SURDSTUM
A science fiction novel by
Jeff Provine
CHAPTER 2
Nightmares haunted Loustor as he slept. They were horrid visions, blinking in and out of view with his mind chasing them away into darkness whenever he could no longer stand them. Worst of all, they were not merely dreams. They were memories. Each of the scenes of torment had happened to Loustor, from the huddled mob of children pointing and singing mockingly to his self-induced exile in his dark bedroom.
Most vivid and recurring was his earliest memory, which happened just after he had turned two. It was the tender age when little Asperians, growing up healthy and strong, would babble out their first incoherent telepathic thoughts. Scientifically, it was merely a natural progression as the child arranged his neurons to control the emitteus. Families saw it much more romantically as the great moment of first communication from the baby. In either way, Loustor had never known it.
The image, complete with a spectral moaning sound of his mother’s cries, floated before his dreamy eyes over and over. The walls were very white, sterile, and devoid of anything except for instruments and posters of biological data. He was sitting on a little table, sucking on a sugar stick that the doctor had given him for being such a brave little boy. The doctor was with his mother across the room, his hand comfortingly on her shoulder. She wept in her hands with the papers covered in evil news spilled at her feet. Every so often she would look up at the doctor, but there were no words. They must have been communicating something telepathically, something Loustor would never know. There was only the sound of harsh sobbing, broken breaths, and a mother’s moan.
Loustor’s heart sank in his sleep, and he awoke with a tremor running through his body. He sat up quickly in bed, gripping his own arms in tight fists and panting. Cold moisture dripped down from his brow. He stared out into the darkness of his room, seeing only shadows. Amid the blackness, the faint image of his crying mother hung, burned into his eyes forever.
Loustor shut his eyelids against the illusion and rubbed his eyes till they began to burn. When he peeked into the darkness again, the phantasm was gone. All he could see were the slow movements of shadows from the streetlights poking through the edges of the tight curtains. He collapsed slowly onto the mattress and curled up beneath the blanket.
As his breathing slowed and the terror of the nightmares passed, Loustor crept back out from under his covers. His clock blinked with the time, still hours before the sun would come up, a long time till he would begin his quest. He rolled over, thinking he would need as much rest as possible to build up his strength for the journey.
As he lay there, sleep would not come to his eyes. They were open wide, blinking only rarely as he stared up at the blackness around him. His mind raced with thoughts and plans for the adventure, too busy to settle down into sleep. Time and again he rolled over, shifting positions and kicking out his eager legs. Finally he sat up, sighed slowly, and stepped out of bed. His body was too anxious, and it was useless try to force it to sleep.
I could get an early start, Loustor thought. He was not worried about anyone hearing his thoughts and waking. His mute telepathy, his eternal bane, at least gave him stealth. It was an enormous price to pay.
Loustor did not bother with the light. He dressed in the dark, pulling on several layers of clothes in case he needed them. Feeling blindly, he made his bed and tucked away the book he had used to read himself to sleep. His satchel had already been packed with a few things too precious to leave behind and his little wad of money. To be safe, he felt through the satchel to make certain everything was there.
He smiled as he stroked the crinkle of the paper money in his bag. All of the Taikees children had been given an allowance, which Pallis and Antreeka happily saved and spent to their heart’s desire. Loustor had never bothered with expenditures. To spend it, he would have had to push through the busy markets for sweet cream or a toy and struggle to purchase it mutely from a telepathic merchant. Nothing in the world seemed worth the effort. At the beginning of every week when his father passed out a bit of change to the children, Loustor had stuffed his away in a jar, saving it for something, though he had never known what. He knew now. It would purchase his tickets aboard the trains and furnish his freedom.
Satisfied that his provisions were all there, Loustor stood and slipped the satchel over his shoulder. Padded with thick layers of clothes, carrying his heavy bag of books, some food, and a few other necessities, he stepped toward the door, reaching slowly and silently for the handle. Just as he touched it, something sparked in his memory.
A hat, Loustor reminded himself, turning away from the door. He looked around in the darkness futilely and slowly walked to the curtains. Letting in a bit of light, he searched his room again and found his winter cap resting on the knob to his closet. It was much too warm for a cap, but it would serve another purpose.
Setting it onto his head, he tucked it over his ears and straightened it in the dim light of the distant streetlamps reflecting in the mirror. Slowly, he pulled his hands away and gazed at himself. His withered stalk was hidden completely. Walking through the streets, no one would think of him as any different. He could blend in with any crowd. Loustor could not help but nod happily to himself.
