After four years of digging they found me. The small room shook as the massive drill tapped gently at first, and then began searing through the final layer of rock covering the roof. The solitary lightbulb in the room flickered as it swayed.
A small mound of debris collected on the Persian rug that formed the centrepiece of the humble abode that I had called home for the past few months. It was by far the largest structure still standing beneath the tonnes and tonnes of silt and rock that now lay above; my previous homes in the past four years had ranged from small box-rooms to simple broom cupboards. Apart from the factory, that is. But I couldn’t sleep there. The hum of the Machine kept me awake.
Dust filled the room and a squeal, like that of an enormous dying mouse, caused me to momentarily look up from my work. The pieces of debris became larger, the lightbulb finally died with a crack, and I could feel, but not see, the drill as it finally penetrated the room. I lit a candle and tried not to fume. The drill had gone right down into the rug, twisting and tearing it into tatters. From above I could hear shouts; they must be right above me, I thought. They must have excavated an entire area and only used the drill on the last few metres. Maybe it wasn’t just me they were after? Maybe something larger was going on, and I was only a convenient bonus?
A machine whirred into action somewhere above my head and the drill began to withdraw; as it slipped away back through the roof in a rather cheeky fashion some form of light filled the space where it had stood, illuminating the many particles of dust. I held my handkerchief tighter to my nose and mouth and peered over my rounded shades to better see this admittedly rather novel spectacle. After four years of no company but the various mammals and lizards that occupied this wreckage of a landscape I was curious to recall what other humans looked like.
I gazed around at the room that constituted my home and mentally bade it farewell. After one last trip to the factory to retrieve the Machine, that would be it. I would have to start eating with a knife and fork again.
I was just taking a restorative nip of whisky when a familiar voice began echoing down through the gash in my celing.
“Brompton! Brompton!”
I tossed the flask back anyway, ignoring the voice. It’s pleas were joined by another, gruffer sounding voice, betraying a military bearing. Behind both of those I could hear the plaintive wail of what must have been the foreman of the site, begging everyone to get back, that it wasn’t safe. I knew my mother would not be having any of it.
Finally a rope appeared, and descending slowly and assuredly, clad in the black leather that was her traditional field dress, came my mother. She did not look best pleased. Above her, descending in a far more stilted fashion given his ungainly size, was a man in what seemed to be an American military uniform, although my general ignorance in such matters prevented me from guessing his rank. He had a large white moustache pasted across his mush, and I noted with some approval the feathering effect he had achieved on his barnet. He must use a good conditioner.
When this unlikely pair were both down, the army man barked something unintelligible back up the hole and the rope shook in acknowledgement. My mother had her arms crossed and her eyes were looking right through me. The army man dusted off his smart uniform and strode forward, hand extended.
“General Petri Dish, Mister Rhodes, US Military. You may not remember me, sir, but we’ve uh, met before…”
“I’m afraid you must have me mistaken for someone else, Mr Dish…sorry, General Dish. I’ve never been to the States.”
“Ah, no, I was in London at the time. We were discussing your work…”
“My work…”
My mind flew immediately to the Machine. Should I tell them? Maybe that’s why they’re here. After all, I suppose, in a way, the Machine could solve all their problems. But this General was a mystery; had I met him before? My memory of the time before I came here was rather fuzzy still; my brain had separated the two worlds, Above and Below, and it would now be my job to reintergrate them, force them to work together. That would be the final piece of the Machine.
I retrieved my tobacco pouch from the desk and began rolling a cigarette. As I put the rollie to my lips my mother put her oar in.
“So this is where you’ve been spending your time, is it?”
“I told you, I was going travelling…”
“For four years? Without calling? Writing?”
“I knew someone would come.”
“Mister, we’ve been worried sick!”
“Yeah alright…”
I lit the cigarette as petulantly as I could, given I was being berated by my mother in front of a General in the US Army, and decided to talk turkey instead.
“So, General, what is it I can do for you…?”
The General had made his way over to the desk and sat in my exceedingly comfy chair. He was looking over my papers, but all there was were various doodles and sketches of boobs and cocks that I had drawn absent mindedly, whilst thinking. He looked me over.
“You know, Mister Rhodes, I’m thinking you look exceptionally well for a man trapped beneath one of the worst mud-slides in the history of civlised man. In rude health, in fact.”
I suppose he was right, although for my part I was feeling rather ruffled. My suit was covered in dust, exacerbated by the drilling, and my pointed Chelsea boots were scuffed, probably beyond polish. I was about a day past needing a shave, and the back of my hair could definitely do with another trim to keep it neat. Also, I had neglected my exercise whilst underground, and my trousers were starting to fit a little too well for my liking; my own fault, I suppose, for eating so well.
“Well, you know, General. I came prepared. Besides, I find that working on something one loves often keeps a gentleman in shape.”
“Your work!” His face lit up suddenly, the moustache swinging up at the sides. “Of course, your work. And that’s why I’m here!”
My mother seemed perplexed.
“Work? What work, Brompton? You don’t bloody do anything!”
“It’s alright, mum, it’s just some stuff I do in my spare time. You know.”
I had a flash of memory suddenly, from before coming down Below. Images suddenly impacted against my retinas, flashbacks of some kind. It tripped me the fuck out, man, and I hoped they’d continue for a while. Mad shit.
I sat down and put my cigarette in the ash tray, rubbing the bridge of my nose as the sensation subsided. I glanced at the General.
“Oh, I remember! It was at that squat party, right?”
The General thought for a moment, then looked up.
“Yes! That’s it!”
“In the back room, yeah? With all the…”
“…Coke racked up on the table? And the girls with their…”
“…Tits out! Yes! Ah, it was wicked.”
“Hell yeah! I’d do that again!”
After a pause in which I felt we had bonded a little, we both looked sheepishly over at my mother, who was looking even less impressed. I mentally shrugged.
“Anyway, General, let’s get me out of this fucking shit-pit. I’m done here. I just need some time to collect some things and then I can be on my way. Then we can address whatever it is you want me to do for you.”
“Yes, Mister Rhodes. As I understand it, what you’ve been working on could quite possibly be the answer to all of our problems. Bang, like that, I think we could solve them.”
“The Eleusian Mysteries shall be yours, General.”
I reached over to the ashtray and pulled the half-smoked joint out of the mountain of ash that had collected. I lit it, took a deep few drags, holding them in for maximum lashedness, and passed it to the General who accepted it with glee. He was so happy, all of a sudden. Like everything was going to be alright. It was the least I could do, I suppose, to help him save the world.
“In fact, General, I think you should come with me to the factory when I retrieve my equipment. I want to show you something.”
“What is it?” Smoke billowed out of his flared nostrils.
“My work. The answer to your problems.”
His jaw hung slack and his eyes reddened even as they sank in pleasure.
“The Machine!”
End
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