Oh, thank you all so much for reading this, especially those leaving feedback. It's better than chocolate.
x-x
Malcolm followed Malla as she led him to the back of the building and through a low opening in the wall. He bent to enter, then stood in a small space at the top of a series of stone steps. She began her descent, her light bouncing from the smooth grey walls, and he followed her down, his footfalls echoing in the tight space.
Reaching the bottom, he shivered against the sudden damp and cold. He stood there and took in his surroundings in the dim light coming in through the overhead windows. He let out a soft gasp when he realised the size of the place.
"Amazing, isn't it?" she said. "And people don't even realise that this place is here."
Malcolm shook his head. The space was enormous, at least the size of Paddington Station in London. The cavernous room was fairly dark, the long, narrow windows along the walls letting in what little of the night's moonlight they could. How could he have not seen this building from above?
Malla's torch illuminated the area just around them, bouncing off the nearest walls, fading into the ceiling high above. He could see that the walls were dripping with phosphorescent, water and other substances leaching out of the seams between the masonry blocks and setting up a faint glow.
Malla started walking towards a dark, arched opening in a nearby wall. "We shouldn't stay here," she shot back over her shoulder. "It's not always safe."
Malcolm strode to her side. "Why?"
"Monsters," she replied in an eerie tone, her voice echoing in the empty room. Then, seeing his face, she became serious, saying, "Most down here are good people, but there are some who aren't. It's better not to be alone." With that, she stepped into the tunnel.
He entered behind her, his foot immediately splashing into a puddle on the floor, soaking his shoe. He could hear dripping, smell the overwhelming damp as he entered the space, and the temperature immediately plunged. He shivered, and tucked his hands up under the sleeves of his tunic. The clothing they'd given him for the banquet obviously wasn't designed for such a damp, cold environment.
"Where are we going?" he asked, stopping a brief moment and shaking his wet foot.
Malla kept moving, but turned to face him, walking backwards. "To a place that's safe. There are others like us." She gave him a wry smile. "We tend to find each other." She stopped. "Not everyone down here is healthy." She tapped her head with a finger. "So we band together, help each other, defend ourselves if we have to."
She turned, and they both began walking again. At the end of the tunnel, she led him up another staircase, this one metal and dripping with moisture. At the top, she opened a dark, heavy door, and there was a sudden rush of warmth, light and voices. They stepped up onto what must have once been a transit platform, the tile walls now covered in graffiti. There was a small fire blazing in the middle of the space, a dozen or so Advarians gathered around it, all dressed similarly to Malla, their clothing showing signs of long wear.
As they entered, the voices stopped. Malcolm felt eyes on him as Malla said, "He's okay. I found him upstairs." Then, sadly, she said, "He's new."
Several in the crowd nodded, and one man stepped forward, handing him a mug with a soft, "Here you go."
Malcolm nodded, accepting the offering and cradling the warm cup between his cold hands. He took a sip of the drink, trying to bring some of its warmth inside his chilled body. It wasn't bad, kind of weak, perhaps some sort of soup, he thought.
Malla, beside him, said, "I'll introduce you around in the morning, get you set up now."
Knowing that she probably wanted to talk about him with the others, he agreed. She led him to the back of the room, where small spaces had been formed with fabric, cardboard, and plastic sheeting, creating tiny warrens with some modicum of privacy. She showed him to one small space, pulling back a sheet to show that it had already been laid out with linen, none to clean. "We might have some food tomorrow," she said with a shrug.
"Thanks," he replied. Quickly, she pointed out the facilities, then moved off. He settled himself on top of the fabric that was to be his bed, and drew the curtain, cutting off the stares of the others from across the room. He needed some time alone, to think through everything that had happened tonight.
He noticed a tiny shard tucked into the back corner of the shelter - a mirror, or something quite like it. He flopped onto his stomach and, reaching out, pulled the mirror closer. Staring into the glass, he moved it around until he could see most of his face: same dark hair, same grey eyes - same Malcolm Reed. Tucking the mirror back into its nook, he finished the drink, then rolled onto his back. Too wound up to sleep, he pulled several of the rags and coverings across him, shivering slightly. Despite the fire out front, the room was still somewhat damp, the fire too small and far away, and the blankets in the shelter weren't quite enough for warmth. He stared up at the grimy fabric that made up his roof, and allowed his mind to drift, his eyes tracing patterns across the fabric as he thought about what had happened to him, and how he might get his life back.
x-x
Malcolm woke in the morning, stiff from lying on the hard floor. He stretched cautiously, throwing off the blankets, and left his shelter, moving towards the facilities. When he was done, he saw Malla at the fire, eating, and he approached her, nodding to others as he passed them.
