Jagannath

Jagannath

Another child was born in the great Mother, excreted from the tube protruding from the Nursery ceiling. It landed with a wet thud on the organic bedding underneath. Papa shuffled over to the birthing tube and picked the baby up in his wizened hands. He stuck two fingers in the baby’s mouth to clear the cavity of oil and mucus, and then slapped its bottom. The baby gave a faint cry.

“Ah,” said Papa. “She lives.” He counted fingers and toes with a satisfied nod. “Your name will be Rak,” he told the baby.

Papa tucked her into one of the little niches in the wall where babies of varying sizes were nestled. Cables and flesh moved slightly, accommodating the baby’s shape. A teat extended itself from the niche, grazing her cheek; Rak automatically turned and sucked at it. Papa patted the soft little head, sniffing at the hairless scalp. The metallic scent of Mother’s innards still clung to it. A tiny flailing hand closed around one of his fingers.

“Good grip. You’ll be a good worker,” mumbled Papa.

Rak’s early memories were of rocking movement, of Papa’s voice whispering to her as she sucked her sustenance, the background gurgle of Mother’s abdominal walls. Later, she was let down from the niche to the older children, a handful of plump bodies walking bow-legged on the undulating floor, bathed in the soft light from luminescent growths in the wall and ceiling. They slept in a pile, jostling bodies slick in the damp heat and the comforting rich smell of raw oil and blood.

Papa gathered them around his feet to tell them stories.

“What is Mother?” Papa would say. “She took us up when our world failed. She is our protection and our home. We are her helpers and beloved children.” Papa held up a finger, peering at them with eyes almost lost in the wrinkles of his face. “We make sure Her machinery runs smoothly. Without us, She cannot live. We only live if Mother lives.”

Rak learned that she was a female, a worker, destined to be big and strong. She would help drive the peristaltic engine in Mother’s belly, or work the locomotion of Her legs. Only one of the children, Ziz, was male. He was smaller than the others, with spindly limbs and bulging eyes in a domed head. Ziz would eventually go to the Ovary and fertilize Mother’s eggs. Then he would take his place in Mother’s head as pilot.

“Why can’t we go to Mother’s head?” said Rak.

“It’s not for you,” said Papa. “Only males can do that. That’s the order of things: females work the engines and pistons so that Mother can move forward. For that, you are big and strong. Males fertilize Mother’s eggs and guide her. They need to be small and smart. Look at Ziz.” Papa indicated the boy’s thin arms. “He will never have the strength you have. He would never survive in the Belly. And you, Rak, will be too big to go to Mother’s head.”

Every now and then, Papa would open the Nursery door and talk to someone outside. Then he would collect the biggest of the children, give it a tight hug, and usher it out the door. The children never came back. They had begun work. Soon after, a new baby would be excreted from the tube.

When Rak was big enough, Papa opened the Nursery’s sphincter door. On the other side stood a hulking female. She dwarfed Papa, muscles rolling under a layer of firm blubber.

“This is Hap, your caretaker,” said Papa.

Hap held out an enormous hand.

“You’ll come with me now,” she said.

Rak followed her new caretaker through a series of corridors connected by openings that dilated at a touch. Dull metal cabling veined the smooth, pink flesh underfoot and around them. The tunnel was lit here and there by luminous growths, similar to the Nursery, but the light more reddish. The air became progressively warmer and thicker, gaining an undertone of something unfamiliar that stuck to the roof of Rak’s mouth. Gurgling and humming noises reverberated through the walls, becoming stronger as they walked.

“I’m hungry,” said Rak.

Hap scraped at the wall, stringy goop sloughing off into her hand.

“Here,” she said. “This is what you’ll eat now. It’s Mother’s food for us. You can eat it whenever you like.”

It tasted thick and sweet sliding down her throat. After a few swallows Rak was pleasantly full. She was licking her lips as they entered the Belly.

