In The Hole

Before long Ace reaches a turn in the square prism. The red haired man feels a shot of apprehension shoot through him at the sight of it. He wonders whether he really should continue to push forward. But after a short period of arguing with himself mentally, he concludes that he has no other option and so gingerly risks leaning forward just enough to peer around the bend of the three metre wide space, that he is sure is a tunnel.

He finds nothing, except the shaft of this new straight section of tunnel. Ace breathes a sigh of relief that vents much of the apprehension he had been feeling. It’s why he immediately steps forward into the mouth of this new tunnel section and then after a short few seconds of intently listening and hearing nothing, begins to put one foot in front of the other again.

Ace mulls over various thoughts as he pounds cautiously down the length of this equally dim but not quite as filth stricken passageway. Then he reaches another turn, this time a left. The last had been a right.

Ace doesn’t hesitate nearly as long this time. Instead, he simply accepts that he has noticed the change in direction and then begins to move forward once more. It’s a process he repeats several more times until after the seventh turn, the third right in all, he no longer feels an ounce of apprehension or concern at what possible terrors might await him. In fact, the thought that terrors might await him in these tunnels seem foolish to Ace now. That’s why he even chuckles to himself about such a notion and wonders why he even believed this place could be the cover for some terrible thing. He can’t say what that thing might have been because quite frankly he doesn’t have a clue and that only helps to continue to prolong his chuckling.

Something that does surprise Ace, however, is that these tunnels only seem to have one route. He would have expected them to fork and divide, but as yet they have done no such thing. It doesn’t worry him. He just marks it as odd.

Then with that thought confronted and settled, at least for the time being, Ace realises that he doesn’t know how he knows what he does. It seems a strange thing to consider, but still he can’t help stop himself from wondering how he knows what things are, such as that he is in a tunnel, that he has arms, hands, legs, a body, is wearing a boiler suit and so on. Yet, he has no clue of where he is, how he got here or that his name was Ace, until he saw it that is.

The red haired man has now decided that beyond a doubt his name is definitely Ace. No other name, or which a few have since come to him that he has considered, suit him at all. That’s why he’s thankful that the fog he’d been so hindered by when he first awoke seems to be all but gone. It’s a relief. Ace had been convinced at first that he would be stuck with the fog forever and he’d have been lying if he didn’t admit, to himself as no one else is around, that it had left a large mass of panic festering away somewhere deep in his gut.

With a near half dozen more twists and turns under his belt, Ace concludes that his knowledge means that he has a past, but that it is currently lost to him. The notion brings him equal amounts of satisfaction and concern, and for obvious reason. Especially, as Ace doesn’t remember a single thing about himself before he woke up.

Perhaps I have amnesia, the red haired man contemplates only to raise his head from the floor, that he hadn’t even realised he had turned his focus towards, to find that he is approaching what appears to be his first junction in these tunnels.

He keeps his pace steady as he studies what before long he is sure is a junction, four way in fact. When he reaches it he stops. Not out of fear, but because he feels a need to consider his next move. He has three options after all and while he has no bearing on how long he’s been down here, he certainly doesn’t want to choose a branch that might greatly extend his presence in these tunnels, or worse, forces him to double back. He can just imagine that one, if not several, of these passages may well lead him to a dead-end similar to the one he awoke in.

That’s why Ace turns his head left and right numerous times, considering his options. They aren’t really options however. His only real option is the avenue dead ahead of him, seeing as it offers something different to the others, a mass of bright and brilliant white light. For no other reason than the presence of the light Ace knows that it is the avenue he should take. Still, he feels he must consider the others. He doesn’t consider them long, or perhaps as well as he would like to believe. Instead, his mind is already made up as he has a hope that the white light is proof that the end of tunnel and the surface are near. Whatever that surface might be, as Ace doesn’t know what will greet him. However, his lack of knowledge and context do nothing to dissuade him from the pull he feels toward it. That’s why Ace, unsurprisingly, heads in that direction, ignoring the right and left forks. Both seem darker than the avenues he has already traversed, though whether that is a result of the bright light ahead of him affecting his perception and skewing his analysis, Ace will never know.