After a minute more of appraising his normal appearance, Loustor pulled himself away from the mirror and closed the curtains. Plunged back into darkness, he blinked until his eyes could see the dim outlines of furniture again. Slowly, silently, he crept back toward the door and opened it.
The hallway was as silent and dark as his room. The house itself seemed to be in a deep sleep. Only the soft sighing of snores from his family and the gentle settling of the walls resounded in his ears. Taking his first step, he moved his foot gradually through the air before setting it down soundlessly. He pressed his weight onto the foot and continued on with the other, raising it little by little into the air. Stepping slowly and fearing to breathe more loudly than the scarcest of whispers, Loustor steadily made his way down the hall and to the stairs.
After seemingly hours of creeping, he came to the ground floor of the house, where he felt he could move about more freely. Loustor let out a quick sigh of relief, glad to escape from the upstairs. Just as he stepped away from the staircase, he noticed the soft glow of the living room light shining across the entry hall. He froze, not even moving his chest to breathe.
The front door lay across the wide band of white light, infinitely far away across the barrier of discovery. Someone must have gotten up early to watch the telecaster, or perhaps someone had accidentally left the light on. In either case, someone had unwittingly become a sentinel against his escape. Loustor listened carefully, his ears straining in the dim silence, but he could not hear anything. With a deep swallow, he furrowed his brow and backed away from the light.
He slid slowly into the dining room, where only hours ago he had done the final deed to prove to himself that he was not fit to live at home any longer. Walking as slowly and as silently as he had done before, he ducked close to the table. Slowly, he pulled his bag from his back and removed the final thing he would use to bother his family. It was a simple note, scrawled out in emotionless print.
Loustor had written the note several times over before finally deciding that it was perfect. He would not simply disappear. He would not let them think the worst. He would explain to them that it was all for the best. “Family,” it read, “I have gone to live in a community of surdstums like myself. Thank you for all you have done. I will not be a nuisance to you ever again. Sincerely, Lou.”
He lay the note down carefully, conspicuous enough certainly to be noticed, but not to raise alarm. Like anyone would worry that I was gone, Loustor thought to himself.
With the deed done, Loustor turned back to the looming problem of the light shining out from the living room. He puzzled over it, softly grinding his teeth back and forth against each other as he thought. A fast dash would be too noisy, and a slow creeping would take much too long. Escape would have been simple if only there were a back door to the house, but the tight, modern houses had no business with such things. Even the windows, large and wide, were immobile and frozen in place with sealant against the ravages of summer heat and winter wind. The house was almost too secure.
Loustor swallowed and skulked slowly back out of the dining room. He was close to the living room, but he could not see into it from across the entry hall. The silence was a deafening roar of nothing. All Loustor could see was the bright shining of the living room light. Blinded, he stepped out into it, peering around the corner with his stomach tensed.
Pallis was sitting on the couch, or, rather, lying on it in a slumped position. The telecaster was on, though Loustor would not have known except for the little green light next to its activation button. The machine, about the size of an adult’s torso, looked like a ram’s head with two long, arching horns. It was an ingenious technology, several decades old, and permeated all of Asperian society. A telecaster could take long range radio waves, those far longer than telepathic waves, and transmute them into hearable telepathic waves. At least, hearable to most. Like most wonders of the modern world, it was useless to him.
Loustor made a new sigh of relief, quietly, as not to awaken his snoozing brother. Pallis must have fallen asleep listening to the telepathic waves spilling from the machine, and no doubt they were affecting his dreams. He had a large grin on his face as he lay twisted on the couch with his feet out in front.
Farewell, brother. Loustor nodded at him. Good luck in life.
Quietly, Loustor stepped the final few yards to the door, found his shoes, and slipped them onto his feet. As he did, he tucked himself into the shadow around the corner from the living room. When he was ready, he stood tall, set his teeth, and reached for the front door.
Twisting the locks and opening the wooden door barely wide enough for him to squeeze through, Loustor sneaked out into the night. He closed the door tightly behind him, quietly sealing off his past. After finding the hidden key under the porch, he locked it, leaving everything as he had found it without a trace of his passing. He tucked the key back into his hiding place beneath the stone, slipped his hands into his pockets, and walked toward the street.
