Fly On The Wall: Fairy Tales From A Misanthropic Universe, Vol. I (14 page)

The décor
here is always so alien, it feels drab and muted. A décor more
familiar to both Benjamin and Hugo than I.
Decked out in surface style garb the room
resembles the ceiling rocks in feel, abundantly dull.
I've never liked this room. It's tasteless.
Then again for some strange reason, the feeble minded surface
leaders are more at ease with décor more similar to their own than
ours. Such a shame too, I could do such nice things with this
room.

A small
glowing hologram hovers over her desk, contained in a prism prison.
A metal table, a shiny round behemoth, occupies the center of the
room. No seats had ever been situated around that
table.
Maebë approaches the
hologram on her desk and reaches out to touch it. Her motion halts,
her fingers are a mere sparrow's breath away from the hologram's
transparent prison.
Food. Should
I call? Will they mind me eating in front of them? I mean...of
course some would, but then equally there isn't much they can do.
Fuck them, I'll each anyway, it's too fresh.
Maebë brushes the prism's facets gently. The
outer edges of the hologram are cast across the chamber, in a
violent light burst. Ghostly images of seats spring up from thin
air and await imagined cargo. They announce that her contraption is
on. Now she just has to wait. The leaders never take too long, but
even so they'll need some time, they too have obligations. Maebë
waltzes back to the oak door and opens it. She lets out a long
note, a requisition for her most beloved delicacy. As before when
she had been with Benjamin and Hugo, servants rush to fill her
every need and want. She thanks her half height helpers as they
rush a platter to the table.

Maebë's sharp
teeth dig into the shiny, dark, well smokes fresh Squal. Smoked
Squal always makes her nostalgic, her mother and father had shown
her its delights many years ago. She misses them dearly. As often
is the case when she waits for the surface leaders. Tears for her
vision as she remembers when her mother and father had refused the
humans their banal demands for knowledge. That was when the
uprising had started. She remembers it to this day. She had been a
child at the time, but she had still known it was a bad idea to
treat the humans as equals, for they were not. She'd been right.
She could almost see it all again in front of her eyes. The deluge
of armed limbs flung towards her and her kind. True enough her kind
were stronger in both mind and body, but there was some power in
numbers, and there the apes certainly had them beat. Maebë cringes,
the memories are still too vivid, she still sees in her mind the
finals breaths taken by those she loved the most as they were
buried under a mound of warring, writhing flesh. That was the day
that her parents had died, and she had succeeded, it was that day
that she decided that her people would stay hidden forevermore, far
beneath the hostile and volatile surface. This was there was true
diplomacy, and that young race above them could have time to
further itself, and cool off, with guidance and supervision of
course. Maybe then they could be friends, perhaps even equals, but
not now, they still fear her kind. Any surface foray, even the
slightest, is still fraught with peril.

Maebë hears
the sound of doors locking, it came from the prism. Her own are now
sealed, so it has to be one of the surface leaders. Maebë regains
her composure somewhat and slows her ravenous chomping. She shifts
around in her seat, making herself comfortable. She eats her Squal
slower now, scarfing it down is not too ladylike, and always does
perturb the leaders so.

The Western
leader comes first, he always does, unfortunately. He is Maebë's
least favorite, a fat, rude man whose abrasive demeanor and fiery
hair made it seem as through a failed bird of paradise had decided
to roost upon his head and never go.
Perhaps that explains his rudeness.
He always expects something for nothing. What
a joke of a man.
Maebë is
particularly concerned about his record, he intervenes in every
surface conflict he can. He simply enjoys sticking his business
deep into other people's dirty laundry, whether hung out to dry or
still firmly hid in hampers. Maebë hates him, but she knows that
there is little she can do – his manipulative manner meant that she
could always rely on him as a voice of support in the culls, all
for a few measly diamonds in trade, he always was so easily
swayed.
Pathetic. Now that ain't
workin'.
She thinks to herself as
a translucent vision of him opaques and stabilizes.

Next comes
the Eastern leader. A kindly looking woman with a joyous smile, and
impeccable dress sense. Each time she appears she does so in
striking new outfits, each one more fantastic than the last, though
none nearly as fantastic as
Maebë's. The Eastern leader's people love her dearly, but
Maebë does not. The Eastern leader thrives upon respect, upon
honor, but despite all that she could be very bellicose. She was
always ready to jump at any new opportunity to conquer, and when
there was nothing left to conquer she made new land herself so that
there would be. Worst of all was her hostile reputation when it
came to matters of the heart. When unions were not to her liking
when subjects trespassed against her hill, she sent them all to her
lab, to be parted out, their organs distributed to the needy. She
was obsessive too – and proud. Maebë recalls when the Eastern
leader had been a young woman and had somehow stolen some of their
knowledge. Maebë had tried to tell her that the humans were not yet
ready, that it was too perilous, but the Eastern leader was
headstrong; she didn't listen; millions perished for her arrogance.
Maebë sneers. The Eastern leader is despicable, but Maebë stays
silent and buries her resentment deep. Continued impartiality is
imperative to their peaceful coexistence.

Soon the
Southern leader appears as well. He is the youngest of the all, a
strange man with a whimsical haircut that bares his scalp on either
side and leaves only a tuft on top. The southern leader's beard
always entertains Maebë as none of her people grow hair in that
location. Maebë particularly like the small, dark, circular
welder's frames that always obscure his eyes. To her, they add a
veneer of mystery. Maebë even respects the southern leader. He is
wise enough and advanced enough to accept that first there must be
full freedom, and only from there can any other advancements be
made. He understands life and death, and he wields his power
correctly, for the benefit of his people. Maebë rolls her eyes, she
likes him but is is a pitiful creature all the same. Though his
soul is pure, his cowardice is equally well refined. He values his
principles and seeks to right all wrongs, but blinded to pragmatic
approaches, the Southern leader makes his will the whole of the
law. He is wise, and yet a moron too; no man's will ought to rule
all; when light goes into a prism its true nature is revealed,
countless saturated shadows, so too is one view but a part. Though
he wields the color of right he capitulates to warlords' severe
demands too readily. He hides to save his precious thoughts while
hundreds perish. If he were truly noble the anfechtung of life
would not deter him, he would die alongside them. Instead, he lives
and sends more men and women to die in the sun. Such a waste. His
principles were never enough.

