Worth of a Man

Darkness. When Carser woke, it was into the darkness of a singularity; impenetrable, unyielding. Still silence bound his ears just as the darkness cloaked his eyes. He sat up, groping in the space around him, feeling for the familiarity of the solid world. His outstretched hand brushed a smooth wall to his right. Keeping one hand on the wall he clambered to his feet, only to hit his head on the ceiling.

He reached forward with his left hand, keeping his right on the wall, and edged forward, shuffling one foot in front of the other. His hand brushed another wall, directly in front, that met the first at right angles. He traced around this wall, and found a third wall, similarly at right angles, and then a fourth.

The walls were smooth, featureless to touch, and dragged unpleasantly at his fingertips. He pushed against a wall, and the ceiling. They yielded slightly then rebounded. He leant his shoulder in and shoved, grunting with the brief, intense effort. Again, the wall yielded slightly and rebounded.

“Hello! Can anyone hear me?” His voice seemed deadened, as if the walls sucked the sound away. His only answer was more silence.

Carser sat and considered. It seemed his cell was roughly square, two paces across, and too low to stand upright. At the thought, his chest tightened and pulse rose; a cell, so small; cramping him, binding him, shrinking in, closer and closer. He forced himself to breathe out and focused on controlling his breaths; one… two… three… After ten he was calm and brought his mind to the problem.

If it was a cell, calling for help would be pointless. However, they, whoever ‘they’ were, wanted him alive. In a cell this small his air supply would already be low or exhausted unless there was a clear, fresh flow, so someone had taken the effort to ensure as much. And if there was an air channel, there was an opening.

He made a second circuit of the cell, slowly, methodically, seeking every clue about his surroundings. The first wall was featureless. The second wall yielded, after careful probing, a section with a grill pattern of pin-prick holes, through which a stream of air trickled.

The third wall was more promising. He quickly found a round protrusion jutting from the middle of the wall, about the size of half a tennis ball. On further tactile inspection of the wall, he found a rectangular seam in the bottom right corner, two hand spans across and one high.

He completed his search of the walls, finding nothing further, and turned his attention to the ceiling. His arms grew weary as he kept them raised, brushing his fingers across the ceiling, first in one direction, then cross-ways. After extensive searching, he found the merest hint of a seam. Brushing across it there was the slightest catch on his fingertip. It was barely a hair’s breadth wide, but he traced it right across the cell, a single line of weakness bisecting the ceiling. He stood and braced his shoulders under it, then lifted with his legs, straining against the panel until spots appeared in his vision. He felt it flex slightly, but nothing more, and he slumped back to the floor.

Once he had caught his breath, Carser turned to the small rectangle in the bottom corner of one wall. He searched it carefully with his fingers, then pushed and shoved. It gave a little so he persisted, probing and testing to try and find some sort of purchase. After half an hour he gave up, and sat brooding, chewing his thumbnail.

There was a faint crackle and the small protrusion glowed faintly – not enough to illuminate anything, just show its location. To Carser, after the interminable darkness, it blazed like a small sun. It crackled, “Sythissh… push button to be speaking.”

Carser pushed the glowing button, “Who are you? Can you help me?”

“All your questions are being answered soonly. Be sitting down. Sustenance is being provided.”

“No, wait. Who are you? What’s going on?”

“Be sitting down. Sustenance is being provided.”

Carser slapped the wall, “Dammit, tell me who you are!”

“Your questions are being answered soonly. Sustenance is being provided.”

He slapped the wall again but sat down. The rectangle at the bottom of the wall opened outwards with a brief burst of light. A brown box, the same size as the hatch, was shoved in, followed by a clear bottle, then the hatch closed. Carser groped around and found the bottle; as expected it held water. Suddenly thirsty, he swallowed several gulps. Then he felt out the box. It was obviously cardboard, but heavy and dense, almost like construction material.

“Sustenance has now been provided. Be taking care when opening the box.”

“Why the…” he paused to push the button, “Why should I give a damn about the box?”

“Be eating the sustenance provided. Then be using the box as disposable sanitation device.”

“You what!? My food comes in - "

“Each box is being a one-use disposable item. Be closing the box when you are finished. Be speaking when the box is needing removal.”

“Still don’t like it,” he muttered sullenly. He turned his attention to the box. As the wall button dimmed, he could make out luminous markings on the box that glowed sickly yellow. A broad arrow with a single dot pointed to a line where the lid opened.

“I could have worked that out myself, thanks. Must think I’m an idiot.”

Inside was a rectangle. An arrow with two adjacent dots pointed to its interior. He felt around and found a square piece of something, it felt a bit like quiche. He broke a corner off and sniffed it, it smelt safe enough, like day old bread. He chewed down several morsels. It was not the most exciting food he’d ever eaten, but it wasn’t terrible; it tasted of grains and nuts with a slightly chewy texture, actually quite filling. Then a sudden, distressing thought hit him: “Bloody hell, I’ve been kidnapped by vegans.”

