force for life, healing, and building, just as bearing one's hatred and anger in the heart is a powerful force for violence, change, and destruction. Karla Sommers has written many songs about this dichotomy in the human heart and soul - it is one of the most basic driving forces in the human psyche. Only you can know in your heart if the benefits of cherishing your anger outweigh the cost of carrying such heavy emotional and psychic baggage around with you until it can be unleashed."
She looks away, out the window of the jitney. "I'm sorry - I'm preaching again. I'm not really one to give advice to others on these matters. Please forget I said anything." She falls silent, still staring out the window as if lost in thought.
After a while, the jitney reaches The Edge, winding its way through the narrow, perilous streets. The driver eventually announces "Flowers!" and the woman politely takes her leave. As Nontlupheko departs, Eugene turns to stare out the window and out across the area he will soon learn is the Plaza of Flowers. There seems to be quite a crowd out there at the moment - the area must be quite the night spot.
As he idly gazes about, wondering what the future will hold, his eyes come to rest on a group exiting what looks to be a bar down the street. His eyes pass over them until they smack into one individual with the visual equivalent of a car hitting a brick wall. Eugene's vision takes on a sudden, awful acuity - he seems able to pick out every detail of the repulsive creature as it steps into the street. A full 8' tall, with pallid skin showing only at its face and hands, a slightly triangular face with wide cheekbones and a weak chin, and it has thick lips and a too-wide mouth, its blue-irised eyes are large and watery (like those of a cow), and flank a large, beaklike nose. Its ears are oddly elongated, and its hair is coarse and wild. The hulking humanoid is dressed in a rather expensive suit at the moment, the various parts of which don't quite match. Rounding off the picture is what seems rather clearly to be a dead body, its head lolling at a horribly unnatural angle, draped over the creature's shoulder.
For a terrible, elongated instant, Eugene finds himself completely unable to tear his gaze away from this hideous apparition, but then his gaze is pulled to a beauriful rainbow form, fluttering in the air nearby. It is none other than his very own Chaos Butterfly, missing for so long! As Eugene watches, amazed, it settles on the head of a man standing next to the apparition.
"Hey..." Eugene says to himself, then, "Hey, hey hey hey hey hey
HEY!!!", as he sits upright, bolts out of the jitney, spins back, leaves
a few soggy dollars on the driver's seat, and spins around and shoots toward
his long lost Chaos Butterfly. He doesn't know or care how he looks
to anyone at the moment; that son of a bitch has his Butterfly!
To Be Continued...