More brightly lit and bigger than the Nursery, the chamber was looped through and around by bulging pipes of flesh. Six workers were evenly spaced out in the chamber, kneading the flesh or straining at great valves set into the tubes.

“This is the Belly,” said Hap. “We move the food Mother eats through her entrails.”

“Where does it go?” asked Rak.

Hap pointed to the far end of the chamber, where the bulges were smaller.

“Mother absorbs it. Turns it into food for us.”

Rak nodded. “And that?” She pointed at the small apertures dotting the walls.

Hap walked over to the closest one and poked it. It dilated, and Rak was looking into a tube running left to right along the inside of the wall. A low grunting sound came from somewhere inside. A sinewy worker crawled past, filling up the space from wall to wall. She didn’t pause to look at the open aperture.

“That’s a Leg worker,” said Hap. She let the aperture close and stretched.

“Do they ever come out?” said Rak.

“Only when they’re going to die. So we can put them in the engine. Now. No more talking. You start over there.” Hap steered Rak toward the end of the chamber. “Easy work.”

Rak grew, putting on muscle and fat. She was one of twelve workers in the Belly. They worked and slept in shifts. One worked until tired, then ate, and then curled up in the sleeping niche next to whoever was there. Rak learned work songs to sing in time with the kneading of Mother’s intestines, the turning of the valves. The eldest worker, an enormous female called Poi, usually led the chorus. They sang stories of how Mother saved their people. They sang of the parts of Her glorious body, the movement of Her myriad legs.

“What is outside Mother?” Rak asked once, curled up next to Hap, wrapped in the scent of sweat and oil.

“The horrible place that Mother saved us from,” mumbled Hap. “Go to sleep.”

“Have you seen it?”

Hap scoffed. “No, and I don’t want to. Neither do you. Now quiet.”

Rak closed her eyes, thinking of what kind of world might be outside Mother’s body, but could only imagine darkness. The thought made a chill run down her back. She crept closer to Hap, nestling against her back.

The workload was never constant. It had to do with where Mother went and what she ate. Times of plenty meant hard work, the peristaltic engine swelling with food. But during those times, the females also ate well; the mucus coating Mother’s walls grew thick and fragrant, and Rak would put on a good layer of fat. Then Mother would move on and the food become less plentiful, Her innards thinning out and the mucus drying and caking. The workers would slow down, sleep more, and wait for a change. Regardless of how much there was to eat, Rak still grew, until she looked up and realized she was no longer so small compared to the others.

Poi died in her sleep. Rak woke up next to her cooling body, confused that Poi wasn’t breathing. Hap had to explain that she was dead. Rak had never seen a dead person before. Poi just lay there, her body marked from the lean time, folds of skin hanging from her frame.

The workers carried Poi to a sphincter near the top of the chamber, and dropped her into Mother’s intestine. They took turns kneading the body through Mother’s flesh, the bulge becoming smaller and smaller until Poi was consumed altogether.

“Go to the Nursery, Rak,” said Hap. “Get a new worker.”

Rak made her way up the tubes. It was her first time outside the Belly since leaving the Nursery. The corridors looked just like they had when Hap had led her through them long ago.

The Nursery looked much smaller. Rak towered in the opening, looking down at the tiny niches in the walls and the birthing tube bending down from the ceiling. Papa sat on his cot, crumpled and wrinkly. He stood up when Rak came in, barely reaching her shoulder.

“Rak, is it?” he said. He reached up and patted her arm. “You’re big and strong. Good, good.”

“I’ve come for a new worker, Papa,” said Rak.

“Of course you have.” Papa looked sideways, wringing his hands.

“Where are the babies?” she said.

“There are none,” Papa replied. He shook his head. “There haven’t been any… viable children, for a long time.”

“I don’t understand,” said Rak.

“I’m sorry, Rak.” Papa shrank back against the wall. “I have no worker to give you.”

