Still trying to overcome writer's block, and force myself to get on with outstanding projects. Here is the next chapter of this one (the first one with a name!), which perhaps you might need tissues for?
Chapter 4. Distance.
The compound itself seemed a huge and sprawling complex. Around the vast machine room ran endlessly long, wide corridors, and these in turn were linked to each other by equally lengthy, yet much narrower ones. The main thoroughfares were brightly lit, and almost clinical in decor, with some kind of tile on the floor that extended to and somehow merged with the smooth white gloss covering the walls. By comparison the smaller passages were quite tunnel-like; they were dimly lit and bare of finishings of any kind. But one thing both sets of walkways shared in common was tremendous height, as even the branching tunnels were lofty enough for the aliens to walk through unencumbered (parts of the main corridor, particularly the primary route to the machine room, were so high-ceilinged it could virtually give the feeling of being outside).
Along the spacious corridors, dotted between the openings for the side tunnels and other large passages, were several doorways into, presumably, smaller rooms than the one housing the great machine. The doors themselves were smooth and metallic, with polished and reflective surfaces, and with no obvious way of controlling them. There were no keyholes, handles, number pads, or even hinges. But they did open, somehow, and much like some of the other equipment housed in this place they seemed to operate by some kind of remote and invisible force.
Again, in contrast, the doorways that lined some of the narrower passageways seemed much more low-tech. They were smaller, and heavy, solid looking things, resembling the wooden doors of medieval castles and other dwellings from that era. There were what looked like hinges, and even handles on most, but in common with the larger metal doors there was no obvious locking mechanism anywhere to be seen. What lay behind most of these and the other doors remained largely a mystery, as there were no windows into any of the spaces beyond.
Eventually the main corridor itself, the one connecting directly to the machine room, terminated in a set of doors that looked just like those into that other colossal space. It wasn't clear what was beyond them, either, only that with the distance and trajectory of the main routes it could be another sector just like this one. You could only gauge the overall size of the building from the maze of interlinking passages, assuming that – like with the giant machine – there were repeating units with similar or identical layouts in each of those other sectors, and that together they surrounded the massive room at the centre. If indeed that even were the centre, and that there weren't more of those massive machine-containing labs elsewhere in the complex. Anything was possible in the bewildered eyes of the mice trapped within this immense and confusing place.
Vinnie had not yet seen that much of the compound, but given the length of the corridors he had been led down, and what he had seen on the way, he had viewed enough to form an idea of the tremendous potential for size this complex had.
After spending several hours hooked up to the machine, Vinnie was taken back through the great doorway and towards the 'cell block' (his guess, not a translation) he had so far been kept in. He was still in pain, and shock, and the distance back to the sparse comfort of his cell appeared interminable. It had taken nearly ten minutes at a fast pace to reach the machine room from there, and most of that way he had jogged whilst the aliens' extended stride length allowed them a comfortable stroll. On the way back he stumbled so much he was practically being dragged along by them, as they didn't slow their swift pace for him at all.
There were several other chaperoned mice heading in the opposite direction, and it was clear now to Vinnie that for some at least this was not to be their first encounter with the machine. He spied the weird devices that had been implanted into their navels, and saw the expression of resignation and discomfort on their faces as they prepared for yet another torturous session with the aliens' bizarre contraption. For the rest of the mice, the terror and uncertainty in their eyes indicated that they too had noticed the strange changes that seemed to be happening to their fellows, and were probably wondering if this time it was their turn.
It distressed him to see what he saw of the other mice, especially when the odd fear-stricken face that passed him by was one he recognised. He couldn't do anything to reassure them, or warn them, as the neck-band prohibited speech and there was never any opportunity for close contact. He was marched on and they each were left to face their uncertain fates alone.
Being alone was not something that Martian mice did very well. They were social and gregarious by nature, with families and friends choosing to live either together or within a relatively close distance of others they knew, and even to loose acquaintances if there was no one else. Sometimes a mouse, when venturing beyond familiar territory for the first time, would - if given the chance - seek shelter with a complete stranger rather than remain on their own. Safety in numbers was a strong and ever-present force within them, and for good reason.
For the first week or so since being brought here Vinnie had been kept by himself. His tiny cell was bare-walled and unlit, and though thickly lined with a straw-like litter it offered no real comfort to him, and he craved the company of another mouse – any other mouse. Since being taken from Mars he had not seen nor heard anything of his two bros, nor any of the other mice he had been close to. The ones he recognised in the corridor had been members of the freedom fighters, or their families, and he may have done battle alongside them once or twice. But even the ones he didn't know would have been infinitely preferable company to being left on his own.