So as Ace presses forward down the avenue dead ahead of the passage he had wormed his way down, he concludes that his beliefs are about as sound as they can be.

However, before long Ace discovers that the passage does not lead to an exit. Instead, and much to his disappointment, the tunnel does simply come to a dead-end. Ace feels deflated to have been tempted by the promise of escape, which had been born from his own skewed hopes and assumptions. Ones that, he himself had provided backing and reasoning for and that is why his shoulder’s drop in defeat.

However, unlike that dead-end this one has more than a simple small dim yellow light and detritus. This tunnel instead has a brilliant white light which is serving as a marker to advertise that this is the end of the passage, in addition to a sign. The sign reads: Maintenance Office in clear clean white letters on an otherwise black background.

The red haired man is impressed to see that the light is shining off the glistening surface of the sign to ensure that it is entirely readable. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that Ace feels defeated and lost. He doesn’t see this as a discovery but a failure and so stands considering what his next move should be.

“Hey, you! What you doing down here?” A gruff male voice calls to Ace from somewhere nearby.

Ace can’t be sure but he thinks it is coming from behind him. It makes sense seeing as Ace is facing the dead-end and Maintenance Office sign that is riveted into the right hand wall. The walls are covered in dirt, yet somehow it is very different from the grimy sludge Ace had found himself surrounded by in his own dead-end tunnel. He wonders if there is a reason for that, but seeing as someone has called, perhaps to him, he decides to turn in the direction of where he believes the voice came from.

As soon as he turns he catches sight of a man dressed in, an almost identical to his own, grey boiler suit. The only difference is that this man’s isn’t tattered and filthy like his own. Ace had known all along that his boiler suit was filthy, but it is only now, at seeing another, that he realises just how tatty it is. Most of the edges are frayed and in several places there are gashes and grazes. They haven’t quite made it all the way through the material. Though, it is clear that they are the result of long term wear and abuse. Ace wonders how he has allowed himself to let his garments reach such a shambolic state. He has no answer as the man, who has a shaved head and small round eyes, was about to continue demanding to know who and why Ace is here. But having taken note of that fact that the red haired man before him is dressed in a near identical boiler suit he realises there is no need to. That is why instead the man says, “You’re one of us. Come on. Come in. Looks like you could do with taking a load off.”

As he speaks the bald headed man with a heavy set frame gestures with rapid movements of his fingers back and forth that Ace knows is a request for him to follow. However, Ace hesitates. He doesn’t know this man and while it doesn’t seem like he means him any harm, something tells Ace to hold.

Can I trust him? Is the principle thought that goes through Ace’s head as he stands there blinking slowly with consideration.

“Come on. It’s ok. I don’t bite. And you clearly need some R&R.” The bald heavy set man says again. His voice sounds less gruff and harsh as he delivers these words.

Ace can’t say whether it really is or whether he’s imagined it. But something about the man’s urges and the sincere look in his eyes tells Ace he can trust him. So the red haired man relents and quickly crosses the three metre wide tunnel to a single wide open doorway which the shaven headed man has disappeared through.

The doorway, which Ace hadn’t noticed the presence of previously, sits a half metre to the right of the Maintenance Office sign. Ace isn’t sure how he missed its presence, but quickly decides it isn’t important.

He crosses the threshold of the open doorway only to find himself in a small square room.  The contents of the room seem overwhelming for its size because of the presence of a desk in one corner, a square table with three battered looking simple wooden chairs and a bank of lockers on the opposite wall to the desk. Oddly enough the desk itself doesn’t appear to have a dedicated chair, but with the limited space perhaps that shouldn’t be surprising to Ace, though it is.

None of the furniture is in mint condition. It is clear that it’s old and been misused quite heavily over however long its life has been here.

Suddenly the shaven headed man, whose blue hard hat is sat on the edge of the desk in the corner, speaks again. “Name’s Carter Smith. Take a seat.”

Carter gestures to the nearest of the wooden chairs. Ace accepts the invitation with a simple curt nod but says nothing.