“What’s happening, Papa? Why are there no babies?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it is because of the lean times. But there have been lean times before, and there were babies then. And no visits from the Head, either. The Head would know. But no one comes. I have been all alone.” Papa reached out for Rak, stroking her arm. “All alone.”

Rak looked down at his hand. It was dry and light. “Did you go to the Head and ask?”

Papa blinked. “I couldn’t do that. My place is in the Nursery. Only the pilots go to the Head.”

The birthing tube gurgled. Something landed on the bedding with a splat. Rak craned her neck to look.

“But look, there’s a baby,” she said.

The lumpy shape was raw and red. Stubby limbs stuck out here and there. The head was too big. There were no eyes or nose, just a misshapen mouth. As Rak and Papa stared in silence, it opened its mouth and wailed.

“I don’t know what to do,” whispered Papa. “All the time, they come out like this.”

He gently gathered up the malformed thing, covering its mouth with a hand until it stopped breathing. Tears rolled down his lined cheeks.

“My poor babies,” said Papa.

As Rak left, Papa rocked the lump in his arms, weeping.

Rak didn’t return to the Belly. She went forward. The corridor quickly narrowed, forcing Rak to a slow crawl on all fours. The rumble and sway of Mother’s movement, so different from the gentle roll of the Belly, pressed her against the walls. Eventually, the tunnel widened into a round chamber. At the opposite end sat a puckered opening. On her right, a large round metallic plate was set into the flesh of the wall, the bulges ringing it glowing brightly red. Rak crossed the chamber to the opening on the other side. She touched it, and it moved with a groaning noise.

It was a tiny space: a hammock wrapped in cabling and tubes in front of two circular panes. Rak sat down in the hammock. The seat flexed around her, moulding itself to her shape. The panes were streaked with mucus and oil, but she could faintly see light and movement on the other side. It made her eyes hurt. A tube snaked down from above, nudging her cheek. Rak automatically turned her head and opened her mouth. The tube thrust into her right nostril. Pain shot up between Rak’s eyes. Her vision went dark. When it cleared, she let out a scream.

Above, a blinding point of light shone in an expanse of vibrant blue. Below, a blur of browns and yellows rolled past with alarming speed.

Who are you? a voice said. It was soft and heavy. I was so lonely.

“Hurts,” Rak managed.

The colours and light muted, and the vision narrowed at the edges so that it seemed Rak was running through a tunnel. She unclenched her hands, breathing heavily.

Better?

Rak grunted.

You are seeing through my eyes. This is the outside world. But you are safe inside me, my child.

“Mother,” said Rak.

Yes. I am your mother. Which of my children are you?

The voice was soothing, making it easier to breathe. “I’m Rak. From the Belly.”

Rak, my child. I am so glad to meet you.

The scene outside rolled by: yellows and reds, and the blue mass above. Mother named the things for her. Sky. Ground. Sun. She named the sharp things scything out at the bottom of her vision: mandibles¸ and the frenetically moving shapes glimpsed at the edges: legs. The cold fear of the enormous outside gradually faded in the presence of that warm voice. An urge to urinate made Rak aware of her own body again, and her purpose there.

“Mother. Something is wrong,” she said. “The babies are born wrong. We need your help.”

Nutrient and DNA deficiency, Mother hummed. I need food.

“But you can move everywhere, Mother. Why are you not finding food?”

Guidance systems malfunction. Food sources in the current area are depleted.

“Can I help, Mother?”

The way ahead bent slightly to the right. Mother was running in a circle.

There is an obstruction in my mainframe. Please remove the obstruction.

Behind Rak, something clanged. The tube slithered out of her nostril and she could see the room around her again. She turned her head. Behind the hammock a hatch had opened in the ceiling, the lid hanging down, rungs lining the inside. The hammock let Rak go with a sucking noise and she climbed up the rungs.

