The ramparts

Although I was officially undecided whether or not to attend class, I soon took a path leading well out of the centre of town. Within ten minutes of walking out I practically had my back turned to where the school was. I admitted defeat to myself only when I checked the time and saw it was too late for me to arrive in class on time.

I gravitated toward the ancient ramparts, a long line of ruins and partially recycled structures marking where the border used to be between the Argyre desert and the City, then only a large town. The only break in that shield wall that was by design, and not because of neglect, dismantlement or the later expansion phases, was where the canal used to pass through. You could still see this opening, because the trench was intact, just empty of any water. Most of the canals were concreted over after the final drought, but those nearer the surface simply became new sets of streets. The ruins beside this former water way had a large park built around them, with sections restored and preserved in their original state as tourist attractions. I made for that place. In winter it was always empty, and in the bearable seasons, the area was only visited by Terran tourists. You wouldn’t run into anyone you knew unless they happened to be seeking solitude as well.

The park was closed early in the morning, but I climbed over the fence with ease. There were places where the pointy spikes had withered completely away. I didn’t bother following the various footpaths following the foundations of fallen sections, or going around the wreckage of any bits still standing; I just walked straight through Anyway, you couldn’t see the special tracks for all the snow falling, endlessly covering everything up. With no want other than to explore and keep my mind engaged, I made for the "pristine", "untouched", and especially unsafe parts of the shield wall, for if there was anything forbidden I was always drawn to and glad to partake of at present, that was it.

Another fence blocked my way at the end of the sanitized are of the park. The frame was so worn I reckon a small amount of work by hand could torn a suitable opening to pass, but that wasn't necessary. It was barely a metre high. Beyond, all the pretty sights ceased abruptly. Resinous and deciduous trees that were carefully nurtured to grow huge around the footpaths here were forked, stout and mishapen, all spiky monsters of a myriad unruly branches, trunks visibly broken repeatedly throughout their lives. I walked by a red pine that had been snapped in the middle so many times it looked like a streak of petrified lightning. The spectacle spoke volumes of how much curating these exotic plants imported from Earth needed in order to resemble the forms depicted in everybody's textbooks.

I cleared the half-arsed fence in a single bound, and for the first time I was there, within the oldest place in the City. In this particular spot the ramparts were built by burrowing into a hill and using the layers of earth and dirt as extra protection. There were places where the outward face was all grass and bushes on a steep slope and the other had visible walls, and other places where all you could see was an odd shaped ridge of vegetation. I climbed, and **** my way through low growing plants until I was on top of such a ridge.

It was especially cold, and on the way up I had to crawl blind and hunched over with my hood up, to keep the snow from falling inside my coat off the branches. When I stood up the wind started to blow snow in my face, so I turned around. In either direction there was a kilometre of rampart, maintained or not. From there I started walking fast, just to stave off the cold. Trees and bits of turret and wall on either side of me obscured the nearest lights of the City, and the falling sheet of snow hid the skyscrapers from view, so I was properly alone now. I stamped my feet into the snow as I went so the blood would keep flowing to my toes.

Before long I discovered first hand why the area was officially not open to the public. I walked by a well preserved watchtower, all four walls standing, windows still roughly rectangular and all. Not looking at the ground anymore because of the surviving structure, I failed to see a large hole directly in front of me, right at the foot of the building. I fell straight through, did a full unintentional summersault, and crumpled on my knees. Somehow my head never hit the deck below.

I sat down there for a while, wondering how I was going to get out. The hole was too high to climb back out; forwards and behind me was pitch black. I thought of similar curious idiots, and whether their bones were down here lying around. I’d never seen a real human skull before.

The cold freezing my limbs solid compelled me to move. I started out crawling on all fours, not wanting to get caught out by another downward opening, but soon had to abandon that. I was moving too slowly to keep warm, even under my layers of protective winter wear. When nothing engulfed me a second time for many minutes I allowed myself to walk at a normal pace.

After about ten minutes of blind wandering, I heard a strange noise up ahead. I stopped dead, and waited for it to die, to see if it was me making up sounds to compensate for the absolute silence. Still it was there, a low and fast-pulsing hum. I continued towards it.

