Merely as a Means

Come on, you little bastards, find the damn cheese. 

Demir leans on the portable vox mounted to the industrial rolling cart. The machine is programmed to see through walls: thermal imaging and a processor all in one.

The screen on the vox scrambles. Demir smacks the metal side and the eight red dots reappear. All of them cluster at the top of the screen, near the red line that represents the far perimeter of the building. Only one has wandered to the near side. The dolt is on the other side of the wall just beyond the vox. They’ll move into the inner Labyrinth at some point. They always do. Most of the red dots need to get close enough to the center for anything to turn on.

Demir checks his watch. Twenty minutes. Normally that’s not bad, but today, Minister Farcus is in the command booth. His goddamn convoy of flagged motor wagons had shown up before the morning air-raid sirens shut off. “They mean to wipe us off the map,” were the first words out of the minister’s mouth. “Blind hatred. Tell me you have something, Demir.” 

And what does he have? They are still decades away from understanding the technology. The scrolls say the Labyrinth’s signal can reach over two thousand kilometers. Far enough to blunt the hatred of their enemies. But in all the years of the war, has any progress really been made? They could turn the damn thing on, he supposes. 

Demir rubs his temples and stares at the dots.

“Perhaps they need an incentive?” Minister Farcus says over the comms. The scratchy noise makes Demir flinch. He hesitates, then presses the button on his shoulder pad. 

“I assure you, this is normal, sir. We will give them a little more time before… incentives.”

Sweat beads on Demir’s brow, and he wipes it away. The main power couplings are over the roof, but even at the entrance of the Labyrinth, it’s humid. Beside him, Kaya mumbles a prayer of forgiveness, crossing her forehead with her quartz bracelet in the traditional Orthodox style.

“I told you to tell them it was a game,” Demir huffs.

“Bite me. You said to vary the intake instructions. It’s not my fault he showed up today.” She scowls at Demir. 

“I know, but you’re supposed to be able to read my mind,” he says with a small smile.

“Ha,” she scoffs. Then her eyes go wide. She points to the screen. “Look.” 

One dot from the cluster begins to move. It moves toward the center, and the others follow. Farther, deeper, closer to the center—the building comes alive. A small vibration, a hum. The air shifts, and a breeze breaks the stale humidity. 

The cluster of dots begins fading. One by one, they disappear from the screen. “Damn it.” Demir pounds his fist on the wall. 

“Wait,” Kaya says. One dot still remains, and closer…closer it draws toward the center. “How? The building is still awake.” She leans closer to the screen. Demir studies the walls beyond the vox. The vibration is getting stronger. One child? It took six the last time, and it didn’t last nearly this long. 

Then it happens. The dot reaches the center. The room around Demir transforms, light spilling out of the walls that morph into pale blue-green and look nearly fluid. Kaya stares, her mouth gaping. 

“We’re saved.” Demir feels tears brimming in his eyes. Shadows creep into the walls, which are no longer liquid, but…he can’t find words for it. 

“Do you see the trees?” Kaya asks, stepping closer, holding out a hand, her eyes fixed on something. Demir can’t make it out. It’s like the beginning of an image. It’s almost like waking, his eyes yet to adjust to awareness.

A snap. The hum dies. The walls fade to stone. The building stills, and the little red dot on the vox goes out. Kaya lowers her arm. Demir blinks, adjusting to the dim light. We can be saved. 

“Cut the power,” he yells into his comms. A clunk shakes the roof. Kaya snaps on her flashlight. The doorway behind them opens. Custodians in their white scrubs wheel in the carts. The mercy wands are tethered to the sides, clanking metal on metal. Father Verma is with them, a solemn man in his sixties. He nods to Demir and Kaya.

“How is your mother?” he asks Kaya.

“Oh, okay. Her building was hit last week. Her unit’s okay, but she’s not allowed in.”

“These are dark days, dear sister. I’m very glad she was not hurt.”

“All clear,” a voice calls from the comms. Demir steps forward and leans into the stone. One section rotates and opens the Labyrinth. Kaya steps in first with her flashlight. Demir doesn’t need his. He knows the path by heart. And what is there to see? Nothing he wants to. Better to move on quickly, but Kaya stops as she always does, shining a light on the first child. Nothing remains of the face, but it’s small. A toddler. There were a couple of four-year-olds in this group, weren’t there? He shoves the thought from his mind. No use thinking about it. What’s done is done. He moves past Kaya as Father Verma leans down and mutters his usual prayer. 

They bear the burden. 

He walks more quickly now, through the rooms and corridors. Not all of them lead to the core, hence the name of the building: Labyrinth. But Demir twists and turns, careful not to disturb any of the unfamiliar lumps in the shadows on the ground. Water droplets fall from the ceiling, still hot; the ground beneath him is hardened and baked, but the dampness makes his shoes stick slightly with each step. 