Ace is lost for words and so has simply just accepted the offer of a place to sit. As soon as he does so, his joints and muscles scream their thanks. Ace hadn’t realised how tired and desperate his body had been for a rest. Instead, he’d been too focused and determined to notice any signals they’d been sending his brain for a pause. He regrets having been so singular in his focus that he hadn’t taken note of such things.

“You new down here? Never seen you before.” Carter asks genuinely curious. It wouldn’t surprise him if this red haired man was new. There are a lot of new people coming down into the tunnels of the city for work all the time.

Ace feels waves of panic roll in moments before they break like mighty waves against the shore. He doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? He doesn’t know if he’s new down here. It would make sense if he is, but at no point since he’s awoken has he considered it.

Having waited about as long as Carter thinks it should have taken the man to answer, he then queries, “Are you mute?” It’s a simple question and one he finds himself asking more and more these days. It wouldn’t surprise Carter if the answer were yes. Not that it’s a problem personally if this red haired man is mute.

“I am not.” Ace confirms after a slight delay. The delay, unlike the last, is not caused by panic as it elicited no such feelings within him. Instead the delay had been the result of him considering the question. Apparently the fog isn’t quite as gone as I’d thought; Ace notes to himself while feeling disheartened to have to acknowledge such a thing.

“That helps. Not that it’s a problem. Cause it isn’t. Just it’s been happening a lot recently. Protectorate keeps sending mutes down here to work.” Carter feels the need to explain as he concludes that this guy is definitely new. If he weren’t then he wouldn’t now be staring blankly back at Carter like he is.

Carter decides to change subject, which is why he asks succinctly, “Is your name Ace by chance?”

It’s a pretty safe question for the heavy set man to have asked. Especially, when you consider that the red haired man has an oval shaped patch sown into the left breast of his boiler suit. The presence of the patch piques Carter’s curiosity. He didn’t think the Protectorate issued suits and uniforms for workers in the maintenance and service industries with names anymore. Still, if they had changed policy for what feels like the nine thousandth time, it wouldn’t surprise him.

“Yes, it is. And I’m pleased to meet you Carter.” Ace says in the moments after he’s taken a quick glance down at the patch on his chest that so proudly proclaims his name to anyone who might catch sight of it.

Carter smiles in reply. He had been worried that this guy was some kind of oddball seeing as he didn’t introduce himself when Carter had. Now that they’ve had their introduction, delayed or not, Carter can honestly say that his concerns have retreated. That’s why Carter remarks, “Ace suits you. Someone made a good choice with that name. But I’m guessing you got lost down here in these tunnels, didn’t you?”

Carter strokes at the stubble covering his chin as he speaks. It makes a rough rustling sound which the heavy set man is sure only he can hear. Even if he’s wrong, it doesn’t really matter. It’s a habit and one that no one has ever told him to stop doing because it irritates them. Then again Carter doesn’t see too many people while on shift, so it isn’t surprising.

Maintenance work in the tunnels under the city tends to be solitary and that is just how he likes it. Not because Carter has a dislike or loathing of people, but because he just likes to work under his own steam. The heavy set man hates nothing more than someone forever standing over his shoulder watching and waiting while he fixes and services whatever requires his attention.

“I did, yes.” Ace confirms with a half lie.

It really is only a half lie as he actually has been lost while wondering around down in these tunnels. Though, he has omitted the fact that he has no idea how he came to be down here, when or exactly where here is. Such things however, are not statements he wishes to divulge to Carter. In part because he doesn’t know what the bald headed man’s reaction will be. Likely, it would be incredulity followed by a raft of questions, none of which Ace would be able to provide answers to. That is why, at least for now, he will keep his lost memory entirely to himself.

“Hahaha, I knew it.” Carter says with a booming laugh that stops him saying anything else until it subsides slightly. Once it has Carter assures, “Don’t worry everyone gets lost down in these tunnels to begin with.”

