Self-Assembled Girl by Jon Jacks
There are yet more torturous sounds of tearing, of weakening resistance, the discordant cacophony it seems of a final protestation just before everything collapses in around me.
As we’re finally ripped from the grip of the seabed’s sands, there’s a stomach churning lurch as we briefly rise up, a rush of fear as we momentarily topple forward; then we’re caught completely within the powerful surges of the swiftly flowing current – and sent whirling round and round like a child’s ferociously whipped top.
*
Chapter 31
As in a wildly spinning centrifuge, everything in the hold is now sent hurtling towards the outer edges.
With an ominous rumbling, the crate islands topple, crumple.
Even the dark waters are sent spinning off towards the walls, the centre dipping away as if being sucked into a rushing whirlpool.
All our imprisoning current has to do is send the wrecked section itself tumbling and this little oasis of air will vanish in an instant, bubbling up to the surface.
As it is, the air trapped within the upturned hull is apparently enough to grant it the buoyancy to keep us upright.
Is it enough, however, to gradually free us from this underwater maelstrom and carry us up towards the sea’s broiling surface?
*
When the nauseating whirling finally comes to an end, its all so thunderously violent, all so brutally abrupt, that I’m at last wrenched clear of my makeshift safety cage.
The ropes, even the restraining belts, snap under the force of the sudden halting of our hurtling progress. I’m plunged into the rolling waters that, despite retaining a great deal of their previous swirling motion, now rush in one direction in a gathering wave. On striking the wall, they fall back upon themselves, upon a spluttering me.
The whole section threatens to completely topple forward: as it is, waves rush in from behind me, adding to my sense of being hopelessly swamped. But then the hull settles back into its upended position, the waves outside once again left to resorting to battering at its solid exterior.
A new sound has been added to the pounding of the waves, the quivering scream of the grinding of rough surfaces. The hull, although no longer whirling, no longer rushing forward, now sways from side to side, back and forth, with no apparent purpose, like it’s quite simply being toyed with.
Within just a few moments, there are newer, more frightening sounds; the crack and splintering of wood, the twisting of iron.
A whole section of the hull wall looming above me gives way, caving in as it disintegrates – everything collapsing about me now as it at last completely yields to the ruthless pounding.
*
The hull draws back, swirls a little, rushes forwards once more.
More of the wood cracks, shatters, showering me in splinters even though I’m deeper inside the hull’s interior.
Beyond the opening I can now see the chiaroscuro shades of foam splattered rock.
We’re being persistently thrown against the rocks by the waves. If I don’t manage to get out to safety soon, everything’s going to collapse about me.
The freshly formed hole has created an exit, but it’s hardly the safest way to make my way out of here. If I’m not crushed by the rolling crates as I try to clamber up towards the gaping hole, I’ll doubtlessly be smashed between the horrendously pitching hull and the rocks as I attempt to leap clear and land on what are probably drenched, seaweed-strewn boulders.
The girl is seated on the steps I’ve fallen from.
She smiles; the smile that says ‘Trust me; follow me.’
Then she silently slips into the water.
*
Chapter 32
It’s harder swimming out of the upturned hull that it was swimming into it.
It’s moving violently now, of course.
The girl, even though she doesn’t need to, acts as if she’s holding on to the step’s rail.
It’s just her way of showing me what to do, her way of drawing my attention to what would otherwise be an invisible rail.
Every time the rocking hull shudders, I cling on all the tighter to the rail to ensure I’m not thrown from side to side within the narrow confines.
When we drop below the lower levels of the hull section, it’s the girl who once again draws me safely towards a gap lying between the gradually shattering wood and the rocks it’s caught upon. Once through here, she continues heading lower into the water, ensuring I fight the urge to make a break for the surface, where I could still be caught up in the pummelling of the hull by the waves.
She remains underwater to a point where my lungs seem to be agonisingly fit to burst, as they had on that day when she’d first led me up into what had briefly become my underwater home. She’s leading me around the rocks, keeping her distance from them so that I’m not dashed upon them by the still raging waves.
She doesn’t surface until we’ve safely cleared anything that could endanger me – by which time, when I also break through the surface, I’m once again gulping down the air as if it’s the very breath of life itself.
*
I can’t remember struggling towards the shore, lying down thankfully on the sands of the beach.
But I must have done, because that’s where I wake up.
I’ve no idea how long I’ve been unconscious.
The sand is dry, warm – soft and reassuring.
The storm has completely abated, such that the calmly rolling sea seems far too innocent and kind to be responsible for the horrors inflicted on the wreck that had briefly sheltered me.
Glancing a little farther along the beach, towards where the beach becomes first boulders then towering rocks, there’s no sign of the ancient ship that had carried me here.
