one complete set of the meal hall’s furniture.
X
F rozen in place, Samuel and Penny stared dumbly as the furniture emerged from the depths of the floor, dripping with some unknown liquid. Their momentary hesitation, coupled with the weight of the whole apparatus, caused the panel to slip from their grasp. It slammed into the floor with a crash that resounded through the silent hall and shook the ground beneath their feet. They looked at each other and their eyes locked.
As one they crouched to the floor. Samuel pushed the broken latch back into the seam and raised the square just far enough to give their fingers purchase. Together they lifted the panel, not watching or speaking to one another yet perfectly aware of what the other was doing, trusting the other’s mind as much as they trusted their own. As the section rotated away from them, they struggled to lift it any farther from the end where they stood, so they stepped around the corners of the hole and continued to rotate the panel as they walked along the edge of the square toward the central axis. The section balanced in the middle, having been rotated ninety degrees from its initial position. One side of the panel was bare and on the opposite side was the furniture, a bolted-down circular table surrounded by a set of equally well-fastened chairs, all glistening wet in the midday sunlight. Half a meter below the floor the dark liquid splashed about softly.
For a moment Samuel forgot the whole purpose behind opening this door. That all the furniture in all the meal halls throughout the entire colony could be rotated into the floor, that someone or something had presumably done so, that below the surface in which he and the other colonists ate their meals three times each day there existed this veritable lake of unknown liquid—the whole thing was unbelievable. He tried to imagine how far this space must extend under the floor, what else might lie down there, what might lie beneath the floors of the other meal halls, the sleeping halls… And then, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, he stepped to the edge of the hole and began to lower himself inside. Penny gave a short shriek and grabbed at his hands as he hung from the edge of the hole.
“What are you doing?” she cried. But he had already dipped his legs into the cool liquid and was now dangling at arm’s length from the edge. He felt his toes scrape a surface at the bottom of the pool.
“It’s all right,” he told her, letting go of the floor. As he did so, the thrill of exploration was replaced by a millisecond of sheer terror. But then his feet landed safely on solid ground and the exhilaration returned.
“I can stand,” he said, chest-deep in the fluid. He stomped on the floor for good measure but the noise was muffled in the black depths.
Penny knelt at the hole and stared at him with pursed lips. Her hands gripped the edge of the opening, palms to the floor, fingers curled beneath it. The early afternoon sunlight streaming in through the windows of the hall threw an eerie glow into the underground chamber and reflected off the liquid and wet furniture that hung from the bottom of the floor, kaleidoscoping obliquely between this inky sea and low sky. In the half-darkness, the liquid seemed to flow on forever in all directions. The spectral tables and chairs cast long shadows through the weird orange-gray light and into the blackness, shadows that overlapped upon one another and shimmered with the slow undulation of the murky liquid, the empty sloshing sound only serving to reinforce the isolation of this place. The chamber had the look and sound of hollow death but the smell of freshness, of life. For the liquid was not purely water. It foamed slightly as Samuel moved, and when he put a finger to his mouth, he found it had a faintly bitter taste.
From up above the meal hall floor came a swift, dull thud. Penny glanced over her shoulder and when she turned back her face was
X
F rozen in place, Samuel and Penny stared dumbly as the furniture emerged from the depths of the floor, dripping with some unknown liquid. Their momentary hesitation, coupled with the weight of the whole apparatus, caused the panel to slip from their grasp. It slammed into the floor with a crash that resounded through the silent hall and shook the ground beneath their feet. They looked at each other and their eyes locked.
As one they crouched to the floor. Samuel pushed the broken latch back into the seam and raised the square just far enough to give their fingers purchase. Together they lifted the panel, not watching or speaking to one another yet perfectly aware of what the other was doing, trusting the other’s mind as much as they trusted their own. As the section rotated away from them, they struggled to lift it any farther from the end where they stood, so they stepped around the corners of the hole and continued to rotate the panel as they walked along the edge of the square toward the central axis. The section balanced in the middle, having been rotated ninety degrees from its initial position. One side of the panel was bare and on the opposite side was the furniture, a bolted-down circular table surrounded by a set of equally well-fastened chairs, all glistening wet in the midday sunlight. Half a meter below the floor the dark liquid splashed about softly.
For a moment Samuel forgot the whole purpose behind opening this door. That all the furniture in all the meal halls throughout the entire colony could be rotated into the floor, that someone or something had presumably done so, that below the surface in which he and the other colonists ate their meals three times each day there existed this veritable lake of unknown liquid—the whole thing was unbelievable. He tried to imagine how far this space must extend under the floor, what else might lie down there, what might lie beneath the floors of the other meal halls, the sleeping halls… And then, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, he stepped to the edge of the hole and began to lower himself inside. Penny gave a short shriek and grabbed at his hands as he hung from the edge of the hole.
“What are you doing?” she cried. But he had already dipped his legs into the cool liquid and was now dangling at arm’s length from the edge. He felt his toes scrape a surface at the bottom of the pool.
“It’s all right,” he told her, letting go of the floor. As he did so, the thrill of exploration was replaced by a millisecond of sheer terror. But then his feet landed safely on solid ground and the exhilaration returned.
“I can stand,” he said, chest-deep in the fluid. He stomped on the floor for good measure but the noise was muffled in the black depths.
Penny knelt at the hole and stared at him with pursed lips. Her hands gripped the edge of the opening, palms to the floor, fingers curled beneath it. The early afternoon sunlight streaming in through the windows of the hall threw an eerie glow into the underground chamber and reflected off the liquid and wet furniture that hung from the bottom of the floor, kaleidoscoping obliquely between this inky sea and low sky. In the half-darkness, the liquid seemed to flow on forever in all directions. The spectral tables and chairs cast long shadows through the weird orange-gray light and into the blackness, shadows that overlapped upon one another and shimmered with the slow undulation of the murky liquid, the empty sloshing sound only serving to reinforce the isolation of this place. The chamber had the look and sound of hollow death but the smell of freshness, of life. For the liquid was not purely water. It foamed slightly as Samuel moved, and when he put a finger to his mouth, he found it had a faintly bitter taste.
From up above the meal hall floor came a swift, dull thud. Penny glanced over her shoulder and when she turned back her face was
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