Song of Sirens

Dear Planet Earth,

A familiar feeling swept over my deaf, dusty body after Private Karter blew open my cell door with a surprisingly effective hand grenade. I forced myself up and sauntered to my new gaping opportunity of freedom, ignoring the ringing song of sirens playing in my head. A blurry version of Karter grabbed my arm and guided me through the fresh rubble. Some other, logical mirror of myself must have been active, because I somehow remembered to grab my laptop, broken walkie talkie, and the book, A History of the Inheritors.

I regained my senses faster than I would have expected. My vision cleared and I was able to make out dozens of jail cells identical to my own — all lined up like in a mental asylum, all empty. I had no time to interpret what this meant. Even now, I have few logical explanations as to why I was the only one in that underground mole people prison.

When we got to the end of the hallway, I could make out some earthen stairs and my ears had healed to the point that I could hear Karter say, “Eddy? Ah . . . oo . . . ee? Ah . . .” He shook me by the shoulders.

“Are you ready?”

I took deep breaths, flexed my muscles. The light coming from the surface was so sweet it blinded me in a whole new way, yet I managed to retain focus.

“I think so.”

“Trust me,” Karter said with a trademark grin. “You aren’t.”

Liberation Day

Dear Planet Earth,

It’s been a seemingly unending series of ups and downs, battles that would determine the outcome of the entire world, and the ever-present threat of dying, unremembered and unmourned at any second. Yet this small, precious achievement is clear — we are free.

I awoke last week to the sound of distant explosions that became louder and louder with each successive blast. The ground shook and instantly made me think of earthquakes as I fell from my bed. I rubbed the newest bump on my head and corrected myself. Mortars.

I ran to the window of my cell door, desperate for any clue of what was going on. It was a long wait, repeatedly looking up and down the musty hallway populated only by rats and my own echoing pleas. An answer finally came half an hour later with the drumming of footsteps and someone shouting, “Hello? Anyone here?”

“Here!” I screamed. “I’m in here!”

I could feel tears and a smile starting to form; I tried my best to stop them in case this was all some cruel joke the mole people had orchestrated. The man came closer.

“Just you down here?”

“I think so,” I said, straining my neck to see who my savior was. “Karter?”

He looked starved and dirty. His hallowed cheeks and sunburned skin told me he had been put to work on the labor camp as I feared.

“Scotty-boy? Thought you were dead.”

I was about to ask him about Maria, and Rachel, and a hundred other people who I really didn’t want to know the fates of.

“No key, huh?” he said after quickly examining the door. He reached behind his back for something small. “My last one. Hope you’re worth it.”

He placed the unpinned grenade in front of the door and bounded away. I did the same.

POOOOM!

Then I lost my hearing.

Homos

Dear Planet Earth,

More noteworthy notes from the intriguing A History of the Inheritors:

“Homo soricomorpha and homo sapien evolved simultaneously and somewhat peacefully — at first. Their numerous shared characteristics are too dominant to ignore. They are nearly identical physically, both bipedal and with two upper appendages infinitely useful for their respective tools.

“However, the humans can easily be discerned by their comparatively colossal height. Though some fully-developed humans do resemble the Inheritors’ short stature, no significant studies have yet found a common link between these supposed ‘dwarves’ and homo soricomorpha. Humans also deviate in that they are virtually hairless. Both sexes grow ample hair on the tops of their heads, and some males do often sprout more on other parts of their bodies, yet they still contrast greatly with the superior Inheritors.

“Those who have had the opportunity to study both of these species up close generally agree that the most striking difference between them lies in the eyes. Humans are notorious for having a wide spectrum of pigments in their eyes due to the constant strain of adapting to both sunlight and natural darkness. This, in addition to their oftentimes darker skin, make them an odd sight next to the familiar whiteness of their evolutionary cousins. Interestingly, there are some cases of humans born with naturally light skin, hair, and eyes who display an extreme aversion to sunlight, though as with the ‘dwarves,’ it is unlikely that they share any ancestry with homo soricomorpha.”

No

Dear Planet Earth,

Something’s coming. Something big if Perry’s anxiety can be believed. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s just screwing with me though; he’s been playing psychological warfare since this father-son kidnapping adventure began, and the fact that he can read this blog means I’m literally an open book. Maybe not literally.

