ten. Sometimes openings did appear in the shaft wall, and shortly after vanish, of their own accord, leading out to nowhere, the nearest level a deadly drop far below.
Openings could be forced, too. Coerced, cut into the wall of the shaft itself.
Before long, he was adjacent to the stilled pod, out of breath and aching, but safe, intact, and filled now with terrible excitement. With one hand, he touched the warm, smooth skin of the device; the sensations were unsettling and heady.
Around him, the green light of downward motion was dimmed significantly; the area darkened. Letting himself conjure, for a second, a tantalizing lightshow of a thousand pods, of bustling stations he would never work at or even see in this life, Mereziah traced lines on the skin, formed by the rivets that bound the flesh of this device together, and felt the embossed remains of an undecipherable decal on the tarnished surface. He sighed.
The track, as he’d suspected, ended in an unopened bud near his feet. This probably meant that his station was not the intended destination. To send the mystery passenger farther down, Mereziah would need to uncouple the pod and swing it over to another track. Hooking his safety harness in the two lower rings so his hands might be freed, he glanced behind himself, as a formality, to see the position of other appropriate tracks; he knew this area by heart. Even though tracks changed, growing slowly of their own accord, he knew all their positions. Could Merezath say the same? How many attendants in the brotherhood could match his devotion?
One hand resting on the window ledge, he peered down, but could discern no detail below, only death, and death could hold no light. Thumbing the intercom button, he cleared his throat, slid the window panel aside, and said in his most professional tone, “Attendant here. Please state your purpose and — ”
Looking back through the tiny opening was the face of an insane man, a depraved man. Lost and destitute. Disappointment yawned inside Mereziah. This encounter was most likely his last ever, and he was about to direct a lunatic back to the level he had mindlessly wandered away from. This was not the first time Mereziah had opened a pod’s window to see a drooling idiot staring vacantly back at him, or a lost child, peering up in terror, but it was sure to be the last. Would have been nice, he thought, to go out of life on a note bearing somewhat more resonance than a dull thud.
He stared, unable to finish his opening line. The passenger was naked, filthy, his hair matted in clumps and hanging to his waist. Through these hanks of hair, tiny, dark eyes were visible, ready, it seemed, to pop out of their sockets.
Mereziah saw an image of his own reflection in the window. Could he blame the client for his fear? Once Mereziah had been proud of his skin tone, his blond hair, his full lips. None of these features were left to him now. He appeared, even to himself, a wrinkled parody of a man. A ghoul .
But duty was duty. He had sworn an oath to his father that he would always remain professional, in all cases. Never discriminate.
“You are in a single lift pod,” he said, and cleared his throat again. “Headed downward. The pod has reached an impasse. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
A long pause, but finally the man inside nodded.
“Good. Are you travelling to a specific destination or have you entered this device inadvertently?”
The man started to urinate where he stood.
“Cease that behavior immediately,” Mereziah said, but really though, what did he care if passengers pissed in the pods? He never intended to clean one again. “You might ruin the machinery under the floor. Or even get a shock yourself, should you piss on something live. I’m not qualified to repair the arcane systems of man.”
The passenger stopped peeing, shook his penis dry, and reached out his grubby, damp hand. Splayed fingertips touched the window from the inside, inches from
Openings could be forced, too. Coerced, cut into the wall of the shaft itself.
Before long, he was adjacent to the stilled pod, out of breath and aching, but safe, intact, and filled now with terrible excitement. With one hand, he touched the warm, smooth skin of the device; the sensations were unsettling and heady.
Around him, the green light of downward motion was dimmed significantly; the area darkened. Letting himself conjure, for a second, a tantalizing lightshow of a thousand pods, of bustling stations he would never work at or even see in this life, Mereziah traced lines on the skin, formed by the rivets that bound the flesh of this device together, and felt the embossed remains of an undecipherable decal on the tarnished surface. He sighed.
The track, as he’d suspected, ended in an unopened bud near his feet. This probably meant that his station was not the intended destination. To send the mystery passenger farther down, Mereziah would need to uncouple the pod and swing it over to another track. Hooking his safety harness in the two lower rings so his hands might be freed, he glanced behind himself, as a formality, to see the position of other appropriate tracks; he knew this area by heart. Even though tracks changed, growing slowly of their own accord, he knew all their positions. Could Merezath say the same? How many attendants in the brotherhood could match his devotion?
One hand resting on the window ledge, he peered down, but could discern no detail below, only death, and death could hold no light. Thumbing the intercom button, he cleared his throat, slid the window panel aside, and said in his most professional tone, “Attendant here. Please state your purpose and — ”
Looking back through the tiny opening was the face of an insane man, a depraved man. Lost and destitute. Disappointment yawned inside Mereziah. This encounter was most likely his last ever, and he was about to direct a lunatic back to the level he had mindlessly wandered away from. This was not the first time Mereziah had opened a pod’s window to see a drooling idiot staring vacantly back at him, or a lost child, peering up in terror, but it was sure to be the last. Would have been nice, he thought, to go out of life on a note bearing somewhat more resonance than a dull thud.
He stared, unable to finish his opening line. The passenger was naked, filthy, his hair matted in clumps and hanging to his waist. Through these hanks of hair, tiny, dark eyes were visible, ready, it seemed, to pop out of their sockets.
Mereziah saw an image of his own reflection in the window. Could he blame the client for his fear? Once Mereziah had been proud of his skin tone, his blond hair, his full lips. None of these features were left to him now. He appeared, even to himself, a wrinkled parody of a man. A ghoul .
But duty was duty. He had sworn an oath to his father that he would always remain professional, in all cases. Never discriminate.
“You are in a single lift pod,” he said, and cleared his throat again. “Headed downward. The pod has reached an impasse. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
A long pause, but finally the man inside nodded.
“Good. Are you travelling to a specific destination or have you entered this device inadvertently?”
The man started to urinate where he stood.
“Cease that behavior immediately,” Mereziah said, but really though, what did he care if passengers pissed in the pods? He never intended to clean one again. “You might ruin the machinery under the floor. Or even get a shock yourself, should you piss on something live. I’m not qualified to repair the arcane systems of man.”
The passenger stopped peeing, shook his penis dry, and reached out his grubby, damp hand. Splayed fingertips touched the window from the inside, inches from
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