Vinnie felt sure that they, like he, had spent their first few days here separated from the others, locked inside their dark and windowless prisons with no real idea as to what was in store for them. And no doubt that they, like he, had spent that time feeling more desperately alone and scared than ever in all their entire lives.
In the passage where his cell was there were other, identical doors, and Vinnie knew that behind each of them there were others like him. And though he could not see, nor touch, talk to or connect with them in any way, he could sense their distant presence. The sounds and smells of their pain and despair met his own and amplified the terrible feeling of isolation, a sensation that did not evaporate even when he was collected and taken elsewhere, passing those other mice on his way. Contact between his kind had always carried more gravity than either verbal or visual communication.
Until today he had had no idea what was in store for himself and his kin. Before his long walk to the machine he had only seen mice on his way to and from sessions in the smaller labs, which were situated very close to the cell block, and they had not yet been modified in any noticeable way. Those initial visits were largely only uncomfortable, and scary simply because he didn't know what to expect. Mostly they involved receiving a thorough health screening, and aside from being examined by hand and scanned with numerous medical-looking devices, the worst of it came in a few rather horrific sessions with trayfuls of needles (Vinnie's translator had picked up 'blood tests' and 'vaccinations'). It was in one of these smaller labs where he had been implanted with his language decoder, though the neck-band was attached the moment the alien beings had him firmly on board their waiting ship back on Mars.
Now Vinnie had seen and experienced a taster of what was soon to come for himself and his fellow Martians, and that changed everything. For starters he wasn't taken back to his old cell, but instead was led to one of the passages that was much closer than the other cell block. On his way he saw more and more of the modified mice, and felt a desperate urge to reach out to them, his pain and theirs fighting to push them closer so that they could seek some relief from it all. But it was impossible.
This cell block was a little different from the first. The doors running along its length were more widely spaced, so there were less of them, and about halfway down the aliens paused to open one, pushing him inside before closing it firmly behind him. Then the reason for the spatial difference became instantly apparent – the cell inside was much larger (about five times wider, and twice as deep) than his old one.
Perhaps the aliens had noticed how terribly isolation affected their Martian prisoners. Perhaps, despite their considerable enjoyment of inflicting unreasonable amounts of pain on their new subjects, they did not completely disregard the basic requirements for their general needs and well-being. It was doubtful that there was an issue of lack of space, after all, and unless their goal was some form of insanity resulting from psychological torture, they must have decided that there was nothing to gain from keeping all of the mice separate indefinitely.
Vinnie was not alone in this new cell. There, huddled together in the litter, were half a dozen or so other Martian mice.
He was filled with such relief that he was no longer alone that he collapsed onto the floor and wept, and was instantly engulfed by a mass of soft bodies, drawing him into the comfort and warmth of the huddle.
Without the light he couldn't see it, but the close contact told him what his eyes could not. Each of these mice sported the same awful thing in their midsection, and from the smell he could tell they too had been freshly implanted. This was probably also their first time in the shared cell since their arrival, and their fevered desire to embrace him and each other only made him cry the harder. The pain of separation released in a tidal flood of emotion, repeated each time another joined them, a relief from at least some of their suffering.
There was no need for speech, and not a single neck-band buzzed as the mice cuddled together to share in their distress. As they pressed closer, Vinnie could sense that each like he by now had at least some level of understanding as to what the aliens were doing to them, though not all had fully mastered the use of their language decoders. As antennae brushed tips and Vinnie merged his troubled thoughts with those of the other mice, individuals with the least proficiency in this new ability drew heavily on his mind, trying to learn from him what he had deciphered. He in turn examined their memories for anything he might not yet have discovered for himself.
In the end there was little left to exchange but their body heat, and as no more mice were delivered to that cell its inhabitants slowly settled, exhausted from their emotional reunion. One by one they drifted off to sleep; their faces, now damp from weeping, rested on firm shoulders; their swollen bellies – blood red and inflamed from the implantation – were tucked awkwardly between limbs. Tails entwined, and noses touched. Vinnie was still buried in the middle of the mass, and despite the sharp pain in his abdomen he finally felt relaxed enough to actually rest, the torment of being alone diminished at last.