It’s either been dragged back out to sea, to sink once more, or it’s been totally riven apart upon the teeth of the rocks.
The sun’s warming, bright. It makes the sand around me sparkle like so much gold dust. Even amongst the sun’s glorious rays, however, there’s one more wondrously yellow than all the rest.
It ripples, snake like. Growing in size as it rushes down towards me.
It has wings, this ray.
Vast wings – the wings of a dragon.
*
Chapter 33
The dragon lands close by me with a sigh, an inviting sparkle of blinking eyes.
She’s not programmed to talk; just to be welcoming in her friendly expressions, her demure sighs and rhythmically relaxing breathing.
There’s no one aboard, the four seats lying empty.
When I’d seen her approaching, I’d naturally hoped that Joel would be aboard.
That this was his highly apt way of bringing me back to Nevaeh, seeing as how we’d had so much fun riding the dragon as we’d arrived in town.
Maybe he couldn’t get away. Maybe he’s already taking a risk sending the dragon for me.
Because, surely, the dragon has to have been sent by Joel, hasn’t she?
If only I could ask her.
How would Joel know I was here?
Trackers.
Of course; any droid would be fitted with some means of keeping track of their location.
Which means I never had any hope of escaping Nevaeh.
No doubt there are too many droids to keep them all permanently under surveillance.
But as soon as it was discovered that I was no longer down in the Rooms of Pleasure, they would have been able to locate my position.
No wonder I was so easily captured, so easily disposed of.
As long as my locator showed that I was on the bottom of the sea, where I was supposed to be – or maybe I was too far down, completely out of range – then everyone would assume I was dead, disconnected.
But as soon as I broken the sea’s surface; the tracker would have come on line again, revealing where I was, that I was still living.
So is the dragon from Joel?
Or did the Master send her,
*
Even if I refuse to board the dragon, the Master will be able to quite easily hunt me down.
Whereas if the dragon has been sent by Joel; I’ll be turning down an opportunity to be reunited with him.
I climb aboard, the dragon sighing once again in appreciation.
She rises up on her sturdy legs, flaps her gigantic wings – and we effortlessly soar up into the air.
*
Chapter 34
Nevaeh is also airborne once again, the show she’s put on for the town having come to an end.
Even from a great distance, I can see her, a dark shape flying just below the white spume of billowing clouds.
She moves unhurriedly, using the odd, languorous flip of her immense tail, a slight weaving of her supple body, to send her skimming through the hazy sunlight.
She grows in size as we approach, until I can see nothing but her immense sides.
The yellow flicker of my dragon runs alongside her; then slips into a relatively minute doorway opening up in Nevaeh’s great flanks.
Please, please let it be Joel waiting for me inside.
*
The dragon smoothly glides into her docking space.
All the other docking areas are full of gaily garbed people and droids boarding the patiently waiting dragons and floats, obviously taking up their places in readiness for a parade. It’s the atmosphere of a carnival, all excitement and bright colours.
Alongside my dock, just one person is waiting for me.
It’s not Joel, as I’d hoped.
It’s the Master, as I’d feared.
He’s grinning maliciously. Triumphantly.
Why does he want me back, when he knows I’d tried to escape?
Because I’m still valuable, still usable, of course. Unlike the other ancient droids who’d attempted to escape with me.
As I’ve managed to survive Nevaeh’s automatic waste disposal operation, he still hopes he can salvage something from his fault-ridden device.
He offers me his hand, to help me disembark gracefully from the dragon.
I take it; why not?
I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me accidentally stumble. Not that there should be too much chance of that, of course: but I can’t be sure what damage I’ve suffered during all the recent events I’ve gone through, while I am sure that my mechanical energy source remains irretrievably burnt out.
I’m as weak and delicate as a human until that’s repaired.
The master smiles at last.
‘Welcome back!’ he says, utilising all the tones of someone inviting a favoured guest to the most fabulous party. ‘No one really ever likes to leave Nevaeh!’
There’s no one else here to ‘welcome’ me. No girls from the Rooms of Pleasure to escort me deep down into the darkness of Nevaeh’s belly. No other droids to ensure I make no further attempts to escape.
Perhaps the Master believes such things would look unseemly and taint the gaiety of the performers preparing to announce Nevaeh’s arrival in a new town.
Then again, the Master knows there’s no point in me trying to run.
He’s almost polite and gracious as he directs me towards an elevator whose doors already lie open for us.
‘I’ll willingly return to the Rooms of Pleasure,’ I say determinedly, ‘but only if we can make a deal…’
*
Chapter 35
What choice do I have?
I’ve decided that I might as well gain some advantage from the inevitable.
The master regards with me interest, perhaps even a flickering of admiration.
‘Yes?’ is all he says as the doors to the elevator close behind us.