He came in and took his usual seat at my small table. He was breathing heavily and his eyes were as big as golf balls. I was about to offer him a drink  using my best Dr. No impression, which (I’m not ashamed to say) I’d been practicing for much of the day, but he beat me to the punch by asking if I’d been in contact with any of my military comrades.

I almost flat out told him no. Instead I asked what it mattered, would he really believe me either way. He didn’t seem to give that a lot of thought and just went into his other accusatory questions.

Did I know where my friends from LA were? Did I see who attacked the overturned truck outside the camp? Where exactly was the library we camped out at? I gave him some more contemplative non-answers, and he ignored every one of them.

We went on like this for about ten minutes until he finally looked me straight in the eyes and urged me not to try to leave. And then he left.

Ryan

Dear Planet Earth,

It was the first day in a while that Perry hasn’t come by to dispense fatherly advice or spread the Good Word about the mole people. He’s been trying to interpret passages for me from A History of the Inheritors, the ancient manifesto of our underground overlords. It’s all bullshit, and I’ve told him as much since he started his temptation to bring me to the dark side and join him so that we may rule the galaxy as father and son.

I did have another awkward conversation with my gruffy gaoler to make up for Perry’s absence. He dropped off my usual gruel at the usual time, and I asked him, “What’s your name?”

He looked through the window suspiciously.

“Why?”

“It seems important,” I said. “You feed me everyday, recharge my laptop, clean my bedpan. But I don’t even know what to call you.”

His gaze eased, perhaps understanding the bigger conflict on my mind.

“Ryan.”

I nodded.

“Well, nice to meet you, Ryan.”

I briefly considered offering him my hand. He was about to go, but I stopped him with another question.

“You have any kids, Ryan?”

“Look, pal, this ain’t the Marriott here. You’re not a guest and I’m not your friend. Any issues you got with The Big Guy are between you and him.”

He stormed off after that, leaving me with a half-full bedpan and dreams of a paternal relationship I never knew I wanted.

An Excerpt

Dear Planet Earth,

For your perusal, an excerpt from A History of the Inheritors:

“The upworlder year of 1629 was a turning point in the ever-shifting truce between the layers. The humans developed the steam turbine, a technology that had already been in widespread use by the Inheritors for centuries.

“It appeared the upworlders were creating new tools at a more rapid rate than first predicted, and the possibility of true coexistence among all of the planet’s sentients seemed likely at long last. There were serious discussions among The Wise Ones contemplating whether or not upworlders had achieved a level of communal intellect worthy of the Inheritors’ recognition.

“All dreams of such a symbiosis quickly crumbled as humanity entered its so-called ‘Industrial Revolution’ 100 years later. They brazenly ignored the ill-effects of overusing steam and coal power on the upper crust. The environmental damage from their hasty, unnecessary innovations were drastic enough to be observed by even the most naive human, yet their unfiltered greed and arrogance blinded them to the inescapable truth that they were destroying the Earth beyond repair.

“The Inheritors, by contrast, carefully measured the changing states of the crust and mantle, taking great care to maintain the most prime of conditions — and prepared for the day when they could finally liberate the planet from its most dangerous parasites.”

Perry

Dear Planet Earth,

“Perry.”

That’s how he greeted me the last time he came to my cell. He was all smiles as he sauntered in, sat at the table and crossed his legs.

“My name is Perry. I guess you could call me that if ‘Dad’ or ‘Father’ feels too weird. It would feel weird to me.”

I laid on my cot, doing my best to hide the old book he gave me, A History of the Inheritors, behind my head. I didn’t want him to know I was reading it, that I’ve been reading it nonstop since I got it in the vain hope of finding some worthwhile reason to abandon family, friends, and species.

I’m tempted to not write anything. He’s watching. He’s reading this blog right now and there’s nothing I can do to stop him from learning about me besides staring at a blank wall all day.

There’s no use in trying to hide anything now. So, if you are reading this, Perry — and I know you are — screw you. Screw you for walking out on your wife and child. Screw you for kidnapping me multiple times. Screw you for selling out humanity to the mole people.

“Is there something you wanna say, little guy?” he asked me last time. His smile was stone, unperturbed by even my most fiery glares.

“I’d hate to have been you in middle school, Perry Panus.”

He laughed — more than I’d like for him to have laughed. He stood up to go with a painful grunt and said, “Well, I guess things don’t get more real than that.”

Screw you.