2. Pilar
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Pilar


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For the essence of a dug-out isn't made with pick and shovel
There's factors in its form that wouldn't suit a homely hovel
Underneath the earth you know the difference in a second
The sickly stench of vigilance, though staler than you reckoned

The seconds were a measure of agony.

Waiting was no novel experience. She hadn't known it, with no frame of reference, but her old life had been nothing but waiting. Life had moved at the pace of slow seasons. Everything that could be done had an obvious reason and rhythm. She had known impatience as a peculiarity of her mother's generation, the product of experiences she could never have. The verdant, teeming world which had shaped Pilar was barely quicker than dead, and there was no point in lamenting that fact. It didn't make things happen any sooner, and that didn't matter, because there was so very little to do anyway. Anticipating action had been a form of pleasure in Puerto Extirpado, akin to daydreaming. Savour the idea of the thing, because soon it will be gone, and the long empty green will stretch between you and the next eruption of agency.

Only now did Pilar understand how her elders had felt, waiting for water to boil or the sun to rise.

It had to be worse for the others, of course. Pilar's only sample of humanity beyond her village was a strange one, she knew, but basic characteristics could be discerned. Basic differences. The people she met at Site-43 possessed devices they called telephones and tablets, and they would check them in the middle of speaking to her, or else look anguished that propriety prevented it. They tapped their feet or paced around like wild animals when they were early, or others were late. They cursed at their machines when they were slow. They pushed buttons over and over when once would suffice. They were tight bundles of nerve at all moments, and she found it both pitiable and frightening. She was not sorry she hadn't seen the great cities yet, hadn't been cleared for a jaunt beyond the Foundation's fungible sphere of influence. Site-43 was impressive — though not so different from Facility-34 — but every minute spent outside Zevala had the exhaustion impact of an hour's hard graft.

She had met all her sister's friends. They filled every waking moment with sound, and some of them added fury to the mix. Dr. Lillihammer in particular was a human torrent, and she sometimes found herself gasping for breath in the middle of the woman's wild ranting. Most of them had somewhere to be at all times, and it was never where they were. Most of Pilar's new job as her people's representative consisted of telling these overactive lunatics about how the new shacks were working out, what they'd last found in the Facility's scorched rubble, and how their crops were handling the bizarre foreign climate of Earth. In return, she was overloaded with information on things like memetics, thaumaturgy, and the politics of the Veil. She'd discovered Tylenol on her first visit, and it had been her constant companion ever since.

This alien world was simply too hurried for her, and she wasn't sure she wanted to keep up.

But at this moment, she finally felt a kinship with those harried clock-watchers. She understood the terror of the slow and silent tick. She sat on the hard mattress in the pristine white breach bunker, listening to the sound of air from far above cycling down below and back again, listening for footfalls or voices beyond the thick walls, waiting for an explanation, waiting to find out why Fina had cut their visit short and forced her in here without explanation, waiting as she had never waited before.

The sister she'd never known had slotted into her life like a piece… no, like the outside edges of the puzzle of her life. She hadn't realized it until now, and it surprised her. The surprise was not unpleasant.

And then it roared, the beast, the dragon of the fungal swamp, it bellowed in the deeps, it had followed her between the worlds, and she would be devoured. The walls shook, and Pilar stood up, and the floor dropped out as her ears popped. She had a sensation of falling — it was like her first elevator ride, but much briefer and much worse — and she looked up as the ceiling wrenched into a shape more appropriate to her home than the Foundation's rigid building code. The lights flickered, and one fluorescent bulb snapped and fell to shatters in its housing.

Sound returned as her feet struck ceramic again. It had been only a moment's weightlessness, but its end clapped like out thunder. The air was filled with that throaty roar. The walls were cracked, and a single tile slipped its bonds to split apart on the floor. Everything sat at a curious angle now. Everything looked subtly wrong. Everything looked more like home, in the worst possible way.

We jumped again. We jumped worlds. It was impossible, of course, but she couldn't shake the feeling. When the heavy vault door opened again, she would find herself somewhere new. Nothing would ever be the same.

Again.

Then the rest of the lights went out, and Pilar felt the weight of waiting in full.

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Hachiro

Indivisible

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Imrich

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page revision: 8, last edited: 06 Jul 2026 20:07
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