The night air was still and cool. Everything seemed to be tucked into its place, sleeping and waiting for the dawn. The streetlamps let out little circles of illumination amid the darkness, and the looming shadows of the houses stood as monuments to the peaceful neighborhood. Aside from the distant barking of some creature and the rumble of nighttime traffic, Loustor’s footsteps were the only sounds that rang into his ears.
He walked steadily down the street, passing houses of neighbors he had never met and had only glimpsed through the window. His pace would slacken whenever he came under one of the streetlamps, enjoying the little light for a moment, and then he would hurry out into the gulf of darkness again. After swallowing against the cool air and shoving his shoulders forward, Loustor settled into whistling to himself. Music was one of the few things that he could enjoy as much as any other Asperian, perhaps even more. His deaf sense of telepathy only made his ears more sensitive to the beats and melodies of music.
With a bolstering marching tune, he left his neighborhood behind and crossed a larger, empty street paved with shells crushed smooth into a concrete. The houses were behind him now, and he came to the school where his brother and sister attended. It was a short walk for them to go to the district school, and they had easily found nearby friends. Loustor had to be driven across the city to the School for the Nontelepathic, where he met no one who wished to associate with him for long.
He stopped on the sidewalk near the school, staring up at its classroom windows decorated with student projects and colorful posters shining in the distant light of the streetlamps. As he shifted his gaze down to the immense playground behind the school, his whistling slowly died away into silence. Loustor sighed sadly at the swings and fields and then turned back to the street, marching quickly to escape the thoughts of children playing. Soon the school was behind him, and he was plunged into the streetlamp-speckled darkness.
Loustor walked unsteadily in the night, ducking swiftly through the shadows and slowing his pace whenever he found himself under a streetlamp. His plan had been to catch a ride to the station, but the city buses would not be running for hours. Not even taxis were running, except near clubs or the seedier parts of the town with passengers who did not want to be recognized. But he had his feet, and as long as he could move, Loustor would be on his way toward Valysia. He walked deeper into the night, passing by buildings he had never seen before and across bridges he had never seen even from the window of a vehicle. After nearly two hours, he stopped, looked up at the street sign, and sighed hopelessly.
“Lost,” he mumbled, looking to his left and right. Each direction was filled with a wide, empty street. The buildings were tall and blocky, and he imagined he was somewhere in the financial district. Then Loustor frowned, thinking the buildings were too plain. He may have stumbled into the warehouses along the river. Grimacing more deeply, he thought there were too many windows for a warehouse. He had no idea where he was in the least.
Loustor scratched under the brow of his hat, rubbing the irritated skin where his hat rested. It was not often that he wore a hat this long, and the cool of the night would soon be giving way to dawn. He looked up and down the streets again, then turned to look back down the long alley from where he had come. Perhaps he could walk back and get his bearings.
Before he could move, bright lights appeared on the street to his right. Loustor instinctively gasped, not knowing what to expect, and ducked back into the alley. His imagination filled with a tale of his parents calling the police at finding him gone, forcing him back home in chains. He tucked himself deep into the shadows against the side of the looming building and watched. He did not dare to breathe. The lights moved slowly up the street and eventually passed, revealing themselves as those of a truck loaded with garbage. A wave of wet, sick stench spread out in a wake behind it, and Loustor cupped his hand over his nose.
When the truck disappeared down the opposite street, Loustor slowly crawled out, gagging at the overwhelming smell of rotting compost and rubbish. He brushed his hands over his coat, knocking away some of the dirt that had clung to it from touching the side of the filthy building. This was certainly not the adventure he had anticipated. Feeling his satchel with a quivering hand, he wondered if he should have brought some sort of weapon.
“Bah,” Loustor said, snorting at himself. Despite the tension in his stomach, he tried to laugh and put his fear aside. “There’s nothing out here that would hurt you.”
More lights appeared on the street, and again Loustor instinctively ducked into the shadows. Realizing what he had done, he snorted at himself again and stepped out into the open. He had no reason to hide. Staring down the street, he could see it was just a simple car that chugged as it rolled toward him.
He tucked his pockets into his coat again and turned to walk right, deciding one way was just as good as any other since he had no idea where he was. The car passed him, slowing a bit, and then chugging further down the road.
