Before taking another step, I stood there and listened. I wanted to know whether I was alone, or if the Flighters were up ahead, digging. I didn’t hear anything, other than the occasional crack or groan of the tunnel. I hoped that was because the Flighters had finished for the day, and it was “Heigh-ho” home from work. The alternative wasn’t a good one. If nobody was digging, it might mean that they had already found the flume. I didn’t even want to consider that possibility.
The tunnel was treacherous at best. Every few feet I saw something that was used to hastily shore it up. There were flimsy wooden beams and thick cement tubes. It was all pretty haphazard. I even saw a twisted chair straining to hold up an overhang of rock. It wasn’t exactly a professional job, but why should it be? Flighters didn’t know how to dig tunnels. Even if they did, they didn’t have adequate material to help them make it safe. The creaking and groaning made me think that this whole thing could collapse if I so much as farted.
It was eerie, because the walls weren’t all rock and dirt. All around me were layers of compressed, man- made objects that had been crushed by other structures that fell on top. I saw street signs, furniture, window frames, and street lights. There were plates and pots and utensils. I passed by tools and doorknobs and even the front bumper of a car. It was like a Rubic City sandwich. Everything was fused into the rock and sand, making it an archaeological trip through the city’s history. No need for those future archaeologists to do much digging. It was all right there and exposed.
I walked slowly, with the wooden pole out in front of me in case I didn’t see something in my way. The tunnel was low and narrow. It seemed like they didn’t want to dig out any more than they had to. Can’t say I blame them, since they only had their hands to dig with. For that reason I was surprised to see that, after walking a few hundred yards, the tunnel grew wide and high. Above me, running along the ceiling, were the jagged remains of two steel beams that ran parallel to each other. I didn’t understand what they could be, until I walked a few more feet and had to stop short. What I saw above me was impossible, yet it was there. It was the undercarriage of a subway car that was dangling down from the rock ceiling above. I counted twelve steel wheels in all. The parallel steel beams were train tracks. It looked as if they had tunneled beneath this train without realizing it was there. It must have been a mistake, because there were several rickety-looking vertical beams holding the car up. They looked like the wooden cross-ties from the tracks. I could hear the massive train squeak and groan, as if it wanted to break loose from the ceiling and come crashing down. I’m guessing that once they discovered the train, it would have been too much work to stop and dig around it, so they just kept on going. It was a dangerous decision. I hoped it was a bad one.
Beyond that point, the tunnel narrowed again. There were no lights in this section, so it was slow going. I got the feeling that I was nearing the end of the digging, because there was less shoring-up going on. I walked slowly, so as not to slam my face into anything.
That’s when I heard the sound. I can best describe it as “hollow.” It was a sound that felt familiar, though I couldn’t place it. Up until that point it had been deathly quiet, other than the creaks and cracks of settling rock. This sound was different. Was it the quig-bees massing for another attack? No. This was different. It was more like white noise. It was an odd sound to hear down there in that narrow labyrinth. I took a few more steps and saw a sharp turn to the right about thirty yards ahead. Light glowed from around the corner. Something was up there. I stopped and listened. Could the Flighters be around that corner, digging? No. There were no human sounds. No movement. Only that haunting, hollow sound…
That I now recognized. My gut twisted. I started to run. It didn’t matter that I could barely see where I was going. I had to know that I was wrong. I told myself it could be anything. It could have been another wide cavern. Or a subway station. Or anything other than the one thing I absolutely knew it would be. I reached the turn and stopped. If I was right, I had lost. I knew I was right. Turning the corner was only a formality. I stepped forward, turned, and saw exactly what I feared. The reason there were no Flighters digging was because their work was done. I was too late. Rising up before me was the tunnel to infinity.
They’d found the flume.
Veelox was back in play.
I took a few numb steps toward the tunnel. I wanted it to be a mistake. I wanted it to be some random, natural tunnel that just happened to exist beneath Rubic City. Yeah, right.
“You made it sooner than I expected, Pendragon,” came a voice from behind me.
I turned quickly to see someone step up behind me. It was Telleo. No, it was Nevva Winter in Telleo’s form. I guess it was a strange thing to think at that moment, but as we l stood there facing each other, I found myself wishing I had met the real Telleo. I bet we would have been friends. But that would never be. Telleo was dead. Nevva Winter wasn’t. She had followed me down into that tunnel to say the two words I least wanted to hear. Two simple words that made me want to scream. “He’s gone.”
JOURNAL #34
(CONTINUED)
IBARA
Iclutched the wooden pole and ran at Nevva. I was ready to kill her. I swear I was. Call it frustration. Call it rage. Call it the horror that comes from realizing I was less than worthless. Call it whatever you want, but in that moment I wanted to kill her. Nevva didn’t move. She stood there calmly, just as she did when dealing with the leaders of Blok on Quillan. Nothing bothered her, not even an enraged Traveler who had just been told that he was an imbecile. I wound up, ready to crush her.
I don’t know why I stopped. It was like an unseen hand was holding back the pole, preventing me from lashing out. There wasn’t any unseen hand, of course. I may have been out of control, but I’m not a killer. Still, I needed to vent my fury. I turned and flung the pole into the flume. It disappeared into the dark tunnel. I heard it clatter harmlessly on the rock floor.
“I’m sorry, Pendragon,” Nevva said. “You deserve better than this.”
“What the heck does that mean?” I snarled. “You mean well. You’re just…naive. I’m sorry for using your innocence against you.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You wanted what’s best for Ibara, and for all the territories. I know that. Saint Dane knows that. You just have no idea how wrong your way of thinking is.”
“Let me understand,” I said through gritted teeth. “You and your monster boss think I’m wrong for wanting the people of the territories to decide how they live their lives, and you prove it by twisting their worlds into nightmares and then saying it was their own fault for being weak? Is that how it works?”
“I prefer to say that we have proven beyond any doubt that when given the choice, the people of the territories will always take the easy, selfish road. They can be so much more, Pendragon. The heights they can reach are limitless, so long as they aren’t held back by the weak and foolish.”
“So what’s Saint Dane doing? Weeding out the weak, so the worthy can shine?”
Nevva smiled. “Something like that. Which are you, Pendragon? Weak or worthy?”
I was tired of the riddles. “You make this sound like it’s all been a contest between Saint Dane and me to prove who’s right.”
“That’s exactly what it was.” I shot Nevva a look. What did that mean? “And now it’s over,” she continued. “You ended it.”
“Did I? Looks to me like the flume is back open for business.”
Nevva strolled past me toward the flume. “That’s not what I meant. You didn’t end this by burying the flume. You ended it when you quit.”
“What?”
Nevva spun to me with fire in her eyes. “It was the last test, Pendragon. You failed. You gave up the fight. I know what’s in your heart. You buried the flume because you were done. You wanted to live a peaceful life on an island paradise, building huts and staring at the stars with Telleo. You…gave…up.”
My anger was building. Not because she was wrong. Because she was right.