Inside, gently lit in red, was Mother’s brain: a small space surrounded by cables winding into flesh. A slow pulse beat through the walls. Half sitting against the wall was the emaciated body of a male. Its head and right shoulder were resting on a tangle of delicate tubes, bloated and stiff where they ran in under the dead male’s body, thin and atrophied on the other. Rak pulled at an arm. Mother had started to absorb the corpse; it was partly fused to the wall. She tugged harder, and the upper body finally tore away and fell sideways. There was a rushing sound as pressure in the tubes evened out. The body was no longer in the way of any wires or tubes that Rak could see. She left it on the floor and climbed back down the hatch. Back in the hammock, the tube snuck into her nostril, and Mother’s voice was in her head again.

Thank you, said Mother. Obstruction has been removed. Guidance system recalibrating.

“It was Ziz, I think,” said Rak. “He was dead.”

Yes. He was performing maintenance when he expired.

“Aren’t there any more pilots?”

You can be my pilot.

“But I’m female,” Rak said.

That is all right. Your brain gives me sufficient processing power for calculating a new itinerary.

“What?”

You don’t have to do anything. Just sit here with me.

Rak watched as Mother changed course, climbing the wall of the canyon and up onto a soft yellow expanse: grassland, whispered. The sky sat heavy and blue over the grass. Mother slowed down, her mouthpieces scooping up plants from the ground.

Angular silhouettes stood against the horizon.

“What is that?” said Rak.

Cities, Mother replied. Your ancestors used to live there. But then the cities died, and they came to me. We entered an agreement. You would keep me company, and in exchange I would protect you until the world was a better place.

“Where are we going?”

Looking for a mate. I need fresh genetic material. My system is not completely self-sufficient.

“Oh.” Rak’s mouth fell open. “Are there… more of you?”

Of sorts. There are none like me, but I have cousins that roam the steppes. A sigh. None of them are good company. Not like my children.

Mother trundled over the grassland, eating and eating. Rak panicked the first time the sun disappeared, until Mother wrapped the hammock tight around her and told her to look up. Rak quieted at the sight of the glowing band laid across the sky. Other suns, Mother said, but Rak could not grasp it. She settled for thinking of it like lights in the ceiling of a great room.

They passed more of the cities: jagged spires and broken domes, bright surfaces criss-crossed with cracks and curling green. Occasionally flocks of other living creatures ran across the grass. Mother would name them all. Each time a new animal appeared Rak asked if that was her mate. The answer was always no.

“Are you feeling better?” Rak said eventually.

No. A sighing sound. I am sorry. My system is degraded past the point of repair.

“What does that mean?”

Goodbye, my daughter. Please use the exit with green lights.

Something shot up Rak’s nostril through the tube. A sting of pain blossomed inside her forehead, and she tore the tube out. A thin stream of blood trailed from her nose. She wiped at it with her arm. A shudder shook the hammock. The luminescence in the walls faded. It was suddenly very quiet.

“Mother?” Rak said into the gloom. Outside, something was different. She peered out through one of the eyes. The world wasn’t moving.

“Mother!” Rak put the tube in her nose again, but it fell out and lay limp in her lap. She slid out of the hammock, standing up on stiff legs. The hatch to Mother’s brain was still open. Rak pulled herself up into the little space. It was pitch dark and still. No pulse moved through the walls.

Rak left Mother’s head and started down the long corridors, down toward the Nursery and the Belly. She scooped some mucus from the wall to eat, but it tasted rank. It was getting darker. Only the growths around the round plate between the Head and the rest of the body were still glowing brightly. They had changed to green.

In the Nursery, Papa was lying on his cot, chest rising and falling faintly.

“There you are,” he said when Rak approached. “You were gone for so long.”

“What happened?” said Rak.

Papa shook his head. “Nothing happened. Nothing at all.”

“Mother isn’t moving,” said Rak. “I found Her head, and She talked to me, and I helped Her find her way to food, but she says she can’t be repaired, and now she’s not moving. I don’t know what to do.”

Papa closed his eyes. “Our Mother is dead,” he whispered. “And we will go with Her.”