“See?” Loustor said to himself. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
It was then, out of the back corner of his eye, he saw the car turn around behind him. Swallowing nervously despite himself, he hastened his footsteps. His shoes clicked faster and faster against the hard pavement, and at his back the sound of a chugging engine steadily grew closer. Loustor’s heart began to pound more and more quickly, matching the rushing of his feet. The car chugged up behind him, slowed a moment, and then sped hurriedly past, its engine roaring out a grinding protest to the sudden acceleration.
With the car in front of him now, Loustor slowed his feet and panted sharp breaths. He watched it carefully with his eyes wide and unblinking. The car pulled ahead a short distance and then stopped completely. Loustor stopped, too, his hands fidgeting against the sides of his pockets.
He could see four people in the car, all staring back at him from the shadows inside the windows. Loustor froze, unsure what to do, and then slowly looked down to the ground. The street was silent but for his pounding heart and the steady chugging noise of the engine. Taking a step backward, Loustor put more distance between himself and the car. The four in the car did not move, and he took a second step back. With a nervous swallow, he at last looked up at them, licked his lip nervously, and turned around completely.
The car’s rumbling engine suddenly died, and Loustor heard the sounds of four doors opening with clatters and bangs. He walked quickly, turning his head only slightly to see what was happening. The four shadowy figures were out of their car now and following him, their loud footsteps echoing his own.
Loustor broke into a fearful run, pulling his satchel tightly onto his back for balance. The sounds of footsteps rang out behind him, eight feet smashing against the pavement and carrying their bodies hurriedly after him. He ran with all his might, but his satchel weighed him down, and the banging steps only grew louder and closer. Finding the alley where he had come from, he dashed into it, certain that he could lose them in the shadows and escape.
A hand suddenly caught Loustor by the satchel. It pulled tight on the strap, catching his heaving chest and pulling him off balance. He slid on the scum on the alley floor and hit the ground. The hard pavement cracked against his backside. Loustor rolled sideways quickly, hissing at the pain.
He sat up several feet away, finding himself face-to-knee with four Asperians dressed in long, dark coats. His satchel was twisted over his shoulders out in front of him now. He must have slipped free when he fell. Loustor threw his eyes around him, looking for anything to fight off the villains. Finding only a square trash bin, which was empty and probably had been cleared of any potential defensive weapon only hours before, he looked sorrowfully up at the four.
They were dressed in long coats made from the wooly hide of the anbinon. The coats were thick and heavy, stereotypical of troublemakers who would be out on the prowl in the middle of the night in some seedy corner of the city. Their faces were decorated with subtle tattoos and metal pegs, and they each reeked of unwashed flesh. The four were staring down at him, some smiling mischievously, others with their faces evilly plain. Loustor was sure that they were thinking to him, but he was totally unable to respond.
One of the four kneeled down close to him, squinting his eyes and looking deeply at him. Loustor only frowned worriedly, wondering what the Asperian was trying to tell him. At last the villain spat angrily and reached for Loustor’s bag. Loustor pulled back instinctively, dodging the hasty grasp. The Asperian growled and lunged for the satchel, but again Loustor dodged, crawling backward farther away.
The kneeling person squinted, and immediately the others hurried toward him. Loustor spun around, kicking his feet under him and throwing himself into the air. With another leap, he jumped out ahead of them, running down the shadowy alley. Footsteps hurried after him, and grunting breaths sounded. Though Loustor could not hear them, he imagined that the four were shouting horrid telepathic things at him.
Loustor ran faster than he had ever thought he could, and his satchel banged against his back in the flurry of movement. He dashed without looking back, never sure just how far ahead he was. It did not matter to him. All he wished now as to run back to his home, tear up the letter, and hide in the safe darkness of his room. Here the shadows and streetlamps danced about in a battle of light that swirled before his eyes.
Just as he approached the opposite end of the alley, near the escape from the shadow between the two looming buildings, Loustor felt a hard tug on his shoulders. Someone had grabbed his satchel, pulling him back. His legs flew forward, and once again he crashed to the filth-covered pavement of the alley. He wriggled against the grip, but it seemed unbreakable as he struggled.
A sudden pain shot through Loustor’s back, and he jerked sorely against a kick from a wide-toed boot. He stopped writhing randomly and turned, looking back in time to see a foot fly at his face. His eyes went wide, and his head ducked mechanically, but the blow was too close to dodge. His eye burned and pulsed with pain. Just as he overcame the first throbbing ache, thuds from all over his body shot out, and he screamed at the kicking feet. He curled defensively, putting his arms over his tender face and pulling his legs up to protect his cringing stomach. The kicks kept up their assault, and he soon realized the four would not stop themselves.
