By JS O'Keefe
There’s a particularly deep-lying station in our city’s subway system, aptly nicknamed the Inner Core. As almost expected, recently a joke meister came up with another moniker for it, 666, referring to the Devil or the Antichrist who might be operating nearby.
This morning a group of us buddies decided to check out Station 666. This could be, after all, the lowest point the average person ever ventures inside the Earth, with the possible exception of Tears of the Turtle Cave in Montana. Yes, we were curious but, more importantly, we had way too much time on our hands.
Frankly, 666 didn’t look any different from other metro stations — Montreal or Barcelona, for example — until we saw a sign GIFT SHOP pointing toward a steel door. We entered and found ourselves in a staircase, with an identical sign pointing down the steps.
As we were descending, some were cracking jokes that at this rate we could soon end up on the opposite side of the globe. Finally, we arrived at another steel door with a sign saying GIFT SHOP.
“Twenty-eight minutes,” announced an amateur football referee who always carried a stopwatch with him. “Counting a minute per level, we must’ve come down about thirty flights. Could be two-three times deeper than the metro station itself.”
In the store we only saw a couple of items on the shelves and a saleswoman at the register, a rather stern-looking matron.
“I guess we’ve been beaten to it,” I told her. “Earlier tourists have nearly picked the shelves clean.”
She shook her head. “Not at all. Actually we’re fully stocked. You people are the first visitors here in who knows how many days.”
We took another glance, but the scant offering consisted of a few Toblerones and silvery key chains with bottle openers.
“Beautiful day,” said the cashier, “nice and sunny.”
“How can you tell from here, ma’am?” I asked.
“It’s nice and sunny,” she repeated and pointed at a door in the far corner. “Check it for yourself, if you don’t believe me. The door opens to the outside.”
Outside?
But the door did open to a city street.
We looked at each other. “It’s physically impossible. We dragged our asses down two miles just to arrive back to the surface? Doesn’t add up geometrically or geologically.”
It appeared to be a small Midwestern city, the kind that I’d left twenty-eight years earlier, never to return. The buildings were similar, only newer and cleaner, and the locals seemed unusually relaxed and amicable. Our clothing must have given us away as strangers because every passerby greeted us with a welcoming smile. Interestingly, there were no cars on the street, only buses and trams. Colours appeared more vivid, and the air smelled fresher.
What’s this, a miracle town in the century of killing drones and AI?
We were poised to go back to the store and climb up the steps to Station 666, when somebody objected. “Too much of an effort, very strenuous, and for what? Might as well stay here and make a new life for us.”
The others chuckled. “Are you kidding? This here is a weird place, utopian or something.
“Suspiciously perfect, it can’t be real.”
“That’s right, it seems too good to be true. Maybe we’re dreaming the same dream in tandem.”
I didn’t participate in the discussion. I knew there’s no such thing as collective dreaming, still I dreaded waking up in the morning.
About the Author
J. S. O’Keefe is a scientist, trilingual translator and writer.
His short stories and poems have been published in Roi Faineant, Scribes*MICRO, Every Day Fiction, AntipodeanSF, 101 Words, Microfiction Monday, 50WS, Friday Flash Fiction, Medium, Paragraph Planet, 6S, WENSUM, Spillwords, Satire, etc.
You can find out more at his website: <https://www.szjohnny.net/>
James Walton was a librarian, a farm labourer, and mostly a public sector union official.
My time at Nambucca Valley Community Radio began back in 2016 after moving into the area from Sydney.
Barry Yedvobnick is a recently retired Biology Professor. He performed molecular biology and genetic research, and taught, at Emory University in Atlanta for 34 years. He is new to fiction writing, and enjoys taking real science a step or two beyond its known boundaries in his
Mark is an astrophysicist and space scientist who worked on the Cassini/Huygens mission to Saturn. Following this he worked in computer consultancy, engineering, and high energy research (with a stint at the JET Fusion Torus).
Merri Andrew writes poetry and short fiction, some of which has appeared in Cordite, Be:longing, Baby Teeth and Islet, among other places.
Tara Campbell is an award-winning writer, teacher, Kimbilio Fellow, fiction co-editor at Barrelhouse, and graduate of American University's MFA in Creative Writing.
Geraldine Borella writes fiction for children, young adults and adults. Her work has been published by Deadset Press, IFWG Publishing, Wombat Books/Rhiza Edge, AHWA/Midnight Echo, Antipodean SF, Shacklebound Books, Black Ink Fiction, Paramour Ink Fiction, House of Loki and Raven & Drake
Tim Borella is an Australian author, mainly of short speculative fiction published in anthologies, online and in podcasts.
Sarah Jane Justice is an Adelaide-based fiction writer, poet, musician and spoken word artist.
Alistair Lloyd is a Melbourne based writer and narrator who has been consuming good quality science fiction and fantasy most of his life.
Emma Louise Gill (she/her) is a British-Australian spec fic writer and consumer of vast amounts of coffee. Brought up on a diet of English lit, she rebelled and now spends her time writing explosive space opera and other fantastical things in
Brian Biswas lives in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, USA.