Like Veins of Red Rubies (Most Precious Book 1) (6 page)

A faint wheeze came from the
tunnel. Ailey jumped to attention and ran right in. Later, he emerged with Mr.
Albertson in his arms.

Mr. Albertson was covered in
dirt. The entire right side of his chest caved inward and his legs curved
sideways. His eyes slowly opened and shut while his mouth twitched, releasing
the occasional moan. One of those moans managed to resemble, "Pill."

 "Don’t move, Mr.
Albertson," said Ailey. "We’ll carry you there." He heaved and
lifted the frail old man and dashed across the dirt lake and exited the cave.
The other council members followed as a wave of wails exploded from the crowd
outside.

Out in town square, Ailey was on his
knees, caressing Mr. Albertson. Buckner ran over with a pill and a cup of
water. Ailey forced the pill down Mr. Albertson’s throat and poured the water
after.

A loud snap and several smaller
ones came from within Mr. Albertson’s disfigured body. His distorted muscles
twisted and his bones morphed. He gasped, wheezed, and wailed in pain as his
bent body parts refitted themselves. He lay on the floor as his body stretched
normally. He gasped as he sat up and faced a quiet and visibly shocked crowd.

"Look what happened to
him," Victor said. "He almost died to one of those weapons."

"No, no," said Mr.
Albertson. He stood up and waved Victor down. "I’m fine."

"You are not fine. If these
dormant weapons alone could inflict such damage, imagine their potential in the
hands of an intelligent enemy."

"If they hurt us, then we
can simply have our pills," said Stanley.

"What if we aren’t able to?
What if our route to the pills is cut?
Scarier yet, what if
they kill us then and there?"

Many in the crowd covered their
ears and dispersed, while some concerned people remained and listened.

Mr. Roberts raised his hand.
"That is enough. If the council members are so fervent for a new vote,
then I will call one to order."

Victor, Ailey, and most of the
other council members grumbled in approval. Stanley, Mr. Roberts, Mr.
Albertson, and a few others looked on sadly.

Everyone returned their gear and
made their ways home. As Mr. Albertson went toward his domicile, he said to
Stanley, "I am sorry. I should have been careful."

"No, Mr. Albertson, you have
no fault here."

Mr. Albertson patted Stanley and
said, "It looks like you might have to visit the archives after all."

"Yes," said Stanley. He
reached into his pockets and his eyes lit up. "I just might have to."
He turned away from Mr. Albertson and rushed to the streets. He passed the
domiciles until he reached his home. Emily was waiting outside.

"Sweetie," she said.
"I didn’t get to see you this morning."

"Hello darling,"
Stanley said as he kissed her forehead. "I’m sorry. I was in a bit of a
rush." He passed Emily and went inside.

"Stanley, are you in a
hurry? What’s going on?"

Stanley grabbed his bag and went
over to the bed. He lifted his mattress and found the metal sticks and the
plastic tube.

"Stanley," Emily said
eyes wide and standing back. "What are those?"

Stanley stuffed the sticks and
tube into his bag.

"Stanley? Answer me."

He shuffled up and said,
"They’re tools, darling. They’re merely tools. I know they are." He
brought his ragged bag to his chest and stumbled out of his domicile.

Stanley took wide, uneven steps
through the streets past the domiciles. He patted his dirty clothes to
straighten them and ran his hand through his scruffy hair many times until it
became somewhat neat.

He reached town square. Only a
few people were still around, but they were returning home. The clock read ten.

Stanley walked to the vending
machines and set his bag on a railing.

Buckner was standing there,
having his pill.

"Hello Stanley," he said.
"Today was a hard day. What are you doing out and about?"

"I’m going to visit the
archives. I might just stay up all night," said Stanley. "And I'll
need energy to do that." He fumbled in his front pockets, but found they
were empty so he searched his back ones. He withdrew two coins and inserted
them into the machines and received two pills and two cups of water. He
swallowed the two pills and drank the water. He tried to grab his bag with his
other hand, but he missed the handle and knocked it off the edge. The bag fell
to the floor and its contents - the three metal sticks and the metal tube -
sprawled across the floor.