Then he’s there. The heart or mind of the beast. An empty room with one exit. It’s circular, and light pours in from the opening in the roof. At the far end, a body is slumped over. Not small at all. She looks full-grown—in fact, bigger than Kaya. He can hear the tap of Kaya’s shoes approaching. “But…” she gasps.

Get used to it, already. It’s your damn job. He wants to yell at her, but even his stomach twists. The girl is charred from the waist down. The smell makes him gag.

“But…” Kaya says again, and this time Demir understands. The girl’s face is intact. She’s beautiful, and not a girl at all. A young woman. Pale skin, long, jet-black hair. 

“How?” Demir steps back. “She’s too old.” He turns to Kaya. Her face has gone as white as the Pandorian’s. He snaps his fingers at her. “Who is this?” She throws open her binder, flipping through the pages. 

“Amirinth Song. Ethnic Pandorian. Eighteen.”

“Eighteen? These are orphans. She can’t be here.”

“She was seventeen when they brought her in. Turned eighteen yesterday.”

“Happy birthday, Amirinth,” Demir mutters. He steps closer and kneels down. The scrolls said children. Every historical record…This is not a child. His breath catches, his chest tightens. Her icy blue eyes stare at him, blank and dull. He closes them. Her skin is still warm. He stands up. He staggers back. Nothing is in vain. Why so old?

He regains his balance and straightens his shirt. 

“Well, Demir?” Minister Farcus’s voice chirps through the comms. He reaches for his button, staring at the girl, but he doesn’t press it. “What now, Demir?” He can hear the minister’s irritation. 

“Are there other older children?” he asks Kaya. She stares at him for a moment, then flips through the pages. She stops. Her jaw tightens. 

“I think this has been enough for today,” she says.

“Who?” He turns, glaring down at her, but she doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to answer. His stomach knots. 

“I warned you not to interact with them.” He presses the comms button on his shoulder pad. “Bring down 552.”

“We don’t know why it worked. You can’t rush this,” she objects. 

A custodian’s cart rattles into the room, and Demir turns to see an older woman with white hair. A mask covers her face. She holds up the mercy wand and motions to the woman on the floor. 

“No need, she’s dead,” Demir says. “I want a full autopsy on this one.” Then he pushes past her and Kaya. 

“Demir, you can’t,” Kaya cries after him.

“We have a job,” he hisses at her, then trudges back through the hall. Sweat drips from his face. The air is hard to breathe. He has to force his chest open and pull the air in. He counts. One, two, three. Out, one, two, three. He picks up his pace. The darkness makes everything so close. A left, then a right… Or was it a right, then a left? His mind is growing foggy. He can’t find the air. Not a child. 

Kaya stomps past him. She’s crying. He follows her. Breathe. His vision tunnels. He must get out. He’s going to fall, but then he’s in the light. Demir steadies himself against the edge of the open wall leading to the lobby. He can just make out the form of Father Verma already waiting by the entrance. One step, two steps. Demir drags a breath in. Finally. His hands are numb, but the spots recede from his vision. He breathes. In. Out. 

“Every single one, Pandorian,” Father Verma says. Demir blinks and looks up at the priest.

“No one wants this. It’s the burden we bear to save everyone,” Demir reminds him.

“One people bears that burden.” The priest glares down at him. 

The people who caused this. It was a Pandorian that broke the box. A Pandorian that broke the world. Demir unbuttons his collar. He needs water. He needs fresh air.

“It’s not right,” the priest says, motioning to the cart of bodies.

“I don’t decide who volunteers,” Demir finally stammers. “Take it up with the ministers.”

The custodian from the core pushes a cart carrying what Demir presumes is Amirinth. The woman’s body is covered by a sheet, but her hair spills off the back, and a burnt arm hangs to the side. The custodian lines the cart up behind the other, then marks the sheet with an ‘A’ for autopsy. 

From the corner near the vox, Kaya lets out a sob and covers her face with her hands. It’s not my fault. He wants to yell. It’s what the scrolls said. All the old texts confirmed it. To fix it, the machine needs a malleable mind. They built it on children. Surely children would fix it. 

The outer door whines and the stone moves. Demir straightens his posture. It’s not the minister, but a boy who enters. Paul. Sixteen years old. Tall and gangly, but still just a kid.

“Dr. Summers, Dr. Yates.” The boy is smiling. “I finished the book. Thank you,” he says to Kaya. “It was wonderful. One of my favorites.” He hands it to her, but she pushes it back. 

“Keep it, please,” Kaya says, rolling her bracelet off and clutching it. In that brief moment, Demir wants to slap her across the face and grab her shoulders and shake her until she understands. This is why we don’t interact.

“Are you okay, Dr. Yates?” the boy asks as Kaya wipes her tears away.