The Northern
leader comes last, as usual. Her many coats take many minutes to
put on, and many more to remove. Maebë respects her and her people
for the amount of weight they bear upon their shoulders each day.
Her race can, of course, bear more, but the northerners still had
impressively broad backs. Broad and well muscled. The Northern
leader is a small stout woman. The many layers' great weight bears
down on her bones, compressing them, and stunting any growth. She
is strong, she never cuts Maebë any slack, and is always the one
who opposes her most in negotiations. She does so politely though,
and for that Maebë loves her. Maebë has great respect for all those
who dare to deny her wants.

Maebë eyes
the nervous leaders as she rises from her seat to greet them. They
ensure their privacy and begin their covert talks. Maebë explains
to them how two surface dwellers had made their way down. She rages
at the already shivering holograms.

“
I know y'all were busy,
but frankly I do not care. Did we not have an agreement? Did I not
make the consequences clear? I demanded to be briefed of explorers.
It is unacceptable at any time for us to receive unofficial
visitors, especially so near to the culls. We barely stopped them
before they breached the pens. I expect to be briefed far, and I
mean FAR,” she yells, slamming her fists on the metal table, “in
advance of such incursions. I know that ain't too much to ask. So I
ain't asking. Not near inspection time. Not near the culls. Not
near ever. Do y'all understand me? Now I don't mind handing on to
these two fellas, but on my terms, as I'm sure you'll understand.
Now, folks – when I say I don't mind, I mean they ain't comin'
back. Work out a story. Find the expedition and tell them it was
lost. Find a way.”

The human
holograms are livid, not only had one of their own species fallen
into the grasp of Maebë and her's, but they aren't coming back
either – a woeful fate indeed. The Northern leader stands and roars
“HOW? How can you sit there, and let IT say such things?” She
punctuates 'it' with a jab of her finger.

The southern
leader looks away sheepishly, he values his principles, so he obeys
Maebë's every instruction, he dares not acknowledge his
counterpart's chilly response. The well dressed Eastern leader,
meanwhile, clutches the table so tightly that her knuckles go
whiter than the purest milk.

“
Maybe,” says the Eastern
leader through gritted teeth.

The Northern
leader steps back, appalled, “What do you mean?! How can you say
maybe?”

The Western
leader sees the look in the Eastern leader's eyes. He nods,
acknowledging their silent plot. “Maybe,” he chimes”. The deflated
Northern leader just stands speechless. She knows better than to
rely on the Southern leader, but she thought that the others would
have some sense, some pride, some solidarity at the very least, but
alas they do not. “What do we get???” chorus the Eastern and
Western leaders, jockeying for positions like piglets to a sow's
teats.

Maebë smiles
at the Northern leader, intentionally irritating her. One eye turns
to the Eastern leader, and one to the Western leader. “How about.
Shugs. Y'all KEEP getting minerals and technology at the rate that
I chose and just do as I say instead?”

Suddenly
realizing their lack of bargaining power, the two leaders back off,
groveling and muttering.

“
YOU BASTARD COWARDS,”
yells the Northern leader. She bangs her fists on an invisible
table, making her hologram flicker off. Maebë always enjoys making
them storm off. Her eyes squint and her lips curl upwards into a
smirk. The Western leader meanwhile plots malice from beneath his
breath, and in one fell swoop, and with surprising speed for such a
girthly man, he jumps to his feel. His jowls and chins drop to
comment, but Maebë cuts him off before he can make a
sound.

“
Sit down fat man. I
suggest you do as I say before I introduce you to little boy, and
remember he's matured quite a lot.”

The Southern
leader shuts his eyes and brings his knees up to his chest. He
rocks back and forth pathetically, imagining himself off in a far
away universe. His breath's beat quickens, a snare drum of anxiety.
His eyes wander to where Maebë's half eaten smoked Squal lies.
Finally, he chimes in too: “We should do as Maebë says, she has
taught us, and led us well, and given us so much. Collateral damage
must be accepted.” The other leaders know he is right, and of
course, even if he isn't it isn't as though they have a choice.
They share a few more thoughts with Maebë and each informs her then
their next inspection team is due. Maebë doesn't like getting
involved in planning the details of stories and cover ups, she
things it best if she doesn't know until after. It is often said
that the sign of a good compromise is when all parties leave
unhappy. If that is true then this was an excellent compromise
indeed, for only Maebë remains content with the results. Maebë
sighs, she still fumes internally, but she figured that if nothing
else at least they understood the consequences better now, and
hopefully they would monitor their peoples more, as she had
suggested all along. Maebë knows now what she will do with the
sleeping pair. There can be only two option for Benjamin and Hugo,
and neither one of then involve a trip back to the
surface.

Hugo awakes
first, next to him Benjamin snored hard on a crystal pillow. Hugo
squints, trying to understand how it does not hurt Benjamin's head
to lay down on such a hard stone until he looks down and sees his
own. Hugo puts it all down to the strange magick of this forgotten
place. Maebë's sweet voice echoes through a nearby corridor, it
suffices to make Benjamin stir. Soon she appears by an
entrance.