Ace forces a smirk which Carter reads as Ace not quite believing the man’s words. That’s why Carter then offers, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, I assure you. Talk to anyone on the shift and they’ll say the same. If they don’t, they’re a liar.” Carter concludes before chuckling. He can think of a few that would insist they’ve never got lost and it’s possible Ace has come across them. If he has it would explain why he is so reticent to believe becoming lost in this rabbit warren of subterranean corridors is abnormal.

“Thanks Carter.” Ace says with a sheepish look that doesn’t match his genuine tone.

The red haired man doesn’t know what else he can say. Though, he knows offering his thanks is the right thing to do in response to the comfort the heavy set man has tried to provide. On anyone else it would probably work but not for Ace. All he can feel are what feels like an ocean of questions swirling frantically around in his head.

“Oh, I’m such a dumb. Where are my manners? I haven’t even offered you a drink. Would you like one?” Carter offers, while chastising himself for failing to be a decent host.

Ace simply nods seconds before Carter explodes into a flurry of motion at a recessed square on a section of otherwise blank wall.

The recessed square is a terminal and Carter is busy ordering drinks from it. The heavy set man doesn’t know what Ace likes but seeing as the Protectorate put limits on the options available to the maintenance workers, there isn’t much to choose from. Plus this particular terminal has an issue, in as far as; if a single beverage is ordered then the next has to be the same as well.

Carter has been after the parts necessary to fix it for months but has thus far been denied what he needs to achieve the goal. The Protectorate’s procurement department have deemed the repair a category L need. That means that it’ll probably never get done, as there are few things that come below a category L. It frustrates Carter, but the heavy set man isn’t about to let Ace glimpse that frustration. That wouldn’t be proper in Carter’s eyes, so he orders two waters as there is no way Carter is about to drink what these terminals attempt to pass off as coffee.

The thick black almost treacle like substance has a taste more akin to burnt motor oil than anything. That on its own should stop it from even being considered for consumption by a living being. That is why when the terminal spits, quite literally due to a faulty nozzle, the slightly murky but perfectly clean water into a couple of recyclable cups, Carter smiles.

Suppressing his normal irritation at having to reuse the same cups for a couple of days at a time, due to a lack of supply, the heavy set man turns back to Ace and the small square table with its chipped white paint. Ace hasn’t moved a muscle, but at the offering of the foam cup being handed to him he does as he accepts it. The foam cup is cream in colour and Ace responds with a nod of thanks. However, he doesn’t drink the cups contents. Instead he stares at it, like he expects it to leap out of the cup and attack him at any moment.

“Did you want something else?” Carter asks between large gulps from his own foam cup of murky water. It wouldn’t surprise Carter if Ace found the sight of the coloured water off putting. He’d felt the same back when he’d first started drinking it. But it’s a lot better than the coffee. How anyone drinks that stuff he’ll never know. However, there is a chance that Ace is one of those people. Carter hopes he isn’t. If the red haired man is then he will sink a little in Carter’s estimation. The heavy set man won’t hold it against Ace, but he will find it disappointing.

There are more than enough disappointments in this city, Carter thinks to himself and Ace being a Protectorate coffee drinker one be just another on a very long list. A list the heavy set man can’t really remember all the items of, except in instances where the Protectorate make his job more difficult that is.

Ace hadn’t noticed the terminal in the wall before Carter ventured over to it. He doesn’t know how he’d been so oblivious, but that thought disappeared at the moment Carter handed him the foam cup and the liquid inside. He thinks its water, though can’t be sure as at no point does he ever recall seeing anything this murky. In fact the sight of it concerns him, which is why he looks away from it only to be left watching as Carter gulps his own cup of, what Ace assumes is, the same liquid.

With Carter having drained the contents of the cup and then having placed it down near the centre of the square table, Ace feels he should at least try what’s been offered to him. If he doesn’t at least try it he’ll come across as him just being rude. Ace doesn’t want that, so without answering Carter’s question, which hasn’t even registered with him, he takes a sip of the water. To his surprise he thinks that it might be the best thing he has ever tasted and is somehow both familiar and new. He can’t say why, so quickly downs the contents of the cup.