He turned away, spreading his arms against the wall, hugging the tangle of cabling and flesh. Rak left him there.

In the Belly, the air was thick and rancid. The peristaltic engine was still. Rak’s feet slapping against the floor made a very loud noise. Around the chamber, workers were lying along the walls, half-melted into Mother’s flesh. The Leg accesses along the walls were all open; here and there an arm or a head poked out. Hap lay close to the entrance, resting on her side. Her body was gaunt, her ribs fully visible through the skin. She had begun sinking into the floor; Rak could still see part of her face. Her eyes were half-closed, as if she were just very tired.

Rak backed out into the corridor, turning back toward the Head. The sphincters were all relaxing, sending the foul air from the Belly toward her, forcing her to crawl forward. The last of the luminescence faded. She crawled in darkness until she saw a green shimmer up ahead. The round plate was still there. It swung aside at her touch.

The air coming in was cold and sharp, painful on the skin, but fresh. Rak breathed in deep. The hot air from Mother’s insides streamed out above her in a cloud. The sun hung low on the horizon, its light far more blinding than Mother’s eyes had seen it. One hand in front of her eyes, Rak swung her legs out over the rim of the opening and cried out in surprise when her feet landed on grass. The myriad blades prickled the soles of her feet. She sat there, gripping at the grass with her toes, eyes squeezed shut. When the light was less painful, she opened her eyes a little and stood up.

The aperture opened out between two of Mother’s jointed legs. They rested on the grass, each leg thicker around than Rak could reach with her arms. Beyond them, she could glimpse more legs to either side. She looked up. Behind her, the wall of Mother’s body rose up, more than twice Rak’s own height. Beyond the top there was sky, a blue nothing, not flat like seen through Mother’s eyes but deep and endless. In front of her, the grassland, stretching on and on. Rak held on to the massive leg next to her. Her stomach clenched, and she bent over and spat bile. There was a hot lump in her chest that wouldn’t go away. She spat again and kneeled on the grass.

“Mother,” she whispered in the thin air. She leaned against the leg. It was cold and smooth. “Mother, please.” She crawled in under Mother’s legs, curling up against Her body, breathing in Her familiar musk. A sweet hint of rot lurked below. The knot in Rak’s chest forced itself up through her throat in a howl.

Rak eventually fell asleep. She dreamed of legs sprouting from her sides, her body elongating and dividing into sections, taking a sinuous shape. She ran over the grass, legs in perfect unison, muscles and vertebrae stretching and becoming powerful. The sky was no longer terrible. Warm light caressed the length of her scales.

A pattering noise in the distance woke her up. Rak stretched and rubbed her eyes. Her cheeks were crusted with salt. She scratched at her side. An itching line of nubs ran along her ribs. Beside her, Mother’s body no longer smelled of musk; the smell of rot was stronger. She crawled out onto the grass and rose to her feet. The sky had darkened, and a pale orb hung in the void, painting the landscape in stark grey and white. Mother lay quiet, stretched out into the distance. Rak saw now that Mother’s carapace was grey and pitted, some of the many legs cracked or missing.

In the bleak light, a long shape on many legs approached. When it came close, Rak saw it was much smaller than Mother – perhaps three or four times Rak’s length. She stood very still. The other paused a few feet away. It reared up, forebody and legs waving back and forth. Its mandibles clattered. Something about its movement caused a warm stirring in Rak’s belly. After a while, it turned around, depositing a gelatinous sac on the ground. It slowly backed away.

Rak approached the sac. It was the size of her head. Inside, a host of little shapes wriggled around. Her belly rumbled. The other departed, mandibles clattering, as Rak ripped the sac open with her teeth. The wriggling little things were tangy on her tongue. She swallowed them whole.

She ate until she was sated, then crouched down on the ground, scratching at her sides. Her arms and legs tingled. She had a growing urge to run and stretch her muscles: to run and never stop.