"Let me help you with
that," Buckner said. But when he saw what had fallen out of the bag, his
face darkened.

"No need for that," said
Stanley. He went down and scooped everything straight in. "But thank
you." He continued on his way as Buckner watched.

Stanley walked out of town square
and passed the rarely visited storage rooms. The maintenance system would
usually brush the dirt away, but a thin layer had settled there. The deeper he
walked, the thicker the dust was. He entered a dark corner, a place where the
light of the town did not reach. A faint red light flickered and Stanley walked
toward it. He stepped close to it and ran his fingers below it and pressed a
button. Two metal doors slid open and revealed a small room that was dimly lit
by an array of green and red buttons. The wall across had a giant black screen
that hung there in silence. Stanley stepped in and the doors slid back in
place.

Stanley edged forward and rested
his hands on the cold, metal control panel. There were numerous buttons, some
green, others red, a few of them flickering. In the middle was the largest of
them all--a red button with a circular logo engraved on it. It glowed from a
dark red to a light one and repeated. Stanley held his finger above it before
finally pressing it.

The screen above him lit up and
the new light blinded him. He brought his arm to his eyes and after a few
moments, he looked up.

The screen displayed a simple,
white interface that was divided into two sections - one labeled USERS and the
other ARCHIVES. Stanley pressed the button that was below USERS. A long list of
names appeared. At the top was J. Albertson.

Stanley chuckled. He then clicked
the button below ARCHIVES and a list of years appeared. They were highlighted
into different groups and classified by different eras. He read down the list,
which did not seem to end. A sigh escaped as he hung his head and glanced at
his feet. He turned to the side and saw a small metal chair. He went over to it
and brought it in front of the screen then sat on it. He looked up and clicked
on one of the more recent years and read.

Stanley remained in the archives,
in that flimsy uncomfortable chair for hours. The files presented decades of
history in minutes. It detailed the record of the great disaster, accompanied
by pictures of what it would have done to Earth. Scenes of scorched plains and
dark skies were prevalent. He read deeper into the history. There were accounts
of space travel and numerous wars – things that nobody ever spoke of or
probably knew about. Everything intrigued him, but he was there for something
else.

Stanley flipped through a few
centuries and reached the Mid Information Era. Something there stood out in
particular. It was a picture of a man who was using one of the metal sticks to
fit something in his mouth. The thing looked like a tree, but it was small, not
like the ones in the atrium. And he was using the three pointed metal stick to
pick it up. Beside it was a picture of a man with a pill in his hand. The
picture was labeled The Transition from Food to Pill.

Stanley scrolled a little more
down the history. He found a picture of a smiling woman with a needle in her arm,
the needle being pushed by a man using a plastic tube. The picture was labeled
'The End of Medicinal Injections'.

Stanley looked away from the
screen.

"They are tools," he
said. "They are."

He went even deeper into the
history, to the Late Industrial Era. A picture of a man, a woman, a little boy,
and girl appeared. They were lying on a red blanket, on a green meadow, under a
blue sky lit by a yellow light. 

Stanley's mouth opened.

A rush of air escaped through it.
Another came out, then a few more escaped, until words came with them.

"I
.."

Another rush.

"What…"

Another rush.

His mouth closed. Two long drops
of water ran down and fell into his lips, sealing them. He raised his hands,
covered his face, and rested his elbows on the control panel.

After a long while, he stood up.
He turned the screen off and walked to the doors. He turned and looked at the
room. Then he stepped out.

He walked through the dark
streets and reached town square. The clock read four.

Stanley made his way to the cave.
He walked across the mushy dirt, where the lake had once been. He stopped in
front of his tunnel and set his bag down. He equipped his gear and grasped the
drill. Then he started climbing.

It was undoubtedly difficult for one
man to do the job of two. Stanley’s arms had to be precise and stalwart to
operate the drill and his legs had to be even stronger to support him amidst
the falling dirt. But Stanley had accustomed himself to the task by keeping one
foot far apart on a ledge and using the other to kick the dirt down. Not all of
the dirt cleared, but most of it did which was enough room for him to step
over. This way, Stanley’s progress was efficient.