The minister steps into the room, and the door closes behind him. He’s a tall man. A purple velvet sash decorates his suit. A smile cuts across his face. “Progress. About time.” He pats Demir on the shoulder. “Continue. Not a moment to lose.” Demir turns to the boy, then to the minister. The man’s smile fades. He taps his watch. “Time is not on our side.”

God is not on our side, Demir thinks weakly.

“What do I do again?” Paul asks. He stares wide-eyed at the cart of bodies still in the corner of the room, then steps back toward the door.

“He’s not going. I am,” Kaya says.

“What?” The word slips dumbly out of Demir’s mouth. 

“He’s too young. You need a volunteer who’s older.” She stands tall, straightens her shirt, and flips her lanyard forward.

“Kaya. No, we don’t know that. Delayed puberty, some kind of developmental problem. I need an autopsy first.” Demir steps between her and the opening in the wall, grabbing her arm. 

“Dr. Yates?” Paul’s voice shakes. But she doesn’t respond. She looks down at the red clay floor. Her white shoes are stained. 

“You know I’m right,” Kaya says. Her lips are thin. A knot in Demir’s throat traps his voice.

The minister puts his hand to his chest. “The dedication of this crew.”

“Kaya.” Her name is a whisper. Demir shakes his head.

“If it works. No more children,” she says. He stares at her face. His hand is still gripping her arm, but he can see the man in his sash in his peripheral vision. He sees Paul, cowering, clutching his book. His hand falls. She walks around Demir, and he doesn’t stop her. The custodian shuts the wall. 

“Let’s get that power on,” the minister says. A clunk sounds, and the roof shakes.

A red dot lights up on the screen of the vox. Demir stares with his jaw hanging open. This dot knows the path. It’s moving too quickly. No waiting. The building begins to hum. He doesn’t know what to think—together in the lab, fighting over the magnetic vox. Kaya cursing at the paper jam in the rotary printer. At the pub. Then the room vibrates, the humming grows, the air clears, and the walls. Oh, the walls. Yellow-green floating liquid. It’s beautiful. And somewhere in the wall and in his mind, he sees it. A path through the desert. Sandstone shaped by the wind. He knows this path. There she is. Their shirts are matching: “Go Antiquities Division!” Handwritten bubble letters. Her clothes are wet and cling to her. Blue ink drips off her shirt while she laughs. Francis rights the canoe and ties it to the dock. Issa is passing out bottles of shine. 

Not like this, Kaya. 

The pain, the grief—they fade. And the world is pale. It’s relief, of a kind. Dullness. Anguish lurks on the edges, then it flutters away with the memory. Is this how they prevented the world from falling? Demir supposes it is. Salvation, but the success does not impress him. Nor does it disappoint him. Yes, he thinks, this will quell their hate. Perhaps he should have lunch. He has not eaten lunch yet. He was too upset…Why was he upset? He does not remember. Oh well, he did his job, did he not? No use dwelling on the matter. 

The red dot fades, and with it the building. The humming stops. Silence. He’s staring at a stone wall. Fear, anger, grief. A wave of emotion comes crashing down on him. Kaya. He can’t breathe. His hands shake. He wants to scream, but he has no voice. It is caught in his throat. 

“Well?” a voice says from behind him. 

“Cut the power,” he whispers into the comms. Clunk. The roof shakes. The man in the sash begins clapping. 

“This is a day to celebrate. Finally, a path to success,” the man says. 

“But…” Demir sputters. “The volunteers…” We’ve been at this for three years. 

“There are always volunteers.”

“But adults.” Demir shifts his gaze to Paul, huddled with his book, 552 written on his sleeve. You lucky son of a bitch. 

The number burns through Demir’s head. 552.

“Prisoners can volunteer, just like the orphans,” the man says.

“And will they all be Pandorian, too?” Father Verma folds his arms, staring at the man with hard eyes. 

“Well…” The man straightens his sash. “We all have our part to play.”

The outer door opens. The custodians bring in an empty cart. It rattles past him as another opens the wall to the Labyrinth. The sashed man claps his hands again and exits into the sunlight. 

Demir turns to Father Verma, who picks up Kaya’s prayer bracelet. She must have dropped it on the floor. The priest brushes off the dust. He rubs the small white quartz beads between his fingers. His brow furrows. His face turns red. He looks up at Demir, who doesn’t see the priest’s fist coming. It connects with his temple, and Demir’s head jerks. He stumbles, then falls to the ground. Father Verma throws the bracelet at him. It hits his face. Then the priest stomps through the opening in the wall. 

“I’m sorry,” Demir whispers. He sits on the dirt floor, his uniform dusted and stained by the red clay. He picks up the beads, now covered in clay dust too. 

“Dr. Yates? Where is Dr. Yates?” Paul’s voice is distant and muffled. 

Demir stands, beads in hand. He walks over to the cart holding Amirinth’s body. He picks up the mercy wand and puts it to his forehead.