‘Joel was innocently caught up in all this – all these unfortunate events brought about by my malfunctioning.’
‘You want me to forgive him?’
I nod.
‘And I’d like to see him, just one last time…’ I add hopefully, recognising that the Master would never agree to my relationship with his son continuing.
The Master frowns doubtfully.
Then he smiles; or, rather he attempts to smile.
Because, really, it’s just that triumphant grin once more.
‘I agree to all your demands,’ he says all too readily.
*
Although swift, our ascent in the elevator takes longer than I’d expected.
I’d presumed the Master would insist on us visiting his office, where the girls from the Rooms of Pleasure must surely be waiting for me, as they were the last time I was called to his rooms.
When the doors open, we exit on to a level I’ve never seen before.
Naturally, Nevaeh is so vast, it’s almost impossible for anyone to be familiar with every level. But this level is particularly unusual, having an air of abandonment and neglect.
Have I been tricked by the Master after all?
A ripple of fright courses through me.
My expression of fear merely amuses the Master. He chuckles, revelling in my obvious anxiety.
‘I keep to the finest detail of my deals,’ he assures me gruffly, indicating that I should step towards two large and highly elaborate gates that, despite their age and lack of maintenance, are already automatically opening up before us.
The wrought iron of the gates forms flowers and trees of all sizes, all varieties, the once bright enamel that had given them all a realistic edge now fading and flaking away. A similar piece of elaborately wrought iron arches over the double gates, the metal twisted into words proudly proclaiming that we are now entering The Garden of Content.
Yet the garden lying beyond the gates is a profound disappointment, suffering all the sense of abandonment and neglect that had despoiled the entrance.
Trees are dead or dying. Lawns are parched and brown. Weeds grow in abundance where flowers must have once flourished, these providing the only bursts of colour within this truly sad garden.
And yet this neglected garden spreads out from the gates in every direction, as if Nevaeh has gathered together every piece of unwanted wasteland and deposited it all here.
*
There is no sense of being confined within a room.
As elsewhere on Nevaeh, the ceilings are hidden behind a play of defused lights creating the effect of sunlight. A further veiling of the reality is achieved through the unrushed scudding of voluminous clouds, which means a steam and breeze generator is still in operation somewhere.
‘You requested a brief meeting with Joel?’
With a wave of a hand, the Master indicates that I need to keep on walking into the garden.
Joel’s here?
‘But how did you arrange it all so quick–’
‘Now I must leave you,’ the Master interrupts my question, turning to head back towards the elevator, ‘I have a parade to oversee!’
*
Chapter 36
In its prime, this was no regular garden.
Even in its deserted state, it’s still possible to make out touches of originality, of enchantment.
In some areas, the dead hedges still retain the forms they had been carefully cropped into, including horses, mermaids, galleons. Even where they are more geometrically cut, they form centrepieces of what must have once looked like the carefully orchestrated gardens of seventeenth century palaces.
There are gardens once graced with sparkling fountains, too, as well a series of hanging gardens, each one rising away in looming steps.
There’s also a small tree, one adorned with a droid serpent who remains still, unmoving – mute.
Nearby, another serpent lies in a stream, frozen in the act of carrying away a prickly water plant. Adjacent to this, there’s a serpent wrapped around a tree that has shed its leaves yet is still graced with a sparkling, golden fleece, and glittering golden apples. Then there’s what must have once looked like a bush-like, hundred-headed daff
Garden and trees of legend, of religious tales. An area called La Noi’ Tome; the Black Volume, the darker side of the tales we know.
There’s another bush here too, one that unlike the others doesn’t have any connection to a serpent that I can see. Stranger still, it has its own plaque, stating that this is Jonah’s Kykeon; no doubt because it’s a less familiar tree than the others, as well as having a connection to Nevaeh through Jonah’s story.
Like the other trees, it’s withered, its leaves hanging loosely, perhaps even dead. And yet it has a single, bright crimson fruit growing amongst those dead branches.
No: not a fruit.
It looks like a fruit – but it also looks like the ruby the girl had led me to when I was pursuing her in the maze of veils and mirrors.
Which means, I think, that this supposed fruit is really the crimson worm.
‘Iona!’
This isn’t a whispered call; this is a full-hearted yell.
I whirl around.
Joel is running towards me.
‘Joel!’ I cry back happily.
*
Chapter 37
It’s odd walking hand in hand around a derelict garden more akin to a dried up wasteland rather than some bright, enchanting parkland.
Even so, I’m content; no matter how brief this period of contentment is going to be.
Naturally, we’d hugged each other tightly, needfully, when we’d first met up again.
We’d laughed in a mix of joy and relief, even cried a little.
Joel had kissed away the tears on my check; moved gently towards my lips.