He had reached his twentieth
ledge when the dirt below him parted and slid down. That was when a light shone
through and Victor appeared.

"Stanley, you had all of us
worried," Victor said. Stanley lowered his drill. "What are you doing
here?"

"Must I explain?"
Stanley said.

"Why? Why are you digging
alone?"

"I visited the archives. I
saw pictures of the world above, these pictures I could have never imagined. An
overwhelming haste took me over."

"How long have you been
here?"

"Long
enough."

"You should stop."
Victor placed a hand on Stanley’s drill.

"Why should I?" Stanley
yanked his drill away.

"The council is holding a
vote. We cannot continue without you."

"Is it a vote to end the
dig?"

"Yes."

"Is it because of
yesterday's incidents? Have you wooed some of the members to your side?"

"I didn't woo them. They've
come to their right senses."

"Then there is no point in
me being there. We both know that the vote will be overruled immediately."

"I know I can never convince
you, but I must ask. Are these weapons not proof enough? Do they not seem wrong?
Why are they designed as such if not to harm?"

"They are tools," said
Stanley. "They are only tools, not weapons."

Victor grabbed a metal stick that
had three points and held it before Stanley. "How could this possibly be a
tool? Explain that to me."

"That? Well that was used to
eat."

Victor rapidly blinked.
"Listen," he said. "Come down and meet with the others. You can
explain this to everyone."

"Until I am fully exhausted
here, I will never go down."

"What has happened to
you?" Victor said.

The tunnel shook and rumbled as
dirt cracked and seeped down the tunnel.

Victor tightly clutched the
ledges and cowered. Stanley looked up and said, "It calls for us." He
raised his drill and continued.

"Do not be deceived,"
said Victor. "It's a threat!" He reached out and forced Stanley's
drill down. "We must warn the others of this."

Stanley coiled his drill away.
"Do you not wonder what that sound may be coming from? What if this rumble
may be the cause of other people?" He brought the drill before him and
continued.

"You are going to doom
us," Victor said. "When will it have been enough? When the blood of
our wives and children are spilled because of you? I will not allow it!"
Victor lunged forward and switched the drill off.

"No!" said Stanley. He
shot his fist toward Victor and knocked him back. "Get away from me! If
you cannot see this to the end, then I will do it myself." Stanley turned
and focused on drilling again.

"You will not drill out of
here," said Victor. He turned and slid down the tunnel.

Stanley continued drilling, this
time more empowered. His arm muscles pulsed and his legs stood boldly upon the
ledges. Every ledge up, he seemed to push the drill farther into the earth,
thus speeding his progress. This burst lasted for a good ten ledges until his
arms shook. They weakened and almost dropped under the weight of the drill. He
set it aside and fell to his chest and gasped. He lay there for a while, but
even his legs trembled. He quickly rolled over, brought the drill to his chest
then slid down.

He crashed down with a forceful
thud on his feet that incited a shock through his legs, up his spine, and to
his head. He clutched his head and massaged it, hoping to numb the pain. He
clawed at the feet of the tunnel, but he felt only air. He looked down and saw
that his bag was gone.

"Where," he started,
half gasping. Voices rang from the town, then settled then rose again. Stanley
balanced himself and ran to them.

The morning crowd had gathered
around Victor, who stood on a bench, holding the three metal sticks and plastic
tube in one hand raised above. Stanley’s torn open bag hung from his other.

"What are you doing?"
Stanley said.

"Exposing your
schemes," said Victor. He turned to the crowd. "These are the weapons
that this man has been hiding. My word is not the only one you can trust, but
also Buckner’s!"

"It is true," Buckner
said, pointing at Stanley. "That man was carrying them around last
night."

The crowd erupted in
unintelligible demands.

"Why were you keeping these
weapons?" most of the crowd said.

"They’re not weapons,"
said Stanley. "They are tools. Like the drills we’ve been using for so
long! They are tools! I’ve spent last night at the archives, looking through
our history, far back. I discovered that these were tools, once used to eat
food and administer medicine."

The crowd laughed.

"When would a man ever need
such a thing to eat?" said Victor. "Tell me. When would a man need
such a thing to take their medicine?"