"Want some?" Malla asked as he sat beside her, lifting her plate in his direction.
"No, thank you," he said, too nervous to eat, and, at the same time, not wanting to take the last of her meal.
"You should." She shook the plate slightly. "We don't always have much. You should eat while we have it."
Accepting her offering, he took a bite, then asked, "All the people down here are Altarian?"
She nodded. "Now, but in the past, there was a Denobulan."
"What happened to him?"
"He, well, he got sick, and he died." She grimaced. "You're using his shelter."
"Oh," was all he could think to say. Taking a few more bites, he handed the plate back to her so she could share the meal. "Anyone ever make it back to their former lives?" he asked.
She shot him a sharp look. "Not successfully."
"So people have tried."
She laughed bitterly, setting the now-empty plate aside. "All the time. Of course they do. But doesn't usually work out for them."
"In what way?"
"Well, just showing up obviously won't work," she said with sarcasm. "As you've seen for yourself. They either don't notice you, or don't recognise you."
"So, what have people done?"
Malla frowned. "There are ways to connect, to re-enter, but it's not a good way to go."
"Why not?" Malcolm asked, feeling a spark of hope despite her obvious pessimism. "It doesn't usually work out," she said. "Life up there's usually changed; you've changed. You can't just go back and fit in comfortably." She looked around the room, her eyes resting on several other people. "Others have tried." She shook her head.
"Not much can have changed yet," he said. "It's only been a day."
"That doesn't matter," she replied. "Time doesn't flow quite..." she let her voice fall off, and shrugged.
"Have you never tried, yourself?"
She gave him a slight smile. "Life up there was not that great for me. I have nothing to go back to, really."
He nodded in understanding. "I want to try," he said.
Hesitantly, Malla said, "I know someone who may be able to help you." She leaned forward. "There's a way to sort of ping the outside world," she said, touching her index fingers together briefly. "To make a connection, which allows you to go back." She gazed at him, intense. "You need to know that this won't necessarily be pleasant. Once you get back up there, if it even works, your life won't be the same."
Malcolm nodded, thinking of his ship, and the friends he'd made on board. It had taken him so long to get comfortable. He wasn't willing to give that up without a fight; whatever risk there was, it would be worth it, if he could go home again.
She stood and approached a man across the room, exchanging a few words. Malcolm watched as the man nodded, peered at him, then approached.
"I'm Rodos. Come with me," he said gruffly, leading Malcolm into one of the slightly larger shelters. As Rodos closed the fabric at the opening, making a small, private room, he waved for Malcolm to sit. Rodos joined him, facing him, their knees touching in the cramped space.
"Don't speak," Rodos said. "Just try to focus on your breathing, keeping it as even as you can."
He took one of Malcolm's hands in one of his own and turned it, palm up. With his other hand, he reached to his side and opened a small, dark box. Withdrawing a tiny cake, he rubbed one finger across its top, then rubbed that finger in a small circle on Malcolm's palm, leaving a trace of blue.
Malcolm felt the substance cool his hand, and took in the scent - almost rosemary, but earthier. Then his hand became numb, and he flinched. The man grasped his hand more firmly, casting him a sharp look.
After a moment, Malcolm felt a kind of lethargy overcome him, but he found that he didn't care. His arms became heavy, and his head fell forward. He gazed down at his palm, then took a deep breath. He looked up at the man and blinked languidly.
Rodos pulled a tiny knife out from the box and pricked Malcolm's palm in the middle of the blue, allowing a bit of blood to well. He then used his fingers to mix that blood into the blue salve, and Malcolm felt a slow heat begin to build in the middle of his palm. The man started chanting, and reached his free hand to the box, removing a small bag. He took out a pinch of black powder. Breaking from his chant, he said, "Breathe in."
Malcolm did so, and the man blew the powder in his face. Malcolm felt it burn his nose as it entered. Then the shelter spun around him.
x-x
Malcolm rolled over onto his side, pushing away the blankets. His entire body aching, he slowly brought himself to sitting. He swayed slightly and exhaled loudly, realising that he was back in his own shelter, and he had no idea how he'd gotten there, or how much time had passed.
Rodos poked his head through the curtained door. "You all right?" he asked. At Malcolm's answering nod, he said, "Maybe it worked, maybe it didn't. It may take a while, or you may know soon." He gave Malcolm an odd smile. "Good luck, kid." He let the curtain close.
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