Carter howls with laughter. The look on Ace’s face tells him that, despite the look of the water, the red haired man clearly likes it. And so he should as it is slightly flavoured water. Carter can’t remember what the flavouring is truth be told. But as yet, he has not been able to find anyone who is capable of spitting it out in disgust, unlike the terminals attempt at coffee.

“How long you been down here? Cause your suits vile.” Carter questions.

“I don’t know.” Ace answers honestly. He really has no idea of what else to say. Lying to Carter feels wrong on a number of different levels, but mainly because this man, who doesn’t know him from Adam, has treated him with kindness. He didn’t have to. He could, maybe, have just moved him along.

“Why does that not surprise me? Protectorate never properly advising and informing the newbie’s they assign down here. Huh.” Carter remarks frustrated.

His frustration isn’t with Ace however. Instead it’s with the Protectorate in general, though he isn’t at all surprised by Ace’s response. In fact, it’s an all too common answer that he and other maintenance veterans have heard, especially over the last couple years. That’s why Carter suddenly goes off on a rant.

“Protectorate always exploiting those they send down here, especially newbie’s like you Ace. It’s even worse when they send mutes down here without considering that none of us are able to sign.” Carter grumbles before a low rumble is released from between his slightly parted thin lips.

“The Protectorate knows full well that signing is a level three educational track, while maintenance workers are only permitted access to level two tracks. It can’t and wouldn’t have escaped notice. Nothing ever escapes the notice of the Protectorate. That means they are purposefully sending people down here knowing that we, the existing workforce, will have to sort out communication. That’s why we hand the mutes pens and pads so they can scrawl down whatever they need to relay. It’s not fair on us or them and all because some big wig hotshots think a problem can be solved by shoving excess workers that they don’t know what else to do with down here. Thoughtless bastards…” Carter spits finishing his rant now that he’s caught sight of the worried look on Ace’s face.

The heavy set man can’t say whether the fearful look is because of the contents of his rant or the criticism of the Protectorate. More than likely Carter knows it’s the latter, but down in the tunnels are some of the only places you can criticise the Protectorate without needing to fear repercussions. Ace will learn that in time, as Carter himself had. Though, back when Carter first ventured down into this network he’d had a mentor. At the time Carter had been sure Ron had been assigned. It was only much later that the heavy set man had learned how wrong he’d been.

Ron had taken it upon himself to teach and train Carter to be the best maintenance worker he could be. It was unusual even back in those days to still do it, but Ron had received the same treatment when he’d first ventured down into the tunnels, so felt it only right to pass his knowledge on. Carter had attempted to do the same over the years but some of the men and women he’d tried to aid had thrown it back in his face. The world under the continued grasp of the Protectorate had become more dog eat dog than ever. Not that Carter has any chance of changing that.

Still, perhaps he has become part of the problem. It wouldn’t surprise him if he did. It was to be expected when you often work eighteen hour shifts trying to keep all the machines, lines and pipes in working order with little more than what feels like some spit, tape and the knowledge you’ve accrued over decades. If only they gave us the parts we needed, we could fix this crapshoot up in a matter of months. Carter thinks as he exhales, ready to let his annoyance go, at least for the time being. It’ll return at some point, most likely during his next shift when something else breaks that he doesn’t have the parts to fix.

“Sorry for the rant Ace.” Carter says with a shrug of his shoulders. It wasn’t a professional thing for him to do, especially in front of a new tunnel rat. The name the maintenance workers gave themselves, which has since become an all but official term.

“You’ve clearly been down here longer than your allotted hours, so come on it’s time we go topside.” Carter remarks before adding, “I’ll show you the way back so you can get home, get out of those rags and got some shuteye.”

Ace is overjoyed to hear that Carter will show him how to get out of these tunnels. He can scarcely believe it as he rises out of the chair he’s been perched on. A wide smile sits plastered across the red haired man’s thin pale face.

Carter grabs a scruffy looking bag in preparation to depart. Carter too has served the length of his allotted shift plus a few extra hours. It’s something he does toward the end of most of his weeks. Just so the Protectorate are forced to pay him overtime. Some might think it petty, but it’s about the only act of defiance he can take against them without sanctions being levied his way.