As I neared, the sound’s different layers and textures separated and crystallised as more of them reached me. It had a certain musicality to it, some soothing quality. I began to feel the cold less, without feeling much warmer.

Intent on getting closer, I nearly missed the way to the source. A flash of light in the corner of my left eye and I stopped. I took a few steps back slowly, looking to my side. Very faintly, I could see the outline of a door in the blackness, as weak orange light bounced from the walls beyond and got out, much diffused. It took an active exertion of will to go that way, toward the light, when I felt sure the sound came from somewhere ahead. All I wanted was to be closer to the sound.

I went down a spiral staircase several levels, and each step the light was brighter and the humming weaker. Each step I could hear less of the hum the less I craved it. It dawned on me as I began to see the rugged details of the stone walls all around, that I was faced with yet another mind-altering medium.

By the time I reached the bottom of the stairs the light had ceased brightening. It was just weak enough that I couldn’t make out any colours beyond shades of orange. It was warm on my cheeks, and I was tempted to pull my hood down so as to have more of it on my skin. Fortunately I was too wary of hypnosis to dare anymore. I found myself on a high gallery, in a huge square chamber. The place was entirely intact, every wall solid stone; none of the piled up earth above had breached the boundary. Below was the source of the humming; it didn’t affect me at present. Breaking away from it had either immunised me or part of the sound waves were blocked out and the psychedelics were weakened. Squinting a bit, I could see a large metal box, big enough to fit a living room into.

“All right, she’s ready. I’m sealing the airlock now.”

Following the echoing voice’s announcement there was the sound of a hydraulic door slowly sliding shut. It was very loud, and so I was able to gasp in surprise without being heard. I was calm again when next someone spoke.

“Miss Morgan,” it called, “Miss Morgan, can you hear me?”

Through the crackle of an old loudspeaker, a girl’s voice answered “I can hear you.”

“Who are you?” asked the first voice.

“Elizabeth Morgan, I am a second generation Terran immigrant, neuroscientist at the institute of mar...”

“Wrong.” said the voice, sternly, “You are not Elizabeth Morgan a neuroscientist. That cannot be the first thing that comes to mind. Do you want me to tell you who you are before that?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

“Right you are. Elizabeth Morgan, you are a second generation Terran immigrant slut. Do you hear that, Elizabeth? You’re a slut. You want sex nearly all the time. You can never get enough of it. Can you get enough? Shall I tell you more? Is that enough for-”

“Yes! Please, tell me!” she pleaded.

“There’s nothing wrong with sex at will. There’s nothing wrong with being mildly to insanely aroused at the slightest sexual thought. There’s nothing wrong with letting others take you when and where they want to. There’s nothing wrong with taking others whenever you want them.”

“There’s nothing wrong with sex,” she echoed.

“That’s right, nothing wrong. If a man meets you in the street and asks you to have sex with him, you will. If a woman does so, you will. Anyone will do the same for you. You need only make your wants known.”

Below I heard someone manipulating controls of some sort. There was a click, and the sound of a lever being pulled. It must have been a big one.

“Why did we take you in here, Elizabeth Morgan? What were you doing when we found you?”

“I... I-I don’t know...”

“You were doing yourself harm, Elizabeth.”

“Harm?” she cried, panic in her voice. “What harm?”

“Hold that feeling, Elizabeth. I want you to remember it. I want you to feel the fear of harm whenever you think back to what you were doing when we found you.”

“No, please, stop!-“

“No, you will hear more. The slightest memory, the smallest inkling of information, any clue of who you were before today will bring you paralysing terror. You won’t ever want to think of the past again. Who are you?”

“I’m a slut! I want cock, pussy, anything. Make it stop!”

“Tell me who you are!”

“Elizabeth Morgan, a second generation Terran immigrant slut. I’m also a neuroscientist, but I only really care about getting some pussy and some cock. Any cock or pussy is welcome. All my holes are free. Make it stop!”

“That’s enough.” another voice said. “The girl’s scrambled well thorough.”