Throwing out one of his hands, he caught one of the feet and pulled with all of his might. There was a surprised scream from above him, and the kicks suddenly stopped as the heavy clunking sound of a body falling against the pavement rang out. Loustor looked up from behind his other protective arm to see the other three ruffians looking curiously at their fallen comrade. He moaned and rubbed his head, sitting slowly and glaring at Loustor.
Gasping and leaping up, Loustor tore himself out of the crowd and tried to run again, but twinges of hot pain burned through his body whenever he moved. Shaking his head to clear his eyes, he turned back to the four and swallowed. With a grunt, he slid his satchel from his aching shoulder and held it by the strap, swinging it slowly. The three standing punks looked at one another, helped up their fallen friend, and then squeezed their hands into fists. With a deep growl, they charged.
Loustor swung his satchel at the closest victim, striking him hard with his books and canned food. The ruffian immediately squealed in pain and fell, tumbling and rubbing his hands over his face. Judging from the way he scratched at the pegs in his wounded face, Loustor imagined that he was regretting the metal ornaments. Loustor swung again, missing one of the enemies and barely striking another. The third swing met with one’s stomach, causing him to choke out a deep burst of air. The other two punks grabbed Loustor by his arms, kicking and swinging their fists at Loustor’s every defenseless point.
Shouting, Loustor twisted against them, falling to the ground and slipping away from their grips. He swung out randomly with his fists and shoes, brawling his way across the dirty floor of the alley and into the street. Pulling himself to his feet during the foray, he turned and ran again, leaving his satchel behind. The odds seemed hopeless for him, and he felt he would rather lose his belongings than his life.
Once into the
wide, empty street, Loustor ran despite the burning pain rippling all through
his body. His lungs ached, and he spat foul-tasting saliva as he ran. Stomping
footsteps rang out behind him, and fear drove him on.
Just run, he told himself. Find somewhere, anywhere, to
hide.
He looked around frantically as he hurried, spitting and breathing hard despite the stabbing bursts in his lungs. The street was full of buildings, but they were dark and vacant, locked tight against the night. Two of the ruffians were hurrying after him, with a third chasing from far behind. In only a few minutes, they would catch him and do untold things to him. It all seemed hopeless, and then he saw a distant light shined out from one of the buildings down another street.
Turning and wincing at the burning in his right leg, Loustor charged for the light, which glowed from a short building with tall spires and towers sticking up all around it. There was a gated fence along the front, a stone wall etched with unknown signs that flickered in the shadows of the late night. Loustor ran for it with all of his strength, diving against the gate and pressing his body against it. The thick wooden door refused to move, and he moaned, striking it with his fist.
“Help me,” he tried to shout out, but his words garbled in blood and heaving breaths. The grunts from the ruffians were loud behind him, almost upon him.
He pounded again, this time his hand catching a little lock that held the huge gate in place. It swung wide against Loustor’s weight. Loustor stumbled as his support suddenly gave out, and he fell to his knees. Grimacing against his pain and closing his left eye tight, he pushed himself up from his feet and grabbed hold of the open gate. He threw himself onto the opposite side, slamming it closed just in time to hear dual thuds and gasping groans of the ruffians as they tumbled into the heavy wood.
Loustor slid himself against the gate, holding it closed with his body as the punks pulled at the lock. He braced his feet and pushed, moaning and gasping with wounded exhaustion. His left eye seemed to be set on fire whenever he looked up at the shining light above him, and Loustor clamped his swollen eyelid closed. His good eye looked up at the light, imploring for something, anything, to come to his rescue.
The gate pushed several inches behind him, throwing him forward despite locking his legs onto the stones along the ground. He pressed his hands into the ground, trying desperately to hold back the strength of two Asperians much larger than himself. Loustor panted and grunted, sounds echoed by the ruffians on the other side.
And then, suddenly, the pushing on the gate stopped. The opposing force disappeared, and Loustor fell back as the gate swung back into place. He panted and looked up in perplexity with his good eye.
Two shadows were walking toward him from the light. He could not see them in the brightness of the light, but they seemed immense, like giants marching from out of the stars. With a final gasp, Loustor gagged at the sight and fainted. Darkness overcame him, and the last thing he remembered were the strong hands of the giants grabbing hold of him.