After that, the box got more complicated. Carser soon relised the dots listed the order of actions and duly followed the arrows. However, flaps had to be lifted a certain way, folded and slotted together with other parts. It was like putting together unfathomable Swedish furniture designed by a mad origami artist. In the dark. Three times he undid it and started again, all by feel, following the maddening arrows and dots.

Finally, he had constructed a small toilet pedestal, surprisingly sturdy and practical. Attached to the side was a pad of paper towels. After use, it concertinaed in on itself easily by pulling out two key tabs, marked in dull red as a departure from sickly yellow. Carser felt a small sense of triumph. He pushed the button, “You can have your box back. Hope you like it.”

After an interminable pause, the button glowed, “Sythissh… be pushing the box on the hatch.”

“Yeah, hang on. I want answers first.”

“Be pushing the box on the hatch or no more boxes will be given.”

“Well that’s me told,” he muttered, and pushed the box against the hatch which opened outwards. He made a flushing noise as he pushed the box and pressed the button. The box was withdrawn and another box shoved in.

“Oh what bloody now?”

“Cleansing material has now been provided. Be taking care when opening the box.”

The new box was identical to the last, however inside he found a cake of soft soap, and some fibrous paper towels that smelt of disinfectant and old ladies’ perfume. When he used them together, he could feel the grime lifting off him. Afterwards he sat back, just enjoying the feeling of being clean. The cell even smelt better he thought, the air seemed slightly fragrant, and he smiled. He was suddenly tired, or sleepy rather, and settled back.

When he woke, still in darkness, he could make out the cardboard toilet from the red tabs. Odd, he didn’t remember constructing another one before falling asleep. Still, it was timely. He folded it up after use and pushed it against the hatch, pressing the button and calling that he was done.

“Sythissh… water is being provided.” The hatch opened and the box was retrieved. A bottle was pushed in, but Carser stopped it with his foot, keeping the hatch ajar. The light coming in was more yellow, and there was a murmuring sound, as if a crowd gathered outside. Was it a group of guards? Other prisoners? He heard someone shout something unintelligible, then a sound like a bell. The water was shoved in and the hatch closed. Silence folded around him again, but only for a few minutes.

The button hissed and crackled again, several voices chattered through it laid over and through each other, “Ixam – seventy two, a hume – are you – annoyed – going to – limit set by…” then the normal voice cut over them, “Be ready to be standing.”

“I can’t stand up in here, the roof’s too low.”

“The roof will be being open. Be ready to be standing and your questions will be answered.”

And now Carser could see a faint trace of light along the seam in the ceiling, and hear a faint susurration of voices.

“Be Standing!”

He rose, shoving the ceiling aside as two hinged flaps fell back. His eyes were momentarily dazzled by light, his ears overwhelmed by the muted rumble of conversation. Then he saw them. A host of strange creatures in an unimaginable array of shapes, gathered together. Sunlight streamed through high windows illuminating an airy room of marble pillars and vaulting. Numerous large boxes were stacked around.

At a podium stood a tall, grey creature, with too many tentacles to be strictly humanoid. It spoke a mix of gargling sounds. Even in his stunned confusion Carser noted the small globes each creature held to its ear – or possibly aural orifice. They were exactly like the half ball projecting from the wall of his cell. Wait, it wasn’t a cell, it was a box, a cardboard box! The board was four inches thick, and amazingly constructed, but still a box. He pressed on the ball in his box and the gargling language resolved into fractured English.

“…open the bidding at aroggle orsand dollars,” the translator crackled. “…any opening bids? Thankyou there! And again – to you sir, nororgorg thousand. Glorven thousand dollars. Eight thousand dollars! With the Venusian in the pink cummerbund, any advances on Eight thousand dollars. This is a fine Earth humanoid folks. Advances on Eight.”

“Oi! Hang the futtock on! Are you kidding? You’re auctioning me? And you’re only getting eight grand. I’m worth more than that!”

“Any advances on eight thousand for the, er, talkative humanoid?”

A ripple of laughter washed the room.

“Yeah. Too bloody right there is. I’m bidding for myself, eight thousand and one dollars.”

“Any other bids?” The creature looked around the room, but was too experienced an auctioneer to waste any more time. “Sold, to the Earth humanoid with the funny head.” It rang the bell.

As the rest of the crowd continued with the next item, two large individuals approached Carser. “How will Sir be payin’ for the item?”

“Credit card.” He fished his wallet from a pocket and presented his credit card.

“Here, this is Earth credit card.”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“Nah, it’s just dem buggers add the biggest surcharge in the galaxy.”

“Right, well if we could get this done. I’ve got to get back to Tokyo – could you direct me to your transit service.”

“Sorry Sir. The purchaser has all responsibility for the goods.”

“Very well. Please call me a taxi.”

“Sir, do you know where’s you’re at?”

“Er, not exactly.”

“You’re in the Coloscium Cluster.”

“And how far is that from Tokyo?”

“About twelve hundred light years.”

“Bugger.”