The crowd mumbled in agreement.

"Have any of you visited the
archives?" said Stanley. "I’ve seen a list of the people who have.
Out of them, I only recognized Mr. Albertson."

"That man is a liar,"
said an old man from the crowd. "His claims are false. Ever since I was a
child, I have taken pills. My father and his father ate pills. Never did we
require such tools."

Mr. Roberts stepped forward and
raised his hands. "Refrain from making accusations. The council will hold
a meeting and discuss this matter."

"Before we do that, I
believe we should reveal the severity of Stanley’s actions, right here for all
to see," Victor said.

Ailey walked up and presented a
long box. Victor opened it and withdrew the long, red rusted stick with the
point on top. The crowd scowled and some recoiled away.

"It all started with
this," Victor said. "When Stanley was snooping around in those caves,
all alone, against our regulations. He found this weapon. Only when I took
notice and bombarded him with questions did he share his information.
Otherwise, he would have kept it, along with these other weapons."

"Now listen, Stanley isn’t
like that. He’s a good boy," Mr. Albertson said. "I’m sure he had
good intentions."

"Shouldn’t you be cautioned
the most out of all of us?" said Victor. "You’ve almost met death
yesterday. You’ve had one of these weapons fall on you. Are you not worried,
even a single bit?"

"What happened yesterday
happened yesterday," said Mr. Albertson. "Today, I am fine; all of us
are.
But what about tomorrow?
We began drilling to
find a better life above, where we belong. Are we not restricting ourselves by
remaining down here?"

Some council members stepped
behind Mr. Albertson and voiced their agreement.

Others stepped behind Victor and
voiced theirs.

It wasn’t long until their words brought
them closer together. For they got louder and harder to hear, they yelled them
into each other’s faces until they were required to make physical contact to
emphasize their points. And it wasn’t long until the crowd joined in.

Amidst the chaos, Stanley slipped
into the cave. He dashed across the dirt to the tunnel. He put only his helmet
on, grabbed the drill, and started climbing.

Stanley was quick to step between
the ledges. His legs jolted up as fast as his arms could provide the force. At
one point his hurried steps broke a ledge, but he shot his arm up and dug his
fingers deep into the dirt. Eventually, his head collided with the end. He
turned on his helmet light. He reached behind and fumbled to withdraw his
drill. He set it on his knee and grasped it, but something caught his eye. The
light from his helmet shot onto something red, something thin: a vein of
rubies.

Stanley’s mouth quivered.

"How far
I’ve come."
His expression darkened bitterly.
"How far I’ve
strayed."

"Ah!" Victor cried as
he thrust his stick. The pointed tip dug into Stanley’s leg. Victor pushed
deeper and twisted it.

Stanley’s body jolted and he
shrieked, "What are you doing?"

"Stopping
you!"
Victor dug the stick in even deeper.

Stanley kept his undamaged foot
on the ledge, but it faltered. He took his damaged one and kicked Victor’s
head, but in the process, tore a wider gash.

Victor recoiled from the pain and
fell back before tumbling down the tunnel. The stick released from Stanley’s
leg and fell as well.

His leg was torn open to the
bone. Stanley felt weaker every second as more blood poured out.

Stanley brought the drill before
him and started it. He pushed the drill farther up, as far as he could put it,
but he could not climb, only drag his limp body with his frail arms.

Stanley grunted and shook as he
kept his last, waning grasp on the drill. The rocks above him continued to
crack and slide, but too much dirt had amassed at his feet and he could no
longer drag himself up. He tossed the drill aside and fell on his chest. His
eyes tightened and slowly closed, but a few rocks fell, and a thin beam of
light shone directly on his face. He gasped and forced his hands above his head
and clawed for the light, until the last of his blood emptied and streamed down
the dirt, like veins of red rubies.

A white rabbit hopped along a
lush, green meadow. It stopped and nibbled on the dandelions that swayed with
the light breeze. Nearby, some dirt slid down and revealed a hole. The rabbit
went over and sniffed the hole and dug his nose inside. His investigation was
cut short when the ground rumbled. He poked his head up, looked around, and
hopped back to the meadow as a rusty old steam engine passed by.